"At least," he said, "we have never appointed a general of clockwork or of clay, heh heh. Chuivir may not be any Juktar the Great, but at least he bleeds if one pricks him." The king's little black eyes stared sharply at Jorian out of his puffy, round face. "That brings up a problem. Yes, sir, a problem. Two days ago, our spies brought us a rumor that you, dear boy, were not quite what you seemed—that, in sooth, you were no mere mechanic but a former ruler of some Novarian city-state. Is that true?"
Jorian and Karadur exchanged glances. Jorian muttered: "Zerlik must have been flapping that long tongue of his." He turned to the king. "It is true, Your Majesty. Your servant was king of Xylar for five years. Know you their method of succession?"
"We once knew but have forgotten. Tell us."
"Every five years, they come together in a grand assembly, cut off the old king's head, and throw it up for grabs. I became king by catching my predecessor's head when I saw it flying towards me, not then realizing what the object was and what catching it implied. When my five years neared their end, Doctor Karadur devised a method for me to escape this drastic ritual."
"Bountiful heavens!" exclaimed the king. "Here, the ruler is at least granted more than five years of tenure; albeit the principle is not wholly different. How did the Xylarians take the escape of their human toss-ball?"
"They have been after me ever since, to drag me back and complete their interrupted ceremony. Therefore I beg Your Majesty not to reveal my former status, lest the Xylarians get wind of my whereabouts and kidnap me. I barely escaped one such attempt on my way hither."
The king clucked. 'Too bad, too bad. An we could publicly proclaim that you were a former king, we could do fine things for you. What was the date of your birth?"
Jorian raised his bushy black eyebrows, but replied: "I was born in the twelfth year of King Fealin the Second of Kortoli, on the fifteenth of the Month of the Lion. Why, sire?"
"Have you taken that down, Herekit?" the king asked his secretary; then to Jorian: "We asked it so that our wise men can calculate what the fates have in store for you. Tell me: had you warlike experience during your kingship?"
"Aye, sire; quite a lot. I led Xylar's army in two pitched battles, at Dol and at Larunum, with brigands calling themselves free companies, as well as several skirmishes. I admiraled the Xylarian fleet in driving the Algarthian pirates away from our shores. Besides, I had already seen battle whilst serving a hitch in the Foot Guards of the Grand Bastard of Othomae."
"Then, my dear Jorian, you would seem to be the answer to a fat old man's prayer."
"How so, sire?"
"Look you. We know nought of warfare and make no pretense of doing so. Our senior officer, Colonel Chuivir, is, for practical purposes, as ignorant as we. He, howsomever, is not fain to admit it. For that matter, it would do the spirits of the defenders no good for their commander to avouch himself a military ninny.
"We lack time to find a replacement for Chuivir. Most of the officers in his command are, we suspect, as innocent of war as he. Our seasoned commanders are all with the frontier army. Nor can we appoint you in Chuivir's place. You are a foreigner and a commoner, whom the militia would not obey with any zeal. Moreover, Chuivir has influential friends among the nobility and officials, who would be affronted by our abruptly dismissing him ere he has had time to commit any gross blunder. Even a king with theoretically unlimited power, you know, must constantly make sure of his political support, heh hen."
"Well, sire?" said Jorian as Ishbahar hesitated.
"So we—ah—the thought has come to us: How would you like to be our military aide?"
"What would that entail?"
"Oh, you would wear a fancy uniform. In theory, you would be merely our messenger boy, to carry our commands to the forces and bring us reports of the fighting. In practice, we shall ask you to look over the military situation every day, decide what needs to be done, and advise us accordingly. We shall put your recommendations in the form of royal commands, which you shall convey to Chuivir or whomever else we designate. You will not seem to have any power over the defense but in fact will be in full command thereof. How does that strike you?"
"All I can say, sire, is that I will try my best."
"Good." Ishbahar spoke to the secretary: "Herekit! Draw up a commission for Master Jorian—yes, Ebeji?"
"Sire," said the attendant, who had just come in, "a ship's officer would speak with you on urgent business."
"Oh, curse this churlish world, that will not let a man eat a simple snack in peace! Send him in."
The visitor was a young naval officer with a drawn, ghastly look, who dropped to one knee. "Sire!"
"Well, sir?"
"Admiral Kyar is lost, and the pirates of Algarth are upon us!"
"Eh? Eh? Oh, good gods! How did this happen?"
"The—the admiral took the flagship Ressam out this morn for exercises, accompanied by two small dispatch galleys, the Onuech and the Byari. At sea, we encountered a patch of fog, which some said had the look of sorcerous fog. Then, of a sudden, a swarm of Algarthian craft sped out of the fog and surrounded the Ressam. Being undermanned, she could not work up enough speed to fight clear. The freebooters also took the Onuech; but the Byari, by putting the marines on the oars, won free."
"Were you in command of the Byari?" asked the king.
"Aye, sire. If Your Majesty thinks I ought to have stayed and perished with the admiral—"
"Nay, nay, you did right. Someone had to bring us word. In fact, you are hereby promoted to admiral in place of Kyar. Prepare the rest of our navy for battle." To the secretary, the king said: "Draw up a royal commission for this officer and bring it to us to sign. Now, Admiral, do sit down and try some of this—by Ughroluk's toenails, the young man has fainted! Pour water on him, somebody!"
That evening, Jorian and Karadur stood on the floor of the Tower of Kumashar that housed the clockwork. They looked towards the sea, where the Penembic navy was locked in battle with a fleet of Algarthian pirates. The largest Penembic ships, the huge catamarans, were not even sent into action for want of rowers to man them. The ships that did take part in the battle moved sluggishly for lack of oar power.
"There goes another one," said Jorian as ruddy flames enveloped a ship.
"One of ours or theirs?" said Karadur.
"One of ours, I fear; but 'tis hard to be sure in this failing light."
"How did that young fellow—what's his name—the officer whom the king of a sudden promoted to admiral, how effective has he proven?"
Jorian shrugged. "Considering the generally unprepared state of the fleet and the lack of time, there's no way to tell. Not even Diodis of Zolon, the greatest Novarian sea commander, could have done much in this man's room."
"How do you with Colonel Chuivir?"
"Methinks he suspects the true state of affairs. He seems to take the king's commands with ill grace, even if he has not yet flouted any of them. What worries me is that, if he learn that the Xylarians are after me, he may get word to them to come and take me."
"They could hardly do that, with the city surrounded and under siege."
'True, Doctor. So I'm in a pretty pass, am I not? I'm safe whilst the siege lasts. My duty, howsomever, is to defeat and break it, which will place me again in jeopardy. If on the other hand the besiegers take the city, I shall probably lose my head in that case, too." He reached up and tugged at his head. "Just making sure 'tis firmly fixed in place."
"An we win here, I am sure the king could protect you."
"Perhaps, perhaps. But suppose he find himself straitened for money to pay the cost of the war and hear of the price the Xylarians have placed on my head?"