'You will?' Trokoundos said again. Those heavy-lidded eyes widened. 'Thank you very much. That's most gracious of you.'
'I serve his Majesty,' Krispos said, as he had to Gnatios. 'How much do you think you'll need?' However much it was, he would cheerfully pay it. If Trokoundos was going to set Anthimos to transcribing several hundred pages' worth of magical spells, he thought, the Avtokrator would not stay interested in sorcery for long. And that suited Krispos just fine.
'Gnatios is not happy with you,' Petronas said a couple of days later, when Krispos found a chance to tell him how the ceremony had gone.
'Why, Highness?' Krispos asked. 'I didn't think it was a matter of any importance, especially since Anthimos is going to build another temple to take the place of the one that got knocked down.'
'Put that way, you're right.' Despite reassuring words, Petronas still studied Krispos through narrowed eyes. 'My cousin the patriarch, though, is, shall we say, unused to being faced down in front of the Emperor and having to do something he did not care to do in consequence.'
'I wasn't trying to embarrass him,' Krispos protested.
'You succeeded nevertheless,' Petronas said. 'Well, let it go. I'll soothe Gnatios' ruffled feathers for him. I didn't think you were quite so good at getting folk—especially a strong-willed fellow like my cousin—to go along with you.'
'Oh,' Krispos said. 'You wanted me to be vestiarios because you thought I'd be able to help get Anthimos to do what you wanted. Why are you angry if I can do the same thing with someone else for his Majesty?'
'I'm not angry. Merely ... thoughtful,' the Sevastokrator said.
Krispos sighed, but consoled himself by remembering that Petronas never had trusted him much. He didn't think this latest brush would hurt his standing with Anthimos' uncle.
Petronas went on, 'What's this I hear about some wizard sucking up to the Emperor?'
'Oh, that. I think I took care of that.' Krispos explained how he'd given Trokoundos exactly what he wanted.
The Sevastokrator laughed out loud. 'You'd kill a cat by drowning it in cream. That's better than I would have done; I'd have just sent the beggar packing, which would have made Anthimos sulk. And I don't need him sulking right now.'
'The talks with the Makuraners aren't going well?' Krispos asked.
'They're not the problem,' Petronas said. 'The Makuraners like talk as much as we Videssians, and that's saying something. I just need to keep them talking a while longer, till I'm ready to fight. But I don't like the rumbles I hear out of Kubrat. Malomir's stayed quiet ever since old Omurtag died. If he decided to start raiding us now, then the war with Makuran might have to wait, and I don't want it to wait. I've waited too long already. ' He pounded a fist down on the padded arm of his chair.
Krispos nodded. Thinking of nomad horsemen sweeping down from the north could make him shiver even now. And if Videssos' armies were fully engaged in the far west, raids from Kubrat could reach all the way down to the walls of Videssos the city. The capital had stood Kubrati siege a couple of times. He wondered if the frontier with Kubrat wasn't more important than the one with Makuran, which would stay peaceful for a while if Petronas didn't stir it up.
Was he right? He wasn't sure himself; as the Sevastokrator had warned him, he'd had no practice making that kind of judgment. Maybe it wouldn't matter either way; maybe the Kubratoi would let themselves be bought off, as they sometimes did. He hoped so. Things would be simpler that way.
The higher he'd risen, though, and the closer he'd come to real power, the more complicated things looked.
Anthimos kept at his magical studies with a persistence that startled Krispos. While his new sanctum rose from the ruins of the temple, he transcribed texts at the imperial residence. Krispos had to go over to the clerks who scribbled by the Grand Courtroom to find out how they got ink off their fingers. When he fetched back some small pumice stones, Anthimos praised him to the skies.
'That's plenty for today,' the Emperor said one hot, muggy summer afternoon, coming out of his study wringing his writing hand. 'All work makes a man dull. What do we have laid on for tonight?'
'The feast features a troupe that performs with large dogs and tiny ponies,' Krispos answered.
'Does it? Well, that should give the servants something new to clean up.' Anthimos started down the hall. 'Which robe have you chosen for me?'
'The blue silk. It should be coolest in this weather. Excuse me, your Majesty,' Krispos called to the Emperor's retreating back, 'but I believe you've forgotten something.'
Anthimos stopped. 'What's that?'
'Your fingers are still stained. You forgot to pumice them, you want people to say the Avtokrator of the Videssians is his own secretary? Here, let me fetch you a stone.'
Anthimos looked down at his right hand. 'I did forget to clean off, didn't I?' Now it was his turn to make Krispos pause. 'You needn't bring me the pumice stone. I can take care of this myself, I think.'
Intense concentration on his face, the Emperor spread the ink-stained fingers of his writing hand. He waved his left hand above it and raised his voice in a rhythmic chant. Suddenly he cried out and clenched both hands into fists. When he opened them, they were both clean.
Krispos made the sun-sign over his heart. 'You did it!' he exclaimed, then hoped he didn't sound as surprised as he felt.
'I certainly did,' Anthimos said smugly. 'A small application of the law of contagion, which states that objects once in contact may continue to influence one another. As that pumice had so often scoured my fingers, I simply re-created the cleansing action by magical means.'
'I didn't realize you could start working magic before you had all your spells copied out,' Krispos said. 'Do you want me to take the pumice stones back to the clerks I got them from?'
