The Almighty ruled now, did he not?
Noise billowed briefly as the door opened at his back. Still, it was certainly good news that the goblins had been cornered at last. The atrocity stories drifting in from Pithmot . . .
There was a sword in front of his eyes.
With a startled yelp, Umpily cowered back in the sofa. Two Praetorians stood before him. They were large, intimidating young men. They were staring at him with very cold eyes; and one of them had his sword out.
Had his sword at Umpily’s throat.
“You will come with us, my lord,” the other said. “If you give us any trouble, you will die.”
4
Praetorian guardsmen did not draw their swords when arresting unarmed fat old men—Umpily knew that from experience. As he tottered to the door, he realized that this was no orthodox arrest. If the imperor wanted him, he had only to ask. If the impress was still intent on that dance, she might just possibly send a guardsman instead of a footman, but no sword would be drawn unless he resisted. There was something very far wrong here. He paused, holding the handle. The men were right behind him.
“Who are you?” he demanded in a disgustingly quavery voice, addressing his remarks to the lacquered carvings of the door itself. “Where are you taking me?”
“Someone wants to see you.”
“Who-Oooo!” Something sharp had just penetrated one of the tighter portions of his apparel. He yanked the door open.
The cheering was still in progress. The guards he had seen earlier were still standing by the entrance to the hall. For a moment he considered shouting to them, but he was hustled across to another door before he found the courage, and through into a pantry. Then it was too late. Another door at the far side brought him to a servants’ stair.
“Down,” said a voice at his back. He went down, into shadow and then near darkness, hearing the slithery slap of military sandals behind him. His captors were laden with armor, but he knew he could never outrun them, even on the flat. He would break his neck if he tried to do so on a stair. When he could no longer see anything, a heavy hand settled on his shoulder and urged him along.
His captor’s night vision seemed to be infinitely better than his. They took him belowground, through deserted cellars, back up a barrel-loading ramp, and out into an alley behind the Ishipole mansion. He expected a coach or even a horse, then, but instead he was hustled across to another, low door and into what seemed to be an unused stable. It had a musty, deserted smell. Uneven cobbles snared his feet. He stumbled through the dark, guided by the iron grip on his shoulder. He thought he sensed solid objects near his path; he felt cobwebs on his face.
The fingers bit tighter. “Stop!”
He stopped. The hand was removed.
He jumped as another voice spoke in front of him, a woman’s voice. “Very good,” it said. “That’s him. Let’s give him some light before he shakes himself to pieces.”
A lantern flickered into dim life overhead.
He was, as he had guessed, standing in an ancient, abandoned mews. The stalls were piled with litter and many of the partitions had collapsed. The center was still more or less empty, containing only a group of four ladder-backed chairs that looked new and might have come from any kitchen, but the shadows all around were full of mysterious shapes and comers. Anything could be lurking out there. Cobwebs hung like draperies.
The woman was unknown to him, of indeterminate age, wearing a dark cloak and a hat that shadowed her face.
“Be seated, Lord Umpily,” she said, and took one of the chairs herself without looking at him.
He sat down quickly. The two guardsmen were already heading back to the door.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “No one. Be silent.”
The door clicked shut. He assumed that its hinges had been well oiled recently. Still the woman did not look at him, sitting as still as a statue. He shivered in the clammy cold, fervently wishing he had made better use of his time in the men’s room. He could think of no reason why he should be abducted like this, right under the imperor’s nose. He knew no state secrets now. He was comfortably wealthy, but there had been hundreds of much richer people at the ball.
Sudden horror—they had been able to see— in the dark! How had the lantern been lit? “Sorcery!” he whispered. “Be silent!”
So he was silent, thinking shivery thoughts of sorcery. The evil wardens had not been apprehended yet, so far as he knew. The fake Shandie was still at large, and so was the sinister faunish king of Krasnegar. He had assumed that they had fled to distant lands. Could it be that they still lurked around the capital?
Hooves and wheels clattered outside to a halt just a brougham, from the sound of it. Then the door rattled, and opened. This time it creaked a little. Then it closed.
Two figures advanced very slowly into the muddle of light under the lantern. One of them was the taller of the two fake guardsmen. He was supporting a small man in civilian clothes, who leaned on a cane and shuffled his feet. His head was bent with age, only thin silvery hair showing. His breath rasped with effort. The hand clutching the cane was a bunch of twigs. The woman rose and helped the guardsman lower the old man onto a chair. They remained standing.
Umpily was not sure his legs would support him, so he stayed where he was. This ancient newcomer must be the person who had summoned him. He did not look as if he would live to the end of a long conversation. Yet, old and frail as he was, he commanded the assistance of sorcerers! For a few moments he remained hunched over, panting hard and loud. At last he raised a face eroded by unthinkable age and peered blearily at Umpily.
“Good evening, my lord!” His voice was a breathless croak.
“Good evening, er, sir.” Umpily thought his own sounded virile and confident by comparison.
“Forgive my unorthodox invitation.” Wheeze. ”Ah-you do not remember me!”
“No.”
The old man chuckled, and the chuckle became a hacking fit of coughing. The woman bent to steady him, seeming alarmed. Eventually he recovered, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He gestured. The guardsman stepped back a pace, and the woman returned to her chair.
“Well, we have met several times. Perhaps this will jog your memory?” The shriveled carcass began to swell. Years fell away like snowflakes. He grew large, and larger yet. His nondescript clothes shimmered into bronze armor, arms and legs bulged with enormous muscle. Silver hair darkened and then vanished under a golden-crested helmet. The ladder-backed chair creaked under the weight of the giant warrior who now inhabited it.
Looking about a hundred years younger, Warlock Olybino leaned back and crossed his legs—and smiled menacingly at Umpily.
“Better?” he boomed.
Umpily’s teeth were chattering so hard he could not speak.
The warden glanced across mockingly at the woman and then around at the guardsman, who now seemed a mere weed by comparison. “Considering the trouble he went to in trying to find me, he seems curiously overcome!”
“I cannot break his bonding, Omnipotence,” the woman said. “I tried.”
“Well then, we shall all have to try together, won’t we? Can’t leave him laboring under delusions! Ah, there it goes.”
Sudden comprehension—stroke of lightning! Umpily doubled over and buried his face in his hands. Oh, what a fool he had been! How obvious it was now!
Nothing broke the silence except the hiss of the lantern hanging from the rafters.
“Well, my lord?” said that sonorous bull voice. “Which one seems like the real imperor now?”
Umpily groaned. “The one on the boat!”
“And who was that popinjay cavorting upstairs awhile ago?”
“Emthoro!”
“Right you are!” The warlock chuckled.
Slowly Umpily forced himself to look up at the mocking smirk on the face of that virile young warrior.
“And which one is the real Olybino?” he asked—and was at once petrified by his own audacity.
The giant scowled menancingly. Then he shrugged his great shoulders. ”The one who came in, of course. This place is shielded. There were many shielded places in Hub a few months ago. The Covin is now dismantling those shieldings so it can watch everything that transpires in the city. There are very few sanctuaries left now.”
“So you never left the capital?”
Olybino smiled sadly. “I had nowhere to go. I was a Hubban born and bred.”
“You got my letters?”
“I heard of them.” Again that dangerous scowl. “To have allowed any of them to reach me would have been dangerous.”