The Promise of the Child

by Tom Toner

  “About you?” Envoy grinned, eyes flicking to Lycaste’s stomach. “I was at the show trial. That injury you sustained was clearly fatal. I’d already written to tell the king’s secretaries that he would be disappointed, and had to hastily recall the letter.” He reached out slowly, hesitantly, towards Lycaste’s scar. “It appears you have a guardian angel. They make themselves known only if it is their desire, never by accident. Was he among us, then, at the trial?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps he’s here now.”

  Envoy assumed an expression of mock fear, glancing about the garden. His face softened to a smile. “You won’t need him here.”

  Lycaste glowered at him. “You give me your word?”

  Envoy reached to place a hand on his arm. “You are absolved, my dear fellow. Didn’t you realise? When the king requests one’s presence, puny Second noblemen see to it that they obey. That was Penstemon’s mistake, but you taught him better than I could, didn’t you?” He laughed.

  Lycaste laughed, too, his tension seeping away. He’d never have imagined it possible, that the ordeal could somehow end this way. “I was sick of people telling me what to do.”

  “There comes a time, doesn’t there, when one puts one’s foot down,” the Firstling agreed, smiling up at him. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. They are a nasty little family, those Berenzargols. Too much influence for such an ignorant bunch.”

  He stretched again, looking out to the embassy. “And now I have to leave you for a little while. The lodge where you slept this morning is yours until your departure. It’s been a pleasure, Lycaste. I’m glad to say, after meeting you, that the interest shown in you by the First is justified.” He smiled toothily. “Would you come up to the embassy dining room for main supper tonight?”

  Lycaste shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”

  “I find you too fascinating to leave to dawdle in the grounds. Please, you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Fine.”

  “Good. I’ll come and collect you end of third Quarter.”

  “Farewell, Envoy.”

  “Until then, Lycaste.”

  Normally people said dusk. Dusk was a perfectly reasonable and unambiguous measure of the Quarter. It was still daylight when Envoy came for Lycaste, and he wasn’t at all hungry yet. Together they walked, chatting politely, through the dimming woodland to a path that flanked the embassy, crossing a bridge over a clear stream and entering the building through a high, open arch.

  Lycaste caressed his beard as they walked beneath the arch, feeling how soft his usually wiry hair had become. The necessarium in his lodge was extraordinary, equipped with pools of scented water and coloured oils and a retinue of servants on hand to wash and dry him. Lycaste had shrugged them off at first, unnerved by the attention, but had gradually relaxed.

  Envoy watched him stroking his beard. “Did you try the fragrances? I smell nothing on you.”

  “Fragrances?”

  “In the room adjoining the water-chamber, on one of the shelves—a row of bottles. They are scents, aphrodisiacs and such.”

  Lycaste had no idea what aphrodisiacs were. “No. I’m happy just to be so clean.”

  For much of the day he’d been wary of dropping his guard in the luxurious household where he was staying, looking up sharply whenever a serving bird entered, expecting to see one of his many enemies come for their revenge. How times had changed; he’d once been shocked to hear that Elcholtzia possessed locks. To calm himself, Lycaste had sifted through the library of books the lodge offered. New things moved on metal pages so thin they were nothing but rectangular shavings, bendy to the touch. If he turned his head and concentrated hard he could just make out quiet whispers coming from somewhere in the metal, almost inaudible in the oldest of them.

  “Supper’s nearly ready—would you like a drink first?” asked Envoy. They had entered a naturally lit, high-ceilinged reception room elaborately crusted with dangling stalactites of sculpted stone that looked out over a view of the waterways of the Second. The grey-brown clouds above the far mountains were daubed scarlet where the sun hit them, and both men stopped to look. Lycaste accepted a drink without noticing, touching the bitter liquid to his lips with a nod. To his right stood a massive globe half his height. He wandered over to it, glancing at the Firstling to make sure it was all right to touch.

