A gilded panel at the rear of the apartment slid open. Chorin-Tsu dropped to his knees, averting his gaze – but not before he had seen the gold paint on the royal face, and the dried blood on his lips from when he had kissed the wound on his wife’s breast.
‘I shall awaken her now,’ said the God-King. Moving to the body he knelt and pressed his lips to hers. ‘Come to me, sister-wife. Open your eyes, Goddess of the Dead. Come to me, I command you!’
Chorin-Tsu remained on his knees, eyes closed. ‘I command you!’ shouted the God-King. Then he began to weep and for long moments the sobbing continued. ‘Ah,’ he said suddenly. ‘She is teasing me, she is pretending to be dead. Who are you?’
Chorin-Tsu jerked as he realized the King was addressing him. Opening his eyes, he looked up into the face of madness. The blue eyes shone brightly within the mask of gold; they were friendly, and gentle. Chorin-Tsu took a long slow breath. ‘I am the Royal Embalmer, sire,’ he said.
‘Your eyes are slanted, but you are not Nadir. Your skin is gold, like my friend, Garen. Are you Chiatze?’
‘I am, sire.’
‘Do they worship me there? In your homeland?’
‘I have lived here for forty-two years, sire. Sadly, I do not receive news from my homeland.’ •
‘Come, talk to me. Sit here on the bed.’
Chorin-Tsu rose, his dark eyes focusing on the young God-King. He was of medium build and slender, much like his sister. His hair was dyed gold, and his skin was painted the same colour. His eyes were a remarkable blue. ‘Why is she not waking? I have commanded it.’
‘I fear, sire, that the Queen has . . . moved to her second realm.’
‘Second? Oh I see, Goddess of Wisdom, Queen of the Dead. Do you think so? When will she come back?’
‘How could any mortal man predict such a happening, sire? The gods are far above mere mortals like myself.’
‘I suppose that we are. I think you are correct in your assumption, Embalmer. She is ruling the dead now. I expect she will be happy. A lot of our friends are there to serve her. Many, many. Do you think that’s why I sent them all there? Of course it was. I knew Bokat would return to the dead, and I sent lots of her friends ahead to welcome her. I only pretended to be angry with them.’ He smiled happily and clapped his hands. ‘What is this for?’ he asked, lifting a long, brass instrument with a forked end.
‘It is an . . . aid to me, sire, in my work. It helps to . . . make the object of my attentions remain beautiful always.’
‘I see. It is very sharp, and wickedly hooked. And why all the knives and scrapers?’
‘The dead have little use for their internal organs, sire. They putrefy. For a body to remain beautiful they must be removed.’ The God-King stood and wandered to where Chorin-Tsu’s chest stood open by the door. He peered inside, then lifted out a glass jar in which were stored many sets of crystal eyes.
‘I think I shall leave you to your craft, Master Em-balmer,’ he said brightly. ‘I have many matters to attend to. There are so many of Bokat’s friends who will want to follow her. I must prepare their names.’
Chorin-Tsu bowed deeply, and said nothing.
Sieben was wrong. When Majon broached the subject of the prophecy with Druss, there was no immediate refusal. The Drenai warrior listened, his face impassive, his cold, pale eyes expressionless. As the ambassador concluded, Druss rose from his chair. ‘I’ll think on it,’ he said.
‘But, Druss, there are so many considerations that. . .’
‘I said I’ll think on it. Now leave.’ The coldness of the warrior’s tone cut through Majon like a winter wind.
During the late afternoon Druss, dressed casually in a wide-sleeved shirt of soft brown leather, woollen leggings and knee-length boots, walked through the city centre, oblivious to the crowds surging around him: servants buying supplies and wares for their households, men gathered around inns and taverns, women moving through the marketplaces and shops, lovers walking hand in hand in the parks. Druss weaved his way among them, his mind focused on the ambassador’s plea.