The Emperor

by Norman, John;

  “The Alemanni,” said Ortog. “I would speak with Otto, king of the Otungen.”

  “Ottonius, the First,” said Iaachus, “is not to be disturbed at this hour. Strict orders are in effect.”

  “Is he in the palace?” asked Ortog.

  “Where else would he be?” asked Iaachus.

  “In the streets, about, prowling, reconnoitering, inquiring, seeking information, a danger to thieves and killers.”

  “Unthinkable,” said Iaachus.

  “Is he in the palace?” demanded Ortog.

  “Surely,” said Iaachus.

  “Do you know that—for certain?” asked Ortog.

  “No,” said Iaachus.

  “I thought not,” said Ortog.

  “Why would you think he might not be?” asked Iaachus.

  “He is Otung,” said Ortog. “Would you keep an Otung within four walls, even gilded walls? Do you think you could do so? The Vandalii and the Alemanni, like the lion, the vi-cat, and the arn bear, are beasts of the open air, drinkers at cold pure streams, soft-treaders of leaf-carpeted passages amongst tall trees.”

  “It is well for you to be discreet in your visits to the palace,” said Iaachus. “Keeping to a late hour is wise.”

  “I hoped to see Otto, king of the Otungen, privately,” said Ortog.

  “A guardsman, even an Otung, might slay you on sight,” said Iaachus.

  “I cut my hair, I shave my beard, I clothe myself in Telnarian fashion,” said Ortog.

  “Even so,” said Iaachus, “there is something of the forest about you, in the light stealth of your step, in the quick, restless movement of your eyes.”

  “A vi-cat might lurk in the brush,” said Ortog.

  “We have vi-cats in Telnar, too,” said Iaachus, “only they go on two feet, wait in doorways, and carry daggers as fangs.”

  “You said action had been taken?” said Ortog.

  “It has been,” said Iaachus.

  “Does the emperor confide in you?” asked Ortog.

  “He keeps few secrets from me,” said Iaachus.

  “And you from him?” asked Ortog.

  “You are concerned for your father,” said Iaachus.

  “Abrogastes, king of the Drisriaks, of the Alemanni,” said Ortog.

  “He who attempted to slay you?” asked Iaachus.

  “Who chose not to do so,” said Ortog.

  “He did war upon your secessionist tribe, the Ortungen,” said Iaachus, “defeating it, dissolving it.”

  “It is reduced, but in corners and secret places, it survives,” said Ortog.

  “He cast it from the Aatii,” said Iaachus.

  “He cannot cast it from the Alemanni,” said Ortog. “The Ortungen have Alemanni blood. One cannot cast out blood.”

  “You wish to kill him, for his sternness, his lack of understanding, for vengeance?” said Iaachus.

  “No,” said Ortog. “In his place I would have acted as he did.”

  “I do not understand,” said Iaachus.

  “Your emperor would understand,” said Ortog.

  “You respect the emperor?” said Iaachus.

  “Yes,” said Ortog.

  “I thought the Vandalii and the Aatii, or Alemanni, if you wish, are enemies,” said Iaachus.

  “Blood enemies,” said Ortog, “enemies to the death, but good enemies, great enemies, treasured enemies, worthy enemies, the best of enemies.”

  “I do not understand,” said Iaachus.

  “You have no tribe,” said Ortog.

  “I will tell you what I know of the action taken,” said Iaachus. “The emperor, anticipating your concern, has authorized certain individuals, such as myself, to do so. Your location was not known, nor what actions you might yourself be undertaking in this matter, and it was not known if, when, or how you might contact us. Now, late tonight, you have made your presence known, and I have received you.”

  “Speak,” said Ortog.

  “Please take a seat,” said Iaachus.

  “You are nervous?” said Ortog.

  “Who would not be,” said Iaachus, “in the presence of a lion?”

  Ortog seated himself, grasping the arms of the chair, across the wide, lacquered table from the Arbiter. He looked about himself, and seemed ready to spring to his feet.

  “You are safe,” said Iaachus.

