The Gospel According to Verdu (a Steampunk Novel) (The Brofman Series) (39 page)

How much longer?
Chenda thought with dread.

I, merely a pranav—a fellow touched less deeply than, say . . . um, you—was blessed and named when I was seventy years old. And, let me count it up now
—the old man began counting on his fingers while the tip of his tongue poked out one corner of his mouth—
ah, yes. That was forty-seven years ago.

Chenda’s jaw dropped open. “But you still only look about seventy years old.”

Neat trick, ain’t it?
he thought to her in bubbling tones.
I should have died long ago, but the gods needed me. They needed me to find you. Protect you. Now they need you. I am sorry, but it seems that this is part of your gift. You will have a lot of time to do what you need to do.

She looked over at Fenimore, who was studying her face. He could see the sadness in her eyes already.

So, I will not change? I will not grow old with him? Will I watch him turn gray, become frail, and die?

I cannot see the future, but it is possible.
To be honest, I would have to confess that what you dread is more than likely to pass.

Her mind ran from the idea and quickly brought forth another question.

Do you dream, Pranav?

Rarely, and when I do, it is often a message. Another price to pay. We do not change much. That is why I never eat when food is scarce: I don’t need to take the resource from those who would actually starve without it. Eat, don’t eat, it hardly affects me. Sleeping is the same—no rest is gained, so there is little reason to waste the time. Although, as a habit, I keep trying. I miss dreaming sometimes. . . .

Chenda sat stunned. “No! I won’t do it. You need to find a way to fix it.”

I don’t know what can be done to change this.

“Fix. It,” she said with a snarl. She turned to the women who were eagerly holding garments for her approval and took the first gown her hands brushed against. Not that she cared about or even noticed the color, texture, or gemstones appliquéd all over it; she pulled it on and flopped onto the cushion next to her husband, waving away all offers of combs and veils.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it,” Fenimore said.

“You got that right.” She buried her face in his chest and wept. He said nothing and caught every tear.

Bateem soon arrived to escort Chenda, Candice, and Fenimore to the coronation ceremony. Captain Endicott, refusing to stray from Candice, tagged along.

The quartet, in no uncertain terms, did not blend with the other guests in the main hall. They were the first Westerners most of those in attendance had ever seen, and there were some very pointed stares and angry whispers. Others recognized Chenda as the Pramuc, and whispers of her name circulated among the guests as well.

Bateem escorted the group to the dais at the head of the hall, where Verdu stood beside a hunched-over young man in extraordinarily fine and lavishly embroidered robes. Verdu introduced Chenda to Tercius, saying, “This is my very good friend Chenda. She can do lovely tricks. Would you like to see one?”

The nervous boy laughed uncomfortably and nodded.

Chenda, unhappy with her current lot in life, did the minimum to entertain the boy: she took an empty cup from the tray of a passing servant and concentrated on the moisture in the air around her. She squeezed it all together over the empty glass, and it condensed into a tiny cloud and then into drops that rained into the cup.

“There you go,” she said indifferently as she handed the cup to Tercius. He, unaffected by her tone, looked at her with such delight that Chenda let her annoyance slip for a moment, and returned a genuine smile.

He asked for more tricks, but Verdu said that it was almost time to begin, and Chenda would need to take her seat with the others on the dais. The last thing she heard the boy say was, “Can I go back to the garden soon?”

Here we go
, said Pranav Erato as a lavishly robed priest stepped before the empty throne and held high an ornate crown.
“To the royal house I bring woeful tidings. The emperor is dead. We come at this time of great sorrow to place the crown in the hands of the heir.”

Of course
, the pranav thought at Chenda annoyedly,
that’s why this is called a coronation. Oh, how I hate preacherspeak.

“
Today, Tercius Verilla stands at the head of the line, a descendant of the Great One, Kotal Varinain. We place this ancient crown in his hands that he may proclaim himself, as tradition dictates, the emperor of one Tugrulia.’

Ancient, my foot. That crown is no older than I am.

