Tonight he squinted curiously through a haze of latakia smoke at Hodges, who had just claimed to have an announcement to make about “the deceased king, Tolley Christensen.”
“After the duel in which Tolley Christensen was killed,” Hodges read from his notes, “his sword was picked up, together with the sword of King Blanchard. The two swords were observed to cling to each other. Upon investigation, Tolley’s sword proved to be magnetized. This is a trick expressly forbidden in the bylaws, and therefore I declare that Tolley’s admittedly brief reign was won by unfair means, and is, because of that, invalidated. Henceforth, then, our present King Francisco Rovzar is to be remembered as the successor to King Blanchard, with none between.”
Frank felt a quick panic. That means that Tolley wasn’t king when I killed him, he thought. Therefore, technically, I’m not really the king now. Damn it, Hodges, I wish you’d cleared this with me before announcing it.
Oh hell, he thought. Even if they do appoint someone else, I can always pull the ius gladii out of the hat again. And they’ll know I will, so they won’t try it even if they think of it.
A magnetized sword, eh, Tolley? Were you that scared of Blanchard? In the legendry and superstition of the understreet thieves, a magnetized sword was reputed to be much deadlier than an ordinary one; but Frank couldn’t see that it would make any difference. It just might, he thought, make getting a bind a little easier, and it might make your parries a little quicker— but it would do the same for your opponent, too.
Frank suddenly snapped out of his re very. Hodges was now reading the names of newly bonded apprentices. “What was that last name, Hodges?”
“Uh ... Thomas Strand.”
“Thank you.”
Thomas Strand! Could it be my old buddy? Frank wondered. I’ll have to check the lists after the meeting and see where this Strand is staying. It would be great to have Tom down here. Since Orcrist was killed, I don’t have a really close friend in this understreet antfarm—only George Tyler, I guess; and maybe Beardo Jackson.
Eventually Hodges declared the meeting adjourned, and the crowd broke up into departing groups arguing about where to go for beer. Hodges was shuffling his papers together and a handful of young apprentices were waiting for the nod to drag out the ladders and snuff the lights.
“Hodges,” Frank said. “I think I know one of the new apprentices. Let me—”
“Frank!” came a voice from below him. “Your majesty, I mean.”
Frank looked down and grinned to see Tom Strand standing in front of the first-row seats. Frank jumped down from the marble block and slapped him on the back. “When the hell did you fall into the sewer world, Tom?”
“A couple of days ago. I saw you kind of blink when the emcee read my name. But Frank, you look ten years older! You’ve got a metal ear! And how did you cut your face? Shaving?”
“We’ve both got long stories to tell, I’m sure. I’m taking off, Hodges. Oh, and I’d like to see you tomorrow at ten in the council room; there’s a detail or two of protocol I want to check with you on.”
“Right, sire.” Hodges leaped down from the platform and ambled into the sacristy.
“Come on,” Frank said. “I know where we can get some beer.” As they walked out he waved to the boys, who trudged off to the closet where the ladders were kept.
“TOLLEY killed Orcrist and Blanchard, both of them friends of mine, so I killed him. Afterward I found that that had made me the new king. And here I am. So how is it that you’ve become one of my subjects?” Tom mentally ran through the story Duprey had provided him with. “Well, Frank, my old girlfriend, Bonnie—remember her? Of course you do—Bonnie and I were out getting drunk one night, and a Transport cop came over and said to her ‘Drop creepo, here, baby, and try a real man.’ Well, I told him to, you know, buzz off, and he punched me in the face, so I hit him with a bottle and he fell right over, like he was dead.”
He’s lying, Frank thought—or at least exaggerating. Oh well, if he wants to look brave, I won’t hinder him.
“There were about six other Transports there, and they went for me, swords out. I’ve never been scared by swords, you know that, but I figured six of ’em were too many, so I headed out the door.”
“What about Bonnie?”
“Hm?”
“Bonnie. You left her there?”
“Oh ... no, no. I knew the guy that owned the place, see, and I knew he’d look after her. Anyway, I ran out of there and headed for Munson. I didn’t have any place to stay, and Munson in the winter isn’t the right town for sidewalk-sleeping, so I crawled into a sewer, followed it along, and found a whole city down here.”
“You were lucky you did. Munson on the surface is a Transport nest. Who’s your sponsor?”
“An old guy named Jack Plant. Know him?”
“Slightly.” Frank frowned inwardly. Plant was a perpetual whiner and complainer, and had in the past been vaguely suspected of having made deals with the surface police. “I’ll get you a good position so you can pay off your bond quickly.”
“Thanks, Frank. But I don’t want you doing me favors just because I’m your friend.”
“Don’t worry. I never let personal feelings interfere with what’s got to be done. But getting you a job isn’t any trouble. Finish your beer, now, and I’ll show you the way back to Plant’s.”
After Frank had left, Tom sat drinking weak coffee in Plant’s front room. I can’t kill old Frank, Tom thought, even if he is a criminal. The poor devil’s had a horrible time and has to live his whole life underground in a sewer. Of course it isn’t that bad— and he’s living high, by sewer standards.
Maybe, Tom thought, I could pretend to kill him. I could buy a slave of roughly Frank’s build, and then cut the slave’s head off and dress him in Frank’s clothes and tell Duprey that it was Frank. Then I’d have to do something with Frank ... maybe I could sell him into slavery in the Tamarisk Isles. I’d have to cut out his tongue, I suppose, but that’s better than being killed. I guess it would probably be best to blind him, too—can’t have him coming back, after all—but that’s still better than being killed.
Tom was gratified to see how readily he could think in these harsh terms.
Yessir, Tom smiled to himself, that’s what I’ll do. That way I get the Transport post Duprey promised me, and I don’t have to kill Frank. Hell, he’ll probably be happier, dumb and blind in the sunny Tamarisk Isles.
“OKAY, Hodges, that wasn’t it. Send in the next one.” Frank leaned back in his chair and wished he had his pipe.
The door opened and a thin, well-dressed man entered the room. His suit was clean and meticulously pressed, but looked a bit threadbare around the cuffs. He had apparently combed his hair recently with some kind of oil.
“Please sit down,” said Frank. “You are related to the royal family, I believe?”
“That’s right,” the man nodded.
“What is your connection?”
“My father was the rightful duke, and Topo had him killed so he could marry my mother.”
“Your father was Duke Ovidi?” Frank asked. “That’s right. Topo had him killed.”
“How?” Frank had always understood that Ovidi had died after falling, drunk, down a flight of stairs, thus leaving the dukedom to his brother Topo.
“My father was sleeping, and two scoundrels that Topo had hired snuck up and poured poison in his ear. Then Topo married my mother and took the title of Duke. But now I think it’s time that I claimed my kinship and threw Topo out. I’ve been having visions—”