The Madness of Kings Page 5

  “It looks as though he’s correct. Or have you been appropriately labeled an outsider, and firmly ostracized?”

  “I’ve been told my accent makes it impossible to pass as a citizen, but I have been roundly ignored,” he said. “Which I’ve preferred, until now.”

  “Politely ostracized, then. What do you mean, ‘until now?’”

  “I mean that I’ll definitely take it poorly if you decide to ignore me.”

  He said it with a smile, which was infectious, and soon they were smiling at one another rather than speaking. The mead in her system observed that Damid Magly was quite attractive.

  “I, um, why don’t you come join in the dance?” she asked awkwardly, taking his hand with the intention of leading him onto the floor.

  “I’m afraid the only thing I’m worse at than riding a horse,” he said, “is dancing. I would love to borrow you for something more intimate, however.”

  He extended his elbow. She slid her hand around it.

  “Intimate, you say? Where would this intimacy be transpiring?”

  “Just over there.” He pointed to a table near the corner of the platform responsible for the bulk of the feast’s selection of alcohol.

  “Where everyone can see us? Scandalous, Professor Magly.”

  “It’s the safest part of the tent,” he said. “I’ve been sitting there all evening without once being engaged. It’s possible you and I are the only ones who can even see that portion of the floor.”

  “My presence will undoubtedly break the spell. The queen’s eyes are never far from my backside.”

  Battine allowed Magly to lead her across the crowded room to the two stools in the corner. After helping her onto one—the dress was giving her all sorts of trouble—he poured two drinks, handed her one, and took the second stool.

  “This,” he said, pointing to his stein, “is really good. I have no idea what it is.”

  She took a sip.

  “Homebrew,” she said, smacking her lips together. “One of the peasants must have made it in their cellar. There’s a nontrivial possibility we’re being poisoned, but you’re right; it’s very good.”

  “Mead?” he asked.

  “I think it’s wheat beer with some sort of fruit. But who knows? Spend enough time on a farm and you’ll try fermenting almost anything. Is it branded?”

  He leaned over to get a look at the barrel.

  “There’s a boar’s head on the side.”

  “Mm, that’s pretty common,” she said. “In fact, I think that’s the barrel manufacturer’s brand. Not helpful.”

  “Well then,” Magly said, “we’ll have to pick out the peasant who made the marvelous mead that was brewed in the barrel with the boar.”

  “How much of this beer have you had? Or where you speaking in rhyme earlier and I just failed to notice?”

  “I think it’s the clothes,” he said. “I feel like one of the Fifth Millennial poets. I may dress like this from now on.”

  She laughed. “I’m glad you’re comfortable. Whereas I’ve been unable to take in air for hours.”

  “Yes, I’ve been meaning to tell you: I prefer the riding leathers to the dress.”

  “Why thank you,” she said. “I do too. How is your sociology experiment going?”

  “Wonderfully. I’ve taken a ton of notes already, and it’s just the first night of the feast.”

  She examined him. Pockets, yes, notepad, no.

  “How are you taking these notes?” she asked.

  “Promise not to tell?”

  “Who would I tell?”

  “The king. The queen. The High Hat of the nine kingdoms? I don’t know; who enforces these things?”

  He extracted a black, glassine rectangle from his pocket and held it up just long enough for her to see it, then hid it away again.

  “Forbidden technology!” she said. “I believe the Five enforce that Themselves. Painful boils for the first offense, if I remember correctly.”

  He smiled. “Divine punishment in a land ruled by a living avatar? Can’t the king take the matter on directly?”

  “He might; I can ask.”

  “Maybe don’t,” he said.

  “But the real answer is that you’re an outsider, and that’s punishment enough. We already know your fate is to join the Outcast in the Depths and not the Five in the Haven. The threat you pose among us is that of a corruptor. What is it called?”

  “What is what called?”

  “Your little glass note-taking device.”

  “It’s called a voicer,” he said, “and taking dictation is only one of its features. I can also message other people, either textually or direct voice-to-voice. It can also access the Stream.”

  “The water?”

  “The Stream. It’s…it’s actually difficult to explain without showing it to you. It’s kind of like a global news source, plus a constantly updating library, plus about fifty other things.”

  “All in your pocket?”

  “It’s connected to a decentralized network of…you know what? Never mind. I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. I had to agree to a dozen things before I came here, and I’m violating like three of them right now. My point is, I can hold down a button on the side of my voicer, speak into it, and record an observation.”

  “But how does it reach this decentralized network,” she asked, “with no aerial ping towers nearby?”

  He laughed. “You let me say all that when you already knew the answer, didn’t you?”

  “Never seen a voicer before, but I have heard of one. I understand a little about networked computing systems as well, but my knowledge is about ten years out of date. And of course I know what the Stream is.”

  “There’s a suborbital network blanketing the planet with the kind of technology that used to require a radio tower. Advances in storage capacity, battery life, and null-gravity tech all contributed to it.”

  “Did you say ‘null-gravity tech?’”

  “Never mind.”

  “I mean, we do have airships here.”

  “Yes. This is a little different.”

