‘Nine years and five tenners,’ she replied, ‘but it is emotions, not years, which count.’
The facade of the palace was long, and three storeys high, with massive polished columns of rajabaral rising through the marked horizontals of the upper storeys. The roof swept flamboyantly upwards, tiled with blue tiles made by Kaci potters. The palace had been first built over three hundred and fifty small years ago, after Oldorando was partially destroyed by phagor invasion; although its timbers had been renewed since, the original design was adhered to. Elaborately carved wooden screens protected the unglazed windows. The doors were of the same type of carving, but veneered in silver and backed by thick wooden panels. A tubular gong was struck within, the doors opened, and Sayren Stund led his guests inside.
There followed two days of banqueting and empty speeches. The hot water springs for which Oldorando was famous also played their part. A service of thanksgiving was held in the Dom, attended by many high-ranking dignitaries of the Church. The singing was magnificent, the costumes impressive, the darkness in the great underground vault all that Akhanaba could desire. JandolAnganol prayed, sang, spoke, submitted to ceremony, and confided in no one.
All were uncertain of this strange man, all kept their eyes on him. And his eyes were on all. It was clear why some called him the Eagle.
He took care to see that the First Phagorian Guard was suitably housed. For a city that hated phagors, they were well provided for. Across the Loylbryden Square from the Dom was Whistler Park, an area of green entirely surrounded by the Valvoral or its tributaries. Here were preserved brassim trees. Here also was the Hour Whistler of continent-wide fame. This geyser blew with a shrill note at every hour, with the greatest accuracy. Days, weeks, tenners, years, centuries, went by, still the Hour Whistler blew. Some said the hour’s length, and the forty minutes which divided the hour, had been decided by this noise issuing from the earth.
An ancient seven-storey tower and some new pavilions stood on the margins of the park. The phagors were billeted in the pavilions. The four bridges into the park were guarded, by phagors on the inner and humans on the outer side, so that no one could get into the park to molest the ancipitals.
Crowds soon gathered to watch the ancipital soldiery across the water. These well-drilled, placid-seeming creatures were far different from the phagors of popular imagination, where they rode godlike on great rust-red steeds, travelling at godlike speeds to bring destruction among men. Those riders of the icy storm had little in common with the beasts marching dourly about the park.
As JandalAnganol left his cohorts to return to Sayren Stund, he noticed how restless they were. He spoke to Phagor-Major Chzarn, but could get from her only that the guard needed a while to settle into new quarters.
He assumed that the noise of the Hour Whistler caused them some irritation. Giving them words of reassurance, he left, the runt capering along at his side. A sulphurous volcano smell filled the air.
Milua Tal met him as he entered the silver gates of the palace. In the last two days he had grown increasingly fond of her volatile company, her cooing pigeon voice.
‘Some of your friends have arrived. They say they’re holy, but everyone seems to be holy here. The chief of them doesn’t look holy. He’s too handsome to be holy. He looks naughty to me. Do you like naughty people, King Jandol? — because I think I’m rather naughty.’
He laughed.
‘I think you are naughty. So are most people. Including some of the holy ones.’
‘So it is necessary to be exceptionally naughty to stand out from the crowd?’
‘That’s a reasonable deduction.’
‘Is that why you stand out from the crowd?’
She slipped her hand into his, and he clasped it.
‘There are other reasons. Being a fire god is one.’
‘I find most people are terribly disappointing. Do you know, when my sister was murdered, we found her sitting upright in a chair, fully dressed. No blood visible. That was disappointing. I imagined pools of blood. I imagined people threw themselves all over the place when they were getting killed, as if they hated what was happening.’
JandolAnganol asked in a hard voice, ‘How was she killed?’
‘Zygankes, stabbed right through the heart with a fuggie horn! Father says it was a fuggie horn. Right slap through her clothes and her heart.’ She glanced suspiciously at Yuli, following his master, but Yuli had been dehorned.
‘Were you frightened?’
She gave him a scornful look. ‘I never think about it. At all. Well, I think about her sitting upright, I suppose. Her eyes were still frozen open.’
They entered the tapestried reception hall. Milua Tal’s warning had served to alert JandolAnganol to the arrival of Alam Esomberr and his ‘little rabble of vicars’, as Esomberr had called them. They were surrounded by a crowd of Oldorandan grandees, from whom a bumble of polite regard arose.
The eagle eye of the king, penetrating to the rear of the chamber, observed another familiar figure who, as the king arrived, was being bustled out of a rear door. The figure turned to look back as he left the room and his gaze, despite all the heads in between, met JandolAnganol’s. Then he was gone, and the door closed behind them.
On the entry of the king, Esomberr broke courteously from his companions and came forward to make a bow to JandolAnganol, giving one of his mocking smiles.
‘Here we are, as you see, Jandol, my somewhat ecclesiastical party and I. One twisted ankle, one case of food poisoning, one envoy longing for the fleshpots, otherwise all in good order. Travel-stained, of course, from a preposterously long walk across your domains…’ They embraced formally.
‘I’m glad you are preserved, Alam. You will find the fleshpots rather gloomy here, that’s my impression.’
Esomberr was eyeing the runt standing by the king’s side. He made playfully to pat Yuli, and then withdrew his hand. ‘You don’t bite, do you, thing?’
‘I’m zivilised,’ said Yuli.
Esomberr raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t want to speak out of turn, Jandol, but will this rather stuffy crowd here, Sayren Stund and company, tolerate even a zivilised you-know-what in their midst? There’s a drumble on at present — to celebrate the death of your betrothed, I gather…’
‘I’ve met no trouble yet — but the C’Sarr arrives soon. You had better get your fleshpotting in before then. By the way, I have just seen my ex-chancellor, SartoriIrvrash. Do you know anything about him?’
‘Hmm. Yes, yes, I do, sire.’ Esomberr rubbed his elegant nose with a finger. ‘He and a Sibornalese lady came upon me and my rabble of vicars shortly after you and your phagorian infantry had trotted on ahead in your brisk, forceful manner. Both he and the Sibornalese lady were on hoxney-back. They journeyed the rest of the way with us.’
‘What business has he in Oldorando?’
‘Fleshpots?’
‘Try again. What did he tell you?’
Alam Esomberr cast his eyes down to the floor as if seeking to recall an elusive memory. ‘Zygankes, travel does soften the mind… hm. Why, I really cannot say, sire. Perhaps you had best ask him yourself?’
‘He had come from Gravabagalinien? Why was he there?’
‘Sire, perhaps he wished to view the sea, as I’ve heard some men do before they die.’
‘In that case, his wish could have been premonitory,’ said JandolAnganol, with spirit. ‘You are not helpful this evening, Alam.’
‘Forgive me. My legs are in such shape that my head is also affected. I may be more effectual after I have bathed and dined. Meanwhile, I assure you that I am no friend of your somewhat gaseous ex-chancellor.’