The Chamberlain raised a finger. They did not give Mikal a Songbird. They charged a great deal.
Which they didn't need, said the man whose voice sang death. They have more money than any other institution in the empire except the empire itself. So the question remains-why did they send this boy to Mikal? I don't trust them. It's a plot.
A quiet man with large, heavy eyes left the edges of the room and touched the Chamberlain on the shoulder. Mikal is waiting, he said softly, but his message seemed to settle gloom on everyone.
I had begun to hope the Songhouse would actually delay long enough that--
That what? asked the Captain of the guard, belligerently daring the Chamberlain to speak treason.
That we wouldn't have to put up with all this fuss.
The man whose voice sang death came over to Ansset, who sat with a blank face, watching him. He looked Ansset coldly in the eyes. I suppose, he finally said, you might just be what you seem to be.
What do I seem to be? Ansset asked innocently.
The man paused before answering.
Beautiful, he finally said, and there were tremolos of regret in his voice. He turned away, turned away and left the room through the door Ansset had entered by. Everyone seemed to be relieved. Well, that's that, said the Chamberlain, and the Captain of the guard visibly relaxed.
I'm supposed to command every starship in the fleet, and I spend an hour trying to get inside a child's head. He laughed.
Who was that man who left? asked Ansset.
The Chamberlain glanced at the Captain before answering. He's called Ferret. He's an outside expert.
Outside of what?
The palace, answered the Captain.
Why were you all so glad to have him leave?
Enough questions, said the large-eyed man, his voice gentle and trustworthy. Mikal is ready for you.
So Ansset followed him to a door, which led to a small room where guards passed wands over their bodies and took samples of blood, then to another door which led to a small waiting room. And at last an old, gritty voice came over a speaker and said, Now.
A door slid upward in what looked like a section of wall, and they passed from the false stone to a room of real wood. Ansset did not yet know that this, of all things, was a mark of Mikal's wealth and power. On Tew, forests were everywhere and wood was easy to get. On Earth, there was a law, punishable by death, against poaching wood from the forests, a law which had been made perhaps twenty thousand years before, when the forests had almost died. Only the poorest exempt peasants in Siberia could cut wood-and Mikal. Mikal could have wood. Mikal could have anything he wanted.
Even a Songbird.
There was a fire (burning wood!) in a fireplace at one end of the room. By it, on the floor, lay Mikal. He was old, but his body was lithe. His face was sagging but his arms were firm, bare to the shoulder with no hint of the loss of muscle.
The eyes were deep, and they regarded Ansset steadily. The servant led Ansset partway into the room, and then left.
Ansset, said the emperor.
Ansset lowered his head in a gesture of respect.
Mikal rose from his lying position to sit on the floor. There was furniture in the room, but it was far back at the walls, and the floor was bare by the fire. Come, Mikal said.
Ansset walked toward him, stopped and stood still when he was only a meter or so away. The fire was warm. But, Ansset noticed, the room was otherwise cool. Mikal had said only two words, and Ansset did not know his songs, not from that little bit. Yet there had been kindness, and a feeling of awe. Awe, from the emperor of mankind toward a boy.
Would you like to sit? Mikal asked.
Ansset sat. The floor, which had felt rigid to his feet, softened when his weight was distributed over a larger area, and the floor was comfortable. Too comfortable- Ansset was not used to softness.
Have you been treated well?
For a moment Ansset did not answer. He was listening to Mikal's songs, and did not realize that a question had been asked, not until he had begun to understand a little of the reason a Songbird had been sent to a man who had killed so many millions of human beings.
Are you afraid to answer? Mikal asked. I assure you, if you've been mistreated in any way--
I don't know, Ansset said. I don't know what passes for good treatment here.
Mikal was amused, but showed it only warily. Ansset admired his control. Not Control, of course, but something akin to it, something that made him hard to hear. What passes for good treatment in the Songhouse?
No one ever searched me in the Songhouse, Ansset said. No one ever held my penis as if he wanted to own it,
Mikal did not answer for a moment, though the pause was the only sign of emotion Mikal let himself show. Who was it? Mikal asked calmly.
It was the tall one, with the silver stripe. Ansset felt a strange excitement in being able to name the man. What would Mikal do?
The emperor turned to a low table, and pressed a place on it. There was a tall guard, a sergeant, among those who searched the boy.
A moment of silence, and then a soft voice answering- the Captain's voice, Ansset realized, but muted somehow, all harshness sifted out and softened. Was it the machinery? Or did the Captain speak this tenderly to Mikal? Callowick, said the Captain. What did he do?
He found the boy tempting, Mikal said. Break him and get him off planet somewhere. Mikal took his hand from the table.
For a moment Ansset felt a thrill of delight. He did not really understand what the guard had done, this Callowick, except that he had not liked it. But Mikal refused to let it happen again, Mikal would punish those who offended him, Mikal would keep him as safe as he had been in the Songhouse. Safer, for in the Songhouse Ansset had been hurt, and here no one would dare hurt him for Mikal's sake. It was Ansset's first taste of the power of life and death, and it was delicious.
You have power, Ansset said aloud.
Do I? asked Mikal, looking at him intently.
Everyone knows that.
And do you? Mikal asked.
A kind of power, Ansset said, but there had been something in Mikal's question. Something else, a sort of plea, and Ansset searched in His memory of this new, strange voice, to hear what the question was really asking. A kind of power, but you see the end of it. It makes you afraid.
Mikal said nothing now. Just looked carefully at Ansset's face. Ansset was afraid for a moment. Surely this was not what Esste had urged him to do. You must make friends, she had said, because you understand so much more. Do I? Ansset wondered now. I understand some things, but this man has hidden places. This man is dangerous, too; he is not just my protector.
You have to say something now, Ansset said, outwardly calm. I can't know you if I don't hear your voice.
Mikal smiled, but his eyes were wary, and so was his voice. Then perhaps I would be wise to be silent.
It was enough of Mikal's voice, and held enough of the emperor's emotion that Ansset could reach a little further. I don't think it's the loss of your power that you fear, Ansset said. I think-I think-- And then words failed him, because he did not understand what he saw and heard in Mikal, not in a way he could express in words. So he sang. With some words, here and there, but the rest melodies and rhythms that spoke of Mikal's love of power. You don't love power like a hungry man loves food, the song seemed to say. You love power like a father loves his son. Ansset sang of power that was created, not found; created and increased until it filled the universe. And then Ansset sang of the room where Mikal lived, filled it to the wooden walls with his voice, and let the sound reverberate in the wood, let it dance and become lively and, though it distorted his tone, come back to add depth to the song.