Orson Card - Hart's Hope

Their eyes widened, and for a moment they said nothing, waiting, he supposed, for Queen Beauty to strike him down. Either she had heard and did not care or, as Orem hoped, she had not heard. Had not heard, and so he might have some small pathetic power here, enough that he need not be ashamed.

"Apparently," said the woman, "whatever you want."

The grave rumble of the old man's voice added: "You command everyone. You're the husband

of the Queen. Little King is who you are, and they must obey."

It was a heady thought, and Orem distrusted it. "Tell me your names, then."

"I beg your pardon," said the ugly woman. "We spoke in error. You command everyone but

Urubugala and us."

"And why not you?"

"Because we do not laugh at you."

The implication was obvious. "Then all others will laugh."

They glanced at each other again, and the woman whispered, "It is Beauty's will. And what can

stop Beauty from being obeyed?"

It was not an empty question, not entirely. She was asking him if indeed he knew something that they did not know. But he dared not answer, dared not explain to them just what he was, even if he had known for sure himself. What can stop Beauty from being obeyed? Beauty sees all—except that which she sees not that she sees not. Does she not see me? And does she not see that she sees me

not? Riddles, riddles. I cannot answer them because I do not know.

"The less you command," said the soldier, "the less they will laugh."

"Don't tell him that, Craven," said the ugly woman. "Little King, command all you like. Your life

will be easier if they all laugh. Keep them laughing. The Queen, too, will laugh."

"If the Queen laughs, then will I command her, too?"

Again the moment of startlement at his impudence; again nothing happened. And this time the

ugly woman smiled and the old soldier wheezed. "Who can say?" whispered the soldier.

"Craven. Is that your name?"

The soldier immediately soured. "It is the name the Queen gave to me."

"And you," Orem said to the old woman. "What may I call you?"

"I am called Weasel, surnamed Sootmouth. It is the name the Queen gave me." "I had a name before she named me," said Orem. "Did you?"

"But you must. My name is really—"

But she put a rough and scaly hand to his mouth. "You can't say it. And if you could, it would cost you dearly. Don't try to remember."

And then he made plain to them that he was not the slim-hipped boy he seemed to be. He reached out with his subtle inward tongue and tasted them gently, where their sparks so brightly glowed. In the momentary tasting he could feel how they were bound so cold and grey, their lights smothered under a thousand spells. He did not undo all the spells, only the small spell of forgetfulness there, a common, an easy thing to do; hadn't he done it for Gallowglass?

No sooner done than regretted, however. For they looked at him with widened eyes, eyes that did not see him: they were turned inward, to see what had been lost so long from memory and now had been returned. And they wept. The old soldier Craven with his cold grey tears silently streaking his cheeks, remembering his strength; ugly Weasel Sootmouth with her face contorted more than ever, hideous with grief, remembering her husband.

Then they winced in pain and looked toward the door, and there was the Queen.

Queen Beauty, but now not haughty and imperious: now raging, with her eyes dancing as if aflame. They were afire, Orem saw, for flames licked outward, throwing light that danced in the silver discs and dazzled on the table. "How have you remembered what I took from you?" Her voice shook the room.

Weasel and Craven said nothing.

The Queen shouted and the discs banged on the wall. Weasel and Craven fell to the floor. Frightened as he was, Orem thought to wonder if he should pretend to be affected by whatever magic she was using. Before he could act, however, Urubugala took matters out of Orem's hands. He rolled out in front of the Queen and unfolded himself to lie supine before her, his face almost at her feet.

"You can't make Urubugala forget," he said. "What Urubugala once was, Urubugala always is."

All was still. The Queen looked down at the dwarf and smiled beautifully. It was the smile of impending cruelty; we all knew it well by then, except Orem.

"Are you?" she asked. "And what did you hope to accomplish? You couldn't stop me before; do you think some petty little spells of unmaking would terrify me?" She took hold of his hair and pulled him up as if he were no heavier than a dog. "Urubugala, my little fool, don't you know that your little unmakings caused all this? Oh, yes, Urubugala, your little try at resisting me, at helping the old cock escape me—I realized then that it was nearly time, nearly time to renew myself, Urubugala, and so the Little King is here, I called upon the Sisters for a dream and they obliged me, and sent me Little King and the infant in my womb. Do you think you can stop me?"

"No," said Urubugala, grinning. "Or did you merely hope that I would let you die?"

Her smile broadened, and the flames leapt from her eyes and ignited Urubugala's clothing. The dwarf screamed. As if his scream were the power of flight he rose into the air, high above the table, and there burned and burned, screaming. Orem was nauseated, stabbed with guilt. The dwarf had taken blame for all his acts, all his acts, and now was dying for it.

But not dying, after all. For as suddenly as the flames began, they stopped, and the dwarf was lowered, panting and whimpering, to the table. Queen Beauty walked near to him, reached out and took him by the ears, pulled him until she bent directly over his face, looked directly into his eyes.

"Did you block me at the cod's camp? Let me in, Urubugala, or I'll set you burning forever."

"In in in," he whispered. "All you like, see it all—" and he gasped a great rush of air and convulsed on the table. His head rose up, eyes locked on Beauty's eyes, until their faces touched, upside down to each other, mistress and slave, mother and child, Urubugala's head suspended by nothing but the force of Beauty's gaze.

She was finished. Urubugala's head dropped with a loud crack on the table. "The truth, the truth, name of the Sisters it's the truth. I was so sure it was you."

"Oh well," whispered the dwarf.

"Do you think I'm not a match for it, whatever it is? I won't be threatened by a petty wizard who has learned your unmaking spells, Urubugala."

"Oh well."

"Don't try me, Urubugala. I won't let you have even such a victory as that." And then she touched his forehead and he suddenly relaxed. Slept. Orem saw that his skin was unmarked by the flames. The Queen addressed Craven and Weasel. "And yet, why should I remake the mercies he removed? It pleases me that you should again remember all, think of all. Will you hate me? Hate me all you like. You will watch as I am made again, and hate me as you watch, and still you will do nothing, you can do nothing, don't you see? Urubugala may give you back your memories, but I think you'll wish for the old forgetfulness again. Don't bother asking me. Ask him." She pointed at the sleeping dwarf. "See what he can do."

The Queen was gone. Craven and Weasel watched her go, then turned and stared at Orem. He opened his mouth to speak, but Weasel put her hand to her mouth and shook her head. What then? They only waited, watched him. Until he realized that they were waiting for him to make it safe for them to speak. So again he timidly let out his net and cleared the room.

Urubugala instantly sat up in the middle of the table. "Never again," he said to Orem. "Touch whatever you like, do whatever you like, but not to us. We three, the Queen's Companions, we are her ornaments and she'll not have us altered."