Chosen Ones (7 page)

“Oh good, you’re up,” she said tersely. “Sit down and help.”

Peter did as indicated.

“Now: our object is to overthrow the lords and free the slaves.” She indicated this written at the top of her list. “So…”

“Pardon me?” said Peter. She looked up.

“What’s wrong?”

“That’s our object?” he said incredulously. “How do we know that’s our object?”

“Because…” She thought again of the garden, and the monk’s warning that Peter could be kept safest through his ignorance. “Because this isn’t how it should be. Slaves and tyrannical lords and al that.”

“We don’t know that they’re tyrannical, Julia.”

“What do you think they are—benevolent? With those horrible masks? The Jackal and the Leopard the and Wolf?”

“I don’t know, and that’s just the point.” Peter paused for a moment, looking very puffed up and pleased with himself. “We have to use reason here.

Observation. Look for facts, and use them to draw our conclusions.”

“Oh, honestly.” Julia slammed her list down on the table in a huff. “Truth isn’t always logical, you know.”

“Of course it is,” Peter said smugly. “I thought I’d start in the library—you know, do some reading on this place’s history.”

Julia was about to say something snide and possibly regrettable about her brother’s capacity for reason when they were both startled by a knock on the door. Before either of them could answer the door swung open to reveal a red-robed, bejeweled figure: Anaximander.

“Our Lords of Aedyn request your presence,” he said grandly, and with a sweeping gesture stepped aside and indicated the door. Peter and Julia rose and fol owed him, glaring at each other just for good measure.

The Great Hal was empty but for the lords, whose masks were no less imposing than they had been the previous day. Peter and Julia went forward and bent down in a low bow, Julia quietly gritting her teeth.

“Welcome, my lord and lady,” said the Wolf.

“Come, tel us something of your land. Tel us of Albion.”

Peter looked at Julia. Julia looked at Peter. He shrugged almost imperceptibly, and so she began.

“My lords, the great nation of Albion lies far over the western seas. Our great Emperor wishes to establish peace and mutual prosperity throughout this region. We offer assurances of security. In return, we ask for your guarantee of neutrality and non—” What was her father’s word? “Non-aggression.”

The Wolf listened patiently as Julia outlined her proposal, his long, pale fingers pressed together at their tips. He nodded as she finished, and touched his fingers to a dark amulet that lay against his robes.

“My Lady Julia, we are indeed honored that the Emperor of Albion should take notice of such a smal nation as Aedyn. Might I ask what led you to single us out for the special favor of your visit? It seems vastly in excess of our size and importance, if I may be forgiven for saying so.”

“We did not wish to omit you when we consulted with our neighbors, my lord. It is our hope to build friendship with al nations, great and smal , and to…

to share our knowledge with each other.” Julia smiled, trying to think fast. By now she had exhausted every item on the list she’d made earlier that morning and had absolutely no idea what to say next.

“Share knowledge?” The Wolf leaned forward.

“Yes,” said Julia with a noncommittal smile. She was trying desperately to sound like an emissary—

trying to sound like someone who was too important to execute—but she was out of ideas. She glanced at Peter, trying to privately indicate desperation.

“Like this, my lord,” said Peter, reaching into his breast pocket. “See here a smal example of our skil s!”

Julia couldn’t quite make out what it was that Peter had in his hand. He crossed the hal to an enormous candelabra and held whatever it was to the flame, then threw it down in the lords’ direction.

The

room

exploded,

the

detonation

reverberating throughout the enclosed space. Acrid smoke fil ed the room, and as it cleared Julia could see the three lords cowering before their thrones in positions of abject terror. The Leopard was coughing violently, trying to waft away the choking fumes, and the Jackal had his hands clasped firmly on his ears. The Wolf rose first, and pointed a shaking finger at Peter.

“What was that devil in your hand?” he hissed.

Guards were now pouring into the hal , swords drawn against the unknown enemy. The Wolf waved them away with a few quick words, never taking his eyes from Peter. There was a long silence.

“What have you to say for yourself, boy?” he spluttered. “What black magic is that in your fingertips?”

Julia noted at this point that Peter was looking rather smug. She disliked this intensely, and wished she could have a moment to consult with Peter before he said something real y stupid. But Peter was looking directly at the hideous mask which hid the face of the Wolf, and spoke slowly and with authority.

“My lord, that is a very smal example of our power. This room and this castle would be destroyed, along with everyone inside them, were I to demonstrate the true power that Albion commands. It is cal ed gunpowder.”

There was not a great deal to say after that. The emissaries had shown their superior hand, the lords were quaking in their boots, and Julia was feeling more than a little apprehensive. She made a great show of bows and smiles and good wishes and fairly dragged Peter out of the hal .

“That went wel , I thought!” he said when they’d returned to their chambers.

“Wel ! Gunpowder! Weapons beyond their comprehension! Oh, marvelous, marvelous indeed!” Julia paced the room.

“You said the object was to overthrow them.”

“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do, but it certainly didn’t involve an explosion in the Great Hal !”

Julia was very close to tears, and it may have turned into a nasty fight indeed had Julia not at that moment realized that she’d left her cloak in the Great Hal . It had lain loosely about her shoulders and, when she had flung herself to the side during the explosion, it had fal en off. She hated to leave it down there where it might be trampled on and she wanted an excuse to get Peter out of her sight, so she announced shortly that she would return soon and fled the chamber.

She stalked moodily down the corridors and down the massive flights of stairs, wishing a little desperately that she had never seen a silver glow in the garden. She didn’t know what to do or how to rescue any slaves—and, at the moment, didn’t see any reason why she ought to bother. And Peter, throwing around tough words and explosions when he didn’t understand what was going on…Peter was just impossible.

