The King stepped over to him and reached out his hand. Kellen grasped the hand in return, surprised by the gesture. The King’s hand was tough and callused, and not for the first time did Kellen glance at the not-so-ceremonial sword. In a detached portion of his mind, Kellen realized that the King’s calluses matched the ridges on the hilt of the sword. Kellen smelled the sour odor from the snarv.
“Sire.” Kellen responded, finding he had to apply more pressure than usual in his handshake to match the King’s grip. Queen Gwendlyon approached with a formal smile and held out her hand.
Kellen sensed the test and bent and brushed his lips just above the back of her hand. The Queen nodded, which told him he’d done the right thing.
The King introduced him to the Federation Envoy. “Kellen Sing, may I present Ambassador Plenipotentiary Gold?”
The willowy lady from off-planet stretched her arm and Kellen sensed that he should shake her hand, not kiss it. He’d passed another test.
“You play most beautifully,” she said. Her accent was strange: nonetheless, her voice seemed to call to him personally.
“Thank you.”
“The thumb drum is new to me,” she said. “I’ve seen nothing like it on any of the Federation worlds I’ve visited.”
“Special wood, my lady, hewn from the yowel tree peculiar to my province; and the skin is from the hide of the volv.” He didn’t want to tell her that the volv’s testicle pack was the skin used. “It is dried and cured and stretched over the yowel wood base.”
“The wood also makes fine bows,” the King pointed out.
“Found only on the planet of Bear Ridge, Your Majesty?” asked Sharon Gold.
“A mutation caused by the atmospheric conditions of Bear Ridge,” replied the King. “There are similarities between the yowel tree and others originally transported from Earthe.”
She looked questioningly at the King.
He shrugged. “Our science—biological, chemical, physical—is not as advanced as we would have it. All those centuries in rebuilding—but with admission to the Fed, well....”
“That is yet to be determined. Your Highness,” said Sharon Gold.
“It is, isn’t it?” the King said enigmatically.
Kellen wished he knew what the byplay was about. He felt forgotten.
Queen Gwendlyon said, “Thomas, about the boy....”
“Ah, yes. Schooling it is you wish?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Most would take the coin and hustle back to their province and become a local celebrity, building their status, milking it for everything.”
Kellen again became uncomfortable as the King’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword and his eyes bored into Kellen’s. Kellen knew he was supposed to answer, but how could he answer what the King had just said?
“Sire, I do not seek recognition for something I have found to be a simple achievement. Thumb drumming is easy.” His courage grew as he spoke, ‘It is my dream, Sire, to learn; this I consider significant above all else. What good is money if you have few needs? And my needs are to expand my mind, to discover new ideas and concepts, to learn of my heritage through history, to seek mathematical relationships.” Kellen was serious but knew it sounded like he was piling it on too thick.
“I believe he means it,” the King said to nobody in particular. He glanced at the Queen, who nodded almost imperceptively. “May I speak with you alone for a moment?” He took Kellen’s arm and guided him into the corner next to the jester who seemed to stare vacantly up at them.
In a low voice that no one could hear, Thomas Jefferson Rex said. “Cut the crap, fellow. What is it you want?”
Kellen was taken aback. The jester seemed to tense. “But...but...Your Majesty....” He thought swiftly. Kellen knew little of psychology, but he knew he had an inner grasp of how to handle people and situations that was almost preternatural and he didn’t hesitate to use it here. He drew himself up and with a cold, formal voice, said, “Sire. If you think I have been playing some game, you are in error.” He projected sincerity. He well knew that he shouldn’t have called the King “in error.” Framed by the beard, the King’s face froze.
Suddenly, the King grinned. “You’ll never make a good sycophant, boy.” He glanced at the jester, who scratched his right ear with his thumb. “All right then, you got it. Learning a trade. A fine technical school. That shall give you entry to a trade union and security for life. Something to contribute to your community.”
“Sire, as I tried to point out earlier, and I am not able to articulate so well. I prefer the academic subjects.”
“A learned sheepaloe herder?” the King reflected. “Well. I’ve heard of stranger things.” He turned and addressed the group. “So be it. Herald, ensure Kellen Sing is enrolled in the Francisco Shepherd University. Give him a temporary room in the palace. For pocket change, Kellen, you shall play your wizard drums at Our request.” He looked at Kellen, who could only nod, unable to trust himself to speak—again flaunting convention, but this time not by choice.
“And, Hark, insure he studies.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And now,” the King said, “we have business of the realm to conduct: we must plan and determine a way to convince this beautiful young lady here to give us admission to the Fed so that we may bring it to its knees.” He grinned wolfishly.
Everyone laughed at his joke. Thomas Jefferson Shepherd was known for his ribald sense of humor.
Sharon Gold appeared stunned until she understood it was a joke, and then tried to laugh along with the others.
Kellen Sing saw that the King’s eyes did not smile.
3. THE ENVOY
Before she began her briefing, she didn’t know she was going to antagonize the King. She looked at the man with the eye patch and the scars and thought him an executioner.
Sharon Gold was waiting for quiet. She found standing on a raised podium in front of the hierarchy of an entire planet intimidating despite her training and when she saw the King watching her she felt unusually disquieted. As things settled she saw a bug scurrying across the floor. Durn, she thought, the only constant in the universe: a roach. Had the pioneers brought them to Bear Ridge or had they already existed here? She’d never been to a planet where roaches did not exist.
“Herald.” the King grunted. The herald, Alfred, nodded politely and stepped to the door past the two stone-faced sentries. Soon he was back with an attendant who scurried to the front of the room and scattered leaves along the wall.
“Bay leaves,” murmured the herald to her as the attendant left the conference room.
Gradually, everyone found the proper seat, yet the King had not signaled her to start. Her confidence was fleeing fast, and she glanced around and saw the King’s gaze steady on her. She knew that he sensed her nervousness, her apprehension. She closed her eyes for a moment and forced her breathing to a slower pace. When she looked at him again his gaze seemed to be steadying, a comfort in her isolation.
She couldn’t help but be attracted to him.
She forced her eyes from him and looked about the crowded room. Besides the guards, some twenty people sat around the formal conference table. The King occupied the central position at the head of the table and was surrounded by all of his ministers and department heads. No round table of equals, this one.