Treachery of Kings

THIRTY-ONE

The corridor was dark, except for a torch now and then on a bracket in the wall. The walls, the ceiling and the floor, were standard Heldessia decor-great slabs of granite in colorful black.

Finn, young and strongly built, could scarcely keep up with the King, who bounded ahead like a boy on his way to the fair.

It took little thought to guess that the King was leading Finn to clocks. Finn didn't care about clocks, he could take them or leave them alone. The works, the cogs, the little gears and springs were of interest, of course, but he had gone far beyond such simple devices as that. He had stopped taking clocks apart when he was no more than a child.

“Which is not the point here,” he said to himself. “The point is that Julia, for once, is quite right. I made the clock the King despises, for it came from Aghenfleck, and what am I to do about that?”

Nothing, the answer came at once. If the King didn't look at that tasteless device, all would be well, and he and Letitia and Julia would soon be out of sight.

Even before the king opened the narrow iron portal-with a key he kept under his tasseled cap-Finn could feel the might, feel the beat, that lay just beyond that door. And, when it opened, when the heavy panel swung away, the shock, the power of the place nearly knocked him off his feet, nearly drove him back into the hall.

The strength, the energy behind this force was a thousand, ten times, twenty-, thirtyfold, a chaos, a din, an endless array of click-tick-clitter-clat clocks. Clocks that covered the walls and the ceiling, clocks that littered the floor. It was, as a matter, impossible to move, to take a step anywhere at all, without running into a hundred ticker-tocks.

They beggared description, these clocks of every sort. Great, enormous clocks, clocks big enough for a family, if, indeed, they could stand the horrid noise. Clocks so tiny you could scarcely see them at all. Clocks with rusty weights that swung ponderously about. Clocks that moved with such vigor they blurred before the eye. Clocks, Finn saw to his dismay, where little birds ran in and out. Clocks where woodsmen chased their wives, where their wives chased children dizzily around, then started all over again.

These horrors fueled the air with such heat, such a fierce, concussive beat, that Finn felt his body was under constant siege, that the very air conspired to punch and prod his head, his belly and his chest.

Before he turned and fled, with a hapless gesture to the King, he noticed that none of these mad, clamoring clocks seemed to tell the same time…

"There's a reason for that,” said Llowenkeef- Grymm, as they reached the King's door, and Finn's hearing began to return. “The Afterworld has its own sense of time. Those of us who follow the faith of the Deeply Entombed are in tune with the Great Eternal Hour, not the illusion of time we find reflected here.”

Julia, waiting where Finn had left her, pretended to be immobile, as she sometimes liked to do. Finn ignored her and followed the King inside.

“Yes, I see, eternal hour, splendid idea,” Finn said, who felt it was best to agree with a lunatic and let him have his say.

“Don't be absurd.” The King smiled, for he felt it best to be polite to the hopelessly misinformed.

“You don't see anything, Master Finn. You couldn't possibly understand our beliefs. Why, I scarcely do myself. Besides, we wouldn't have you even if you did. You're not of noble birth, and if you were, I'm certain you're not kin to me. There are only eleven believers in the Church of the Deeply Entombed.”

“Eleven, sire?”

“What, you think that's too many? I assure you, they are all sanctified. All blessed and approved by me.”

Eleven? This whole funereal farce is for eleven rattlepates who like to take a nap?

“I have a great desire to learn about the many different spiritual paths one comes across in the world, Your Grace. It is most enlightening to understand more about yours.

"I-”

“Different? Different paths, you say?”

The King's demeanor, just this side of a frenzy or a fit, told Finn at once he might have put this remark another way.

“What I meant to say-”

“I quite understand what you meant,” the King said, his anger quelled as quickly as it had come. “Ignorance, indeed, is a valid excuse. Even the sin of heresy comes into play.”

He paused, then, to pour them both another mug of ale. “Do you imagine, Finn, the sorrow, the agony I must feel, the burden that weighs upon me, with the knowledge there is no other true path but mine? That everyone outside my immediate family is doomed? Destined to walk the earth as Coldies when they die? It is hard to live with this, my friend.”

Finn imagined a tear ran down the King's cheek, but surely it was only a trick of the light.

