CHAPTER FOUR
So it had come to this. But what was ‘this,’ really? Other than a serious overstatement of his reputation?
His body was strapped rigidly to a sledge. Pillory blocks had been locked across his ankles, his legs at mid-calf and mid-thigh, his lower and upper body, and the upper arm. Each hand had been forced into a steely glove, and then cords had been passed through the tie-down rings at the end of each finger and lashed firmly to a spread-eagle frame. The sledge in its turn had been chained down to the walls of the dungeon cell with enough footage of hawser to have moored a good-sized schooner.
As if that wasn’t enough, a grilled mask like an animal muzzle covered his face from the nose on down, and a carved mouthpiece kept his lips parted and his tongue mashed uncomfortably against his lower gums. Did they think he was going to bite someone’s nose off unless forcibly restrained? He was scarcely a homicidal maniac, Max reflected; if nothing else he was far too cultured for that, yet here he was in -
CLASH! CLANG!
Ow! Mounted somewhere out of sight just behind his head was some additional diabolic mechanism whose only purpose seemed to be the making of random out-of-tune and extremely loud noises aimed at driving him out of his mind. Or if not out of his mind, then preventing him from putting two thoughts together endwise. If he had retained any hope of launching a conjuration under these circumstances, suppressor radiators aimed at him from the corners of the cell projected a seamless anti-magic field across the entire space.
Well, he was in the soup now, there was no denying that. The noisemaker let loose with another cacophonous caterwauling as a different part of the mechanism whomped enthusiastically on what sounded to be a large cookpot. I wonder if they plan to feed me, Max wondered to himself. If they did how would they accomplish it? The dripping of gruel paste over the mask so it could dribble down into his mouth? Spray him with water from the door?
If you were going to succumb to a trap, though, it might as well be a good one. The one that had landed him here had certainly been a champion.
Although the architect of the plot had not formally unveiled him- or herself, Shaa’s brother Arznaak would appear as a leading suspect to be involved somewhere, at least. The plot-master had a detailed knowledge of the way Max’s mind worked; had in fact used Max’s own methods of plotting to have Max, himself, help deliver himself into his hands. Outmaneuvered he clearly had been. And outsmarted; he didn’t mind giving appropriate credit when he was forced to. And taken unawares. For all of his paranoia, he had never seen this coming.
He had seen something coming, yes. All of those attacks by old adversaries had to have been coordinated for some purpose. The involvement of the Hand in lowering the final boom demonstrated that much. And Max had been looking over his shoulder more than was even his usual hyper-sensitive habit.
Arznaak was also ruthless enough to blow up the Emperor’s own reviewing stand and a major bridge to boot just to implicate Max in terrorism of the most heinous nature. Just? Well, probably not ‘just’; there had likely been another goal served simultaneously, but damned if he could think through what it might have been with that thing next to him pounding away like a mechanical banshee.
...But even so, there still had to be more to it than he’d seen himself. Jardin had the ring containing Pod Dall. Would he realize Max had booby-trapped it, anyway, regardless of their mutual assurances, or would he just go on to use it? If Jardin was part of the plot, as seemed more than likely, then was he in league with Arznaak? Arznaak knew Max’s habits; he’d realize the ring had to be trapped, so he’d warn Jardin... unless he didn’t.
Arznaak couldn’t have been after that - could he?
Of course he could.
Arznaak as a god. That’s all they needed.
Maybe it was just as well for Max to stay wrapped up here in the dungeon, spending his time twiddling his thumbs. Although that was only a metaphorical option. Max couldn’t even move a thumb, much less twiddle it.
But he still had responsibilities that wouldn’t go away. Who had Shaa? And Leen? Max didn’t know how long it had been, a few hours at most, but that was surely long enough for any number of distressing possibilities to have come into effect.
