Treachery of Kings ftlm-2 Read online

  “Bad luck, you say.”

  “Yes, that's precisely what I say. Most people never run into that sort of thing at all.”

  “There's that,” Finn agreed, for it was certainly true. Most people merely bored themselves silly looking at historic old things and eating bad meals. Buying ridiculous items they'd throw away the moment they got back home.

  Still, the idea of leaving The Lizard Shoppe, leaving the safe, familiar scenes of Garpenny Street, gave him the shudders, as it did every time it crossed his mind. There must be a reason people were where they were. Very likely, this was exactly where they were intended to be.

  Indeed, Letitia was right about the view from the Prince's Keep. Past the crowds in the royal courtyard, past the massive gatehouse and the guards, the way led through the inner court and up a dizzying set of stairs.

  From there, high atop one of the four great towers, he could see beyond the banners and the pennants, past the ragged crenels and the thick curtain walls, far past the bounds of Ulster-East, past County Ploone, to the borders of Fyxedia itself.

  The castle, Finn felt, though surely a wonder, was a testimony to excess. Its turrets, loops and parapets had served a purpose in ancient times. Now, this monstrous structure was merely decoration, and a costly one at that.

  War was still a fearsome thing, but was no longer fought as it had been in ages past. From where Finn stood, he could see, in the distance, a most disturbing sight, one that never failed to knot his belly up tight. Above the River Dill, the brassy sky was filled with dark balloons of war, a terrible array of fat, distended hulks painted in cheerless shades of dun, gray and a noxious tone of brown.

  Hanging from each of these ungainly vessels-though Finn couldn't see them from such a great distance away- were coarsely woven baskets full of men. Men from the Green Fusiliers and the Crimson Cannoneers. Home Guards, Royal Guards, Lilac Lancers and the Prince's Dragoons. Men from the bold, ever-colorful, Balloon Grenadiers.

  Each, Finn knew, was headed for the battles raging in the west, and each, to a man, was very likely doomed. Doomed, as so many others who'd gone before, fighting a war that had lasted more than seven hundred years.

  And what, exactly, was the war all about? You could ask around, but no one seemed to know.

  Not for the first time, Finn thanked whatever gods there be that he'd been born a craftsman, fit for something better than the ghastly warrior trade.

  Many a soldier went to war, but few returned alive, or wholly intact. Coldtown was filled with the shades of poor fellows who would never find rest.

  "Finn, I do believe your mind has been a-wandering again,” said Letitia Louise. “Some new marvel, I'll wager, some wondrous device that is scarcely imagined by ordinary men.”

  “Why, you are unbelievable, my love,” Finn said, covering his somber mien with a smile. “It's quite uncanny how you can manage to read my every thought… “

  FOUR

  Long before he came in sight, the High Chamberlain's boots sent reminders of his presence, harsh resonations striking one wall of the long corridor and then the next. Finn had long suspected that the Count VanDork nailed small bits of metal to his boots to produce this irritating sound. This, along with the six-inch heels, the less than subtle buildup in his soles, made the gawky fellow seem somewhat taller, and certainly louder, than he actually was.

  “Ah, Master Finn, how very fine to see you again,” the Count said, accepting what he felt was a less than fawning bow.

  “And you too, Miss,” he added, with a look that did little to hide the base suggestion in his watery eyes.

  “Honored, sir,” Letitia said, “my privilege indeed.”

  She lowered her head to hide the rising color in her face. She didn't like the man, loathed him, for a fact. He would not, in the presence of his peers, acknowledge his attraction to a mere Mycer girl, a creature, in his mind, beneath the notice of humankind. He would, though, grope her if he caught her alone in a corner somewhere, she had no doubt of that.

  “You have it there, I see,” VanDork said, speaking to Finn, nodding at the cask Letitia held in her arms.

  “Wonderful. I'll take it, please.”

  VanDork reached for the cask. Finn held up a restraining hand.

  The Count looked startled. “Really, Finn, what's this?”

  “I'm grateful, sir, and honored indeed. I feel, though, that His Greatness might take offense, might, somehow, imagine a slight, might, I can even see, think I have failed in my craft, that I have asked you, in my fear, to present something less than worthy, instead of me.”

