“The countess is not at home,” the footman reported. “Then tell whoever’s in charge that the king of Krasnegar is here!”
The door closed with a thud.
The temple bell went Bong! loudly.
Fortunately a quick stab of mastery was not a very conspicuous use of sorcery—as a general rule, people could be manipulated much more easily than objects.
The footman hauled open the door and bowed low. “If your Majesty would graciously care to enter, I shall inform his Honor immediately!”
Better! A little obsequiousness was just what Rap needed after so long on the road. He stepped inside, pulling off his cloak in a shower of snow. “See that my horse is attended to at once. Who is his Honor, by the way?”
“Lictor Etiphani, Sire!” The footman’s face did not reveal his disapproval, but it was obvious to a sorcerer.
Great Gods! Rap watched in disgust as the flunky hurried off to report to the obese lush in the library. Eighteen years ago, Tiffy had been a glamorous, willowy hussar with a notable lack of chin. Now he had a plurality of chins. He peered up blankly at the news of the visitor. Several seconds passed before understanding came and his rubicund face suddenly paled. He had only just struggled out of his chair when Rap was ushered in to drip on the expensive rugs.
“Your Majesty!” The gross man attempted to bow and staggered instead. He was very tall for an imp—taller even than Rap—and he had inherited his mother’s tendency to stoutness, or absorbed it from bottles, mayhap. ”Yes, by the Gods, it is you, isn’t it?”
Rap had not expected to be recognized, as he had been invisible during most of his stay in Hub, but of course Tiffy must have seen him at the imperor’s ball, the fateful faun sorcerer who had danced with Queen Inosolan all through one magical night. How very long ago that seemed!
“It is indeed an honor to meet your, er, Honor,” Rap said wearily, extending a royal hand to shake. “And of course I extend my condolences on your sad loss today.”
Lictor Etiphani was clearly not at his best—sorcerers were rare and unwelcome guests. “Um? Losh? Oh, yes, Emshandar. Evilish pity, of course. Er, do sit down, er, Sire.”
“Actually, I really need a hot bath and a change of clothes, Tiffy. Excuse the informality, but Inos always calls you that when she speaks of you. ”
Tiffy’s face seemed to swell and become even redder than before. He cleared his throat several times. Bong! went the temple bell, audible even in here. ”She still speaks of me?”
“Sometimes.”
“Oh! And how is Inosh?”
“She’s very well. Home with the children, of course.”
“Beautiful woman, er?”
“Just as gorgeous as ever. And your dear mother?”
“Mother?” Tiffy glanced longingly at the near-empty decanter beside his chair. “Can’t I at least offer you, er, a drink? Saying farewell to Emshandar, you know, Shire.”
“After that bath you promised me,” Rap said firmly, “and please call me Rap.” He would be charitable and assume that the drinking had been provoked by the imperor’s death. Not being an imp, he couldn’t appreciate the scale of the bereavement. “Your mother?”
“Oh, Momshie’s fine. Went to the palace for some sort of ritual, you know. Hours ago. Can’t think what’s keeping her. Terrible business, er, what?”
The looming premonition at the back of Rap’s mind seemed to twitch closer.
“What business?”
“Well . . . Actually it’s a big secret, you know. Not supposed to . . . ” Tiffy hiccuped. “Wouldn’t know about it at all, except for Ephie. Praetorian Guard. He wash in the Rotunda when it happened.”
Ephie must be the spotty youth in the bathtub upstairs and also the hoofprints on the driveway, a cousin, perhaps, or a nephew. “Sworn to secrecy, you know,” the lictor added. “Warlocks?” Sodden clothes and all, Rap sank down in an expensive chintzcovered armchair, which tried to engulf him like a soft bog. He risked another jab of power.
Tiffy began talking faster than he had ever spoken in his life. “They were rehearsing the enthronement when the news came of the imperor’s death and of course that meant that Shandie I mean Prince Emshandar was imperor right away . . .” He rattled on furiously about Warlock Raspnex and Witch Grunth and exploding thrones, then collapsed back in his chair like a falling tree. He bounced once and stared in bewilderment at his visitor. Bong!
Rap wiped water from his face while the awful story sank in. God of Murder!
