It was more than Argento had done.
CHAPTER 15
FRIENDSHIP
Marvel Parsons spoke to King Michael late that night. He continued to have difficulty devising a believable reason for sending a convict Surgeon to attend the Royal Pardoness, so he decided not to mention it. Who else would tell Michael anything about the earless man, besides John Sousa, who was—as always—preoccupied to a fault with his divinations. The comets, whatever they were, had granted Marvel a fine enough distraction.
Yet he still keenly felt his duty to the king. Though he tried his best to ignore it, he could not help thinking of their friendship. Michael had been good to Marvel.
Perhaps this would be the last time they would meet. Marvel had mixed his poisons and made his bag ready. He could never have explained to Michael his decision to leave without notice. To disappear, to give up all agency. All responsibility. He probably could not have explained it to anyone.
The king lived in a simple three-room house far below the sweeping vistas and dizzying heights of his six beautiful spires. He had been eating a late dinner at his plain wooden table when Marvel arrived. “We have had an exciting day, haven’t we?” Michael spooned soup into his mouth, his blond beard glistening. “The comets. An outlaw carnival.”
“Very strange indeed.”
“I think surely these comets must signal the Return.” Michael laid his spoon on the rough wood and wiped his lips. “Sousa must draw up a horoscope. I wonder what planet is ascendant? If this is a favorable day?” He took a drink. His cup was wood, inside it only water, ever. “What a time to be alive, eh? You must admit it’s exciting.”
“Surely the outlaw carnival is more concerning.” He sighed. “You know, I think one of my new guards may be a spy.” He spoke offhandedly, but he’d already decided Juniper would go with him when he fled the Cape. The only way to ensure his loyalty was to remain friendly with him, to pay him as he’d promised, and to convince him, through the subtle art of manipulation, that it was Juniper’s own idea to bring Marvel back to Kansas with him. Marvel didn’t think it would be difficult; Juniper was an attractive man and Marvel liked him for more than his knowledge of the deathscapes. Trust would happen, if he gave it time. There was no need to torture him.
Michael waved a hand and spoke aloud what Marvel had already known he would say. “We have spies all the time. Have him executed if you think so. I don’t like to hear of it. Take some soup, Priest.”
So Marvel sat. “Michael, we are friends.”
“Of course so.”
“I have always thought you a fine king. Better than your father.”
Michael nodded. “I’ve tried.”
It was true that Michael was the best king the Cape had seen in generations. He was slow to judgment, kindly indifferent to women, he deeply trusted men more knowledgeable than himself, yet was not blind to poor character. He had executed many a false courtier upon the great execution stage, and ordered Marvel to take care of others more discreetly: unctions, potions, salves, tinctures, preparations. All that he had learned at the Black Watchtower, from the monks. And Michael had always trusted him to do what needed to be done.
Marvel ladled some soup from the pot that sat on the table. Michael ate the blandest gruel. It was part of his devotionals. “Sousa has a new assistant with him now—he freed him from the jail. He thinks this man is some kind of prophet. A visionary.”
“Is that so?” He took a sip of water. “John Sousa is not one to delegate responsibility. That’s always been my impression.”
“The man is a convict, as I said. A con-man. I think he has befuddled Sousa in order to secure his release from the jail.”
“Why is this a matter for my attention?” Michael said. Like a good king, he was rarely emotionally bound to the concerns of his advisors, even his most trusted confidant, Marvel Whiteside Parsons.
“Well. That your Chief Orbital Doctor may be under the sway of a convict. I thought you should know.”
“What has this got to do with our friendship?” He set his spoon on the table top.
“Nothing, sire.”
He chuckled again. “Then why did you bring it up?”
A swell of regret lifted Marvel, and as it crested he found he could not say any of the things he wanted—he would never have been able to say them anyway. That he was leaving as a traitor, soon to slink off like a dog in the night. That to set his own life back to rights, he must turn away from a good man, to leave him to his own fortune.
He regretted whatever might happen to Michael after he left. That was what he wanted to say but did not say.
He noticed Michael looking intently at him, his eyes overcast with worry. “I wonder,” Michael said in a slow voice, “why you are more concerned with John Sousa than with the lights in the sky? I would think you would be enraptured even to think this could be the Return. I know I am.”
Marvel smiled, a bit sad. “I have always detested Sousa. Much to your chagrin, I know. The thought of him wasting his time with that charlatan galls me. Especially”—he motioned upward, at the sky—“when we have real evidence right in front of us.”
Michael slapped the table. “So you think the lights may be the Return after all? I must have a horoscope about it. You sly dog. You had me going.”
“They may be comets. Or meteors. They may signify death for us all.”
“Surely they would have hit the earth by now if they were meteors,” Michael said, though
