In the Courts of the Crimson Kings (38 page)

Two tunnels gave off on either side of the stairs at the lower level; another opened at the top, twenty feet high and twice that across. The
thing
in her head told her that it was a main artery, driving straight south toward the inhabited center of the city.

She frowned again. Normally she was quite at home in underground passages—any city on the Real World had them in plenty. Now there was a sense of oppression in the air, as if something terrible approached.

Perhaps it is the Invisible Crown once again
, she thought.

Something fluttered in the portal at the head of the stairs. A dozen dart rifles were raised; it was a message-recorder bird, but such had been used as carriers for assassination before.

“No,” Teyud said. “Let it live.”

She held out her arm, and she felt a strong clench of claws through the leather of her glove as the bird settled on her wrist. It whistled and cocked an eye at her; she breathed on it, and it opened and closed its beak meditatively. Its eyes rolled up in its head for an instant and then it croaked:

“Identifed: Deyak sa-Sajir-dassa-Tomond, current Designated Successor and co-Emperor as of receipt of rescript on date—”

Notaj’s eyebrows shot up as it specified place and time. Teyud
heard herself make a slight sound of surprise; the Thoughtful Grace and his command all made a field-obeisance, pushing the right hand down with its palm to the floor and bending a knee. The bird continued its message.

“Communication from: Genomic Prince Heltaw sa-Veynau. Content: Part one, recorded excruciation of
vaz-Terranan
individual Jeremy Wainman.”

Teyud’s face might have been stone as she listened to the screams. And the English words “Don’t! It’s a trap! Don’t!”

Notaj and the other Thoughtful Grace listened impassively, an ear folding back here and there when the volume rose too high—it was a messenger bird of the first quality, with an impressive tonal range and large lung capacity for its size.

“Content: Part two, verbal message from Genomic Prince Heltaw sa-Veynau.”

The grating, impersonal voice of the bird itself shifted. Now it spoke a smoothly melodious court dialect, archaic Demotic strongly flavored with the High Speech.

“Deyak sa-Sajir-dassa-Tomond, I acknowledge your accession. Nevertheless—”

There was another message appended to the end of it, an Imperial proclamation in her father’s voice raising her to the status of co-Emperor, and another announcing the apology of a very, very long list of senior personnel. Then the bird shook itself, groomed a few feathers, and looked at her hopefully: “Food?”

Notaj held out his arm; the recorder hopped over to his wrist and accepted a ration biscuit.

“Blah!” it said, but steadily devoured the hard-baked mix of starch, fruit, and nuts.

“Elevating you to the position of co-Emperor is a move of considerable cunning,” Notaj said, absently stroking the recorder’s crest with a finger. “It has driven Heltaw to the last extremity of foolishness. You have only to reach the Tower of Harmonic Unity, and he will have no alternative but to make Apology in the hope that his lineage will be spared.”

“Blah!” the recorder mumbled again, dropping crumbs on the ancient pavement, then launched itself into the air and headed back to its nest.

“Or he may rebel,” Teyud said, watching it go.

“That would be equally foolish,” Notaj said. “His own Coercives would be unlikely to support such a move for long . . . perhaps some of them, those of long-affiliated lineages, but the remainder would defect.”

Teyud smiled crookedly. “If my father were in a similar position, would you or any of your lineage defect?”

“No,” Notaj said. “But we were socialized as Imperial retainers, and we are of the Thoughtful Grace. His are neither.”

“Do not underestimate the potential of long affiliation to a dominant lineage,” she said. “Particularly in an isolated area such as Heltaw’s main holdings on the slopes below Aywandis.”

Jeremy had told her of wars on Terra where hundreds of thousands, millions, had thrown themselves into certain destruction, even accepting compulsory enrollment as the Terran equivalent of Coercives.

Entire populations behaving in the manner of the most committed partisans of a lineage
, she thought with wonder.
The Real World does not function so, and this is a positive factor. Civilization here would have destroyed itself many times over if rulers could order such waste without mass defection
.

