Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [115]
And though the Theldara had no way of knowing it, the lullaby brought dread dreams to Saryon. In his enchanted sleep, he saw himself — a young Deacon — carrying a child wrapped in a royal blanket through a deserted, silent corridor. He heard himself singing that lullaby — the last the baby would ever hear — in a voice that was thick and choked by tears.
On the bed, the catalyst twitched and moaned, his head moving feebly on the pillow in refusal … or denial….
Joram, not understanding, looked at him in anguish. “You do forgive me, don’t you, Father?” he whispered. “I need your forgiveness….”
9
In the Morning
“Knock, knock. Hullo? I say, is anybody home? I — Almin’s teeth and toenails, dear boy!” Simkin gasped, falling backward into the wall and clutching at his heart. “Mosiah!”
“Simkin!” cried the other young man, almost as startled as his companion.
Rounding a corner of a hallway, the two had nearly collided.
“Ye gads!” Dressed from head to toe in bright green satin, Simkin yanked the perennial orange silk from the air and began wiping at his brow with a shaking hand. “You’ve very nearly scared me out of my pants, dear boy, as happened to the Duke of Cherburg. Dressing up as the Duuk-tsarith was just the Marquis’s little joke. Anyone could tell those black robes he was wearing weren’t real. But the Baron is a nervous man. Thought he’d been nabbed by the warlocks, lost his magic, and there he was — his breeches down around his ankles, all his secrets exposed. It caused quite a sensation at court, though I thought it rather a large fuss over something so little. I expressed my condolences to the Duchess….”
“I scared you?” Mosiah said when he could get a word in sideways. “What do you think you’re doing, just popping out of thin air like that? And where have you been?”
“Oh, here and there, hither and yon, round and about,” Simkin said cheerily, glancing vaguely into the living room of Lord Samuels’s house. “I say, where is everyone? In particular, the Dark and Gloomy Lover. Still mooning about the girl, or has he had his fun with her and gotten over it?”
“Shut up!” snapped Mosiah furiously. Looking around, he caught hold of Simkin’s arm and dragged him into the library. “You idiot! How dare you talk like that? We’re in enough trouble as it is!” He slammed the door shut.
“Are we?” asked Simkin, looking enthused. “How positively jolly. I was getting frightfully bored. What have we done? Not got caught in a compromising position? Our hand up her skirt?”
“Will you quit it!” Mosiah said, shocked.
“Down her bodice?”
“Listen to me! Lord Samuels claims that Joram can’t prove his identity and nearly threw him out of the house last night, but Saryon had some kind of fit or something and they had to call the Theldara —”
“The catalyst? A fit? How is the old boy?” asked Simkin coolly, helping himself to some of Lord Samuels’s brandy. “Ah, still domestic,” he muttered, frowning. “He could afford better. I wonder why he doesn’t? However, I suppose we must make allowances.” He drained the glass. “Not dead, is he?”
“No!” snarled Mosiah. Catching hold of Simkin’s arm, he forcibly removed the brandy bottle. “No, he’s all right. But he has to rest. Lord Samuels said we could stay, but only until the Emperor’s party tomorrow night.”
“What happens then?” Simkin asked, yawning. “Joram turn into a giant rat at the stroke of twelve?”
“He’s supposed to meet someone there, some Theldara who saw him when he was a baby or something and can identify him as being Anja’s son.”
Simkin looked puzzled. “I say, this all sounds quite amusing, but has it occurred to anyone that Joram has changed slightly since then? I mean, what are we going to do to nudge the old girl’s memory? Strip the dear boy and put him on a bearskin rug? I recall we did that with the — Oh, sorry. Swore on