The Gospel According to Verdu (a Steampunk Novel) (The Brofman Series) (36 page)

“I advise you, Emperor, keep your temper,” Chenda said calmly. “Verdu,” she said over her shoulder, “are you all right?”

Nameer helped Verdu rise, and he grunted his reply. “I believe I will disappoint the emperor and live.”

The emperor spit a curse at Verdu: “May the One True God blind you and blight your children in their mother’s wombs!” He turned his eyes to Chenda. “I damn you as well. You have taken everything from me—my child—my favorite son! Thief! Murderer!” His wailing turned to screaming and coughing, and several page boys nervously appeared from behind the wall hangings to aid their master, who was once again taken with a violent fit.

Chenda turned to Verdu. “You have done what you came to do. We should go.” She strode toward the door then turned back. A small part of her pitied the old man thrashing on the floor. It was clear to her that the pain of loss was eating him from the inside. She could not help but feel compassion for such heartbreak. However, the feeling was short-lived as she recalled the emperor’s role in her life.

“Your grief is fitting, sir. You have earned it with all the days of your reign. I understand your pain, for I have lived it. Cruelty to your people led you, and now you have to bear it for the rest of your days. Your empire will be erased, and a nation of men and women will blot your name from their history. Without you, they will learn to govern themselves with justice and hope. So I swear, on the soul of my late husband Edison, the man
you
had killed.”

She cocked her head to the side and said, “In that way we are alike, and bound together for all eternity; you destroyed my world, and I took yours.”

With that, she turned and left the emperor to have his fit. Whether the others followed her or not, she did not care. She had finally laid eyes on the man who had catalyzed the end of her old life and the start of her new. Perhaps it was cruel of her to have goaded a sick old man, but it seemed to complete something within her. In some ways she felt she had come full circle. The last thread of her old life was tied off. The emperor was . . . nothing.

Chenda tore away the bottom of Verdu’s shirt and pressed the cloth to his wound. “We’ve got to get this bleeding stopped,” she said, more to herself than to him.

Verdu put a finger under Chenda’s chin and tipped her face up to look at his. Verdu shrugged casually. “Have you given any thought to my proposal?”

“We have a great deal to discuss, but I need Fenimore to be with us. I can’t make any decisions on this without him,” she said as she bit her lip and looked away. She hated the idea of having this conversation at this moment. “Verdu, you remember as I do our parting at the pier. There is love between us, yes, but not the kind that would make for a marriage. I know that a political marriage, the kind of marriage you propose, is not based on romance, but on alliance, and I understand what you are trying to do. I want to see the people of Tugrulia find an end to their suffering. I do. But I can’t marry you.”

Verdu put a hand on her cheek and said, “I know you are looking for the one that the gods promised you, but who knows if that ever can be found? It’s more than duty and alliance for me. I can make you happy. Please, Chenda, just—”

“No. Listen to me. I didn’t want to tell you this way, but it seems I must. I can’t marry you because I
did
find the one I was looking for, and I married him. I married Fenimore.”

She looked up into Verdu’s eyes, the eyes of a man whose dreams had been crushed. A man who was jealous of his brother.

chapter 22

Coronation and reunion

Tercius was frightened, but that was nothing new. Each and every day something frightened him. Sometimes it was the people from the palace in Kotal who came to see him;
inspect him
was closer to the truth. They all wanted him to agree to things, things he wanted to understand but could not, but Ha-Ting had beaten the rule into him years before: agree to nothing.

Sometimes he was frightened by the weather. He hated clouds that looked like feet or mushrooms, and rain made him hide under his bed. Cats were the worst. They hissed for no good reason.

A cat was to blame for the predicament he was in at the moment. It was a gray one with a lump of white fur on its chest, and it just kept looking at him. The fool thing would not leave the garden path, and it held itself in such a way that he just knew it would hiss at him at any moment. He ran back along the limestone walk past the rock garden. There, between the giant boulders, sat a strange man.

