In that gaunt face, Pinch barely recognized the likeness of his guardian, now father. Death had not changed him nearly as much as the fifteen years apart from each other. He was thinner and sharper of bone, and he stood half-hunched as if bowed by some great weight. But when he moved and when he spoke, even in that sibilant whisper, he was still Manferic, the imperial arrogance just as Pinch remembered.
As Manferic stepped farther into the light, the first impression was denied. A flicker of the lamp highlighted a white spot on the lich's cheek, a spot that suddenly wriggled and twisted. Pinch was suddenly aware of the pale grave worms that wriggled out of the smooth skin and dropped to the floor with every step. They crawled out of the ruin of the lich's ears and tangled themselves into the matted filth that remained of his hair. Manferic, when alive, would never had tolerated this. Dead, the decay that was corrupting his flesh was of no concern. The lich was sustained by the dark combination of magic and will; the body was only a husk to hold it all. This was no longer Manferic the king, but a thing that Pinch could never call else but "it."
"Give them to me," the thing coldly demanded. It turned its burning gaze full on Pinch. The fires of its desire riveted him and then proceeded to pour into his soul the cold terror of its existence.
Although the lich was appalling to behold, there was no logical basis for the intensity of his fear. Had it been his sword, his purse, even a friend that the lich demanded, Pinch very certainly would have succumbed, so oppressive was the fear on his heart. Fortunately, what the lich demanded cut to the soul of what mattered for Pinch-to surrender without profit.
The rogue clutched the bag. "Payment first."
The Manferic thing scowled, unaccustomed, as both lord and omniscient horror, to resistance from a mere mortal. "Indeed," it clicked through its lipless mouth. "And what is that?"
"Fifty thousand nobles," Pinch responded, the burden of fear lifting from him. Haggling with a broker, no matter how fearsome, was something he understood, and understanding broke the dread awe.
"Vile rogue! The price was set at forty," Cleedis interrupted.
Pinch assumed an air of great injury. "Liar? I spoke the truth, dread lord," he lied brazenly.
"Enough," rasped the undead thing. "I can well guess the truth of it, Pinch. You forget; I know who-and what-you are." Those fire-filled eyes blazed into the thief, boring pits through the bone. A dread discomfort crawled like lice over the regulator's brain, itching and poking at the very thoughts of his mind.
Pinch fought the feeling, tried to block it out. He knew what it meant. The lich was probing his mind, rummaging through the tangled mass of his thoughts and memories. Pinch knew the trick well enough; it was one of Maeve's old standbys.
"I see it clear. You hoped to cheat me of forty-"
Manferic cocked its head with the looseness of death. "Father," the lich whispered. Without breaking its transfixing gaze, the thing spoke to the chamberlain, who had prudently stepped aside. "Cleedis-he knows," the mealy lord hissed.
"Yes, my lord," the old man fawned, trembling at the darkness in his lord's voice. "He only just confronted me."
"So, Janol-you are fatherless no more."
Perhaps there was still a mote of sentimentality in the creature that Manferic had become, for the thought probes retreated. Pinch held back his sigh of relief. The lich's feelers had come too close. If Manferic learned he was bargaining for a fake, that would be the end of the whole plan, and Pinch's life, too. Of course, if Sprite didn't arrive soon with the cavalry, it would all be over. He needed to stall.
"It explains much," he answered, doing his best to sound detached from the emotion it raised in him. "And nothing. Why did you deny me?" the rogue asked as calmly as he could.
Manferic's eyes flared as if to say, "I do not answer to you, mortal," but then the light of hate died away. "You are a bastard. When Manferic was alive, it was not proper to acknowledge a misconceived son."
The lich spoke of its living existence as if that were the life of another being.
"So why did you keep me around?" Pinch demanded before Manferic could press him for the regalia. He needed the time talk bought.
The lich shuffled closer, rotted lips drawn back to show yellow-black teeth, a horrid grimace that might have been a smile. "Because-because Manferic liked you.
"Do you think it was an accident-or chance-that Cleedis brought you here? There are a hundred thieves in Ankhapur, but I sent Cleedis for you. It was no accident; it was planned. With your help, I will rule Ankhapur." The lich rattled to a pause, letting the offer register in Pinch's eyes.
"I need your eyes and ears, my son. You will be the master of my spies, you will find my enemies and reveal them to me." The ragged Manferic looked at his maggot-ridden hand with bemused interest. "You will introduce them to me and I will entertain them," he whispered more to himself than to Pinch. Just as abruptly, he once more fixed his fierce gaze on Pinch. "I'm offering you Ankhapur, my son, not just a handful of paltry coins. Who else will do you that well? Give me the regalia and let us share the glory."
"So you can kill me as soon as I do?"
"I could kill you now and take it," the lich rasped, "but I want you at my side. Manferic knew this day would come."
"You and your plots drove me out of Ankhapur."
"Strength in woe-that was tempering. You would not be who you are now if you had stayed. You would be a lackey of your legitimate brothers." Manferic pointed a skeletal finger at Pinch's chest. "Now you are strong and resourceful enough to take a place at my side."
"Lord Manferic…" Cleedis finally found the wherewithal to speak. The old man had pulled from inside himself the fearless cavalryman of his youth. His stooped shoulders were pulled up, the lined face smoothed with determination, and all framed by the billows of his thin white mane. Gone were the trembles, the ague, and the arthritis that had bled his majesty. So firmly outraged, Pinch could see the Cleedis of years past, the fencing master and horseman Pinch had so long ago admired. His voice was filled with cautious indignation. "I have served you loyally, great king, in expectation of my due-"
"Lord Chamberlain, my faithful servant." The lich twisted around to look on the old officer. "There has always been the most honored of places for you in my plans. Indeed, your greatest service is about to come."
The chamberlain smiled and bowed with all the humility of a fox, but before he could look up a ray of light the color of an algae-choked pond lanced from Manferic's fleshless finger to strike the loyal noble in the center of his head. It was as if the old man had been struck by a hammer. With a scream, he reeled back but the beam played on him. It rippled over his head and across the side of his face. Everywhere it touched, the skin festered and burst into red-black sores of diseased corruption. Cleedis flailed his arms as if he could beat the light away, but all that did was crisscross his arms with the bloody sores.
The scream became a whimper and the whimper became a sloppy gurgle of pus and blood as the ray destroyed deeper and deeper flesh. Cleedis stumbled backward until he fell to the floor and then, mewling, he crawled away, smearing a track of red slime over the rough stone floor. Manferic kept the grotesque ray mercilessly playing over the chamberlain's body as the pathetic wreck tried to drag himself to safety.