“Also, he may flee to Aywandis and raise his rebellion there, where many are accustomed to his immediate rule,” she said. “Regrettably, secessionism has succeeded all too often in recent millennia. This would prompt many either to support him or to remain neutral and not withdraw their contributions, lest they be caught on the losing side.”

Notaj inclined his head. “A possibility. Imperial control of Aywandis is not as secure as it might be, though better than it was earlier in the current Supremacy’s reign. As soon as you are safely returned to the Tower, we must take precautions—perhaps the dispatch of troops, and the publication of documents laying out the circumstances.”

“We will not be returning immediately to the Tower,” Teyud said. “A diversion to the location specified by Prince Heltaw is necessary before my return to my father.”

Notaj’s face went blank with surprise. “That would be a less than optimal strategy!” he said. “Heltaw can recoup his position
only by somehow gaining possession of you. We must at all costs prevent this.”

“Nevertheless, it is the course we will follow. Dispatch one of your personnel as a messenger with the recording; the rest will follow me.”

“You are taking such risks for a
Terran?
” Notaj said; he was scandalized, and several of his followers looked at each other doubtfully.

“Am I now invested with the Tollamune authority, or not?” she said. Then she quirked her lips. “I am Despot on this board, Commander of the Sword of the Dynasty.”

That depends on whether one speaks of strict accord with the regulations, or political reality
, she thought.

Thoughtful Grace were loyal, yes, but it was an
independent
loyalty. They would follow what they thought to be the best interests of the Crimson Dynasty; obedience to the actual desires of an incumbent did not always take precedence. And an untried, unknown incumbent who had established no personal aura of respect and command . . .

“With respect, Supremacy—” he began.

“Obey!”
she said, cutting him off and using the absolute-imperative tense. Then more gently: “This individual will be my Consort.”

The world seemed to twist slightly, as if it were behind a crystal screen and the two were moving in opposite directions. Sight split along fracture lines; pain twinged in her skull, lancing to the stem of her brain. There was a sense of the irrevocable in her mind, like watching the fall of boulders when a glacier melted away from the side of the Mountain.

Notaj’s face was wooden as he inclined his head and clasped hands inside the sleeves of his robe.

“I obey, Supremacy.”

That Which Compels
, Teyud thought with a shiver.
I am apprehensive. Such power will grow on one, like a
tokmar
sniffer’s habit. Though simply to possess the Ruby Throne is power enough
.

Chinta sa-Rokis sighed as she saw the row of Thoughtful Grace in the crimson-edged black armor of the Sword of the Dynasty spread
across the loading bay where her personal airship was docked. Her own Coercives looked at each other and then at her; their commander gave a very slight shake of the head. Several of the Imperial troopers carried short stubby launchers for fungus grenades. That was a statement of the seriousness of their intent; so were the recording birds and eyes on their tripods.

Hopeless, then?
Chinta thought, and asked by arching her brows and tilting her head slightly to one side.

Her commander of Coercives spread his hands slightly in apology and reply.

But I was never inclined to direct violence in any case. It would be futile and vulgar to play at being a general at this terminal point
.

The sun-dappled stretch of marble between her and the circular docking collar normally would be occupied by the deferential captain of the
Gracious Leisure
, perhaps with servants carrying trays of spiced juvenile canal shrimp or sweet blossom-paste on little pastries . . .

Suddenly the movement of sunlight on stone had an unbearable poignancy, a memory of delights so intense as to be visceral; she remembered the first time she had been brought here by her parents, fifty years ago, as young as her own daughter was now, full of the excitement of the treat and the promised travel to their country house. Even the memory of her emotions at that time was sharper than most of her life since—a bright, primary color next to muted, faded pastels. Not even the raw salt of fear could be as intense.

The entire crew of the airship was there now, kneeling in rows under the muzzles of the dart rifles. A slight, sulfurous smell of charged guns supplanted the usual scent of resin-bud incense. Ahead of the Imperial Coercives stood a high officer, the mandibles and faceted eyes of her lowered visor no more expressionless than the eyes of her subordinates above their fiber-bound ceramic battle masks. The hand resting on the hilt of her sword tapped fingers once, twice.

