Dardanalti considered this.
‘You sound as if you expect me to be convinced,’ said the Janjuladoola lawyer. ‘But I am not. You suggest major changes in the practices to which Al’three has been devoted. Whatever the truth, Untunchilamon knows nothing of such changes. Friend Uckermark! I wish to speak to you privily. Come, let us withdraw.’
Then Dardanalti and Uckermark left the newcomers alone.
Once the Janjuladoola lawyer and the fire-scarred corpse-master had secured their privacy, Dardanalti said:
‘We’ll let them sweat for a while.’
‘Do you believe them?’ said Uckermark.
‘No,’ said Dardanalti, speaking frankly. ‘But, even so, they may have potential. If we can make the world believe them to be genuine.’
‘Difficult, difficult,’ said Uckermark. ‘Particularly when they’re such patent frauds. However…’
The corpse-master had an idea.
Back in Bro Drumel’s quarters, Manthandros Trasilika said to Jean Froissart:
‘Well. What do you think our interrogators are talking about?’
‘Nothing,’ said Froissart. ‘I think they’ve left us here to have discourse with our fear and panic.’
‘Then their ends are being fulfilled,’ said Trasilika. ‘I don’t like this at all. I don’t think they believe us.’
‘I’m sure they don’t,’ said Froissart.
‘But it’s true!’ said Trasilika.
It was, too.
Manthandros Trasilika and Jean Froissart had been associated with Aldarch the Third, the dreaded Mutilator of Yestron, thoughout the seven years of Talonsklavara. First they had supplied the Aldarch armies with weaponry, mostly cheap-shatter swords from the Collosnon Empire. Later, after proving themselves as spies, they had helped organize an intelligence service to supply the Mutilator with hard data on his enemies.
At last, Aldarch III had shown his gratitude by making Manthandros Trasilika the wazir of Bolfrigalaskaptiko (albeit briefly) and by then dispatching him to Untunchilamon with Jean Froissart as his priest.
‘What now, then?’ said Trasilika.
‘Sleep,’ answered Froissart simply.
‘Most excellent of counsels!’ said Trasilika.
And the two men laid themselves down on Bro Drumel’s couches to rest, conserving their energies for whatever challenges their captors might next confront them with.
Both children of Wen Endex were sound asleep when Dardanalti and Uckermark returned in the company of a figure both cowled and masked.
‘May we know your name?’ said Froissart to the personage thus so s trangely garbed.
‘This man is for the moment but an observer,’ said Dardanalti. ‘He comes from Justina’s household. Apart from that, his name and genesis do not concern you.’ ‘Then why is he here?’ said Froissart.
‘Because he has a certain expertise in the conduct of trials by or deal,’ said Dardanalti.
‘What?!’ said Froissart. ‘You don’t mean-’
‘You heard me,’ said Dardanalti remorselessly. ‘You know yourself thought a fraud. There is only this single way for you to prove yourself.’
‘What way?’ said Manthandros Trasilika in some bewilderment.
‘He knows,’ said Dardanalti, nodding at Froissart. ‘Tell,’ said Tr asilika curtly.
‘There is one way for you to prove yourself,’ said Dardanalti, add ressing himself to Froissart.
Who did not answer.
‘How?’ said Manthandros Trasilika.
‘If your priest will undergo trial by ordeal to prove himself true,’ said Dardanalti, ‘then his survival of such trial must necessarily prove the truth of his words.’
‘I have documents to prove my case,’ said Froissart desperately. ‘I’m a priest of Zoz. Five years ago I converted.’
‘We’ve been through all that,’ said Dardanalti, with a trace of weariness. ‘The last wazir and priest also had documents. Perfect documents. They died.’
‘We can prove who they were,’ said Froissart. ‘Associates of ours, that’s who they were. I can guess their, their names. They must’ve been-’
‘Names from your past mean nothing to our future,’ said Dardanalti. ‘What matters is that you are outwardly no different to those we executed.’
‘No different,’ said Froissart.
‘Those we slaughtered were children of Wen Endex unknown to any in
Untunchilamon,’ said Dardanalti.
‘You are the same. They had documents, and you-’’
‘All right,’ said Trasilika. ‘If a trial by ordeal-’
‘No!’ said Froissart. ‘No ordeal!’
‘But you are a priest,’ said Dardanalti. ‘Is not the ordeal the classic way for a priest of Zoz to prove himself true?’
‘Yes,’ said Froissart. ‘But, but-’
Uckermark laughed.
‘Come,’ said the corpse-master. ‘We’ve played with our guest for long enough. Let’s settle to business.’
Then Uckermark took it upon himself to explain what was truly proposed. The Empress Justina would make available resources (and Uckermark elaborated the nature of those resources) which would make it possible for Jean Froissart to come through a trial by ordeal unscathed. By surviving such a trial, Froissart would prove himself a true priest of Zoz, thus escaping the execution which would befall him were he to be thought false.
‘All we ask in return,’ said Uckermark, ’is that you pardon the Empress Justina and those arraigned alongside her.’
Then he explained the imperial predicament.
At last, Froissart said:
‘We would like to agree with this proposal, but Aldarch the Third gave us explicit orders. The witch must die.’
‘Then,’ said Dardanalti, ‘you will most certainly die with her.’
At which point Manthandros Trasilika intervened. He wiped the sweat from his fleshy face, leaned forward and said:
‘Enough bickering. We agree.’
‘We agree?’ said Froissart, startled.
‘We do indeed,’ said Trasilika.
‘But,’ objected Froissart, ‘it would seem to me the risks of this enterprise are all mine.’
‘No,’ said Trasilika. ‘For if you fail your trial by ordeal then I must surely die with you. Very well. We have agreed. Now: how do I best announce myself as the incoming wazir?’
‘First,’ said Dardanalti, ‘I will send for the harbour master, that he may greet you as is his right and duty. The pilot, too, for there is a fee you owe him. Nor may you escape the importuning of the ladipti man, for his charge is certain though his function is but mystical at best.’
So spoke Dardanalti; then he dispatched messengers to summon those vital personages to the stronghold of Moremo.
Thus the political struggle for control of Injiltaprajura and the island of Untunchilamon entered its most delicate and most interesting phase, with the salvation of many lives depending on the outcome of the strategies of deceit masterminded by the corpse-master Uckermark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Nadalastabstala Banraithanchumun Ek, High Priest of Zoz the Ancestral for the island of Untunchilamon, was
