Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [94]
How the struggle in Joram’s soul might have resolved itself, what better decision Joram might have made at that moment when he was hurt and vulnerable, Saryon was never to know. For at the moment, chaos erupted. The family had just returned home from the Cathedral when the Emperor’s carriage was seen approaching, falling from the heavens like a star.
“So, Simkin,” said the Emperor languidly, “what have you gotten youself into this time?”
The confusion into which the Samuelses household was thrown upon receiving this august personage into their midst was not to be described. The Emperor had actually descended from his carriage and floated into the front court garden before anyone could do anything other than stare. Fortunately Simkin had, at that moment, flung himself out the front door and into the Emperor’s arms, wailing about “shame” and “degrading” and “thumbscrews!”
The Emperor took Simkin in hand; Lady Rosamund came to her senses and — like the excellent general that she was — assembled her troops and rode forth upon the domestic field. Graciously welcoming the Emperor into her home, she led him into the parlor, enthroned him in the best chair in the house, and deployed her family and guests around him.
“Really, Bunkie, I couldn’t say,” Simkin replied in hurt tones. “It’s dashed humiliating, don’t you know, to have hands laid upon one at the Gate as though one were a murderer….”
Saryon, standing humbly in a corner, stiffened at this comment and he saw Joram’s eyes flash in swift alarm. Simkin, noticing nothing, rattled on.
“The deuce of it,” he continued gloomily, “is that now I’m forced to lurk about inside this … establishment … and while the house is very fine and Lady Rosamund has been hospitality itself” — he kissed his hand to her negligently, as she curtsied to the floor —“‘tisn’t what I’m accustomed to, of course.” He dabbed a corner of one eye with the orange silk.
“Actually, Simkin, we think you should count yourself fortunate,” the Emperor replied, with a smile and a lazy wave of a hand. “A charming residence, my lord,” he said to Lord Samuels, who bowed low. “Your lady wife is a jewel and we see her counterpart in your lovely daughter. We will do what we can for you, Simkin” — the Emperor rose to take his leave, sending another ripple of confusion through the household — “but we think you should stay here, in the meantime, if Lord Samuels will put up with you, that is.”
Milord bowed — several times. He was effusive, expansive. He would be only too proud, too pleased. The honor of entertaining a friend of His Majesty’s was overwhelming….
“Yes,” said the Emperor in fatigued tones. “Quite. Thank you, Lord Samuels. Meanwhile, Simkin, we shall endeavor to find out what the charge is, who’s brought it, and do what we can about it. May take a day or two, so don’t go paradin’ about the streets. We can only do so much with the Duuk-tsarith, you know.”
“Ah, yes. Dogs!” Simkin glowered, then sighed deeply. “Very good of you, I’m sure, Your Majesty. If I might have a word” — he drew the Emporer to one side, whispering in his ear. The words “Contessa,” “chafing dish,” and “unfortunately discovered naked” were audible, and once the Emperor laughed out loud in a truly light-hearted manner that Saryon, who had been at court many times, had never heard. His Majesty clapped Simkin on the back.
“We understand — ’nd now, must be going. Affairs of state and all that. We never rest on the Almin’s Day,” remarked the Emperor to the assembled family, who were waiting in line to bid their august guest farewell. The Emperor proceeded to the front door. “Lord Samuels, Lady Rosamund” — the Emperor gave his hand to be kissed — “thank you once again for extending your hospitality to this young scalawag. We have a holiday coming upon us soon. A grand ball at the Palace. Come along, won’t you, Simkin, and bring Lord Samuels and his family with you. Eh?” The Emperor’s gaze touched on Gwendolyn. “Would you like that, young