  He looked uncomfortable, which she found oddly endearing. Although she’d had a lot to drink and had been dancing for the better part of an hour. Also, she was certain the dress was affecting the blood flow to her brain.

  She was in a weakened state.

  “So Damid, what sorts of observations have you been cataloguing in your magic glass?”

  He smiled as soon as she called him Damid. “Magic glass. I like that. Most of what I’ve jotted down is things you likely take for granted. But I have questions.”

  “Is that why I’ve been engaged?”

  “It can be.”

  “Very well, ask away.”

  She looked out over the scene in the tent. It had gotten less crowded since the end of the ceremonial portions of the evening—said ceremonies being the blessing, the eating of the food, and the performance of the play. Everyone with children had already gone home, followed in short order by the bulk of the peasants with the donated food (but not the alcohol.) What was left: the merchant class, some of the cleaner peasants with aspirations, the royal family, and all of Battine’s cousins. The latter two groups looked considerably more relaxed in the thinned out crowd; there was always an unspoken expectation among the families that they had to maintain a certain level of decorum around the lower class. Battine hated to admit it, but she felt that way too, that sense of relief now that they were “alone”. It coincided with when she decided it was time to start dancing.

  It was no small irony that this sense that she had to behave differently around the poor was the precise attitude she tortured Haupid about constantly. But she didn’t feel this way at home; just in court.

  “First question,” Damid said. “Who is that?”

  He pointed with a head bob at a tall, thin, striking woman with short hair and an angular face, tan skin and green eyes. While she had gone as overboard with the makeup as all t
he other women in court, her clothing—although modest—marked her as above the station of merchant class. (She wore a brocade silk blouse and a long skirt. If Battine had known this combination was even an option, she’d have demanded it.)

  “That’s cousin Lode,” Battine said. “Lady Midlapp. She’s a Patroch by birth, but wed to cousin Ghavon. Why do you ask?”

  “Splendid. Now I have many more questions. Start with ‘cousins.’ I’ve been hearing that word since I arrived in the Middle Kingdoms. Are they all cousins to you? By blood?”

  “Probably. First cousins, second cousins, cousins once or twice removed, it hardly matters. There are sisters and brothers and aunts and uncles too, but mostly it’s just cousins.”

  “And the appellation crosses kingdoms? You called Lady Midlapp a cousin, but she was born in Choruscam.”

  “Actually, she was born in Paulus of Tregan Horace, Lord Jothay, and Hammor, who is also a Patroch. Hammor was born in Choruscam, I believe.”

  “Side question: How do you even keep track of all that?”

  “We’re taught lineage early. It’s just information we all have.”

  “Impressive, considering. But back to cousin Lode. You said she, but also that Lode is a Patroch. The Patrochs are supposedly all a part of the Pal bloodline; I thought everyone in that family was non-gendered.”

  “Some of them are; not all. The Patrochs are incarnations of the god Pal and so they bear Pal’s features, but their sexual identification and preference is their own. The same could be said for all of the families, although it’s rare. Cousin Quate of house Anita is non-gendered, but they’re the only one I know of. Hammor is non-gendered, and is neither Lord nor Lady Jothay, but Lay Jothay. However, their child Lode identifies as female, and so we call her Lady Midlapp and not Lay Midlapp.”

  “Choruscam has no kings and queens,” he said.

  “That’s right; they’re called sovereigns over there. Although Sovereign Umpen identifies as male, he would never take the title of king.”

  “That, and the throne isn’t held by Umpen,” Damid said. “I’m told.”

  “You’re well-informed. I’m beginning to think this is all a thin premise to get me into a corner.”

  “Oh, it definitely is.”

  “But you’re right; his spouse, Sovereign Pal-Mita, holds the throne. She identifies as female, but doesn’t call herself a queen. Which is a shame, really; it’s the only one of the nine kingdoms where a woman can rule outside of an exigent queen-regent circumstance. It would be refreshing to have her identify as one.”

  He laughed. “The system of patrilineage in the nine kingdoms does seem antiquated,” he said.

  She shrugged. “If it means my sister can’t sit on the throne, it’s probably for the best. She’s intolerable enough as it is. Incidentally, this stein is empty.”

  He took it from her and refilled both of their drinks.

  Batt saw Porra from the other side of the dance floor, shooting optical daggers at her. It was as if as soon as Batt mentioned her sister she invoked her.

  Battine waved and smiled, then lifted up her dress a little to show off one of her boots. Porra shook her head and turned away.

  That’s right, leave me alone, Battine thought. I came to your little feast, didn’t I?

  “So, here’s a new question,” Damid said, clearly unaware that he was actively incurring the queen’s wrath. “Why do you suppose the gods chose to bequeath the Patroch line with the features of the god Pal, but not the identification of Pal?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean, these are supposed incarnations of the actual gods. They all are, the Horaces and Alcons and Jerrols and Anitas too. But it’s more obvious with the Patrochs. Why is such a miracle only skin deep?”

  “You wonder why all the Patrochs aren’t also all non-binary,” she asked, to clarify.

  “It seems like a fair question.”

  “And it seems I need to be a good deal drunker to have this conversation.”

