Neal Barrett Jr - Treachery of Kings

“Toomers. I'm sure I never-”

“Clearly you haven't, sir, or you would not have appeared to be astonished when I mentioned it would be some time before you could expect to see the King.

“I realize, now, you thought you would see him tomorrow, which is absurd, of course, no offense, Master Finn.”

“I will freeze in my very tracks in the next minute and a half,” Letitia said, “if you don't get me out of here.”

“Yes, well, I will. No question of that. We cannot sim-ply-Sir, if you would just explain to His Majesty that while I do not wish to intrude upon his spiritual life, I will only require a moment of his time to present my gift. Then we'll be out of your hair, as they say, and on our way. All right? Can you tell him that?”

“I could, but of course I will do no such thing. The Deeply Entombed, as the words connote, are deeply entombed, sir. The name is derived from the practice. Just as hastily attached conjures a picture of something quickly added to, or hurriedly affixed.

“The Deeply Entombed show their devotion through sleep, quite a bit of sleep, as it were. This sleep is accomplished in the grave, for those who rule the Afterworld count these hours as ‘dead time,’ and thus grant their devotees a seventh of that time as bonus days in this life.

“Do you understand, now, sir? If there are any further questions, I shall answer them if I can.”

“Seven months? These people are sleeping for seven months?”

“No, sir. Nine months, to be precise. But they will awaken again in seven months and three days. As I believe I mentioned before.

“This gift you bring. May I ask if it is topical, timely, in any way?”

“Timely, in a way. But not really, I suppose.”

“Is it likely to spoil?”

“No. There is no way it could spoil. However-”

“Excellent, sir. Then we don't have a problem, do we? I shall do my best to make your stay at court a pleasant one. And you as well, Miss.”

“Thank you, but I don't think so,” Letitia said. “I can't possibly stay in this place, and neither can Master Finn. Finn, there is nothing else to talk about, as far as I can see. This is absolutely insane.”

“I know, Letitia… “

“So give him the birthday present and let's take our leave. Thank the dear man and ask him where we can find a nice inn somewhere. An inn with a fire.”

“Yes, that's certainly the thing to do.”

Finn looked past Dostagio, down the long and lonely hall, feeling a chill and a slightly dank breeze himself. Still, he was quite aware of the aches of the day, the growing fatigue that threatened to drag him down. And, one more glance at the drawn, weary posture of Letitia Louise convinced him the choices here were not as clear as they seemed.

“I know it's best we leave, Letitia. On the other hand, if we could simply stay over here, since that's where we are. Stay and try to get some sleep-”

“No. Don't even think about it, Finn.”

“-and get an early start,” Finn finished quickly. “I'll seek out Bucerius and urge him to find us another balloon. I don't think Aghen Aghenfleck, in spite of his lack of any reason at all, would expect us to stay in Heldessia seven months.”

“Seven months and three days, sir,” Dostagio corrected.

“Yes, of course.”

“I don't like it, Finn. I don't like it at all.”

“Nor do I. But it has to be two or three in the morning, dear, maybe more. We have no idea where we are, and we don't know if those damnable yappers are gone.”

Before Letitia could answer, Finn turned on Dostagio again. “If it's not personal, may I ask, would we find all the citizens asleep in town? I mean, is everyone in Heldessia a member of this-Deeply Enwombed church of yours?”

“Entombed, sir. Deeply Entombed.”

“Right. Well, are they?”

“Oh no, sir. It's not for the common folk. Or Newlie kind, if you'll forgive me, Miss.”

“Believe me. I am not offended at all.”

“Only royalty, then?” Finn asked.

“That is correct, sir.”

“It's not your religious persuasion, then.”

“Oh, no indeed, sir.” Despite the fact that no sign of emotion had crossed his drab features, Finn felt the man was quite stunned by the question. “Despite my esteemed and honorable position, I am only a servant here, a member of the Gracious Dead… “

I‘m sure it was only a figure of speech,” Finn said. “He didn't mean we should take him literally, dear.”

“Are you? I'm not, Finn. I had a most peculiar feeling about our good Dostagio.”

“And what kind of feeling was that?”

“Don't pretend you don't know. I saw your face when the fellow first appeared.”

Finn nodded. As close as they were standing, it was hard to make out Letitia's features, for there was only a single torch set in a niche in their room, just enough to see that the place was as devoid of color as the hall.

“I must admit I did. I don't know what you saw with that keen Mycer instinct of yours, but I saw someone who looked as if he were wearing a mask, to avoid betraying his features, his feelings, as it were.”

“Cold,” Letitia added. “Withdrawn.”

“Not unkind, though. Indifferent, perhaps. Clearly, as I'm sure we both agree, he is neither gracious nor dead. It may be it takes a rather detached sort of person to work for people who sleep all the time.”

“Or those who don't have to work at all.” “It's hard to imagine anyone that lazy, Letitia. Numb, petrified, perhaps. When you look in the fellow's eyes… there's nothing going on in there that would stir a garden slug to any fervid thought.”

“I've seen more personality and charm in a roach,” said Julia Jessica Slagg. “In a log, in a sock, in a sack of cement, in a-”

“Yes, we get the point. That's quite enough.”

“He's awfully dull, is what I meant to say.”

“Find some place and sit. It's irritating to hear you walk around. You sound like a bucket of nails.”

“They don't have carpets, that's my fault?” Julia snapped her silver jaws. “I wasn't the decorator here…”

“Finn?”

“What, love?”

Without even looking her way, he caught the mix of anger, aggravation and despair in the way she said his name, the tone, the manner, of a person who was beat, frazzled, weary of the day.

And, when he turned, he saw she had swept the torch to the far corner of the room. The wall was standard decor, black, polished marble with no fresco, tapestry, nothing to relieve the chill, dark expanse.

Nothing, that is, except two niches, horizontal ledges carved flush within the wall.

Finn let out a breath. He was getting used to chills, tingles, hairs climbing the back of his neck, not the sort of thing he cared for at all.

“They could be shelves. Places to put your clothes.”

“They aren't, Finn.”

“Books. Books would go nicely there.”

“Stop it, will you? Stop it right now.”

“They appear to be vaults, Letitia.”

“Crypts.”

“Not a good choice of words, no better than mine. Sacks and Cracks, this is a tomb, not a room. I should have made it clear to that fellow we didn't intend to be here that long.”

“Do you think this is funny? You feel I'm amused? We have been buried, Finn. This is a jest to you?”

“I wouldn't say buried. I don't imagine they think of it that way here. And they're not serious, love. These people don't die, they take naps.” “Very long naps, as I recall.”

“Nine months, I know. And that's ridiculous, isn't it? I'm certain we'll discover that's meant in a ritualistic sense. A sacrament, a penance, something of the sort.”

“It's Finn, Master of Theological Thought,” Julia said. “I understand it better now.”