Timura Trilogy - The Gods Awaken Part 29

"And then we'd have to live on the bottom of the sea for ever and ever," Gundara said.

"I can't think of anything more boring," Gundaree put in. "Although it might not be so bad if we could find some nice fat sea worms."

"That's disgusting," Gundara said. "You stupid worm eater!"

"Shut up, Gundara!"

"No, you shut up!"

Palimak was too tired to intervene. And he floated along under the Demon Moon, wondering how long it would be before he drowned.

The twins voices echoed across the empty sea like strange gulls that cried, "Shut up, shut up, shutup!"

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

BLOOD AND MAGIC.

When the king is unhappy, the sages say, all must suffer. And Rhodes was not a happy king. Standing on the bridge of the Kray, lashed by wind and rain, he watched grimly as his chief executioner applied an ax to the exposed neck of an unfortunate sailor.

The offense: laughing at the king's clumsiness. Oh, the fellow protested he hadn't seen Rhodes slip and fall on the slick deck and was only laughing at a comrade's jest. And never mind that the comrade had supported his friend's innocence, swearing that neither had witnessed the royal mishap; and that the jesting and the laughter it drew was a mere coincidence.

If the king's mood had been brighter he might have shown mercy and spared the friend's life. After all, Rhodes appreciated loyalty to a comrade as much as any man. A tongue plucked from the liar's mouth with hot pincers would've sufficed as punishment.

On a feast day, or his birthday, he might even have reduced that sentence to a hundred lashes with the cat, followed by a bath in vinegar and salt.

However, Rhodes had just come from a quarrel with his mother and there was never any question that both men would have to die.

Usually, he would've enjoyed the proceedings: various tortures, performed by the executioner, so ingenious that both men were brought to the brink of death. Then their revival by a special elixir whose recipe had been the executioner's family secret for several generations.And, finally, two satisfying whacks of the ax, with the cutoff heads posted on stakes as a warning to all potential transgressors that the king's dignity must be preserved at all costs.

Sadly, Rhodes' heart was so troubled that not even these delights moved him.

All hands had been ordered on deck to view the executions. Soldiers and crewmen, s.h.i.+p's officers and royal aides standing silent and miserable in the rain as first one, then the other head was removed.

When the second head fell and rolled across the deck, Rhodes saw one of his men turn away and retch.

"That soldier!" Rhodes snapped at Tabusir, who hovered nearby. "I want his head as well!"

"Which one, Majesty?" Tabusir inquired mildly.

The king stabbed out with a bejeweled finger, indicating a uniformed drummer's lad. Too young to grow a beard or to steel his heart against the troubles of another.

"I'll have no man in my army," the king said, "who can't stand the sight of a little spilled blood."

Tabusir didn't point out that the soldier was probably no more than thirteen summers old. And after two beheadings the pitching deck was running with so much blood mixed with rainwater, that it splashed over the men's boots like spillage in a heaving slaughterhouse with stopped-up gutters.

Perhaps there was just a twinge of sympathy for the lad in the spy's heart. Or perhaps it was a pang of doubt at the king's judgment. In either case it was apparent from their gloom that none of the a.s.sembled men were happy about the executions. And maybe it was merely due to a spot of indigestion. After all, he'd eaten a hearty, heavily-spiced meal just before the day's b.l.o.o.d.y entertainment.

Whatever the reason, Tabusir swallowed his rising bile and snapped a salute so military-perfect that even in a drenched uniform he looked crisp and professionally eager.

"Immediately, Majesty!" he said.

Then he strode briskly off to collect two guardsmen. Moments later the surprised drummer's lad was dragged from the ranks and delivered to the executioner.

A mutinous murmur swept across the s.h.i.+p, silenced by growls from sergeants and bosons. Only to be aroused again by the lad's screams as he was forced to kneel on the gory deck.

"Please! Please!" the boy cried. "I did nothing! Nothing!"

Both the pleading cries and the angry muttering stopped abruptly when the ax fell and the boy's head plopped to the deck.

Immediately, Rhodes felt much better. "Three's a charm against all harm," he murmured to himself, reciting an old nursery jingle. He smiled, trying to remember the rest.

