The Clocks of Iraz

by L. Sprague DeCamp

  "And the silly ass does it?"

  "Aye; although this suicide has taken place but once in the last century. All the other kings have perished in war, or by assassination, or from some common ill, ere the rope came into play."

  Holding his lanthorn up, Jorian walked a few steps along the dark tunnel in silence. Then he said:

  "By Thio's horns, you don't suppose that promise Sahmet exacted from me was to take the king's place in this ceremony?"

  "I know not, my son, but I fear she had some such scheme in mind."

  "There you are! I listen to your moral preachments on the virtues of continence and try to practise them; but the very gods conspire against my new-found virtue."

  "True, O Jorian. Little though I esteem fornication, I fear I must condone it this once."

  "Well, that's something. At least, I don't suppose Sahmet will turn into a gigantic serpent, as did the princess Yargali. Now, I can see why Sahmet might not find Ishbahar to her taste as a bedfellow. But why pick on me?"

  "You were to hand; she has seen you—or claims she has seen you—in her visions; and perhaps she finds you attractive."

  "If I'm attractive to her looking like this, she'll find me utterly ravishing when cleaned up. Well, I daresay I can hold up my end, in all senses of the phrase. We won't tell Estrildis about it and hope that, if she find out, she'll forgive me natheless."

  "Your secret is safe with me, my son."

  "Good. But why need the king anything so costly as this tunnel for his connubial visits? Why cannot he cross the Lyap in a boat, like everyone else?"

  Karadur shrugged. "Some say that King Hoshcha—who was not of the line of Juktar the Great and whose right to the throne was therefore questioned—was full of fancies about being assassinated as he rode through the streets. Others aver that he wished the tunnel as a means of escape from his palace in the event of revolution. In any case, he began the use of the tunnel for the Divine Marriage, and his successors have imitated him."

  "What finally happened to Hoshcha?"

  "After all his precautions—which included wearing a steel breastplate under his robes—he slipped in getting out of his bath and fractured his skull."

  At the head of the long, narrow flight of steps that ended Hoshcha's Tunnel, Jorian rapped four times on the heavy door. When the peephole opened, he held up Sahmet's ring.

  A bolt clanked and the door groaned open. There stood King Ishbahar in a dressing gown, without his wig. The lamplight shone on his egg-bald pate. A pair of guardsmen stood behind him; beyond these, servants hovered.

  "By Nubalyaga's cleft!" cried the king. "Jorian! Whatever befell you, my boy? Come in, come in! You, too, Doctor."

  They stepped into the king's dressing room, and Jorian told briefly what had happened to him and his companion since the start of the riot. A guardsman closed the door, which became merely one more panel in the wall. The handle of the bolt that secured it looked like a piece of gilded ornamentation.

  "You did the proper thing," said the king. "We shall order the arrest of those villains Borai and Yiyim. You two shall sup with us this even. But first, my dear Jorian, you must clean up. You look as if you had been fighting a dragon and getting the worst of it, heh heh. You shall have the use of our royal bathtub, no less!"

  "Your Majesty's consideration overwhelms me," said Jorian.

  "Stuff and nonsense, my boy! We are friends, not merely sovran and subject. Evvelik! Conduct these gentlemen to the bathroom and furnish them with the needfuls."

  The royal bathtub was a huge affair of burnished copper. As Jorian soaked and soaped, he murmured to Karadur, who was washing his face and hands:

  "O Karadur, is this king deemed a little queer?"

  "Nay; barring his fondness for the table—"

  "I mean, with a lust for boys or men in lieu of women."

  "Oh, ah I see. Nay again. Whereas that aberration is rife in Irazi, I think not that the charge has ever been laid against Ishbahar. When young, he had several wives, of whom all but two have died or been cast off; but I know of no other outlet for his lusts. Forsooth, methinks his only present passion is for rare victuals. Why?"

  "Why else should he seek to make a bosom friend and confidant of a nobody—a mere foreign artisan—like me? It makes no sense."

  "Perchance he simply likes you, my son. Or again, perchance it is concerned with Sahmet's plans for you."

