The Master Of Misrule Part 17

"Of course," said Toby impatiently. "The city lottery. But your eagle-"

"The city was a republic," the Emperor continued, as if Toby hadn't spoken. "A great republic, with winged and glorious G.o.ds. Yet when the city fell, the G.o.ds' fame fell with it. Even their names are forgotten."

Toby and Flora exchanged looks. Both remembered the High Priestess's description of the cherubim: fallen G.o.ds of the Game's city.

"There were no courts then," the Emperor continued, "but four guilds, which ruled the city between them. And when the Game grew to greatness, and a temple was built in its name, each of the guilds dedicated an offering to the G.o.ds. The guild of farmers presented a bull; the guild of soldiers, a lion; the guild of priests, an eagle; while the merchants' guild brought forth a man. And each was slaughtered on the temple's foundations."

Flora's eyes darted back to the torn body lying by the rocks. Her own flesh crawled. With such origins, no wonder the Game was so bloodstained.

"Like the G.o.ds they were given to, those first sacrifices are embedded deep within the Game. Here they endure-bull, eagle, lion, man-though in each round their form is a little different, their purpose new."

The Emperor combed his beard with shaking fingers.

"Now, most worlds are round, like an egg, but the Arcanum is the great checkerboard. It is said the temple's foundation stones still rest at its corners. And you are set to renew the first offerings, and summon the G.o.ds of old.... Who knows what cataclysms will be unleashed upon our board?"

"That's a risk we have to take," said Toby. "Starting with Juno."

He reached out a hand toward the bird, which spread its clanking wings, a span of at least eight feet, and snapped at him savagely. Toby flinched away just in time, as its husky cry rose to join the Emperor's wheezing laughter.

Flora pulled Toby aside. "Slow down," she said. "There's no point making demands until we're sure of what we want. Remember the words of the prophecy: 'the fledgling of empire.' That means a chick. A baby bird." She turned back to the Emperor. "Excuse me, Your Majesty, but ... does Juno have a nest?"

The old man feebly pointed upward. "She roosts on the mountain's peak and guards its flame."

"There," Flora said to Toby with only a trace of smugness. "You see? We don't need Juno, but Juno's fledgling. So we have to find her nest."

"Mmm-hmm. Onward and upward," the Emperor mumbled. "Onward, upward ..."

Toby followed Flora to the left side of the terrace, where a rough path wound farther up the mountain. Of course she was right about the wording of the prophecy; he was annoyed he hadn't thought of it himself. And yet ... He cast a final glance back at the throne: the doddering old man, the eagle preening its feathers, the scepter and orb lying in the dust like discarded toys. Something was niggling at him. But whatever the thought was, it remained tantalizingly out of reach.

The palace had been built on a wide spur of rock that jutted over the plain. Behind its ruined walls, the mountainside towered implacably upward, its summit shrouded in cloud. A dim glow smoldered within the vapor.

"Mount Doom, I presume."

Flora pursed her lips. "If your next remark involves hobbits, you're on your own."

"OK. Last one to the top's an Orc!" Toby retorted cheerfully as he started on the path.

It didn't last long, meandering into a rough track that petered out among a scrubby patch of bushes. Soon the steepness of the slope forced them to climb at a sideways tilt, one hand clutching at the ground for balance, their skidding feet sending a scurry of loose stones rattling in their wake. Flora, who had wrenched her ankle before Christmas, found it particularly hard going. And it got worse. The rocks became more jagged and the bushes more spiny, and the thin soil was replaced with grit and ash. In spite of the cold wind and clouded sky, it was hot work. The higher they climbed, the warmer the ground felt beneath their feet, and a smell of sulfur began to taint the air.

When they finally clambered, breathless, to the summit, they found a scorched wasteland from which twists of vapor writhed and hissed upward. The air was thick with sulfurous heat; the cindery ground within was cracked with rivulets of molten red. Outcrops of rocks pierced the surface.

In the center of this wilderness was a tall tree, as jagged and black as the rock it grew from. One bough, however, right at the top, gleamed with gold. There was a th.o.r.n.y tangle perched on its tip; high above that, a shadow wheeled through the sky. Juno was circling.

To get to the tree would mean a deadly game of stepping-stones across the smoldering embers; to reach the nest would mean a dizzying climb through spiky branches, up to where Juno's beak and talons would be waiting.

"This is hopeless," said Flora.

"But not impossible."