Actually, though, the thought that Arznaak was involved was somewhat reassuring, in a bizarre sort of backhanded way. Arznaak’s modus operandi was to let his victims dangle in contemplation of their possible fates, rather than proceed to their immediate dismemberment or outright eradication. After toying with Shaa all these years why would he put an abrupt end to his fun? Even he, Max, could clearly have been slaughtered by the Hand on the bridge rather than being trundled back to the palace complex. And where there was life, there was... the promise of further aggravation.
Anyway, whatever had been in progress had most likely already played itself out, at least for the present act. A single act wasn’t an entire play, though... even if the cast of characters sometimes had a distressing habit of changing during the interval. Well, at least there was still Karlini. And Roni; especially Roni. The work she had been doing had been on the verge of fruition. Perhaps the best thing would be to sit tight and wait for one of them to come and get him out.
Maybe he’d even make bail.
Well, if nothing else perhaps he’d be able to catch up on his sleep. He could just let the clamor from the noisemaker wash over him, slide past him, as he subsided into a meditative state...
Wait a minute. That clang was different. It had come from the other side of the cell, where the door was. Max opened his eyes. Standing over him was a familiar face. “About time somebody showed up,” Max mumbled around the mouthpiece.
Max had not been badly injured by the events on the bridge. He was showing no lasting danger signs from being hit in the head by flying chunks of pavement, or almost no danger signs; the ringing in his ears and the occasional double vision could be explained by the auditory torture device alone. The Hand hadn’t roughed him up to any great extent, either. Even his appearance was probably better than most, due to his momentary bath in the Tongue Water. Of course, a dip in the Tongue was likely to leave you with its own aftereffects, but at least it had taken off the surface layer of grime and soot.
He had been lucky. Most everyone present on the scene must have been worked over to one degree or another. Even, apparently, the dignitaries attending to take part in the ceremony. But there were dignitaries and dignitaries. Max didn’t know if he’d ever seen a god looking quite so ill-used. Especially one venturing out in public with his head swathed in an oozing linen bandage that drooped low to cover his left eye, the remaining strands of mustache that had not been crisped off shooting away in every direction like the whiskers of a cat. Especially one favoring a leg with a locked knee and leaning on a cane, of all things.
“So,” said Phlinn Arol finally, “just what do you thing you’re doing?”
“What does it look like?” Max said, less distinctly than he liked. Damn that thing in his mouth. “Waiting for someone to rescue me. Is that why you’re here?”
Phlinn Arol gave Max a severe look. “The very thought of you waiting passively is preposterous.” Then he widened his glance to include the rest of the cell, and pursed his lips in assessment. “Still, preposterous or no,” he said grudgingly, “this does look to be an effective pen of confinement.”
“Right, yeah. If anybody around here remembered how to do suspended animation I’m sure I’d be in it, but this place is a close second. So are you here to get me out, or what?”
“Unfortunately it’s not nearly that simple. You don’t have any place to sit down in here, do you?”
“It hasn’t exactly been me hiding the furniture.”
“Urr,” grumbled Phlinn Arol. He settled for leaning back against one of the sledge-restraint chains to take some of weight off his bad leg. Max had to crane his eye around to the side to keep him in view.
“What have you been doing?” the Adventurers’ God asked Max again.
“The last few hours? Engaging in thought.”
“Pure thought?”
“When’s the last time you saw purity in this world?”
“A point well, if sadly, taken. But that’s still not the answer I had in mind. Typically, you’re spinning the question the wrong way.”
“So twirl it back at me again. What are you getting at?”
“What did you say? Oh, yes, I see. Have -”
“If you want to understand me better just take off this mask thing.”
Phlinn Arol looked away. “Even that would scarcely be so simple.”
“What’s not simple?” Max garbled. “I can feel it latches in the back.”
“You tried to assassinate the Emperor-designate, and me too as well.”
“You don’t actually believe that, do you? What do I have against the Emperor? What do I have against you? Somebody wants me on ice, that’s all, and maybe frozen so solid I’ll never thaw out. I’ve got a pretty good guess who, too.”
“And who would that be?”
“Arznaak, who else?”
“Are you certain you’re not letting longstanding personal animosity get between you and a reasonable presentation of the truth?”
