Hugh looked intently at Alfred. “And what’s the truth about you, chamberlain?”
“You see it before you, sir, I am afraid,” said Alfred humbly, spreading his hands. “I have been in service all my life. I was with Her Royal Highness’s family at their castle in Uylandia. When Her Majesty became queen, she was kind enough to bring me with her.” A slow flush spread over Alfred’s face. His eyes sought the deck. He plucked nervously at the shabby clothing with his clumsy fingers.
Lying does not come easily for this man, not like it does for the child, thought Hugh. Yet, like the child, Alfred is, seemingly, living a lie. The assassin let it drop, closing his eyes. His shoulder pained him, he felt queasy and lethargic, effects of both the poison and the heavy air pressure. Thinking of all that had passed, he twisted his lips into a bitter smile. Worst of all, his hands smeared red with the blood of countless men, he who had proudly believed himself to be masterless had been mastered—by a child. Prince Bane poked his head back through the shattered side of the ship. “I think I see it. The great machine! It’s off in the distance, that direction. You can’t see it now, because the clouds have covered it. But I remember the way. Let’s go there now! After all, how can it be dangerous? It’s only rain—” A bolt of lightning sizzled from sky to ground, blasting a hole in the coralite. The thunderclap shook the ground and nearly knocked the boy over.
“That’s why,” said Hugh.
Another lightning bolt struck with shattering force. Bane shot across the deck and crouched down beside Alfred. Rain pounded on the hull. Hail beat on it with deafening ferocity. Soon, water began pouring in through the cracks in the smashed timber. Bane’s eyes were wide, his face pale, but he didn’t cry out. When he saw his hands were trembling, he clasped them together tightly. Looking at the boy, Hugh saw himself long ago, battling fear with pride—the only weapon in his arsenal.
And it occurred to him that perhaps this was just what Bane wanted him to see. The assassin fingered the hilt of his sword. It would take only a few seconds. Grasp it, wield it, thrust it deep into the boy’s body. If he was going to be stopped by magic, then he wanted to see it act, know for certain. Or perhaps he had seen it already.
Hugh moved his hand away from the sword. Lifting his pipe, he saw Bane watching him. The boy’s lips curved in a sweet, charming smile.
29
The High Froman was having a sad time of it. He was being plagued by gods. Literally dropping from the skies, gods rained down on his defenseless head. Nothing was going right. His once-peaceful realm that had not known a whisper of trouble in the last several centuries was now running amok. Trudging across the coralite, his band of coppers marching along reluctantly behind him, the Head Clark marching righteously at his side, the Froman thought long and hard about gods and decided that he hadn’t much use for them. First, instead of neatly getting rid of Mad Limbeck, the gods had actually had the audacity to send him back alive. Not only that, but they came with him!
Well, one of them did—a god who called himself Haplo. And though confused reports had reached the ears of the High Froman that the god didn’t consider himself a god, Darral Longshoreman didn’t believe it for a flicker. Unfortunately, whether this Haplo was or he wasn’t, he was stirring up trouble wherever he went—and that was pretty nearly everywhere, including, now, the Gegs’ capital city of Wombe. Mad Limbeck and his wild WUPP’s were dragging the god across the countryside, making speeches, telling the people that they were being misused, ill-treated, enslaved, and the Mangers knew what else. Of course, Mad Limbeck had been ranting and raving about this for some considerable length of time, but now, with the god standing at his side, the Gegs were beginning to listen to him!
Half the clarks had been completely won over. The Head Clark, seeing his church falling apart around him, was demanding that the High Froman do something.
“And what am I supposed to do?” Darral asked sourly. “Arrest this Haplo, this god who says he isn’t a god? That won’t do anything except convince the people who do believe in him that they’ve been right all along and convince the rest who don’t that they should!”
“Bosh!” sniffed the Head Clark, who hadn’t understood a thing the High Froman said but who knew he didn’t agree with it.
“Bosh! That’s all you’ve got to say! It’s all your fault, anyhow!” the High Froman shouted, working himself into a rage. “Let the Mangers take care of Mad Limbeck, you said. Well, they took care of him, all right! Sent him back to destroy us!”
The Head Clark had stormed off in a huff. But he’d been back quick enough when the ship was sighted.
Plummeting out of the skies where it had no business being, since it wasn’t time for the monthly festival yet, the dragonship had landed in the Outland some distance away from an outer sector of Wombe known as Stomak. The High Froman had seen it from his bedroom window and his heart had sunk. More gods—just what he needed!
At first Darral thought he might have been the only one to see it and that he could pretend he hadn’t. No such luck. A number of other Gegs saw it, including the Head Clark. Worse still, one of his sharp-eyed, no-brains coppers had reported seeing Something Alive come out of it. The copper, as punishment, was now stumbling along after his chief on their way to investigate.
“I guess this’ll teach you!” Darral rounded on the unfortunate copper. “It’s because of you we’re being forced to come out here. If you’d kept your lips from flapping! But, no! You have to go and see one of ’em! Not only that, but you have to shout it out to half the realm!”
“I only said it to the Head Clark,” protested the copper.
“It’s the same thing,” Darral muttered.
“Well, but I think it’s only right that we have our own god now, High Froman,” persisted the copper. “ ‘Tisn’t fair, to my mind, those clods in Met having a god and us going without. I reckon this’ll show ’em!”
The Head Clark raised an eyebrow. Anger forgotten, he sidled over to the High Froman. “He does have a point,” murmured the clark in Darral’s ear. “If we have our own god, we can use him to counter Limbeck’s god.” Stumbling along over the cracked and gouged coralite, the High Froman had to admit that his brother-in-law had, for once in his life, come up with something that sounded halfway intelligent. My own god, mused Darral Longshoreman, squelching through the puddles, heading for the dragonship. There’s got to be some way to work this to my advantage.
Seeing that they were nearing the wrecked dragonship, the High Froman slowed his march, raising his hand to warn those behind him to slow theirs—something that was not necessary. The coppers had already come to a standstill about ten feet behind their leader.
The High Froman glared at his men in exasperation and started to curse them all for cowards, but on second thought, he considered that it was probably just as well his men remained behind. It would look better if he treated with the gods alone. He cast a sidelong glance at the Head Clark.
“I think you should stay here,” said Darral. “It might be dangerous.” Since Darral Longshoreman had never in his entire life been concerned about his welfare, the Head Clark was very rightly suspicious at this sudden consideration and promptly and unequivocally refused. “It’s only proper that a churchman greet these immortal beings,” said the Head Clark loftily. “I suggest, in fact, that you allow me to do the talking.” The storm had cleared, but there was another coming (on Drevlin there was always another coming!), and Darral didn’t have time to argue. Contenting himself with muttering that the Head Clark could talk all he wanted through a split lip, the High Froman and his cohort turned and marched—with a remarkable courage that would later be celebrated in story and song—right up to the battered hull of the downed ship. (The courage exhibited by the two Gegs should not, after all, be considered that remarkable, the copper having reported that the Creature he had seen emerge from the ship was small and puny-looking. Their true courage would be tested shortly.)