From inside him, Kalasariz spoke up, finis.h.i.+ng the doggerel: ... Four's a ch.o.r.e and to all a bore;/ Five's a sty, not a pig alive;/ But six is a trick of the very best mix!

Rhodes chuckled, to the vast relief of all the aides gathered about him. Even these battle-hardened men worried that the executions were an ill omen and bad for morale.

"That's good!" the king said aloud. "That's very, very good!"Thinking he was speaking to them, his aides all murmured that, indeed, Majesty, the executions had been a remarkable performance.

Inside him, Kalasariz said, Thank you, Majesty. But it is you who deserves the greatest credit for thinking of these executions. I always found that a ma.s.s beheading was a lucky way to start a new venture. It both pleases the G.o.ds and chastens the men.

Rhodes nodded agreement, but this time he used his internal voice to reply, saying: It's amazing how much wisdom can be found in a nursery rhyme. From a child's mouth, etc.

At that moment, Tabusir came trotting up. "All has been done as you commanded, Majesty," he said, snapping another crisp salute.

"Excellent work, Tabusir," Rhodes said.

He pulled the smallest ring from the collection on his fingers and tossed it to the spy as a reward. Tabusir caught it and bowed low, murmuring artful words of appreciation.

"Now go fetch three more," the king said. "And deliver them to the executioner with my compliments."

Skilled as he was in covering his true feelings, Tabusir's gaze flickered. "Pardon, Majesty," he said. "But which three do you desire?"

Rhodes shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he said. "Choose who you like. The main thing is that I want six heads posted on the main deck."

Then the king turned and strode from the bridge, saying, "Lucky number, six." Then, in a sing-song voice, he added, "Six is a trick of the very best mix!"

And he roared with laughter, stomping down the pa.s.sageway to his mother's quarters. As if on cue, the squall suddenly ended when he disappeared from view.

Stunned by the king's behavior, all the men were careful to keep blank faces and did their best not to meet each other's eyes. One of the aides, a jowly, red-faced colonel named Olaf, tried to pretend for all of them that everything was quite normal.

"It's good to see the king in such high spirits again," he said to Tabusir. "You are to be congratulated for such excellent service to His Majesty."

His smile was friendly, but jealousy glittered in his eyes. Seeing it, Tabusir only bowed his head slightly in thanks.

Olaf made the mistake of continuing. "Although I certainly don't envy you your next task," he said with a smirk. "It's not going to make you very popular with the men."

He turned to the others. "Isn't that so, gentlemen?"

There were murmured agreements, some louder than others.

He turned back to Tabusir. Laughing, he said, "Tell me, young man, how do you plan to choose three more victims? By lot? Or will you make them draw straws?"

Tabusir pretended honest puzzlement. "I'm not sure," he said, his face worried. "But I'll come up with something.""You'd better think fast," Olaf said, amused at Tabusir's predicament. "When the king wants heads he tends to be most impatient."

"Is that so?" Tabusir replied. Then he frowned, as if musing. "I've been trying to place your face for some time, Colonel," he said. "Then it came to me. Weren't you the officer who refused my commission a few years ago?"

Olaf's eyes widened in sudden fear. Jowls trembling, he said, "Oh, it most certainly wasn't me!"

Tabusir examined the man's face with deliberate slowness. Olaf couldn't help but let one hand steal up his chest to touch his fat throat.

"Are you sure about that?" Tabusir asked. "I'd swear you were the man. I rarely forget a face."

"No! Truly!" Olaf squeaked.

Tabusir made an elaborate shrug. "Ah, well, then," he said. "I suppose it's a case of mistaken ident.i.ty."

Then he bowed low. "My apologies, Colonel for begging an end to this most delightful conversation. But I must be off to find the king his heads."

Another bow. "With your permission, of course."

Olaf made a weak-fingered wave, babbling, "Yes, yes. You must not tarry. You have the king's commission!"

Tabusir strolled away, leaving a group of very shaken officers in his wake.

He looked up at the clearing skies, thinking, What an excellent day this has turned out to be.

In his mother's quarters, Rhodes was thinking the same thing as Clayre made an apology so rare that no matter how hard he racked his brains, he couldn't recall another such incident.