Crouching down on the farthermost edge of solid ground, Toby stretched out a leg to the nearest rocky foothold, testing the distance. "It's not actual lava, you know. There's a sort of ash crust keeping most of the heat in. And, look, I'm sure we could reach this bit of rock all right."

"And where would we go from there? We'll either get boiled alive or torn up for bird food."

Toby was ready to dispute this but somehow couldn't find the words, let alone the energy. His feebleness was more than just physical tiredness: the tainted air and stifling heat were making it hard to think. Instead, he got up to join Flora at the lip of the summit, looking out over the Emperor's dominion.

Seen from this height, it was vaster than either of them could have imagined. Apart from the mountain on which they were standing, the entire view was flat and featureless: barren rock curving away to the horizon, as far as the eye could see. Toby raised his hand to the sky, spreading his fingers and then clenching them, as if to grasp the world-a globe of gray in the palm of his hand.

And at this thought another one came to him: beautiful, s.h.i.+ning, perfectly formed. He laughed out loud.

"Flora! We're looking in the wrong place."

"What do you mean?"

"Our baby bird isn't nesting on Mount Doom. It's been in the palace the whole time."

"But the Emperor said-"

"He said where Juno's nest was. He didn't say anything about what we'd find in it."

"What's your point?"

"You'll see," he said maddeningly.

Before Flora could interrogate him further, he launched into a helter-skelter descent from the summit. She called after him angrily, but he ignored her and she had no option but to scramble behind him, and save her breath for the long climb down. It was quicker than their hike up, but not easier. Down they went, sliding and slithering among the dust and rocks and thorns, with grazed hands and bruised knees, grit in their eyes and stones in their shoes.

By now the sun was up, though it cast a poor, weak sort of light. When they finally reached the terrace, the ruined building looked less imposing than it had in the glimmers of dawn: its cla.s.sical portico was munic.i.p.al rather than palatial in style. Flora remembered the red rope around the treasure heap. On the other side of the threshold, she thought, there must be a museum where the relics of empire were more respectfully housed.

"Back so soon?" said the Emperor.

He was sitting up straighter, so that his chin was no longer slumped into his beard. For the first time, the remnants of strength could be traced in his profile, his proud hooked nose and fierce brows.

"We've come for that trib-tribute-you promised," Toby panted before having to pause to get his breath back. "Our eagle. This time, though, we know what we're looking for." He pointed to the stone block on which the throne was raised, and the emblems of power at its side.

" 'Tis all a Checker-board of Nights and Days,"

the Emperor quoted in a voice of surprising firmness, "where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays, Hither and thither moves and checks and slays."

He bowed his head.

"A fitting tribute and wise choice. I shall be honored to make the offering to Your Majesty."

Slowly and stiffly, the old man bent to pick up the golden bauble that lay next to his scepter. He put it into Toby's hands as Juno swooped back to perch at his side.

The imperial orb was much lighter than one might expect, and oval-shaped rather than spherical. Not a globe, but an egg.

Toby cupped it in his palms, feeling the cool sheen of metal. Juno gave a gentle caw. Toby dashed the egg against the floor.

The s.h.i.+ning sh.e.l.l split cleanly across, and rang against the stone. Inside, there was a miniature gold eagle, as motionless as metal should be, but otherwise a perfect replica of the living one.

Toby reached for the figurine, and the world changed. Everything had turned to black and white. He was standing alone at the edge of a marble floor that was also a chessboard. Through its squares he thought he could see the model battleground from his bedroom, come to shadowy life. Or maybe it was the board Mia had shown him in the Chariot, the landscape and its inhabitants shaken into yet more disarray. It was as if the entire world of the Arcanum was contained on these checkers of black and white.

How had the oracle put it?

You must renew their first offerings on the Game's board....

Unsteadily, Toby bent to place the gold eagle on the black corner-square. As he did so, the board seemed to shudder.

And when he straightened up, he was back in the Emperor's move. His hand was empty, but otherwise it was as if he had never left.

THE MINOTAUR WAS TOO quick for Cat.

Without even turning around, let alone breaking his stride, he jabbed his elbow into her chest with enough force to send her flying. Cat lay winded on the sandy floor of the arena, dark spirals floating at the edge of her vision. The roar of the spectators seemed very far away, and small, like the buzz of flies. Dimly, she was aware that something, or someone, was coming for her and she should probably try to get up. But her limbs were limp as string.

