Temple of the Traveler: Empress of Dreams Page 4

  The man grudgingly struck the pose, and the emperor tapped him with two fingers, sending him tumbling onto his behind. “Strength without balance is of no use. We will begin again.”

  “You can push anyone over,” objected one guard.

  “Your body moves naturally from one stable state to another, flowing like water. If you practice your moves properly, your body can use the energy from any strike to reach the next state,” he said, assuming the same stance. “Push me.”

  The guard missed the first two times. The third time, he connected but didn’t hit hard enough. Angry, the man pushed with all his might and ended up facedown in the dirt as the emperor spun to the side. “Your enemy gives you the power you need to defeat him. Show me the stance again,” the emperor demanded, taking a seat. Under his breath, he told Niftkin, “You have a lot to unlearn.”

  Thus began the first lesson.

  ****

  The emperor returned to his room to wash up. Taking off his robe, he began to clean himself at the wash basin. A sultry voice from behind the gauzy curtain on his bed said, “I could do your back for you . . . or any other part you want.” A young Imperial woman, perhaps seventeen, sat on the bed; her garment was so sheer that it revealed her every curve and shadow. A slit up the side displayed flawless skin up to the hip. Her sole concession to modesty was the solid-white veil over her face.

  “How did you get in here?” he demanded.

  “One of your staff felt sympathy for my plight and yielded to my pleas,” she said, opening the bed curtain to give him an even better view.

  “And?”

  “I’m skilled in certain arts of love known only to women in the aristocracy. I gave him a brief sample of what I offer you.”

  “It’s not yet time for me to choose a wife,” he said, his body reacting to the young woman more than he thought possible. “Put a real robe on. It’s chilly in here.”

  She bowed her head. “Please, if you grant me my favor, I will give you seven years of personal service without commitment from you.”

  “What . . . favor?” he gulped.

  She moved the embroidered veil aside slightly to show him skin scarred by some sort of acne or fever blisters. The disease was gone but had left behind permanent pockmarks. The lust vanished for him; he saw her as a suffering little girl. Touching the side of her face, he said gently, “We’re all scarred in some way, but I cannot heal this, child.” He could only repeat changes he’d made to his own body while passing through the Doors.

  “You don’t want to?” she sniffed. “I can bring you much pleasure. You don’t have to look at me.”

  “Stop!” He found a woman’s silk robe on his floor and handed it to her. “My best friend on this island apart from my herald was Small Voice. What do you know about him?”

  “He’s blind,” she said, putting her arms through the holes of her robe, but made little effort to close it.

  “The color of his eyes, I could fix. That is a manifestation of my authority as head of our race. The sage’s problem is deeper: damaged and milky lenses. That is beyond my realm.”

  “I understand, highness,” she said, weeping openly.

  “Shh . . . There are two alternatives possible. First, my colleague the seeress might be able to transform you. However, there would be great pain, and she would charge a high price. The second choice is better: you should find a man who accepts and values you for who you are.”

  She snorted. “How is that supposed to happen?”

  Pagaose put a finger to his lips and smiled. Taking a piece of paper from his desk, he asked, “What is your name, child?”

  “Nightglow.”

  “Are you still a virgin?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  He didn’t ask for clarification. Instead, he wrote her name on the paper with the number two and affixed his seal. Handing her the paper, he explained, “At the Dance of the Virgins on the first day of spring, I must dance with at least one woman from each kingdom. The very first ticket will be for my herald. You will be the only Imperial guaranteed to hold my hand for the length of a song. Trust me, I want as few as possible.”

  Her face radiated joy. “Everyone will wonder what you see in me for months. I’ll be the toast of society, visitors lined up to meet me. Bless you, sire.” Kneeling before him, she asked, “How can I repay you?” Her voice was full of promise.

  “Only be happy in your match and do not sell yourself cheaply; you have far too much value as a daughter of Osos.” When she bowed her head to touch the floor, he felt stirrings of lust again. How did men bear this on a daily basis?

