The Secular Wizard - Wis in Rhyme - 4 (37 page)

"If he gives orders, are they obeyed?"

"Why, I should think we can say yes to that, simply from the changes we have seen ourselves, as we came through Latruria," Pascal said, surprised. "Whether those changes are good or not is another matter. " iiso is their real source. I've heard of many kings who have really been just false fronts; it was their advisers who actually ran the country. But the only adviser I've seen so far is Chancellor Rebozo, al-though he doesn't seem terribly evil, or terribly powerful. In fact, he doesn't seem to be able to do much-he's scared of the king." "It would seem that everyone is," Pascal said slowly.

"Flaminia did indeed say that King Boncorro does not issue edicts very often, but that when he does, no one dares disobey him."

"Oh?" Matt sensed pay dirt. "I take it some of his concubines have tried?"

"No, but one or two have incurred his anger. Flaminia told me, as a jest, of one girl who tried to work magic upon the king, to warp him into being obsessed with her and with her alone-" " Love philter." Matt nodded. "Even a minstrel hears about that-constantly. I take it she didn't succeed?"

"Nay. The king knew in a moment what she was doing. Sharp pains racked her body; it was her screams that brought the other girls to see. But the torture lasted only a minute, perhaps less; then the king commanded her to drink the philter. She did, and dotes upon him still, so devotedly that she will do anything he says-even toes-corting other women to his bedchamber."

237 "You mean he humiliates her like that?" Matt said indignantly. "No, but when another wench taxed her with it in jest, she said in all sincerity that she would do it."

"Okay, so he dominates his harem," Matt said, numb. "How about his kingdom?"

Pascal shrugged. "The wenches have heard his chancellor arguing with him-for it is Rebozo who recruits virgins for him.

The king did not argue, but only told the chancellor again and again what to do, and would not yield."

"Odd to discuss affairs of state in the harem-or women's quarters, I think you said they call it."

"Perhaps not; the issue was the future of the first woman King Boncorro discarded. He instructed the chancellor to see to it that she was laden with gold and gems, then escorted in state to her home. Rebozo argued furiously, claiming that having been favored with the king's attentions should be reward enough for any woman-but Bon-corro was adamant."

"So she was taken home in triumph?"

"Well, not at first. Rebozo sought to bundle her quietly out of the castle with nothing but the clothes on her back-but a spasm of agony seized him, and he ordered his men to fetch her gold and gems, and a palanquin. Then the pains stopped."

Apparently, Flaminia had been a regular font of information. Matt could picture her, bubbling over to Pascal about this masculine paragon, her eyes alight with excitement-and he felt another stab of sympathetic pain. He tried to move the subject a little further from home. "Well, I gathered from my brief chat with him, that he's been steadily putting economic reforms through, and apparently no one has successfully defied him. He does seem to be

effective-especially if he can detect a love potion and induce pains in a seasoned sorcerer." Pascal stared. "The doxie who sought to entrap him was a sorcerer?"

"No, just a girl who knew a few simple spells," Matt said impatiently, "or who had bought a potion from a village witch. I was talking about the chancellor."

"He is a sorcerer?"

"I assume so, until I'm proved wrong. He's old enough to be left over from King Maledicto's administration, which would mean he would have had to be a sorcerer. It's probably still a qualification for office." "Perhaps not. Flaminia says the king himself wields magic like a sword, but is no sorcerer."

"He's not?" Matt stared. "How would she know?"

"Gossip, again," Pascal sighed. "The ... experienced concubines say that a man will speak more than he intends when his head is on the pillow ... afterward. The women may feel compelled to hold their tongues when speaking to those not of their number, but certainly feel no such reservations among themselves."

"Well, this must be one thing the king doesn't mind slipping out." In fact, Matt found himself wondering if the king might be using his concubines as a way to plant rumors-surely an unworthy thought. But he remembered Boncorro's insistence on not accepting either religion or wickedness, and decided the notion fit.

"Where does he get his magical power, then?" Pascal shrugged. "I suspect that only he knows. All he has told his doxies is that he does not truly comprehend the magic that he uses, but has only memorized words and gestures, then repeats them at need-but surely that is false."