  "Oh. We must look further into this matter. And by the bye, meseems this tub were an admirable flying vehicle for our foray into Xylar. If we kept the weight well down in it, 'twere stabler than the common flying carpet or broomstick."

  Karadur shook his head dubiously. "It would take a mighty demon to loft such a weight, and demons resist being imprisoned in copper or silver, since they know it is difficult for them to escape therefrom."

  "Why not try Gorax, whom you keep mewed up in that ring? He's the strongest demon I know of."

  "Alas, Gorax owes me but one more labor. Then he will be free to return to his own plane. Hence I dare not release him save for the direst need."

  "I should have thought that being chased by that mob this afternoon were a case of direst need."

  "True; but so scattered were my old wits that I never thought of Gorax at all."

  Over one of King Ishbahar's colossal repasts, Jorian asked: "How went the riots, Your Majesty?"

  "Luckily for Iraz, the rain waxed so heavy that it dispersed the factionists. Hence only a few score were slain and a few houses looted and burnt. This factiousness is a dreadful thing, but we know not how to end it. Have some of these oysters, which have come all the way from the coast of Shven, packed in ice."

  "Why not simply stop the races, sire?"

  "Ah, one of our predecessors—Huirpalam the Second, as we recall— tried that. Then the two factions united to revolt, drag poor Huirpalam to the Hippodrome, and tear him to pieces—a small piece at a time. We would not invite a similar fate, heh heh."

  "If you will pardon your servant's saying so, methinks Your Majesty will have to face these factions down, soon or late. But that is Your Majesty's concern. Tell me, sire, what is this about Madam Sahmet's wishing me to take part in a service to the moon goddess?"

  The king looked startled. "She has told you already? One moment." He signed to everybody present save Jorian and Karadur—even the bodyguards and the food taster—to leave the chamber. Then he said, barely above a whisper: "Know you the fate of a futterless king in Penembei?"

  "I have been told of it, sire."

  "It is true." The king pointed to a massive bracket overhead, whence hung a lamp. "All too true. They take away that lamp, and we are supposed to toss the rope over yon gallows. We stand on a table, make fast the knot, and overset the table—ugh! Thus they get rid of an unwanted monarch without laying impious hands on his sacred person."

  "Is Your Majesty finding his sacerdotal duties—ah—"

  "Arduous? Have we your solemn oath of secrecy?"

  Jorian and Karadur both swore. Ishbahar went on: "Our life is in your hands. We would not entrust it to you gentlemen, save that desperate conditions demand desperate remedies. For several months, now, our lady Sahmet has been dissatisfied with our performance; and forsooth, we had as lief abandon such games, since our girth imposes mechanical difficulties upon the coital process, and the fires of youth have long since burnt low.

  "So, you see, our life is already in the hands of Madam Sahmet. She has but to tell her nominal husband, High Priest Chaluish, and he will pay us a visit with the sacred rope. She refrains for two reasons: Imprimus, that she hates High Priest Chaluish and would do nought to favor him; secundus, that I have promised her a lusty springald with an iron yard as my surrogate, an she will keep tacit about my limitations. And you shall be he."

  Jorian: "I trust I shall prove worthy of the honor. But we once had a king in Kortoli who faced a similar predicament."

  'Tell us, dear boy."

  "This was King Finjanius, who reigned just after the
Dark Age following the fall of Old Novaria to nomadic invaders from Shven. The Kortolian rule was that, when the king was no longer for any reason deemed worthy to rule, the chief priests of the kingdom called upon him to present him with a goblet of poison to drink. If he drank not, they said, the magical nexus betwixt him and his land would be broken, and the crops would wither and the people starve.

  "Now, Finjanius was sent to the Academy at Othomae for his higher education. The Academy was then a new institution with but a handful of professors—none of the ivy-clad buildings it now boasts. In the Academy, Finjanius absorbed what were then deemed heretical 'modern' ideas. Shortly after his return from Othomae, he succeeded to the throne when his uncle, the old king, died.

  "For a year or so, Finjanius ran the affairs of Kortoli according to his best lights. Being young, he had little reverence for tradition and introduced many novelties, such as no longer requiring subjects to knock their heads on the ground nine times in approaching him, or no longer forbidding them to speak to him unless he spoke first. This last rule had nearly lost him a military campaign against Aussar, when none of his officers durst warn him of an ambush.

