After Huiln and Khyte finished the oatmeal, Huiln led them to the House of Hwarn's commodious recreational room. The goblin cast pencils and large sheets of paper on his gaming table, then drew the rough outline of a building, indicating surrounding landmarks with scratches and hatch-marks. When the others took chairs, Khyte leaned on the table's opposite side to watch the drawing take form.
As Huiln sketched Bankers' Plaza, the Kreona city block in which resided the Nahurian banking empire's headquarters, Khyte recalled what he had once known, but consigned to the layer of his mind befogged by not caring—that Huiln worked for the Bankers' Guild as a freelance consultant, a lucrative position which gave him the requisite free time for off-world travel. The Bankers' Capital Building seemed a normal one-level goblin business, but descended to twenty-nine sub-levels. To accommodate goblin acrophobia, each floor had its stairwell in a different location, so that each only dropped so far, and so that you must learn each floor's labyrinthine layout to continue your descent. To the goblin mind, the idea of a central stairwell that stretched up or down into dizziness was madness.
As architects planned the thirtieth level, they ran into a snag—the catacombs. Not only was the towering, if subterranean, Bankers' Capital Building revealed to be queasily perched over the cavernous catacombs, and only supported by solid earth on it sides, like an over-sized carrot dangling over a hungry gopher's tunnel; not only was this mammoth subterranean grotto unsuited for the thirtieth level due to goblin phobias; but also, the cavern and catacomb walls, the unusual edifices—indeed, everything in the catacombs—were assayed to be a high percentage of precious metals, including copper, silver, and gold. While Huiln had to take the better part of an hour to explain to Khyte, Kuilea, and even the studied giantess, as to why so much precious metal was bad, the bankers' acumen was such that they were only excited about their discovery for five minutes before they remembered the economic consequences of allowing the precious metals entry into the Nahurian economy. The fortunes of most rich goblins were still based on the gold and silver standard, and with the emergence of such a large quantity of those precious metals, their value would plummet, along with rich goblins' fortunes. Those that are rich prize their supposed superiority as much as their wealth, and wish to share neither with the poor, or none will be superior, none will be rich, and all will suffer equally. The bankers were more dismayed when continued exploration revealed the catacombs' extension under all of Nahure, and the existence of the catacombs became the best kept secret on the goblin world, with only a handful outside of Kreona that knew the truth. That said, because the secret was uncovered in Kreona, everyone who was anyone in that fine city knew something about it.
"And," said Huiln, "there are those that make an unofficial withdrawal from what we call the Blank Bank, because there is endless capital for withdrawal without making a debit mark in the ledger. This is my role in my consultancy—smooth over the reports so that the funds mined from the catacomb can trickle in, invisibly, to certain partners."
Prior to this, Khyte would have described Huiln as honest, if avaricious, and to hear him talk so openly about fraud was shocking. However, this satisfactorily explained Huiln's recent behavior. If money had become a lower priority to Huiln than a dryad princess he did not know, and he preferred altruistic entertainment over get-rich schemes, Huiln had no doubt embezzled enough of the Blank Bank to last four generations.
"Here's our first hurdle: as a consultant, unless I am invited to cook the books, I only have access to the first ten levels, and am barred from the nineteen levels below it and the Blank Bank."
"There are four obstacles in all," said Kuilea, "Getting a master key to the BCB; navigating the catacombs; finding an entrance to the king's castle from them; and the fourth is the rescue itself."
"The Princess may be in a state of regrowth triggered by King Merculo's cruel abuses," said Khyte, "and we may need to carry her to safety. Let's call that a possible fifth."
"And the sixth," drawled Eurilda, "is working as a group. With so much that can go wrong, we must be able to trust every one of us. And we may need to trust others, if our rescue could be abetted by bribery or full-fledged co-conspirators. A banker or clerk at the BCB to provide access; an architect for catacomb maps; and most importantly, an ally in the king's walls to look for a passage to the catacombs, tell us the dryad's condition, and facilitate our escape."
Eurilda wasn't one to mince words, and her analysis, well-seasoned with coarsely chopped words like "bribery," "abetted," "conspiracy," and "co-conspirators," silenced the table, as they realized this was the kind of venture that could cut a life to pieces.
Huiln said, "If a banker had the architects' maps, or if an architect still had the keys to the lower levels, we would only need one or the other. In which case, we could limit our co-conspirators to two—one in the castle, and one at the BCB."
"Even better: a bankers' consultant could get his hands on both the key and the maps."
"Don't put this on him," said Kuilea.
"Eurilda's right," said Huiln. "If she can't test my commitment, I'm not committed, and it wasn't right to involve you. In fact, why involve anyone who isn't necessary?"