Meanwhile, yelling and cursing, Blaine jabbed electric shock after shock at the Minotaur. It succeeded in getting the Minotaur's attention back to him. Suddenly, a huge, brawny arm shot out and grabbed the cattle prod, twisting hard. As a tug-of-war, there was no contest: Blaine had to choose between being pulled into the beast's crus.h.i.+ng embrace or giving up his one defense. He could only watch as the Minotaur s.n.a.t.c.hed the slim metal wand and snapped it contemptuously in two. By now he had been backed toward a corner. The Minotaur planted his feet squarely, and then-snorting and steaming, his eyes flaring red-he lowered his head for the charge.

Blaine had little s.p.a.ce, and less time. There was just enough room for a run and a leap. Before he could think through what he was doing, Blaine raced forward and grasped the bull's horns, then half hauled, half flung his body upward, so that his legs scrambled and kicked over the Minotaur's head. His feet found a ledge on the creature's shoulders, and he took advantage of the bull's temporary confusion to scrabble around so that he was riding on the Minotaur's back. For several long, hideous moments Blaine hung there like a monkey, his legs crossed under the bull's dewlap, hands grasping the horns, as the beast tossed his head and bellowed with fury. The crowd groaned.

Blaine's grip was slippery, his hands blistered. He could smell a hot animal stink and his face was flecked with foam from the beast's muzzle. Vast, calloused hands clawed at his legs, which felt absurdly thin and snappable. He leaned all his weight forward on the bull's head, hoping to topple him over before the bucking of his body could throw Blaine off. It felt as if his bones were humming, his teeth rattling in his jaw. At any second Blaine would be sent tumbling through the air.... Any moment now he and Cat would both be lying on the sand, their guts gored out in b.l.o.o.d.y heaps for flies to feast on.... Until suddenly Cat was there, too, flinging her arms around the Minotaur's knees, dragging the creature down.

All three of them crashed to the earth. Somehow Blaine was still on top, still clinging to the horns. As the monster thrashed and roared below him, he and Cat, swaying, breathless, scarlet-faced, looped the collar over the bull's horns and around his thick neck.

Instantly, the Minotaur's body went limp. There was an electrified silence: no movement or sound from the people in the arena or the surrounding streets. Blaine and Cat began to back away, breathing hard. They didn't have the energy to run.

With the wrenching, tormented groan Cat remembered from before, the Minotaur dragged himself up to his knees, putting his hands down on the ground for balance. Although the collar was only a thin loop of leather, the creature seemed to stagger under its weight. On all fours, he roared and heaved, and beat his animal head up and down, grunting, as the colossal body began to thicken and grow dark fur.

The crowd murmured.

Even as the bull-form grew more distinct, the shadow of a human body was still there, thinly visible both around and within the creature that-just-anch.o.r.ed it. Like a snake casting its skin, and groaning all the while, the animal stretched and twisted and rubbed himself against the ground, so that the shadow-flesh rippled into new substance and solidity. Until at last the beast was neither man-bull nor bull-man, but two separate beings entirely.

The bull was thick-bodied and short-legged, with a coa.r.s.e black pelt and sharp, curved horns.

The man was dark and curly-haired. When Cat had last seen him, he had been convulsed with the savagery of his metamorphosis. This time his face showed liveliness as well as strength, and was lit by the dazzle of his smile.

For the marching band had begun to play again, and the arena was once more ringing with cheers.

Meanwhile, the bull blinked sleepily in the sun. Its tail twitched at the flies.

The man turned to Cat and Blaine. "I am Asterion," he said, "and I owe you thanks for my deliverance. Now and for always, I shall be whole again."

"Marvelous show! Splendidly played! Well done, well done."

The mayor had bustled up, grinning from ear to ear. The girl in the pink fairy dress pranced after him, holding the ax. With a flourish, the mayor took it from her and presented it to Blaine.

"The animal will go consenting to its sacrifice. An offering fit for a king!"

The iron blade of the ax shone dully in the sun. Blaine tested its weight, frowning.

"Perhaps," said Asterion, "you will allow me...." He looked at their doubtful faces. "Do not fear," he said quietly. "I know what you seek."

Trying not to look too obviously relieved, Blaine pa.s.sed him the ax. The man stood beside the beast and placed a hand on his curly brow, murmuring something no one else could hear. The bull snuffled softly. Asterion braced his feet apart.