  “Niftkin!” he shouted. “Go with this man and tell him everything you told me. No one will be harmed, but the safety of my empire is at stake.”

  As the guard entered, the woman with the gaping robe babbled, “Thank you, highness. Bless you. I will be forever in your debt for what you’ve given me.” As she followed him, she told the guard how generous and kind the emperor was.

  Niftkin kept his eyes forward as he escorted her out and loaned her his jacket to help conceal her assets.

  ****

  After he cleaned and changed, Pagaose invited Niftkin into his room to talk about the incident.

  “We’ve already drummed the derelict guard out of the service, sire.”

  “What did she do to the man to convince him to risk so much?”

  The guard launched into a detailed description of what the girl had reported. The emperor swallowed hard. “Interesting.”

  “She says she studied ten techniques to please a man and still remain marriageable.”

  The emperor snorted. “She underestimates herself. She could please a man without even touching him.”

  “I hear that, sire!”

  “But I tell you that I never touched the girl.”

  “Of course, sire, since her mother is a noble of the first tier, I know you would do nothing to offend,” the guard said tactfully.

  “I wouldn’t take advantage if her mother were a rag woman, Niftkin. Every woman is somebody’s daughter,” the emperor said idly. Curious, he asked, “Is her deformity that noticeable to men?”

  “Her what?”

  “You’re a gentleman. You even let her keep your jacket.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sire,” the guard protested.

  The emperor laid a finger beside his nose. “On to ruling matters. I know about the history of Center. To be successful, I need to learn everything I can about the present. Let’s go to the Council chamber; they have maps in there.”

  As they walked down the hall, a man in a brown robe followed. “Who are you?” asked Niftkin thrusting the spear toward his face.

  The man was paralyzed with fear. Anna emerged from the women’s area and said softly, “Relax; it’s the scribe the sage promised us.”

  “How can we be sure?” asked the guard.

  “His fingertips are stained black,” noted the emperor. “He has a callous lump on the side of his middle finger, his sleeve appears to have been used to blot ink, and his hair is dusted with that white powder they use after each page to help set the ink.”

  “He’s also lean from not eating enough,” Anna added. “I’ve asked the staff to bring breakfast, or you’ll suffer the same fate.”

  The guard searched him, also finding a sharpening stone and a tiny nub of a knife. “It’s for my quills,” the scribe stammered.

  “Come along,” the emperor ordered.

  The scribe followed obediently.

  Once in the grand room, the emperor asked, “How many Imperials are there?”

  Niftkin scratched his head. “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Who would?”

  “The head tax collector.”

  “Can you bring him to me?”

  “It’s a weekend, sire.”

  Pagaose raised an eyebrow and the guard left to obey. In the meantime, he told the chamberlain, “I’d like more of that wonderful bread, some honey, and fruit f
or lunch.”

  “We were planning roast squab, sire.”

  The emperor smiled. “I prefer to have as little meat as possible. It impedes my energy flow.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The servants returned with the requested meal, including an enormous basket of peaches. While they waited for the tax collector, Pagaose said, “Seize the moment. Enjoy the fruit. We won’t see these again for a while.”

  Anna slipped a large slice of peach between her lips and moaned in bliss. The emperor had to excuse himself from the table after witnessing this display.

  Then she saw the scribe write the word: “Seize.”

  She told the newcomer, “You’re not listening.”

  “I am,” he replied, scribbling feverishly.

  “No, you’re writing and worrying,” she said, plucking the quill from his fingers. “When the emperor tells you something, try it.”

  “And I’ll receive enlightenment?”

  “No, you’ll be happy and gain weight,” she explained. “I like these peaches so much I may design a festival ale around them.”

  “Men don’t like fruity drinks,” the guard complained.

  “The drink won’t be for men,” she reasoned. “For the best festivals, the women have to tip a few, too.”

