Prestimion’s jaw gaped. “You did?”
“I had to. One simply can’t lie to a woman of that quality, Prestimion. And in any case she definitely hadn’t been fooled at all by my denials.”
“You told her who your two companions were also, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, well done, Septach Melayn! Well done! What did she say, then, when she found out that she had entertained the Coronal of Majipoor, and the High Counsellor and the Grand Admiral too, in her father’s sitting-room?”
“Say? A little murmur of surprise. Turned very red. Looked quite flustered. And, I think, also amused and rather pleased about it all.”
“Was she, now? Amused! Pleased!” Prestimion rose and paced about, pausing by the window overlooking the airy bridge of shining pink agate, reserved for the Coronal’s use alone, that led across the Pinitor Court to the royal offices and the adjacent ceremonial rooms of Inner Castle. “I wish I could say the same. But I tell you, Septach Melayn, I find nothing very agreeable about the thought that Simbilon Khayf has been made aware that I was secretly sniffing around in Stee wearing some kind of comic-opera disguise and pretending to be a thick-headed peddler of business machines. What sort of use, I wonder, is he going to put that bit of information to?”
“None, Prestimion. He doesn’t know a thing about it, and he’s not going to find out.”
“No?”
“No. I made her promise not to tell her father a word.”
“And she’ll keep that promise, of course.”
“I think she will. I gave her a good price for her silence. She and Simbilon Khayf are going to be invited to the next court levee and formally presented to you. At which time he’ll be decorated with the Order of Lord Havilbove, or some such meaningless honor.”
A croaking sound of disbelief escaped from Prestimion.
“Are you serious? You’re actually asking me to permit that loathsome clown to set foot in the royal chambers? To let him come before the Confalume Throne?”
“I am always serious, Prestimion, in my way. Her lips now are sealed. The Coronal and his friends were having a little adventure in Stee, and no one needs to know about it, and she will abide by her part of the agreement if you abide by yours. As you sit upon the throne they’ll approach you reverently and make starbursts to you, and you’ll smile and graciously acknowledge their homage, and that will be that. For the rest of his life Simbilon Khayf will glow with rapture over having been received at court.”
“But how can I—”
“Listen to me, Prestimion. It’s a shrewd arrangement on three counts. The first is that you want our prank in Stee covered up, and this will accomplish that. The second is that Simbilon Khayf has been lending money to half the princes of the Castle, and sooner or later one of them looking for easier terms or an extension of a loan is going to feel impelled to wangle a court invitation on his behalf, which you will grant, even though you think Simbilon Khayf’s a despicable boor, because the request will come from somebody influential and useful like Fisiolo or Belditan or my cousin Dembitave. This way, at least, you give Simbilon Khayf the access to court that he’s bound to get anyway, eventually, under terms that are advantageous to yourself.”
Prestimion threw Septach Melayn a black look. But Septach Melayn’s argument had some logic to it, he conceded grudgingly, repugnant though it all was to him.—"And the third count? You said there were three.”
“Well, you want to see Varaile again, don’t you? Here’s your chance. She might as well be a million miles away, living down there in Stee. You may never visit Stee again in your life. But if she’s right here in residence at the Castle as one of the royal ladies-in-waiting, a position which you could readily offer her while chatting with her after the throne-room reception—”
“Wait a moment,” said Prestimion. “You move along a little too quickly, my friend. What makes you think I’m so eager to see her again?”
“But you do, isn’t that so? You found her very attractive while we were in Stee.”
“How would you know that?”
Septach Melayn laughed. “I’m not blind to such things, Prestimion. Or deaf, either. You couldn’t stop staring at her. The sound of your pupils dilating could be heard halfway across the room.”
“This is exceedingly impertinent, Septach Melayn. She’s a good-looking woman, yes. That’s obvious to anyone, even you. But for you to leap from there to the assumption that—that I’m—”
His voice trailed off into an incoherent sputter.
“Ah, Prestimion,” said Septach Melayn, smiling warmly at him from across the room. “Prestimion, Prestimion, Prestimion!” The look in his eyes was sly and knowing, and his tone was certainly not that of subject to monarch, nor even that of a High Counsellor to the Coronal he served, but the gentle, intimate one used between two friends who had seen in many a midnight together.
Prestimion felt the light-hearted rebuke. There was no way he could refute it. For he had stared at Varaile, that time in Stee, with intense fascination. Had responded to her beauty with an undeniable quiver of approbation. Of desire, even.
Had dreamed of her, and more than once.
“We are getting into a region,” said Prestimion after a considerable while, “where I’m uncertain of the meaning of my own feelings. I pray you, Septach Melayn, put this subject aside for now. What we need to discuss is this tale of Serithorn’s that has to do with the whereabouts of Dantirya Sambail.”
“Navigorn will give you the latest news of that. He’s on his way over right now.—You’ll permit Simbilon Khayf and his daughter to be received from the throne? I gave my word you would, you know.”
“Yes, Septach Melayn! Yes. Yes. So be it. Where’s Navigorn, now?”
“This is the district where he’s most likely to be,” said Navigorn. He had brought a map with him to the meeting, a hemiglobe of fine white porcelain overpainted in blue, yellow, pink, violet, dull green, and brown to indicate major geographical features. It was the sort of map that was equipped to display special information in bright patterns of light, and Navigorn brought that function to life now with a touch of his hand.
Points of red fire, connected by lines of brilliant green, sprang up on its face along the lower quadrant of the continent of Alhanroel. “Here’s Bailemoona, south of the Labyrinth and very slightly to the east,” he said, indicating the brightest of the red dots. “The sighting there was incontrovertible. Not only was someone who looks just like Dantirya Sambail seen in the vicinity of Serithorn’s estate around the time of the game-poaching, but one of the Procurator’s men told Serithorn’s gamekeeper that the meat he was stealing was being taken for the benefit of Dantirya Sambail.”
“There were plenty of incontrovertible sightings of him in the east country, too,” Abrigant pointed out. “All over the place, as a matter of fact. They were all planted by the Procurator’s sorcerers to fool us. What makes you think that this isn’t the same wizardy sort of stuff?”
Navigorn merely scowled. Prestimion looked in appeal toward Maundigand-Klimd, who said, “There’s no question the Procurator was in the east country for a time. I believe that he actually was seen by villagers in the Vrambikat district. But most of the reports that drew us onward were illusions born of enchantments and dreams, not genuine eyewitness sightings. While we ran hither and thither after them, he was doubling back into central Alhanroel, leaving us to chase fantasies of his making all over the wilderness area. The Bailemoona report, I think, is different: authentic.”
Abrigant looked unconvinced. “This is assertion without demonstration. You simply tell us that one set of reports was illusion and this other one is real. But you offer no proof.”