off, not any part of his nature. There was no hatred in him, and no lust, but he tried to put on both to get me to leave."
Cedric sighed. "The King worries about his son all day. Things run well enough, mind, because the Kingdom was in good order when this current problem started, but give it time, give it time, and surely it will deteriorate. May I ask—what sort of things—"
Calliope blushed, pushing her soft red hair back from her face, and Cedric abruptly remembered how young she was, but before he could stop her, she had looked up at him, blue eyes soft with hurt, and said, "Well, he—er, he stared hard at my . . . bosom, and told me that the worms ate the soft parts first."
A dark shadow fell across the table. They looked up to see the Prince standing over them.
"You are old, Cedric," he said, "and that is why a young girl blushes to mention her 'bosom' in front of you." (The sarcasm he applied to the word was the nastiest sound Cedric had heard, even with all his years receiving ambassadors and talking to government clerks). "But she trusts you with it all the same, because she is so young that she imagines that you, one foot in the grave as you are, have no more lurking lust in your flaccid old flesh. And she still fails to note that all flesh smells of the grave."
"You're ill," Cedric said quietly. "I am only glad that it is an illness that becomes a prince."
"Do you say I am mad?"
"I do," Calliope said, startling them both, and standing up. "I know your friend died. I know you didn't know it would happen and you'd never have gone down into the caverns if you knew it would.
"And I even know that you feel horrible because you got your foot back by his death and now you know that your other Companions will probably have to die—or maybe something even more horrible—before you can get back the rest of yourself, and you can't bear to lose your Companions. I feel terribly sorry for you, Amatus, and I can understand your being mad, but acting like a pig is not going to make it any better, and I don't see any reason to be around you while you act like a pig.
"If you want to come to my chamber and weep for six straight days, I'll listen to you and hold you as long as you allow me occasional food and sleep, or if you want me to go as your comrade on some impossible quest you may consider me packed, or if you want to go up in the mountains and howl at the moon for the next year I'll sit down here and wait for you to be better and never look at any other suitor, but I shall not take your abuse, no matter what is wrong with you."
She was out of the room before Cedric had even an instant to think. Part of the back of his mind elevated Calliope considerably as a possible Royal match; the Kingdom needed a good queen and he had just seen the makings of one.
He turned to Amatus and saw a half-face as hard as stone. "I am not the only mad person let loose in this castle," the Prince said quietly, "but I am the source of all the infections. I am sorry, Cedric. I am deeply sorry."
With that, the Prince turned and left. Cedric looked at the cold winter sunlight streaming in the windows, and quietly poured himself another cup of tea, and sat on the windowsill to drink it and to stare out over the city. He had been taking care of things for a long time, he realized, and as he looked at the bright multicolored roofs peeping through their snow-blankets, and the white buildings, many flying the Hand and Book flag, and the throngs running this errand and that, he felt a deep fear in him, for the health of the city was the health of the Kingdom, and the health of the Kingdom was the health of the Royal family—and he had just seen a great deal of its infection.
After a long time by himself, he left the room, and the winter sun sank, so that the shapes of the windows crept up the walls and ran across the ceiling and were gone, and the tea turned to a cold nastiness that the maid, the next morning, pitched from the
Cedric sighed. "The King worries about his son all day. Things run well enough, mind, because the Kingdom was in good order when this current problem started, but give it time, give it time, and surely it will deteriorate. May I ask—what sort of things—"
Calliope blushed, pushing her soft red hair back from her face, and Cedric abruptly remembered how young she was, but before he could stop her, she had looked up at him, blue eyes soft with hurt, and said, "Well, he—er, he stared hard at my . . . bosom, and told me that the worms ate the soft parts first."
A dark shadow fell across the table. They looked up to see the Prince standing over them.
"You are old, Cedric," he said, "and that is why a young girl blushes to mention her 'bosom' in front of you." (The sarcasm he applied to the word was the nastiest sound Cedric had heard, even with all his years receiving ambassadors and talking to government clerks). "But she trusts you with it all the same, because she is so young that she imagines that you, one foot in the grave as you are, have no more lurking lust in your flaccid old flesh. And she still fails to note that all flesh smells of the grave."
"You're ill," Cedric said quietly. "I am only glad that it is an illness that becomes a prince."
"Do you say I am mad?"
"I do," Calliope said, startling them both, and standing up. "I know your friend died. I know you didn't know it would happen and you'd never have gone down into the caverns if you knew it would.
"And I even know that you feel horrible because you got your foot back by his death and now you know that your other Companions will probably have to die—or maybe something even more horrible—before you can get back the rest of yourself, and you can't bear to lose your Companions. I feel terribly sorry for you, Amatus, and I can understand your being mad, but acting like a pig is not going to make it any better, and I don't see any reason to be around you while you act like a pig.
"If you want to come to my chamber and weep for six straight days, I'll listen to you and hold you as long as you allow me occasional food and sleep, or if you want me to go as your comrade on some impossible quest you may consider me packed, or if you want to go up in the mountains and howl at the moon for the next year I'll sit down here and wait for you to be better and never look at any other suitor, but I shall not take your abuse, no matter what is wrong with you."
She was out of the room before Cedric had even an instant to think. Part of the back of his mind elevated Calliope considerably as a possible Royal match; the Kingdom needed a good queen and he had just seen the makings of one.
He turned to Amatus and saw a half-face as hard as stone. "I am not the only mad person let loose in this castle," the Prince said quietly, "but I am the source of all the infections. I am sorry, Cedric. I am deeply sorry."
With that, the Prince turned and left. Cedric looked at the cold winter sunlight streaming in the windows, and quietly poured himself another cup of tea, and sat on the windowsill to drink it and to stare out over the city. He had been taking care of things for a long time, he realized, and as he looked at the bright multicolored roofs peeping through their snow-blankets, and the white buildings, many flying the Hand and Book flag, and the throngs running this errand and that, he felt a deep fear in him, for the health of the city was the health of the Kingdom, and the health of the Kingdom was the health of the Royal family—and he had just seen a great deal of its infection.
After a long time by himself, he left the room, and the winter sun sank, so that the shapes of the windows crept up the walls and ran across the ceiling and were gone, and the tea turned to a cold nastiness that the maid, the next morning, pitched from the
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