It was in such a mood that she once again reached the Great Hal .

Something stopped her from entering—even from knocking. There were voices within. She pressed her ear to the door and listened intently, struggling to hear what they were saying. One voice was

dominant—a

menacing

hiss

that

she

immediately recognized as the Wolf.

“But there is stil the risk of revolt from the slaves to deal with,” he was saying. “The scouts are stil hearing rumors of runaway slaves in the great forest of the west. You wil recal that the detachment of guards we sent to find them two months ago never came back, and I fear…” There was a long pause. “I fear those slaves in the forest could be the nucleus of a revolt.”

Another, more rasping, voice took over the conversation. The Jackal.

“But with this new weapon we can destroy those slaves in the forest. It wil be the end of any revolt!”

“The slaves are not stupid,” agreed a third voice. “They’l fal into line as soon as we show our strength. We’re safe.”

Julia could hear the unmistakable sound of wine being poured from a bottle into glasses, fol owed by sounds of clinking and coarse laughter. She had heard enough. She melted back into the shadows and retraced her steps to the bedchamber.

P
eter watched Julia go with a sense of relief. There had been nothing at al wrong with showing off the gunpowder—nothing wrong with demonstrating that he was a force to be reckoned with.

He stalked brusquely out of the room and stomped down the corridors. Girls! What use were they—so emotional, so unscientific! He would show her! He would figure out the riddle of this place!

He stopped a robed figure in the hal s and asked the way to the library. He was pointed silently towards the north tower of the castle, and, after a few minutes of searching through dark and dusty corridors, he happened upon it.

The library he found could have graced an English country house, but it was far grander and more magnificent. Books were stacked as far up as the eye could see, shelves upon shelves of them—

books on every topic imaginable. Peter looked up and up and up, breathing in the leather-bound scent of it al .

There was a short “ahem!” and a clearing of the throat somewhere to his right, and Peter glanced around. Seated at an enormous oak desk was a thin, bespectacled man who could only be the librarian.

Peter approached him slowly, trying to size him up. He noted his ink-stained fingers, the pencil behind his right ear, and a large leather book ful of annotations on his desk. The man looked irritated at the intrusion. It seemed, Peter thought to himself, that the library did not have a great many users.

“Wel ? What do you want? I’m very busy at the moment, so make it quick.”

“I’m Peter,” he said simply. “From…from Albion.” He caught himself stumbling and tried to sound a great deal grander. “I was wondering if I might look around for just a bit.”

The librarian peered over his spectacles at him, his alert eyes evaluating him. “You are most welcome,” he said careful y. “Can I—ahem! Can I be of help to you in any way?”

“Wel , I had hoped to learn something of the history of this island. It might help me understand it better.” Peter squared his shoulders and tried to look tal er. “For diplomatic purposes, of course.”

“Of course.” The librarian stood—he real y wasn’t much tal er standing than sitting—and moved out from behind the desk. “There is a reading desk over here with a wonderful view over the island.

Nobody wil bother you there. Would you like me to bring you any books? Or would you prefer to look for some yourself?”

“Oh, I’d be delighted if you brought me anything that might be helpful.” Peter folded his hands behind his back and tried to look important as he waited.

After a moment the librarian reappeared, a worn leather tome in his hand. He handed it to Peter with a smile that he couldn’t quite interpret and returned to his annotating.

Peter went to a desk and settled in to read.

The book told a simple story. Aedyn had original y been a wild, untamed island, ruled by a backward and oppressive king. And then came the revolution.

It was cal ed the Il umination. The island had been taken over by a smal but determined group of people—determined and highly intel igent. Their rebel ion against the feudalism and backward ways of previous generations was led by three lords—the Jackal, the Leopard, and the Wolf—who had established themselves as the enlightened rulers of the island. The old king had been deposed, and later died in exile. Some of the population remained loyal to the old ways and were al owed to remain on the island only on condition of serving the new rulers. But the island, ruled by the same great lords for five hundred years—five hundred years! Was that possible?—had overcome its barbaric beginnings and was now prosperous and forward-looking.

Peter smiled to himself as he read, not hearing the footsteps as they approached—not sensing anyone beside him until a cold hand came down and gripped his shoulder.

“Some light reading, I see!” said a voice. Peter whipped around to see Anaximader right standing behind him.

“Oh—yes,” said Peter. “Just some—yes, I was wondering about Aedyn, and…” he suddenly remembered that he was supposed to sound important. “And its history, culture, chief exports and trade—you know the sort of thing.”

“A good choice,” replied Anaximander, taking the book from Peter and turning it over in his hands.

He flipped through a few of the yel owed pages, looking contemplative. “An important book—an important history for the citizens of Aedyn to keep always in their minds.” He trailed off, then looked back up at Peter. “That’s what education is about, after al ! Protecting ourselves from delusions, preventing

innocent

minds

from

becoming

corrupted.”

“I was reading about the Il umination,” said Peter. “Don’t—I mean, do the people stil have these delusions in Aedyn?”

“I regret that they do,” said Anaximander slowly.

“The slaves—you’ve seen them—are very backward.

They believe in al sorts of superstitious nonsense.”

“Such as?”

“Magic,” Anaximander said. “Divine magic. And old, old stories—just fairy tales, real y. Stories to explain things they couldn’t understand.” This al made a great deal of sense to Peter. It was like Julia, tel ing herself stories and turning to her books whenever she was confused or upset. He nodded. “You’re a people of science,” he said.