6​ Conspiracies and Lies

THE IMPERATOR STOOD with his back to the politicians. He stared out of the palace windows down towards the river mouth and Icarthya’s ancient stone harbour. His back was straight, shoulders square, despite his advanced years of ninety-three. Tolan Laman Todralan allowed the conclavists to bicker in lowered tones within his private rooms. He never left these days, with all imperial business brought to him.

His standard bearer, Actaeon, stood nearby, a ceremonial bone-hilted dagger on his hip; the role was more involved than its title suggested. Apart from the body servant, Petraeus, the wide-eyed boy was closest to the imperator.

Petraeus Augustus stood within the shadows of the chamber, beyond marble columns, which rose twenty feet to a vaulted ceiling. The four-poster bed remained unmade, but the white linen was immaculate.

The politicians eyed Petraeus from time to time, disliking his presence, but they dared not complain. They ignored the standard bearer as though he was invisible. Tolan Laman was old, but a formidable man and his soldiers loved him. Few if any loved politicians. Thus, the conclave and its backstabbing ways remained in check.

Petraeus smiled at the nearest white-haired charlatan, Boethius Saelos, the one who led this latest protest. They did not understand the reason for Petraeus being there, nor his role. Nor would they ever, for the truth was something these fools could never fathom. A mere body servant was, after all, a servant, and such sensitive matters were not for the dirty hog-ears of such. Petraeus winked, and the conclavist’s eyes widened. He thought about blowing him a kiss, but decided not to over-do it today. The imperator’s mood was less tolerant of late.

‘These outbreaks are just the beginning,’ Boethius said, for the fifth time. ‘We all know at whose feet to lay the fault for these plagues. It will spread to the Imperial Quarter, and good citizens will die.’

As opposed to the bad ones who are currently dying, I imagine, thought Petraeus.

‘They are too arrogant and disrespectful,’ added Andriscus Shivar, a somewhat younger man, though little of his grey hair remained. He scratched at his mottled scalp. ‘The distribution of power is uneven. They have too much authority. For the love of the Spectrum, they control half the imperium. What if they turn on us? It is only a matter of time.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Dares Avitus said, punctuating each word with a nod, a habit of his which threatened a broken neck whenever he gave long speeches. ‘The threat is very real and is it any wonder? What place among the living do the undead have? None, I tell you. None. It is high time we did something about it. I imagine they once served some purpose or other, but all things change. It is the way of life.’ He ended with a sharp nod, but unfortunately his neck didn’t snap.

On that front, Petraeus was always disappointed. Then again, since the man never shut up, there would always be another speech, another possibility for a broken neck. The thought cheered him as did the image of Dares’ head twisted at an unfortunate angle. Such little thoughts got him through the monotony of the day.

‘However,’ continued Dares with a sequence of timed nods as though he’d practiced in the mirror, ‘it is their closeness to the throne, which worries me. They have become a power unto themselves challenging our most reverent imperial family.’ He turned to regard the imperator who hadn’t moved. The fool hoped to influence a man believed incorruptible? Hushed as their lucid tones might’ve been, they made certain every word reached the imperator’s ears. Dares frowned and then glanced at his co-conspirators for help.

The final politician in the room was Xanthus Cipius. A bald dark-skinned Valtari clothed in white robes with swirls of dye in every colour. He also wore a wide red belt inset with gems. His admission into the conclave had been fraught with controversy, and one death. The Cipius family had adopted him as a boy, having rescued him from Tharoni slavers. The imperator had granted him the family’s name at their request. However, he was not of their blood, and some like Dares, delighted in reminding him.

Xanthus stood apart from the others, a half-smile on his face as he observed. When he finally spoke, the others refused to look at him, disgusted he had decided to attend. They never included the Valtari, but he always turned up. He seemed to have a knack for knowing when he wasn’t wanted.

‘They once served some purpose or other, you say,’ said Xanthus. ‘Has the ancient bond between the living and the undead been forgotten? The ancient power of the virals safeguards our imperium, as you well know, Dares.’ The other man scowled, but said nothing.

‘More,’ continued Xanthus, ‘it safeguards the world from dark forces, which if unleashed would destroy us all.’

‘Nothing more than myth,’ spat Dares. ‘We are men, not children who listen to bedtime stories.’

‘No, Dares, you men number among the privileged few to know this as the truth. Or, at least, you’re supposed to know. Tell me, are you all wilfully ignorant, or stupid? Have you no shame, no honour, no sense of responsibility?’

At these words, Tolan turned, forestalling an outburst from a red-faced Dares. The imperator’s own face was a mass of wrinkles and spots, his eyes deep-set and watery. His hair was wispy and white, but the man’s mind was sharp. ‘Why do you speak these words now, Xanthus?’ he asked, voice low but strong.

The Valtari offered a bow as was his custom. A dangerous man was Xanthus and intelligent, Petraeus knew. ‘Imperator, centuries ago your family made a pact with the viral undead. In exchange for a sacrifice, they would protect the living for all time. These men,’ he added with a dismissive jerk of his head at the others, ‘would have you break the word your ancestors gave.’

The imperator eyed the other politicians. They cringed at the attention, though they had spent the past twenty minutes seeking it.