"I humbly beg your pardon, my son," she said, "for being the cause of our quarrel. You were right to worry about the mural and I should have listened to your concerns."

Rhodes was about to press his advantage and make her grovel more before accepting her apology, but Kalasariz hissed a warning and he thought better of it.

"It's a thing of the past, mother," he said, forcing magnanimity. "We'll not speak of it again."

He paused, giving Kalasariz time to suggest how to proceed. Then he said, "Have you figured out how the mural disappeared from your chambers, mother?"

Clayre sighed. "I'm afraid not, my son," she said. "Nor do I know how it came into Safar Timura's possession, much less how he managed to use it against us."

She raised a golden wine cup to her beautiful lips and drank sparingly. Then she said, "The trouble is that the mural was there for so long that I'd quite forgotten it. Oh, I had heard stories. Stories that I believed were myths. That the mural depicted the first great king of Syrapis and his daughters. One taleteller even had it that the king portrayed was the grandfather of Alisarrian."

Clayre took another sip of wine. After a moment of reflection, she said, "Although I thought these tales were only myths, I must have sensed some truth in them. For it is the only one of the ancient murals in my chambers that I did not use or alter in any way for my magical purposes. And although it does not excusemy forgetfulness, it does explain why I put it from my mind."

The Queen Witch placed the goblet down quite firmly, her eyes growing fierce. Her fabulous looks so intensified by the emotions roiling within that even Rhodes was stricken by his mother's beauty.

"But I promise you this, my son," she said. "Before this journey is done I will find a way either to nullify the power of the mural or use it to use it our own advantage."

Both Rhodes and Kalasariz were relieved to hear this. "Do you think we can continue the expedition with some hope of success?" the king asked.

"Without a doubt," Clayre said.

Then she waved at her gilded table, where the map was still pinned against the tiles by the four black candles. The replica of the Nepenthe now sitting a few hair's breadths from the coast of Aroborus.

"I can also report that our efforts were not completely unsuccessful," she said.

Rhodes looked carefully at the scene and gradually he detected slight movements in the s.h.i.+p. A little fluttering of the sails. An almost imperceptible pitch and roll of the hull. Then he realized that the s.h.i.+p was not quite touching the parchment of the map. And that it actually rested on seas so faint that a flicker of the eye would make them vanish.

"The last time," Clayre said, "my only mistake was that I tried to interfere. It was Jooli's fault, really.

Honestly, that girl could drive the most patient of people mad. Still, I shouldn't have tried to kill her.

That's what alerted Safar Timura to our presence."

Again, she raised the chalice and sipped. And she said, "I won't make that same mistake again. As you can see, I've got a very weak spell working for us now. One that's impossible for our enemies to detect and yet we'll still be able to follow them."

"That's certainly good to hear, mother," Rhodes said. "But don't we still have the problem of catching them? I mean, our delaying tactics didn't work, correct?"

Clayre smiled, her perfect features glowing with delight. "Actually, they worked quite well," she said.

"Naturally, it would've been nice if we could have ended the race quickly by killing them. On the other hand, we've accomplished the next best thing."

"Which is?" Rhodes asked.

The Queen Witch's lovely smile twisted into an ugly, gloating expression.

"Which is that they've lost that little b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Palimak," she said. "He fell off the s.h.i.+p and fools that they are, they're searching for him now."

She pointed at the miniature Nepenthe, which had moved half an inch down the coast of Aroborus.

"If the winds stay with us," she said, "we ought to catch them within a week!"

The prospect of victory excited Rhodes. But the hope that Palimak might be dead made him positively tingle.

But then Kalasariz spoke, his mental whispers dousing Rhodes' joy as effectively as a large pail of cold water. He said, Remember, we need the boy's body. Just as we require Safar Timura's.

Otherwise you will not achieve your dream of taking their powers to overwhelm yourenemies--especially your mother.

The king's mouth went dry. He grabbed up the wine flask and drank down half its contents. His mother observed this with barely concealed disgust.

"But what if he has drowned, mother?" he asked, voice thinning with tension. "What if he fell into the sea and sank to the bottom? That'll do us no good!"

"Corpses don't sink, they float," she said. "And if he floats, I'll find him, never fear. And if he didn't drown..."