The flesket went down the Susquehanna River at an unusually high speed, which took it over the normal river traffic. They reached Hisper in an hour, then went another hour beyond, left the river, and crossed farmland and marshes until they reached a much broader river. The Delaware, the Chamberlain whispered to Mikal and Ansset. Mikal nodded, but said, Keep your esoterica to yourself. He sounded irritable, which meant he was enjoying himself immensely.
It wasn't long before the Chamberlain had the lieutenant pull the flasket to the shore. There's a path here that leads where we want to go. The ground was soggy and two soldiers led the column along the path, finding firm ground. It was a long walk, but Mikal did not ask them to go slowly. The Chamberlain wanted to stop and rest, but did not dare ask the column to halt. It would be too much of a victory for Mikal. If the old man can keep it up, thought the Chamberlain, so can I.
The path led to a fenced field, and beyond the field was a group of farmhouses. The nearest house was a colonial revival, which made it about a hundred years old. Only a hundred meters off was the river, and moored to a pile there was a flatboat rocking gently with the currents.
That's the house, said the Chamberlain, and that's the boat.
The field between them and the house was not large, and it was overgrown with bushes, so that they were able to reach the house without being too easily noticeable. But the house was empty, and when they rushed the flatboat the only man on board aimed a laser at his own face and blasted it to a cinder. Not before Ansset had recognized him, though.
That was Husk, Ansset said, looking at the body without any sign of feeling. He's the man who fed me.
Then Mikal and the Chamberlain followed Ansset through the boat. It's not the same, Ansset said.
Of course not, said Chamberlain. They've been trying to disguise it. The paint is fresh. And there's a smell of new wood. They've been remodeling. But is there anything familiar?
There was. Ansset found a tiny room that could have been his cell, though now it was painted bright yellow and a new window let sunlight flood into the room. Mikal examined the window frame. New, the emperor pronounced. And by trying to imagine the interior of the flatboat as it might have been unpainted, Ansset was able to find the large room where he had sung on his last evening in captivity. There was no table. But the room seemed the same size, and Ansset agreed that this could very well have been the place he was held.
Down in Ansset's cell they heard the laughter of children and a flesket passing on the river, full of revelers singing. Quite a populated area, Mikal said to the Chamberlain.
That's why I had us come in through the woods. So we wouldn't be noticed.
If you wanted to avoid being noticed, Mikal said, it would have been better to come in on a civilian bus. Nothing's more conspicuous than soldiers hiding in the woods.
The Chamberlain felt Mikal's criticism like a blow. I'm not a tactician, he said.
Tactician enough, said Mikal, letting the Chamberlain relax a bit. We'll go back to the palace now. Do you have anyone you can trust to make the arrest?
Yes, the Chamberlain said. They're already warned not to let him leave the palace.
Who? Ansset asked. Who are you arresting?
For a moment they seemed reluctant to answer. Finally Mikal said, The Captain of the guard.
He was behind the kidnapping?
"Apparently so, said the Chamberlain.
I don't believe it, Ansset said, for he had thought he knew the Captain's voice, and hadn't heard any songs except loyalty in it. But the Chamberlain wouldn't understand that. It wasn't evidence. And this was the boat, which seemed to prove something to them. So Ansset said nothing more about the Captain until it was too late.
14
As prisons went, there had been worse. It was just a cell without a door-at least on the inside. And while there was no furniture, the floor yielded as comfortably as the floor in Mikal's private room.
It was hard not to be bitter, however. The Captain sat leaning on a wall, naked so that he couldn't harm himself with his clothing. He was more than sixty years old, and for four years had been in charge of all the emperor's fleets, coordinating thousands of ships across the galaxy. And then to get caught up in this silly palace intrigue, to be the scapegoat-
The Chamberlain had plotted it, of course. Always the Chamberlain. But how could he prove his innocence without undergoing hypnosis; and who would conduct that operation, if not the Chamberlain? Besides, the Captain knew what no one else alive did-that while a serious probe into his mind would not prove that he was at all involved in kidnapping Ansset, it would uncover other things, earlier things, any one of which could destroy his reputation, all of which together would result in his death as surely as if he had captured Ansset himself.
Forty years of unshakable loyalty, and now, when I'm innocent, my old crimes stop me from forcing the issue. He ran his hands along his aging thighs as he sat leaning against a wall. The muscles were still there, but his legs felt as if the skin were coming loose, sagging away. A man should live to be a hundred and twenty in this world, he thought. I won't have had much more than half that.
What had prompted them to imprison him? What had he done that was suspicious? Or had there been anything at all?
There must have been something. Mikal was not a tyrant; he ruled by law, even if he was all powerful. Had he talked to the wrong people too often? Had he been in the wrong cities at the wrong time? Whoever the real traitors were, he was sure the case they had set up against him looked plausible.
Abruptly the lights dimmed to half strength. He knew enough about the prison from the other end of things to know that meant darkness in about ten minutes. Night, then, and sleep, if he could sleep.
He lay down, rested his arm across his eyes, and knew that the fluttering in his stomach would be irresistible. He wouldn't sleep tonight. He kept thinking-morbidly let himself think, because he had too much courage to hide from his own imagination-kept thinking about the way he would die. Mikal was a great man, but he was not kind to traitors. They were taken apart, piece by piece, as the holos recorded the death agony to be broadcast on every planet. Or perhaps they would only claim he was peripherally involved, in which case his agony could be more private, and less prolonged. But it wasn't the pain that frightened him-he had lost his left arm twice, not two years apart, and knew that he could bear pain reasonably well. It was knowing that all the men he had ever commanded would think of him from then on as a traitor, dying in utter disgrace.
That was what he could not bear. Mikal's empire had been created by soldiers with fanatic loyalty and love of honor, and that tradition continued. He remembered the first time he had been in command of a ship. It was at the rebellion of Quenzee, and his cruiser had been surprised on the planet. He had had the agonizing choice of lifting the cruiser immediately, before it could be damaged, or waiting to try to save some of his detachment of men. He opted for the cruiser, because if he waited, it would mean nothing at all would be saved for the empire. But the panicked cries of Wait, Wait rang in his ears long after the radio was too far to hear them. He had been commended, though they didn't give him the medal for months because he would have found a way to kill himself with it.
I thought so easily of suicide then, he remembered. Now, when it would really be useful, it is forever out of reach.
I will only be paying for my crimes. They don't realize it, but even though they think they're setting up an innocent man, I deserve exactly the penalty I'm getting.