Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [242]
‘I take it you’re not from my tailor?’
The scruffy little man denied the charge and produced a letter from an inner pocket. He handed it to the envoy. He stood and wriggled while Esomberr tore open the letter with an elegant gesture.
‘It is, sir, intended – intended for onward delivery. For the eyes of the C’Sarr alone, begging your pardon.’
‘I am the C’Sarr’s representative in Borlien, thank you,’ said Esomberr.
He read the letter, nodded, and produced a silver coin for the bearer.
Muttering, the latter retreated. He left the underground palace, went to where his hoxney was tethered, and began making his way back to Gravabagalinien to report his success to the queen.
The envoy stood smiling to himself and scratching the end of his nose. He was a willowy, personable man of twenty-four and a half years, dressed in a rich trailing keedrant. He dangled the letter. He sent a minion for a likeness of Queen MyrdemInggala, which he studied. From any new situation, personal as well as political advantages were to be gained. He would enjoy his trip to Gravabagalinien, if that were possible. Esomberr promised himself that he would not be too religious for his own enjoyment at Gravabagalinien.
As soon as the royal boat had docked, men and women had crowded into the forecourt of the palace to seek a word with the king. By law, all supplications had to go through the scritina, but the ancient tradition of making a plea direct to the king died hard. The king preferred work to idleness. Tired of waiting and of watching his courtiers gyrate themselves into states of breathlessness, he agreed to hold audience in a nearby room. His runt sat alertly by the small throne, and the king patted him now and again.
After the first two supplicants had come and gone, Bardol CaraBansity appeared before the king. He had thrown an embroidered waistcoat over his charfrul. JandolAnganol recognised the man’s strutting walk and frowned as a florid bow was sketched in his direction.
‘This man is Bardol CaraBansity, sire,’ said the chancellor-on-trial, standing at the king’s right hand. ‘You have some of his anatomical designs in the royal library.’
The king said, ‘I remember you. You are a friend of my ex-chancellor, SartoriIrvrash.’
CaraBansity blinked his blood-shot eyes. ‘I trust that SartoriIrvrash is well, sire, despite being an ex-chancellor.’
‘He has fled to Sibornal, if that can be called being well. What do you want of me?’
‘Firstly, a chair, sire, since my legs pain me to stand.’
They contemplated each other. Then the king motioned a page to move a chair below the dais on which he sat.
Taking his time about getting himself settled, CaraBansity said. ‘I have an object to set before you – priceless, I believe – knowing your majesty to be a man of learning.’
‘I am an ignorant man, and stupid enough to dislike flattery. A king of Borlien concerns himself with politics merely, to keep his country intact.’
‘We do whatever we do the better for being better informed. I can break a man’s arm better if I know how his joints work.’
The king laughed. It was a harsh sound, not often heard from his mouth. He leaned forward. ‘What is learning against the increasing rage of Freyr? Even the All-Powerful Akhanaba seems to have no power against Freyr.’
CaraBansity let his gaze rest on the floor. ‘I know nothing of the All-Powerful, Majesty. He does not communicate with me. Some public benefactor scribbled the word “Atheist” on my door last week, so that is my label now.’
‘Then take care for your soul.’ The king spoke less challengingly now, and lowered his voice. ‘As a deuteroscopist, what do you make of the encroaching heat? Has humankind sinned so gravely that we must all perish in Freyr’s fire? Is not the comet in the northern sky a sign of coming destruction, as the common people claim?’
‘Majesty, that comet, YarapRombry’s Comet, is a sign of hope.