Don't you know? Ansset asked innocently.
I didn't know this corridor existed, how could I know where it leads!
And some of them speculated on whether they would ever be able to find their way out alone. Ansset did not smile, but he wanted to. They were passing close to the kitchens, the mess hall, the guard rooms, the places in the palace most familiar to them. But Ansset was more familiar, and left them utterly confused.
There was no confusion, however, when they emerged in the security rooms just outside Mikal's private room. The leader of the guards instantly recognized it, and in fury planted himself in front of Ansset, his laser drawn. The one place you can't go is here, he said. Now move, the other way!
I'm here to see Mikal. I have to see Mikal! Ansset raised his voice so it could be heard in the room, in the corridor outside, in any other security room. And sure enough one of the doorservants came to them and asked, in his quiet, unobtrusive way, if he could be of service.
No, said the guard.
"I have to see Mikal! Ansset cried, his voice a song of anguish, a plea for pity. Ansset's pleas were irresistible. But the servant had no intention of resisting. He merely looked puzzled and asked the guards, Didn't you bring him here? Mikal is looking for him.
Looking? the guard asked.
Mikal wants him in his room immediately. And not under guard.
The leader of the guards lowered his laser. So did the others.
That's right, the doorservant said. Come this way, Songbird.
Ansset nodded to the guard, who shrugged and looked away in embarrassment. Then, as the doorservant had suggested, Ansset came that way.
20
Ansset fit right into the madness, his hair still wet, his tunic clinging to his damp body. But he wasn't prepared for Mikal and the Chamberlain and Riktors Ashen, the only others in the room. Mikal was oozing joviality. He greeted Ansset with a handshake, something he had never done before. And he sounded incredibly cheerful as he said, Ansset, my Son, it's fine now. We were so foolish to think we needed to send you away. The Captain was the only one in the plot close enough to have given you the signal. When he died, I immediately became safe. In fact, as you proved today, my boy, you're the best bodyguard I could possibly have! Mikal laughed, and the Chamberlain and Riktors Ashen joined in as if they hadn't a care in the world, as if they couldn't possibly be more delighted with the turn of events. But it was all unbelievable. Ansset knew Mikal's voice too well. Warnings laced through everything he said and did. Something was wrong.
Well, something was wrong, and Ansset immediately told Mikal what he had realized. Mikal, when I was imprisoned on the flatboat I could hear birds outside. Birds, and that's all. Nothing else. But when we went down in that boat on the Delaware we heard children laughing on the road and a flesket pass by on the river! I was never kept there! It was a fraud, and the Captain died for it! But Mikal only shook his head and laughed. The laugh was maddening. Ansset wanted to leap at him, warn him that whoever had made this plot was more clever than they had thought, was still at large-
But the Chamberlain came to him with a bottle of wine in his hand, laughing just as Mikal was, with songs of treachery in his voice. Never mind that kind of thing, the Chamberlain said. It's a time for celebration. You saved Mikal's life, my boy! I brought some wine. Ansset, why don't you pour it?
Ansset shuddered with memories he couldn't quite grasp.
I? Ansset asked, surprised, and then not surprised at all. The Chamberlain held out the full bottle and the empty goblet.
For the Lord Mikal, the Chamberlain said.
Ansset shouted and dashed the bottle to the floor. Make him keep silent!
The suddenness of Ansset's violent action brought Riktors's laser out of his belt and into his hand. Riktors had come armed into Mikal's private room, Ansset realized with relief. Don't let the Chamberlain speak, Ansset cried.
Why not? Mikal asked innocently, and the laser sank in Riktors's grasp; but Ansset knew there was no innocence behind the words. Mikal was pretending not to understand. Ansset wanted to fly through the ceiling and escape.
But the Chamberlain had not stopped. He said quickly, almost urgently, Why did you do that? I have another bottle. Sweet Songbird, let Mikal drink deeply!
The words hammered into Ansset's brain, and by reflex he whirled and faced Mikal. He knew what was happening, knew and screamed against it in his mind. But his hands came up against his will, his legs bent, he compressed to spring, all so quickly that he couldn't stop himself. He knew that in less than a second his hand would be buried in Mikal's face, Mikal's beloved face, Mikal's smiling face-
Mikal was smiling at him, kindly and without fear. For years Control had come to Ansset to contain emotion. Now it came to express it. He could not, could not, could not hurt Mikal, and yet he was driven to it, he leaped, his hand struck out-
But it did not sink into Mikal's face. Instead it plunged into the floor, breaking the surface and becoming immersed in the gel that erupted from the floor. The impact broke the skin in Ansset's arm; the gel made the pain agonizing; the bone ached with the force of the blow. But Ansset did not feel that pain. All he felt was the pain in his mind as he struggled against the compulsion that still drove at him, to kill Mikal, to kill Mikal.
His body heaved upward, his hand flew through the air, and the back of Mikal's chair shattered and splashed at the impact. The chair shuddered, then sealed itself. But Ansset's hand was bleeding; the blood spurted and splashed and skitted across the surface of the gel spreading across the now-lax floor. But it was his own blood, not Mikal's, and Ansset cried out in joy. It sounded like a scream of agony.
In the distance he heard Mikal's voice saying, Don't shoot him. And, as suddenly as it had come, the compulsion ceased. His mind spun as he heard the Chamberlain's words fading away: Songbird, what have you done! Those were the words that had set him free. Exhausted and bleeding, Ansset lay on the floor, his right arm covered with blood. The pain reached him now, and he groaned, though his song was as much a song of triumph as of pain. Somehow Ansset had had strength enough, had withstood it long enough that he had not killed Father Mikal.
Finally he rolled over and sat up, nursing his arm. The bleeding had settled to a slow trickle.
Mikal was still sitting in the chair, which had healed itself. The Chamberlain stood where he had stood ten seconds before, at the beginning of Ansset's ordeal, the goblet looking ridiculous in his hand. Riktors's laser was aimed at the Chamberlain.
Call the guards, Captain, Mikal said. I already have, Riktors answered. The button on his belt was glowing. Guards came quickly into the room. Take the Chamberlain to a cell, Riktors ordered them. If any harm comes to him, all of you will die, and your families, too. Do you understand? The guards understood. They were Riktors's men, not the Chamberlain's. There was no love there.
Ansset held his arm. Mikal and Riktors Ashen waited while a doctor came and treated it. The pain subsided. The doctor left.
Riktors spoke first, Of course you knew it was the Chamberlain, my Lord. Mikal smiled faintly.
That was why you let him persuade you to call Ansset back here. To let him show his hand. Mikal's smile grew broader.
But, my Lord, only you could have known that the Songbird would be strong enough to resist a compulsion that was five months in the making.
Mikal laughed. And this time Ansset heard real mirth in the laughter.
Riktors Ashen, Mikal said. Will they call you Riktors the Great? Or Riktors the Usurper?