  "Finjanius it was who introduced the public bath to Kortoli and encouraged all the people, regardless of age, sex, or rank, to mingle freely in these establishments. Moreover, he patronized them himself and did not scruple to indulge in vulgar horseplay with his subjects, splashing and ducking them and being splashed and ducked in turn.

  "Such conduct made him popular with the commons but gravely offended the more conservative elements. These at length determined that Finjanius needs must go. Since the chief priests also belonged to the leading and most tradition-bound families, a consensus was soon obtained. Presently, a delegation of priests waited upon the king with the fatal draft.

  " 'Oho!' quotha, 'what is this?'

  " The gods,' said the high priest of Zevatas, 'have decided that Your Majesty is no longer worthy to rule.'

  " 'How know you that, sirrah?' said Finjanius.

  " They have informed us in visions and dreams, sire,' replied the priest. 'They demand the life of the chiefest man of the kingdom, lest they loose their wrath upon the land.'

  " 'So they crave the chiefest life, eh?' said the king. He counted the priests and found that there were eight in the party. 'Now, whereas I am doubtless the chief man in Kortoli, you holy fathers are also not without standing. Would you not agree, messires?'

  " 'Aye, sire; else we were not qualified to pass the gods' commands on to you.'

  " 'In sooth, let us suppose that the life of one of you is worth—ah— let us say, one eighth of mine. That were plausible, were it not?'

  " 'Aye, milord king,' said the priest.

  " Then,' said Finjanius, 'an the gods desire the chiefest We, they should be just as well satisfied with eight lives, each worth one eighth of mine. Ho, guards! Seize me these eight gentlemen and hang them forthwith!'

  "And so it was done. Thereafter none durst broach such a proposal to the king again, and hence the custom fell into abeyance."

  King Ishbahar said: "Do you propose, dear Jorian, that we adopt a course like unto your king's?"

  "That is up to Your Majesty. It has been done; and what men have done, men can do again." Jorian turned to Karadur. "Is that not one of the proverbs of your Mulvanian sage, what is his name?"

  "Cidam," said Karadur.

  The king shuddered, his chins quivering. "Alas! Would—would that we had the hardihood to essay such an enterprise." A pair of tears trickled down his fat cheeks. "But we could not defy tradition. We fear we are not of the stuff of your Finjanius." The king burst into sobs and covered his face with his hands.

  "Your Majesty!" said Karadur. "An your servitors and guardsmen return and find you weeping, they will think we have entreated you ill and slay us."

  The king wiped his face with his napkin and smiled through his tears. "Let us forget our griefs, then. Have some more of this Vindine wine! Master Jorian, we trust you are an entire man, with the usual lusts and faculties?"

  "Aye, sire."

  "Then you should not find the task confronting you arduous or disagreeable. Whilst a trifle older than you, Sahmet is neither unattractive nor cold. Neither. Remember, it is not just your prick that you pleasure, but our royal neck, as well, that you save. We will have Herekit make you out a commission as Friend of the King forthwith, for such you will be in a most literal way."

  "I thank Your Majesty," said Jorian. "When does this sacred orgy take place?"

  "At the next full moon, eleven nights hence. Let us drink to your success. May you give Her Sanctity a night she shall remember to her grave!"

  Chapter Six

  THE GOLEM GENERAL

  NEXT MORNING, JORIAN WENT TO THE TOWER OF KUMAshar to inspect his clocks. He was pleased to find that yesterday's disturbances had not reached the tower. Then he made his way through the bustling crowds to the House of Learning.

  Knowing him by now, the sentries admitted him without question. As he walked through the halls, he lingered at the doors of several laboratories where experiments were in progress. In one, engineers of the School of Matter tinkered with a machine designed to run on the power from boiling water. The project was old, but none had yet succeeded in making the contraption do any useful work. In another, technicians worked on a telescope, like the ordinary spyglass but much larger, wherewith they hoped to investigate the heavenly bodies.