“I-had not realized the great responsibility you bear for us all, Your Grace. May I say that you handle it rather well.”

“No, no I don't. Nice of you to say, but I fear that I don't. I should pray for those who will ever be awake, but I seldom have the time.

“At any rate, nothing I can do about that, is there now? I am pleased you were able to meet me, and show me that marvelous machine as well. Where'd the damned thing go?”

“My honor, sire.” “Yes, it certainly is.”

“You have so many-truly unusual rites, sire. Anyone aware of the Deeply Entombed, as I am now, can understand why it is the only true path.”

“Very astute of you, boy,” the King said, stifling yet another yawn. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important functions to perform.”

“I don't see how you handle the load, Your Grace. Your eternal parades, your intense devotion to sleep, the Millennial Bell. I must tell you I'm honored to have been present here when that sonorous instrument struck again. Would I be overstepping my bounds, sire, if I asked what occasion you are commemorating now?”

“Which what?”

“The occasion, sire. The bell celebrates a, ah-theo-logical moment of some sort. From the word, I would guess, something a thousand years ago. That would have been about-”

“Wendon's day.”

“Sire?”

“Last time before this. About noon, I recall. I rose and ate three fowl hens. Two jugs of wine.”

“Your Grace-”

“Time before that was the middle of Madge. Tootsday the fifty-third. I think I told you, Finn, I have a lot of things to do.”

He stood, then, downed his ale, and ushered Finn to the door.

“Well, it's been a pleasure. Get out of here, I've had enough of you.”

“Sire, if you don't mind-” Finn saw at once the King was nudging him toward the door where he'd first come in-away from the portal where Julia still waited outside.

“If I may suggest… “

With a somewhat rude gesture, the King gave him a push outside and closed the door.

Finn muttered to himself, nothing so loud that the rigid Badgie guards might hear. They might, every one, be Maddigern's cousins or brothers, as far as he knew.

Five minutes, then another ten. No sign of First Servant Dostagio at all, no way to find Julia without simply asking the King. That didn't seem like a good idea.

“Trees and Bees,” Finn said, with no small touch of irritation. “I don't have the slightest idea where I am, or where I ought to be!”

Fine. One course is better than none, and far better than standing here…

With that, he walked confidently down the hall, turned left, followed the torches away, and turned right again. Lost, at once, but what did that matter? Every path was wrong in the House of the Perpetual Nap.

At least, he thought, his time had been fairly well spent. He had learned a great deal about the spiritual life of King Llowenkeef-Grymm, even though none of it made a bit of sense.

The one point he hadn't dared touch upon was the one that concerned him the most. A sorcerer had knocked him senseless. That same seer belonged to the King, and what was His Grace's part in that? Did he know about it, or not? And, wasn't it even more disconcerting if he wasn't aware of it at all?

He was anxious to share this with Letitia, and even Julia, though he wouldn't admit to that.

“They are each, in their way, extremely good at puzzles such as this. They will toss a tricky question around until it gives up and rolls over and tells them what they want to know-”

“Talking to yourself, are you, sir? They say it's a sign that dark forces whisper in your soul… “

The voice came out of shadow, and Finn's heart nearly stopped, this time without the aid of a spell.

“Sacks and Tacks, you gave me quite a fright. Come out and show yourself now!”

She stepped into the half-light, then, no longer a phantom, but a person fully formed. Formed so nicely, in fact, she took Finn's breath away. A woman, though very lately a girl, slender and slight, with citron hair to her shoulders, a narrow face and wide-set eyes of the very palest blue.

The eyes of a girl who has drowned and lies beneath the sea…

Finn was stunned by this disturbing thought, and set it quickly aside.

“I'm sorry,” the woman said, in a voice that brought vague, unwholesome thoughts to mind. “I like to walk in this hall, for there's scarcely ever anyone here.”

“I don't suppose there is. I don't imagine anyone unfamiliar with the place could find it twice. I am quite lost myself.”

The woman gave him a lazy smile. “I'm DeFloraineMarie, and I'm the daughter of the King. You're the one who makes lizards that talk, and you're not lost now, Master Finn…”