As soon as the royal boat had docked, men and women had crowded into the forecourt of the palace to seek a word with the king. By law, all supplications had to go through the scritina, but the ancient tradition of making a plea direct to the king died hard. The king preferred work to idleness. Tired of waiting and of watching his courtiers gyrate themselves into states of breathlessness, he agreed to hold audience in a nearby room. His runt sat alertly by the small throne, and the king patted him now and again.
After the first two supplicants had come and gone, Bardol CaraBansity appeared before the king. He had thrown an embroidered waistcoat over his charfrul. JandolAnganol recognized the man’s strutting walk and frowned as a florid bow was sketched in his direction.
“This man is Bardol CaraBansity, sire,” said the chancellor-on-trial, standing at the king’s right hand. “You have some of his anatomical designs in the royal library.”
The king said, “I remember you. You are a friend of my ex-chancellor, SartoriIrvrash.”
CaraBansity blinked his blood-shot eyes. “I trust that SartoriIrvrash is well, sire, despite being an ex-chancellor.”
“He has fled to Sibornal, if that can be called being well. What do you want of me?”
“Firstly, a chair, sire, since my legs pain me to stand.”
They contemplated each other. Then the king motioned a page to move a chair below the dais on which he sat.
Taking his time about getting himself settled, CaraBansity said, “I have an object to set before you—priceless, I believe—knowing your majesty to be a man of learning.”
“I am an ignorant man, and stupid enough to dislike flattery. A king of Borlien concerns himself with politics merely, to keep his country intact.”
“We do whatever we do the better for being better informed. I can break a man’s arm better if I know how his joints work.”
The king laughed. It was a harsh sound, not often heard from his mouth. He leaned forward. “What is learning against the increasing rage of Freyr? Even the All-Powerful Akhanaba seems to have no power against Freyr.”
CaraBansity let his gaze rest on the floor. “I know nothing of the All-Powerful, Majesty. He does not communicate with me. Some public benefactor scribbled the word ‘Atheist’ on my door last week, so that is my label now.” Then take care for your soul.” The king spoke less challengingly now, and lowered his voice. “As a deuteroscopist, what do you make of the encroaching heat? Has humankind sinned so gravely that we must all perish in Freyr’s fire? Is not the comet in the northern sky a sign of coming destruction, as the common people claim?”
“Majesty, that comet, YarapRombry’s Comet, is a sign of hope. I could explain at length, but I fear to vex you with astronomical reckoning. The comet is named after the sage—cartographer and astronomer—YarapRombry of Kevassien. He made the first map of the globe, setting Ottaassaal, as this city was then called, in the centre of the map, and he named the comet. That was 1825 years ago—one great year. The return of the comet is proof that we circle about Freyr like the comet, and will pass it by with no more than a slight singe!”
The king thought. “You give me a scientific answer, just as SartoriIrvrash did. There must also be a religious answer to my question.”
CaraBansity chewed his knuckle. “What does the Holy Pannovalan Empire say on the subject of Freyr? For Akha’s sake, it dreads any manifestation in the sky, and therefore uses the comet only to increase the fear of the people. It declares one more holy drumble to eliminate the phagors from our midst. The Church’s argument is that if those creatures without souls are eliminated, the climate will immediately cool. Yet we are given to understand that, in the years of ice, the Church then claimed it was the ungodly phagors which brought the cold. So their thinking lacks logic—like all religious thinking.”
“Don’t vex me. I am the Church in Borlien.”
“Majesty, apologies. I merely speak true. If it offends you, send me away, as you sent SartoriIrvrash away.”
“That fellow you mention was all for wiping out the ancipitals.”
“Sire, so am I, though I depend on them myself. If I may again speak truth, your favouring of them alarms me. But I would not kill them for some silly religious reason. I would kill them because they are the traditional enemy of mankind.”
The Eagle of Borlien banged his hand down on the arm of his chair. The chancellor-on-trial jumped.
“I’ll hear no more. You argue out of place, you impertinent hrattock!”
CaraBansity bowed. “Very well, sire. Power makes men deaf and they will not hear. It was you, not I, sire, who called yourself ignorant. Because you can threaten with a look, you cannot learn. That is your misfortune.”
The king stood. The chancellor-on-trial shrank away. CaraBansity stood immobile, his face a patchy white. He knew he had gone too far.
But JandolAnganol pointed at the cringing chancellor.
“I tire of people who cower before me, like this man. Advise me as my advisor cannot and you shall be chancellor—no doubt to prove as vexing as your friend and predecessor.
“When I remarry, and take for wife the daughter of King Sayren Stund of Oldorando, this kingdom will be linked more firmly to the Holy Pannovalan Empire, and from that we shall derive strength. But I shall come under much pressure from the C’Sarr to obliterate the ancipital race, as is being done in Pannoval. Borlien is short of soldiers and needs phagors. Can I refute the C’Sarr’s edict through your science?”
“Hm.” CaraBansity pulled at a heavy cheek. “Pannoval and Oldorando have always hated fuggies as Borlien never did. We are not on ancipital migratory routes, as is Oldorando. The priests have found a new pretext to wage an old war…
“There is a scientific line you might take, sire. Science that would banish the Church’s ignorance, if you’ll forgive me.”
“Speak, then, and my pretty runt and I will listen.”
“Sire, you will understand. Your runt will not. You must know by repute the historical treatise entitled The Testament of RayniLayan. In that volume, we read of a saintly lady, VryDen, wife of the sage RayniLayan. VryDen unravelled some of the secrets of the heavens where, she believed, as I do, that truth, not evil, lives. VryDen perished in the great fire which consumed Oldorando in the year 26. That is three hundred and fifty-five years ago—fifteen generations, though we live longer than they did in those times. I am convinced that VryDen was a real person—not an invention of an Ice Age tale, as the Holy Church would have us believe.”
“What’s your point?” asked the king. He began to pace sharply about, and Yuli skipped after him. He remembered that his queen set great store by the book of RayniLayan, and read parts of it to Tatro.
“Why, my point is a sharp one. This same VryDen lady was an atheist, and therefore saw the world as it is, unobscured by imagined deities. Before her day, it was believed that Freyr and Batalix were two living sentinels who guarded our world against a war in heaven. With the aid of geometry, this same excellent lady was able to predict a series of eclipses which brought her era to a close.
“Knowledge can build only on knowledge, and one never knows where the next step will lead. The Church’s very emblem is that circle.”
“Which I prefer to your fumbling steps into darkness.”
“I found a way to see through the darkness into light. With the aid of our mutual acquaintance, SartoriIrvrash, I ground some lenses of glass like the lens in the eye.” He described how they had constructed a telescope. Through this instrument, they studied the phases of Ipocrene and the other planets in the sky. This intelligence they kept to themselves, since the sky was not a popular subject in those nations under the religious sway of Pannoval.