  “Who knows what waits behind draperies, what might spring from floors?” said Ortog. “Who knows, in a house of this sort, a Telnarian palace, if walls might not open, disgorging shieldsmen?”

  “We are quite alone, your majesty,” said Iaachus.

  “Speak,” said Ortog.

  “When Abrogastes, the Drisriak, called the Far-Grasper, your father, disappeared,” said Iaachus, “it was speculated that he was betrayed into the hands of enemies by three men, Phidias, a freighter captain, and two of his subordinates, a Corelius and a Lysis, men who had enabled the raid by means of which he had carried off the princesses, Viviana and Alacida. We suspect, but do not know, that Abrogastes is now a prisoner of Sidonicus, the exarch of Telnar, that because of the dangers he posed to the ambitions and policies of the exarch. It is also speculated that he may still be alive, as, presumably, he would be of more value alive than dead, as, say, a hostage, a possible object of negotiation, a leader who, suitably persuaded, might have considerable influence amongst the Aatii, and such.”

  “If he were killed,” said Ortog, “a thousand ships would fly, a hundred imperial worlds would burn.”

  “His location is unknown,” said Iaachus. “The emperor hoped to locate him by means of one or more of the traitors, possibly still in Telnar. The only clue, if one may dignify it so, had to do with the attempted murder of a slave, one dangerous to their interests, one purchased on Varl Street. Perhaps, then, Phidias, and his cohorts, might be in the Varl district. A popular, local rendezvous in the area was a restaurant and brothel associated with the slaving house from which the slave had been purchased. The slave was placed in this establishment, in the guise of a brothel slave. She succeeded in identifying the traitors.”

  “Excellent!” cried Ortog, leaping to his feet, his eyes blazing, striking the table with a massive fist.

  “Phidias was killed,” said Iaachus. “Corelius and Lysis, possibly uneasy, possibly alarmed by the absence of their fellow conspirator, fled, but were soon taken into custody.”

  “Good!” said Ortog. “Let fire, the pincers and irons, the blades and tongs, the steel splinters, the scalding fluids be applied!”

  “The two were incarcerated separately, unable to communicate,” said Iaachus. “Each, individually, was assured that he had been implicated by, and betrayed by, Phidias, in return for his own life.”

  “They rushed then, in resentment and terror, to save themselves, to cooperate, to ingratiate themselves with their captors, to reveal the location of my father,” said Ortog.

  “The ruse failed,” said Iaachus, “perhaps in virtue of comradery, each refusing to believe that Phidias would betray them, or perhaps because they suspected Phidias was dead, as he had failed to rejoin them.”

  “So torture, swift and severe!” said Ortog.

  “I proceed,” said Iaachus. “Each, again, each again unknown to the other, was dealt with. Each was confronted with the prospect of pain. Lysis, perhaps in greater fear of speaking than of not speaking, resolved to resist. Corelius, on the other hand, at the sight of the irons and tongs, the glowing forge, shuddering, spoke quickly, clearly, and abundantly.”

  “Then my father is free!” exclaimed Ortog.

  “Men hurried to the designated place, a small, dismal warehouse on the docks of the Turning Serpent. We found chains, signs of occupancy, a dead guard, his neck broken, but not your father. He had been removed.”

  “How could it be?” asked Ortog.


  “Your father had doubtless been moved at least as soon as it was realized that Corelius and Lysis had been taken into custody. Indeed, the orders pertinent to his removal might have been issued as soon as it was realized they had been recognized at the Varl-Street Palace of Pleasure.”

  “By Kragon, god of war!” cried Ortog, clenching his fist.

  “There had clearly been a struggle,” said Iaachus. “A guard had been killed.”

  “To any hall,” said Ortog, “there is always more than one trail.”

  “Doubtless,” said Iaachus.

  “Interrogate the prisoners,” said Ortog. “Learn, by one means or another, who gives them fee. That will lead us to my father.”

