“Very tasteful. And then—”
“The High Froman would be standing there with us too, I suppose, Your Wurship? That is, unless we could find something else for him to do. You see, Your Wurship, what he’ll find fit to wear is going to be a problem. Perhaps, with this modernization you were discussing, we might dispense with him.”
“I’ll think about it.” Bane gripped the feather amulet and tried very hard to be patient. “Go on. We’re all up in front of the crowd. I stand up and I ...” He looked expectantly at the Head Clark.
“Why, you judge us, Your Wurship.”
The prince had the sudden satisfying vision of sinking his teeth into the Geg’s velvet arm. Reluctantly banishing the thought, he drew a deep breath.
“Fine. I judge you. And then what happens? I know! We’ll declare a holiday!”
“I don’t really think there’ll be time for that, do you, Your Wurship?” said the Geg, looking at Bane with a puzzled expression.
“P-perhaps not,” stammered the prince. “I forgot about . . . the other. When we’re all . .” Slipping his hand from the hand of the Head Clark, the boy wiped his sweating forehead. It was certainly hot inside the machine. Hot and noisy. His throat was getting sore from shouting. “What is it we’re all doing now, after I’ve judged you?”
“Why, that depends on whether or not you’ve found us worthy, Your Wurship.”
“Let’s say I find you worthy,” Bane said, gritting his teeth. “Then what?”
“Then we ascend, Your Wurship.”
“Ascend?” The prince looked at the catwalks running hither and thither above him.
The Head Clark, misunderstanding his gaze, sighed with happiness. His face glowing beatifically, he lifted his hands.
“Yes, Your Wurship. Right straight up into heaven!” Marching along behind Bane and his adoring Gegs, Hugh devoted one eye to his surroundings and the other to the prince. He soon ceased to try to keep track of where they were, admitting to himself that he could never find his way out of the insides of the machine without help. News of their coming had apparently rushed on ahead of them. Thousands of Gegs lined the halls and corridors of the machine, staring, shouting, and pointing. Gegs busy with their work actually turned their heads, bestowing on Hugh and his companions—had they known it—a high honor by forgetting their tasks for a few seconds. The reaction of the Gegs, however, was mixed. Some were cheering with enthusiasm, but others appeared to be angry.
Hugh was more interested in Prince Bane and what he was doing in such close confab with the ruffled Geg. Silently cursing himself for never having bothered to learn any of the Geg language when he was with the elves, Hugh felt a tug on his sleeve and turned his attention to Alfred.
“Sir,” said Alfred, “have you noticed what the crowd is yelling?”
“Gibberish, as far as I’m concerned. But you understand it, don’t you, Alfred?”
Alfred flushed deeply. “I am sorry I had to conceal my knowledge from you, Sir Hugh. But I believed it important that I conceal it from another.” He glanced at the prince. “When you asked me that question, it was just possible that he could have heard my answer, and so I felt I had no choice—” Hugh made a deprecating motion with his hand. Alfred had a point. It had been the Hand who had made the mistake. He should have realized what Alfred was doing and never spoken up. It was just that never in Hugh’s life had he felt so damn helpless!
“Where did you learn to speak Geg?”
“The study of the Gegs and the Low Realm has been a hobby of mine, sir,” answered Alfred with the shy, proud consciousness of a true enthusiast. “I daresay I have one of the finest collections of books written about their culture in the Mid Realm. If you would be interested, when we return, I’ll be happy to show you—”
“If you left those books in the palace, you can forget them. Unless you plan on asking Stephen to give you leave to run back in and pick up your things.”
“You’re right, sir, of course. How stupid of me.” Alfred’s shoulders sagged.
“All my books ... I don’t suppose I’ll ever see them again.”
“What were you saying about the crowd?”
“Oh, yes.” The chamberlain glanced around at the cheering and occasionally jeering Gegs. “Some are calling out, ‘Down with the Froman’s god!’ and ‘We want Limbeck’s god!’ ”
“Limbeck? What does that mean?”
“It’s a Geg name, I believe, sir. It means ‘to distill or extract.’ If I might make a suggestion? I think . . .” Instinctively he lowered his voice, and in the noise and commotion, Hugh lost his words.
“Talk louder. No one can understand us, can they?”
“Oh, I suppose not,” said Alfred, light dawning. “That hadn’t occurred to me. I was saying, sir, that there might be another human such as ourselves down here.”
“Or an elf. That’s more likely. Either way, odds are they’ve got a ship we can use to get out of here!”
“Yes, sir. I thought that might be the case.”
“We’ve got to see this Limbeck and his god or whatever.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult, sir. Not if our little ‘god’ commands it.”
“Our little ‘god’ seems to have gotten himself in some sort of trouble,” said Hugh, his gaze going to the prince. “Look at his face.”
“Oh, dear,” murmured Alfred.
Bane had twisted his head back to search for his companions. His cheeks were pale, his blue eyes wide. Biting his lip, he made a hurried motion for them to come up to him.
An entire squadron of armed Gegs marched between them and the prince. Hugh shook his head. Bane gazed at him pleadingly. Alfred, looking sympathetic, gestured at the crowd. Bane was a prince. He knew what was due an audience. Sighing, he turned around and began to wave his small hand feebly and without enthusiasm.
“I was afraid of this,” said Alfred.
“What do you think’s happened?”
“The boy said something about the Gegs thinking he was the god who had come to ‘judge’ them. He spoke about it glibly, but it is very serious to the Gegs. According to their legends, it was the Mangers who built the great machine. The Gegs were to serve it until the Day of Judgment, when they would be rewarded and carried up into the higher realms. That was how the isle Geg’s Hope came by its name.”
“Mangers. Who are these Mangers?”
“The Sartan.”
“Devil take us!” the Hand swore. “You mean they think the kid is one of the Sartan?”
“It would seem so, sir.”
“I don’t suppose he could fake it, with help from daddy?”
“No, sir. Not even a mysteriarch of the Seventh House, such as his father, possesses magical powers compared to those of the Sartan. After all,” said Alfred, gesturing, “they built all this.”
Hugh cared little about that now. “Great! Just great! And what do you think they’ll do when they find out we’re impostors?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. Ordinarily, the Gegs are peaceful, gentle people. But then, I don’t suppose they’ve ever had anyone pretend to be one of their gods before. In addition, they seem to be in a turmoil over something.” Alfred, looking at the crowds growing increasingly hostile, shook his head. “I would say, sir, that we’ve come at rather a bad time.”
32
The Gegs took the “gods” to the Factree—the same place where Limbeck had been given his trial. They had some difficulty entering, due to the crowds of milling Gegs massed outside. Hugh couldn’t understand a word they were shouting; despite that, it was obvious to him that the populace was divided into two distinct and highly vocal factions, with a large segment who seemed unable to make up their minds. The two factions appeared to feel strongly about their beliefs, because Hugh saw fights break out on several occasions. He remembered what Alfred had said about the Gegs being ordinarily peaceful and gentle.