Each of the ruffians exhibited different colors on their persons. Surely they represented different carnivals. Try as he might, John could not recall the names of even the more famous carnivals in history, even though he’d learnt a rhyme as a school-boy that listed them all.
They all sat down opposite them at the long table. This close, they seemed no less foreign—faces uniformly hardened, sun-speckled from the past summer’s adventures. Two of them were darker, obviously brothers. One was a stocky pale-beard, the other tall and dark-skinned. The last was the youngest, who wore his oiled hair in a center part and plaited down his back in some ghastly outlaw style. He sat upon the cushioned chair with a dreamy aplomb, taking in the great hall and all the beautiful wall hangings and carpets and seemed singularly delighted by all of it. His face was the face of an innocent dreaming.
The Hierophant had several folders ready, large vellum envelopes he shuffled pointedly as the five men arranged themselves at the table. The innocent-looking man laughed softly. “Well, gentlemen, I won’t beat around the bush,” he said. “That would be undignified, wouldn’t it?”
The Hierophant cleared his throat pointedly. “It is customary that introductions are made before any business is discussed. And then it will be the king who speaks first.”
The man grinned. “Is that so? I have so much to learn about decorum. By all means, let us introduct, then!” He swept his arms out. “I am Mr. Capulatio, chief executioner of the Atlantis carnival, my carnival, which if you will recall was once the carnival of the Prophetess Lois, whose son I did wrest control of it from some years ago. This radiant star is my first wife, my scribe. As you can see, she is a breathtaking personage. A power beyond powers. These men are my Adepts, my Orbiters, my constituent brothers—”
The Hierophant held up a small bottle. “Before introductions even—if you had given me a moment to speak—I must insist that we bless this meeting with an unction I have prepared.”
The four other men exchanged concerned glances, finally turning to Mr. Capulatio. He continued to smile. “Ah, but we don’t share your religion, Priest. That is the very crux of our problem.” He spread his hands. “We don’t wish to offend, never that. But we won’t be blessed by any unction concocted by the priest of a man whom we know to be a false king.”
Michael barely raised an eyebrow. “Am I a false king?” He looked to Marvel, John, Tygo, the guards, his expression one of pure enchantment. “I had no idea.”
Mr. Capulatio continued to grin, the corners of the mouth drawn up unflappably. He met each of their eyes in turn, including John’s. “Yes. A false king. I am the True King, you see. I can’t blame you for not knowing. There’s probably no way you could’ve known.”
Michael’s own smile did not falter. “I had thought I was king. I live here. I’ve lived here all my life. That’s because my father was king and his father before that and so on. I had supposed that made me the king also.” He began to laugh, then looked to John and Tygo as if to say, Is this truly happening? “So you and your band of men have traveled all this way in an illegal season to tell me—quite politely, might I add—that I am not the king after all?” He pushed up his sleeves and revealed his blond arms, where he wore a bracelet of metal forged from the launchsite. He said, “If this is true, I believe I’ve heard enough.” He paused, glancing at John specifically. “Though I would be interested to know what divination you used to reach this conclusion, I doubt I’ll be encouraged to stay and listen.”
Marvel chuckled. “This man is obviously mad. It seems the zealots can still organize themselves from time to time.” He raised a hand and two of the guards advanced on the table with their pikes drawn.
The woman shook her head. Her face was so pale that John wondered if she would be sick. Her hair, colorless and wispy as a girl’s, was parted low on her forehead so she appeared to have a very small face—upon which all her features were tight and refined. The hair was shining markedly for having no particular color. He decided he found her beautiful although he did not know if she actually was. “He’s not mad,” she said in a slow voice. “He is the True King.”
The Hierophant continued to shake his head.
The woman went on stiffly, “Astrologically speaking, there can be no fault to his claim. We have evidence. Years of scholarly study done by myself and my predecessors led us to this man, at this time, and now that we have arrived at the correct location, the last piece of the puzzle has fallen into place. There are records we could present you here if you want to read them.”
“O, but what evidence do you need beside the lights in the sky?” Mr. Capulatio pointed to the tall windows. “I’m here. They’re here. I’m sure you don’t know, because how could