You have time
, that said.
But not a great deal
.

“No need to roll the dice to see how this move will eventuate,” Chinta murmured to herself. “A great pity.”

The
De’ming
carrying her daughter whimpered and clutched the silent infant to her. The Supervisor of Planetary Water Control looked behind her at her household, and those of her confederates.
There was fear among those of lower status; terror lest the Imperial troops be given orders to make a clean sweep. The other High Ministers sighed as she had and adopted postures of resignation, with heads bent and hands held palm-down by their waists.

Chinta clasped hands to wrists within the sleeves of her taupeand-gold traveling robe and strode forward. At the proper distance from the Thoughtful Grace officer she took a half-knee, as one must before the Emperor’s personal messenger at such a time.

The soldier raised her visor and returned the courtesy with a crossing of wrists:
With regret, I am bound by the Tollamune Will, as by bonds of adamant
.

A polite fiction; she could tell from the hard yellow eyes that this was not a reluctant obedience. There was always that edge of intelligent savagery in the Thoughtful Grace, a swift directness like a swooping
Paiteng
—they were a sharp-edged tool that only the Ruby Throne could wield safely, and would be a terror worse still without its restraint. Nevertheless, it was better to die in the presence of courtesy and ancient ritual than by brusque violence; one’s last moments should have some dignity.

“I am High Minister Chinta sa-Rokis, of the Ministry of Hydraulic Works, by rank Supervisor of Planetary Water Supplies.”

“I am Adwa sa-Soj, Second Prime Coercive of the Sword of the Crimson Dynasty, currently commanding the Household Troop.”

“You show punctilious courtesy, according to the precepts of
Sh’u Maz
, Adwa sa-Soj, as might be expected of a Thoughtful Grace of high rank and good lineage.”

“Your own deportment, Chinta sa-Rokis, is also a model of Sustained Harmony—in your response to current circumstances, at least.”

“The terms of the Vermillion Rescript, swaying the Real World?” she asked.

“Unconditional Apology is required from the following,” the officer said, and read the names.

There will be many promotions
, Chinta thought mordantly.

“You, High Minister, in recognition of your long service to the Dynasty and the record of your lineage, are, as you see, at the head of the list.”

I am the most dangerous and the most likely to successfully flee beyond
the current boundaries of the Crimson Dynasty’s control
, she thought.
Still, recognition of one’s importance is always soothing to the ego
.

“There is no supplementary direction to extirpate the lineages?” she inquired in a tone of polite interest. “Not even to the first degree?”

“No. Infants will be required to reside at court for socialization, but at adulthood a reasonable share of the personal properties will be restored and they will be allowed to perpetuate your lines.”

“Tollamune!”
Chinta said in a crisp ringing tone, taking knee, and the others echoed her. “The Emperor is both firm and magnanimously free of personal spite.”

“This is both an essential courtesy and, in the main, objectively true; at the risk of seeming to admonish, I state—hypothetical-conditional tense—that event and randomness would in all probability have fallen out more favorably from your perspective if you had kept this fact firmly in mind at all times. Consider the length of the Supremacy’s reign.”

“I concede that my previous analysis is discredited by event and randomness. From a personal viewpoint, however, this has now become largely irrelevant and I am disinclined to prolonged meditation.”

The other ministers walked forward and knelt beside her. The chief Coercives of their households gathered and looked a question at the Thoughtful Grace commander, who nodded permission.

“I acknowledge that your Coercives have not defected,” she said. “Nor have they withheld knowledge of an approach by any under my command from their employer.”

Another formality, to assist their career prospects. They most certainly
would
have defected if I were foolish enough to order a battle, nor would any rational being have blamed them. This fight was lost when our assassin failed. Against the entropy embodied in randomness, there is no victory
.

Aloud, Chinta said, “They have fulfilled their contractual obligations, save for the Last Assistance.”