The townsfolk accepted him now. They pretended that they had forgotten all about sorcery, and he was sure that was because of Inos. The world was incredibly kind. He was so happy he couldn’t believe it. He had done nothing to deserve all this happiness. From stableboy to king. From shovel to scepter.
Life was so good that it felt wrong, somehow.
Good before bad and bad before good. He shivered. That had been one of his mother’s sayings. It seemed to imply that big good came before big bad, and
Something moved and he jumped. A gnome crept in from the shadows, looking for warmth as he was. It was heavily swathed in fur, probably not too pleasant to get close to.
When Sea Beauty had sailed away from Krasnegar, she had left her gnomes behind. Rap had shown the four all the wonderfully musty cellars below the castle, and they had eagerly decided to brave the climate and take service as royal rat-catchers. Being nocturnal by preference, they had rarely been seen since.
“You startled me!” Rap said. “Er . . . Tush, is it?”
“Pish,” the gnome said. “Why is a day man awake now?”
“I’ve been having a baby.”
Firelight shone on the shiny black buttons of the little man’s eyes. ”You jest, King?”
“Yes, I jest. It was the queen who did all the work. But I have a new son: About this big.”
“I was at least five before I was that size,” Pish said dryly. ”Please give Queen our best wishes.” The small people seemed to have little grasp of ranks or titles, or how they differed from personal names.
“I shall and I thank you for them. I’ve been wanting to speak to you. You and the others are doing very well. We’ve noticed a big improvement.”
“We have reduced the numbers almost below the safety level,” the gnome agreed, rubbing his hands to warm them. Pish was about Rap’s age, although no taller than Eva, and he had even less nose than Rap did. Tush and the two women were younger. The gnome population of Krasnegar was certain to increase from now on, and that might bring new problems . . . “What safety level?”
“If we kill off too many, they won’t be able to keep up their numbers. Of course there are still plenty in the lower buildings, which you said do not belong to you.”
“I can probably arrange for you to . . . er, work there, as well,” Rap said, wondering how Krasnegarians were going to adjust to gnomes, or how he could persuade the gnomes to eliminate the rats and mice altogether.
“We already do,” Pish said. “The big people are always willing to let us come in and remove the rodents for them.”
“Well, that’s great! The palace servants must have passed the word. You will have trouble getting around the town in this weather, though?”
“Not at all,” the little man said smugly. “The tunnels serve very well and are quite warm.”
Tunnels? Rap knew of no tunnels in Krasnegar. Then he realized that there must be sewers, although he had never thought of them before. His stomach lurched.
“Oh, that’s good,” he said quickly. “Any . . . er, anti-gnome feelings?”
The gnome chuckled. “They are so ignorant in this town! They have never seen gnomes before! They treat us like real people and speak politely to us. They even give us money.”
“Er, quite. Well, I’m glad I was able to help. There is one thing, though, Pish.”
“What’s that, King?”
“Cats. Not the cats, Pish.”
“You do not need the cats now,” the gnome protested, suddenly shrill. “Not when we are here to do the work!”
“Not for that, but a lot of people like cats around to . . .” Why did people like cats around? “They like cats.”
“We like cats, too!”
“Not in the same way. And the dogs, also.”
“Dogs we don’t meddle with if they don’t meddle with us.”
“Good. But leave the cats.”
“Oh, very well! I’ll tell the others. What should we do with the money, King?”
“Hang on to it until you have a problem.”
“What problems can gnomes have?” the little voice asked. Before Rap could think of an answer, the gnome had gone. Nothing remained except a hint of a something in the air. Pity about that! Gnomes were fine people once you got past that. Rap had explained washing to them and they had promised to consider the matter—next summer or the one after. Certainly not in winter. Still, there were some day folk in Krasnegar not a whole lot better.
What problems could gnomes have? What problems could a king have? Sorcery, maybe.
He was starting to feel sleepy. He rose and began to pace through the echoing gloom of the castle. His castle. King Rap of Krasnegar! Even after all these years, he could not adjust to that. When the imperor wrote, he hailed Rap as his royal cousin. Royal sorcerer.
He hated being a sorcerer and always had. He hated being able to manipulate people, or seeing people as toys, and to a sorcerer they were nothing more. Inos had destroyed his power once, but it had returned in part. He was not all-powerful, as he once had been, but he was still a sorcerer.
So he had found a way out. He had cast a magic shield around himself, like the invisible shield Inisso had cast centuries before over the whole castle. His powers were contained, then. He could neither sense with them, nor use them.
Of course no sorcerer could cast a spell too strong for his own powers to break, but Rap had restored his power only three times. Once for the twins, once for Eva, and tonight for Holi . . . He savored the thought again—new son, new joy.
And while the women had been washing the baby, he had put himself back in his bottle. Now he was mundane once more, a mundane king. Perhaps it was the memory of that brief glory that was making him so restless now.
Being a sorcerer was dangerous, of course. The use of power rippled the ambience and the greater the power used, the greater the distance at which it could be detected. The wardens, or indeed any more powerful sorcerer, might hunt down the user and imprint him with a loyalty spell. Over the years, the four wardens had all acquired votaries to serve them—Bright Water had dozens of them. Many sorcerers chose not to use their power for that reason, and probably many of them hid within the same sort of cloaking spell as Rap did. He had not invented anything new.
But the ethics of sorcery bothered him far more than the dangers. If he could ease his own wife’s torment in childbirth, then why not other men’s wives’? Why not cure the sick, repair fire damage, heal wounds? Why not reform the drunks, raise the dying, warn the sailors of the storm?
Why not be a God?
Where would it end?
And why stop at Krasnegar?
Once he had been offered a wardenship. He could have been warlock of the west, mightiest of the Four, judge and ruler of all Pandemia, greater even than the imperor. He had declined the honor, a decision he had never regretted.
That was a path that had no sane ending. Wardens lived for centuries, running the world for their private comfort and amusement. Fortunately he no longer had that option. He was not the demigod he once had been. Inos, oh, Inos! My love, my queen!
He had arrived at a door he almost never visited. So that was what was on his mind?
Why not? On impulse, he opened it. It creaked.
The little chapel was icy cold, but not quite dark. A smear of snow lay unmelted before the other door, blown in through invisible cracks by the arctic wind. On the table at the far end, a single lamp glimmered. The other lamp beside it was dark. One window showed a faint trace of moonlight; its partner was opaque and always black . . . the Good and the Evil—the Powers, whom even the Gods must serve.
He was not a praying man; not religious. He joined in the ceremonies Inos insisted were required of sovereigns, but only by going through the motions. He never opened his heart to the Gods. The one time he had spoken with Them, the discourse had not been amicable.
Amused to think how astonished his wife would be, he stalked up the aisle until he had passed all the pews and stood before the table. It was covered with a splendid silk cloth, he noted. Inos spent a fortune on such trivia, for some reason.
He went down on his knees. So much happiness! He bowed his head. Thanks! he thought. That didn’t feel quite right, somehow. Self-conscious, he said aloud, ”Thank you.” A notable occasion! He had probably not spoken a true prayer to the Gods since his mother died.