  “You do? Is there something wrong with it, then?”

  “No, sir, I assure you there is not.”

  “Well, then… “

  “You have always shown me kindness. I would not, in any way, want some deficiency, if it was seen that way, to reflect upon you.”

  “Yes, of course.” A smile spread across the Count's bony face. “You're quite correct. You should most certainly make the presentation yourself. The Prince would be pleased with that.”

  “If that is your wish,” Finn said.

  “Oh, it is. It is indeed. Come now, he'll be ready for you soon.”

  VanDork brought a purple hankie to his beak of a nose and sniffed. “He has just signed the warrant for his cousin's execution. Baffleton-Kreed. Irritating fellow. Should have done him sometime ago, you ask me. But no one ever does. At any rate, His Eminence will be in a jolly mood after that. A propitious time for you, Finn. I'd say it's your lucky day…”

  "Lucky day indeed,” Letitia said, certain Vandork was strutting well ahead. “You could have been badly hurt out there, dear. I should think the least the Prince could do would be to offer some protection to a guest like you. You're not just anyone, you know.”

  “Yes, Letitia, that is exactly who I am. Just anyone. Please don't think I'm more than that.”

  “You are, too. You are a master of your craft, a most respected person, even beyond Fyxedia itself. Besides, the Prince owes you his life. He cannot have forgotten the Count Onjine affair.

  “Princes have short memories, my dear. They seldom last through the day.”

  She wanted to move close to him, then, touch him, show her affection, but of course she didn't dare. Not with someone like VanDork around. She wouldn't be the first Newlie to share a very close, very intimate union with a human, but it wasn't something one paraded about. Not if one wished to avoid the neighbors’ scorn and keep to the letter of the law.

  “The Count is a horrid, despicable man,” Letitia said, under her breath. “He cares not a whit for you, nor anyone else unless they serve his needs. How do people like that gain high position, Finn? It's frightening to know such a brute is so close to the Prince himself.”

  “That is exactly how they do it,” he whispered, well aware that sound carries very well in a corridor of stone. “A ruler is ever on the watch for men with the qualities of a Count VanDork. Men with a sly demeanor, men who practice dishonor and deceit. Men who are desperate, men who are defilers, men who are debased.”

  “Heavens, Finn. How could a Prince begin to trust a man with such disgusting traits as that?”

  “They are the only ones he can trust, Letitia. For these are the qualities he knows so well in himself.”

  Letitia shuddered and drew in a breath. “I hope this doesn't take long. I feel I need to get home and take a bath.”

  “If I can be of any help in that matter, I hope you won't hesitate to call.”

  “You'll be the first,” she said, “be certain of that.” “Do I have to listen to this?” Julia muttered, from under Finn's cloak. “Can't you two contain yourselves a while?”

  “What you can do,” Finn said, “is be thankful I don't toss you in a tub and watch you rust to death. Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind a number of times.”

  Finn stopped at a hollow in the wall, drew Julia out of his cloak, and set her down.

  “Now. You'll stay quietly here. Don't move, don't
speak to anyone at all. Don't do anything, sit perfectly still.”

  “It's a blessing to have your trust,” said Julia Jessica Slagg. “My kindest regards to the Prince.”

  “The Prince,” Finn said, “has less regard for you. Be grateful you're not going inside…”

  Two large pikemen stood straight and tall outside the high, arched entry to the Prince's Great Hall. As the Count VanDork approached, each pounded the butt of his weapon loudly on the floor.

  Noise in excess, Finn thought, seemed essential to the royal process. Princes liked the sound of boots, pikes, cannon going off and the like. They gained some pleasure from the roar of large crowds.

  Finn had been in the Prince's exalted presence before, but not with Letitia Louise. And, she would surely not be there now, if the Prince's neatly flourished scroll hadn't set her name there as well. It was a matter that had delighted Letitia, and caused Finn to lose a night's sleep.

  Nothing his sovereign did could put Finn at ease. The Prince was, as Finn had told Letitia, a mirror of his minions, only much more shrewd and devious than the lot.

