The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library

by Frederick Kirchhoff

  “All that is true, but I didn’t want to leave my granddaughter alone at the portal. While we were speaking in your study upstairs, two boys tried to enter. They told Ellen they’d heard that the palace was empty and so they’d come to take a look. Can you imagine such impudence? They thought they could wander at will through the Imperial Palace! Fortunately, the Foresters were nearby, and when they came to support Ellen, the boys fled. That’s why I thought it best to leave one of them with her—in case the boys come back. She’d die for Your Majesty, despite her years, but what could she do against two boys even? Actually, it was the Forester’s idea. He didn’t want to leave her alone either.”

  “But why didn’t you simply bar the door?”

  “Your Majesty, that door is never barred during the day. The others are closed or open, as need be, but the South Portal is always open from dawn to dusk. I didn’t presume to change the rules.”

  “But, Lawrence, that was when we had a hundred men guarding the three entrances. You don’t have to be responsible for changing anything, because things have already changed. But you needn’t worry. Falco has sent someone to bar the portal—I thought he’d find you there, but you must have been too quick for him. In any case, he’ll bring your granddaughter here, along with the other person you speak of.”

  “David—the other person is my brother David,” Zoë explained.

  “Ah, so you have another brother as well. That’s good. I shall be pleased to meet him.”

  Lawrence smiled.

  “It’s wonderful to see you taking command.”

  “You see,” the Emperor told them, “in his polite way he means to tell me that I haven’t been in command. And of course he’s right—although now it’s probably too late.”

  “It is not too late, Your Highness,” Jon told him. “Saving the library will be a first step.”

  “A first step to what?”

  “To the recovery of your empire.”

  “I don’t see.”

  Had he forgotten already?

  “The library contains knowledge, and knowledge will ultimately defeat the Chosen. In the long run, the lies of religion cannot overcome the power of truth.”

  Jon doubted that was true; he’d seen evidence that, given a choice, people often prefer falsehood to reality. But the Emperor accepted his words at face value.

  “You’re right. Thank you for reminding me.”

  “And you said you knew where the library would be safe,” Jon added.

  “Yes, I think so. But there’s still the problem of getting it there. The place I have in mind is a considerable distance from the Imperial City. West House we call it—I told you that, didn’t I?—although there’s nothing you’d call a house there.”

  “There must be a way, your Highness. There must be a way.” Zoë spoke with intensity. “Jon is right. The Empire isn’t a building; it’s knowledge. That’s what you’ve always known, and that’s why you’re the man selected to lead us at this moment, when military force has failed.”

  “Yes, there must be a way,” the Emperor repeated softly, as if he were speaking to himself.

  ▲

  As soon as David and Ellen reached the kitchen, Falco and an assistant began carrying plates to the table. Falco waited on the Emperor and Zoë, whom he’d decided the honored guest, while the assistant served the others. He was a man in his twenties, with curly jet-black hair, brown skin, and a gold ring in his right ear. At first Jon thought him ugly, but then, observing the fineness of his features, he changed his mind. He was simply handsome in a way different from anyone Jon had seen before. And, at the same time, utterly inscrutable. Jon tried to catch his eye, but, while he smiled at the others, he seemed intent on ignoring Jon. Had he picked up Jon’s initial reaction and now held it against him?

  “I apologize for such humble fare,” Falco said, as he placed a dish before Zoë. “But His Imperial Highness instructed a quick preparation. Still, Marekko and I are honored to serve you.”

  So that was his name. “Marekko”—a name as strange as his face. Yet what Marekko had placed before Jon was the most delicious food he’d ever tasted—a spicy ragout of vegetables and meat that unfolded one layer of flavor after another. Alice’s mother was a good cook, but nothing like this. When Marekko offered him a second helping, Jon accepted it gladly and wondered what it would feel like to have a ring in his own ear.

  “If only we had wagons,” the Emperor said. “But the deserters took everything.”

  “Excuse me, Your Highness,” Falco said. “I do not mean to contradict you—but the traitors did not take everything.”

  “What’s left?”

  “You forget the farm. There’s a farm wagon here even now, and another one brought a load this morning. It has returned, but we know where we can find it. And other wagons remain at the farm, including the great wagon we use to bring logs, as well as the carts for hauling rubbish.”

  “Are there horses to draw them?” the Emperor asked excitedly.

  “Not all at the same time—but some. And the oxen we use with the great wagon are also at the farm. Unless . . .”

  “Unless the Chosen have gotten there first?”

  “That was my thought. But it’s not likely. They’re coming from the other direction, so I’m certain that the draught animals are still at the farm, and that the way to the West Gate remains clear.”

  “How soon can you get the wagons here?”

  “Two hours—three at the most.”

  The Emperor turned to Lawrence.

  “You know the great wagon?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “I think the great wagon and two smaller wagons would be enough for our purposes. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, Sire. The three should do it.”

  “If we use oxen to pull the great wagon, are there horses enough for the other two?” the Emperor asked Falco.

  “More than enough.”

  “Then send for all three at once.”

  “As you command, Sire.”

  Falco walked over and spoke to a man and a woman, who immediately left through the open door.