Eurilda laughed. "you're so noble. Unbelievable."
Huiln's face contorted, as if something very rude was about to pass his lips, but he reined it in. "What don't you believe?"
"What I believe is immaterial to what you believe. But to clarify: you stealing what we need is the right course of action."
"If we agree—which I'm not saying that I do—who is our ally in the King's camp?" said Khyte.
"We must assume there is at least one among the King's retinue that is not without conscience, and with whom the King's tortures of the dryad do not sit well. To discover the weak link in the King's chain of retainers, we'll acquaint ourselves with them all. So on the next session of the king's court, we will turn you in, so that we might use it as a pretext to sit among the king's courtiers."
"You're joking! If they didn't kill me on sight, and by some miracle my case managed to be heard by the king, and not summarily served by his headsman or torturers, he'd skin me alive like the dryad, only my skin wouldn't grow back."
"The monster betrays her ignorance," said Kuilea, "for the House of Hwarn, like any great house, may appeal for the King's justice, no matter how small the offense. Moreover, the King is notorious for deciding in favor of his allies, as justice is less his concern than avoiding assassination and staying in power. However, Khyte, as you are an offworlder, there would be even odds between your execution and your acquittal."
"And we would be liable for the damages you incurred at The Copper Croc," said Huiln, "adding insult to your beheading." Huiln moaned, ignoring Khyte and Kuilea's incredulous stares.
"With that as your position," said Kuilea, "whether or not you are occupied at the BCB, I'll trust no one other than myself to accompany Khyte. As the court is known to ask for stiffer penalties for unsworn offworlders, I'll testify to his love for our noble House. I'd grieve if any part of Khyte was lost, for no sister by blood has more affection than I."
"This would make our party three," said Eurilda, "for I must see the conversation of the King with his court, and hear their arguments, to determine if any among them has sympathies for offworlders."
"Failing that," said Huiln, "one with political interests opposite to those of Merculo could do."
"Not anyone," said Eurilda, "but the right political enemy could be useful to us. We must rub shoulders with as many of them as possible to determine who could be our ally in the dryad's escape."
"We should wait for success in Huiln's endeavor at the BCB," said Khyte. "Why throw myself at the king's mercy for nothing?"
"This is a rescue," said Huiln. "not a heist. Gold and jewels wait on the thief to liberate them, but a tortured dryad should not have to wait for her rescuers to be bold. I say that we act together, as I will succeed."
"And that is that," agreed Eurilda. "Not only a good summary, but a great conversation stopper. Would you be my guest at an upcoming gala in Uenarak? Giants are prone to overlong conversations."
Khyte nearly had something to say about how Eurilda could put words into every hole in a discussion, but refrained from opening his mouth and jeopardizing his—well, whatever he was to the giantess.
Huiln and Kuilea then diagrammed the King's castle on a large slate, and divulged its contents, including Merculo's staff and the number of courtiers likely to be on hand. After that, they fell upon a heavy repast of stew, salad, and two entrees, one hot and one cold, prepared by the silent staff of The House of Hwarn. The combination of a big breakfast, words piled on words, a quick lunch, and Khyte being the fatted apple-mouthed pig of their plan, took their heavy toll upon him once he had a moment to consider his plight, and the young barbarian's mood came crashing down.
Huiln looked even sadder than Khyte, as the goblin departed friendless on his deceitful undertaking. A few minutes later, the others left for King Merculo's castle, with Khyte in the middle of the red-hot enmity of Kuilea and the giantess. Literally in the middle, for the young barbarian placed himself between them.
"How do we proceed?" asked Khyte. "We won't just walk in? If I was a King's man, I would suspect us."
"Of course they will," said Eurilda. "and as we want them to take us directly to the King, we want to be suspicious, as anything routine or humdrum will never enter his presence. Under his nose is where we want to be, so we can take the measure of his courtiers."
Kreona's industry and restaurants made it a smoky city to begin with, but now it was exceptionally hazy due to the rising condensation of yesterday's cloudburst. The scintillating radiation of the Abyss enfolded dim rainbows in the hot shade, and it would have been a good day for laziness, reading, games, and drunkenness. As they wended the streets between lunch and dinner hour, bistro tables were bused of their cups, plates, and flatware, and busboys tossed brown mop water to the sidewalk. There was a line for an art gallery, cashiers had their hands full at book and grocery stores, coffee house baristas ran trays of beverages, and the Grand Goblin Library's double doors were propped open. <
"To our right," said Eurilda. "Guards. Step up your pace, but not so that we draw their attention."
"Wouldn't that speed things along?" asked Khyte
Kuilea said, "they would all try to take credit for your arrest, and it would complicate things. No, our destination is Merculo's castle."