  A quick glance about the hall told Finn that the Prince had gathered a veritable herd of toadies, grovelers and spongers of every sort for this auspicious day. Each, of course, gentlemen and ladies, noble and commoner alike, was dressed in drab shades of dun, ash, umber and toast. Dull, somber and sad was the fashion in the presence of Aghen Aghenfleck the Fourth.

  Finn had chosen an undistinguished brown for himself-somewhere in the liverish range-and a soot-colored gown for Letitia Louise. He was most relieved to see they both blended nicely into the dreary crowd.

  "Ah, there he is, there's a cood fellow,” The Prince shouted, bounding from his great carven chair. “Bless you, old friend, you've come to me at last!”

  “I am, as ever, overwhelmed to be in your presence, sire,” Finn said, bowing halfway to the floor, “a privilege unexcelled, an honor un-”

  “Yes, yes, of course you are,” the Prince said, dismissing Finn's praise with a wave of his hand. “And this, I'll wager, is your charming serving girl. Lavinia, is it not?”

  “Letitia, sire,” Letitia said, “though Lavinia will do if you desire.”

  “No, no, no, I won't have it. By all means, keep the name you've got. I'm sure you're quite used to it now.” “Thank you, sire.”

  “And, Letitia,” the Prince said, with a sly wink at Finn that Letitia didn't miss, “do you serve your master well?”

  “Though I strive to carry out my duties, I would not presume to answer, sire,” Letitia said. “It is my master who must tell you that.”

  “Well said, girl, well said, indeed!”

  The Prince applauded, and swept his gaze about the court to make certain everyone followed his lead.

  An overly garish fellow at any time, Finn thought the Prince especially appalling on SpringFair Day. His cutaway was a lustrous, iridescent blue, his vest a vivid pumpkin, his breeches a bright domino in pink and tangerine. One shoe was lilac, the other vivid green. His dashing, wide-brimmed hat was topped with plumes of crimson, salmon and lime. Colors, incidentally, which mirrored the coat of arms of the Aghenfleck Dynasty itself.

  Yet, Finn mused, nothing could disguise what lay beneath that rich array. The Prince was a handsome man of charming mien, a man of scarcely thirty years, yet there was something old, something wicked there. An essence, a nature, that set even the slyest, most dissolute members of the court a'twitch when Aghen of Aghenfleck looked them in the eye.

  “She is, then, a worthy servant?” asked His Grace, pleased with his wit, determined to amuse his followers even more. “She is ever obedient, and answers to your will?”

  “She is a good worker, sire,” Finn answered, as if this sovereign were playing no games with him at all. “I have no complaints.”

  “Good. Nor would I, I'm sure.” He turned his eyes on Letitia again. “I shall speak to you more, my dear. At a later time. There is little I know of the Mycer folk, and you could help me learn about your kind.”

  “Yes, sire”

  Finn felt a sudden chill at the Prince's words. He saw Letitia pale and quickly turn away.

  “Apples and Stones,” he muttered beneath his breath, “what indecent thought is churning through that foul and odious head of yours now?”

  FIVE

  "Finn, how very good to see you. It's been some time, I fear.”

  Finn turned at the familiar voice. An older man with thinning hair and kindly eyes stepped from the crowd and gripped Finn's hand. He, too, glanced at Letitia, but there was no lechery there, only a gentle smile.

  “Lord Gherick, a pleasure,” said Finn. “Indeed, it has been a year or more.”

  “Closer to two,” Gherick said. “I'm getting stouter, and you're getting slim. You must come and dine with me, we'll soon take care of that.”

  “At your will, I'll do it, too.”

  “Gherick, I didn't know you were here,” the Prince said, no little hint of irritation in his speech. “I thought you were going to the country for a while.”

  “I did, sire. And, with your pleasure, I'm back again.”

  “Yes, I see that you are… “

  Though Finn knew full well the two were brothers, it was hard to see how one could be remotely kin to the next. Like air and water, they were, like fish and fowl. More, to the point, like night and the light of day.