  He laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “Either way, genetically, none of this is really possible. Children don’t grow up looking exactly like one parent or another; that’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

  “That’s what makes it a divine miracle,” she said.

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “I believe that I have eyes and can see. So can you.”

  “Indeed.”

  Professor Magly looked like he wanted to say more, but held off on doing so. She wondered if the same thing that stopped him from going too far in-depth into the technology of the outside world was stopping him again.

  What would you have to say if I wasn’t a lady of the kingdom? she thought.

  They reached an awkward silence then, as Magly didn’t seem sure how to proceed. She wondered if he was out of questions already. That didn’t seem possible.

  He was rescued by a slowly approaching page.

  “Lady Delphina?” the page asked. He looked no more than four. About half the pages in the castle were young blessed, but this one wasn’t.

  “Yes, hello,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve a message.”

  He held out a small scroll in a trembling hand. As soon as she took it from him, he performed a warding-off sign and then ran away.

  “That was rude,” she said.

  “You mean the gesture?” Damid asked. “I’ve seen that before but I’m not sure what it means.”

  “It’s called the banishment of the Outcast,” she said. “Very common in a place where the Outcast’s hand is seemingly everywhere.”

  “Surrounded as you are by a world condemned to the Depths,” he said.

  “Precisely.”

  “Yet, he directed it at you.”

  “He did, because I’m unblessed. About half of the people here think that invisible hand of the Outcast isn’t invisible at all; it’s manifest in my person. The only reason they haven’t said as much is that I’m also the queen’s sister and a titled lady. Otherwise, who knows? But I see that gesture all the time; it wasn’t what I meant when I said he’d been rude. What I meant was that usually they await a response.”

  She unwrapped the scroll.

  I need to speak to you, were the only words written on the note. Beneath it was a drawing of a leaf.

  “Huh,” she said, handing it over to Damid. “Looks like I have a place to be.”

  He looked over the note. “Seems more aspirational than instructive,” he said. “Who do you suppose it is that needs to speak to you, and why can’t they just walk over and speak to you? That’s what I did.”

  “The second part explains the first, and also why the boy didn’t wait for my reply. There’s only one answer to this message, because it’s not a question; it’s a command. This came from the king, and he can’t afford to be seen speaking to me alone.”

  Chapter Four

  They used to meet in the library.

  The castle’s library was cavernous in size but modest in volumes. More than half of the books were copies of old Septal texts, the kind that in other parts of the world resided in locked vaults meant only for the more elevated Brethren. They lived in Castle Totus’s library because unlike in any other part of the world, the head of state—the king—held a higher position within the faith than the High Hat of Totus Kingdom did.

  For two reasons, however, the library’s collection of books was less impressive than it seemed. First, the really old volumes—both the originals from which the Totus editions were copied and the books that positively could not exist outside a properly secured area—lived elsewhere: The Great Temple.

  The Great Temple rested on an island in the middle of the Elonian Gap—the uncreatively called Temple Island. It wasn’t always an island; it used to be that the temple lived at the midpoint on a land bridge between North and South Eloni. But parts of the bridge had, over the centuries, been taken in by the sea, where they became a problem for sea trave
l.

  Sometime around three hundred years ago, rather than attempt to rebuild, the sovereigns of the nine kingdoms elected to destroy the remaining pieces of the land bridge entirely. This improved their options when it came to trading with the various ocean-going merchants who benefited from the newly named (and newly passable) Elonian Gap, but it also turned the Great Temple—the most hallowed land in all of the Middle Kingdoms—into an island.

  Roughly two hundred Septals lived on Temple Island full time, on a campus that was significantly smaller than most, surrounding a temple that was either the largest or the tallest in the world. (Batt couldn’t remember which it was. She also didn’t know if that was even true; she was told it was the biggest and/or tallest when she was a child, on the day she first arrived at the island.) The High Hat of the Great Temple—currently a woman named Vilto Alva—outranked the local High Hats of the nine kingdoms but officially still answered to the kings. Unofficially, none of them would dream of crossing her.

  What was held in Castle Totus’s library—along with the libraries in the castles of the other eight kingdoms—was reportedly only an echo of the main one on Temple Island. Battine could only rely on word-of-mouth regarding this point as well, for while she knew the dimensions of the Totus library her only forays into the Great Temple library had been as a trespasser. She remembered the bookshelves being locked, but not how many there were.

  The second reason the Totus collection was less impressive than it seemed was that the House volumes that were there were nearly all in Eglinat, which one needed a monk’s assistance to understand.

  The other half of the volumes in the library were old laic works of fiction—mainly poetry and plays—from the Middle Kingdom’s fifth millennium romantic period, with the complete works of Francho Derrigende being particularly notable.

  They were the sorts of volumes one kept if one wished to impress other people about how well-read one was. It should be said, though, that the romantic period of the nine kingdoms was world-renowned, so it actually was impressive.

  When Battine and Kenson were younger—before he was king, and before he’d taken Porra as his wife—he and Batt had a prearranged meeting spot in the horticultural section of the Septal volumes. The texts there were inscrutable—again, they were all in Eglinat—but the sketches in some of the books were quite eye-catching.