Captives of the Flame Part 4

"It was in self-defense, and you know it. Those guards that converged on me weren't kidding. I didn't kill him on purpose. I just didn't want to get my head seared off."

"So you seared one of their heads off first. Jon Koshar, I think you're crazy. What are you doing here anyway?"

"It would take too long to explain. But believe me, the last thing I came back for was to see you again."

"So you come in, steal my clothing" Suddenly he laughed. "Oh, of course.

I'm dreaming all this. How silly of me. I must be dreaming."

Jon frowned.

Uske went on. "I must be feeling guilty about that whole business when we were kids. You keep on disappearing and appearing. You can't possibly be more than a figment of my imagination. Koshar! The name! Of course.

That's the name of the people who are giving the party that I'm going to once I wake up. That's the reason for the whole thing."

"What party?" Jon demanded.

"Your father is giving it for your sister. Yes, that's right. You had quite a pretty sister. I'm going back to sleep now. And when I wake up, you're to be gone, do you understand? What a silly dream."

"Just a moment. Why are you going?"

Uske snuggled his head into the pillow. "Apparently your father has managed to ama.s.s quite a fortune. Chargill says I have to treat him kindly so we can borrow money from him later on. Unless I'm dreaming that up too."

"You're not dreaming."

Uske opened one eye, closed it again. And rolled over onto the pillow.

"Tell that to my cousin, the d.u.c.h.ess of Petra. She was dragged all the way from her island estate to come to this thing. The only people who are getting out of it are mother and my kid brother. Lucky starfish."

"Go back to sleep," said Jon.

"Go away," said Uske. He opened his eyes once more to see Jon push the b.u.t.ton that pulled the curtains. And then the headless, handless figure went to the door and out. Uske s.h.i.+vered and pulled the covers up again.

Jon walked down the hall.

Behind the door to one room that he did not enter, the red-headed d.u.c.h.ess of Petra was standing by the window of her apartment, gazing over the roofs of the city, the great houses of the wealthy merchants and manufacturers, over the hive-like buildings which housed the city's doctors, clerks, secretaries, and storekeepers, down to the reeking clapboard and stone alleys of the Devil's Pot.

The early sun lay flame in her hair and whitened her pale face. She pushed the window open a bit, and the breeze waved her blue robe as she absently fingered a smoky crystal set in a silver chain around her neck.

Jon continued down the hall.

Three doors away, the old queen lay on the heap of over-stuffed mattresses, nestled in the center of an immense four-poster bed. Her white hair was coiled in two buns on either side of her head, her mouth was slightly open and a faint breath hissed across the white lips. On the wall above the bed hung the portrait of the late King Alsen, sceptered, official, and benevolent.

In a set of rooms just beside the queen mother's chamber, Let, Prince of the Royal Blood, Heir Apparent to the Empire of Toromon, and half a dozen more, was sitting in just his pajama top on the edge of his bed, knuckling his eyes.

The thin limbs of the thirteen-year-old were still slightly akimbo with natural awkwardness and sleep. Like his brother, he was blond and slight.

Still blinking, he slipped into his underwear and trousers, pausing a moment to check his watch. He fastened the three snaps on his s.h.i.+rt, turned to the palace intercom, and pressed a b.u.t.ton.

"I overslept, Petra," Let apologized. "Anyway, I'm up now."

"You must learn to be on time. Remember, you are heir to the throne of Toromon. You mustn't forget that."

"Sometimes I wish I could," replied Let. "Sometimes."

"Never say that again," came the sudden command through the tiny intercom. "Do you hear me? Never even let yourself think that for a moment."

"I'm sorry, Petra," Let said. His cousin, the d.u.c.h.ess, had been acting strangely since her arrival two days ago. Fifteen years his senior, she was still the member of the family to whom he felt closest. Usually, with her, he could forget the crown that was always being pointed to as it dangled above his head. His brother was not very healthy, nor even--as some rumored--all in his proper mind. Yet now it was Petra herself who was pointing out the gold circlet of Toromon's kings.h.i.+p. It seemed a betrayal. "Anyway," he went on. "Here I am. What did you want?"

"To say good morning." The smile in the voice brought a smile to Let's face too. "Do you remember that story I told you last night, about the prisoners in the tetron mines?"

"Sure," said Let, who had fallen asleep thinking about it. "The ones who were planning an escape." She had sat in the garden with him for an hour after dark, regaling him with the harrowing details of three prisoners'

attempt to escape the penal mines. She had terminated it at the height of suspense with the three men crouching by the steps in the darkness and the drizzling rain, waiting to make their dash into the forest. "You said you were going to go on with it this morning."

"Do you really want to hear the end of the story?"

"Of course I do. I couldn't get to sleep for hours thinking about it."

"Well," said Petra, "when the guard changed, and the rope tripped him up when he was coming down the steps, the rear guard ran around to see what had happened, as planned, and they dashed through the searchlight beam, into the forest, and ..." She paused. "Anyway, one of them made it. The other two were caught and killed."

"Huh?" said Let. "Is that all?"

"That's about it," said Petra.

"What do you mean?" Let demanded. Last night's version had contained detail upon detail of the prisoners' treatment, their efforts to dig a tunnel, the precautions they took, along with an uncannily vivid description of the scenery that had made him s.h.i.+ver as though he had been in the leaky, rotten-walled shacks. "You can't just finish it up like that," he exclaimed. "How did they get caught? Which one got away?

Was it the chubby one with the freckles? How did they die?"

"Unpleasantly," Petra answered. "No, the chubby one with the freckles didn't make it. They brought him, and the one with the limp, back that morning in the rain and dropped them in the mud outside the barracks to discourage further escape attempts."

"Oh," said Let. "What about the one who did make it?" he asked after a moment.

Instead of answering, she said, "Let, I want to give you a warning." The prince stiffened a bit, but she began differently than he expected.

"Let, in a little while, you may be going on quite an adventure, and you may want to forget some things, because it will be easier. Like being the prince of Toromon. But don't forget it, Let. Don't."

"What sort of adventure, Petra?"

Again she did not answer his question. "Let, do you remember how I described the prison to you? What would you do if you were king and those prisoners were under your rule, with their rotten food, the rats, their fourteen hours of labor a day in the mines ..."

"Well, I don't know, Petra," he began, feeling as if something were being asked of him that he was reluctant to give. It was like when his history teacher expected him to know the answer on a question of government just because he had been born into it. "I suppose I'd have to consult the council, and see what Chargill said. It would depend on the individual prisoners, and what they'd done; and of course how the people felt about it. Chargill always says you shouldn't do things too quickly ..."

"I know what Chargill says," said the d.u.c.h.ess quietly. "Just remember what I've said, will you?"

"What about the third man, the one who escaped?"

"He ... came back to Toron."