  Other chambers were in use by wizards of the School of Spirit. In one, three such sages sought to train a demon from the tenth plane, a creature of low intelligence, to obey simple commands. In another, a wizard-physician experimented with a spell to cure plague; his subjects were condemned criminals who had volunteered for the task on the promise of freedom if they survived.

  Besides these activities, many rooms stood empty. As a result of the decline of the kings' financial support of the House of Learning, the size of its personnel and the scale of its projects had greatly shrunk in recent decades.

  "At least," said Jorian, seated in the director's office, "yesterday's misadventures finally led you to get a new turban. That old one was getting so decrepit that I expected to find mice nesting in it." He had had his own hair cut short to bandage the wounds on his scalp.

  "Contemn not such old things, my son," said Karadur. "That turban had acquired some small magical potential, merely by being in the vicinity when so many fell incantations were uttered and spells were cast. Do your clocks run harmoniously?"

  "As regularly as the heavenly bodies. I've just come from the Tower. There was never any real problem, had your predecessor hired a competent mechanic instead of a fumbler. My father did a good, workmanlike job, as anyone who knew him could have told you.

  "What I've come for, howsomever, is not the state of the clocks but the state of Jorian of Ardamai. Have you a means for our raid into Xylar?"

  "Gods of Mulvan, Jorian, be not so hasty! Here we have barely escaped with our lives from riot and insurrection; we have traversed the most secret passageway in the kingdom; we have become embroiled in the conflict amongst the king, Madam Sahmet, and High Priest Chaluish—"

  "All the more reason for pressing on. What's Chaluish like?"

  "A little gray-haired man—nobody whom one would look at twice. He was in that parade of priests yesterday, and I have encountered him at courtly functions. But—"

  "I have the Flying Fish tied up in a private dock for a small monthly rental, but I fear she'd prove too slow if we really had to run for it. So we had better prepare some swifter magical vehicle—"

  "My son, I have never said that I would accompany you on your mission of abduction. Much though I esteem the lady Estrildis, I cannot desert a responsible post for petty personal—"

  "Petty!" barked Jorian. "I'll have you know—"

  "Now, now, my son, I meant no offense. But you have seen how this kingdom totters along, and I—unworthy though I be—am in a position to lend it a little stability and rationalit
y. It were irresponsible—"

  "I quote," growled Jorian: " 'So convenient a thing it is to be a reasoning being, for it enables one to think up a plausible reason for whatever one wishes to do.'"

  "The wise Cidam?"

  "Nay; our home-grown Novarian philosopher Achaemo. But, my reverend old spooker, my task needs at least two persons."

  "Take Zerlik," said Karadur. "The lad will be delighted."

  "What, and have to wipe that idiot's nose at every step? No, thank you! He'd do something silly at the critical moment, such as challenging the captain of the guard to a duel just when I was trying to hoist Estrildis out undetected."

  "At least, he is reasonably strong and agile. I am neither, nor am I any longer up to such desperate adventures. Another journey like ours around the Inner Sea would terminate this incarnation for me."

  "You can still cast a dire spell, which Zerlik cannot. But let's leave the question of personnel for the nonce to discuss the vehicle. How about that royal copper bathtub?"

  Karadur wagged his head. "Alas, I see no prospect of obtaining it for your purpose. Even supposing that I could persuade the king to lend it—"

  "Build another like it, then."

  "That were too costly. It would come to hundreds of royals, and I have no funds in this year's appropriation to cover it.

  "Furthermore, you appear not to realize the practical difficulties. It would require months of the most puissant sorcery to entrap our demon and compel him to our will. For such an enterprise, my best men were Goelnush, Luekuz, and Firaven, but they are fully occupied with keeping Hoshcha's Tunnel dry. The other sorcerers at my command are all less competent. Old Oinash, for ensample, is but a doddery old time-server awaiting his pension. Barch, a younger man, is gifted but careless. Twice he has barely escaped sudden death at the claws of a hostile demon he had evoked, through some silly error in his pentacle; but he never seems to learn. As for Yanmik—"

  "Why not put these dimmer flames on the tunnel—which must now be mere routine—to release your best men for my spell?"