Sweating, Umpily peered out the window. Already his cab was solidly locked in by others, and to order the driver to break out of line and head home for a forgotten invitation would attract attention and probably investigation—there were scores of guards standing around with nothing much to do.
Right ahead of him, though, was a splendid eight-horse equipage with outriders, ducal insignia, and a senatorial pennant. He knew every duke in Hub, more or less. With the speed of desperation, Umpily opened the door and stumbled down into ankle-deep slush, almost falling in his haste. Pausing only to thrust a gold imperial at his astonished driver, he splashed forward to the grand carriage, dodged past a surprised outrider, and rapped on the door.
“Lady Humilio!” he cried to the astonished face at the window. ”Now my day is made! You don’t mind if I join you?” The occupants of the carriage certainly must mind, for they were already packed in like eels in a jug, but they were too polite to say so. There were six of them in there already, including the ancient Senator Oupshiny, whose equipage it was.
Muttering greetings and confusing explanations, Umpily, squeezed his bulk inside.
No guard would question a senatorial carriage.
“My lady!” Umpily chirruped, leaning against the door and trying not to sweat. “You look bewitching in that chiton. My lord! And your Eminence, you are well?” Old Oupshiny, of course, although he was older than the Impire, was married to the impress’s sexy sister. “Your dear wife? She will be one of the participants, of course?” It was odd that Ashia was not present, though, or that the old relic wasn’t with her . . .
“Eh?” the old man shouted, reddening. “Wife?”
Ripples of shock seemed to shake the carriage. After a lifetime in society, Umpily knew a major blunder when he saw one—or made one, although that was extremely rare. Not having a clue what was wrong, he changed the subject at once, squeezing a corner of his bulk onto the tiny space that had been reluctantly cleared for him. “I should be quite happy to stand, my lord, thank you, except that I have contracted a swelling of the ankles, as you may notice. The doctors suspect inadequate nutrition due to—”
“Wife?” a couple of voices muttered. The carriage lurched forward and stopped again.
“Thought you’d been posted to Guwush, eh? “ the old senator bellowed.
“Guwush, your Eminence?”
“That’s what we heard, wasn’t it, Utha?”
“It was indeed. Secret mission for Sh— for his majesty.”
“Just a blind,” Umpily said cheerfully. His head was starting to spin. He had only been gone two days . . .
“And what can you tell us about the prince?” Lady Humilio whispered conspiratorially.
“Prince?”
“His cousin! They quarreled? I mean, why else would Emthoro have rushed off to Leesoft even before the funeral?” Umpily flapped his mouth like a landed fish. “I really mustn’t betray confidences, my lady . . .”
“What were you yattering about my wife?” demanded the senator. ”Can’t believe you’d even remember her.”
“You misheard me, Eminence!” God of Liars assist me!
“Not your wife . . .” He began to babble.
The carriage lurched forward and stopped again.
When the distinguished party reached the door of the Rotunda, Umpily descended first and handed down the ladies. He helpfully collected all the invitations and passed them over in a wad. He gave Lady Humilio his arm as they paraded along the corridor. When they reached the crowded clamor of the Rotunda itself, he excused himself with vague explanations that of course he must find his proper place in the ceremony. He squirmed away through the throng. The hall was already packed, and yet still cold as a root cellar. No one else there was sweating as he was.
The huge round hall was mercifully dim, most of the great dome still cloaked with snow. He tried not to remember that sorcerers could see in the dark as well as in sunlight. A few of the crystal panes were clear, and icicles hung perilously from the fretted stone ribs, dripping water onto the seated throng. Once in a while one would fall and shatter on the floor. Nearby onlookers would laugh nervously.
Umpily bustled around to the southeast quadrant where he would have a good view of the throne. He picked out a couple of ancient earls, persuading them that his allotted seat was right between them. They both knew him by sight, and they were both too deaf to attempt much conversation. Soon he was so packed in by the crowd that he did not think even Zinixo himself could extract him. Safety in numbers . . . His terror began to subside a little.