Tercius watched the fellow, whose arms and legs seemed to move without coordinating with his head and torso. The young prince was often told by his nanny to stay away from people he did not know, and, being easily frightened, he usually minded those words. The stranger in the garden seemed so unique, though, like a jointed doll or marionette—a toy to be played with. Tercius crept in fits and starts toward the toy, until finally he was close enough that he could have touched him.

Tercius would have been slightly taller than the thin man, if he had had the will to stand up straight. He preferred to be slightly curled up, preemptively protected from any scares that might come. The little man snickered at Tercius, and the prince smiled back. This produced a happy reaction in the thin man, setting his limbs bouncing of their own accord. Tercius giggled.

“Tercius,” said the toy man, “do you like butterflies?”

He nodded his head. “Oh, yes I do. . . . Um, what’s your name?” The smile slid from his face. There was no emotion that Tercius felt in his heart that did not cross his countenance.

“Call me Pranav, if you like,” said Pranav Erato.

“Are you a toy?” he asked with all sincerity in his eyes. “I think you are a wonderful toy.”

“You can think of me as a toy if you wish, as I am here to entertain you.” Pranav Erato genuinely liked this simple creature, and showed him so with the twinkle in his eyes.

“Well spotted, lad,” the pranav said with a smile. He pulled a stiff leather box from a fold in his blousy tunic “Here we are. Now, hold out your hand.”

The boy held out his open palm to his new friend, his face eager to see what was in the box. “No, lad. The hand with the banana,” Pranav Erato corrected. Tercius blushed and did as he was instructed.

Pranav Erato opened the box. Inside were three butterflies with dark-brown wings neatly pointing toward the sky. Tercius sighed his delight as he looked at them. The insects were perfectly still for a moment, as if adjusting to the warmth of the invading sunshine. Then one by one they began opening their wings, testing them. With each flex, the brilliant iridescent blue of the hidden tops of their wings was revealed.

“Ah, pretty!” Tercius cooed. “I like these!”

With the tip of his bony finger, Pranav Erato coaxed one of the blue butterflies onto his hand, and he transferred the delicate creature to Tercius’s palm.

Tercius squatted on the gravel walk, enraptured by the butterfly. He brought it up close to his eyes and watched the proboscis unfurl and slurp the sticky juice from the slice of overripe banana. The butterfly took its time, but eventually had its fill and flew off.

Tercius pouted, but Pranav Erato shushed him and hooked another from the leather box and placed it on the fruit. They sat in silence together, the pranav and the prince, watching each butterfly in turn enjoy its snack and fly away.

“More,” Tercius demanded.

“Of course, Tercius, but we will have to go to your new home.”

This turn of events frightened Tercius, and he curled into himself a little bit more. “No. I like it here. They let me play in the gardens when it rains and eat peaches whenever I want.”

“I’m sorry, Tercius. I hate to be the one to bring you bad news. Do you understand your place in the order of succession? Has anyone ever explained it to you?”

“Oh, that,” he said almost to himself as he dragged his toes in little circles in the dust. “My brother says I don’t have to worry about that. He says that
he
will be emperor and I can just stay here until he has all of his babies.” He scratched absently at his nose. “But Daddy said he would be emperor first. Is that right?”

Pranav Erato nodded solemnly to the young prince “That is the way it was . . . yesterday. Today, things have changed. Your brother did not want to wait for your father to be emperor, so he did a very bad thing, and made sure your father would not be emperor at all. And then someone else has made it so your brother Ha-Ting will not be emperor either. Do you know what that means?”

Tercius pulled his eyebrows together in concentration then smiled at Pranav Erato, knowing that the thin man would be able to tell him. “I don’t know. What does it mean?”

“It means that your brother had your father killed, and now your brother is dead. You are now the heir to the emperor of Tugrulia.”

Tercius gaped at Pranav Erato. “Dead?” His eyes focused somewhere between Pranav Erato and the ground, taking in nothing and revealing a soul totally adrift.