He swung up the ax, and struck it boldly down. The bull did not cry out, but choked a little, as scarlet spurted from the cleft in his neck and his great head lolled. The carca.s.s twitched, and was still. So, too, was the crowd.

Asterion bent to pluck something out of the river of blood that was already soaking into the sand. A little bull carved from horn lay in the center of his palm.

He handed it to Blaine. As Blaine took it, the world reeled. He found he was looking down at a square of white marble in Temple House. Except that the hall was also a chessboard, and he was standing at its corner.

Blaine was not alarmed, nor even surprised. He understood that this was how their offering was to be made.

He put the bull down on the white square, and the ground quaked. And before his vision could adjust to the checkered paving that stretched around him, and the muddle of mountains and cities and plains that was somehow both above and beneath, he was back in the arena, smiling at Cat.

"ALL HAIL MISTRESS CYBELE, Queen of Cats!" a disembodied voice boomed.

The woman pranced forward to the edge of the stage, hips swinging and head held high. She was covered in gold body paint, and wearing spiky boots with a leopard-print leotard, slashed to the waist. A ringmaster's top hat was tilted provocatively on her head. As she swaggered back and forth along the footlights, she cracked a long leather whip to whoops from the stalls.

From their vantage point in the wings, Toby and Flora watched Cybele sashay over to where a cage, partially covered by purple drapes, had been wheeled onto center stage. A drumroll sounded, followed by a cymbal clash from the orchestra pit, as the woman whipped off the cloth. The cage contained a huge lion: the King of Beasts, and Toby and Flora's next offering.

The lion opened its red throat and roared.

The audience roared back, delighted.

The Triumph of Strength could not have been more of a contrast to the windswept desolation of the Emperor. Flora and Toby looked through the proscenium arch into a grand theater, its tiers undulating with gilded balconies. Everywhere was so festooned with chandeliers, velvet, and plump plaster cherubs that it was like being in the middle of a giant's jewelry box.

Meanwhile, the wings seethed with activity as stagehands and technicians checked props, and performers limbered up. The show itself appeared to be a hybrid of a zoo and a cabaret, and n.o.body seemed the least bit concerned that a lion had just been let loose onstage.

Toby and Flora watched as a succession of metal hoops was lowered from the flies. The rings varied in size and hung at different levels from the ground. Although the stage was large, the arrangement looked dangerously cramped-much more so when, at a flick of Cybele's whip, the hoops burst into flame. The lion growled and shook its head, but at a command from its mistress, it began to leap and twist through the fiery circles, weaving its way around the stage in a kind of graceful dance.

It came to a halt in front of the footlights, and roared again. The hoops had burned themselves out and were hoisted back up into the stage loft. Advancing toward the woman, the lion snarled and lashed its tail, aiming a swipe of its paw at her legs.

But Mistress Cybele cracked her whip and the beast at once crouched low, all aggression gone. Her own face was powerfully catlike, with its wide cheekbones, snub nose and slanting eyes. She tossed back her mane of tawny orange hair. Then she gave a gentlemanly bow, one hand on her hip, the other offered to the lion. Tenderly, it nuzzled her palm before rearing up onto its hind legs to join her for a stately waltz, paw in hand, its s.h.a.ggy head resting on her shoulder.

The curtain fell to a standing ovation.

Toby and Flora shrank back to allow the lion tamer to stalk offstage, leaving a trio of stagehands to shepherd the great cat back into its cage.

"What are you?" she growled, baring sharp white teeth. Her body paint was smeary with heat. She slunk closer, sniffing them up and down. "Not knights ... Nor knaves ... Hmm ... No, a different kind of animal entirely."

"I'm the King of Wands and this is the Queen of Cups," Toby replied, though not quite as boldly as he had announced himself to the Emperor. He had seen how the woman's muscles rippled as she cracked her whip.

Cybele's lip curled. "Well, a cat may look at a king, as the proverb goes, and I am Queen of Cats. And mistress of ceremonies at the Triumph Cabaret, what's more. If you're not here to play my card, you're wasting my time."

"As a matter of fact, we came for your lion," said Flora.

"The Emperor's already given us his eagle," added Toby.

"Did he indeed? Yes, I thought I felt a tremor on the board.... Hmm." Her sneer softened somewhat and she clapped Toby on the shoulder; he could feel the p.r.i.c.k of her sharpened nails through his s.h.i.+rt. "Very well. If you wish to make a play for Androcles, I won't stop you."

"Androcles?"