  “It may be true,” said Iaachus, “that there is always more than one trail to a hall, but it is no less true that many trails do not lead to any hall. It seems that Corelius and Lysis were originally approached by unidentified, masked agents, and had, throughout the whole business, the intrigue and betrayal, dealings only with such agents. In short, neither, even if they wished to do so, could lead us to their mysterious, concealed principal.”

  “But you suspect?” said Ortog.

  “Certainly,” said Iaachus. “The principal is almost assuredly Sidonicus, the exarch of Telnar.”

  “Or another,” said Ortog.

  “Another?” said Iaachus.

  “Ingeld,” said Ortog, “who covets the high seat of the Drisriaks.”

  “Perhaps both,” said Iaachus.

  “There is another,” said Iaachus, “Hrothgar.”

  “Hrothgar sees only what is there to see,” said Ortog. “He does not see what is not there to see.”

  “Corelius and Lysis have been released,” said Iaachus.

  “Released?” said Ortog, incredulously. “Not slain by torture?”

  “No,” said Iaachus.

  “What madness is that?” asked Ortog.

  “Corelius begged to be kept in prison,” said Iaachus. “He had to be whipped into the street.”

  “You think, released, they will somehow lead us to my father?” asked Ortog.

  “No,” said Iaachus. “Your father has been moved. They will now have no better idea of his whereabouts than we.”

  “Why release them?” asked Ortog.

  “One of them revealed the location where Abrogastes was being held. Their principal will not know which. Both will deny they did so.”

  “But why release them?” pressed Ortog.

  “That they will be sought,” said Iaachus. “And that we may then seek the seekers.”

  “Why would they be sought?” asked Ortog.

  “To be killed, of course,” said Iaachus.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Your majesty,” said Iaachus, “you recall your interest in the palace library, which I found surprising?”

  “Surely,” said Otto.

  “I have had clerks address themselves to your inquiry, an examination of the shelves, correlated with the inventory lists.”

  “With what result?” asked Otto.

  “Several volumes are missing, as you surmised,” said Iaachus.

  “I suspected it would be so,” said Otto.

  “The library is commonly closed, sealed,” said Iaachus. “There is little call for its volumes.”

  “That is my understanding,” said Otto.

  “We do not even maintain an imperial librarian,” said Iaachus.

  “Why not?” asked Otto.

  “There is no need to do so,” said Iaachus, “as the library is unused; indeed, it is commonly sealed, its keys housed with dozens of other similarly sealed chambers, forgotten, neglected, and ignored.”

  “So many?” said Otto.

  “Yes,” said Iaachus.

  “Do you not find this of interest?” asked Otto.

  “The palace,” said Iaachus, “is a labyrinth, old, much of it formed long ago, by different generations, with different things in mind. Scarcely a third of it is used. There is little call to inquire into obscure rooms cluttered with cabinets of relics, with crates of brittle, yellow records, with boxes of dusty, unread volumes.”

  “But the library itself is large, and well-furnished?” asked Otto.

  “It is high-ceilinged, spacious, and impressive,” said Iaachus.

  “You have been there?” asked Otto.

  “Twice,” said Iaachus.

  “You said some volumes are missing,” said Otto.

  “As you speculated,” said Iaachus.

  “By whom were they withdrawn?” asked Otto. “Surely records are kept of such things.”

  “There is no record of usage,” said Iaachus.

  “Yet volumes are missing,” said Otto.

  “Stolen,” said Iaachus.

  “Books?” asked Otto.

  “Who is to account for thieves?” asked Iaachus. “Some steal jewels and gold, some steal horses and cattle, some steal women, others boots and hose, others darins, others, I suppose, books.”

  “To sell them?” said Otto.

  “Presumably,” said Iaachus. “Why else?”

  “It would be a bold thief, would it not,” asked Otto, “to practice his trade within the precincts of a palace?”

  “Or a foolish one,” said Iaachus.

  “Perhaps,” said Otto.

  “What, if I may ask,” said Iaachus, “aroused your curiosity in this matter?”

  “Nothing,” said Otto.