“What better reason to pull something like this against me than longstanding personal animosity? If it makes you feel better, I am certain there’s more to what’s going on than just landing me on the shelf.”
Phlinn Arol scowled. He was looking less and less happy all the time. “As it develops, you happen to be correct. Yet let us stay with you for the moment. You are the most radical of radical Abdicationists. You wish to make the gods abandon humanity to its own independent fate, and have been willing to pursue any means to that end.”
“I’ve never assassinated anybody.”
“Tell me of your recent dealings with Jardin, Administrator of Curses.”
“He was after the Pod Dall ring. I traded it to him in exchange for lifting the curse on the Shaas.”
“So you did have the ring,” said Phlinn darkly. “I thought as much. And when Jardin received the ring from your hand, it was fully operational? No booby traps?”
“Well, sure.”
“‘Well, sure,’ which?”
Max snorted as well as he could manage under the circumstances. How much did Phlinn Arol know? What had been happening out there? Phlinn might be the key to springing him from this joint - it would be prudent to be straight with him. Unless through being straight he made himself out to be so dangerous he needed to remain cooped up. “Of course it was trapped. You don’t think I’d pass something like that ring off without some kind of safeguard, do you? I wanted to have the Shaa problem off my back, finally, but I didn’t intend to create a bigger mess while I was doing it. I figured Jardin’d detect the trap and have to spend time disarming it, and that would give me enough time to catch up with him and get the thing back.”
“I see. And then once you’d retrieved the ring Jardin would continue to honor your agreement? The Shaas would remain curse-free? Max, I know you too well. The only outcome you’d have been happy with was an incapacitated or inept Curse Administrator, one unable to reinstitute this curse.”
“I thought it was supposed to be a heroic thing to try to help your friends against overwhelming odds. I thought that kind of thing was what you were there to support.”
“Touché, Maximillian. But I should not have to remind you that timing is also crucial, and in this case you were badly off the mark. Even if you were merely duped, as seems perfectly plausible to me, what you may have helped to set loose is of significant concern.”
“Anything I may have helped to set loose I can also help to contain, but I can’t very well do it pegged down like a -”
“There are... complications,” Phlinn Arol said reluctantly, yet again. “As you know, I dislike taking an explicit hand in these things. There are also already enough destabilizing influences in circulation without reinserting you once again, too. You may yet have a further role to play, but there is chaos enough at the moment without making the situation yet more complicated.”
What was he really saying? “Does this mean you’ve teamed up with the Hand now?”
“I am open to all those who seek me. That is part of the job.”
“You’re giving chapter and verse to me? Who the hell you think you’re kidding? I’ve never met a god who didn’t play favorites and neither have you. If you want to simplify things you should just drag the Hand in here for a change and ask them what’s going on. They didn’t just happen to wander in from stage right, they were part of whatever plan was really happening there. Or if not then at least tell the Emperor to watch out for them.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
It was obvious. Phlinn had to know it was obvious. So why would he ask, unless - unless – “Why don’t you just tell whoever it is lurking out there in the hall to come on in,” Max called in a voice he hoped would reach the hall itself.
Phlinn Arol gazed impassively at Max. After a moment, a shadow darkened the doorway, hesitated, and then drifted into the cell. The cell, which was not large, had suddenly become crowded. A voice spoke from beneath the cloak. “So, this is your Maximillian, up close.”
“That’s him,” said Phlinn Arol.
“So. Maximillian,” said the hooded man. “You claim it was not your plot to kill the Emperor-designate? Shall I put you to the question to know for certain?”
Why do they always think they can pull this off? Max thought. These people should read more. “There’s no point in torturing somebody who’s telling the truth. If they break down all you get on top of the truth is fabrication. And I don’t break down.”
“You are quite the notorious fellow. Your sobriquet scarcely does you justice.”
“It wasn’t my idea.”
“What?” said the robed figure. “Deliberately garbling your speech again? No, I see, the mouth-manacle remains. The Emperor-designate was asking certain... pointed questions about you, you know, after your disruptive performance with the Scapula at the Initiation Ball.”