Surrounded by expert schemers, Khyte began to think he had given himself too much credit. While he wasn't leagues behind his friends' reasoning ability, as they assumed, he was at least a step behind. However, their tendency to judge him as smart as he looked worked to his advantage, as they explained the steps in the plan until he understood them better than they did. While they were stuck in the abstract, following the web of cause and effect, he saw the eight-eyed consequences, and realized their plan was doomed.
Their scheme assumed the King would do one of two things—punish Khyte, or grant him immunity due to his allegiance to the House of Hwarn and their professed fealty to Merculo. This was all well and good, but it ignored the character of the King, a goblin who satisfied his curiosity about offworlders cruelly and was social with his vices. Khyte had learned from Eurilda's example that people were just as likely to opt for the irrational as for the reasonable, so he felt they should account not only for the reasonable alternatives, but also for any unreasonable ones that they could expect from the King's character. As the King had invited his favored courtiers to partake in the rape, brutalization, and cannibalization of the dryad, Khyte could also end up on a sadistic dinner party menu. To Khyte, there were hence three outcomes: a draconian punishment, which would not serve a political end or be in character for the King; the pardoning of Khyte's brawling, which would keep the House of Hwarn close, and be politically expedient; or, his immediate capture and addition to a menagerie of offworlders, which would be in character for the king and serve the twin agendas of entertaining his cronies and adding to his offworlder collection. And it was this latter, very likely, possibility for which they were not prepared.
"It won't work," he said to Kuilea and Eurilda, expecting that his reasoning would not be heard.
He was right.
Kuilea said, "it will be OK."
Eurilda added, "trust us, Khyte,"
While Khyte wanted to be able to say that he had tried to tell them, he was satisfied with their lack of attention, as Khyte had never planned to share this rescue. Whether it led to ransom or altruistic reward, because Khyte was led along on false pretenses by all of them—Sarin Gelf, Huiln, Kuilea, and Eurilda—he owed this win to himself. Moreover, Eurilda's too-easy forgiveness of him, Kuilea's clingy claims of sisterhood, and Huiln's aloofness in the face of Khyte's probable peril—all of these were disturbing, and he would be glad to get out of their reach. It might leave him without friends for a while, but he could secure the victory and the wealth now, and secure his friends later.
Once he lost confidence in his friends' plan, Khyte developed his own on the fly, based upon his presupposition that the goblin King, curious about Khyte, would add the human to his coterie of torture, and that he would share this pastime with his courtiers. If Khyte could avoid being bound and retain a weapon, the King would do his work for him, as he would be brought within reach of the dryad princess. If it also put him within reach of the miscreant courtiers, that was poor luck for them, as Khyte liked his odds against a handful of obese goblin elites.
As they were now a few hundred feet from the castle, Khyte stopped in the street and waited for them to notice. The oppressive bulk of Merculo's estate squatted downtown, abutting the Royal Garrison and the Kreonan Gasworks, which fed the gaslamps. As it was an inner city castle, there was no grand moat or drawbridges, but there was a main concourse through which Kuilea led Khyte and Eurilda past terraced steps, dozens of firey orange gaslamps sculpted to resemble trees, and a fountain made from hammered copper.
"What is it, Khyte?" said Kuilea. "You can change your mind."
Khyte was unsure if he believed this. "We've prepared for the best, while leaving it to the King not to choose the worst, and I'd like to live another day despite his choice. Eurilda, conceal my sword with your size-changing magics."
"While any visible blade would be confiscated—a sword in miniature still looks like a sharp knife or a mischief-making needle—shrinking your blade smaller might subject you to danger. If we shrunk it to a speck that would lie under your eyelid, you can imagine the unfortunate result if the spell failed due to some unforeseen injury to myself."
"It is the perfect hiding place," said Khyte. "but as you say, not the most secure. Let's not risk my eye or brain, but cake it under my fingernail with dirt."
"That might work."
"How would I draw my sword?"
"Pick a word. When the word is said, the sword will drop as it enlarges, and if your wits survive the possible splitting of your fingernail, you can seize the hilt before it hits the floor. I recommend a short word, but not one so common that it might be spoken by another before you're ready."
"Well, then," said Khyte, "why don't you smart ones think of a word not likely to be said in the presence of a goblin king?"
"The problem," said Kuilea, "is that words unlikely to be spoken around a king, such as dolt, idiot, and fool, may be used by the King at will."
"Or 'no,'" said Eurilda, "as while no one tells the King no, I'm sure he uses that one a lot."
"How about 'fail?'"asked Khyte. "The king and his retinue will be loath to use that word, if for different reasons."