  “Can you see where we are?” his host asked from across the chamber, coming to examine it, too. Lycaste ran his fingers with exploratory hesitation over the green and gold painted surface, looking in vain for his home coast. He ducked down to one side, eyes following the contours of the mountains, finding it hidden by his knee. The Nostrum Provinces. North-west across the continent lay the broken spear-tip of land they stood in now, smashed into westward-drifting islands. Lycaste stood back, trying to take in the whole thing. Over his head the land changed as embossed and gold-tipped mountains rose beneath his fingers, leading into a continent of strange colours and names. Its edges were blurred and hardly marked, save for an S-shaped appendage almost on the other side of the world.

  “It’s so big,” he whispered, scanning the scrolls of city names and tiny painted capillaries of river systems.

  “I can’t move it,” said Envoy, “not even with both hands.”

  Lycaste spread his arms, hands flat against continent and ocean, and pushed as the Firstling stood back to watch. Very slowly the sphere turned. Parts of the world he knew nothing about slid by beneath his elbow. A crescent of land appeared as the globe stopped, multiple round bite marks like craters decorating its edges.

  “Ban-klosh,” Lycaste read, bending once more to follow it south. “Have you been here?”

  “No, no. Never.”

  He walked back around to locate the First and Second. “Have you travelled much?”

  Envoy gulped his drink and went to get another from the table. “The East is another world. Lyonothamnine ambassadors who travel there don’t return. Some flippantly suggest that’s because it’s a paradise, but there are certainly more morbid conclusions one might draw.”

  A bell sounded in a far room. Lycaste straightened, wondering with mild alarm if anyone else would be joining them. Envoy clapped his hands together excitedly. “Supper.”

  Whoever or whatever had rung the bell wasn’t present when they arrived at the richly laid table. Lycaste stood by it until Envoy had chosen a seat and offered the one at his side.

  “So that we can talk without having to raise our voices. I hate raised voices, don’t you?”

  “It’s an awfully big table for just the two of us,” said Lycaste, looking around nervously. He thought he saw a shadow move in a doorway.

  “That’s the butlers. First laws demand that they remain unseen while we eat. For privacy. Start, go on.”

  Lycaste looked down at a bewildering selection of ceramic cutlery arranged in a circle around his plate. Even to a Melius accustomed to six meals a day, there appeared to be an unnecessary amount of everything, including napkins. He took two and spread them on his knees, which banged up against the underside of the gilded table. Envoy opened a case by his glass, taking out a fragrant red stick and offering one to Lycaste. “Perfumed spitette?”

  “I’m sorry?” He took a stick and sniffed it, trying to crumble it in his palm.

  “No no, here.” Envoy reached across with a candle, lighting the end. He showed Lycaste what to do, puffing some smoke in his direction. It smelled delicious.

  Lycaste stuck it in his mouth, waiting for something to happen while he watched the tip burn with crossed eyes. He took a breath experimentally, feeling the fragrance tickle his throat and lungs.

  “I like this,” he said through his teeth.

  “They heighten the senses, perfect before a large supper.”

  Lycaste continued to puff away as he was poured another drink, watching the alcohol fill the goblet. It was almost, but not exactly, the same shade of blue as Jasione’s colour, the one she’d shown him. He stared at it for what felt like
a very long time.

  “Try it,” said Envoy, noticing his hesitation. Lycaste took a sip and grunted. It was very strong.

  “No, you drink it all in one go. Like this.” The man slugged it back and screwed his eyes shut animatedly.

  Lycaste smiled and did the same, enjoying the familiar burn as the alcohol touched his throat and warmed his stomach. He put the stick back into his mouth and let the flavours combine, forcing his thoughts away from the course they were taking.

  Envoy was a lightweight. He began to giggle as they talked of earthly things: the increasing storms and rains, the foetid smell of overripe bloodfruit. Lycaste matched the Firstling’s drinking, feeling more at ease, remembering that Impatiens used to claim he could drink the most because he was the biggest of them. A pang of regret chimed inside him when he thought of his old friends. At least Sotiris had said they would be protected, whatever happened.

