Alexander, Lloyd - Vesper Holly 01 (10 page)

"What about breakfast?" Vesper said, when she finished giving Osman an account of the conspiracy. She stretched out her legs on the divan in the royal apanment, where Osman had conducted us. The dear girl looked travel-worn, but unharmed and reasonably clean. I had never been happier to see anyone in my life.

"Your news has made me forget the obligations of hospitality." Osman, indeed, had been visibly shaken though he tried his best to cover it up. "A monarch should not be surprised by treachery. Nevertheless, Miss Holly, I owe you my life. You shall receive far more than a breakfast."

"Nilo's the one to thank," said Vesper. "He and his friends got us here in time."

"Against my will and against my better judgment." Until now, Nilo had been standing apart, arms folded, a dour expression on his face.

"But you did it, even so." Vesper turned to Osman.

"There's something else I have to tell you. Nilo isn't our dragoman. He used to be, for a while. But, as things turned out—"

"Lincilla, " Nilo broke in, "let the Zentan king hear it from my own lips and know that I and my people defy him. I am Vartan."

Nilo, I thought, could have gone at it a litde more tactfully. The king, after all, had barely recovered from his first shock. Osman sprang to his feet.

"How do you dare—" Osman's face had gone livid, his fists clenched. He rounded on Vesper. "Miss Holly, you know this is my sworn enemy. Yet, you bring him under my roof? You wish me to believe he had a part in saving my life? If he did, I reject it. I owe him nothing."

"You still owe me something," said Vesper. "You promised me a favor. I'll claim it now: Nilo's safety as long as he's with us."

"I made a promise and shall keep it," replied Osman. "Now I make another. Once he is out of your protection, he and his rebels shall have no mercy."

"We do not ask it," flung back Nilo, "nor shall we give it."

"You'll both be glad to change your minds," Vesper put in. "Nilo, you're forgetting that Osman doesn't know about the chess piece. When he does, he'll feel a lot differently."

"So you led me to believe, Lincilla, " replied Nilo. "I doubted it then. I doubt it now."

Vesper unwrapped the bundle she had been carrying and held up the figure of Ahmad. "On the way here, I had a good look at it. The inscription's in Old Illyrian. Nilo and I managed to translate it: I reach out my hand in peace.

"Ahmad's gift never reached Vartan. I wish it had. The inscription, by the way, means exactly what it says. I found that out too. Here, I'll show you. The arm's jointed.

"The piece isn't important," Vesper added. "Not by itself. It's made to hold something."

Vesper carefully raised the chess king's arm. The front portion of the figure swung open—with some difficulty, for the spring mechanism had been unused for centuries. As Vesper showed us, the piece was, in effect, a container.

It was empty.

I could not stifle a groan of dismay. We had been almost blown to bits, buried alive, chased over the countryside— for nothing.

"No," said Vesper. "For more than we could have guessed. Osman told me, the first time we met, he wished for something to let him make an honorable peace. Well, there was something. Helvitius and Ergon Pasha found out about it from the old archives. Helvitius knew it had to be destroyed. If it had come to light, Osman could have made terms with the lUyrians. They'd have supported him and helped him build up the country—as Osman always wanted. Helvitius and his concessions and trade licenses would have been out the window. Ahmad's gift really was a gift beyond price."

"Dear girl," I cried, "then where is it.**"

"I gave it away," said Vesper. "I gave it to the one who was suppMDsed to have it in the first place—Vartan. The newest Vartan, anyway. Go on, Nilo, let them see for themselves."

Nilo pulled a roll of parchment from his jacket and passed it to Vesper. "I trust only your hands to hold this."

"Osman won't tear it up," Vesper said. "Not when he realizes that it's a message from Ahmad to Vartan. Better than a message. I'd call it an official state document.

"Without going through all the old-style language, what Ahmad says here is that he offers peace between Zentans and Illyrians and all their descendants. He declares that the country belongs to both alike. From now on, they will fight only on the chessboard, not the battlefield. Ahmad was a gallant king, so was Vartan. As they were in the Illyriad. "

"Lincilla, " said Nilo, "we are not dealing with heroes of legend. Those words were written generations ago."

"Then," said Vesper, "it's high time you both did something sensible about them. Nilo, you told me it was against your honor to beg. You said you wouldn't plead for what your people should have by right. You don't need to. That was settled long ago."

She turned to Osman. "You told me you'd give justice, but you wouldn't have it forced out of you. No one's forcing or threatening you now. I think you said something about following in the footsteps of King Ahmad. It seems to me he's made his footsteps very plain."

Vesper handed the parchment to Osman. He studied it, then passed it to me for my own examination. I scrutinized it and assured him there was no question in my mind: The document was genuine. I also tried to explain its exceptional value as a rare example of early Zentan calligraphy.

Osman appeared little interested in these details. He walked to his window and gazed out for some while, saying nothing.

"I warned you, Lincilla, " muttered Nilo. "He will not be bound by words on an ancient scrap of paper."