What in the name of Evil was Raspnex doing? Even with Grunth to help him, he should not be able to overcome Lith’rian and Olybino. Why had the other two warlocks not intervened? How many dwarves did it take to overthrow the Protocol?
Who was on what side?
And why confirm Shandie as imperor anyway?
Rap could think of no force cable of subverting the occult order of the world, except perhaps the army of votaries Bright Water had assembled during her centuries of rule. They should have been released from enslavement when she died. That was what normally happened. Had she somehow passed on her great array of power to Raspnex? Why on earth would she?
Even that theory seemed farfetched, for Olybino and Lith’rian must wield fair-size factions of their own.
Was Raspnex fronting for his nephew, Zinixo?
Why, by the Powers, had Rap not come to Hub months ago, when he first heard of the dragon attack in Qoble? God of Fools! “Thatch why you’re here, isn’t it?” Tiffy muttered. “Shorcerer. More trouble, so you’ve come back. Should have realized.”
“Yes, in a way,” Rap agreed sadly. Where was that amiable young man who had wooed Inos so devotedly? Dead, or just lost somewhere inside the blubbery mass in that chair?
“You going to shave Sandie, like you saved his grandshire?” Tiffy asked hopefully.
“Save him from what?” Rap smiled a sorcerer’s sinister smile, and that ended the questioning. He wouldn’t admit to this buttertub that he did not know who was threatening, or why, or even what. Nor that he was only a shadow of the sorcerer he had once been. Regretfully he said farewell to that vision of hot bathwater and dry clothes. “But I must talk it over with your parents. ”
“Told you, Momsiesh not here!”
“Her coach is just turning into the driveway. I assume that’s your father with her?”
An expression of nausea spread over Tiffy’s flabby face. He was not happy in the presence of sorcery.
Bong!
Rap watched with farsight as the count and his wife climbed the steps and were admitted. He saw the footman tell of the visitor, saw the exchange of startled glances. Despite her bulk, Eigaze was capable of a fair turn of speed. With her cloak unfastened but not yet discarded, she raced along the hallway, her husband in pursuit.
She burst into the library. “Rap!”
Rap was on his feet by then. “Lady Eigaze!” He braced himself as she rushed at him and clasped him in a bearhug as if they were old friends. She bussed his cheek. They had never spoken before, but he was family, Inos’ husband, and to an imp that was sufficient.
Then she peered up at him, anxiety burning on her motherly, globular face. ”A business visit, of course! How is Inos?”
“Fine when I left. And the children. Yes, a business visit. And I fear I have come too late.”
Then he had to be introduced to the count, who was also a proconsul now, of course. He was a quiet-spoken, wry-smiling man, with a bad stoop.
Formalities attended to, Eigaze took charge. “Why, you’re soaked!” Her eyes took in the decanter and her son’s unfocused condition. She bristled. ”Tiffy, you idiot, didn’t you even have the common courtesy to—”
“I just got here, ma’am,” Rap said hurriedly. “Tiffy was telling me about the events in the Rotunda. You were present, I assume?”
“It was ghastly! How did . . . Oh, Ephie, of course! Then you know about Warlock Raspnex and what he told Shandie?”
“I believe so.”
She shook her head, dewlaps wobbling. “Well, it’s wonderful that you’re here. Shandie . . . I must stop calling him that! The imperor had pretty well decided to go to Krasnegar, but now you’ve come, so he needn’t, and that’s just wonderful!”
Bong!
An avalanche of weariness crashed over Rap. He flopped back into his chair, staring up at Eigaze, aghast. He thought how astonishingly like old Aunt Kade she was.
“Shandie is going to Krasnegar?”
Eigaze glanced at her husband, then back at Rap. “He expects you to help him, as you did once before.”
Rap shook his head. “Of course they would all assume that he was a paramount sorcerer still—and he wasn’t! Far from it! God of Horrors!
“There was a prophecy,” Ionfeu said quietly. He had produced another decanter from somewhere and was filling a crystal goblet. “Some months ago his Majesty was guided to a preflecting pool. It showed him a vision he couldn’t identify, but now we know that it was Krasnegar.”