Chenda tried not to be amused by Pranav Erato’s running commentary, but the man’s thoughts carried not just his words, but his joy. This moment pleased the old man more than he could say.

The officiant turned to Tercius, who took the crown somewhat clumsily and raised it in the air. Every eye followed the crown as the boy walked first to the left and then to the right, showing the ring of gold to all in attendance.

He turned to Verdu, and stood squarely in front of his distant cousin. Reaching up to the full length of his arms, Tercius placed the crown on Verdu’s head instead of his own. Many around the room gasped, and one or two fainted. In a voice as clear and loud as the frightened lad could muster, he croaked out, “Long live the emperor!” then dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Long live Emperor Kotal Verdu.”

The assembled Tugrulians, unsure of what they should do, followed the lead of Tercius and genuflected, repeating his words again and again: “Long live the emperor. Long live Emperor Kotal Verdu.”

chapter 23

Release

The crown resting on Verdu’s head looked perfect. Once she saw him on the throne, Chenda could not imagine a more noble figure. It was as if he were born to be emperor, and she wondered why she had not seen it before. She frowned at the thought; maybe this had been
their
plan all along. She listened hard, expecting to hear the gods snickering, but there was nothing of that sort.

The hall was filled with raised eyebrows and hushed mutterings. All were attentive to what would happen next.

Verdu began to address the crowd. “I thank you for your courtesy in attending this coronation. I thank my dear cousin, Tercius, as well. It is the first heir’s right to proclaim the next emperor, and until today, that has always been a self-appointment. Some may think Prince Tercius simple, perhaps even a fool, but he has shown great balance of thought today. He knows his own heart and mind well enough to know he is unwilling to serve as emperor. His soul is strong enough to pass the crown to another, one of his choosing, a direct descendant of the first emperor himself. By blood, law, and tradition, I have the right. I am emperor.

“There are those among you who fear the changes I will bring. To you I say, there will be more change than you can imagine, but not all change is to be feared. I, Emperor Kotal Verdu, have a vision for this great land. I see Tugrulia as it ought to be, what it needs to become: stronger, wiser; a land of literature, industry, philosophy, music, and agriculture. There will be change, and there will be tradition.

“My first decree: I dissolve the circle of councillors that belonged to my predecessor. On behalf of the empire, I wish you peace. I will select my own council, staring with Nameer Xa-Ven as Chief Councillor. I also name Pranav Erato as a councillor.”

The whispers among the crowd started anew, but Verdu pressed on. “I will name one councillor each from the following groups: the palace guard, the sea patrol, the Hierarchy, the merchant guilds from each of the five provinces, and the soon-to-be-formed Ministries of Agriculture, Culture, Justice, and Education.”

He clapped his hands sharply once to gain the attention of the assembled guests, who hushed as he rose from the throne. “Let me be perfectly clear. We will be stronger and wiser than we have been in the past. We will help our people to provide for themselves. We will celebrate the best parts of our society, and prune away the dead branches of corruption, abuse, and conflicting laws. Let it be known across the land that in one month’s time, I will preside over a council of covenant, and we will examine each of the laws that govern Tugrulia. We will have order and justice in this land.”

The hall was silent. No one knew what to think.

Verdu walked to where Chenda sat, took her by the hand, and pulled her to standing. He faced the crowd and spoke calmly. “I leave matters of faith to the individual subjects of the empire. My thoughts, at this point, are well known: the Pramuc has returned. She stands before you, and I am fortunate enough to call her my friend. Many of you feared her, but she is the embodiment of kindness and the mistress of faith. She is worthy of your trust and understanding.”

A voice shouted from the crowd, “I have read your gospel, Majesty. Is she subject to you? Or the other way around? She has no right to rule!”

Verdu turned to face Chenda and she dipped her head slightly – acknowledging his elevated position. He repaid the gesture with a slight bow of his own.

“No, she does not wish to rule, but she has the power to crush you out of existence.”

