Trekmaster. James B. Johnson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ you see how our ancestors changed things. Can we not also?”

      Valdez stammered. “My group, Sire, understands, but we have tasked ourselves with preservation. It is all important.”

      “How many in your group?”

      “Nearly a hundred. Sire. We have an enclave just outside Figgeredwrong.”

      “Ah.”

      Kellen watched Wouk bursting to respond. But the King didn’t seem to notice.

      The King turned to the herald. “Have your scribes amend those royal decrees mentioned. I want them sprinkled liberally with the words ‘common sense’ and like that.”

      The herald motioned and a secretary hastily wrote down the King’s words.

      “Also, I want the following: the aqueduct to begin construction as soon as possible. The sons of ecology or whatever the hell their name is,” he glared at Valdez, who seemed to be shrinking in place, “shall gather buggaloes and dry them and sell them for heating and cooking fires. They will turn in the receipts to the province until those monies equal the amount spent on idle construction crews. Lastly, there is to be no connection of running water to their enclave. If they choose to remain together as a group in that place and do not maintain minimum sanitary conditions, they are to be taxed enough money to pay for cleanup. If, after all this, they still be recalcitrant, then come and see me again.”

      Wouk appeared both pleased with his victory and frightened by the King’s wrath. Valdez looked crestfallen.

      Sharon Gold leaned toward Kellen and asked in a low voice, “Whatever are buggaloes?”

      “Chips,” he said and when she shook her head she still didn’t understand, he added, “manure.” She looked startled and nodded understanding.

      It seemed to Kellen that even though the King might have been right, he could have handled the situation far more delicately, and at least commend Valdez and his group for their interest in the well-being of Bear Ridge. But obviously, this monarch had no patience, no tact, no diplomacy. Thinking this merely hardened Kellen’s resolve.

      As Wouk and Valdez left, Kellen saw the King brighten as though disposing of something distasteful.

      “And now,” the King said, “Kellen Sing.” He smiled.

      Momentarily awed by the sheer presence of the man, Kellen drew himself up straighter. He could not help but remember what had happened to Valdez. Was that a subtle warning to him by the King? Did the King suspect? Of course he suspected something, his eyes showed it. Kellen knew he must follow his original plans. He bowed. The King is a formidable opponent to engage, thought Kellen Sing and swallowed with difficulty.

      The King stepped over to him and reached out his hand. Kellen grasped the hand in return, surprised by the gesture. The King’s hand was tough and callused, and not for the first time did Kellen glance at the not-so-ceremonial sword. In a detached portion of his mind, Kellen realized that the King’s calluses matched the ridges on the hilt of the sword. Kellen smelled the sour odor from the snarv.

      “Sire.” Kellen responded, finding he had to apply more pressure than usual in his handshake to match the King’s grip. Queen Gwendlyon approached with a formal smile and held out her hand.

      Kellen sensed the test and bent and brushed his lips just above the back of her hand. The Queen nodded, which told him he’d done the right thing.

      The King introduced him to the Federation Envoy. “Kellen Sing, may I present Ambassador Plenipotentiary Gold?”

      The willowy lady from off-planet stretched her arm and Kellen sensed that he should shake her hand, not kiss it. He’d passed another test.

      “You play most beautifully,” she said. Her accent was strange: nonetheless, her voice seemed to call to him personally.

      “Thank you.”

      “The thumb drum is new to me,” she said. “I’ve seen nothing like it on any of the Federation worlds I’ve visited.”

      “Special wood, my lady, hewn from the yowel tree peculiar to my province; and the skin is from the hide of the volv.” He didn’t want to tell her that the volv’s testicle pack was the skin used. “It is dried and cured and stretched over the yowel wood base.”

      “The wood also makes fine bows,” the King pointed out.

      “Found only on the planet of Bear Ridge, Your Majesty?” asked Sharon Gold.

      “A mutation caused by the atmospheric conditions of Bear Ridge,” replied the King. “There are similarities between the yowel tree and others originally transported from Earthe.”

      She looked questioningly at the King.

      He shrugged. “Our science—biological, chemical, physical—is not as advanced as we would have it. All those centuries in rebuilding—but with admission to the Fed, well....”

      “That is yet to be determined. Your Highness,” said Sharon Gold.

      “It is, isn’t it?” the King said enigmatically.

      Kellen wished he knew what the byplay was about. He felt forgotten.

      Queen Gwendlyon said, “Thomas, about the boy....”

      “Ah, yes. Schooling it is you wish?”

      “Yes, Your Majesty.”

      “Most would take the coin and hustle back to their province and become a local celebrity, building their status, milking it for everything.”

      Kellen again became uncomfortable as the King’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword and his eyes bored into Kellen’s. Kellen knew he was supposed to answer, but how could he answer what the King had just said?

      “Sire, I do not seek recognition for something I have found to be a simple achievement. Thumb drumming is easy.” His courage grew as he spoke, ‘It is my dream, Sire, to learn; this I consider significant above all else. What good is money if you have few needs? And my needs are to expand my mind, to discover new ideas and concepts, to learn of my heritage through history, to seek mathematical relationships.” Kellen was serious but knew it sounded like he was piling it on too thick.

      “I believe he means it,” the King said to nobody in particular. He glanced at the Queen, who nodded almost imperceptively. “May I speak with you alone for a moment?” He took Kellen’s arm and guided him into the corner next to the jester who seemed to stare vacantly up at them.

      In a low voice that no one could hear, Thomas Jefferson Rex said. “Cut the crap, fellow. What is it you want?”

      Kellen was taken aback. The jester seemed to tense. “But...but...Your Majesty....” He thought swiftly. Kellen knew little of psychology, but he knew he had an inner grasp of how to handle people and situations that was almost preternatural and he didn’t hesitate to use it here. He drew himself up and with a cold, formal voice, said, “Sire. If you think I have been playing some game, you are in error.” He projected sincerity. He well knew that he shouldn’t have called the King “in error.” Framed by the beard, the King’s face froze.

      Suddenly, СКАЧАТЬ