“House?” Pelmen asked tentatively. “Are you listening to me?”
For once, it wasn’t. It had done a very good job of shutting the fool and his lady out of its thoughts completely. And for very good reason.
The castle had watched manifold love affairs blossom, flourish, and fade within its walls. Long ago, the high drama of such involvements had been intriguing. It had watched with some amusement the initial stirrings, listened intently to the inevitable counsel of friends, sniggered with the naughty glee of a Peeping Tom at the final consummation. Thus involved, however, it had been drawn unwillingly to witness the often tragic outcomes of one affair after another the miscommunication, the pride, the jealousy, stubbornness, the selfishness that presaged broken heart after broken heart. And though it often knew far more about these relationships than either participant and could clearly see the pathways to reconciliation, it was powerless to help. No one took its advice.
The house had tried then, for a time, to view love as a broad comedy, and the broken hearts as merely comic pratfalls that soon would heal, then- causes forgotten. That paled too. It grew tired of the sameness of it alt the same ritual, repeated infinitely, from the crown through the craftsman to the crassest of slaves. It concluded at last that human love was an insidious disease, excessively communicable, universally endemic and thoroughly depressing to one utterly and hopelessly alone. The Imperial House dismissed love affairs as unimportant. It found that easier than wishing there were another castle nearby that could think, and speak and love.
So when Pelmen and Serphimera had drifted into the same predictable patterns of conversation the House had heard so many times before, it took care to look elsewhere. At the moment, there was a mystery unfolding, and it was trying to find answers to some questions. There had been several conferences between the Queen and her Lord of Security in the past two days, and it had missed the most critical of these, being distracted by the pain from the pyramid. Now it followed Joss from room to room, trying to account for the burst of troop activity within its walls since the General’s return. But the castle was discovering Joss to be a tight-lipped individual. For whatever reason, the Lord of Security had spent the afternoon cross-examining his dungeon guards, but the Imperial House couldn’t tell exactly why.
Perhaps he’s going to tighten security, the House muttered hopefully.
The castle hoped so. Internal defense had grown terribly sloppy when a fool could penetrate the dungeon at will!
Joss dismissed an anxious guard, then folded his hands before him for a moment and leaned back in his chair. Abruptly he shot out of it and stalked up his private staircase to the upper levels. He found the Queen where he expected to find her at the Drax table. Ligne kept her eyes fixed on the board as the General stooped to whisper in her ear.
Here now! Speak up! the castle snapped.
Ligne frowned and looked up at him. “You think he’s who?”
Joss whispered again, then looked at her meaningfully. She stared at him, then ordered, “Go away, I need to think about this.” Joss returned to his offices in the same way he’d come. A moment later Ligne rose from her Drax table and marched across the hallway to the throne room.
For Pelmen there had been no answer. Perhaps he hadn’t understood the cryptic after all. At least the water helped him find his way back to the cistern. It was overflowing, evidently the result of heavy rains up river. From there, it was a simple task to find the galleries that climbed toward the front gate of the castle. Pelmen quickly made his way up the ramps, noting how the tunnels broadened out as he ascended.
He turned a corner, and stumbled on the lowest step of a stairway. He looked up and saw a thin box of light above him. “An entrance,” he whispered to himself, and he started climbing up the stairway that led to the infirmary.
Rehearsal was in full swing when the double door slammed open. Silence dropped on every occupant of the room as the Queen pointed at Gerrig from the doorway and shouted, “Where’s the fool?”
“The fool? The fool. Ah, ah, as we told you, he’s sick—”
“With what?”
“Ah, ah—”
“I suppose he’s had the wisdom to report to the infirmary?” the Queen asked, her tone suddenly softening.
Gerrig saw an opening, and sprinted through it. “Oh yes! Of course!
He may be a fool but he certainly has good sense when it comes to—”
“Why isn’t he there then?” Ligne demanded. Her eyes sliced Gerrig like a pair of knives.
“Perhaps he’s in his quarters,” Parmi offered.
“I’ve had his quarters searched!” Ligne snarled, whirling to glare at Yona. Then she casually wheeled back to Gerrig, who was wishing he’d never even heard of the acting profession. “But you said he was in the infirmary, didn’t you?” She smiled sweetly. “Sick, is he?”
Gerrig could do nothing but nod.
“Shall we go look?” she inquired with that same sarcastic sweetness.
Gerrig swallowed, and nodded again. “Go!” she shouted, pointing to the doorway, then her long finger whipped around to Yona and she ordered, “You, tool” As the two men turned to walk into the hall, they shot each other anguished looks. “Come along, Rosha. We’re going to get to the bottom of this, or I’m going to fry me some actors!”
Rosha’s hands formed fists and he glanced at Carlad’s sword. He could take it and decapitate the Queen in a stroke
“Come on, Rosha,” she shrilled. She started out of the throne room.
Rosha took a deep breath and clamped down on his emotions once more.
By the time they reached the door of the infirmary, Gerrig, too, had controlled his feelings and had donned his toothiest smile. He slung the door wide, shouting a hearty, “Hello!” at the back of the spindly Lord of Herbs. The man leaped off his stool and swung around in horror. “He’s not here, my Lady, perhaps we” Gerrig stopped and stared at a bed in the corner, as his false smile turned genuine. “I mean he is!”
“I’m what?” asked Pelmen.
“You’re here!” Gerrig beamed.
Pelmen frowned in the character of Fallomar. “You don’t have to sound so pleased at my illness!”
Ligne drifted into the room and looked at him in disbelief. “You’re sick?” she asked. She turned to her Lord of Herbs, whose mouth hung wide open. “What’s he got?” she demanded.
“Wha-wha-why, I’ve never seen this man in here before!”
“It really is hard to get a doctor to look at you these days,” Fallomar offered, as he hopped off his cot. “In spite of the lack of care, I feel much better now.”
Ligne gazed at him suspiciously, as if making up her mind what to believe. Suddenly she smiled. “I’ve missed you, fool. I want you in the game room immediately. But change your clothes! You smell as if you’ve been in the garbage or the dungeon!” She spun on her heel and marched out.
Pelmen stared after her, feeling a heaviness in his chest “Are you all right?” Parmi asked quietly.
Pelmen nodded. “I think so.”
“Wonderful,” snarled the Lord of Herbs. “Then I’ll thank you to get out of my infirmary!”
As they moved into the hallway, Gerrig groused, “Next time you choose to drop out of sight, would you take the time to inform your friends?”
“My drop came as quite a surprise to me too, Gerrig. I had no chance to tell anyone.”