"04 - Emperor and Clown 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

all now. And ceremonial things he hated and usually got beaten after, for
fidgeting at. The price of being the heir, Moms said, but it was all Ythbane's
idea.
The woman delegate on her knees had forgotten her words. She stopped, turning
ashen pale. Shandie felt sorry for her, wondering if the city fathers would
order her beaten when she went home to wherever-itwas. The silence dragged on.
No one helped, or could help. The line of ministers remained motionless, staring
over her at the opposing line, which was made up of heralds and secretaries.
Farther away, the large group of delegates-who-had-done-their-speech looked
hugely relieved that this wasn't their problem. The small group of
delegates-who-haven't-done-it-yet looked terrified.
The woman began all over again from first genuflection, gabbling the words in a
shrill voice. The senators in their comfortable chairs were paying no attention.
Those spectator benches went all the way around, except where the four aisles
were, of course, but they still left lots of room in the middle. And in the
center of that big round floor were the two round steps with Grandfather's
throne on top. Today was a north day; northern cities paying homage, the Opal
Throne facing north. Halfway between Shandie and the senators, the White Throne
stood on a single step. That place belonged to the warden of the north, but it
was empty. Shandie had never seen a warden. Not many people had. And nobody ever
wanted even to talk about them, even Grandfather, but he at least wasn't scared
of them. He was imperor, so he could summon the wardens.
One day I will be imperor and use Emine's buckler to summon the wardens.
Even before Grandfather got old, he had not been frightened of the witch and the
warlocks. They couldn't touch him, he'd said; that was in the Protocol.
No one could use magic on Shandie, either, because he was family. Not that being
heir apparent was much comfort when he was bent over Ythbane's writing table
with his pants down. Any magic would be better than that.
The poor woman came to an end at last; eyes turned toward the throne; Shandie
stopped breathing again. The pins and needles in his left arm were making his
eyes water. If he wriggled his fingers just a little, very slowly, surely no one
would notice and tell Ythbane he'd been fidgeting?
Ythbane spoke for Grandfather again; -the woman scrabbled away; another delegate
came forward to kneel.
Tomorrow would be East's turn-eastern cities bringing greetings, Grandfather
seated facing east, toward the Gold Throne. Moms and Shandie, too. The senators
would have the eastern seats, facing west. He wondered how the senators chose
who came on which day, because that wasn't the whole Senate sitting there.
Not long to go now.
It was awfully hard to keep his knees from shaking, and they did hurt. He tried
to imagine the witch of the north suddenly appearing over there on her White
Throne, although it wasn't really white, being carved out of ivory. Bright Water
was a goblin, and hundreds of years old. He'd heard people muttering that maybe
she'd set the goblins on the Pondague legionaries, but he knew that only East
would use magic on Grandfather's army. What was the word? He'd seen it in his
history book. Pre-roga-tive! Prerogative (q.v.), whatever (q.v.) meant. Bright
Water's prerogative was Nordland raiders, but it was silly of the Protocol to
put a goblin woman in charge of jotunn sailors. South's was dragons and West's
was weather.
If Bright Water ever did appear on her throne, then likely all the warlocks