  Gherick, the Prince knew, was the only man among his various kinsmen-and kinswomen as well-who did not lust after his throne. Thus, he was wary of his brother, and had him watched at all times.

  “I must apologize for this most unseemly interruption,” Gherick said, easily sensing his brother's ire. “We'll talk another time, my friend.”

  “No, no, stay,” the Prince said. “You have been too long from me, brother. Your presence, and your counsel, is sorely missed in Fyxedia, and in the royal house itself.”

  “It is gracious of you to say so, sire.” Gherick bowed, fully aware there was no one in the court, most especially Aghen Aghenfleck himself, who believed a word of drivel such as that.

  “Well, then,” said the Prince, clasping his fingers in a knot above his chest, “we are here for an occasion, are we not? You have brought me a craft of your making, Master Finn. I believe the lovely Newlie person is clutching it to her, ah-to her breasts, is she not?”

  “She is, sire. If you will permit…”

  “No, no, no,” the Prince said, waving him away, “you may bring it to me yourself, my dear.”

  Letitia had the good sense not to glance at Finn, not to hesitate at all. With a graceful step, she bowed and set the wooden cask in the Prince's hands. Somehow, Aghen Aghenfleck managed to brush his fingertips across hers.

  “Open it, if you will, then. And set the contents on the table there.”

  Letitia obeyed, opened the crafted lid and gently set Finn's work on the marbled table before the Prince.

  Muttered whispers greeted the marvel. Courtiers crowded forward to get a better look, each one giving the illusion they were quite familiar with what there was to see. Each, however, holding smiles or frowns at bay, waiting for the Prince to lead the way.

  The Prince, alone, did not move at all, but only studied the object with his eyes. Shifted his gaze from the left to the right, from the bottom to the top, then started all over again. He muttered and wheezed, cleared his throat, rolled his tongue about his cheek.

  Finally, he said, without looking away, “I am astonished, Master Finn. Truly I am. It's a marvel, a wonder, a miracle of the age. I find that I am stunned, stupefied, awed at your genius, partially impressed. What, sir, exactly is it, then? You must tell me that?”

  The Prince, then, let the hint of a smile escape his lips, enough to draw approval from the crowd.

  “Why, it is a timepiece, sire,” Finn explained, with all the patience at his command. “A timepiece in the shape of a lizard, if you please. As you ordered, sire. The lizard, you will note, is rampant, upon its hind legs. In its
right foreleg, it holds the banner of the House of Aghenfleck, and in its left, the pennant of Llowenkeef-Grymm. Its snout is agape to display its silver teeth and red-enameled tongue.

  “Its eyes are set with emeralds, and each individual scale, on the body and the entire surface of the tail, is crafted of gold. The timepiece itself, as you see, is set in the belly of the lizard. The numbers are formed of rubies and sapphires, and the hands are carved of precious shell. The whole of the face is protected with the finest crystal glass. The delicate works, the tiny cogs and gears, the wires and the hummers and the wheels, are deftly packed inside.

  “It is, I trust, as Your Grace intended it to be. Or, surely, as close as my poor talents can come to the vision you conveyed to me.”

  “Hmmmmmph.” The Prince scratched his chin. “What do you think, Count?”

  “Quite nice,” VanDork answered at once. “As Master Finn says, I believe he's caught at least a bit of Your Grace's creative drive, a flame of your inner fire-”

  “Yes, indeed. Go sit somewhere. And do something about your breath.”

  “I believe that simpering fool Llowenkeef will like it,” the Prince told Finn. “Fellow's daft about clocks. They say he's got clocks everywhere. Eats with clocks, goes to bed with clocks. At any rate, it's his bloody birthday, can't forget that.”

  The Prince frowned. “How does the thing work, how does it go?”

  “One sets the tail in motion, sire. It acts as a pendulum, swinging back and forth. Upon the hour, the jeweled eyes roll about, the snout opens, and it makes a, ah- crackly sort of sound. If Your Grace will allow-”

  “No, do nothing of the sort. I abhor things that move or make any kind of sound.

  “I will say, Finn, it's a pleasure to see you making a rather decent-looking lidert these days”

  “Lizard, sire.”