  The Emperor rose from the table.

  “We have to begin bringing the books from the library, and that will be a huge task. Falco, how many of your staff can you spare?”

  “All that you need, Your Majesty. We are at your command.”

  Falco clapped his hands, and men and women came running. Some had been outside; others came from a door beyond the boiler. Jon counted twenty-three—plus Falco and the two who had left for the wagons.

  “And there are more of us at the farm, your Imperial Highness—a good eight. Tell us what to do, and we’ll do it.”

  ▲

  No direct route led to the kitchen courtyard from the library, which occupied one of the highest rooms in another wing of the palace; and stairs and corridors lengthened the distance. Although everyone had joined in, it was dusk when they finished loading the three wagons. The books were different sizes, and that meant it was often difficult to carry more than two or three at a time, and many were very old, with bindings that required care. Jon remembered one thick volume with a faded green cover ornamented with dragonflies, as well as a book written in curvilinear characters that seemed as much an art as a language. When Lawrence handed it to him, he’d asked him what the book was about, but all the Librarian could say was that the volume had been added to the collection centuries ago with the designation “Natural History of the Islands.” No one could decipher the script—and it was likely that no one in Kar had ever possessed that skill. So what islands they were and what plants and animals flourished there remained undeterminable. And this wasn’t the only book set down in what appeared to be a forgotten language. Three similar books, smaller and less opulently bound, sat next to it on the shelf, but Jon had no time to examine them.

  Once all of the books had been carried to the courtyard, Lawrence came down to supervise their loading. He ordered the wagon bottom
s lined with two thickness of waxed canvas and personally wrapped the more delicate books in kitchen linen, stuffing the cracks between them with dry straw to prevent damage. He was an old man and when Jon first saw him he’d seemed weary and even a bit silly—but he threw himself into this work with gusto.

  In the beginning, the Emperor himself had carried several loads of books downstairs. But then, asking Jon and Zoë to help him, he’d led them to a different part of the palace, where they’d found arms and blankets and clothing, which they brought back through a maze of hallways in a succession of trips.

  “My kitchen staff will have to dress differently,” he explained. “And we may need weapons. Who knows what lies before us? And I must dress differently as well. No one should be able to identify me as an emperor.”

  He’d also brought a wooden chest that it took all three of them to bear downstairs—what was in it, he hadn’t said—along with papers from his study, and, of course, the books and map rolls.

  Once the books were loaded, each member of the staff added his or her own bundle of belongings. Then Falco covered everything with two layers of canvas “in case it rains,” and then with blankets and bedding, pots and pans from the kitchen, half a dozen bottles of brandy, and even an old chair to create the appearance of household odds and ends. In addition, provisions had to be packed. While most had been helping with the library, two women had been baking disk after disk of flatbread, and these, along with cheeses and dried beef and baskets of apples and pears, topped the load.

  At last, all was ready, but before they left the palace, the Emperor insisted they sit for one last meal.

  “Bring out the best wine,” he instructed Falco. “The very best in the cellar. My father wouldn’t have approved my leaving it for the Chosen.”

  So Jon and his friends took their second meal in the Imperial kitchen—platters of noodles with eggs and bacon and long, thin slices of purple squash, along with a salad of lettuce and bitter herbs—with the Emperor himself seated alongside the men and women who cooked his dinners and washed his dishes, smiling in a way that said he was entirely at ease among them. Once everyone had eaten, the Emperor rose to speak.

  “My friends—my loyal subjects—you who’ve guarded my distant forests, who’ve prepared my food, and who’ve cared for my library—tonight we begin a new episode in our lives. We leave this city—perhaps forever—and our road may be difficult and probably long. We can expect challenges and hardships, but I want you to know that I put my trust in you. You’ve proved yourself faithful to me, and now I will prove myself faithful to you. Faithful to death. That is my promise.”

  A moment of silence followed; Zoë looked at Jon and smiled, evidently in approval of the Emperor’s speech; then Falco stood and replied to it.

  “We, too will be faithful, Your Highness. If necessary, like you, faithful to death.”

  At those words, the staff rose to their feet and shouted agreement.

  “Faithful to death.”

  “Come then, friends,” the Emperor said. “Join me in saying farewell to this palace and drinking a toast to the future.”

  Still standing, they raised their glasses and drank the last of the Emperor’s finest wine.

  “No need to wash the dishes,” he told them. “We’ll leave them for the new residents.”

  It was nearly midnight when they set out. Falco drove the large wagon, which led the procession. The Emperor, with Zoë and Jon beside him, walked beside it. They passed no one on the nearby streets, but inside the West Gate, they found an old woman sitting by the road.

  “What are you doing here, Granny?” Falco asked her. “You should be home in bed.”

  “There’s no sleep tonight. I’m waiting for the Chosen. I’ve heard they’ll be here by morning, and I want to greet them. Someone has to show them the ones to kill. They think they’re hidden, but I’ve been watching and I know where to find them.”

  She cackled gleefully. “The Chosen will know how to take care of sneaks like that.”

