“One by one, these wanderers revealed their phases to us. Soon we could predict their changes exactly. There’s deuteroscopy! From there, SartoriIrvrash and I backed our observations by calculation. Thus we came on the laws of heavenly geometry, which we think must have been known to YarapRombry—but he suffered martyrdom at the hands of the Church. These laws state that the orbits of the worlds lie about the sun Batalix, and the orbit of Batalix lies about Freyr. And the radius vector of the solar movements covers equal areas of space in equal times.
“We discovered also that the fast planet, called by VryDen Kaidaw, has its orbit not about Batalix but about Helliconia, and is therefore a satellite body or moon.”
The king stopped pacing to ask sharply, “Could people like us live on this Kaidaw?”
The question was so at variance with his previous reluctant interest that CaraBansity was surprised. “It is merely a silver eye, sire, not a true world, like Helliconia or Ipocrene.”
The king clapped his hands. “Enough. Explain no more. You could end as did YarapRombry. I understand nothing.”
“If we could make these explanations clear to Pannoval, then we might change their out-of-date thinking. If the C’Sarr could be coaxed to understand celestial geometry, then he might come to appreciate a human geometry enough to allow humankind and ancipitals to revolve about each other as Batalix and Freyr do, instead of promulgating his holy drumbles, which upset orderly life.”
He was about to launch into further explanation, when the king made one of his impatient gestures.
“Another day. I can’t listen to much heresy at a time, though I appreciate the cunning of your thought. You incline to go with circumstances, even as I do. Is this what you came here for?”
For a while, CaraBansity faced the sharp gaze of the king. Then he said, “No, Your Majesty, I came, like many of your faithful subjects, hoping to sell you something.”
He brought from his belt the bracelet with the three sets of numbers which he had discovered on the corpse, and presented it to his majesty.
“Did you ever see a jewel like this before, Your Majesty?”
His majesty regarded it with surprise, turning it over in his hand.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’ve seen this very bracelet before, in Matrassyl. It is indeed strange, and it came from a strange man, who claimed to have come from another world. From your Kaidaw.” He closed his mouth after this mysterious speech, as if sorry to have spoken.
He watched the numbers in the piece of jewellery writhing and changing for a while, and said, “You can tell me at a more leisurely time how this arrived in your possession. Now this audience is closed. I have other matters to attend to.”
He closed his hand over the bracelet.
CaraBansity broke into pained protest. The king’s demeanour changed. Rage burned from his eyes, from every line of his face. He leaned forward like a predatory bird.
“You atheists will never comprehend that Borlien lives or dies by its religion. Are we not threatened on every side by barbarians, by unbelievers? The empire cannot exist without belief. This bracelet threatens the empire, threatens belief itself. Its wriggling numbers come from a system that would destroy us…” In a less intense voice, he added, “Such is my conviction, and we must live or die by our convictions.”
The deuteroscopist bit his knuckle and said nothing.
JandolAnganol contemplated him, then spoke again.
“If you decide to become my chancellor, return here tomorrow. We will then speak more. Meanwhile, I will keep this atheistic bauble. What will your answer be, do you think? Will you become my chief advisor?”
Seeing the king place the bracelet within his clothes, CaraBansity was overcome.
“I thank your majesty. On that question, I must consult my own chief advisor, my wife…”
He bowed low as the king passed him and swept out of the room.
In a nearby corridor of the palace, the C’Sarr’s envoy was preparing to attend the king.
The portrait of Queen MyrdemInggala was painted on an oval piece of ivory cut from the tusk of a sea beast. It showed that unmatched face with a brow of flawless beauty, and her hair piled high above it. The queen’s deep blue eyes were shielded by full lids, while the neat chin lent a delicate aspect to an otherwise rather commanding mien. These features Alam Esomberr recognized from earlier portraits he had examined in Pannoval—for the queen’s beauty was known far and wide.
As he gazed upon this image, the official envoy of the Holy C’Sarr allowed his mind to dwell upon lascivious thoughts. He reflected that in a short space of time he would be face to face with the original masterpiece.
Two agents of Pannoval who spied for the C’Sarr stood before Esomberr. As he stared at the picture, they reported the gossip of Ottassol. They discussed back and forward between themselves the danger the queen of queens would be in once the divorcement between her and JandolAnganol was complete. He would wish to have her removed entirely from the scene. Entirely.
On the other hand, the general multitude preferred the queen to the king. Had not the king imprisoned his own father and bankrupted his country? The multitude might rise up, kill the king, and place MyrdemInggala on the throne. Justifiably.
Esomberr looked mildly upon them. “You worms,” he said. “You hrattocks. You tit-tattlers. Do not all kings bankrupt their countries? Would not everyone lock up his father, given the power? Are not queens always in danger? Do not multitudes always dream of rising up and overthrowing someone or other? You chatter merely of traditional role-playing in the great but on the whole somewhat typecast theatre of life. You tell me nothing of substance. Agents of Oldorando would be flogged if they turned in such a report.”
The men bowed their heads. “We also have to report that agents of Oldorando are busy here.”
“Let’s hope they don’t spend all their time rumboing the port wenches, as you two evidently do. The next time I summon you, I shall expect news from you, not gossip.”
The agents bowed more deeply and left the room, smiling excessively, as if they had been overpaid.
Alam Esomberr sighed, practised looking severe, and glanced again at the miniature of the queen.
“No doubt she’s stupid, or has some other defect to counterbalance such beauty,” he said aloud. He tucked the ivory into a safe pocket.
The envoy to C’Sarr Kilandar IX was a noble of deeply religious Taker family with connections in the deep-dwelling Holy City itself. His austere father, a member of the Grand Judiciary, had seen to it that promotion of his son, who despised him, had come early. Esomberr regarded this journey to bear witness to his friend’s divorcement as a holiday. On holiday, one was entitled to a little fun. He began to hope that Queen MyrdemInggala might provide it.
He was prepared to meet JandolAnganol. He summoned a footman. The footman took him into the presence of the king, and the two men embraced each other.
Esomberr saw that the king was more nervous in his manner than previously. Covertly, he assessed that lean bearded profile as the king escorted him into the chambers where revels were still in progress. The runt Yuli followed behind. Esomberr threw him a look of aversion, but said nothing.
“So, Jan, we have both managed to arrive in Ottassol safely. No invaders of your realm intercepted either of us on our way.”
They were friends as friendship went in those circles. The king remembered well Esomberr’s cynical airs and his habit of holding his head slightly to one side, as if questioning the world.