Brian Aldiss - Helliconia Summer

“Is that why you stand out from the crowd?”

She slipped her hand into his, and he clasped it.

“There are other reasons. Being a fire god is one.”

“I find most people are terribly disappointing. Do you know, when my sister was murdered, we found her sitting upright in a chair, fully dressed. No blood visible. That was disappointing. I imagined pools of blood. I imagined people threw themselves all over the place when they were getting killed, as if they hated what was happening.”

JandolAnganol asked in a hard voice, “How was she killed?”

“Zygankes, stabbed right through the heart with a fuggie horn! Father says it was a fuggie horn. Right slap through her clothes and her heart.” She glanced suspiciously at Yuli, following his master, but Yuli had been dehorned.

“Were you frightened?”

She gave him a scornful look. “I never think about it. At all. Well, I think about her sitting upright, I suppose. Her eyes were still frozen open.”

They entered the tapestried reception hall. Milua Tal’s warning had served to alert JandolAnganol to the arrival of Alam Esomberr and his ‘little rabble of vicars’, as Esomberr had called them. They were surrounded by a crowd of Oldorandan grandees, from whom a bumble of polite regard arose.

The eagle eye of the king, penetrating to the rear of the chamber, observed another familiar figure who, as the king arrived, was being bustled out of a rear door. The figure turned to look back as he left the room and his gaze, despite all the heads in between, met JandolAnganol’s. Then he was gone, and the door closed behind him.

On the entry of the king, Esomberr broke courteously from his companions and came forward to make a bow to JandolAnganol, giving one of his mocking smiles.

“Here we are, as you see, Jandol, my somewhat ecclesiastical party and I. One twisted ankle, one case of food poisoning, one envoy longing for the fleshpots, otherwise all in good order. Travel-stained, of course, from a preposterously long walk across your domains…” They embraced formally.

“I’m glad you are preserved, Alam. You will find the fleshpots rather gloomy here, that’s my impression.”

Esomberr was eyeing the runt standing by the king’s side. He made playfully to pat Yuli, and then withdrew his hand. “You don’t bite, do you, thing?”

“I’m zivilized,” said Yuli.

Esomberr raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want to speak out of turn, Jandol, but will this rather stuffy crowd here, Sayren Stund and company, tolerate even a zivilized you-know-what in their midst? There’s a drumble on at present—to celebrate the death of your betrothed, I gather…”

“I’ve met no trouble yet—but the C’Sarr arrives soon. You had better get your fleshpotting in before then. By the way, I have just seen my ex-chancellor, SartoriIrvrash. Do you know anything about him?”

“Hmmm. Yes, yes, I do, sire.” Esomberr rubbed his elegant nose with a finger. “He and a Sibornalese lady came upon me and my rabble of vicars shortly after you and your phagorian infantry had trotted on ahead in your brisk, forceful manner. Both he and the Sibornalese lady were on hoxney-back. They journeyed the rest of the way with us.”

“What business has he in Oldorando?”

“Fleshpots?”

“Try again. What did he tell you?”

Alam Esomberr cast his eyes down to the floor as if seeking to recall an elusive memory. “Zygankes, travel does soften the mind… hm. Why, I really cannot say, sire. Perhaps you had best ask him yourself?”

“He had come from Gravabagalinien? Why was he there?”

“Sire, perhaps he wished to view the sea, as I’ve heard some men do before they die.”

“In that case, his wish could have been premonitory,” said JandolAnganol, with spirit. “You are not helpful this evening, Alam.”

“Forgive me. My legs are in such shape that my head is also affected. I may be more effectual after I have bathed and dined. Meanwhile, I assure you that I am no friend of your somewhat gaseous ex-chancellor.”

“Except that you both would rid the world of phagors.”

“So would most men if they had the courage to act. Phagors and fathers.”

They regarded each other. “We had better not get to the subject of courage,” said JandolAnganol, and walked away.

He plunged into a group where men in grand ornamental charfruls and exotic hairpieces were conversing with King Sayren Stund, interrupting them without apology. Sayren Stund looked flustered, but reluctantly asked his audience to leave him. A space was cleared about the two kings. Immediately, a lackey came forward with a silver tray, to present glasses of iced wine. JandolAnganol turned. Only half deliberately, he knocked the tray from the man’s hand.

“Tut-tut-tut,” said Sayren Stund. “No matter, it was an accident, I saw that. Plenty more wine. And more ice, as a matter of fact, delivered now by a lady captain, Immya Muntras. We must accustom ourselves to such innovations.”

“Brother king, never mind the niceties of conversation. You are sheltering here in your palace a man who was my chancellor, of whom I rid myself, a man I think my enemy, since he went over to the Sibornalese cause, by name SartoriIrvrash. What does he want here? Has he brought you some secret message from my ex-queen, as I fear?”

“The man you mention arrived here only twenty minutes ago, along with gentry of good character, such as Alam Esomberr. I agreed to give him shelter. He has a lady with him. I assure you they are not to be guests under this roof.”

“She is Sibornalese. I dismissed that man. I conclude that he cannot be here to do me any favours. Where will they lodge?”

“Dear Brother, I hardly think that is business of mine or yours. The dusk-moth must keep to the dusk, as we say.”

“Where will he stay? Are you protecting him? Be frank with me.”

Sayren Stund had been sitting on a high chair. He rose with dignity and said, “It grows heated in here. Let us take a walk in the garden before we become overheated.” He gestured to his wife to remain behind.

They progressed through the room amid a corridor of bows. Only the runt Yuli followed. The gardens were lit by flambeaux set in niches. Since almost as little air circulated as in the palace, the torches burned with a steady flame. A sulphurous smell hung about the neatly trimmed avenues.

“I do not wish to vex you, Brother Sayren,” JandolAnganol said. “But you understand that I have unknown enemies here. I perceived just by the look of SartoriIrvrash, by his expression, that he is now my enemy, come to make trouble for me. Do you deny that?”

Sayren Stund had taken better control of himself. He was corpulent and he wheezed as he walked. He said coolly, “You appreciate that the common people of Oldorando, or Embruddock, as some like to say, affecting the old mode, regard men of your country—this is not a prejudice I share, you understand—as barbarians. I cannot educate them out of the illusion, not even by stressing the religion we have in common.”

“How does this answer my question?”

“Dear, I’m out of breath. I think I have an allergy. May I ask you if you keep that fuggie following at heel simply to offend me and my queen?” He indicated Yuli with a contemptuous gesture.

It was the turn of JandolAnganol to be at a loss.

“He’s no more than—a pet hound. He follows me everywhere.”

“It’s an insult to bring that creature into this court. It should be housed on Whistler Island with the rest of the animals.”

“I tell you, it’s just a favourite hound. It sleeps outside my bedchamber door at night and will bark if there’s danger.”

Sayren Stund stopped walking, clasped his hands behind his back, and gazed intently into a bush.