Brian Aldiss - Helliconia Summer

“We should not quarrel, we both have our difficulties, I in Kace, you at home in Matrassyl, if the reports that reach me are to be trusted. But you cannot bring that creature into my court—the force of the opinion of the court is against it, whatever I personally may say.”

“Why did you not say this when I arrived, two days ago?”

A heavy sigh from the Oldorandan king. “You have had two days’ grace. Think of it like that. The Holy C’Sarr arrives shortly, as you know. The honour of receiving him means much, but is a grave responsibility. He will not tolerate the sight of a phagor. You are too difficult for us, Jandol. Since you have exhausted your purpose here, why do you not return to your capital tomorrow, with your troupe of animals?”

“Am I that unwelcome? You invited me to stay for the C’Sarr’s visit. What poison has SartoriIrvrash poured in your ear?”

“The occasion when the Holy C’Sarr is present must pass of peacefully. Perhaps the alliance with powerful Pannoval is more important to me than to you, since my kingdom is nearer. Frankly, fuggies and fuggy-lovers are not popular in this part of the world. If you have no purpose here, then I suggest we give you godspeed tomorrow.”

“If I have a purpose?”

Sayren Stund cleared his throat. “What purpose? We are both religious men, Jandol. Let us go and pray and be scourged together now, and part as friends and allies in the morning. Isn’t that best? Then your visit can be sweetly remembered. I will give you a boat with which you can sail rapidly down the Valvoral and be home in no time. Can you smell the flowering zaldal? Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I see.” JandolAnganol folded his arms. “Very well, then, if that is as deep as your friendship and your religion go—we shall quit your presence on the morrow.”

“We shall sorrow to see you leave us. So will our queen and daughter.”

“I comply with your request, and poorly I think of it. In return, answer my question. Where is SartoriIrvrash?”

The King of Oldorando showed sudden spirit. “You have no right to think poorly of my request. Do you imagine my daughter would be dead today if you had not been espoused to her? It was a political killing—she had no personal enemies, poor girl. Then you come to my court with your filthy fuggies and expect to be made welcome.”

“Sayren, I say truly, I grieve for the death of Simoda Tal. If I found the murderer, I would know how to deal with him. Do not increase my sorrow by laying that evil at my door.”

Sayren Stund ventured to rest his hand upon the arm of his brother king.

“Do not worry yourself about—the man you mention, your ex-chancellor. We have given him a room in one of the monastic hostels which lie behind this palace and the Dom. You will not have to meet with him. And we will not part foes. That would not do.” He blew his nose. “Just be sure you leave Oldorando tomorrow.”

They made each other a bow. JandolAnganol went slowly up to his quarters in a wing of the palace. Yuli followed behind.

Indifferent tapestries hung on the walls here, the board floor was filthy. He knocked on his infantry major’s door. No answer came. On inspiration, he went along to Fard Fantil’s door and knocked. The Royal Armourer called to him to enter. The hunchback sat on his bed, polishing his boots; he jumped to his feet when he saw who entered. A phagor guard stood silent by the window, spear in hand.

JandolAnganol lost no time in coming to the point.

“You’re the very man I want. This is your native city, and you know local customs as I don’t. We leave here tomorrow—yes, it’s unexpected, but there’s no choice. We sail to Matrassyl.”

“Trouble, sire?”

Trouble.”

“He’s tricky, is the king.”

“I want to take SartoriIrvrash with me, prisoner. He’s here, in the city. I want you to find him, overpower him, smuggle him into these quarters. We can’t cut his throat—it would cause too much of a scandal. Get him here, unseen.”

Fard Fantil began to pace up and down the room, clutching his brow. “We can’t do such a thing. It’s impossible. The law won’t allow. What has he done?”

JandolAnganol smacked a fist into his palm. “I know that dangerous old crank’s way of thought. He has developed some mad piece of knowledge to discredit me. It will concern the phagors somehow. Before it gets out, I must have him safe, a prisoner. We leave with him tomorrow, shut in a chest. Nobody will know. He resides in one of the hostels behind this palace. Now, I rely on you, Fard Fantil, for I know you as a good man. Do this, and I will reward you, on my word.”

Still the armourer hesitated. “The law won’t allow.”

In a steely voice, the king said, “You have a phagor here in your chambers. I expressly forbid it. Except for my runt, all ancipitals were to be housed in Whistler Park. You merit a flogging for disobeying my orders—and a demotion.”

“He is my personal servant, sire.”

“Will you get SartoriIrvrash for me, as I request?”

With a sullen look, Fard Fantil agreed.

The king threw a bag of gold onto the bed. It was the money he had acquired in the market, two days previously.

“Good. Disguise yourself as a monk. Go at once. Take that pet of yours with you.”

When man and phagor had gone, JandolAnganol stood for a while in the dark room, thinking. Through the window, he could see YarapRombry’s Comet low in the northern sky. The sight of that bright smudge in the night brought a memory of his last encounter with his father’s gossie, and its prediction that he would meet one in Oldorando who would control his destiny. Was that a reference to SartoriIrvrash? His brain, like a darting glance, looked over other possibilities.

Satisfied that he had done all that might be done in a hostile place, he returned to his quarters, where Yuli had settled himself for sleep before the door as usual. The king gave him a pat as he climbed past.

By the bed, a tray of wine and ice had been placed. Perhaps it was Sayren Stund’s way of showing gratitude to a departing guest. Scowling, JandolAnganol drank off a full glass of the sweet wine, then hurled tray and pitcher into a corner.

Flinging off his clothes, he climbed in among the rugs and immediately slept. He always slept soundly. This night, his sleep was heavier than usual.

His dreams were many and confused. He was numerous things, and at last he was a fire god, paddling through golden fire. But the fire was less flame than liquid. He was a fire god of the sea, and MyrdemInggala was riding a dolphin just ahead of him. He struggled mightily. The sea clutched him.

At last he caught her. He held her tight. The gold was all about them. But the horror that had tagged along on the margins of the dream was moving in rapidly upon him.

MyrdemInggala was other than he thought. An immense weight and sickliness emanated from her body. He was crying as he wrestled with her. The gold ran about his throat and eyes. She felt like—

He broke from the dream into waking. For a moment, he scarcely dared open his eyes. He was in the bed in the Oldorandan palace. He was clutching something. He was trembling violently.

Almost against his wish, his eyes opened. Only the gold from the dream remained. It stained the rugs and silken pillows. It stained him.

Crying out, he sat up, flinging back the skins that covered him. Yuli lay close against him. The runt’s head had been severed. There was only the body. It was cold. Its copious golden blood had ceased to flow and lay congealing in a pool beneath the corpse, and beneath the king.

The king flung himself down on the bare floor, face to the tiles. He wept. The sobs rose from some inner recess and shook his whole stained body.