The New Weird - Ann VanderMeer [121]
Whereas the night had brought a miraculous opportunity to the Philosopher General, His Royal had not fared so well. We freed him of his armor, but no manner of nudging, tapping, massaging, could wake him from unconsciousness. My fear that he had been too long underwater without air seemed now to be a fact. Still, we gathered him up and brought him back inside the palace. The structures of the buildings were no longer sound because of the work of the moth, so we carried one of the last remaining beds out into the courtyard and laid him on that. Then we gathered around him like dwarfs around a poisoned princess in a fairy tale and waited with far too much hope than could reasonably be expected.
The other members of the court who were not part of our ill-fated plot now came out of the palace to join us, bringing reports of what little remained in the wake of the moth. Ingess's fortune was now completely gone, the food stores, with the exception of an old pot of moldy cremat, were thoroughly decimated.
"The place is as empty as my heart," said the Illustrious Seventh, who in her ripped tunic from yesteryear was looking none too illustrious.
We stayed in that courtyard through the remainder of the night and the following day, standing around, watching His Royal's every faint breath. From off in the distance came the occasional sounds of some piece of the architecture crumbling and falling with a thunderous crash, having been undermined by the moth's earlier dining. I witnessed with my own eyes the fall of the eastern parapet. It slouched and fell, tons of marble, like a sandcastle in the surf.
When the young ones began to complain of hunger there was nothing to give them. None of us had been at Reparata long enough to forget that feeling of utter need. Frouch and some of the others discussed possibilities of where to find food, but nothing came readily to mind. Then Ringlat removed his Bishop's robe, throwing it to the ground. Beneath, he was dressed in the black costume of the highwayman. He borrowed a scarf from one of the ladies and tied it around his face just beneath his eyes.
"Flam," he said. "If I'm not back by nightfall, you will have to think of something else." We watched him run across the courtyard to where Drith stood drinking from a small fountain. With one leap, he went atop the back of the horse and landed in its saddle. Grabbing the reigns, he spun the mount to the left, whipped it and gave it his heels. The old nag responded and, together, they were off like a shot through the gates of Reparata.
The day was as long as any I have ever witnessed. The afternoon dragged on as our expectations of His Royal's recovery grew more faint than his breathing. When things became almost intolerable and some of the very young had begun to cry, the Chancellor of Waste gathered them all together and, borrowing some small objects from the crowd (my pipe, a pocket watch, a knife), began juggling. Occasionally, he would allow one of the things to hit him on the head before he caught it and sent it back into the cycle. This drew some laughter from the children. For we who were older, the transformation of the chancellor himself, from fatuous ass to merry buffoon, was marvelous enough to bring a smile in spite of the predicament our king was in. He juggled, acted idiotic, and performed pratfalls for hours, until he finally slumped down onto the ground in exhaustion. The children ran to him and, climbing upon his back, used him as a boat while he slept.
"What are we going to do?" Frouch asked as we stood together at twilight, staring down at Ingess, whose condition hadn't changed all day.
I shook my head. "I'm lost," I said.
"We can't stay here any longer," she told me and I wasn't sure by the tone of her voice if she was talking about the entire court or just the two of us.
There was no time to question her about this because, just then, Ringlat came charging