Prince Bane got a grip on himself, however. Pointed chin in the air, he made some answer that apparently eased the situation, for Hugh saw Alfred’s face relax. The chamberlain even nodded slightly, before he caught himself, aware that he shouldn’t be reacting.
The kid has nerve, he’s quick-thinking. Hugh twisted his beard. And perhaps I’m “enthralled,” he reminded himself.
“Bring this god to me,” said Bane with an imperious air that made him, for a brief moment, resemble King Stephen.
“If Your Wurship wishes to see him, he and the Geg who brought him here are speaking at a rally tonight. You could confront him publicly.”
“Very well,” said Bane, not liking it but not knowing what other response to make.
“Now, perhaps Your Wurship would care to rest. I notice that one member of your party is injured.” The Geg’s glance went to Hugh’s torn and bloodstained shirt sleeve. “I could send for a healer.”
Hugh saw the glance, understood, and made a negating gesture.
“Thank you, his injury isn’t serious,” said Bane, “but you could send us food and water.”
The High Froman bowed. “Is that all I can do for Your Wurship?”
“Yes, thank you. That will be all,” said Bane, failing to conceal the relief in his voice.
The gods were shown to chairs placed at the feet of the Manger, possibly to provide inspiration. The Head Clark would have liked very much to stay and visit, but Darral nabbed his brother-in-law by the velvet sleeve and dragged him—protesting volubly—away.
“What are you doing?” raved the Head Clark. “How could you risk insulting His Wurship by saying such a thing? Implying that he isn’t a god! And that talk about slaves!”
“Shut up and listen to me,” snapped Darral Longshoreman. He’d had his fill of gods. One more “Your Wurship” and he thought he’d gag. “Either these folk are gods or they’re not. If they’re not, and this Limbeck turns out to be right, what do you think will happen to us, who’ve spent our lives telling our people that we were serving gods?”
The Head Clark stared at his brother-in-law. Slowly his face drained of all its ruddy color. He gulped.
“Exactly.” Darral nodded emphatically, his beard wagging. “Now, suppose they are gods, do you really want to be judged and taken up into heaven? Or do you like it down here, the way things used to be before all this hullabaloo started?”
The Head Clark considered. He was very fond of being Head Clark. He lived well. Gegs respected him, bowed and took off their hats when he walked down the street. He didn’t have to serve the Kicksey-Winsey, except when and where he chose to put in an appearance. He got invited to all the best parties. When you came right down to it, what more did heaven have to offer?
“You’re right,” he was forced to admit, though it galled him to do so. “What do we do?”
“I’m working on it,” said the High Froman. “Just leave it to me.
“I’d give a hundred barls to know what those two are talking about.” Hugh watched the two Gegs walk off in close conversation.
“I don’t like this at all,” said Alfred. “This other god, whoever it is, is fomenting rebellion and chaos down here. I wonder why. The elves wouldn’t have any reason to upset things in the Low Realm, would they?”
“No. It’s to their advantage to keep the Gegs quiet and hard at work. But there’s nothing we can do, I guess, except to go to this rally tonight and hear what this god has to say.”
“Yes,” said Alfred absently.
Hugh glanced at the man. The high domed forehead glistened with sweat, and his eyes had acquired a fevered luster. His skin was ashen, his lips gray. He hadn’t, it occurred to Hugh suddenly, fallen over anything in the last hour.
“You don’t look good. Are you all right?”
“I ... I’m not feeling very well, Sir Hugh. Nothing serious. Just a reaction from the crash. I’ll be fine. Please don’t worry about me. Your Highness understands the serious nature of tonight’s encounter?” Bane gave Alfred a thoughtful, considering look. “Yes, I understand. I’ll do my best to help, although I’m not certain what it is I’m supposed to do.” The boy appeared to be sincere, but Hugh could still see that innocent smile as the child fed him poison. Was Bane, in truth, playing the game with them?
Or was he merely moving them ahead one more square?
33
A commotion outside the hole in the wall attracted Jarre’s attention. She had just put the finishing touches on Limbeck’s speech. Laying it down, she went to what served as the door and peered out the curtain. The crowds in the street had grown larger, she saw with satisfaction. But the WUPP’s assigned to guard the door were arguing loudly with several other Gegs attempting to enter.
At the sight of Jarre, their clamor increased.
“What is it?” she asked.
The Gegs began shouting at once, and it took her some time to quiet them down. When she had done so and had heard what they had to say, she gave instructions and reentered WUPP Headquarters.
“What’s going on?” Haplo was standing on the stairs, the dog at his side.
“I’m sorry the commotion woke you,” Jarre apologized. “It’s nothing, really.”
“I wasn’t asleep. What is it?”
Jarre shrugged. “The High Froman’s come up with his own god. I might have expected something like this of Darral Longshoreman. Well, it won’t work, that’s all.”
“His own god?” Haplo descended the stairs with a step swift and light as a cat’s. “Tell me.”
“Surely you can’t take this seriously? You know there are no such things as gods. Darral probably told the Welves we were threatening them, and they’ve sent someone down here to try to convince my people that, ‘Yes, we Welves really are gods.’ ”
“Is this god an el ... a Welf?”
“I don’t know. Most of our people have never seen a Welf. I don’t suppose anyone knows what they look like. All I know is that it seems this god is a child and he’s been telling everyone he’s come to judge us and he’s going to do so at the rally tonight and prove that we’re wrong. Of course, you can deal with him.”
“Of course,” murmured Haplo.
Jarre was bustling about. “I’ve got to go make certain everything’s arranged at the Together Hall.” She threw a shawl around her shoulders. On her way out the hole in the wall, she paused and looked back. “Don’t tell Limbeck about this. He’ll get himself all worked up. It’ll be better to take him completely by surprise. That way, he won’t have time to think.”
Thrusting aside the curtain, she stepped outside, to the sound of loud cheers. Left alone, Haplo threw himself in a chair. The dog, sensing his master’s mood, thrust his muzzle comfortingly into the man’s hand.
“The Sartan, do you think, boy?” mused Haplo, absently scratching the dog beneath the chin. “They’re as close to a god as these people are likely to find in a godless universe. And what do I do if it is? I can’t challenge this ‘god’ and reveal to him my own powers. The Sartan must not be alerted to our escape from their prison. Not yet, not until my lord is fully prepared.” He sat in thoughtful, brooding silence. The hand stroking the animal slowed in its caress and soon ceased altogether. The dog, knowing itself no longer needed, settled down at the man’s feet, chin on its paws, its liquid eyes reflecting the concern in the eyes of its master.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” said Haplo, and at the voice the dog’s ears pricked and it glanced up at him, one white eyebrow slightly raised. “Me with the powers of a god and unable to use them.” Drawing back the bandage that swathed his hand, he ran a finger over the blue-and-red spiderweb lines of the sigla whose fantastic whorls and patterns decorated his skin. “I could build a ship in a day. Fly out of here tomorrow if I so chose. I could show these dwarves power they’ve never imagined. I could become a god for them. Lead them to war against the humans and the ‘Welves.’” Haplo smiled, but his face grew immediately sober. “Why not? What would it matter?” A strong desire to use his power came over him. Not only to use the magic, but to use it to conquer, to control, to lead. The Gegs were peaceful, but Haplo knew that wasn’t the true nature of dwarves. Somehow the Sartan had managed to beat it out of them, reduce them to the mindless machine-serving “Gegs” that they had become. It should be easy to uncover the fierce pride, the legendary courage of the dwarves. The ashes appeared cold, but surely a flame must flicker somewhere!