“Yes, lad. I am sorry.” Pranav Erato tipped his head to one side and asked seriously, “Do you understand that you will be emperor? Do you know what that means?”

Tercius shook his head violently. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Ha-Ting said. He promised I would never have to. He said it would be him and I could just stay in the gardens.” He kept shaking his head.

He looked into the pranav’s eyes again. “Can you make it not be so? I don’t want to.”

“I can help you,” Pranav Erato said. A twinkle returned to his eyes, and he winked conspiratorially at Tercius. “But we must take care of this very quickly, or emperor you will be. How would you like to have a garden filled with butterflies, a garden where the little things can’t fly away? I can take you to the palace and give you such a garden. Would you like to come with me?”

“Would I ever!” shouted Tercius. His joy turned to doubt for a moment. “Can I come back here later? Nanny doesn’t like it when I play too long and am late for dinner.”

“I’m sure the old dear can miss you just this once. It won’t take us much time to make sure you don’t have to be emperor. We can take care of it and get you right back to Nanny and the peaches.” Pranav Erato took Tercius by the hand and trundled out the back of the garden and into a waiting carriage.

“Dead?” Verdu said. “
Dead
dead?”

“He never recovered from the fit that began when you left him in the receiving room last night. The emperor is dead,” Nameer said, dropping to one knee. He looked Verdu in the eye. “Long live the emperor. Tradition dictates that the next in line be crowned before sundown.”

Verdu slashed his hands at Nameer in declination. “Not yet. There is still the matter of Tercius. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“The palace is already preparing the great hall. The coronation will be tonight,” Nameer said. “Will the crown rest on your head or Tercius’s?”

Nameer’s pointed question annoyed Verdu. “Let us see if Bateem’s man gathered the boy up before his keepers knew he was to be emperor. Either way, Tercius will be here in short order. We shall have to see what develops from how he arrives.”

“This is a dangerous day for you, Highness,” Nameer said. “Until a new emperor is crowned, the emperor’s council is the head of state. When the other councillors realize what having you as emperor will mean for them, they may move to block you.”

“Then you will need to keep them busy. Let them believe that Tercius will be the better choice and that once he is crowned, manipulating him will be child’s play,” Verdu replied.

His gaze fell on Chenda, and his heart ached again. He walked over to the open window, where she sat on the sill. The sun shone on her left shoulder and cheek, and the right hid in the shadows.

Chenda’s mind felt as divided as her body looked in the contrasting light. They had talked all night, Verdu and Chenda. Verdu clearly felt the call of duty, Chenda the call of her heart. The sudden death of the emperor made it clear that they needed to resolve their impasse sooner rather than later.

“We need Candice and Fenimore. It’s time to cut to the heart of the matter,” Verdu said, as if he could read Chenda’s thoughts. Neither felt they could make the next few choices without the rest of their friends.

“Agreed,” she said. She focused her attention to the air and searched the sky above the palace. She felt the
Brofman
like a hole in the horizon. “Nameer, I’m going to call an airship to join us. Can you send word to the palace guard
not
to blast it out of the sky?”

“Of course,” Nameer said as he turned on his heel and retreated from the room.

Chenda touched the iron hook that held the balcony curtains back and separated a spark from it. She filled it with her power and created a thin thread of fire, which she sent spinning upward to the
Brofman
. She guided it to the bow of the airship, knowing that Fenimore would be there, watching and waiting for her signal.

He was there, of course. And he did not miss that thread of flame. He could see it flicker back toward the palace. Shouting and waving his arms, he ran to the wheelhouse and slammed open the door. “Lincoln! Follow that flame!”

Lincoln flinched and leaped to the controls, sending a whistling signal through the ship as he pitched the nose downward. He could see the sparking thread clearly—even the bright light of the morning could not hide it—and he circled the flame as the airship descended. Captain Endicott jogged from the stairs and burst into the wheelhouse.