“Did the Emperor-designate like the answers?”
Phlinn Arol cleared his throat. “Max understands who you are,” he stated mildly.
“Yes, I suppose he does,” said the Emperor-designate. He swept back the hood of his cloak. “You wish me to believe that you are innocent of the popular sentiment associating you with the terrorist assassins, and propose instead that you are the dupe of a widespread plot. Because this enemy of yours, this mercenary Hand troop, is engaged by my guard for additional support during the Knitting period, you claim they belong to this plot, and by extension are traitorously part of the assassination attempt?”
“That’s right as far as it goes,” Max said, “Your Highness. If I were you I’d make inquiries.”
“Oh, I am. I am here, for one.”
“Have you inquired in Arznaak’s direction?”
The eyes in the golden face were still hooded. “The Scapula has been unreachable today.”
“Then you’ve got to figure he’s certainly up to something.”
“I have made my own inquiries,” said Phlinn Arol. “Jardin, Master of Curses, has dropped from the Net of Gods, yet the carrier sigil of his office remains alive. I have traced him last to the headquarters of the Scapula. One hypothesis is that the Master of Curses has been usurped.”
“Is this common knowledge?” said the Emperor.
“No,” Phlinn Arol told him. “My resources are not typical.”
“I’ve faced Arznaak before,” said Max. “You’ve got to move fast; you can’t let him get out in front of you.”
The Emperor-designate favored him with a small smile. “If the Scapula has Transcended, he’ll have much larger matters to concern himself with than me. Isn’t that so, Phlinn?”
“That may be the case.”
“Arznaak is the brother of my closest associate,” Max protested. “I know him pretty well - far too well. One of his greatest satisfactions in climbing up the ladder is being able to deal with the folks he’s left behind. He’s already moved against you at the bridge. What do you think’s going to stop him now?”
The Emperor-designate turned away. “I have heard enough for-”
“Are you afraid of him?” Max called.
The Emperor hesitated. “Afraid of Arznaak? Why, should I be?”
“Only if you’re intelligent and awake.”
“I have nothing to fear from the Scapula. He owes me too much,” the Emperor-designate said expansively, “although I will admit to certain other precautions as well.”
“Yeah, well, I thought I’d taken precautions too, and look at where I am.”
“Surely you don’t expect me to free you and employ you against him.”
“Only if you’re intelligent and awake.”
“You have not convinced me,” stated the Emperor. He raised his head regally and headed for the corridor.
“Who recruited the Hand?” Max repeated.
The Emperor was already almost to the door. He hesitated, then marched through. Phlinn Arol levered himself up from his perch on the chain and eyed Max impassively. “As a matter of fact,” he said softly, “you’re right. I checked that too. There were intermediaries, but ultimately it was the Scapula.”
“If I were you I’d get him to put off the Knitting,” Max said, equally softly, in return. Anyway, his mouth was by now so parched it hurt. He couldn’t speak much louder if he tried.
Phlinn Arol gazed back. Did he nod, or was it merely the act of steadying himself on his cane? Then he turned and made his own exit.
An unseen guard dogged the heavy door shut behind them. In fact, the two visitors were the only people Max had seen since he’d been implanted in the cell. Did they credit him with a basilisk stare too? The ability to impart with the merest glance instant hypnotic commands?
But there were far more important things to worry about. What had really been on Phlinn Arol’s mind? If Phlinn knew Max, Max also knew him. He was badly preoccupied with something, and Max didn’t think it was merely whether Max had gotten himself hooked up with terrorists. It was something he obviously didn’t want to air with the Emperor-designate standing there listening to the entire exchange. They had been focusing on the action on the bridge, and the role of the ring, but -
What if Phlinn Arol hadn’t been just referring to the ring? ‘What you may have helped to set loose’ - ‘already enough destabilizing influences in circulation’ - what had Phlinn been thinking of? More than Arznaak?
What was happening at the lab?