Robert Hughes - The Wizard in Waiting

“I hear the role you play was modeled after King Talith. Is that true?”

“Most correct, my Lady.” Fallomar smiled.

“I made a fool out of him perhaps you remember?” Ligne gazed into his eyes.

Fallomar gazed back. “I certainly do that’s why we play him as a fool.”

“Appropriate,” Ligne said meaningfully. “Take them to prepare.”

Rosha and Pelmen were marched down to the great hall by the same squad that had fetched Pelmen from his room. There was no chance for conversation, but he could tell from the young swordsman’s dull expression that Rosha had already surrendered the fight. What had transpired through the night? Had some slip finally revealed them all to Ligne? As they turned into the great hall and climbed the steps onto the stage, the soldiers began dispersing to the tower doors. The other actors, their faces creased by worry, clustered around him.

“What are we going to do?” Gerrig whispered.

“Where is Bronwynn?” Pelmen demanded, and someone ushered the Princess to him through the crowd. In sharp contrast to her outfit of an hour ago, she was now swathed in yards of lace, and her hair was tied up in bows. They’d layered on the greasepaint until her skin looked like porcelain in fact, almost as white as his own. She looked every inch the dainty, innocent ingenue. She shattered that illusion as soon as she opened her mouth:

“Why didn’t you let me stick her when I had the chance?” she spat.

He ignored her. “Rosha and Bronwynn,” he began crisply, “since you really have little to do in the early part of the play, maybe we can get you out of here. When the act begins, make for that door behind you and into the kitchen. There are no soldiers blocking it yet and perhaps they won’t. Once there, jump feet first into the cistern. It connects with the underground passages, and Bronwynn can lead you out.”

“What about us!” Gerrig pleaded.

“I have a long soliloquy at the close of this first act I’ll make it longer. Much longer.”

“And we take the same route?” DanyUyn asked.

“I can’t swim,” Gerrig murmured,

“Don’t worry,” Yona Parmi whispered, looking at Gerrig’s belly, “you’ll float.”

“What about you?” Danyilyn asked.

“What about me?” Pelmen snapped. “I’m a power shaper aren’t I?”

Danyilyn nodded. Suddenly they were all slamming their hands over their ears, as trumpets blared above them on the grand spiral. Any further conversation was impossible in the wake of that deafening noise, which grew louder as the heralds descended the stairs. They were followed by the ladies of the court, who smiled courageously in the face of then1 own pain. Each resolutely refused to cover her ears, though it was obvious that all would have liked to.

As the the heralds reached the stage, the castle’s other inhabitants began pouring into the great hall through the guarded doors. Pelmen was cheered by the sight of the cook and his helpers that signaled that the kitchen might be empty and the getaway a real possibility. He glanced over at Yona Parmi and saw that the man watched him grimly.

Pelmen smiled encouragement, but Yona Parmi’s expression didn’t change.

He hadn’t been fooled by Pelmen’s grand speech to Danyilyn about power shaping In their many late night discussions, Pelmen had told him much about shaping the powers. If Yona remembered nothing else, he’d learned at least that shaping demanded energy and he knew Pelmen was too exhausted for the task. Less than a day before, Pelmen had wrestled a rival sorcerer in a perilous contest of power and that on top of a morning-long battle of more conventional character. Pelmen couldn’t defend himself against this horde of soldiers, and he knew it.

Evidently, so did Yona. Pelmen shrugged then, slightly, and Yona nodded and looked away. They would all have to make the best of it.

“House,” Pelmen muttered, “are you there?”

If the House had given an answer, it would have been lost in the renewal of the fanfare. Pelmen continued to hope…

The Prime Minister made his entrance then, followed by a pair of servants bearing the Queen’s throne between them. They walked across the stage and down onto the floor, placing Ligne’s chair in the center of the front row. Then there was another trumpet announcement, and Ligne made her own entrance on the arm of Jagd of Uda. The assembled throng stood to welcome her and, in keeping with custom, began clapping. Pelmen joined the applause, searching out Bronwynn to see what she would do. She’d had the same idea, and their eyes met. Pelmen glanced down at her hands, and she finally lifted them to her waist and patted them together. Her eyes, however, never left ! his. She gazed at him accusingly.

When Ligne was seated in her place, the trumpeters quit blowing, and scrambled for their own seats. A flurry of bench scraping and coughing ensued, until all had found places. Then the audience was silent.

“Are you there?” Pelmen asked softly.

The House was silent.

Ligne enjoyed the stillness for a moment, then she clapped her hands together twice. “Let it begin,” she commanded. She leaned back in her seat to watch.

The play opened with a conversation between a merchant, played by Gerrig, and a scholar, played by Yona “Parmi, plotting the overthrow of the clown King. The parts were loosely modeled on Jagd and Kherda, and Pelmen watched these men carefully for their reactions. They gazed at the stage with identical expressions of disinterest, and it soon became clear that they failed to recognize themselves in these characters.

Ligne did, however, and it was she who began the laughter. So lightly did she take it all that Pelmen grew steadily more convinced. Of course she could enjoy it, for she was firmly in control. Pelmen shifted his eyes to look at Serphimera. As she stared at the floor between her feet, he recalled the message she had passed him in Ligne’s presence. Two plots against the Queen and both would fail. Once again, she’d proven right, but it seemed to bring her little satisfaction. The kidnap scene was quickly over, and Pelmen made his entrance, shouting in character:

“What? No Princess? Search the roof! Search the halls! Search the dungeon! Search the walls!

Search every room within this house

Except my mistress’ room,

For I’ll be searching her myself

That is, I mean, her room, this afternoon.”

He heard a cackle from the front row. Ligne, at least, seemed to be enjoying it.

“Through here,” Rosha murmured, and Bronwynn rushed past him into the kitchen.

“Come on,” she said as she grabbed him by the hand and they raced toward the cistern.

They quickly skidded to a stop.

“Going somewhere?” asked Lord Joss. He had perched his foot on the lip of the cistern and was casually sipping a cup of water. The warriors clustered around him did not appear so relaxed. Their pikes were leveled at the young pair, menacing them as the guards moved to encircle them.

“We… n-needed a c-c-cup of water,” Rosha stammered.

“Easily handled. I have a whole basin full right here, that I was fetching for the Queen. You, young lady would you be good enough to carry it in for me?”

“But what of the King? He’ll know, for sure,” said Yona.

“The King? Clown King? Why the fool is pure as driven snow.” Gerrig gestured to his face, drawing a laugh. “You say he’ll know? Then are you the clown! For it’s noised around, through all the ” Gerrig suddenly broke off. Pelmen, who had been following the scene attentively, traced Gerrig’s gaze to the source of the interruption and his heart stopped. Bronwynn, carrying an ornate basin, had just come back in the rear door of the stage, followed by a crestfallen Rosha and General Joss. As they crossed the stage to a stairway and down onto the floor, Bronwynn kept her eyes humbly lowered. But after she’d stooped to place the bowl before the Queen, she made a telltale grab for her hip, and Lord Joss leaped on top of her, knocking her to the floor. The first few rows screamed in shock, and some of them jumped to their feet, but Ligne kept her seat, beaming happily up at Pelmen.