Two hot pads from the butler’s closet were brought quickly. Flagg used them to grasp the obsidian. He lifted it, careful to keep it level, then dropped it into the bucket. As the obsidian sank to the bottom, all of them clearly saw the water turn a momentary light green.
“Now,” Flagg said expansively, “that is well. One of these guards must take this bucket out of the castle, and to the large pump by the Great Old Tree in the middle of the keep. There you must draw a large basin of water, and put the bucket in the basin. The basin must be taken to the middle of Lake Johanna, and sunk in the middle. The Dragon Sand may heat up the lake in a hundred thousand years, but let those that come in that time-if any do-worry about that, I say.”
Peyna paused for just a moment, biting his lip in uncharac-teristic indecision, and then he said: “You and you and you. Do as he says.”
The bucket was removed. The Home Guards carried it like men carrying a live bomb. Flagg was amused, for all of this was, in large part, magician’s foolery, as Peter himself had momen-tarily suspected. The single drops of water he had allowed to fall into the holes had not been enough to stop the corrosive effect of the sand-at least not for long-but he knew that the water in the bucket would damp it well. Even less liquid would have served for more of the sand… a goblet of wine, say. But let them believe what they would; in time they would turn against Peter with that much more fury.
When the guards had gone, Peyna turned to Flagg. “You said there was one way the effect of Dragon Sand could be neutralized.”
“Yes-the stories say that if it is taken into a living being, that living being will burn in agony until it is dead… and when it is over-the dying-the power of the Dragon Sand also dies. I had meant to test it, but before I could do it, my sample disappeared.”
Peyna was staring at him, white around the lips. “And on what sort of living being did you intend to test this damned stuff, Magician?”
Flagg looked at Peyna with bland innocence. “Why, on a mouse, my Lord judge-General, of course.”
41
At three that afternoon, a strange meeting took place in the Royal Court of Delain at the base of the Needle-a great room which, over the years, had become known simply as “Peyna’s Court.”
Meeting-I don’t like that word. It’s too tame and small to describe the momentous decision that was arrived at that after-noon. I cannot call it a hearing or a trial, because that gathering had no legal meaning at all, but it was very important, as I think you will agree.
The room was large enough to hold five hundred, but there were only seven there that afternoon. Six of them huddled close together, as if it made them nervous to be so few in a place meant for so many. The royal arms of the Kingdom-a unicorn spearing a dragon-hung on one of the circular stone walls, and Peter found his gaze returning to this again and again. Besides himself, Peyna was there, and Flagg (it was Flagg, of course, who sat slightly apart from the others), and four of the Kingdom’s Great Lawyers. There were ten Great Lawyers in all, but the other six were at various far-flung places in Delain, hearing cases. Peyna had decided he couldn’t wait for them. He knew he had to move fast and decisively, or the Kingdom might bleed. He knew it, but it galled him to know he would need the help of this cool young murderer to avert such bloodshed.
That Peter was a murderer was something Anders Peyna had now decided in his own heart. It wasn’t the box, the green sand, or even the burning mouse that had decided him. It was Peter’s tears. Peter, to do him credit, looked neither guilty nor weak now. He was pale but calm, completely in charge of himself again.
Peyna cleared his throat. The sound echoed dully back from the forbidding stone walls of the court chamber. He pressed a hand to his forehead and was not entirely surprised to find a sheen of cold sweat there. He had heard testimony in hundreds of great and solemn cases; he had sent more men than he cared to remember beneath the headsman’s axe. But never had he thought he would have to attend a “meeting” such as this, or the trial of a prince for the murder of his royal father… and such a trial would surely follow if all went as he hoped this afternoon. It was right, he thought, that he be sweating, and right that the sweat should be cold.
Just a meeting. Nothing legal here; nothing official; nothing of the Kingdom. But none of them-not Peyna, not Flagg, not the Great Lawyers, not Peter himself-were fooled. This was the real trial. This meeting. The power was here. That burning mouse had set a great course of events in motion. That course would either be turned here, as a great river may be turned near its source when it is still a brook, or it would be allowed to run onward, gathering power as it went, until no force on earth could turn it or stand before it.
Just a meeting, Anders Peyna thought, and wiped more sweat from his forehead.
42
Flagg watched the proceedings with a lively eye. Like Peyna, he knew that all would be decided here, and he felt confident.
Peter’s head was up, his gaze firm. He met the eyes of each member of this informal jury in turn.
The stone walls frowned down on all seven. The spectators’ benches were empty, but Peyna seemed to feel the weight of phantom eyes, eyes that demanded justice be rendered in this terrible matter.
“My Lord,” Peyna said at last, “the sun made you King three hours ago.”
Peter looked at Peyna, surprised but silent.
“Yes,” Peyna said, as if Peter had spoken. The Great Lawyers were nodding, and they looked dreadfully solemn. “There has been no coronation, but a coronation is only a public event. It is, for all its solemnity, show and not substance. God, the law, and the sun make a King, not the coronation. You are King at this very minute, legally able to command me, all of us here, the entire Kingdom. This puts us in a terrible dilemma. Do you understand what it is?”
“Yes,” Peter said gravely. “You think your King is a murderer.”
Peyna was a little surprised by this bluntness, but not entirely unhappy with it. Peter had always been a blunt boy; it was a pity that his surface bluntness had concealed such depths of calculation, but the important thing was that such bluntness, probably the result of a boy’s stupid bravado, would speed things up.
“What we believe, my Lord, doesn’t matter. Guilt or innocence is for a court to determine-so I’ve always been taught, so I believe with my most sincere heart. There is only one exception to this. Kings are above the law. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“But-” Peyna raised his finger. “But this crime was committed before you were King. So far as I know, this terrible situation has never come before a court of Delain before. The possibilities are terrible. Anarchy, chaos, civil war. To avert all of these things, my Lord, we must have your help.”
Peter looked at him gravely. “I will help if I can,” he said.
And I think-I pray-you will agree to what I am about to propose,
Peyna thought. He was conscious of fresh sweat on his forehead, but he didn’t wipe it off this time. Peter was only a boy, but he was a bright boy-he might take it as a sign of weakness. You’ll say you’re agreeing for the good of the Kingdom, but a boy who could have the monstrous, twisted courage to kill his own father is also, I hope, a boy who cannot help believing he will get away with it. You believe we will help you cover this up, but oh my Lord, you are so wrong.
Flagg, who could almost read these thoughts, raised his hand to his mouth to cover a smile. Peyna hated him, but Peyna had become his number-one helper without even knowing it.