CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Perhaps it was the water he had drunk, or perhaps it was the wounds inflicted by Her claws. Whatever the cause, Alfric was feverish long before he reached the Stanch Gates. And whatever his fever, such was the virulence of its onset that he collapsed in the muck scarcely a hundred paces from those Gates, and was picked up and taken to the city hospital by the gate guards.
A hospital bed claimed him. The sheets of the bed were stiff with the blood of whoever had died in it last, but this did nothing whatsoever to discourage the lice and bedbugs.
Alfric paid no heed to insectile assaults, for fever was the world in which he lived. He grappled with demons which strove to pulverize his liver with starhammers and dragon gongs. The dead came to him, and the unborn, their animating spirits stirring through the jaded air. Often he talked with them, or listened to politicking ghosts bickering in his nostrils, or to the worms which he imagined to be hollowing their way through his bones.
In lucid moments, Alfric listened to his neighbour, a demented old man who, believing himself a historian of the ruling oligarchies of the universe, lectured the world at length on the cornerstones of time itself and the flamboyant mysteries of the sun.
But always fever returned.
Living in a world which owed more to hallucination than to anything else, Alfric began to believe that the air itself had turned to liquid fire, and he made frantic efforts to brush it away with his hands before it could flow into his lungs.
But always the air got in, and the pain of breathing suggested the air was fire indeed. This agony was part of the ever-accumulating evidence which suggested to Alfric that he was going to die. His symptoms were so various that, in time, he accumulated encyclopedic evidence to that effect. His hands crabbed; his joints ached; his intestines writhed; his muscles cramped; and he had visions of Herself, Her flesh swollen to corpse-green yellow, and flickering fire kicking in dragon-spasms from her ears.
In time, Alfric recovered, after a fashion. But he was still weak and slightly feverish when agents from the Bank arrived without warning and removed him from the hospital. Since Alfric was barely recovered from his hallucinations, he was too sick to argue against this abduction; and, lack of argument being taken as health sufficient, he was put aboard a cart and conveyed through the streets of Galsh Ebrek to the slopes of Mobius Kolb.
Then up those slopes.
Past the battlements of Saxo Pall.
And to (then into) the Bank itself. Alfric did not know whether he was honoured guest or prisoner, valued employee or uncrowned king. However, when servitors started helping him into his robes, he supposed that he was being accepted back into the organization on some level. His fears of immediate execution faded, though he was still somewhat confused and disorientated.
‘Would you like a meal before your meeting?’
‘My meeting?’
‘Your meeting with Comptroller Xzu. Well? Would you like a meal?’
‘Just a cup of tea, thanks,’ said Alfric.
So tea they brought him, jade tea imported from Obooloo by way of the Circle. It helped settle his stomach; and he felt calm and self-controlled by the time he had finished it.
Then he was taken to see Comptroller Xzu.
Before Alfric had marched against Herself, Xzu had asked him to delay that expedition for seven days. What had been the reason for that? Was Alfric going to find out? And would the Bank be pleased or displeased with the ultimate outcome of the expedition? And did it matter? Did Alfric need the Bank’s help, or could he make himself king without it?
All these questions and more were confused together in Alfric’s head.
(He had more questions? Yes, he had more indeed. He wondered what rate of interest he was getting on his call account with the Morgrim Bank of Chi’ash-lan, and how tea was faring on the commodities market, and whether there was an end to the drought in Tang; and, indeed, he wondered about half a thousand similar questions.)
Then he was entering Comptroller Xzu’s office.
‘Ah, Alfric, Alfric,’ said Xzu. And then, correcting himself without prompting: ‘My dear Izdarbolskobidarbix, how nice it is to have you back in the fold.’
‘I’m glad you’re glad to have me back,’ said Alfric stiffly. ‘I’m aware that the Bank cautioned me not to dare myself against Herself. Now that I have, and now that She is dead, I trust that there will be no long-term repercussions as a result of this act of mine.’
‘You trust correctly,’ said Xzu. ‘The Bank does not engage in childish vengeance. One does not throw away a sharp knife merely because it has happened to take a nick out of one’s finger. While your disobedience disappoints us, your disobedience is not crucial in determining your fate. What matters is your overall performance. Overall, you have performed very well, and have proved an asset to the organization.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Alfric.
‘Furthermore,’ said Xzu, ‘please be assured that exemplary work always attracts recognition and reward. We are certainly possessed of no superabundance of talent, hence we do our best to encourage and retain the talented. In your case, the Bank sees fit to reward you for all the good work you have put in over the last few years. Accordingly, we hereby create you Banker Second Class.’
‘That is appreciated,’ said Alfric dryly. Then: ‘I will remember this courtesy once I have made myself king.’
‘Ah, my dear Izdarbolskobidarbix,’ said Banker Xzu. ‘As I remember it, the case was not one of you making yourself king. Rather, you were going to ally yourself with the Bank in a campaign for that position. There is a difference, you know.’
‘I am sensible of the fact that it would be difficult for me to obtain the throne without assistance from the Bank,’ said Alfric, doing his best to suppress his impatience. ‘I am grateful to know that the Bank supports me in this endeavour. ’
‘Good,’ said Banker Xzu. ‘That speaks of a very mature attitude on your part toward politics and its complexities. Since you are possessed of such an attitude, ^ou will surely not take it amiss if I remind you of the fact that, in politics, what seems an appropriate enterprise today may come to seem quite the opposite on the morrow.’
‘That I grant,’ said Alfric cautiously.
Already, from the tenor of Banker Xzu’s speech, Alfric guessed that the Bank was not going to support him in his drive for the throne. Alfric’s promotion also suggested as much. After all, the Bank would scarcely have gone to the trouble to promote Alfric Danbrog to the rank of Banker Second Class if he were going to be king on the morrow. If the Bank truly expected him to be king, it would either not have bothered with the promotion, or else it would have promoted him straight to Banker First Class as a token of respect and esteem.
So.
After taking so much trouble to help Alfric complete his three quests, the Bank was finally withdrawing its support.
But why?
Why now?
‘As I have said,’ said Xzu, ‘today may think yesterday’s ambitions to be an error. In this case, the Bank’s ambition, which was to make you king, now seems to be such an error. The fault, of course, lies with the Bank itself, since the ambition was conceived by the Bank and was forced upon you against your will. We acknowledge that the error is ours, hence your promotion.’
‘I see,’ said Alfric. Then, delicately: ‘But I have always found clarity of vision to benefit from professional attentions. Would you care to serve as my oculist in this matter? To play the ogre to a half-blind Banker Second Class? To instruct me, in other words, in the actual reasons for this change of heart on the Bank’s part?’
Xzu sighed.
‘What you ask is very difficult,’ said Xzu. ‘Were I a glibly nimble master of fiction, I could conjure up a fetching
