Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“Who is he?” Chimolitha butted in.

“What’s a Prophet?” Thuganlitha asked.

“Please,” begged Dolna, “one question at a time?”

“Me first!”

“No, me!”

“I’ll horn you!”

“I’ll horn you first!”

“Quiet!”

Dolna shouted, and the two monstrous beasts obeyed. So did a large portion of the crowd closest to the platform, and they craned their necks to see who had yelled, and if the program were beginning. They saw no change in the personnel on the dais, so 290 The prophet of Lamath each returned to his own private conversation. Dolna sighed, and leaned against one of the blocks.

“I wouldn’t have them myself,” said the King’s headsman, who also stood on the platform.

“Oh, they’re not so bad,” Dolna explained through a drawn smile. “When they’re working, they say very little. It’s this waiting around that makes them nervous.”

“Dolna, this waiting around makes me nervous!” Thuganlitha said, and Dolna ran around to yell in the beast’s face.

“I’ve told you before not to copy what I say! Now be quiet!”

“Dolna, why am I here?” Chimolitha called, and Dolna tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yes, Chimolitha. I know you need attention too. Just be quiet and I’ll come around there to you.” Now Dolna looked back up into Thuganlitha’s gigantic face and threatened, “If you don’t keep quiet, I’m going to do something very terrible to you when we get back to the pens!”

“What?” the tugolith demanded petulantly. “Use your imagination!”

Dolna replied fiercely.

Then he stalked around the blocks to pat Chimolitha on the beasts giant chest. “Please be quiet, won’t you?” The animal regarded him balefully, then nodded. Dolna staggered back to his place beside the headsman, and slumped down to sit on the edge of the old stone platform.

“Never have any trouble with my blades,” the headsman murmured. Dolna made a face, but took pains that the larger man did not see it. “Have to sharpen them is all,” the headsman continued. “No, my problem is with reprieves.”

“Reprieves?”

“That’s what I said. Terrible problem for a headsman. These government officials, they never can make up their minds. First they want to kill a lad, then they don’t, then they do, then they don’t again. I’d say three quarters of my trips to the block I never get a chance to swing my blade.”

“What’s a blade?” Thuganlitha asked.

“Are you using your imagination?” Dolna yelled back. There was silence from the giant animal, and Dolna smiled. “Go on,” he nodded to the headsman.

“Gives me a queer feeling, talking to a monster,” observed the headsman, and Dolna sprang to his feet trying to hush him.

“Don’t say that!” he whispered. “These animals are very sensitive!” He straightened up and listened a moment, then nodded in relief as he called out, “Still using your imagination?”

“Yes,” Thuganlitha said. His tone was surly. “Dolna, I don’t like that man.” Dolna’s relieved smile faded, and he rushed around to whisper in the animal’s ear. The startled headsman used the time to plot his quickest route of escape from the platform. Soon Dolna appeared beside him again.

“It’s all right,” the handler said, patting the headsman’s shoulder. “He promised he wouldn’t horn you unless you called him a monster again. Thuganlitha is very sensitive to such remarks.” Dolna dropped his voice to a whisper.

“And his hearing is excellent.” The headsman nodded, and tugged his hood down nervously. “You were speaking of reprieves?” The headsman cleared his throat. “Ah, yes,” he said, feeling he had just been reprieved himself. “These chieftains and priests—they can never make up their minds. They’ve no respect for my trade. They use me, you see, to bend men to their wishes. Never give a thought to my sense of fulfillment as a person! I can never be sure when I sharpen my blades if I’ll get the chance to swing them or not. What kind of life is that, now? They pay me to look ferocious in my mask, you might say. But a headsman can’t get no fulfillment out of posturing, can he?” Dolna smiled politely. “I suppose not.”

“But they don’t care,” the headsman snorted. “If my covered head and eye slits can scare a man into serving them, they let him off!”

“There’s little chance of that today,” Dolna said, watching the crowd. It continued to swell. The city square was filled with people jammed tightly together, and every apartment house or small mansion that fronted onto the square had its windows full of spectators.

“No, not today,” the headsman grunted. “The order was given by the Chieftain of Defense, and how can he reprieve the lad when he’s off for the wars?” The headsman’s grin was clearly visible below the nether edge of his dark hood.

“Pity, though, that I didn’t get the job. I could do it clean, and never involve you and your beasties here. Ah, they don’t mind being called beasties, do they?”

“They’ve never said,” Dolna shrugged.

“Dolna, I don’t like that man,” Thuganlitha rumbled, and the headsman hopped to his feet.

“I meant nothing unkind, nothing unkind—”

“Dolna, may I horn him?”

“No, Thuganlitha, you may not! I have you harnessed where you are for a specific purpose and I don’t want you ruining all my work just to horn someone!”

“How can I keep from offending these animals?” the headsman pleaded, and Dolna smiled.

“Try not saying anything.” The headsman nodded, and closed his mouth. “Why am I here, Dolna?”

“We’re waiting for the High Priest, Thuganlitha. Just be patient.”

“Dolna?”

“Yes, Chimolitha.” He sighed. “What is it?”

“What’s be patient?”

“I don’t want to go out there!”

“But, my Lord, you must!” said an advisor.

“It is the tradition,” said another.

“I don’t care!” Naquin protested. “That man is a sorcerer! I may be—struck with lightning!”

“There’s not a storm in sight, my—”

“—swallowed by an earthquake!”

“I assure you, my Lord, you are perfectly safe—”

“I’ll wager that’s just what the Chaons thought before this magician sank their fleet!”

“My Lord, please stand still—” Naquin paced throughout the temple, his hands clasped behind him. His advisors chased him between the mighty pillars, attempting to surround him or to block his path, but he had been eluding many of these same advisors since he was but six years old. He had been raised inside this edifice. There was no comer of its vast acreage that was unknown to him. Still his advisors scurried after him, attempting to place the Hood of Office on his head, as if to do so would render him immobile.

“Take that thing away! I said I’m not going out there!”

“But the High Priest must show himself, or the execution won’t be carried out!” The advisor was exasperated with this young man. Had his father been this much trouble to his advisors when he was newly come under the Hood? “The High Priest must show himself?” Naquin asked.

“So I’ve been saying all morning long,” sighed the advisor.

“Very well then, the High Priest shall be seen. Pezi! Pezi! Where is he?”

“Have you tried the kitchen, my Lord?”

“Good thought.” Naquin darted to the kitchen door and slung it open. “Pezi? Pezi, I need you!” Soon the merchant stood beside him. “Will this take very long? I left a plate of ribs—”

“Are you ready to watch this Pelmen be drawn?”

“Certainly, my Lord, just as soon as I finish my—”