“Parol isn’t very good, is he?” Dennis said. His mind could spin for only so long on uncertainties before it settled back to practical problems. “We’re going to have to get a real wizard to replace him.”
Serdic’s death—Serdic no longer a lowering, sneering presence in the palace—had exhilarated Dennis as surely as the clear, cool sky that follows a storm.
If Serdic really was dead. No one had believed it at first.
The wizard had been speaking to Hale in the throne room of the palace in front of a score of people—including Dennis. “But raising the port duties from one percent to two won’t cut trade, Your Majesty,” the wizard said. “Majesty” when Serdic’s tongue wrapped around it rubbed Dennis like a handful of nettles. “They have no other port that—”
Serdic stopped. Everyone watched him, waiting for some particularly waspish concluding statement.
The wizard fell forward. His forehead clunked hollowly against a crystal floor so hard that years of use had not even dulled its polish.
“It is true, Dennis, that Parol can barely bridge the barrier for the traders to come and go,” Chester was saying. “He will not be able to expand the perimeter again, as surely it must be expanded lest the folk of Emath all be stacked upon one another.”
It took Dennis an instant of shock to remember they were talking about Parol, not the Wizard Serdic who was terrible even in memory.
Any thought that the apprentice might know more than an innocent man should about his master’s death was put to rest when they summoned Parol to the audience hall immediately—and Parol fell on his knees in horror and disbelief.
For three days, King Hale kept the wizard’s body on a bier in the audience hall, dressed in its richest robes. Parol insisted that the Wizard Serdic couldn’t have died, not truly. Everyone else believed that this was some sort of sardonic trick with dire implications for those who acted as if Serdic were really gone.
Then the body began to decay, and they had to bury it—with honor, near the Founder’s Tomb on the spit of land across the harbor entrance.
It was still hard to believe Serdic was dead, but watching Parol bumble through a simple task cast a pinch of dust over his master’s memory.
“Of course,” Chester went on, “it may be that Parol will learn if he applies himself. He who is thoughtful and persevering, that man is chosen among the people.”
“How can Parol learn?” Dennis said. “Serdic isn’t around to teach him any more.”
He frowned. “Is he?”
“Serdic is not here to teach him, Dennis,” Chester replied. “But Serdic’s books and the equipment Serdic brought here to your father’s palace, those are here for Parol to use. Only…”
The robot paused thoughtfully. Dennis looked down at him and raised an eyebrow.
“Only,” Chester said, “the teaching that comes to the fool, Dennis, is as weightless as the wind.”
In the same tone, so that it was a moment before the boy understood the words, the robot added, “Your father is returning now.”
The skiff was a dot on the horizon, scarcely distinguishable to Dennis’ eyes from the mast tips of the dozen or so trawlers sailing in for the evening also. Dennis blinked back tears.
“Well,” he said, “let’s go down and meet him. Maybe he’ll be in a… better mood than he’s been for a time.”
And maybe Hale would even tell his son what was wrong; but the boy didn’t believe either of those things would happen.
CHAPTER 2
Chester could probably see in the darkness, but nobody else could; there was nobody else around this angle of the palace roof anyway; and anyway, Dennis wasn’t going to break out in a gush of tears again.
“Does he want me to hit him?” the boy whispered to his hands, flat on the backs of his thighs. “I’m bigger than he is, now.”
Chester murmured, “It does not kill a son to be punished by his father.”
“He shouldn’t say things like that! He told me I could never go out in a boat and that’s crazy enough, isn’t it, with him spending all day in a skiff if it’s so dangerous? But he never told me not to come down to the dock to, to welcome him!”