Gene Wolfe - The Wizard

“Take a good look,” Thrym rumbled.

“I am,” Toug told him. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“’Cause you may not see much after.” Thrym’s laughter was deeper than the notes of a kettledrum, and so cruel Toug shuddered. “We don’t see your kind with eyes here. Your kind don’t see us much, neither.”

“You blind your slaves.” Toug swallowed. “I talked to one a little. That’s what he said, and he was blind.”

“The men we do.”

“But I’m not a slave, yours or anyone’s. I’m Sir Svon’s squire. Mani’s not a slave either. He’s Lady Idnn’s cat.”

“Animals we don’t,” Thrym conceded; and Toug felt Mani relax a trifle.

There was a dry ditch before the wall, a deep ditch so wide that it seemed a natural chasm, with tumbled boulders in its black depths. Over it arched a bridge of massive timbers dark with tar; it creaked and cracked beneath Thrym’s weight.

“Don’t worry about that,” Thrym rumbled. “We’re good bridge builders. We have to be. You worry about me. What’s to keep me from taking the cat, stepping on you, and kicking your body into the moat?”

“Nothing, sir. Only I hope you won’t.”

“What about that toy sword you got?” Thrym halted to let Toug catch up and pointed to Sword Breaker. “You stop me with that?”

“No, sir.”

“By Ymir’s blood, you’ve got that right. Let’s see it.”

Toug drew Sword Breaker and handed it to Thrym, hilt first as courtesy demanded.

“Not even sharp.”

“No, sir,” Toug said again. “Sir Svon won’t let me have a sharp one because he’s afraid I might cut myself. But I’m his squire, and a squire ought to have a sword.”

Thrym shook with laughter.

The greatest of all the towers was reached by steps so high that Thrym carried Toug up them, gripping the back of the stout homespun shirt his mother had sewn for him and dangling him like a doll while he clutched poor Mani, and Mani clutched him with every claw.

“We’re ready to fight you. See?” Thrym set Toug down and gestured toward the steps they had just surmounted. “How’re your men going to do on those, huh? Need a ladder or something. We’ll come down them handy enough, and you ain’t going to like what we do.”

Thinking that he did not like what the Angrborn did at any time, Toug said, “I certainly wouldn’t want to fight you on these, sir.”

“Huh. How about that bridge we crossed over?”

“Nor there,” Toug conceded.

“Built to burn, and fires ready laid to start it. Soon as you get on we throw a torch. Think you’ll get off quick?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You won’t. You little hotlanders breed like red ants, so there’ll be a thousand more pushing to get on from behind. The bridge’ll burn, and you with it.”

“We haven’t come to attack you, sir,” Toug said humbly, “but to make peace, if we can.”

“You tell King Gilling.”

The reeking throne room was every bit as huge as Toug had expected; yet its vaulted stone ceiling seemed low for the hundreds of giants who filled it with an indescribable din of laughter and shouts, stamping, and rattling weapons.

“That’s the king over there.” Thrym pointed to the far end of the immense room, where the crowd was thickest. “I’m goin’ to get close as I can. You follow after, and mind you don’t lose the cat.”

Toug did his best, dodging giants.

“Wait!” Mani whispered in his ear. “What does he want with me?”

“I have no idea,” Toug muttered. “I thought you knew.”

“All cats are brave.”

Toug ducked between the legs of one of the Angrborn. “And I am counted brave even among cats. Still...” Mani was interrupted by a roar. “Thrym!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

“Where is it, Thrym?” The question was deafening. “Didn’t you get it?”

One of Thrym’s hands closed on Toug, and he was lifted high into the air. Thrym’s rumble sounded less impressive here. “I got it, Your Majesty.”

Over the heads of twenty or thirty giants, Toug could see—on a high throne of gold on a dais so lofty that the hooked spikes of his iron crown seemed almost to scrape the vault—a king so large and so fat that the Angrborn about him, monstrous though they were, looked childlike.

“Bring it here, Thrym.” The king’s voice was neither particularly deep nor particularly high; what it was, was loud, so loud that it seemed a storm spoke. “What’s that holding it?”

“He’s the cat’s servant, may’t please Your Majesty. The hotlanders thought it oughta have somebody to look after it, somebody it knows. That sounded right to me.”

“Fetch my table!”

A lean Angrborn standing beside the dais thumped the floor with a golden staff, a dull noise that made Toug think of Death knocking at a door. “The king’s table!”

Four blind men carried each leg. They were guided by a woman who steered them by voice and touch. Briefly her eyes met Toug’s—at once, she looked away.

“Now then,” the king said when Toug had been lifted onto the table. “You must tell me about this magical cat, little fellow. Can he talk?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Toug said, and felt Mani’s claws sink into his shoulder.

“Then make him talk to me.”

Mani shook his head, his whiskers brushing Toug’s cheek. “I can’t, Your Majesty,” Toug said. “No one can make a cat do anything.” The king laughed, his belly an earthquake, and the other Angrborn joined in his laughter.

“If he likes you,” Toug explained, “he may talk to you. But I’m sure he’ll never talk with so many people present. That isn’t his way.”

The king leaned toward him, his round, sweating face like a millstone. “Is he your cat?”

“He’s Lady Idnn’s cat, Your Majesty. She wanted to bring him herself, but her father wouldn’t let her.” Toug took a deep breath. “He didn’t think she was dressed well enough for court, Your Majesty. I’m not either. I know that. But with me, we hoped it wouldn’t matter as much.”

King Gilling was silent a moment, and then he said, “A nice tunic. So you wouldn’t be ashamed to appear before me.”

Toug nodded. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The king turned to the Angrborn with the gold staff. “A nice tunic, Thiazi. One of the slave women can run him up one. A gold chain, if you’ve got one small enough. Whatever else seems good to you.”

Thiazi bowed. “Your Majesty’s wish is my only will.”

Toug ventured to say, “Lord Beel has beautiful presents for you, Your Majesty. He’s waiting outside the wall. All you have to do is let him in, and he’ll give them to you.”

“Waiting with this Lady Idnn?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. And Sir Svon—that’s my master—and a lot of other people.”

“I wish to speak to this Lady Idnn. If her husband won’t let her see me, her husband must be dealt with, Cat.”

“My name’s Toug, sir, and his name’s Mani.” Toug spoke softly in the hope of giving no offense. “And Lord Beel’s not her husband, he’s her father. Lady Beel’s dead, I think. And I’m sure he’ll let you see her. See Lady Idnn, I mean, when she’s dressed up and everything.”

“That is well.” The king smiled. “We need to ask her where she got this cat, don’t we, Thiazi?”

Thiazi bowed. “Indeed, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, I can tell you that,” Toug said. “She got him from Sir Able. He used to be Sir Able’s cat, and Sir Able gave him to her.”

“Sumpin’ worryin’ ya, sar?” Uns was struggling to turn poles and a tarred canvas from Bymir’s barn into the semblance of a pavilion, assisted by Blind Berthold.