"'Fail' it is," said Eurilda, and stepped into an alley, where the others followed. After looking up and down the alley and the adjoining street, she held out her hand, and Khyte handed her his scabbarded sword. Khyte cupped his hands under hers as she worked the spell, so that he easily caught the miniaturized blade. Then he put the sixteenth-inch blade under his forefinger's cuticle, and caked it in with dirt.
They arrived at the gate of King Merculo's castle to find fourteen of the hardest-looking goblins, armored in black iron from head to toe. When they approached, a grotesquely muscular goblin leveled his pike, which lowered a blue and orange banner that flapped at the top of the shaft. This one had his high rank gilded into the plates of his steel helm. "Which House bears good will to the Castle of King Merculo?" he barked, spittle flying from a mouth of broken teeth that bespoke him to be a veteran, if not of wars, then of bar brawls, or perhaps merely a life of ill fortune, though the foremost seemed certain due to the veneer of scars that peeked out from armor that seemed to teeter on his popping muscles.
"I am Kuilea of the House of Hwarn. This is Eurilda, a traveler, and I'll take responsibility for her at Merculo's court. And this is Khyte, also of House Hwarn, who would beg the King's justice for a regrettable act of violence."
"Khyte of Hwarn?" he said, scowling. "A Hravakian in one of the great Houses? Violence is what passes for manners on Hravak, one hears; I won't take this uncouth offworlder to Merculo. Fear not; we'll have him tried in the lesser courts, and justice will be done."
Kuilea continued, "have you no orders concerning a human that consorts with giants? This is the one the King seeks."
"Even so, a violent offworlder with giants in his pocket should not approach our beloved monarch. After the man is sentenced, Merculo can collect him."
"You would prevent my brother from presenting his request for the king's justice, which is his by right? Do as your conscience bids, and I will do likewise."
"Kuilea of Hwarn, I am also the scion of a great house; before you stands Vuln of the House of Rkorhnan. While I understand our privileges, I also swore an oath to protect the king. Against all harm, even a trifle, I am to pit my life if necessary. So if he would beg the King's justice, you must swear on his hands and his life as if they were your own."
Just like that, the wheels of their plan spun as predicted; after Kuilea swore this oath, Vuln of the House of Rkorhnan carried word to the King. Some time later, Vuln waved them in through the castle's south gate. As their escort of nine armored goblins marched, their pike shafts were a counterpoint to the percussion of their mailed boots.
They waited outside the throne room while the king's herald, Jucona, a tall and wispily aged goblin with white braids and sideburns, learned their names, houses, and worlds. "You'll have to start over," the old herald said, when they stammered their identities and origins faster than he could rehearse.
"I am Kuilea, mistress of the House of Hwarn."
"I am Eurilda, a chieftess of Drydana, and this is my former manservant, Khyte, who by his usual grace and aplomb, as well as by presumption and insolence—the combination of which comes from his poor breeding—landed himself in one of the great houses."
Khyte brided at being called a 'former manservant' even in jest, and said, "I am Khyte, of the House of Hwarn, but once of the Drydanan tribe, where I had great repute and Eurilda was little known, if you want to know the truth."
"Kuilea of Hwarn; Eurilda a chieftess of Drydana, and of Hravak, though you deigned not to mention your World as instructed; and, Khyte of Hwarn, once of Drydana on Hravak. Forgive me, but I have already forgotten your embellishments." When a gong rang, Jucona stepped into the chamber.
The bronze-clad double doors opened inwards; the left door, chased with gold-leaf calligraphy, read GOLDEN, and the right read MASTER. Khyte thought this monument to the King's ego, sealing his most intimate public venue, boded well for his plan, as the King was proving not only sadistic, cruel, and a crony to his many minions, but also ostentatious and easily flattered. "Your majesty," declared Jucona, "I present Dame Kuilea of the House of Hwarn; Eurilda, a Drydanan chieftess of Hravak; and, Khyte, a former Drydanan, now of the House of Hwarn."
No sooner had Khyte's introduction fell on the court's ears that he entered to receive an unexpected welcome. The King grabbed the arms of his throne to heave his considerable bulk upright, then shouted "What's this? I have a Hravakian cousin?" The goblin monarch lumbered forward, clapped his hands to Khyte's shoulders, and embraced him.
Khyte almost said 'fail' then and there in Merculo's unctuous, joyous clench. As he mastered his revulsion, his eyes froze mid-shudder, as if the shock of the king's embrace had momentarily killed him. In that moment of glazed incredulity, he saw what rested on Merculo's brow: a gold circlet, upon which perched the eight golden legs of a silver spider, gilded with stripes and inset with eight opals—the whole effect of which was that a shining arachnid crowned the goblin monarch. Khyte stifled his desire to chortle at the ostentatious crown, and any joy at learning Sarin Gelf spoke true was frustrated by its ungainly elegance. How could he make off with that monstrosity, he wondered; could he snap off the golden legs without devaluing Gelf's payment? He must make Eurilda his partner, as the giantess could shrink the crown to a thimble, to wear out of Kreona on Khyte's thumb.