Matt could believe it, though, and the mere thought was enough to make his hair snap to attention. All Boncorro would have had to do was to watch sorcerers at work, then mimic what they had done-and remember which spell went with which effect.

Could he have done that with good wizards, too? But where would he have seen any? Worse, if he didn't really understand what he was doing, he could very easily make a mistake that could spell disaster. Matt shuddered and hoped the king had been lying to his concubine, as well as with her. "One way or another, he certainly seems to make sure people do what he wants-and if Rebozo really is as high-powered a sorcerer as I think he is, Boncorro must be a magical giant!" Either that, or Hell had its own reasons for keeping him on the throne. Hell, or Rebozo?

"I think we'd better get you out of here," Matt said.

"Not without Flaminia!"

"Yes, that's what I had in mind."

Pascal stared. "How will you manage that?" shouldn't be much hazard for the two of you." After all, his hitsong spell had worked inside the castle, even though it was presumably saturated with sorcery. Either Boncorro or his chancellor knew him for what he was, or at least knew him for a wizard, so they wouldn't be surprised if he worked magic within the castle. That might mean they were watching him, ready to pounce, but Pascal and Flaminia couldn't be faulted for that.

Of course, the sorcerer who had been trying to stop him from coming into Latruria, and trying to kill him once he was in, might not have been either king or chancellor, but someone else-say, the con-stable or lord marshal or such. Matt knew he had to keep an open mind about that, or he wouldn't be suspecting everyone he met, which could be fatal in enemy territory.

"It will make it easier if the two of you are together," Matt said. "I'd rather make one rescue attempt than two. Can you get to Flaminia? " "Aye; she and her fellows are to go into the town this afternoon, to procure more finery to bedeck them for the king."

"A shopping trip?" Matt stared. "Isn't the king worried that some of them might sneak off to meet lovers?"

Pascal shrugged. "I do not think he cares. Flaminia had heard that several of the wenches have lovers among the guards, and several more have lovers in the town. The king cares not who else enjoys their company, so long as they are there when he wants them." A most enlightened monarch-or one who was honest enough to admit he was running a brothel. Matt wondered if his spells included prophylactic incantations, to protect him from venereal diseases. "Makes it easier for him to dump them when he gets tired of them, huh? " "Aye." Pascal's smile was sardonic. "They already have husbands waiting, in a way."

Well, European peasant men had lived with the droit du seigneur for centuries, and had married anyway-not that they'd had much choice.

"So we can just stroll out across the drawbridge and meet her in the garment district?"

Pascal nodded. "As simply as that."

"How will you know where to find her?"

"I think that I can send word through my new friends in the servants' hall," Pascal said slowly. "There should be little hazard to them-though I should think they will expect my thanks to take a rather substantial form."

Matt reached into his purse and handed him some substance. They were loitering, definitely with intent-just standing on the corner, waiting for the girls to go by-when a passing soldier noticed them and glared suspiciously.

"He is glaring suspiciously," Pascal said nervously.

"He's right, too," Matt agreed, "but let's try not to let him know that." He slipped his lute around to the front and began to pluck the strings. "Foggy Mountain Breakdown" sounded a little odd without a banjo, but it did draw a crowd. Mollified, the soldier gave them one last glower, then went on his way.

Pascal, never one to waste an opportunity, threw down his cap. Matt struck a final chord, and pennies spattered into the hat. Matt glanced around, didn't see anything resembling a retinue, and started in on "Darling Corey." The audience didn't seem to know what

"mash liquor" was, but they certainly seemed to catch the drift of the rest.

But as he hit the last chorus, one of the listeners glanced up, then let out a whoop. "The king's doxies! " "Profit!" cried several voices, and the crowd suddenly diminished by half as shopkeepers ran to trot out their finest finery. Matt looked up and caught his breath. That definitely had to be the largest concentration of feminine pulchritude he had ever seen in one place at one time, even counting the beauty pageants on TV. There were at least twenty girls, all of them in their twenties, every single one of them stunningly beautiful. These doxies may not have been without smocksies, but they certainly gave the impression that they were. There wasn't all that much naked skin showing, really-only a plunging neckline here and a bare midriff there-but the cut of the clothes, and the way the girls moved in them, certainly gave the impression that you were seeing every iota of the woman's charms, at the same time as it made you frantic to see the rest.