Silence fell over the crowd as Verdu continued. “That is all that we Tugrulians have been able to understand for more than a century: cower before the powerful. The first emperor gained his power by slaughter and starvation. But is that all we can be? Frightened rodents hiding in the shadows waiting for scraps to fall, watching with resentment as the rulers grow fat on delicacies from afar while the children starve?” Verdu looked from eye to eye around the room. “You all are the powerful. You are the fat. Life has been very good to you, but you cannot see what is about to happen. Those you have held in fear are on the verge of becoming bold, and they will cut your throats in the night just to take your bread.

“Two hundred years ago, this land was filled with savage, warring clans fighting over the resources the earth had to offer, to sell them to the West for a fraction of what they were worth. We will be in the same condition again when the revolution comes. Unless . . .” Pausing long, drawing out the suspense, he held the audience in rapture. “Unless we become a nation of plenty, law, and justice. The first emperor created an empire. I will be the emperor that creates a nation.

“So you have a choice: you can rise to the call, peel away the lies, and provide for the development of our humanity, or you can betray yourselves to repeating the mistakes of the past and let the lambs grow into hungry wolves that will eat you alive.”

He waited for no response and, still holding Chenda by the hand, walked into the crowd. His pace indicated there would be no slowing, and the people parted before him, bowing as his rank demanded. Candice trotted along behind the emperor, escorted by her captain, and Fenimore brought up the rear with Pranav Erato, who hooked Ahy-Me by the elbow as they moved through the crowd and dragged her along.

Verdu did not stop until he arrived at his new suite of rooms. He shooed all the servants out as the small party entered the lavishly appointed sitting room. When the last page had disappeared behind a curtain, Verdu collapsed onto a cushion and nearly pulled Chenda down with him. He shivered uncontrollably.

Nameer, who had joined the party en route to Verdu’s rooms, knelt down beside his monarch and brushed away several layers of Verdu’s clothing. The garments closest to his chest were soaked in blood.

“The wound has torn open. We need to get this bleeding stopped,” Nameer said.

“I’ll fetch Kingston,” the captain said, and dashed out of the room.

Candice and Chenda looked down at Verdu, whose eyes had rolled into his head and closed. Candice said, “Unless we want to have a second coronation tomorrow, this bleeding needs to be stopped now. Chenda, you can do it. If you heat the wound, the platelets in his blood will contract and clot. You can surely do that.”

Chenda swallowed hard. “Won’t that hurt—a lot?”

“Not you,” Candice said. “I’m rather hoping it hurts him, as that will mean he’s not too far gone.”

Candice waved for Fenimore to lie across Verdu’s legs and Ahy-Me to hold down his left arm while Candice held down his right. Blood was oozing in rivulets from Verdu’s chest, the wound now jagged from the many ripped stitches. Chenda bit her lip.

“Get on with the cauterization, girl, before he runs dry!” Candice ordered.

“There are so many factors—how hot, how long—I don’t know. Where is Kingston?” Chenda was close to hysteria. Fenimore put a hand on her hip, reassuring her with his touch.

“Sh . . . Don’t panic,” he said. “Just go slow. You’ve shown remarkable skill and control. Just try.”

Chenda took a deep breath. The power within her itched again. She held it firmly in her grasp and pulled out her steel knife. Stripping a few molecules from a bit of iron in the hilt, she found a spark and began to work with the heat, pushing it into the tip of the knife and pressing it into the wound. The sizzle and the smell made Fenimore and Candice turn their heads away, but Ahy-Me kept her attention on Verdu, talking in his ear, answering each moan with soothing words, her lips close enough that he could both hear her and feel her breath.

Chenda concentrated, and every twitch and whimper coming from her semiconscious patient pulled at her focus. She feared she was doing more damage than good. After several long minutes, the trickles of blood stopped running from his chest, in many of the places.

She was nearly finished when Captain Endicott came running back with Kingston, who dropped his medical bag and started examining Verdu. It was remarkable to watch the plump, jovial cook transform into his previous occupation, a serious and skilled physician. For a moment he observed what Chenda had done, and then began to guide her.