  “The matter of a handful of books missing from shelves seems to me of little interest,” said Iaachus. “It is peculiar, perhaps even annoying, but it is also trivial. Matters of state press. It is scarcely worth the attention of the emperor.”

  “Who has access to the library?” asked Otto.

  “Among others, yourself,” said Iaachus.

  “Do you think I am responsible for the disappearance of the missing books?” asked Otto.

  “I do not know,” said Iaachus. “But, were it the case, it might explain much. Why else would you initiate so anomalous an inquiry, seemingly so uncalled for and pointless, unless you knew what would be its outcome?”

  “I did not know its outcome,” said Otto.

  “Then, why?” asked Iaachus.

  “A whim, a caprice, a suspicion I have long entertained,” said Otto.

  “You did not remove the books, for some reason?” asked Iaachus.

  “I cannot read,” said Otto.

  “And, I take it,” said Iaachus, “you are not secretly peddling unwanted tomes in the street, pushing a cart, crying out, begging for a quarter darin, or so?”

  “No,” smiled Otto.

  “Imperial matters press,” said Iaachus. “May I speak of them?”

  “Of course,” said Otto.

  “You recall, of course,” said Iaachus, “that the exarch has been given access to the palace, over the past months, to instruct the empress mother in his particular faith.”

  “Yes,” said Otto. “You argued for such a permission.”

  “And for a reason,” said Iaachus.

  “It seems to me dangerous,” said Otto.

  “But a danger which, if my plan is successful, will turn the danger onto the exarch himself.”

  “Does the empress mother continue, from time to time, to receive mysterious custards in her quarters, which she sees as miracles, celebrating her continuing progress in Floonian studies?” asked Otto.

  “Yes,” said Iaachus.

  “And what does Sidonicus make of this?” asked Otto.

  “He spreads ambiguity about himself, like the petals of flowers,” said Iaachus. “He is baffled, but he wavers between encouraging the empress mother to accept the custards as miracles, which she is sure they are, to further ensnare her in his web of belief, and cautioning her not
to be disappointed, should their appearance turn out to have a more prosaic explanation. Too, interestingly, he seems terrified that the mysterious custards may actually be miraculous in nature, as that suggests that his faith might be true, rather than what he takes it to be, a well-contrived, profitable fraud. No wonder he is uneasy. Could he, in trying to lie, have unwittingly, by fearful accident, a terrifying coincidence, told the truth? How would the truth look upon its having been presented as a lie? Might not an actual god, Karch or another, be insulted if it found that it had been treated as a fabrication or invention? Might it not seek vengeance? Similarly, the last thing a fellow who pretends to raise ghosts wants to show up is an actual ghost.”

  “I gather,” said Otto, “that the exarch’s instruction of the empress mother is nearly complete.”

  “Yes,” said Iaachus. “I think she is soon to be initiated into the rites of Floonianism.”

  “There is a ceremony involved?” asked Otto.

  “Yes,” said Iaachus. “It involves being smudged with a certain oil, allegedly extracted from one pool or another on Zirus.”

  “Interesting,” said Otto.

  “There is no mention of this sort of thing in the earliest texts of Floonianism,” said Iaachus. “But new texts, as needed, seem to be discovered. Similarly, the earliest texts of Floonianism suggest that the “sitting at the table of Karch” is a lovely metaphor for love, contentment, and serenity, and has nothing to do with survival after death, going somewhere, avoiding work, enjoying mysterious banquets, and so on. Similarly, the koos seems to be life or consciousness itself, and, given Floon’s celebration of life in general, he seemed to believe that all living things, including bushes and trees, have koos, or a koos.”

  “That is very different from the Floonianism of the exarch, as I understand it,” said Otto.

  “Quite different,” said Iaachus. “What seems to be the original or primitive Floonianism is generally accounted blasphemous, even heretical, in several of the current versions of Floonianism.”

  “Which versions also regard one another as mistaken, blasphemous, heretical, or such?” said Otto.

  “I gather it is that way,” said Iaachus. “I, personally, know little about it.”