Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [328]
The search was more successful than anticipated. The secret room was discovered (though not its secret exit). In that secret room was discovered a secret prisoner of curious quality. As he was dragged away, this prisoner screamed in accented Olonets that he came from another world.
Great piles of incriminating documents were taken into the courtyard. The prisoner was taken before the king.
Although it was now twenty past thirteen in the afternoon, the fog had not cleared; rather, it had deepened, taking on a yellowish tinge. The palace drifted in a world of its own, the ventilation devices on its chimneys like the masts of a sinking fleet. Perhaps claustrophobia played a part in the uncertainty of the king’s moods as he swung between meekness and anger, between calm and wild excitement. His hair stood dishevelled on his forehead. His nose bled by fits and starts, as if forced into the role of safety valve. About the corridors he went, followed by a train of unhappy courtiers who infuriated him with placatory smiles.
When SartoriIrvrash was brought forth and confronted by the trembling Billy, JandolAnganol struck the old man. After which he seized up his chancellor like an ancient rag doll, wept, begged forgiveness, and suffered another nose bleed.
It was while JandolAnganol was in a penitent mood that Ice Captain Muntras arrived at the palace to pay his respects.
‘I will see the captain later,’ said the king. ‘As a traveller, he may bring me news of the queen. Tell him to wait on me. Let the world wait.’
He wept and snarled. In a minute, he called back the messenger.
‘Bring in the Ice Captain. He shall witness this curiosity of human nature.’ This was said as he prowled about Billy Xiao Pin.
Billy shifted from foot to foot, half-inclined to blubber, unnerved by the bloody state of the royal nostrils. On the Avernus, such demonstrations of feeling, if they ever occurred, would take place in seclusion. ‘On the Prolongation of One Helliconian Season Beyond One Human Life-Span’ had been firm, if brief, on the subject of feeling. ‘Sensation: superfluous,’ it said. The excitable Borlienese believed otherwise. Their king did not look like a sympathetic listener.
‘Um – hello,’ managed Billy, with an anguished smile. He gave a violent sneeze.
Muntras entered the room, bowing. They were in a cramped and ancient part of the palace which smelt of mortar, though it was mortar four hundred years old. The Ice Captain stood on his two flat feet and looked about curiously as he delivered his greetings.
The king barely acknowledged Muntras’s courtesies. Pointing to a pile of cushions, he said, ‘Sit there and don’t speak. Observe what we have found rotting in the recesses of this pile. The fruit of treachery!’
Turning abruptly back to Billy, he asked, ‘How many years have you festered in SartoriIrvrash’s clutches, creature?’
Disconcerted by the king’s regal brand of Olonets, Billy stammered. ‘A week – even eight days … I forget, Your Majesty.’
‘Eight days is a week, slanje. Are you the poor results of an experiment?’
The king laughed, and all those present – less from humour than from a care for their lives – echoed him. Nobody wished to seem to be a Myrdolator.
‘You smell like an experiment.’ More laughing.
He summoned up two slaves and told them to wash Billy and change his clothes. As this was done, food and wine appeared. Men came running, bent in the attitude of mobile bows, bearing warmed kid-meat served in orange rice.
While Billy ate, the king marched about the chamber, disdaining food. JandolAnganol occasionally pressed a silken