Bad Prince Charlie Page 23

  “Now what the hell is this?” Fortescue demanded out loud. His own soldiers stayed in formation, but he could see them gripping their weapons more tightly at this little hint of trouble. He rode over to Charlie. The prince was taking advantage of the delay to rest, propping himself against a wagon. His eyes were closed and his chin rested on his chest. He didn’t seem to notice anyone around him.

  The garrison soldiers fiddled with the chains, unsure what to do. One of them looked at Fortescue. “The High Priestess, sir. She demands that we bring the Bad Prince to her.”

  “This is my prisoner, soldier, and you don’t take orders from the Cult of Matka. Where is your commanding officer?”

  He had hardly spoken the words when General Gudiron, the commander of the city garrison, galloped up on his own charger. He rode directly to Charlie, looked at the soldiers surrounding him, and snapped, “Unchain him and bring him to the square.” He wheeled his horse around and was about to gallop off again when Fortescue leaned over and took him by the arm.

  “Nick,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  Gudiron looked at him. He looked as wild as his men, the look of a man who hasn’t slept in days because of inner tension. His men fell silent and watched him. “The High Priestess,” he said. “She drove away the demon of Organza. Never again will the river flood. Now she demands that we deliver Bad Prince Charlie to her.”

  “Demon? What demon?”

  “The demon of the lake. For centuries it tortured us with floods. But she called it out of the vasty deep and drove it away. It flew off into the sky. I saw it.”

  “That wasn’t a demon! That was . . .”

  “I saw it,” Gudiron persisted. “It looked at me with its great glowing eye. I felt its hot breath on my cheek.” His men nodded.

  Fortescue was torn between the urge to snarl his disapproval and the urge to laugh out loud. He let go of Gudiron’s arm. Riding over to Catherine, he bent his head to hers. “If the Cult of Matka wants to sacrifice Charlie to a demon, this ought to be worth seeing.” She looked pale. “All right, Nick,” he said out loud. “We’re bringing over the prince regent. Let the High Priestess know we’re coming.”

  Xiao well remembered the day when she was picked to be the new High Priestess. Thessalonius broke the news to her himself. He gave her a speech on her responsibilities, a speech he had no doubt given to many High Priestesses before her, and she recalled in particular his closing remarks. “The prophecy game and the intelligence game are not greatly different from one another,” he said. “In the intelligence game you try to predict the future using sparse, erroneous, confused, and often conflicting information. In the prophecy game you do the same thing with no information at all.”

  “That seems like a pretty big difference,” Xiao objected.

  The old man smiled. “Many people would prefer to have no information than bad information. You’ll find that you can do very well with just your own good sense.”

  Thessalonius himself was a veritable gold mine of information, in the sense that a mine is deep, dark, and mysterious. The only man she knew of that actually had some real predictive ability had been awfully closemouthed about what he thought was going to happen. Now Xiao was on her own for the first time and she had her own plan. It was risky, but the opportunity was too good to miss. Despite the title of High Priestess, she was pretty low in the organization. She got people to tell their secrets by being pretty and acting mysterious. The monks compiled it into their intelligence reports. But as long as she was in the public eye, they had to go along with her wishes. The “monks” couldn’t stop her.

  For two days she waited on the steps of the Great Hall of the city, neither eating, nor drinking, nor sleeping. Her kidneys ached. The people of the city remained before her, watching respectfully. Thousands brought candles to spend the night in silent vigil. The others returned each morning to fill the square. The monks had no choice but to go along with it, surrounding her, reciting chants, lighting incense, and performing brief, impromptu ceremonies with fans and scarves that they made up as they went along. Periodically Sing would move in close and hiss, “What are you up to, for God’s sake? The ship is ready. Let’s get out of here before you give the whole thing away.” She ignored him, standing motionless with her hands clasped in front of her and her best expression of serene wisdom on her young face.

