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The Protector leaned forward. She stared intently. What had we done to tickle
her suspicion? Was she just so ancient in her paranoia that she needed no clue
stronger than intuition? Or was it possible that she really could read minds,
just a touch?
Barundandi said, "We'll go to the kitchen, then. The cooks overprepared badly
today."
We shuffled out behind him, each step like leaping another league out of
winter toward spring, out of darkness into light. Four or five paces outside
the meeting chamber, Barundandi startled us by running a hand through his hair
and gasping. He told Subredil, "Oh, it feels good to get out of there. That
woman gives me the green willies."
She gave me the green willies, too. And only the fact that I had gone deep
into character to deal with them saved me giving myself away. Who would
suspect that much humanity in Jaul Barundandi? I got a grip on Subredil's arm
and shook.
Subredil responded to Barundandi softly, submissively agreeing that the
Protector might be a great horror.
The kitchens, normally off limits to casual labor, was a dragon's hoard of
edible treasures. With the dragon evicted. Subredil and Sawa ate till they
could barely waddle. They loaded themselves with all the plunder they thought
they would be allowed to carry off. They collected their few coppers and
headed for the servants' postern before anyone could think of something else
for them to do, before any of Barundandi's cronies realized that the customary
kickbacks had been overlooked.
There were armed guards outside the postern. That was new. They were Greys
rather than soldiers. They did not seem particularly interested in people
going out. They did not bother with the usual cursory search casuals had to
endure so nobody carried off the royal cutlery.
I wish our characters had more curiosity in them. I could have used a closer
look at the damage we had done. They were putting up scaffolding and erecting
a wooden curtain-wall already. The glimpses I did catch awed me. I had only
read about what the later versions of those fireball throwers could do. The
face of the Palace looked like a model of dark wax that someone had stuck
repeatedly with a white-hot iron rod. Not only had stone melted and run, some
had been vaporized. We had been released much earlier than usual. It was only
mid-afternoon. I tried to walk too fast, eager to get away. Subredil refused
to be rushed. Ahead of us stood quiet crowds who had come to stare at the
Palace. Subredil murmured something about "... ten thousand eyes."
Chapter 9
I erred. That mass of people had not come just to examine our night's work and
marvel that the Protector's dead men could be so frisky. They were interested
in four Bhodi disciples at the memorial posts that stood a dozen yards in
front of the battered entrance, outside the growing curtain-wall. One disciple
was mounting a prayer wheel onto one of the posts. Another two were spreading
an elaborately embroidered dark red-orange cloth on the cobblestones. The
fourth, shaved balder and shinier than a polished apple, stood before a Grey
who was sixteen at the oldest. The Bhodi disciple had his arms folded. He
looked through the youngster, who seemed to be having trouble getting across
the message that these men had to stop doing what they were doing. The
Protector forbade it.
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This was something that would interest even Minh Subredil. She stopped
walking. Sawa clung to her arm with one hand and cocked her head so she could
watch, too.
I felt terribly exposed standing out there, a dozen yards from the silent
gawkers.
Reinforcements for the young Grey arrived in the person of a grisled Shadar
sergeant who seemed to think the Bhodi's problem was deafness. "Clear off!" he
shouted. "Or you'll be cleared."
The Bhodi with folded arms said, "The Protector sent for me."
Not having gotten Murgen's report yet, Sahra and I had no idea what this was
about.
"Huh?"
The disciple preparing the prayer wheel announced its readiness. The Sergeant
growled, swatted it off the post with the back of his hand. The responsible
disciple bent, picked it up, began remounting it. They were not violent
people, the Bhodi disciples, nor did they resist anything, but they were
stubborn.
The two spreading the prayer rug were satisfied with their work. They spoke to
the man with folded arms. He bowed his head slightly, then raised his eyes to
meet those of the elder Shadar. In a voice loud but so calm it was disturbing,
he proclaimed, " Rajadharma. The Duty of Kings. Know you: Kingship is a trust.
The King is the most exalted and conscientious servant of the people."
Not one witness had any trouble hearing and understanding those words.
The speaker settled himself on the prayer rug. His robes were an almost
identical shade. He seemed to fade into a greater whole.
One of the secondary disciples passed him a large jar. He raised that as
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