  Niftkin raised an eyebrow. “That’s actually smart.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” countered Pagaose as he returned. “She’s a canny businesswoman.”

  “Thank you!” she said, smiling.

  He handed her a ticket for the dance similar to the one he’d given Nightglow. “I would be honored if you would be my first at the Dance of the Virgins.”

  She blinked. “You know I love Baran Togg.”

  “Yes, when he comes in response to my invitation, I will step aside. In the meantime, this will save me from the advances of more crazed admirers, enabling me to spend my energies ruling.”

  “What will this save me?”

  He thought for a moment. “You didn’t want me paying for your new clothes and being in my debt. With this ticket, every dressmaker in Center will offer you their wares so that you will be seen in their designs.”

  “I suppose,” she said, accepting the paper. “Why do you list me as a Kiateran? I was born in Tamarind Pass in the south.”

  He hedged. “I was advised to differentiate myself from the Pretender by stressing my role in restoring the Obsidian Throne. By making my first dance a well-known woman of Kiateran ancestry, I honor our newest allies.”

  She had no chance for further objections because the tax collector arrived. He was a burly man, dressed in black, leather armor. His swagger said he could probably knock Niftkin out with a head butt. The chief collector showed no fear as he said, “How can I assist, highness?”

  “A few simple questions,” explained the emperor. “How many Imperials are left in the world?”

  “Highness, on the twenty populated Inner Islands and port cities, the last census showed about ten thousand souls,” the collector replied without delay.

  “This map has twenty-one,” noted Anna.

  “It’s out-of-date, ma’am. Abranega Island sank in the earthquakes and tidal wave.” The landscape on the wall was a ring of islands and mountains, with many ship-wrecking reefs.

  “There’s a hole in the world,” muttered Pagaose.

  “There are sand bars missing, too. Some places the water’s so shallow that you could almost walk from one island to the next. Certainly enough fishermen punt between them. The sage brought me here from Muro in a skiff, hopping from island to island. Do you have any recent maps?” she wondered.

  “Most of them burned when the sky fell, ma’am. The reason you stayed shallow was partly to shelter from sudden storms, but mainly he wanted to avoid the spirits that plague the Deep: the waters where it’s deep enough to reach the glass bottom.”

  When she looked puzzled, the emperor explained, “The transformation of Osos into a star fused dirt and sand into a Wizard Glass bowl hundreds of miles across. Spirits of creatures that died in that explosion roam the Inner Sea.” Turning to the collector, he asked, “Why doesn’t the navigation school buy new maps from the Great Library in Bablios? I mean, what good is it to rule the world if you don’t know where your territory ends?”

  “No idea, sire. I just gather the money.”

  “You could have a thousand maps for about four silver hours each, plus a delivery fee: fourteen sesterina pieces total.”

  “Navigation aids would have to come from the College of Navigation Arts and Lenscraft.”

  “Couldn’t the palace pay for that?”

  “Highness, with respect, the chamberlain probably paid for that fruit out of his own pocket. The palace is an enormous pit for money.”

  Anna said, “I could fix that. We have fourteen maids and we only need three, one for each floor.”

  “Ma’am,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t go making too many sudden changes like that.”

  Pagaose kept his mouth shut. He might rule the empire, but Anna had taken control over the household duties. She demanded, “Why not? Without an emperor in residence, what did they do with all these servants aside from parties?”

  “Most of those women are mistresses of the College deans. The men are lackeys being rewarded for past service with a plum assignment. Most of them gamble or drink their salaries away,” the collector said. When he noticed Niftkin shifting his spear point, he added, “Honor guard excepted.”

  Anna was fuming. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t fire the lot of the freeloaders?”