  It looked like her gamble was going to pay off. Toward the end of the second afternoon Fortescue appeared at the back of the square. The people in the square clapped, cheered, and craned their heads. The monks, seeing their cue, began a complex chant. Fortescue dismounted from his horse and walked through the crowd, which parted to let him pass. Looking from beneath closed lids, Xiao saw that a couple of guards were dragging Bad Prince Charlie along in chains. Lady Catherine Durace remained in her carriage.

  Fortescue reached the foot of the steps. He stared at her in a calculating way, trying to figure out if his oracle was playing him a trick. He looked like he was about to start up the steps, but the monks swarmed down, took the chains from the guards, dragged Charlie up the steps, and threw him down in front of Xiao. They took up positions on either side of the High Priestess and began chanting again. Fortescue remained where he was. For his entire career he’d been taking advice from the Cult of Matka. He wasn’t about to anger them without reason.

  Charlie knelt before Xiao, his head bowed. Xiao looked over him, bowing to the east, bowing to the west, and then bowing deeply to Fortescue, who nodded back. Under her breath she said, “Took you long enough to get here.”

  “The leg irons slowed me down,” said Charlie. He had his back to the crowd, so they couldn’t see him speaking, nor could he be heard over the background of chanting.

  “You always have an excuse,” said Xiao. Charlie realized that by bowing, Xiao had allowed her hair to fall in front of her face, concealing the movement of her lips. He reminded himself again not to underestimate her.

  “They’ve got Pollocks,” he whispered.

  “Brought him in yesterday,” Xiao murmured back. “I’ll take care of it.” She spread her arms and motioned to the monks. They stopped chanting. A hush fell over the square. The crowd waited expectantly.

  “Good citizens of Noile, honored visitors from Damask, for many decades I have walked hand in hand with you and endeavored, with my simple gifts, to find for you the true path.”

  Decades? thought Charlie. He did not realize that most of Xiao’s supplicants couldn’t tell one Eastern girl from another. They believed the same High Priestess had been operating in Matka for fifty years.

  “General Fortescue,” continued Xiao, looking down the steps. “Your people and your army put their trust in you and you have honored their trust. Always you have sought the true path, and always it has brought you to victory, and each victory has brought Noile closer to peace, stability, and prosperity. You have done well.”

  Some promotion-seeking officers started to clap. The crowd picked up on it and gave Fortescue a round of applause. Xiao waited until it died down. “But now I tell you that your path has taken a turn. The path of conquest is no longer the true path. Two days ago, summoning all of the power at our humble command, the Cult of Matka drove away the dual demon of flooding and drought.”

  This time the applause lasted much longer and was spontaneous. Fortescue frowned. “Freed from its cruel influence, Damask and Noile will prosper together. But it will only stay away if you follow the true path, and that is the path of negotiation and compromise. Let your army be used only for defense and the common good. General Fortescue, you can bring Damask back to Noile”—there was more applause—“through agreement and conciliation. Let their peoples join in peace, for there will be found the strength to keep the demons away.”

  “I can’t see him,” whispered Charlie, who had to maintain his kneeling position. “But he knows there was no demon. It was the WMD.”

  “The people are accepting it and so are his soldiers. He’ll go along with it.
”

  “Don’t forget Pollocks.”

  “I haven’t.” Xiao pointed to her right, toward a knot of soldiers. “Release the Faithful Family Retainer.”

  The soldiers looked surprised, as did Fortescue. When they looked toward him for instruction, he nodded. They stepped apart, to reveal the bound and hooded figure in their midst. With a few quick strokes of a knife, the hood and ropes fell away. Pollocks blinked in the sunlight.

  “Faithful One, you have served the royal family of Damask well. Now you shall serve the High Priestess of Matka.” To Fortescue she said, “Treat this man well, for he is my eyes and ears while I am gone. Consult him as you would consult me.” She held her breath, hoping that Fortescue would not go macho on her. She could see his calculating expression—he would not easily abandon his plans of conquest. But the WMD was gone. For decades he had relied on information from the Cult of Matka to further his career. To her relief, he nodded again. To Charlie she whispered, “He bought it.”

