Harry Turtledove - Krispos Rising

Krispos had to turn away for a moment, to make sure his features would be composed when he turned back to the Emperor. "Your Majesty," he said, voice expressionless.

Dara spoke before her husband. "I was saddened last night to hear of your loss, Krispos."

He could tell her sympathy was real, and warmed a little to it. Bowing, he said, "Thank you, your Majesty. You're gracious to think of me." They had played the game of passing messages back and forth under Anthimos' nose before. She nodded very slightly, to show she understood.

The Emperor nodded, too. "I'm sorry, also, Krispos. Most unfortunate. A pity you didn't have your—brother-in-law, was it?—come south to the city before the raiders struck."

"I tried to get him to come, your Majesty. He didn't wish to." After two polite, quiet sentences, Krispos found his voice rising toward a shout. "It's an even bigger pity you didn't see fit to guard the frontier properly. Then he could have lived his life as he wanted to, without having to fear raiders out of the north."

Anthimos' eyebrows shot up. "See here, sirrah, don't take that tone with me."

"By the good god, it's about time someone did!" Krispos yelled. He didn't remember losing his temper, but it was lost sure enough, lost past finding. "About time someone took a boot to your backside, too, for always putting your prick and your belly ahead of your empire."

"You be still this instant!" Anthimos shouted, loud as Krispos. Careless of his nakedness, the Avtokrator sprang out of bed and went nose to nose with his vestiarios. He shook a finger in Krispos' face. "Shut up, I tell you!"

"You're not man enough to make me," Krispos said, breathing heavily. "For a copper, I'd break you over my knee."

"Go ahead," Anthimos said. "Touch me, just once. Touch the Emperor. We'll see how long the torturers can keep you alive after you do. Weeks, I'd wager."

Krispos spat between Anthimos' feet, as if in rejection of Skotos. "You shield yourself behind your office whenever you choose to. Why don't you use it?"

Anthimos went white. "Remember Petronas," he said in a ghastly whisper. "By the good god, you may end up envying him if you don't curb your tongue."

"I remember Petronas well enough," Krispos shot back. "I daresay the Empire would have been better off if he'd managed to cast you down from your throne. He—"

The Avtokrator's hands writhed in furious passes. Suddenly Krispos found he could not speak; he had no voice, nor would his lips form words. "Are you quite through?" Anthimos asked. Krispos felt that he could nod. He refused to. Anthimos' smile was as vicious as any with which Petronas had ever favored Krispos. "I suggest you admit you are finished—or do you care to find out how you'd relish being without breath as well as speech?"

Krispos had no doubt the Emperor meant what he said, nor that he could do what he threatened. He nodded.

"Is that yes, you are through?" Anthimos asked. Krispos nodded again. The Emperor moved his left hand, muttering something under his breath. He said, "Your speech is restored. I suggest, however—no, I order—that you do not use it in my presence now. Get out."

Krispos turned to leave, shaking from a mixture of rage and fright he'd never felt before. He hadn't thought he could ever grow truly angry at Anthimos; the Emperor's good nature had always left him proof against full-blown fury. But even less had he imagined Anthimos as a figure of fear. A figure of fun, certainly, but never fear. Not till now. The Emperor had never shown he'd learned enough wizardry to be frightening till now. At the door, Krispos almost bumped into a knot of eunuchs and maidservants who had gathered to listen, wide-eyed, to his shouting match with Anthimos. They scattered before him as if he had something catching. So he did, he thought: the Avtokrator's disfavor was a disease that could kill.

He stamped back to his chamber and slammed the door behind him. He hit the wall a good solid whack, hard enough to send pain shooting up his arm. Then he used his restored voice to shout several very rude words. He was not sure whether he cursed the Emperor or his own foolish rashness. Either or both, he decided; he did no good either way.

That cold-blooded realization finally ended his fit of temper. He sat down at the edge of his bed and put his head in his hands. If he did not mean to strike at the Avtokrator, he should have kept his mouth shut. And he did not see how he could strike, not if he hoped to live afterward. "Stupid," he said. He meant it for a viler curse than any he'd used before.

Having been stupid, he had nothing left but to make the best of his stupidity. He came out of his room a few minutes later and went about his business—his business that did not directly concern Anthimos—as normally as he could. The rest of the servitors spoke to him in hushed voices, but they spoke to him. If he heard the whispers that followed him through the imperial residence, he could pretend he did not.

For all his outward show of calm, he jumped when, early that afternoon, Longinos said, "His Majesty wants to see you. He's in the bedchamber."

After a moment to gather himself, he nodded to the eunuch and walked slowly down the corridor. He could feel Longinos' eyes on his back. He wondered who all waited in the imperial bedchamber. In his minds' eye he saw a masked, grinning torturer, dressed in crimson learner so as not to show the stains of his trade.

He had to will his finger first to touch and then to work the latch he'd gladly opened so many times late at night. Eyes on the floor, he went in. Going against the Kubratoi, spear in hand, had been easier—he'd thought that would be grand and glorious, till the fighting started.

Anthimos was alone; Krispos saw only the one pair of red boots. He took his courage in both hands and looked at the Avtokrator's face. Indignation ousted fright. Anthimos was smiling at him, as cheerfully as if nothing had happened in the morning.

"Your Majesty?" he said, much more than the simple question in his voice.

"Hello, Krispos," the Emperor said. "I was just wondering, have the silk weavers delivered the new robe they've been promising for so long? If it's here at last, I'd like to show it off at the revel tonight."

"As a matter of fact, your Majesty, it got here a couple of hours ago," Krispos said, almost giddy with relief. He went to the closet, got out the robe, and held it in front of himself so the Emperor could see it.

"Oh, yes, that's very fine." Anthimos came up to run his fingers over the smooth, glistening fabric. He sighed. "All the poets claim women have skin soft as silk. If only they truly felt like this!" After a moment, he went on, "I will wear this tonight, Krispos. Make sure it's ready for me."

"Certainly, your Majesty." Krispos hung up the robe. Nodding, Anthimos started to leave. "Your Majesty?" Krispos called after him.

The Avtokrator stopped. "What is it?"

"Is that all ?" Krispos blurted.

Anthimos eyes widened, either from guilelessness or an all but perfect simulation of it. "Of course that's all, dear fellow. What else could there possible be?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," Krispos said quickly. He'd known the Emperor's temper was mercurial, but he'd never expected it to cool so quickly. If it had, he was not about to risk rekindling it. Nodding again, Anthimos bustled out. Krispos followed, shaking his head. So much luck seemed too good to be true.

XIII

"You're not missing a head or any other vital Appendage, I see," Mavros said, waving to Krispos as he climbed the steps to the imperial residence. "From all the gossip I've heard the last couple of days, that's Phos' own special miracle. And miracles, my friend, deserve to be celebrated." He held up a large jar of wine.