Star of Gypsies
- Автор: Силверберг Роберт
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «Star of Gypsies». Краткое содержание книги:
For now. But he would be on hand to play his part in the cataclysmic events that lay just ahead.
THE CRYSTALLINE STEPS ONCE AGAIN. THE THRONE-PLATFORM, far above me. How many times over the many decades of my life had I stood on the great slab of onyx at the base of that lofty seat of power, staring upward at the ruler of all the Gaje worlds?
I had never seen the Thirteenth, not in the flesh. I was too far from the center of power then. The emperor of my childhood, he was, and well on into my early manhood too, living on forever and forever. I had seen his image on the screens of a dozen worlds, though: the little weary waxen-faced man, perched high atop his onyx platform. Who could have imagined he would have lived so long? The Fourteenth was a different story, young and vigorous, coming to the throne with the avowed purpose of clearing away the cobwebs that had gathered during his predecessor's interminable reign. I made my first visits to court during his time. A slight-bodied dark-skinned man, almost Rom in color, with keen golden eyes and an easy smile, and the strength of a true emperor behind that smile. He came from Copperfield, as five of the emperors before him had done. It would be a lie to say that I had known him well, but I had seen him, I had even spoken to him two or three times. And then suddenly he was dead. There were rumors that he had been done away with, for having instituted too many reforms too quickly. And so came the Fifteenth, the shepherd of Ensalada Verde, in later years my friend and working partner, wise and good. Well, he too was gone now but I was still here, waiting by the crystal steps for the one who called himself the Sixteenth, this mingy miserly Periandros, the fourth emperor of my life. If indeed this was an emperor I stood before now, and not merely a vain pretender.
I listened for the trumpets. Yes, there they were. But not the old deafening glory. More of a pathetic blatting whoosh. Another of Periandros' petty economies? Or was it merely the flavor of the times, that made everything seemed a pale and meek shadow of its former self?
And the voice from the million loudspeakers. "Yakoub Nirano Rom, Rom baro, Rex Romaniorum!" They had the name and the titles right, yes. But there was no conviction there, no force. I remember once when I had been ghosting back to the old imperial Roman days on Earth and this Gaje empire enjoys some pretension of a link to that one, at least in certain of its borrowed ways and terminology-and it was the final days, just before the barbarians came hammering at the gates. Ordinarily one does not know that one lives in the final days of a great empire; one is aware only that things are not as good as they were reputed once to be. Knowledge of finality comes only after the fact, when the historians have come mincing in to provide some perspective. But those Romans in the final days knew that it was not just a bad time but the end of time, and you could see it in their eyes, in the gray look of their faces, in the slant of their shoulders. Everything about them cried out that the apocalypse was just around the corner. It was a little like that now. Decline and fall was in the air of the Capital. The old order was ending and God alone knew what was coming next; and even the trumpets and loudspeakers were faint and mildewed over with doubts.
"The Sixteenth Emperor of the Grand Imperium summons the Rex Romaniorurn before the throne," called out the major domo. And up those stairs I went. Again. Slowly. Not so much bounce in my stride as before. The gloom and depression here was contagious. I resolved to get myself away from this place as fast as I could, once I had completed my business with Periandros.
Within his fine robes he looked drawn, shrunken, haggard. The Periandros I remembered was a plump man, soft-skinned, with the look of a pleasure-lover about him, ripe or even overripe. Completely misleading, because he was no more pleasure-loving than your basic lump of stone. Probably some rocks of the igneous persuasion were even his superior in that department. Within that soft pampered body was a mean pinched hard soul, like a crab lurking within a tender melon. God knows why they are all like that on Sidri Akrak: an entire planet of miserable ghastly dour people suffering from constipation of the heart. Now the ripeness was gone from Periandros and only the sour withered Akraki core of him was left. Beside him, in the seats where the emperor's high lords sit, were three more Akrakikan. I had to admire the totality of the takeover, and the total foolishness of it. Usually the emperor has sense enough to give the high lordships to citizens of assorted major planets, by way of building a little political support for himself. But not this one, who was in more need of support from other worlds than any emperor who had ever ruled. Oh, no, not this one: he had surrounded himself entirely with his own kind. Three of his own brothers, for all I knew. If they had brothers on Sidri Akrak. It seemed more appropriate for people like him to be born from tubes, like androids. It was a disheartening sight, seeing those four glum passionless faces staring back at me from the summit of the throne-platform.
"This is a joyous day, Yakoub Rom," Periandros said in a voice lacking the merest molecule of joy. Flat monotone, an inhuman drone. "You are welcome before us."
Us, no less. He had reinvented the royal we!
He had the wine ready for me. I took the cup. That stuff too had lost its savor: thin and acrid, a bad year. I felt like telling him that the wine of welcome is supposed to be sweet.
Instead I made the formal gesture that the Rom baro makes when he stands before the emperor. Maybe Periandros thought it was in his honor but all I was doing was reinforcing my own. Affirming my state of kingship, rather than affirming his emperorship. He didn't have to know that.
He did manage a quick pale flickering smile. Real emotion, Periandros style. The Periandros equivalent of a great roaring hug, I suppose. "There has been much confusion, has there not?" he said. "How I detest confusion!" (Forgetting his we already?) "But the time of chaos is ending. The crown imperial has descended to us." (No, just not consistent in its use.) "-and we will do our utmost to restore order in the Imperium." A self-satisfied smirk. "Already we have done much. For example we have aided our Romany brothers in their time of difficulty."
Butting in, killing my son. Yes, wonderful aid.
I said, "You really think the confusion is over, Periandros?" Hisses and gasps of shock among the high lords. A fierce look of black loathing from Periandros. I realized my mistake too late. Calling him by name, and not even Lord Periandros at that. But no one could call him anything but "Your Majesty" now, not even me. The former Lord Periandros had vanished within the royal greatness, what Julien would call the gloire, of the Sixteenth Emperor.
I hadn't meant any insult. It had just slipped out. I remembered, after all, the day Periandros first had taken his seat among the high lords. Not all that long ago. The apologetic look in the eyes of the Fifteenth, as if to say, He's a peculiar little creature, I know, but I find him usefuL
Hard for me to take the peculiar little creature seriously. Sitting in my old friend's throne. But he was the Emperor now. At least I had decided to regard him as the Emperor. For expediency's sake. I covered my gaffe with a quick apology. Old habits die hard, et cetera, et cetera. Periandros looked mollified.
"We are not yet fully accustomed to our high position ourself," he confided.
I admired the grammatical elegance of that confession. I might have said ourselves, which would have been silly. But then I haven't given as much thought to the niceties of the royal we as Periandros undoubtedly had.
Piously I said, "It must be a great burden, Majesty."