  Tasting her hatred, Jon shuddered as he passed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Emperor’s intent had been to go to the farm, reached by a lane off the West Road, rest, then return to the West Road the next morning to begin the journey. But when he laid out this plan, both Jon and Zoë urged him to reconsider it.

  “The road is clear tonight,” Zoë pointed out. “It may not be clear tomorrow. Why waste this chance to distance ourselves from Kar?”

  “Was there a reason to go to the farm?” Jon asked.

  “Only to pause before tomorrow’s journey. Everyone has had a long day.”

  “Better to rest when we’re further from the city,” Zoë said firmly. “We’re used to traveling by night. The way will be unfamiliar to the animals, but my brother and I can walk ahead. I’m sure David will agree. Let me ask him.”

  While Zoë walked back in search of her brother, the Emperor posed a question to Jon. “She spoke as if David were her only brother, yet earlier today you called another brother your special friend. What is your relationship to Zoë? At first I was certain you were brother and sister, but it appears you are not. Yet you must be related. Are you her cousin?”

  “We call ourselves brother and sister, but there’s no blood connection.”

  “Then you must feel about her the way I feel about these men and women who’ve come with us. Everyone who worked in the palace kitchen was an orphan. I don’t know why he did it, but Father brought up orphans to work there. Many knew that and would leave unwanted children at the portals. Most were sent to orphanages, but some were kept in the palace and trained to work in the kitchen, and Father made a point of addressing all of them by name—even on state occasions. It was like nothing else he did. He was a very austere man, but he treated the kitchen staff almost as if they’d been his own children.

  “I might have been jealous, but I wasn’t. Indeed, I took to spending time in the kitchen myself. That was before Falco became head cook. His job used to be chopping vegetables, and he let me help him. You had to do it just right, and at first my pieces of carrot and onion were either too big or too little, but in time I was able to do it correctly. That was one of the proudest moments in my life—when Falco told me I chopped onions like a chef.

  “When my father found out I’d been working in the kitchen, he told me it was unbecoming the son of an Emperor. But he didn’t seem angry. In fact, I had the impression he was pleased—especially when I told him what Falco had said about my chopping.

  “Naturally, after that, I never again helped out in the kitchen, but I still visited and the staff made special treats for me. There was a pudding I couldn’t have enough of, and they always had it on hand. You can’t believe what that meant. My mother died when I was three; my brother was eight years old when I was born, so he always seemed a grown up. I had my teachers—one after another—but they could hardly have been called friends. They were afraid of me, I think. At the time, I didn’t realize that; I simply thought I’d displeased them or that teaching me was a burden. But I’ve learned that most people—even intelligent people—fear even a child with a royal title. But the cooks never seemed afraid of me—perhaps because they had no ambition to be more than faithful servants. And so my only friends were the men and women in the kitchen—and later Lawrence in the library.

  “But you and Zoë are the same.”

  “What do you mean?” Jon asked.

  “You don’t seem to be afraid of me. You tell me exactly what you think and not what you believe I want to hear.”

  “Perhaps out of ignorance. We’d never seen an emperor before.”

  “Well, now you have. And, as you can see, an emperor is no one to fear.”

  “I might have been afraid of your father.”

  “I know that I was.”

  Zoë returned with David.

  “David agrees with me that if we lead the first wagon we’ll be able to keep it on the road.”

  “Then we won’t
stop at the farm.”

  ▲

  Restricted to the slow pace of the oxen, they marched steadily until the following afternoon, when they stopped in the shade of a line of trees along the north side of the highway. Through the morning, they’d passed orchards and vineyards, and three men trimming vines had even left their work to ask the news from Kar.

  “Two nights ago, a rush of people passed this way. I thought we might learn who they were the next morning, but we haven’t seen anyone traveling west on the road since then—not until you. Is there trouble in Kar?”

  “The Chosen are at the gates of the city,” one of the cooks told them.

  “The Chosen! Surely the Emperor won’t allow them to enter.”

  “I’ve heard that the Emperor has fled the capital—fled to the North. He must plan to take ship from Tarnak,” the Emperor said.

  “The Emperor’s fleeing across the Equatorial Sea? That’s news to ponder. What will become of the palace? They say it holds rooms full of gold. Did he take the gold with him?”

  “No more than he could carry in his pockets.”

  “So everything is left for the Chosen—even the Emperor’s wine cellar!”

  “Let’s hope they appreciate fine wines,” he said with a laugh.

  The Emperor clearly enjoyed his little game. But Jon saw its purpose. He’d initiated a rumor of his flight in a direction different from the one he’d taken.

  ▲

  Unlike the other main highways from the Imperial City, the West Road itself passed through no towns of size, although a day’s journey from Kar a secondary road branched south to a cluster of settlements. The Emperor said it was likely that the refugees observed by the vine trimmers would have taken this route, for beyond the turnoff the highway itself began a slow climb into higher, largely desolate terrain good for little beyond sheep and cattle raising. This territory had never been of much interest to the Empire; nevertheless, when the four cardinal highways had been constructed, the West Road, like the north and south stretches of the River Road and its counterpart to the East, had been engineered to a high standard and, as it approached the mountains, graded to make the ascents easy.