Mikal has waited a lifetime for this, Riktors thought.
All the children and adults in the hall arose, though he had seen no cue given. And all of them began to sing, one by one, then all together, until the sheer weight of sound made the air in the hall feel thick and aromatic with melody. They were saying good-bye to Ansset, who alone was silent, who stood without weeping on the platform.
They were still singing as Ansset stepped from the platform, and without looking to the left or the right walked down the aisle to where Riktors waited. Ansset held out his hand. Riktors took it.
Take me with you, Ansset said. I'm ready to go.
And Riktors's hand trembled as he led Ansset from the hall, as he took him to the flesket waiting outside that would carry them both to Riktors's starship. Riktors had seen wealth, had seen the opulence of Mikal's palace at Susquehanna, had seen the thousand most beautiful things that people made and bought and sold. None of them was worth the beauty that walked beside him, that held his hand, that smiled at him as the Songhouse door closed behind them.
MIKAL
1
Susquehanna was not the largest city on Earth; there were a hundred cities larger. Perhaps more. But Susquehanna was certainly the most important city. It was Mikal's city, built by him at the confluence of the Susquehanna and West Susquehanna rivers. It consisted of the palace and its grounds, the homes of all the people who worked at the palace, and the facilities for handling the millions of guests every year who came to the palace. No more than a hundred thousand permanent residents.
Most government offices were located elsewhere, all over Earth, so that no one spot would be the center of the planet more than any other. With instant communications, no one needed to be any closer. And so Susquehanna looked more like a normal suburban community-a bit richer than most, a bit better landscaped, better paved, better lit, perhaps, with no industrial wastes whatsoever and utterly no poverty or signs of poverty or even, for that matter, decay.
It was only the third large city Ansset had ever seen in his life. It lacked the violent, heady excitement of Bog, but neither was it weary, as Step had been. And the vegetation was a deeper green than any on Tew, so that while the forests did not tower, and the mountains were sleepy and low, the impression was of lushness. As if the world that had spawned mankind were eager to prove that she was still fecund, that life still oozed out of her with plenty to spare, that mankind was not her only surprise, her only trick to play on the universe.
It's a proud place, Ansset said.
What, Earth? Riktors Ashen asked.
What have I seen of Earth?
The whole planet's like this. Mikal didn't design this city, you know: It was a gift to him.
The whole planet's like this? Beautiful?
No. Trimmed. With its nose in the air. People on Earth are very proud of their place as the 'heart of humanity.' Heart, hell. On the fringe, that's all they are, an Insane fringe, too, if you ask me. They cling to their petty national identities as if they were religions. Which they are, I think. Terrible place for a capital-this planet is more fragmented than the rest of the galaxy. There are even independence movements.
From what?
From Mikal. His capital planet, and they think that just a piece of a planet should be free of him. Riktors laughed.
Ansset was genuinely puzzled. But how can they divide it up? Can they lift a piece of the world up and put it in space? How can they be independent?
Out of the mouths of babes.
They rode in a flesket, of course, all transparent except for the view of the road beneath their feet, which would have made them sick to see. It was an hour from the port to the city, but now the palace was in view, a jumble of what seemed to be stone in an odd, intricate style that looked lacy and delicate and solid as the planet itself.
Most of it's underground, of course, Riktors said.
Ansset watched the building approach, saying nothing. It occurred to Riktors that perhaps the boy was nervous, afraid of the coming meeting. Do you want to know what he's like?
Ansset nodded.
Old. Few men in Mikal's business live to be old. There have been more than eight thousand plots against the emperor's life. Since he got here to Earth.
Ansset did not register emotion until a moment later,
and then he did it in a song, a short wordless song of amazement. Then he said, so Riktors could understand, A man that so many people want to die-he must be a monster!
Or a saint.
Eight thousand.
Fifty of them actually came close. Two of them succeeded in injuring the emperor. You'll understand the security arrangements that always surround him. People go to great lengths to try to kill him. Therefore we must go to great lengths to try to protect him.
How, Ansset asked, did such a man ever earn the right to have a Songbird?
The question surprised Riktors. Did Ansset really understand his own uniqueness in the universe right now? Was he so vain about being a Songbird that he marveled that the emperor should have one? No, Riktors decided. The boy was only just made a Songbird at the beginning of the flight that brought him here. He still thinks of Songbirds as other, as outside himself. Or does he?
Earn the right? Riktors repeated thoughtfully. He came to the Songhouse years and years ago, and asked. According to the story I heard, he asked for anything-a Songbird, a singer, anything at all. Because he had heard a Songbird once and couldn't live without the beauty of such music. And he talked to the old Songmaster, Nniv. And the new one, Esste. And they promised him a Songbird.
I wonder why.
He'd already done most of his killing. His reputation preceded him. I doubt that they were fooled about that. Perhaps they just saw something in him.
Of course they did, Ansset said, and his voice chided gently so that suddenly Riktors felt young and vaguely patronized by the child beside him. Esste wouldn't make a mistake.
Wouldn't she? Devil's advocate, Riktors thought. Why do I always play such opposite roles? There's more than a little grumbling throughout the empire, you know. That the Songhouse has been sold out, sending you to Mikal.
Sold out? For what price? Ansset asked mildly. And Riktors resented the scorn in the question.
Everything has a price. Mikal's paying more for you than for dozens of ships of the fleet. You came for a high price.
I came to sing, Ansset said. And if Mikal had been poor, but the Songhouse had decided he should have a Songbird, they would have paid him to take me.
Riktors raised an eyebrow.
It has happened, Ansset said.
Aren't you a bit young to know history? Riktors asked, amused.
What family doesn't know its own past?
For the first time Riktors realized that the Songhouse's isolation was not just a technique or a facade to raise respect. Ansset, and by extension all the singers, didn't really feel a. kinship with the rest of humanity. At least not a close kinship. They're everything to you, aren't they? Riktors asked.
Who? Ansset answered, and they arrived. It was just as well. Ansset's who was frigid and Riktors could not have pursued the questioning had he wanted to. The child was beautiful, especially now that the scars and bruises had healed completely. But he was not normal. He could not be touched as other children could be touched. Riktors had prided himself on being able to make friends with children easily. But Ansset, he decided, was not a child. Days together on the flight, and the only thing their relationship had disclosed to Riktors was the fact that they had no relationship. Riktors had seen Ansset with Esste, had seen love as loud as the roar of engines in atmosphere. But apparently the love had to be earned. Riktors had not earned it.