"Dismiss these charges against my kinsman, who is in the line of succession. A charge against the crown is not only lese majeste, but a crime against the state, and for the sake of the throne, we must dismiss it."
"King Merculo," said Khyte. "Forgive my ingratitude, but I have never laid eyes on you; moreover, neither Huiln nor Kuilea of Hwarn have mentioned ties to the crown."
"I only just learned it, researching the royal family tree." When Merculo beamed like Khyte's doting grandmother, the King's warm, throaty voice, wide paunch—and sizable bosom—did little to discourage this association. As Khyte's apprehensions faded, he admitted they were predicated entirely on Huiln's rumor-fed report, and his goblin brother might have an agenda in persuading Khyte that Merculo was a fiend. If Merculo was a monster, he was a distinctly unhealthy, obese, and sedentary one, and Khyte would never cast such a deflated, lumpish frog as the terrible hobgoblin of his terrors. Still, Merculo was a king, and might compel heartier, more heroic-looking subordinates to stand in as the proxy for enacting his villainy, and then take pleasure in ordering and watching his depraved delights performed. When this made Khyte's spine squirm all the more, he extracted himself from Merculo's too-loving embrace without, taking care to tighten his shudders of revulsion.
"Come and sit with me," bade the King. "To answer any presentiments that I am not fair, your punishment will be to hold court with me as my council," said the King. "You too, Kuilea of Hwarn. I want my kinsmen near today. For heavy hangs the head that wears the crown, or so the human proverb goes, and today I must render my verdict in several lamentable cases for which custom and precedent demand that I offer the accused up for execution. Help my kind soul shoulder the burden of this responsibility." Taking their flabbergasted looks as reluctance, he said, "come, your other friend too. We shall get to know each other."
Khyte said, "you do us much honor, great goblin King. Too much."
"Your Majesty is enough," said the King, and he went on to whisper, "during dinner, we'll dispense with titles, cousin." Court attendants brought chairs from the gallery and seated Khyte, Kuilea, and Eurilda just behind the granite throne, the back of which was gilded with goblin script and abstruse symbols. With this much gold lettering facing a wall, surely Merculo could pay well for whatever he wanted from Khyte.
Sarin Gelf's undertakings never lined up with circumstances; if Khyte was hired to kill Merculo, he would never have this easy opportunity, behind the throne with a concealed blade and a giant sorceress. And it galled him to know that the King acted neither according to his co-conspirators' predictions, nor Khyte's reasonable 'excluded middle.' Had the King not researched his family tree, this fourth, unforeseen path would not have occurred, and while Khyte would have been spared listening to the accuseds' exhausting litany of crimes, as well as the king's arguments and judgments, he would have been included in their number. While Merculo was much in love with the sound of his own voice, Khyte admitted it was a mellifluous instrument for oratory, and the king's pronouncements were uniquely original, so that the defendants were at least treated to a one of a kind performance.
To the left and right of the flagstones that led to Merculo's throne, orange gaslamps hissed, and windows stretched from floor to ceiling doubled their glare. Servants in the king's blue and orange livery decanted wine, brandy, water, and tea to refresh the gathered nobility.
One of the problem cases was the accomplished and renowned Chef Pythnor; even Khyte had dined at his table, as everyone who was anyone had dined at his remarkable establishment, in which more senses than the gustatory were stoked: the aroma was a divine manna ascending to whatever god had forgotten the Five Worlds, the entrees were artworks that delectably inscribed the canvas of memory with their appetizing texture, and even the plates served the eyes with a culinary aesthetic that approached a theology of food, so that the décor evoked a temple as much as a restaurant. Khyte, remembering a sumptuous plate of well-seasoned roasted small fowl served in Pythnor's, became famished from this nostalgia, but that hunger faded when he learned the charges against the famous foodie. He had poisoned some traveling merchants. Their crime? They were swinish enough to ask for salt. Their home city, Kheire, demanded justice, or Kreona might do without the coal and milled flour that were that land's chief exports.
"What do I do with this one, Khyte of Hwarn?"
This case struck close to home, for Khyte had inflicted grievous injury in a restaurant only yesterday, though he felt justified. If the rude merchants had surrounded and threatened Pythnor, it might have been prudent to lob poison in their mouths, but only if the chef was unskilled at arms.
