“Socialistic capitalism.” Matt was keenly interested in watching a power play in action-not that there seemed to be much Rebozo could do to stop the king. Either he wasn’t really a very powerful sorcerer, or the king was. Of course, Rebozo might have been playing a more subtle game than either of them realized… “What was it you said?” The king’s attention returned to Matt. “I would say your Majesty is a materialist,” Matt said carefully. “Somewhat idealistic perhaps, but a materialist nonetheless.”
“Not if materialism is a religion.” Boncorro regarded him narrowly again. “Well, it seems to be, to some people-but rest assured, it isn’t to you. You seem to have introduced something entirely new to medieval society.”
“Have I indeed! And what is that?”
“Secularism,” Matt said. “Worldliness that is neither wicked nor virtuous in itself.”
“Why, then, a secular king I shall be! For I have most thoroughly rejected both Good and Evil, Lord Wizard, of that you may be sure!”
“No wonder, having seen your grandfather killed by the one, and your father killed in spite of his devotion to the other. But as I understand this universe we live in, your Majesty, you don’t have that kind of option-you have to be one or the other. Even if you manage to balance the two during your lifetime, you can’t escape the consequences after your death.”
“Be still!” The king scowled. “Bid me not think of mine end when I am still young!”
“Memento mori.” Matt wondered if Latin here was close enough to the Roman language of his own world for the king to understand it Apparently so; Rebozo’s stare verged on panic. But Boncorro’s education was apparently lacking, for he only frowned and said, “I will not think of the afterlife, not until I have found some mystic charm that will make my soul cease to exist completely when my body dies! I may not receive the rewards of virtue, but I will at least cheat Satan of the punishments of wickedness.”
And to think most people wanted immortality! “How would you feel if I started a speech to you by saying, ‘O King, live forever!’?‘
“An intriguing notion! Do you know how it may be achieved?”
“Afraid not,” Matt admitted. “Still, it is a worthy line of inquiry,” Boncorro said judiciously. “I shall have to find a sorcerer of an inquisitive turn of mind and set him to the investigation of it.”
The chancellor stared in surprise, then developed a very thoughtful look. That was one train of thought Matt figured he’d better derail. “Your people say you are a good king, your Majesty-even a great one.” After all, a little flattery never hurt. Boncorro grinned, lapping it up. “I would never deny it.” But there was a guarded look in his eyes; he knew flattery when he heard it, and suspected the motives. “Your magic, now, Lord Wizard-do you draw on the power of Goodness?”
“Oh, yes,” Matt said, “though it’s sometimes accidental.”
Rebozo looked at him as if he were primed to explode, but Boncorro only frowned. “By accident? How can one be good by accident?”
“You should know,” Matt said, amused. “However, in my case, it’s because I’m preoccupied. You see, I’m usually more concerned with the power of poetry than with its source.”
“Why, what a fascinating notion!” Boncorro cried. “I have always loved verse! In fact, I intend to install a Poet Laureate when my treasuries are restored to their proper level!”
“Even kings have to stop and think about what they can afford,” Matt sighed, “in this case, a venture that definitely won’t produce a profit.”
“Yes, but perhaps you have found a way to do so!”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Matt said. “Even here, poetry doesn’t exactly make gold.”
“By reputation, though, it has made you powerful!”
Matt shrugged uncomfortably. “The pen is mightier than the sword, your Majesty.”
“Is it indeed?” A slow smile curved Boncorro’s lips. “Let us experiment, Lord Wizard!”
A chill fanned out over Matt’s back. “Oh. You’ve decided to test how strong I am, huh?”
“You could call it that.” Rebozo gave him a nasty grin that revealed some gaping holes in medieval dentistry. “Yes, let us look at it as a test of your powers!” Boncorro urged. “For I would hate to be thought lacking in hospitality, even if the guest is uninvited! We shall accord you accommodations, Lord Wizard!”
Matt frowned. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to give me a place to stay, and that’s going to test how strong a wizard I am?”
“It is a matter of the sort of accommodations,” the chancellor said, his eyes glittering. “Oh,” Matt sighed. He settled his lute more firmly on his back. “You mean I get to spend the night in the dungeon.”
“The night,” Rebozo agreed, “or much longer.”
“So the test of my powers is finding out if I can escape from your dungeon?”
“If you are so mighty a wizard as to warrant my listening to your advice,” the king said, “you will no doubt be able to escape my prison with ease.”
Matt shook his head sadly. “Really, your Majesty! I had expected better of you!”
“Oh?” Boncorro said in surprise. “Surely you realize that I cannot have you wandering at liberty about my kingdom, Lord Wizard! Are you so certain of your ability to escape, then?”
Matt shrugged. “I’ve escaped from a few jails before this, and I’ll be surprised if yours is much of an improvement.” He looked up at the guards, who were shuffling their feet nervously. “Well, let’s go to it, boys!”
“You do not object?” Rebozo asked, amazed. “Object? Of course I object! But I don’t mind. I always meet the most fascinating people in dungeons.” As long as Flaminia and Pascal were safe out in the countryside, a night on moldering straw might even be restful. The chancellor gave Matt a whetted glance. “His Majesty has a special dungeon for competing magi! If you can escape this prison, Lord Wizard, you must be doughty indeed!”
For the first time Matt began to feel a stab of doubt-doubt that built quickly into apprehension as Boncorro spread his hands and began to chant in a language Matt didn’t even remotely begin to recognize. He had always mistrusted foreign languages, ever since he pulled that D in Freshman German. Besides, how could you counter a poem if you didn’t know what it meant? Not that that had stopped the postmoderns… Boncorro spun his fists together as if tying a knot-and disappeared. Disappearing, Matt was used to-he’d come up against half a dozen wizards and sorcerers who could disappear. But he’d never before run into one who could take everybody else with him-as well as all the buildings in the vicinity, and the cobblestones of the street, and, now that you mentioned it, even the sky and the sun. He hadn’t taken the light, though. At least Matt could see everything that was left, even if the light was gray and wan and formless. It was the epitome of indirect lighting-it didn’t even cast his shadow. Of course, that could have been because there was no surface for the light to cast his shadow onto-and it might have been pale because it was filtered through all that fog. All fog-everything was fog. Matt looked about him-it was like being inside a cloud, only this time there was no jet plane around him. Just to check, he looked underneath him, but all he could see was more of the same gray mist. He stared about him wild-eyed, trying to stifle the panic that was climbing up his throat. He told himself that he should take a bold step forward to break out of this prison-but found that he was afraid to. Okay, there seemed to be something solid beneath his feet just now-but was it the only spot of substance in this pocket universe? He stood, tense and stiffened, afraid to take a single step, to move so much as an inch for fear of a never-ending fall. He had to give it to Boncorro-as a dungeon for sorcerers, this was a beauty!