  Envoy circled back, as Lycaste knew he would, to the topic of Amaranthine visitations. As they ate course after course of food prepared in every conceivable style and fashion, not all to his liking but some very delicious, Lycaste insisted the Firstling tell his own tale of his dealings with the Immortal, still not ready to reveal too much.

  “It is a rite of passage, of sorts, for any First man to be visited, or at least to suggest that they have been visited—I’m not sure how truthful all the accounts are. Some don’t ever receive an audience and are darkly respected for their honesty if nothing else. I was visited, I assure you. Anyway—” he waved his hands together, as if expecting Lycaste to interrupt, “—it is an accepted truth that the men of the First are closer in form and mind to the Immortals than any other species of people, and as such we have a special bond with them, you see. They work with us, help us, guide us. The world—this world—is sacred to them, you understand, the jewel of their Firmament—their name for the heavens—and our rule is accepted. Through them we learn about the Satrapies beyond our own, the solar system and such, and the further stars they call their homes.” He paused, his train of thought lost. “Where was I?”

  “Your visit.”

  “My visit. Yes. You know they can telegraph themselves?”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  Envoy paused, staring at his finger as it tapped the tablecloth. “Have you not wondered, Lycaste, how your friend can do what he does—where his magic comes from?”

  Lycaste shrugged, waiting expectantly.

  “They are so old, you see, that their minds have changed—it would happen to all of us if we lived long enough, apparently.” He grinned, pointed teeth twinkling in the candlelight. “The hemispheres of the thinking organs, apparently, are not naturally precocious at magical things, but become talented if left to stew for thousands upon thousands of years. It was something they only discovered when they started getting old enough. Teleportation, telekinesis, pyrokinesis, all that sort of thing.” His childish face grew mischievous as he stretched to peer at Lycaste’s stomach. “The case in point being your little accident, Lycaste. With age comes power. Our guardians cannot be challenged, that is what I’m saying, and that is why I believe our position in this frightful war is unimpeachable.”

  “You think they’re on your side in this?”

  The Firstling hiccupped into his drink. “Of course. They are at the king’s ear, you may depend on it.”

  Lycaste couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “The Immortals support the First?”

  “Of course. They are our direct ancestors, we their children.” The Firstling took another drink, looking immensely pleased with himself.

  Lycaste considered the man dubiously, noticing little resemblance between him and Sotiris besides the Firstling’s willowy figure. “Envoy,” he said tentatively, “can I ask you something?”

  “Please do.”

  “Do you hate Cherries?”

  Envoy regarded him, mouth slightly open, spiked tips of his teeth glimmering in the gloom. He moved slowly closer. “Of course I don’t, Lycaste. How could you think such a thing? Look.” He scowled with concentration, fighting through his drunkenness. “Some things must happen, people must be appeased. Do you understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “These decisions are never personal. It is regrettable, the situation you find yourself in.” He looked up at Lycaste tenderly. “I am very taken with you, you know.”

  Another bell rang, startling them both. Dessert was ready.

  “This is very special, now,” said Envoy, rising from his seat and placing a warm hand on Lycaste’s shoulder. “Excuse me.”

  Lycaste waited, sipping wine and looking up at the ceiling while he thought on what the Firstling had said. The ceiling’s minutiae were carved to very exact standards, as if by a shaped template and not guiding hands. He let his eyes skirt the beautiful accumulation of shapes dreamily. Precision was attainable in growthstone, but not a goal. Perhaps this wasn’t growthstone at all, but something even more sophisticated.

  Envoy returned and placed a large plate in front of him. On it was a subdued-looking, thoroughly alive bird. It glanced at Lycaste in recognition. One of the Glorious Birds that had captured him in the Utopia.

  Lycaste stared at it. “I know this bird, Envoy.”

  “Yes. If I’m not mistaken, it tried to remove your eyes.”

  Lycaste pulled his head back, remembering.

  “The First requires you whole,” Envoy said, sliding a curved knife from the tablecloth. The bird looked at Envoy with bland acceptance as the Firstling sawed into a shaved area in the bright plumage at its rear. Lycaste closed his eyes and set his drink down.

  “I didn’t ask for this, Envoy,” he muttered, turning his head away.