"Why not simply cast him into prison," asked Eurilda, adding "your Majesty" as an afterthought.
"No, my dear," said the King. "Goblins revere the culinary arts, and I cannot allow a practitioner to erode the trust that exists between diner and restaurateur. While I esteem this chef, who has served me fine meals that I've relished more than the milestones of my reign, the only punishment that fits poisoning is death."
"Would it not be possible, majesty," said Khyte, "to make him your food taster?"
"Cousin, I like the way your mind thinks. Not only will it inspire my chefs, who will fear to insult his famous palette, it is also a tonic for his pride, since he must conform to my tastes, not his own. And after raising the quality of my kitchens, and having his turned-up nose forced into every meal, regardless whether it is beneath him or worthy, someday he might savor poison, save his King, and thereby atone."
Eurilda said, "this assumes he cannot concoct poisons in your larder, and endanger your royal person."
"Very true," murmured the King. "so I must impose a more severe stricture, and bar access to the kitchen. To deny an artist his art is cruel, and will satisfy my most draconian political opponents as well as the Kheireans." When the King passed sentence, Pythnor blanched, fell to his knees, and wept, and had to be dragged from the court.
Left of the King's throne, a row of nobles were accoutered in bright blue robes. Their gold-fringed hems masked tall stools, which allowed the courtiers rest during the lengthy proceedings while preserving the illusion of decorum as they half-sat and half-leaned. Lord Rygion would never have allowed this at his war-meets, Khyte thought, remembering his Drydanan liege saying "slouching leads to insolence; gluttony leads to greed; forgiveness leads to rebellion" just before giving his headsman Khyte the orders to whip, cut, or behead lawbreakers appropriately.
One of the courtiers stood from his perch to face the King.
"Count Kirqqa," said the King, "you were given leave neither to approach nor to address the throne."
"Grant permission then," Count Kirqqa retorted, "for these words burn in my mouth, your Majesty."
"I'll permit it. Be quick."
"Your Majesty, could you not pardon this great artist, whose food love makes him kin to all goblins? Would it not be klaknoz not to pardon him?"
The court chattered with laughter.
Khyte needed several explanations of klaknoz from Huiln. Klaknoz was the unforgivable crime, the murder of one's bloodline, and it made killing any kin, no matter how far removed, taboo once your blood ancestry was recognized. This made studying ancestry expedient for politicians, as it made the staunchest adversaries your allies. Since Klaknoz was as firmly ingrained a taboo in goblin culture as incest was in human culture, and only the depraved would cross that sacrosanct line, Count Kirqqa's appeal was a bold, transgressive metaphor.
"Sit down, Kirqqa," said the King. When the courtier acquiesced, the King turned to Khyte. "I indulge him, as he is my stepmother's nephew, but if there was ever cause to rewrite the House Laws, it is Kirqqa."
Khyte nodded and laughed politely. He hoped his hollow cheer pleased Merculo.
Next was Dame Iuera, who ordered her carriage driver to trample her commoner lover. The Kreonan Court had already passed judgment on the driver, who was thrown from a roof until dead; while other cultures throw their condemned from a cliff, in goblin culture, this sentence is peculiarly cruel, as goblin buildings are but a single story, and a death sentence might require a half dozen throws. As a dutiful headsman, Khyte slew many, and while he found this manner of death inhumane, being inured to death by executions and battles, he could not stop snickering when he heard the pathetic fate of the driver, who after breaking his arms and ribs, had collaborated with his executioners by swanning into his last, fatal fall, to land on his head. The driver's death was a great metaphor for duty. Serving Dame Iuera was a death sentence; even Dame Iuera's self-serving would end in a monstrously inventive punishment, though it was less than she deserved. Khyte thought often of what Frellyx said—the spider-god's fateful threads link every path, and so-called duty was merely the crawling echo of Lyspera's trip-webs. Was it better not to serve his pleasure than do the things he ought, if all paths moved to the deathly appetite?
"I'm curious to know what you think of my solution, Khyte" spoke Merculo softly. Khyte realized he had not been listening to the goblin monarch. The King continued: "Her father and uncle provide force of arms to my troops. Moreover, she is popular with the peerage, while the common folk cry for her death, and I must show both I neither fear nor wish to offend. Her punishment must be draconian enough to satisfy the people, and both forgiving and cruel enough to intimidate the nobility. If she had only denied the charge, I could have let her go free, but she owned the crime brazenly."
The King turned to the accused. "Dame Iuera," he said, "you may be happy to know your time in court will be brief. Since you confessed to your hand in the death of Cuultaryn the baker, we will render judgment as expediently. Thank you for not wasting the court's time."
