"Vincentio tells me you were cast adrift by the ship that brought you here.
"That was by our own request."
"Request? Why would you request to be set adrift from a ship, hey?" The duke's gaze sharpened. "Did you not tell Vincentio you were enemies of Queen Suettay?"
I winced at his use of the queen's name, but maybe it wouldn't matter - if she noticed him, she might not notice us. I nodded, still carefully deadpan. "We did. We did not wish the captain and crew to suffer for having brought us."
"And you also wished to go secretly from Allustria, did you not? You did not care whether you would bring the queen's wrath down on us, hey?"
"We weren't really planning to land on an island with people on it," I admitted. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Gilbert's scowl had darkened, and that he had noticeably jerked up a bit. I did not think that was an entirely favorable sign.
"But you have landed on an island with people! And if we let you go free, Suettay's wrath will fall on us! Will it not?" His men stirred around him, muttering.
"There's a chance of it," I admitted. "But, if we get some fresh water, and a little rest, and food, we can be away before dawn tomorrow. The queen doesn't even have to know we were here." And to Gilbert, "We're outnumbered, you know."
"When has that ever given you pause?" Gilbert asked. The duke scowled, but decided not to notice him. "There is something in what you say - if you speak truly."
"Oh, I do!" I said, with alacrity. "Believe me - there is absolutely no reason to doubt my veracity!"
"Yes," the duke said. "And surely you would say just that if you lied. In truth, the more false your words, the more you will swear they are true."
I drew myself up with maximum indignation. "Are you saying I'm a liar?"
"I am saying that I wish you to prove the truth of your words." I stared at him, trying to think of a proof. Finally, I shook my head.
"I can't. I am telling the truth, mind you - but, prove it? Short of bringing the queen here to testify, I can't think of a way."
"No, and I think she would be a grumbly guest," the duke said, with grim humor. "Yet if you cannot think of a way to prove your truth, be assured that we can."
"And that is?" I asked, with foreboding. Somehow, I had a notion that the duke's idea of proof wouldn't exactly delight Euclid.
"The Ordeal," the duke said, and I could hear the capital. "One of you must undergo the Ordeal, that the others may go free."
"Me," I said, without even stopping to think-which was a good thing, because Gilbert was one syllable behind me.
"I shall!"
The duke nodded, a slight smile curving his lips. "You have said it," he said to me. "It is your portion!"
"But I-" Gilbert started, before Angelique drowned him Out.
"Ohhhh, nooooo!" She threw herself between me and the duke, her substance wavering, growing brighter and dimmer as she tried to hold his attention. "You have no way of knowing what manner of horrible things this Ordeal may hold, my love! Oh, nay, Lord Duke, do not submit him to the torture! You cannot, you must not! He is a good man, he is truthful in all he says and does, he is not deserving of such horrid treatment!"
Gilbert stared, flabbergasted.
"Gently, gently," I soothed. I caught her hands, wishing I could feel them, and summoned up every ounce of reassurance I could. "I'll survive, never you fear. And as to pain and torture, why, I expect I've withstood worse. Right, milord?"
The duke stood with a face of flint. "What manner of man are you, that you have won the love of a ghost?"
"A wizard," I answered.
"But one not wise." Nonetheless, the duke nodded. "Still, it speaks well for you that your friends are so quick to leap to your defense."
"There, I knew it," I said quickly. "You see? It'll be all right ... Gilbert, help the lady, will you? There now, darling, don't worry. I've been though tortures before."
"But there is no need! You are an honorable man!" she cried, then collapsed weeping into Gilbert's arms. He held her up and turned her away, his face a study in consternation.
"You will take them to their boat," the duke informed Vincentio.
"Bid them sail, and watch till they've gone from sight." Vincentio nodded, and his band closed around my companions, hiding them from view.
I didn't even get to watch them out of sight, myself; the duke took me by the elbow and turned me away, leading me back across the drawbridge and into the castle. "So, then, you come. And begin your Ordeal, yes?"
"Of course," I said, feeling somewhat numb. At least the duke wasn't gloating about it. I took that to mean he wasn't a sadist - so things could have been worse. Couldn't they?
As we passed through the huge portal into the keep, a shadow moved, and I thought I recognized the Gremlin's silhouette - but I hoped I was wrong. I'd far rather he was with Angelique and the boys.
I didn't think the sprite could do much for me, but he could make the difference between freedom and capture for my friends. But it would have been nice to know I wasn't completely alone. Besides, how bad could the Ordeal be? I eyed the duke, again taking in the astrological signs on his gown and the snaky staff. He wasn't completely gone over to black magic, that was obvious. Using some aspects of it, maybe, but not wholly dedicated to it yet, playing the old game, thinking he could take what he wanted of the Devil's power without giving anything of himself.
I halted, shocked. Was that what I was trying to do?
Certainly not. There had to be a distinction. Had to. That was it - I wasn't trying to use the Devil's power. Or God's, for that matter, though I wasn't doing as well there - I had called on a saint or two, now and then, and even recited a prayer or two directly to the Top. As an equivocator, I wasn't doing so well. Could be the duke was better at the balancing act.
Or maybe he wasn't even the equivocator he seemed to be. Maybe he was a white magician who was only borrowing a few diabolical symbols. And being tempted. Sorely.
The duke led me up to the battlements so I could watch the longboat put out to sea. I could just barely make out the little black dots that were heads, but the duke was true to his word. My friends, at least, were safe.
"Now you come," the duke said, and led me down the stairs. And down.
And down.
Somewhere below the dungeons, in a pool of torchlight, we stopped. Before us, a stone slab rose up from the floor, knee-high, six feet long, and four feet wide. I eyed it warily and decided it was too low to be an altar. Which was a definite comfort to me, as the peasants stripped off my shirt and started tying me down.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The duke hit the floor with the heel of his staff. It struck with a huge, booming reverberation, out of all proportion to its size. Then he thrust it up high, swirling its tip above his head in a widening helix and calling out. The call became rhythmical, settling into a chant.
I frowned, straining to understand; the language sure wasn't the one I'd been hearing. It seemed older somehow, kind of like Latin. Latin! Once I realized that, I was able to catch the occasional cognate. "Sun," that word had to be, and "heat," which made sense and sure as taxes that next one had to be "water," or a near relative, "days" after it? Wasn't that? That was a number - five! And was that a negative suffix, though ? But why negative? ... The duke finished his chant, brandishing his staff again, and the peasants repeated the verse; the cavern boomed with it. Then all of a sudden they went quiet, and the duke shouted out a last sentence, punctuating it by slamming his staff against the floor again ... Where the heel struck the rock, an explosion blossomed in silence, a burst of searing white light against the cavern's gloom, swelling, expanding, filling the chamber ... it was the sun.