caused by this Imperious disregard for his own dignity provides the basis for Vile’s work mentioned above—a work whose careful attention to detail nearly makes up for the absurdity of its central premise.
Now that we have completed His Majesty’s day in general, let us return to its beginning in specific; that is, we will return to 7:40 in the morning, when Khaavren has arrived to escort his Majesty on his rounds, exactly one day after the meeting with Lords Rollondar and Jurabin.
His Majesty stepped forth from his bedchamber. Khaavren bowed, and, although this was his first full day as Captain, he had no thought of changing his usual formulaic greeting to His Majesty, which was a bow made in respectful silence. His Majesty responded with a brusque nod, and Khaavren led the way to the White Stairway, which led to the Inner Door of the Portrait Room, the first door to be opened. As they walked, His Majesty said, “Is there news, Captain?” (It is to His Majesty’s credit that, having promoted Khaavren, the Emperor never once forgot and referred to him by his former rank.)
“Yes, Sire.”
“How, you say there is news?” (If His Majesty was astonished, it was because he invariably asked this question, and if Khaavren heard something of interest once in twenty years, it was very often indeed).
“Yes, Sire.”
“Then, something has happened?”
“Indeed, Sire.”
“And you know about it?”
“Enough, perhaps, to satisfy Your Majesty’s curiosity, if, indeed, Your Majesty has any.”
“I assure you, Captain, I have some, and, moreover, it is now jumping around in its cage like one of Lord Weer’s trained chreotha.”
“Then, Sire, it is just as well that I can satisfy it.”
“Do so now, Captain.”
“Then, Sire, this is it: A messenger from the Lord Mayor of Adrilankha awaits Your Majesty on an affair of some urgency.”
At this moment, they reached the first door, and His Majesty nodded to
the Lord of the Keys, who, at this time, was a certain Athyra named Lady Ingera. Lady Ingera unlocked the door and, as it was opened by the servants, she fell into her accustomed position a step behind Khaavren and the Emperor.
“How,” said His Majesty, continuing the conversation. “The Lord Mayor?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“I wonder what he wants.”
“I think I know, Sire.”
“You think you know?”
“Yes, Sire. In fact, that is the real news which I have for Your Majesty.”
“The real news is the reason?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And you can tell me what it is?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“You will do so, then.”
“Yes, Sire,” said the Captain imperturbably. “I will do so.”
“And this very instant, I hope.”
“If you wish, Sire.”
“If I wish? I think it is an hour since I wished for anything else!”
“Sire, Lord Adron e’Kieron, Duke of Eastmanswatch, and Prince of the House of the Dragon, has arrived at the city gates, and awaits the Lord Mayor’s word to be admitted.”
“Ah,” said His Majesty. “Lord Adron is here.”
“Yes, Sire.”
His Majesty frowned, and spoke no more while they opened the next several doors. At last he said, “Captain, when you are finished here, if you would be so kind, please convey to the Lord Mayor my desire that His Highness be granted permission to enter the city. I understand that this is not, of course, your office, but if you would … .”
“Of course, Sire. I should be honored.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“It is my pleasure, Sire.”
As this is the only thing of interest to happen until after His Majesty’s breakfast, and as we are rigorously opposed to wasting the reader’s time with information not essential to the unfolding of the events of our narrative, we will now bring the reader forward in history a few hours, to the time when, in the Portrait Room, Lord Brudik droned, “His Highness the Duke of Eastmanswatch. The Countess of Limterak.”
At this announcement, the space in front of the throne was parted as if
Now that we have completed His Majesty’s day in general, let us return to its beginning in specific; that is, we will return to 7:40 in the morning, when Khaavren has arrived to escort his Majesty on his rounds, exactly one day after the meeting with Lords Rollondar and Jurabin.
His Majesty stepped forth from his bedchamber. Khaavren bowed, and, although this was his first full day as Captain, he had no thought of changing his usual formulaic greeting to His Majesty, which was a bow made in respectful silence. His Majesty responded with a brusque nod, and Khaavren led the way to the White Stairway, which led to the Inner Door of the Portrait Room, the first door to be opened. As they walked, His Majesty said, “Is there news, Captain?” (It is to His Majesty’s credit that, having promoted Khaavren, the Emperor never once forgot and referred to him by his former rank.)
“Yes, Sire.”
“How, you say there is news?” (If His Majesty was astonished, it was because he invariably asked this question, and if Khaavren heard something of interest once in twenty years, it was very often indeed).
“Yes, Sire.”
“Then, something has happened?”
“Indeed, Sire.”
“And you know about it?”
“Enough, perhaps, to satisfy Your Majesty’s curiosity, if, indeed, Your Majesty has any.”
“I assure you, Captain, I have some, and, moreover, it is now jumping around in its cage like one of Lord Weer’s trained chreotha.”
“Then, Sire, it is just as well that I can satisfy it.”
“Do so now, Captain.”
“Then, Sire, this is it: A messenger from the Lord Mayor of Adrilankha awaits Your Majesty on an affair of some urgency.”
At this moment, they reached the first door, and His Majesty nodded to
the Lord of the Keys, who, at this time, was a certain Athyra named Lady Ingera. Lady Ingera unlocked the door and, as it was opened by the servants, she fell into her accustomed position a step behind Khaavren and the Emperor.
“How,” said His Majesty, continuing the conversation. “The Lord Mayor?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“I wonder what he wants.”
“I think I know, Sire.”
“You think you know?”
“Yes, Sire. In fact, that is the real news which I have for Your Majesty.”
“The real news is the reason?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And you can tell me what it is?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“You will do so, then.”
“Yes, Sire,” said the Captain imperturbably. “I will do so.”
“And this very instant, I hope.”
“If you wish, Sire.”
“If I wish? I think it is an hour since I wished for anything else!”
“Sire, Lord Adron e’Kieron, Duke of Eastmanswatch, and Prince of the House of the Dragon, has arrived at the city gates, and awaits the Lord Mayor’s word to be admitted.”
“Ah,” said His Majesty. “Lord Adron is here.”
“Yes, Sire.”
His Majesty frowned, and spoke no more while they opened the next several doors. At last he said, “Captain, when you are finished here, if you would be so kind, please convey to the Lord Mayor my desire that His Highness be granted permission to enter the city. I understand that this is not, of course, your office, but if you would … .”
“Of course, Sire. I should be honored.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“It is my pleasure, Sire.”
As this is the only thing of interest to happen until after His Majesty’s breakfast, and as we are rigorously opposed to wasting the reader’s time with information not essential to the unfolding of the events of our narrative, we will now bring the reader forward in history a few hours, to the time when, in the Portrait Room, Lord Brudik droned, “His Highness the Duke of Eastmanswatch. The Countess of Limterak.”
At this announcement, the space in front of the throne was parted as if
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