Thomas lay on his pillows, trying to absorb this information. He was rabbit-eyed with fear.
Flagg grabbed his red-lined cloak from the bedpost, swirled it over his shoulders, and hooked its gold chain at his neck. Next he took a silver-headed cane from the corner. He flourished it, crossed his waist with it, and made a large bow in Thomas’s direction. The cloak… the hat… the cane… these things scared Thomas. Here had come a terrible time when he needed Flagg more than he had ever needed him before, and Flagg looked dressed for… for…
He looks dressed for gaveling.
His panic of a few moments ago was only a minor scare in comparison with the frightful cold hands which seized Thomas’s heart now.
“And now, dear Tommy, I wish you a healthy disposition all of your life, all the cheer your heart can stand, a long, prosperous reign… and goodbye!”
He started for the door and had actually begun to think the boy was so utterly paralyzed with panic that he, Flagg, would have to think of some stratagem for returning to the little fool’s bedside on his own, when Thomas managed a single, strangled word: “Wait!”
Flagg turned back, an expression of polite concern on his face. “My Lord King?”
“Where… where are you going?”
“Why…” Flagg looked surprised, as if it hadn’t occurred to him until now to think Thomas would even care. “Andua to start with. They are great sailors, you know, and there are many lands beyond the Sea of Tomorrow I’ve never seen. Sometimes a captain will take a magician on board for good luck, to conjure a wind if the ship is becalmed, or to tell the weather. If no one wants a magician-well, I am not as young as I was when I first came here, but I can still run a line and unfurl a sail.” Smiling, Flagg mimed the action, never dropping his cane.
Thomas was up on his elbows again. “No!” he nearly screamed. No.
“My Lord King-”
“Don’t call me that!”
Flagg crossed to him, now allowing an expression of deeper concern to fill his face. “Tommy, then. Dear old Tommy. What-ever’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? How can you be so stupid? My father’s dead by poison, Peter’s in the Needle for the crime, I must be King, you are planning to leave, and you want to know what’s wrong?” Thomas uttered a wild, shrieky little laugh.
“But all these things must be, Tommy,” Flagg said gently.
“I can’t be King,” Thomas said. He seized Flagg’s arm, and his nails sank deeply into the magician’s strange flesh. “Peter was meant to be King, Peter was always the smart one, I was stupid, I am stupid, I can’t be King!”
“God makes Kings,” Flagg said. God… and sometimes ma-gicians, he thought with an inward titter. “He has made you King, and mark me, Tommy, you will be King. Either you’ll be King or there will be dirt shoveled over you.”
“Let it be dirt, then! I’ll kill myself.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
“Better to kill myself than to be laughed at for a thousand years as the prince who died of fright.”
“You’ll make a King, Tommy. Never fear. But I must go. These days are cold, but the nights are colder. And I want to be clear of the city before dusk falls.”
“No, stay!” Thomas clutched wildly at Flagg’s cloak. “If I must be King, then stay and advise me, as you advised my father! Don’t go! I don’t know why you want to go, anyway! You’ve been here forever!”
Ah, finally, Flagg thought. This is good-in fact, this is RICH.
“It is hard for me to go,” Flagg said gravely. “Very hard. I love Delain. And I love you, Tommy.”
“Then stay!”
“You don’t understand my situation. Anders Peyna is a powerful man-an extremely powerful man. And he doesn’t like me. I should think it fair to say he probably hates me.”
“Why?”
Partly because he knows how long-how very long-I have been here. More, I think, because he senses exactly what I mean to Delain.
“It’s hard to say, Tommy. I suppose it has to do with the fact that he is a very powerful man, and powerful men usually resent other men who are as powerful as themselves. People like a King’s closest advisor, perhaps.”
“As you were my father’s closest advisor?”
“Yes.” He picked up Thomas’s hand and squeezed it for a moment. Then he let go of it and sighed mournfully. “A King’s advisors are much like the deer in a King’s private park. Such deer are cosseted and petted and fed by hand. Both advisors and tame deer have pleasant lives, but I’ve all too often seen a tame park deer end up on the King’s table when the King’s Preserves wouldn’t yield up a wild buck for that night’s deer steaks or venison stew. When a ruling King dies, the old advisors have a way of disappearing.”
Thomas looked both angry and alarmed. “Has Peyna threatened you?”
“No… he has been very good,” Flagg said. “Very patient. I have read his eyes, however, and I know that his patience will not last forever. His eyes tell me that I might find the climate in Andua healthier. “He rose with another swirl of cape. “So… as little as I like to go…”
“Wait!” Thomas cried again, and in his pinched, pallid face,
Flagg saw all his ambitions about. to be fulfilled. “If you were protected when my father was King, because you were his advisor, wouldn’t you be protected now that I am King, if you were my advisor?”
Flagg appeared to think deeply and gravely. “Yes… I suppose… if you made it very clear to Peyna… very clear indeed… that any move made against me would be looked upon with royal disfavor. Very great royal disfavor.”
“Oh, I would!” Thomas said eagerly. “I would! So will you stay? Please? If you go, I really will kill myself! I don’t know anything about being a King, and I really will!”
Flagg still stood with his head down, his face deep in shadow, apparently thinking solemnly. He was, in fact, smiling.
But when he raised his head, his face was grave.
“I have served the Kingdom of Delain almost all of my life,” he said, “and I suppose that if you commanded me to stay… to stay and serve you to the best of my abilities…”
“I do so command you!” Thomas cried in a quivering, febrile voice.
Flagg sank to one knee. “My Lord!” he said.
Thomas, sobbing with relief, threw himself into Flagg’s arms. Flagg caught him and held him.
“Don’t cry, my little Lord King,” he whispered. “All will be well. Yes, all will be very well for you and me and the Kingdom.” His grin widened, showing very white, very strong teeth.
47
Thomas couldn’t sleep a wink the night before he was to be crowned in the Plaza of the Needle, and in the earlymorning hours of that dread day he was seized by a terrible fit of vomiting and diarrhea brought on by nervousness-it was stage fright. Stage fright sounds both silly and comic, but there was nothing either silly or comic about this. Thomas was still only a little boy, and what he felt in the night, when we are all most alone, was an extremity of fear so great that it would not be wrong to call it mortal terror. He rang for a servant and bade him fetch Flagg. The servant, alarmed by Thomas’s pallor and the smell of vomit in the room, ran all the way and hardly waited to be given entry before bursting in and telling Flagg that the young prince was very ill indeed, might even be dying.
Flagg, who had an idea of what the trouble was, told the servant to go and tell his master he would be with him shortly, and to fear nothing. He was there in twenty minutes.
“I can’t go through with it,” Thomas moaned. He had vom-ited in his bed, and the sheets stank of it. “I can’t be King, I can’t, please, you have to stop it from happening, how can I go through with it when I may vomit in front of Peyna and all of them, vomit or… or…”