‘It is not as simple as all that,’ said Dares, head bobbing as he dry-washed his hands. ‘There are other considerations. Sacrifice, you say? These plagues have taken a huge toll on the people. They demand an end to sickness, to suffering. The plebians threaten rebellion, and not a few patricians too. Have they not paid enough over the centuries? Have these undead not gotten above themselves?’

‘And the members of conclave?’ asked the imperator. ‘What is it, dear friends, that you threaten me with?’

Boethius took several steps forward. When he noticed Petraeus do the same in his direction, he frowned, but halted where he was.

Oh, yes, thought Petraeus, you wonder if I am the imperator’s Darken. Perhaps I’m something else, something more sinister. Wonder away, but I will not reveal anything, not until you look into my eyes one final time. Sometimes it felt good pretending to be a mortal, with all its dark subtleties.

‘We are forever bound to your will, imperator,’ Boethius said in a rushed fashion. ‘We would never dare to threaten you.’ There was quick agreement from the others, save Xanthus who snorted.

‘To even think about such a thing,’ said Andriscus, ‘is unthinkable.

‘Our concern,’ Boethius went on, ‘is with the growing number of ... incidents. There have been murders, and not a few within the conclave itself. Sinister deaths, which many have connections to your high mage, a mage who has refused to answer questions, and who is now missing.’

The imperator grunted while giving a dismissive wave of his right hand. ‘Impossible. Yes, Beezer is no longer in the capital. He left my side months ago to return to the Necropolis.’

The men shrank at the mention of that name; the Necropolis was a distant abode where undead mages trained in mysterious magics. Who knew what terrible deeds occurred within the depths of such a horrid place? Why else would they have built it so far from the living, thousands of miles out into the Adalcis Ocean? Petraeus knew what they were thinking and wanted to wring their necks. He forced himself to rein in his anger, lest it get the better of him. Such were the burdens upon an imperial manservant, after all. He had taken this guise willingly, and it was essential he should embrace it fully.

‘Then, could another of your mages be responsible?’ asked Andriscus. ‘One, who has also vanished?’

‘Yes, yes, Lyrin went with him,’ the imperator snapped, displaying rare emotion. ‘Always you Grim-hooded Spectrum-forsaken three pestering me with conspiracies. Like buzzards circling death. As you can see, I’m not dead yet. Have you nothing better to do than to beat a path to my chambers with foolish theories?

‘The undead have ever served my family, and this imperium. In fact, as Xanthus says, they serve the world and all the living upon it, whether everyone knows it or not. Their loyalty is unquestionable and yet here you three are, questioning it.’

‘The plebeians,’ whispered Andriscus with a grimace, ‘disagree, imperator. We risk rebellion if we cannot appease them.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Tolan muttered, half turning back to the window. ‘Likely whipped into a frenzy by you lot—no, do not deny it. Hate me, revile me in secret as you wish, but do not think me a fool.’

‘The rioting has increased,’ the conclavist persisted, ‘and the Pleth Quarter is in peril. All work within the Prole has ceased. Taxes are down, and trade is in danger of collapsing. There are not enough legions remaining within the city to quell a full-scale revolt, mired as they are in wars you started.’

‘Careful, Andriscus,’ said the imperator in a low voice, pointing a steady finger. ‘I am more tolerant than my forebears of your fretful complaining, it is true. I have even encouraged you to speak freely, but even I have limits. You are stretching them this day. Take this as your one and only warning.’

‘Apologies, my lord,’ said Boethius, ‘for my companion’s over-zealousness, but fear causes him to speak without thought. Whatever the truth, we must quench the peoples’ thirst for blood.’

‘No point killing virals, then,’ said Petraeus. They all turned and stared, all but the imperator. Xanthus just smiled. The manservant enjoyed the looks on their faces. How dare he speak in such company? By that, they would not of course, include poor Xanthus.

‘And why would that be?’ Dares demanded, examining his fingers, refusing to look at him.

‘Well, the undead don’t bleed, now do they? It’s blood that the people want, right? No point offering up Beezer to chop into little pieces then, assuming he would go quietly. They might settle for you three, though. A gaggle of politicians thrown to the mob might just satisfy.’

The imperator gazed out upon the harbour once more. In his youth, he had built up the imperial fleet from a pathetic handful of merchant ships, to a formidable armada of triremes and quadriremes. Some said he had acquired ship designs and shipwrights from Atlantis. They had all thought him mad, snickering behind his back. The first dozen successful sea battles against Nephilim raiders changed all that. It had been simple, of course. Place a viral mage on the prow of any ship, and a battle became a rout. The Calamiri had also often attacked imperial merchant ships, which traded with Atlantis. Now, they fled on sight of the imperial sigil, the white wings.

‘You may all leave,’ announced Petraeus. ‘Your audience is at an end. Be assured, the Imperial Guard will deal with the riots, and other matters of concern will be investigated.’

It was not the first time Petraeus had ushered them out of the imperator’s chambers. Each time seemed new to them, as anger and hateful glances smothered fresh shock. Xanthus paused at the door, the last to exit. He gave Petraeus a long look, which the body servant understood well. He nodded in reply and Xanthus smiled, though the concern in his eyes ruined it a little.

The body servant shut the door and turned to find the imperator staring right at him.

‘It has begun, Petraeus, hasn’t it.’

‘Yes, my old friend. I’m afraid it has.’