  “Make Catherine the queen of Noile.”

  “What?” Xiao cast her eyes down at him.

  “Damask, also.”

  “Huh.” Xiao’s lip curled the slightest bit. “Still have the hots for her, eh?”

  “No, but she’ll stab and poison her way there, anyway. It will save some bloodshed if you just give it to her. And she’s bound to do a better job than my uncles.”

  Xiao made some mystical hand-waving movements while she thought it over. “You’re pushing it, Charlie.”

  “I know. But do it anyway.”

  Xiao pointed to the carriage. “Lady Catherine Durace.” At the mere mention of the name there was sustained applause. Catherine really was popular. No one, at least among those present, objected when Xiao declared her heir to the thrones of Noile and Damask.

  “Great,” whispered Charlie as the applause died down. “Now free me and this thing is ended.”

  “Bad Prince Charlie.” Xiao’s high, clear voice rang out across the square. All who heard it fell silent. Heads turned. Every eye now focused on the prince. “There remains only to mete out justice for your crimes against the honest, innocent citizens of Damask.”

  The crowd responded with a murmur of assent. “You tricked your uncles into letting you usurp the throne of Damask. You laid a burden of oppressive taxation upon her nobility, besmirched the good name of her aristocracy with false accusations of corruption, and held them illegally in durance vile.”

  The nobles in the crowd nodded.

  “You stole the food of the poor, sabotaged their crops, and forced them into slave labor for your self-glorifying public works projects.”

  The commoners nodded agreement.

  “You treasonously attempted to betray Damask’s army to General Fortescue, offering him a secret deal which he nobly refused.”

  Fortescue chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, then nodded.

  “You monstrously attacked your Faithful Family Retainer, and dealt him a mortal wound, one that was miraculously cured by the Cult of Matka.”

  “You may be going a bit too far on that one,” Charlie murmured.

  “And, not least of all, you kidnapped Lady Catherine and cruelly used her to satisfy your unspeakable lusts.”

  Everyone in the crowd turned to look sympathetically at Catherine, who sat in her carriage with her head bowed and her eyes downcast. When they turned back to Charlie their expressions were filled with anger and indignation.

  “For these crimes I sentence you to permanent exile.”

  “Exile works for me,” Charlie said.

  “On pain of death is this sentence pronounced. Never are you to return to Damask or Noile. Immediately you will leave these lands. You will not set foot upon this soil, nor land on these shores, nor travel these roads again, upon immediate forfeiture of your life. All your claims to title and office are renounced.”

  “No problem. Strike these chains and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Never again will you drink of its cool, refreshing waters, breathe its clean, fresh air, or gaze upon the loveliness of its mountains. Not even in death shall your body be returned.”

  “Enough, Xiao. Wrap it up and let me get out of here.”

  Xiao turned to the monks beside her. “Take him to the ship and lock him in the brig.”

  The monks and the lower priestesses were gathered on deck, watching the sun set, and commenting on how different a sunset at sea looked from a sunset in the mountains. A few still wore their blue robes, but most had already adopted clothing suitable for a sea voyage—trousers or skirts of white cotton duck, loose shirts and blouses, and scarves to protect their necks from the sun, salt, and wind. Xiao was still in her high priestess outfit, standing at the prow, with the wind whipping her long black hair and long white robes around her. “You look great,” said Sing, who was still in his blue robes. “Very dramatic.”

  “How long do I have to do this? You said I could go below once we were out of sight of land.”

  “Too many incoming ships about. Stick with it until it gets dark. A dramatic exit is as important as a dramatic entrance.”

  “All right. How is Charlie?”

  “Mad as a wet hen.”

  “I mean, is he okay?”

  Sing smiled. “He’s fine. He was hungry and a little dehydrated, but he’s all right now.”