  “This bird was bred for the Firsts’ table, Lycaste. All of them were. Do not fear—it is an honour for them.” He took a ceramic fork with two long tines and removed the sliver of pink, bloody meat, holding it towards Lycaste’s plate. “Try some. Nothing compares to mature, living flesh.”

  Lycaste winced. “Why doesn’t it make a sound?”

  “Would you prefer that it did?” Envoy took the piece for himself. “This isn’t a test, Lycaste, you don’t have to try it. But you’d be missing out.”

  Lycaste watched the bleeding bird with fascination. It looked sleepy. He reached out slowly with his fork and snagged a small piece from the cut, pulling it free. Keeping his wine close to hand, he put it in his mouth, tasting blood and fat, slippery like fish. It was fragrant, as if flavoured by all the fruit it had eaten in its life. Living flesh.

  Envoy watched him closely, passing him a new wine. “Try this with it.”

  Lycaste took the cup, suddenly realising what was in his mouth and wanting to be rid of it. He fought a gag and drank deeply, finishing his host’s wine, then sat very still until he was sure it would all stay down.

  The Firstling cut away a few more pieces until the bird’s eyes closed completely. “It’s enough for me that you tried it, thank you. You need not eat any more.” He draped a white silk napkin over the bird, shrouding it entirely, and pushed the platter away from them.

  Lycaste took a large drink and pulled his eyes from the shroud, which had begun to move again slightly. “What happens to me after the king has seen me, Envoy? What then? Will I be allowed to go home?”

  Envoy fell silent, staring into the darkness of his wine. “I was afraid you’d ask that, simply because I don’t know the answer. It may be that you can; the boy-king’s attention span is … fickle, at best. But your fame will keep you in the public eye well past that time. You are as free as you may ever be, Lycaste. Learn to embrace it, enjoy your state. From now on you’re going to find life a lot more comfortable.”

  Lycaste could hear his new self as it phrased the question, a ghostly future image of a man not so cursed by shyness settling in the same chair he sat in now. “Perhaps I’d refuse. You never know.”

  Envoy’s smile returned. “Well now, that would be even more unwise than murdering
a Plenipotentiary, so we mustn’t speak of it. I beg you to trust me in this, Lycaste. I am a sincere man.” He refilled Lycaste’s cup with the diminishing wine and pre-emptively plucked the stopper from another decorative jug. “This is good, isn’t it?”

  Lycaste looked around him and out into the night, suddenly beginning to giggle. Envoy’s smile broadened. He slid to the seat closest to Lycaste and filled a couple of fresh cups, adding something from a reflective bowl near the centre of the table. Lycaste looked at the purple leaf bobbing in the pale drink, wisps of strong colour leaching from it, and bellowed laughter. They put the drinks to their mouths in unison and sipped. What would his old friends think of him now? Worldly wise and supping mind-altering substances with a powerful man of the First; Impatiens would be climbing the walls with jealousy.

  Envoy stood groggily and held a finger up with mock dramatics, leaving the room. Suddenly music began to drift in, as if a hundred voices had been waiting next door for his command. He returned and moved slowly about the room, dimming lights with a languidly twirled finger.

  “Your looks, Lycaste,” he said abruptly as he came near. “Do they make people jealous?”

  Lycaste thought about the question groggily, wanting to get up and dance. “Yes. No. I’m not very good at … reading people.”

  Envoy sat down again, his face very close to Lycaste’s, eyes searching his. “Do people treat you unfairly sometimes? As if you have been gifted with a natural talent, something they don’t have?”

  “I suppose. Sometimes.”

  “There you are, then. But it is not always a gift, is it?”

  “Never.” Lycaste shook his head and frowned as the man placed a hand on his thigh.

  “I wish you could spend more time here, with me, Lycaste.”

  He stared at the man. The drug was taking effect, he knew, but he found himself wanting to agree. The room drooped and sagged, its lights dimming even more. It felt like they were in a quiet corner of a crowded space, surrounded by revellers.

  “Aren’t you happy here?” His friend’s eyes grew large, beautiful.