Harry Turtledove - Krispos Rising

"It was bad enough with Skombros, those tiny eyes staring and staring from that fat face," Dara said, "but after a while I got used to him and even pitied him, for what could he do but stare?"

Krispos nodded; he remembered having the same thought, watching the former vestiarios at that first revel he'd been to. Dara went on, "But better he should have done without the oil, Krispos, or gotten it himself, than to have you bring it, you who have no need of such spectacles, who are whole and in every way as a man should be—" She broke off abruptly and stared down at her hands.

I knew before last night that your Majesty was beautiful,"

Krispos said softly. "Nothing I saw then makes me want to change my mind." He heard footfalls in the hall and raised his voice. "Here comes that melon. I hope you like it better than the bread and honey."

The Empress shot him a grateful look. "I think I will, thank you." Verina came in, uncovering the bowl in which the stewed muskmelon lay. "And thank you, Verina. That smells lovely."

"I hope it pleases you." The maidservant beamed as she watched her mistress eat the whole melon. "All a matter of finding out what you want, isn't it, your Majesty?"

"So it is, Verina. So it is," Dara said. She did not look at Krispos; she knew how tiny and fragile a bubble privacy was in the palaces. For his part, Krispos understood for a new reason why vestiarioi were traditionally eunuchs.

"Stand aside there, you lumbering blond barbarians, or I'll turn the lot of you into yellow eels!"

Krispos watched with amusement as the Halogai scrambled out of Trokoundos' way. Despite the mage's big, booming voice, the northerners were far more imposing men than he, all at least a head taller and twice as thick through the shoulders. But they did not care to find out whether he meant his words literally.

Trokoundos stamped up the broad steps. Water flew from puddles on them at every step. "You move, too," he snarled at Krispos.

"Wipe your boots on this rug here first," Krispos said. Glowering, Trokoundos obeyed. He trod so hard that Krispos suspected he wished he weren't stepping on mere carpet. "What's the trouble?" Krispos asked. "Shouldn't you be closeted with the Emperor?"

"He's given me the sack, that's what the trouble is," the mage said. "I just spent seventeen goldpieces on new gear, too, and I expect to get paid back. That's why I'm here."

"Of course, if you can show me receipts for what you bought," Krispos said.

Trokoundos rolled his eyes. "It would take a stronger wizard than I even dreamed of being to get money from anyone in the government without receipts—think I don't know that? Here you are." He pulled several folded pieces of parchment from the leather wallet he wore at his belt.

Krispos felt his lips move as he added up the sums. He checked himself, then said, "Seventeen it is. Come along with me; I'll pay you right now."

"Good," Trokoundos growled. "Then I'll never have to come back here again, so I won't run the risk of bumping into his damnfoolness of a Majesty and telling him just exactly what I think of him."

Hearing a loud, unfamiliar voice coming down the hall, Barsymes peered out of a dining room to see who it was. Hearing what the loud, unfamiliar voice had to say about his lord and master, the eunuch squeaked and pulled his head back in.

Krispos opened a strongbox and counted out coins. Trokoundos snatched them from his hand. "Now I'm not out anything but my patience and my digestion," he said, putting them into his wallet one by one.

"May I ask what went wrong?" Krispos said. "From what his Majesty's been saying, he's felt he's made good progress."

"Oh, he has. He's a promising beginner, maybe even better than promising. He can be very quick when he wants to be, and he has a good head for remembering what he learns. But he wants everything at once."

That sounded like Anthimos, Krispos thought. He asked, "How so?"

"Now that he has some of the basics down, he wants to leap straight into major conjurations—blasting fires, demons, who knows what will cross his mind next? Whatever it is, it's sure to be something big enough and difficult enough to be dangerous if anything goes wrong. I told him as much. That's when he sacked me."

"Couldn't you have guided him through some of the things he wanted to do, repaired any mistakes he might have made?"

"No, for two reasons. For one, I wouldn't let any other apprentice ask that of me, and his Imperial Majesty Anthimos HI is no Avtokrator of magic, just another 'prentice." Krispos dipped his head to Trokoundos, respecting him very much for that. The mage went on, "For another, I'm not sure I could repair some of the things he wants to try if he botches them as badly as a 'prentice can. To be frank with you, esteemed and eminent sir, I don't really care to find out, either."

"What happens if he goes on without you?" Krispos asked in some alarm. "Is he likely to kill himself and everyone for half a mile around?" If he was, then this would be one time for Petronas to clamp down hard on his nephew.

But Trokoundos shook his head. "I don't think there's much danger of that. You see, as soon as he leaves his little laboratory today, all his books of spells will go blank. He's not the first rich dilettante I've tried to teach. There is magic to reconstitute them, but it has to be performed by the owner of the books, and it's not easy to work. I don't think his Majesty's quite up to it, and I doubt he'd have the patience to retranscribe the texts by hand."

"I didn't think he'd do it the first time," Krispos agreed. "So you've left him without magic? Won't he just find himself another mage?"

"Even if he does, he'll still have to start over from the beginning. But no, he's not altogether bereft—he'll still be able to use whatever he has memorized. Phos willing, that'll be enough to keep him happy."

Krispos considered, then slowly nodded. "I suspect it may. Most of what he wanted with it was to impress people at his feasts."

"I thought as much," Trokoundos said scornfully. "He doesn't have a bad head for it, or wouldn't, but there's no discipline to him. You can't succeed at anything unless you're willing to put in the hard work you need to learn your craft." He glanced at Krispos. "You know what I'm talking about, I think."

"I've done some wrestling," Krispos said.

"Then you know, all right." Trokoundos' gaze sharpened. "I remember—you're the one who beat that Kubrati, aren't you? You weren't vestiarios then. I might have connected the name with the story sooner if I hadn't seen you in your fancy robes all the time."

"No, I wasn't vestiarios, just a groom," Krispos said. He smiled, both at Trokoundos and at the way his fortunes had changed. "I didn't think I was just a groom then, if you know what I mean. I grew up on a farm, so anything else looked good by comparison."

"I've heard that said, yes." The mage studied Krispos; as he had sometimes with Tanilis, he got the odd feeling he was transparent to the man. "I'd teach you sorcery if you wanted me to. You'd do what was needed, I think, and not complain. But that isn't the craft you're learning, is it?"

"What do you mean?" Krispos asked. Trokoundos was already on his way out the door and did not answer. "Cursed wizards always want the last word," Krispos muttered to himself.

Anthimos was wild with fury when he discovered all his hard-won spells had disappeared. "I'll have that bastard's balls," he shouted, "and his ears and nose, too!"

Normally not a bloodthirsty soul, he went on about pincers and knives and red-hot needles until Krispos, worried that he might really mean it, tried to calm him by saying,"You're probably just as well rid of the mage. I don't think your uncle would like you studying anything as dangerous as sorcery."