  “He’s not really in the brig, is he?”

  “No, we put him in a cabin next to yours. There’s a connecting door. If you’re not going to really use both cabins tell us, so we can let some of the other girls spread out.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “Why don’t you come with us, Xiao? We got an offer to set up in the far eastern kingdom of Thiam. The Thiamin potentate is getting suspicious of Niacene, and wants to expand his intelligence system.”

  Xiao shook her head. The last orange sliver of sun was sinking below the horizon. The edges of her white outfit softened in the twilight. “Not for me, thanks. I’ve had enough. I’ve got money and a handsome prince and that’s all I need for now.”

  “I think we’re finished here,” said Sing, looking at the sun. “Might as well go below now.”

  Xiao was off like a shot. She raced down the ladder to the deck below, skipped through the gangway to Charlie’s cabin, raised her hand to knock on the door, and came to a complete stop. For a long minute she hesitated with her hand in the air. Then she lowered it and tiptoed into her cabin. Lighting a lamp, she checked her look in the mirror. “Gaaaa!”

  Twenty minutes with a hairbrush, and a dab of lip gloss later, she was again knocking on the cabin next door. “Charlie? Are you okay?”

  The roar that came back shook the mizzenmast. “GET THESE CHAINS OFF ME!”

  In a moment Xiao had the door open. In another moment it was locked behind her. In a third moment she had both arms wrapped around Charlie’s neck and both legs wrapped around his waist and was kissing him all over his face.

  “Xiao . . . mmmph . . . can you . . . mmm . . . Xiao . . . The chains, Xiao . . . mmm. Dammit, Xiao!” Charlie tried to get a grip on the slim, squirming female body that was determined to press every inch of herself against every inch of him. But eventually she had to stop to breathe. He held out his arms and said, “Chains. Off. Now!”

  “Oooo,” said Xiao, stepping back to look at him. “I think they look kind of hot. Can’t we leave them on for a while?”

  “No!”

  “Oh, come on. Just a little bit.”

  “No!”

  “I’ll let you rub almond oil on me again.”

  “I don’t care!”

  “Oh, all right.”

  Xiao produced a key and soon the manacles fell away. Then she launched herself at Charlie again. When she came up for air a second time he said, “How can you kiss me when I’m so grungy?”

  “Good point.” Xiao unlocked the connecting door to her cabin, dragged him in, and pointed to a large tin-plated bathtub, recently filled with warm water. Water splashed
on the floor as she pushed him in, and even more splashed when she climbed in on top of him. “I wanted the giant double tub but they said it was too big to bring on board ship. So we’ll just have to squeeze together.”

  “I can handle that.”

  Xiao pulled his shirt off and threw it on the deck. Charlie said, “Your robes are soaked.”

  “I won’t be wearing them again. Would you mind tearing them off me, in a way that is savage but not brutal?”

  Eventually the tearing and the splashing and the kissing died down. Charlie leaned back in the tub and said, “I’m such an idiot. I was manipulated by everyone. Dad’s ghost, my uncles, Catherine, you, even Pollocks. I thought I was so smart, but everyone was playing me.”

  Xiao raised her head off his chest. “You’re not an idiot. Thessalonius planned all this out and he could predict the future, remember? Not much, but enough to set us all up. You can’t outsmart a guy with an edge like that.”

  “Who came up with the idea to divert the Organza River, Dad or Thessalonius?”

  “Your father. He set Thessalonius to the task of triggering the earthquake. The problem then became how to keep other people from using it as a weapon and, Charlie, you did a great job. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You figured out the Cult of Matka. You fed your people. You saved Pollocks from being tortured, Catherine from being executed, and you got the army away from the explosion. For one summer you ruled a kingdom, and you ruled it wisely and well. How many other boys your age can say that?”

  Charlie put hands around her waist and pulled, so that her slim, wet body slid along his until her mouth was level with his own. He kissed her. “You’re quite the flatterer, you know that?”