Mayer Alan Brenner - Spell of Apocalypse

Phlinn Arol looked away. “Even that would scarcely be so simple.”

“What’s not simple?” Max garbled. “I can feel it latches in the back.”

“You tried to assassinate the Emperor-designate, and me too as well.”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you? What do I have against the Emperor? What do I have against you? Somebody wants me on ice, that’s all, and maybe frozen so solid I’ll never thaw out. I’ve got a pretty good guess who, too.”

“And who would that be?”

“Arznaak, who else?”

“Are you certain you’re not letting longstanding personal animosity get between you and a reasonable presentation of the truth?”

“What better reason to pull something like this against me than longstanding personal animosity? If it makes you feel better, I am certain there’s more to what’s going on than just landing me on the shelf.”

Phlinn Arol scowled. He was looking less and less happy all the time. “As it develops, you happen to be correct. Yet let us stay with you for the moment. You are the most radical of radical Abdicationists. You wish to make the gods abandon humanity to its own independent fate, and have been willing to pursue any means to that end.”

“I’ve never assassinated anybody.”

“Tell me of your recent dealings with Jardin, Administrator of Curses.”

“He was after the Pod Dall ring. I traded it to him in exchange for lifting the curse on the Shaas.”

“So you did have the ring,” said Phlinn darkly. “I thought as much. And when Jardin received the ring from your hand, it was fully operational? No booby traps?”

“Well, sure.”

“‘Well, sure,’ which?”

Max snorted as well as he could manage under the circumstances. How much did Phlinn Arol know? What had been happening out there? Phlinn might be the key to springing him from this joint - it would be prudent to be straight with him. Unless through being straight he made himself out to be so dangerous he needed to remain cooped up. “Of course it was trapped. You don’t think I’d pass something like that ring off without some kind of safeguard, do you? I wanted to have the Shaa problem off my back, finally, but I didn’t intend to create a bigger mess while I was doing it. I figured Jardin’d detect the trap and have to spend time disarming it, and that would give me enough time to catch up with him and get the thing back.”

“I see. And then once you’d retrieved the ring Jardin would continue to honor your agreement? The Shaas would remain curse-free? Max, I know you too well. The only outcome you’d have been happy with was an incapacitated or inept Curse Administrator, one unable to reinstitute this curse.”

“I thought it was supposed to be a heroic thing to try to help your friends against overwhelming odds. I thought that kind of thing was what you were there to support.”

“Touché, Maximillian. But I should not have to remind you that timing is also crucial, and in this case you were badly off the mark. Even if you were merely duped, as seems perfectly plausible to me, what you may have helped to set loose is of significant concern.”

“Anything I may have helped to set loose I can also help to contain, but I can’t very well do it pegged down like a -”

“There are... complications,” Phlinn Arol said reluctantly, yet again. “As you know, I dislike taking an explicit hand in these things. There are also already enough destabilizing influences in circulation without reinserting you once again, too. You may yet have a further role to play, but there is chaos enough at the moment without making the situation yet more complicated.”

What was he really saying? “Does this mean you’ve teamed up with the Hand now?”

“I am open to all those who seek me. That is part of the job.”

“You’re giving chapter and verse to me? Who the hell you think you’re kidding? I’ve never met a god who didn’t play favorites and neither have you. If you want to simplify things you should just drag the Hand in here for a change and ask them what’s going on. They didn’t just happen to wander in from stage right, they were part of whatever plan was really happening there. Or if not then at least tell the Emperor to watch out for them.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

It was obvious. Phlinn had to know it was obvious. So why would he ask, unless - unless – “Why don’t you just tell whoever it is lurking out there in the hall to come on in,” Max called in a voice he hoped would reach the hall itself.

Phlinn Arol gazed impassively at Max. After a moment, a shadow darkened the doorway, hesitated, and then drifted into the cell. The cell, which was not large, had suddenly become crowded. A voice spoke from beneath the cloak. “So, this is your Maximillian, up close.”

“That’s him,” said Phlinn Arol.

“So. Maximillian,” said the hooded man. “You claim it was not your plot to kill the Emperor-designate? Shall I put you to the question to know for certain?”

Why do they always think they can pull this off? Max thought. These people should read more. “There’s no point in torturing somebody who’s telling the truth. If they break down all you get on top of the truth is fabrication. And I don’t break down.”

“You are quite the notorious fellow. Your sobriquet scarcely does you justice.”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

“What?” said the robed figure. “Deliberately garbling your speech again? No, I see, the mouth-manacle remains. The Emperor-designate was asking certain... pointed questions about you, you know, after your disruptive performance with the Scapula at the Initiation Ball.”

“Did the Emperor-designate like the answers?”

Phlinn Arol cleared his throat. “Max understands who you are,” he stated mildly.

“Yes, I suppose he does,” said the Emperor-designate. He swept back the hood of his cloak. “You wish me to believe that you are innocent of the popular sentiment associating you with the terrorist assassins, and propose instead that you are the dupe of a widespread plot. Because this enemy of yours, this mercenary Hand troop, is engaged by my guard for additional support during the Knitting period, you claim they belong to this plot, and by extension are traitorously part of the assassination attempt?”

“That’s right as far as it goes,” Max said, “Your Highness. If I were you I’d make inquiries.”

“Oh, I am. I am here, for one.”

“Have you inquired in Arznaak’s direction?”

The eyes in the golden face were still hooded. “The Scapula has been unreachable today.”

“Then you’ve got to figure he’s certainly up to something.”

“I have made my own inquiries,” said Phlinn Arol. “Jardin, Master of Curses, has dropped from the Net of Gods, yet the carrier sigil of his office remains alive. I have traced him last to the headquarters of the Scapula. One hypothesis is that the Master of Curses has been usurped.”

“Is this common knowledge?” said the Emperor.

“No,” Phlinn Arol told him. “My resources are not typical.”

“I’ve faced Arznaak before,” said Max. “You’ve got to move fast; you can’t let him get out in front of you.”

The Emperor-designate favored him with a small smile. “If the Scapula has Transcended, he’ll have much larger matters to concern himself with than me. Isn’t that so, Phlinn?”

“That may be the case.”

“Arznaak is the brother of my closest associate,” Max protested. “I know him pretty well - far too well. One of his greatest satisfactions in climbing up the ladder is being able to deal with the folks he’s left behind. He’s already moved against you at the bridge. What do you think’s going to stop him now?”