The Opal Throne was turned to the south, facing the Blue Throne, so this was—
Five thrones?
Five thrones!
Umpily had witnessed four of those thrones being blasted to rubble by the warden of the north. Now they were restored completely, exactly as before. He shivered so hard that one of his neighbors demanded to know what was wrong.
Nothing was wrong. That was the problem.
The guests crammed in until there was no room to breathe, and still they kept coming. Gradually their body heat began to warm the Rotunda, and icicles crashed down more frequently. Some provoked ominous cries of pain, but the press was too great for the casualties to be removed. Only the circular space in the center stayed clear.
An hour or more drifted by. Umpily felt sick and faint with apprehension. Then a trumpet blared a fanfare, and the congregation struggled to its feet. The participants came marching in from the north door, dividing into two lines as they paraded around.
Shandie!
Yes, it was Shandie, in a purple toga. For the coronation he would arrive in plain white and don the purple as part of the ritual, but today he wore purple. It was Shandie to the life, a nondescript imp with a spotty complexion.
Eshiala!
Gorgeous in her purple chiton, leading the far line . . .
Shandie hated togas, Umpily remembered. He had sworn he would wear uniform instead. And had Eshiala ever smiled with such confidence?
Umpily sat down slightly ahead of the elderly earls, gaining a little more of the bench than he had held before. His brain was gyrating wildly. It couldn’t be Shandie. It certainly was Shandie. Every mannerism. After all these years, he could not be mistaken.
It couldn’t be. Shandie was somewhere on a ferryboat, or perhaps already in his chosen bolthole on the far side of Cenmere. Or was this the real imperor, and that whole, horrible adventure had been a hallucination? That was much more likely.
Worse—when the new imperor stood by the throne and raised Emine’s ancient sword to strike the buckler, Warlock Lith’rian materialized on the Blue Throne to acknowledge him with a cryptic elvish smile. Then the troll, witch of the west. Then north—Raspnex! There was the dwarf himself, squat and bearded in a white toga, his bare arm thick as something hanging in a butcher’s.
Nothing was wrong.
Umpily wrestled with physical nausea. Had he been deceived? Had those mad adventures with dwarves and fauns all been illusion? Surely it was easier to believe that than to assume that all this was faked?
There was nothing wrong. Everything was going just as it had been described in the briefings and rehearsals . . . except that Prince Emthoro was missing. And Duchess Ashia, the impress’s sister, was missing also.
And so was he. Peering carefully through the gloom, he established beyond doubt that the group to which he had been assigned in the rehearsals did not contain a bogus Lord Umpily. He couldn’t be there, of course.
He was in Guwush.
True avouch:
BARNARDO
How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale.
Is not this something more than fantasy?
What think you on’t?
HORATIO
Before my God, I might not this believe
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.
— Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, I
FIVE
Stormy clouds
1
“Uomaya?” Shandie said. “I don’t think my mother would have appreciated having her name put on this old tub.”
She certainly would not have approved of her imperial son being an outlaw within his own impire, either, but the situation presented opportunities—
“Very appropriate, I’d have thought,” Ylo said airily.
The imperor shot him a disbelieving glare, then nodded reluctantly. ”That’s good! Keep it up. And I’ll try to respond. I haven’t ever had much experience at banter, though.” He sounded almost wistful.
It would do no harm to learn, maybe. Baiting Shandie would be an unfamiliar amusement—how far dare Ylo take it?
“I have an imperial edict on that? An unlimited, open-ended pardon for all sedition, misprision, and lese majesty?”
Shandie’s smile was ominous. ”Revocable retroactively.”
“That’s not bad for starters,” Ylo admitted.
They huddled together on the upwind side of a very smelly fishing boat. The lout at the rudder would not be able to hear, and did not look intelligent enough to understand anything anyway. The rest of the crew—both of them—were inside the tiny cabin and out of sight. Probably they were disputing how they would divvy up the largesse brought by these unexpected passengers.