But it was not, I suddenly realized with an even greater sense of dread, the only viable scenario. How many people on the present stage had been exhibiting shifts of identity?
I thought I was losing my sense of what was preposterous.
Max was considering counting to ten thousand, again. That would be at least as useful as any other activity he could busy himself with, locked in this dungeon with all the mobility of a cord of wood, obviously cast adrift and perhaps even forgotten by his associates and -
There went the barred door again. If it was a priest, Max resolved to do his best to fall asleep. He closed his eyes and made his breathing shallow.
Unexpectedly, something clanked behind his head, then clicked delicately. These were not noises he was accustomed to hearing from the banshee device that was deliberately ruining his hearing, and setting to work on his sanity, too. Could that be the sound of intentional deactivation? Then he felt someone breathing close to his ear.
“You can’t be serious,” said Phlinn Arol. “I know you’re not dormant, and you haven’t been driven out of your mind.”
Max squinted across at him. “I was trying to cultivate an attitude of detachment. Seeing how unlikely it is I’ll see the outside world while there’s still anything I can do that will affect it.”
“Pouting is beneath you, Maximillian.”
“I would have thought a lot of things were beneath me, like being strapped down like a plucked chicken, but I’m here to learn better, aren’t I? Is the Emperor still being a fool?”
“The Emperor-designate is being insufficiently prudent,” Phlinn Arol temporized. “The Scapula will be staging the official proclamation of his assumption of godhood very shortly; imminently, in fact, during the social meeting preceding the assembly of homage for the Knitting of the Corpus. I would like you to think about how matters might evolve from there.”
“He’s moving pretty fast, isn’t he?”
“He is,” allowed Phlinn. “His progress is not unprecedented, but it does demonstrate exceptional self-assurance and a decisive will to act. These will impress many of his new peers.”
“I’d think they’d threaten, more.”
“Not when the vacuum of power is so acute,” Phlinn said. “Realize that there is a significant faction that has agreed to bind themselves to follow a common leader if certain conditions are met.”
“A leader? Are you serious? What conditions?”
“Your being here fulfills one.”
“You are serious.... Arznaak. He put me here.”
“He could convincingly argue as much, yes.”
“How much do you know about this?” Max demanded. “Could part of his proclamation be to finish me off in front of everybody?”
“I - hmm.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Max. “I don’t like that at all. Why did you come back here?”
“I was interested in your advice,” Phlinn Arol told him. “As you may know, the Emperor-designate is permitted to attend a conclave of the gods, in somewhat of an ex officio capacity.”
“Won’t he have to be getting ready for the Knitting ceremony himself?”
“Certainly, yes, but there is a period of traditional meditation in the schedule that could allow him to pop in. It is supposed to be a time for socializing, after all.”
“Is Arznaak violating some tradition by taking over this social hour for his own agenda?”
“Well ...” said Phlinn. “A proclamation of ascendancy does fall under the category of society-type news. It’s actually considered at least as appropriate to make such an announcement at a regularly scheduled public affair as to show the hubris of holding your own glorification party.”
“Huh,” said Max. “What about you, then? Are all the gods required to be there?”
“It is rather a deliberate snub not to. These galas are supposed to be the great levelers and mixers. Of course, I am the designated representative incarnate to the Emperor-elect so I could claim meditation for my own excuse as well. However, it is the expected thing for the liaison representative to mingle and gain as much advantage as possible from their temporary status and visibility. But these social niceties are not necessarily the point. There is politics and there is prudence. You know the Scapula as well as anyone. Where does prudence lie in this situation?”
“I know a conclave is neutral ground,” Max said. “It’s deliberately set up so no one has an advantage of power; all you can do is talk. Of course we all know Arznaak can be a pretty convincing talker. Does he have a patron?”
“It is known that Protector of Nature and Vladimir, the Storm Lord, have been the active representatives of this faction I mentioned, those who would centralize power. I assume they will present and speak for Arznaak.”
“Huh. I don’t know,” said Max. “I don’t know. If you go to this thing - if the Emperor goes - I’d like to think he’d see once and for all what kind of plans Arznaak really has, where - if anywhere - he intends to stop. But I’m just naturally suspicious of anything Arznaak’s wrapped up in. From everything I know there’s nothing he should be able to do there, but I still don’t trust him.”
“This could be mere paranoia on your part?” Phlinn probed. “Exacerbated by the recent success of the Scapula’s plan against you and the current fact of your confinement?”
“... Yes,” said Max. “Yes it could, of course it could.”
“I’m glad to see you retaining your objectivity,” Phlinn Arol said dryly.
“Fine, then. Here’s something else objective. If Arznaak’s plan depends on me being here, you could derail the plan by springing me loose.”
“But then the Emperor-designate would not see him for what he is, would he?”
“You’re quick as ever, aren’t you.” Damn him. Or on the other hand, don’t damn him quite yet - Phlinn was still standing over the bed of confinement. “What else you got on your mind?”
“... Your choice of companions,” said Phlinn Arol. “Specifically the one under the Spell of Namelessness. Have you considered he may be a trap?”
“You think I’m an idiot? Of course he could be a trap. I just thought we’d be safer having him where we could watch him and hope to counteract him if he went off - wait a minute - has he gone off?”
Phlinn Arol donned what he obviously intended to serve as an impassive countenance. Max had seen impassive on Phlinn, though, and this wasn’t it. “Perhaps that is a matter of interpretation. He has manifested himself as Iskendarian.”
Max was sure Phlinn was about to say more - surely he had to say more - but after a moment of contemplative hesitation he swung quickly around instead, and was gone. “Phlinn!” Max shouted, breaking all his rules of self-possession and decorum. “Phlinn!” But he was gone.
CHAPTER 12
For the first time, Fradjikan was noting some serious regret at not having taken spell-work more seriously. He had never envisioned a case where the use of magic would be necessary and a sorcerer would not be available for convenient hire. He had certainly not foreseen being himself in a situation where his own life would depend on being able to conjure his own way out from under a malign spell. Yet the application of maximum muscular force had failed to move the most trivial portion of his body, and the most intense concentration and fiercest consolidation of will had produced mere mental exhaustion. His paralysis remained, and the tantalizing engines of healing remained an unbridgeable arm’s-span above his head.
He had lost track of how much time had passed. More than minutes, surely; possibly as much as hours. And then, suddenly, the waiting was over; the door flung open, the Scapula and Vladimir returned. “- don’t understand why we didn’t just remain at Clara’s,” Vladimir was saying as he came through the door. As he crossed the threshold he stumbled, or more precisely his knees buckled, and he caught himself by grabbing the doorframe. With an air of solicitude the Scapula helped to steady him. “Her facilities are more comfortable,” Vladimir continued, in his weakened voice, “and we wouldn’t have had to travel all the way back here, and after the proclamation we would have a much better view of the Knitting.”