Matt decided the garments must have been enchanted. They swept by in a cloud of perfume that dazzled the senses, and left Matt throbbing with desire. It must have been laden with pheromones-or charmed to charm. Of course, the two possibilities were entirely

compatible-sorcerers and wizards only specified end results, not ways and means. A vagrant touch of sanity managed to push through Matt's miasma of hormonal vapors-these girls might have been enchanting, but they also might have been enchanted.

The king's concubines swept by, chattering and laughing-but they left a bit of jetsam behind, a new face in the crowd, but one Matt knew well-Flaminia, eyes shining with the excitement of forbidden adventure.

"Play for me, minstrel!"

Matt stared. If he looked at her coldly and objectively, he would still have to say she was no raving beauty-but looking at her coldly and objectively was something he could no longer do.

Whatever spell the sorcerers laid on the royal consorts, it was working overtime on Flaminia. Her eyes seemed to beckon, no, to pull; her smile made her lips seem more than enticing-compelling. Compelling all too well-Pascal was moving toward her with a

fixed gaze and robotic step. Matt managed to catch him and steer him back toward guarding the hat, then struck the strings and began to sing.

"Soldier, seek not, do not find!

Soldier, ask not-do not mind If she is lost or she is fled. Forget her, let her go to wed!"

He managed another verse, enjoining the crowd to forget they had ever seen Flaminia. Since they had to forget her, they drifted away, looking bored-which was just fine with Matt.

Of course, that could have just been the effect of his singing, and the songs definitely lacked both character and action. The guards might just not have noticed she was missing yet. Matt wished he could be sure whether his magic was working or he was just having good luck. As the last listener turned his back, Matt slung his lute and grabbed Pascal before he could quite manage to catch Flaminia in an embrace that would have shamed a sumo wrestler. "Come on, let's go!" Flaminia looked definitely disappointed for the half second before Matt caught her wrist and yanked her along. He dragged the reluctant couple down the street and into the arcade he had checked out earlier. Keeping the two of them moving was a major task, since all they seemed to want to do was to stop in the middle of the street and grapple, and never mind who saw. But Matt did mind, and kept them in motion, even though he was right between them and they kept trying to reach around him to get at each other. In fact, they were growing frantic, and beginning to get angry, when Matt finally slung them into a shadowed alcove, panting. "Now! Go to it!" They did, falling into one another's arms with a fervor that made Matt long for Alisande, and the way they were groping each other with their mouths glued together certainly didn't help his concentration. Even so, Matt raised his hands and chanted,

"In the wood, where, if they wish to, he and she Upon faint primrose beds may choose to be, Or on the fruited plain away to steal, Through magic that doth lovers' flights conceal, Thence from Venarra turn away their eyes, To seek new friends and truer companies!" The combined form of the entwined lovers began to fade, then grew more vivid again. It began to fade again, but came back again-again and again, pulsing.

No surprise. Matt could feel the Latrurian environment fighting his magic. In desperation, he sang the first thing that came to mind for young people:

"Gaudeamus igitur, juvenestum sumus!

Gaudeamus igitur, juvenestum sumus!

Post jocundum juventutern, Post molestam senectutem, Nos habebit sumus, nos habebit sumus!"

It must have been the Latin that did it, for the resistance let go with a shock. There they were-and there they weren't! Not quite instantaneously-they sort of did a fast fade, so there was no gunshot crack of air rushing in to fill a sudden vacuum. Matt lowered his hands, relaxing-at least they shouldn't have attracted any undue attention. Which made it all the more puzzling when the finger tapped his shoulder and a voice right behind him said, "Most neatly done. I could not have been more adroit myself."

Matt froze. He knew that voice.

Then, very slowly, he turned around. "Good afternoon, your Majesty.