"Thank you," she said, curtsying. "You are too kind, your Majesty."
"Before I render my verdict, have you anything for the record? Please: your words may be historic."
Dame Iuera trembled and stammered, "your majesty, what do you mean?" Then she composed herself. "Have mercy!"
"You think I mean to execute you? No, I will not have your uncle and father grieve your death by my hands."
"Thank you, your majesty." Her ingratiating smile was wetter than her tears.
"That said, I consulted them regarding the punishment, and they approved." The king beckoned to four guardsmen, one of whom held a wooden box.
"Hold her," he said, and two guards seized her arms. The box bearer withdrew an odd piece of mailed leather fringing a metal pipe, which he belted over Dame Iuera's mouth. The fourth man wielded a peculiar iron tool to stud and clamp the belted area, until her mouth was invincibly armored.
"You'll take your liquids through the tube, Dame Iuera; regrettably, this includes liquid meals. I must be absolutely certain that you can't give orders for the duration of your sentence, as the murder weapon was your tongue. If the court learns that you turn to rude gestures to communicate your ill will, I'll amend your sentence to restrain your hands. I wanted you to clean and wipe yourself, to spare your attending servants. Don't make me regret that decision."
When Dame Iuera screamed under the metal gag and flailed her arms, she was seized by the guards, and as she was dragged from the court, Merculo stopped them with a gesture. "There is something you should know. I wanted to cut out your sharp tongue, and destroy it like any murder weapon, but your husband pleaded on your behalf. As he numbered among those you betrayed, I took his request to heart. While it's a travesty to muzzle your lovely singing voice and deny your gourmet passions, I feel more for your young victim, whose adultery I forgave when his parents reported you were his first love."
When courtroom murmurs were fanned to a tumult, the King addressed them: "Does anyone disagree with The King's justice?" Waiting only a moment, he turned to his clerk: "Record it thus: Dame Iuera's silence will last not less than eighteen months, and Cuultaryn's family may choose an unrelated representative to administer her daily liquids, and to satisfy them that she serves her sentence in good faith. Neither Dame Iuera nor anyone in her House shall appeal to a blacksmith for unearned relief on pain of death. To allay temptation, she will serve her first three months here, where we can accustom her to these strictures."
While many murmured, not even Count Kirqqa spoke to her defense.
After the guards took Dame Iuera away, the proceedings continued another two hours, with the King more confident with his pronouncements. Convinced the King's disarming friendliness was an act, Khyte planned his escape.
When court concluded, the King said, "For my final motion, I order refreshments for our noble court and beloved guests." No sooner than it was said that the courtiers crowded out of the court room to a lengthy dining hall, where a feast of many flavors and aromas was tabled before them in the goblin fashion, with many pots concealing sauced entrees, soups, stews, and other potted meals. The sumptuousity did not stop there, as servants dished fruits and greens into crystal bowls with silver-inlaid jade ladles. Since this king liked to flaunt his wealth, Khyte would not be surprised if Merculo paraded the captive dryad before the end of the evening. <
Three sumptuous bowls, each seeping savory steam, were placed before Khyte, who had never eaten this well on Nahure, where even the House of Hwarn could not entice a chef to serve when restaurateurs were often richer than lords; only the King could offer such an elaborate salary. Though nervous about nearing his objective, the thick—nearly gelatinous—stew, the meat drenched in a ginger nut sauce, and the thick bread pudding, were devoured the moment after they were served. Eurilda had to kick Khyte to get his attention.
"Khyte," she whispered, "make some pretext for acquainting ourselves with Count Kirqqa."
"Should we continue with our plan? The king is sharp as a pin, and the Count is a knave."
"Will you abandon our scheme," said Kuilea, "while Huiln seeks the map and key?"
"Our plot was scuttled when Merculo hugged me," Khyte said. "Not to say that our goal has changed, but as he seems to have intentions for his long lost kin, it depends on the grace of our host."
As if summoned by his name, the King, having made a round of his noble guests, came to enjoy his new kinsmen, but Eurilda barred his path. "Good King, we have not been properly introduced."
"My herald introduced you," the King said, a little brusquely.
"But to know me, good King" she said, "you should know that I am Khyte's old and dear friend, and we have often journeyed together from Hravak." While this was not strictly a falsehood, it concealed her point of origin.
"My dear, the correct mode of address is your Majesty. 'Good King' is a little presumptuous, as some days I might feel like a good king, and other days I might not," the King said, then turned to Khyte. "Cousin, allow me to indulge your pleasure in my exciting new pastime."
"I'm honored, your majesty," said Khyte, who stood from his feast.
When Kuilea and Eurilda looked as if they would follow, Merculo said, "Kinsman and honored friend though you may be, this is gentlemen's entertainment. But I've provided accommodations for the night if you so choose."