Osman turned back. "I am not Ahmad, nor are you Vartan. Yet, as in our lllyriad, once again an Illyrian has spared the life of a Zentan. I revere my ancestor, and shall do as he did. I, too, reach out my hand."

Which, in fact, he did—to the astonishment of Nilo, who hesitated a good long moment before grasping it.

"Remember what I said in the cave, Brinnie?" remarked Vesper. "The two of them were pulling at opposite ends of the same rope? I think they've just quit doing that."

"The trouble with skyrockets is," observed Vesper, "after the first couple of hundred, it's hard to tell the difference. The same with state banquets."

Her comments were justified. Official ceremonies, even the best intended, grow tiresome beyond a certain point. Therefore, I shall not dwell in detail on events following Osman's proclamation of equality for all his subjects. It suffices to say that Vesper, Nilo, and I were obliged to attend an assortment of formal dinners—indigestible to everyone but Vesper—and an endless round of diplomatic receptions—tedious to everyone, especially Vesper.

She did enjoy the rejoicing in the streets by the ethnic Illyrians—and by most of the Zentans, for that matter. Crowds gathered whenever she appeared and cheered her as much as they did Nilo and Osman. The Zentan women insisted upon wearing pantaloons copied after her own. The admiration showered on her would have turned the head even of a Philadelphian, but the dear girl took it all in stride.

On our last ceremonial occasion, Osman awarded her the Illyrian Star of Honor, First Class. I received a kind of certificate of merit.

"It doesn't give you half enough credit," remarked Vesper, "but the lettering's nice."

We spent the summer excavating the temple and retrieved the statuary undamaged. Vesper carefully mapped the site for the benefit of future scholars and prepared an excellent sketch of the temple as she supposed it had been in its original state. (This information later appeared in the monograph she wrote and published along with proof of her father's theory.)

A prolonged search revealed no trace of Ergon Pasha or Colonel Zalik. They had, no doubt, betaken themselves to some obscure corner of the world. Helvitius, too, had vanished.

"I'd like it better if I knew where he was," Vesper said. "I'd rather keep an eye on him than him keep an eye on us. He's not the sort who'll forgive and forget."

Nilo came to Alba-Collia as often as he could, to observe our progress, though his own duties occupied much of his time. He had agreed to serve as the king's adviser as long as Osman required.

Vesper showed no sign of wanting to leave Illyria. Only when I insisted, reminding her we had much to do at home, did she reluctantly agree. We embarked late in September after a final audience with Osman.

"Take with you the gratitude of my people," he said, "and. Miss Holly, the affection of their king."

Osman, I noticed, appeared quite downcast at Vesper's departure. So did Nilo, even more so.

He came to see us off, and I expected him to trot out an old Illyrian proverb. He only grinned at me and said that if I ever needed a dragoman, he hoped I would keep him in mind. (I presumed he was merely indulging in Illyrian humor and did not intend his offer to be taken seriously.)

"Graciva Lincilla, " he said, putting his hands on Vesper's shoulder, "you have done more than Vartan himself. Think of him as he thinks of you."

"I won't forget Vartan," replied Vesper, "but I'll remember him better as Nilo."

Vesper embraced him and ran to her cabin. When I joined her, I observed that she was crying—the first time I had seen her give way to such behavior.

To cheer her up, I pointed out that she had saved a king's life, prevented a civil war, triumphed over her father's detractors, foiled an abominable villain, and contributed to scholarly knowledge. Only then did I suspect she had acquired a broken heart into the bargain.

Poor child, my own heart ached for her. While some maintain that such emotions in the young are no worse than a skinned knee, I believe they are as painful as they are to an adult. Vesper, nevertheless, was not given to moping. Except for an occasional watery look, she regained her usual spirits—by my reckoning, shortly after we left the Azores.

One further ordeal awaited us. The newspaper press had got wind of Vesper's exploits and a number of journalists met us when we docked. Vesper gave them a simple statement of the facts, but the press felt obliged to embroider it. One journal described her as "crowned with tresses of richly glowing amber; her alabaster features illumined with orbs of emerald hue, coruscating like twin jewels." Another depicted her as leading an army of Illyrian patriots, grappling hand to hand with a murderous hairdresser, and planting the Stars and Stripes on the summit of Mount Albor. (I was mentioned in passing, my name printed as "Burton Garter.")

In Philadelphia, happily reunited with my dear Mary, with Moggie the cat, my beehives, my unfinished history, and my work on Holly's papers, I prepared to settle into a life of tranquil industry.

Vesper's behavior of late has, however, given me cause for uneasiness. I cannot precisely lay my finger on it. She has been plunking her banjo as usual, rummaging in the library, delving into almanacs, and even scanning the newspapers. Harmless occupations individually, taken all together they convey a certain restlessness.

The dear girl, I fear, may be contemplating some alarming, disruptive, perhaps dangerous project. In which case, I would naturally do all in my power to keep her from any such rash or foolhardy enterprise. Unless she wished me to accompany her.