Orson Card - Hart's Hope

"What do they do, then, to be attractive?" asked a lady.

"They wash," said Orem. "And without paint, they aren't as slippery as you ladies—when a man takes hold, they never slip out of his grasp!" How they laughed. It was too good a show to let it lag. He called for water and made a great show of washing the face of a lady—but not the one near him, for he could see that she was in fact quite ugly and her paint was a miracle of salvage. Instead Orem washed the face of the lady across from him, who profited from the cleaning, for she had fine features. And she had criticized him, however tacitly, which gave a little pleasure to his unpainting of her. Who noticed Orem's tact and kindness in the one case, or his petty pleasure in the other? They only laughed, for it was amusing to watch him flout centuries-old traditions and week-old fashions. What a clown. What a rustic. What a boor. Delightful.

It was then that Timias acted—reached out and took the Little King by the wrist before he could follow the laughter of the crowd into washing the false birthmark off the lady's bosom. "You may be an ass," said Timias coldly, "but you needn't leap into the proof with such assurance." All were quiet then, except for murmurs of surprise. Timias wasn't laughing. Timias was spoiling all the fun. Peace, Timias. Let be, Timias. But Orem looked at him, wearing the half-witted smile that in his home country would have been regarded as a sign of frank good will.

Oh, they laughed at that. But Timias only grew colder and darker. "So your cock has filled a Queen, boy? Bloody lot of good may it do you."

It was the sort of remark that was not said, above all not in the Palace, for surely the Queen would hear.

"It's done me some," Orem said quietly. And then he remembered he needed to be amusing. "Shall we have a duel for the lady's honor?"

There were some titters at that. If it hadn't been for Timias's seriousness, there would have been more.

"The lady's honor is above the need of defense," said Timias. It was the courteous way to back down. Insult was one thing, but the thought of dueling the Little King was too dangerous. The Queen would surely not permit it. The chance of Timias losing would be too slight. But Orem would not let him drop the matter gracefully. The Little King was there to be laughed at, wasn't he? So let there be fuel for many a guffaw.

"How can you leave the lady championless, when I say her breast is in need of washing?" He turned to the lady. "What's your name, after all? Belfeva! Such a noble breast, Belfeva, and yet so friendless in this company!" He had learned the diction of the court quickly—it was just another game with words, like the puzzles and riddles he had created in the House of God. What a riotous clown, thought most who were there. How artfully he acts, thought those few who watched wisely. "I accept your challenge even if you don't offer it. And the weapon, what weapon will do, except for—yes, take your bread, sir! And your goblet! Wine-soaked bread at twenty paces."

It was hilarious, of course, just the thought of it. But more: it was impossible for Timias to bear. It's the flaw of the serious and cold—they cannot bear to be made ridiculous. "I'll do no such thing," said Timias.

"Then you'll come to my rooms tomorrow noon," said the Little King. "We have things to talk about, my friend."

"I have nothing to talk about with you." But the assurance in his manner had weakened. Alone of the courtiers, Timias now realized that Orem was cleverer than he appeared, and could turn things his own way more easily than anyone but the victim would know.

"Then bring this lady, with her breast but without her birthmark, and you may help me judge which is more beautiful—your companion, sir, or mine."

"No one is more beautiful than Queen Beauty."

"Ah, but Queen Beauty is not my companion. She keeps me as a pet, you know, and doesn't like to hear me bark too often or too near at hand. My companion tomorrow will be—" and he cast his gaze up to the head of the table "—will be the lady Weasel Sootmouth."

Orem was not so stupid as he seemed to the courtiers, nor so clever as he seemed to Timias. He had no conscious plan in mind. He only knew that Timias did not laugh at him, and that attracted him; he was afraid, and lonely, and tired of the constant show he had to perform. Timias's very distaste for him made Orem want to like him.

The Friends of the Little King

They came as commanded to Orem's room: Timias, the woman Belfeva, and Weasel. It was a strange meeting, at first. Almost nothing was said while the servants spread a "little" meal. Orem was already used to the plenty, and wise enough not to partake too heavily. He watched Timias and Belfeva as they awkwardly ate, repeatedly asking them the same question: "Is it good?"

"Oh, very good, very good," they said. It was clear that the strain was making Belfeva more and more afraid, but the truth in Timias led him to be angry, not frightened, and at last he said, "My lord Little King, why did you bring us here? If you want me to apologize, I will. I spoke improperly last night. However you want to shame yourself is fine with me."

Orem showed no sign of noticing that it was an ungracious apology. "You're generous, but I care very little about last night."

"Then why are we here?"

"I want company. For an expedition."

"Expedition?" asked Belfeva brightly. Timias glowered.

"Am I a prisoner in the Palace?" asked Orem. "I want to go abroad. As far as the garden. Or should I be more daring? King's Town is new to me. You know it well, since you have nothing better to do than explore."

"I have better things to do." Timias stood.

"We had a name for men like you in High Waterswatch," Orem said, and the geniality was gone from his voice. "We called them cold cocks. Lots of strut, but you could leave them alone with the hens for a year and never an egg would drop."

Timias flushed, but bore it silently.

Orem walked nearer. "You're twice my strength and probably twice any other virtue I might have, Timias. Why don't you laugh at me?" Timias looked away. "I have an idea of what a King should be."

And there it was—the key to Orem's real power in Inwit. The Queen had made him the butt of ridicule, perhaps expecting him to strive for dignity and so become more and more ridiculous. But Orem had a tool she did not know he had. As long as he spun his web to capture the Queen's magic in a room, he could say whatever treason he might like and not be overheard. No one would dare repeat his treasons, so the Queen would never hear of them—and in the meantime, the message to his hearers was unmistakable: the Little King may say what would be death for anyone else to say, and nothing happens to him. Let the laughers laugh. Among the very people least likely to be amused by him he was seen quite differently. The Queen does not punish the Little King for treason: therefore the Little King has power.

He did not show this power to many; but then there were so few who did not laugh at him.

"Come with me, Timias, and these ladies, too."

They went with him; many times they went with him, and showed him many things, and he showed them very little, but what they saw was enough, enough: I will show you, Palicrovol, and perhaps you will understand why Timias has stayed with Orem Scanthips even now, when he is no longer Little King.

They toured the gardens, and annoyed the gardeners with their conversation; visited the artists' workshops where old works were furbished, new ones manufactured; made the poets at Pools Park read their rhymes to them; admired and rode the horses at Queen's Stables; even toured the armory, for after all, the Little King was titular commander of the troops.

The Undoing of Justice

But always Orem had in mind another visit. It seemed to come like a whim one morning when they gathered as usual in his rooms to plan the day's discoveries. "Why not the Coal House, to watch them try the criminals?"