The King then laid his paunchy hand on Khyte's arm and guided him through the court room until they met Count Kirqqa and four other stylishly and roguishly dressed nobles, the most flamboyant of which was a long-haired goblin with gold buttons and belt buckle, violet hip boots, and a voluminous blue hat that was so tall that it might give the most acrophobic goblins a fright.
"Well met, good friends," said the King. "And Baron Klugile, too. How did things go on Ielnarona?"
"I have a missive, which I will read to you presently," said the overdressed Baron, nodding his head pleasantly, as if he had not heard the slight.
Two guards escorted them through the castle to a corridor scented like an odious potpourri, a melange of acrid sweat, floral scents, and musks. Tinny and ambiguous shrieks echoed off the damp stones, and Khyte couldn't tell if they trickled from the pinnacle of suffering or the zenith of delight. The thick, oppressive scent, the clamor of far-off fright or bliss, and the labyrinthine halls gave such credence to the rumors of Merculo's sadistic pursuits that Khyte panicked. Khyte was so rehearsed in both bravery and fear that he knew he was frightened before his pulse raced, and since his ancestors condemned fright, blood must spill in consequence. With the guards' backs to him in this narrow corridor, he could kill both, then cow the King and his courtiers so that an alarm would not be raised. With the corridor proceeding to a door, and only a moment remaining to know his mind, Khyte squelched his doubts. Regardless of the extremity of her situation, the dryad princess was Merculo's unlawful prisoner, and deserved to be rescued.
"Fail," he said, and when the startled King, Counts, and Barons, turned their heads, Khyte's bright sword cut down both guards. When the six frumpy goblins in court dress saw one fit swordsman, most recoiled from the stacked odds and fled the way they came. Khyte lunged, stabbed, and slashed, then turned from the corpses to the King cowering against a door. In Merculo's haste to back away, the resplendent crown impacted the wall, which sheared the spider's soft gold legs, and sent the silver abdomen to clatter to the floor, where half its gilded stripes flattened.
"Where are the other two?" Khyte demanded.
Dead-eyed, and with quavering lip, the king said, "s-s-servants' passage."
It couldn't be helped, thought Khyte. Now he must succeed or die. "Open the door, your Majesty."
The goblin king pressed against the door as if he could ooze through the jamb. "I was going to share. There was no cause for this, and now someone must answer for these deaths."
"Open it. Or give me the key."
"Kirqqa had the key," he said, pointing at the Count's riven body. When Khyte stooped to retrieve it, Merculo lurched to his feet, and Khyte cut his hamstring.
Now the alarm was most certainly raised, as the King's mewling was so shrill the walls sang. When Khyte cracked the goblin in the head with his sword hilt, the King stopped. While it didn't do him any good, Khyte couldn't bear the screeching. He packed the silver abdomen of Merculo's spider-crown and left the fragments where they lay.
When Khyte opened the door to scarlet, gold, azure, and emerald green woven into brocaded tapestries that covered the room with likenesses of naked goblins in every conjugation, at first Khyte didn't see the occupants, until disheveled goblins, caught in flagrante delicto, tumbled from velvet divans also embroidered with lewd acts, which had blended into the obscene backdrop. While some of the debauched clutched furry throws, most were as nature made them, and all stared at Khyte's bloody sword, then streaked through the opposing doors. Two clambered down stairs, and the others stamped through a branching passage.
What was this? Khyte expected a dryad in a cell, or flowering in a greenhouse, but not an underground bordello. Thinking she would be more likely downstairs than not, Khyte abandoned caution and went three stairs at a time, for until guards arrived, Khyte was a lion in a love nest.
At the bottom, Khyte almost ran into an outflung door. Three rooms were opened, and two were shut, with ascending steps visible through the window of the furthest closed door. When the shut doors proved locked, Khyte stamped in and out of the open ones, finding only the same mixture of unpleasant and alluring scents, scattered sheets and clothes, and one goblin either too drunk or too asleep to flee his bed.
Though Khyte pushed, then charged, the windowless locked door, it rattled in the jamb but did not budge. With a two-handed grip, he thrust his sword above the lock plate, and the blade bit two inches into the wood. He pushed with all his might until the steel was a third of the way buried, then ground down with all his weight, dragging the blade through splintering wood until the lock wobbled, when he twisted it free by brute strength. Even after this, the door clattered in the jamb, but when he shouldered it this time, the door burst.
"Who are you?" asked the almond brown, green haired dryad, eyeing the blood-caked sword. While Khyte could see no sign of the king's cruel horrors, her eyes reflected plain fear of her deliverer.