  “Because it wouldn’t help. The Royal Zoo, the Pleasure Dome: all of that takes an arm and a leg to keep up. We maintained the palace with an infusion of silver from Zanzibos. Lately, the trade south has been disrupted by the war. However, Lady Humi Kragen confiscated the last shipload that was supposed to come out of Innisport. The letter they just sent claims that Zanzibos now supports Sandarac, the emperor of the north. Until the College supports him, we won’t get a silver more from that lot. We’ll get some gold from Bablios and food from Mandibos, but revenue is going to get tight.”

  The emperor nodded. “I can see why some people might think my arrival inconvenient. How did you feel about the matter, sir?”

  “In my experience, truth is often inconvenient. It’s usually my job to find it anyway. You seem like the real thing, highness.”

  Pagaose clapped him on the shoulder. “An honest man. How did you get this job?”

  “Please don’t tell the College, sir.”

  “Never. Your integrity and expertise will be held in the strictest confidence!” joked the emperor. “Surely we make something here that gets exported.”

  “Blue clay, for Imperial burial urns so they can die in the home soil, and silk. Everything else we trade internally: flax, fish, rice, and bamboo are the biggest commodities. Fish are hardest to tax. Oh, we do send a few coconuts south as novelty items.”

  “The College earns no income?”

  “Not as much as it spends,” said the collector with a shake of his head.

  “Enlightening,” said the emperor.

  That afternoon, as the usual pre-dinner rainstorm pelted the island, he sent a letter to the headquarters of the lenscraft school at the observatory to ask for the money to buy the desired maps.

  The next morning, he received a reply.

  Nonessential. However, last night there were distracting lights burning in the palace. The College passed an ordinance that after midnight there shall be no lights below the observatory to interfere with its view. We tolerated the Emperor’s Day festivities, but the celestial monitoring must continue unhindered.

  Lord Vapordoom

  “What lights?” asked Anna.

  “I was reading by candlelight in my room this morning,” admitted the emperor.

  “You can’t let them get away with that, or they’ll push you around your whole reign,” observed Niftkin.

  “First I need their vote, and the
n I can knock some sense into them. Niftkin, invite Lord Vapordoom to my throne room at his earliest convenience.”

  “Sire, his school is not scheduled to test you for another ten days.”

  “Meaning?”

  Niftkin kept a straight face. “If you ask him before that, his answer is going to be no.”

  “Indeed,” said Pagaose. “Send the request anyway. Anna, have the men in the palace place torches in the garden, but don’t light them yet. All the fruit hasn’t been harvested from the trees and we don’t want the cold to damage them before we can pick it all.”

  “Yes, highness,” she said sweetly, with an impish smile.

  When Lord Vapordoom ignored the messenger, the emperor ordered the many torches lit at nightfall. Soon after, the aristocrat pounded on the front door, livid. His own arms men were forced to stand outside as Honor Guards led him and two aides to the throne room to meet the emperor.

  “What is the meaning—?” the angry lord began. The voice sounded familiar—the man who’d commanded Anna’s death.

  A heavy, seven-foot, ceremonial club dropped in front of his face. “Protocol, sir. He hasn’t given you permission to speak, and you’re supposed to bow.”

  Vapordoom seethed and gave the barest nod.

  Sniffing a white lotus blossom, the emperor asked placidly, “Why are modern maps unnecessary to our navy, tradesmen, and schools?”

  “Center takes care of Center; the rest is your problem.”

  “Maps are yours.”

  “The gods chose you; let them supply your needs. You can’t get money out of thin air.”

  “If they did and I did, Lord Vapordoom, would I secure your vote?”

  “Eh?”

  “If the gods created money out of thin air at my request, would you admit this as proof of my claim and vote for me?”

  “My examination of you will rely solely on your knowledge of optics and astronomy.”

  “Of these, I am ignorant,” the emperor admitted. “The Book of Dominion only uses your equations for launching boulders from a catapult.”

  “My school is so essential that our classes are required for every Navy commander and wizard in the College!”

  “No, your political power is enough to demand it. That, I respect. However, I can work miracles that you have no explanation for in your science.”