“I hope you never do,” Rudolfo said. “But on to other things. I have questions for you.”
“I will answer truthfully, Lord.”
Rudolfo nodded. “Good. How were you damaged?”
Isaak’s metal eyelids flashed surprise. “Why, your men attacked me, Lord. I thought you knew this.”
“My men found you in a crater and brought you to me straightaway.”
“No, the first ones.”
Rudolfo stroked his beard. “Tell me more.”
“The fire had fallen, the lightning had blasted, and I returned to the library seeking Brother Charles or someone who could terminate me for my crimes. Nothing remained but ash and charred stone. I began calling for help, and your men came for me with nets and chains. I sought to evade and they attacked me. I fell into the crater. Then the others came and brought me to you.”
Rudolfo offered a grim smile. “I wondered. Now I know more. By morning, I will know all.”
Isaak looked up. “Lord, you bid me remind you to return to your question about the removal of my work-related memories.”
“Ah, that.” Rudolfo stood. “Perhaps it will come to nothing. Perhaps tomorrow, we will go down an altogether different path.” He extended his hand to the metal man, who took it. The metal fingers were cool to his touch. “But if the winds of fate allow it, I would have work for you in my forest manor, Isaak.”
“Work, Lord?”
Rudolfo smiled. “Yes. The greatest treasure in the world lies between your metal ears. I would have you write it all down for me.”
rldeight="0em" width="1em" align="justify"›Isaak released his hand. His eyes went hot and steam shot out from him. “I will not, Lord. I will not be anyone’s weapon again.”
For a brief moment, Rudolfo tasted fear in his mouth. A metallic taste. “No, no, no.” He reached out, took up the hand again. “Never that, Isaak. But the other bits. The poetry, the plays, the histories, the philosophies, the mythologies, the maps. Everything the Androfrancine library protected and preserved… at least what bits you know. I would not have these pass from our world because of a buffoon’s ambition.”
“That is a monumental task, Lord, for a single servitor.”
“I believe,” Rudolfo said, “that you may have some help.”
The magicked Gypsy Scouts returned from the Entrolusian camp before dawn. They carried a bound, gagged, hooded man between them, deposited him in a chair and removed his hood. Another scout put a large leather pouch on the table.
Servers laid breakfast on the table-oranges, pomegranates, cakes made with nuts and honey, berries with liquored syrup-while Rudolfo studied their guest. He was a smallish man with delicate fingers and a broad face. His eyes bulged and veins stood out on his neck and forehead.
Isaak stared. Rudolfo patted his arm. “He looks familiar to you?”
The metal man clicked. “He does, Lord. He was Brother Charles’s apprentice.”
Rudolfo nodded. He sat at the head of the table and nibbled at a cake, washing it down with chilled peach wine.
The Gypsy Scouts gave their report; it was brief.
“So how many do they have?”
“Thirteen in total, Lord,” the chief scout answered. “They are in a tent near the center of his camp. We found him sleeping among them.”
“Thirteen,” Rudolfo said, stroking his beard. “How many mechoservitors did the Androfrancines have, Isaak?”
“That is all of them, lord.”
He waved to the nearest Scout. “Remove his gag.”
The man blustered and flushed, his eyes wild and his mouth working like a landed tr Ske "›
Rudolfo stabbed a slice of orange with a small silver fork. “I will ask you questions; you will answer them. Otherwise you will not speak.”
The man nodded.
Rudolfo pointed at Isaak with his fork. “Do you recognize this metal man?”
The man nodded again, his face now pale.
“Did you change this mechoservitor’s script on the orders of Overseer Sethbert of the Entrolusian City States?”
“I… I did. Overseer Sethbert-”
Rudolfo snapped his fingers. A scout drew a slim dagger, placing its tip at the man’s throat. “Just yes or no for now.”
The man swallowed. “Yes.”
The knife eased up.
Rudolfo selected another slice of orange and popped it into his mouth. “Did you do this terrible thing for money?”
The man’s eyes filled with tears. His jaw tensed. Slowly, he nodded again.
Rudolfo leaned forward. “And do you understand exactly what you did?”
The Androfrancine apprentice sobbed. When he didn’t nod right away, the scout refocused him on Rudolfo’s question with a point of the blade. “Y-yes, Lord.”
Rudolfo chewed a bit of pomegranate. He kept his voice level and low. “Do you wish mercy for this terrible crime?”
The sobbing escalated. A low whine rose to a howl so full of misery, so full of despair that it lay heavy on the air.
“Do you,” Rudolfo said again, his voice even quieter, “want mercy for your terrible crime?”
“I didn’t know it would work, Lord. I swear to you. And none of us thought that if it did work it would be so… so utterly, so…”
Rudolfo raised his hand and his eyebrows. The man stopped. “How could you know? How could anyone know? Xhum Y’zir has been dead over two thousand years. And his so-called Age of Laughing Madness has lo SMadcoung passed.” Rudolfo carefully selected another honeyed cake, nibbling at its corners. “So my question remains: Do you wish mercy?”
The man nodded.
“Very well. You have one opportunity and only one. I can not say the same for your liege.” Rudolfo looked over at the metal man. His eyes flashed and a slight trail of steam leaked from the corners of his mouth. “In a few moments, I am going to leave you here with my best Gypsy Scouts and my metallic friend, Isaak. I want you to very slowly, very clearly and in great detail, explain everything you know about scripting, maintaining and repairing Androfrancine mechoservitors.” Rudolfo stood. “You only have one chance and you only have a few hours. If you do not satisfy me, you will spend the rest of your natural days in chains, on Tormentor’s Row for all the known world to see, while my Physicians of Penitent Torture peel away your skin with salted knives and wait for it to grow back.” He tossed back the rest of his wine. “You will spend the rest of your days in urine and feces and blood, with the screams of young children in your ears and the genocide of a city on your soul.”
The man vomited now, choking foul-smelling bile onto his tunic.
Rudolfo smiled. “I’m so glad you understand me.” He paused at the tent flap. “Isaak, pay careful attention to the man.”
Outside, he waved for Gregoric. “Bring me a bird.”
He wrote the message himself. It was a simple, one-word question. After he wrote it, he tied it to the bird’s foot with the green thread of peace, but it felt like a lie. He whispered a destination to the bird and pressed his lips briefly to its small, soft head. Then he threw it at the sky and the sky caught it, sent it flapping south to the Entrolusian camp.
He whispered the question he had written. It sounded empty, but he whispered it again. “Why?”
Neb
Neb didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until he felt a hand shaking him awake. He opened his eyes, jerking alert. The redheaded woman knelt next to him. She was wearing a dark cloak, but the hood was pushed back and her hair was up.
She placed a finger over her lips. When he nodded, she spoke in a low voice. “War is coming. It’s not safe here. Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“Sethbert destroyed Windwir and is giddy with his handiwork. He’s keeping you alive so that your story can entertain him. Do you understand?”
Neb swallowed. He’d wonder S#82"›‹ about="about"›
“I’m leaving now. I want you to come with me.”
He nodded, scrambling out of the cot.
“Stay near me,” she said, drawing a pouch out from under her shirt where it hung on a cord around her neck. She loosed the drawstrings and poured a handful of powder into her hand. She cast it at her forehead, her shoulders and her feet, then licked the remainder of the powder from the palm of her hand.