The Grand Ellipse Part 3

"I a.s.sure you, a standard safeguard-"

"An offensive invasion of privacy!"

"A woman so much in the public eye as yourself, Miss Devaire, may scarcely expect to enjoy the anonymity of a more commonplace individual."

Commonplace? Respectable, did he mean? No matter, Luzelle decided. She was capable of dealing with this latest critic. Her chin came up, and she drew a preparatory breath.

"Please understand," vo Rouvignac forestalled her, "that I mean no disrespect. You will perceive the necessity of our precautions, once you come to appreciate the delicacy of the situation we now confront."

"You offer to sponsor my partic.i.p.ation in the Hetzian king's Grand Ellipse race. What's particularly delicate about that?"

"On the face of it nothing, and that is all to the good. Have you not stopped to wonder, however, why the Ministry of Foreign Affairs would choose to concern itself in this matter?"

"Vonahrish prestige," Luzelle returned at once. "The Grand Ellipse is attracting international attention. The newspapers and sporting gazettes have focused upon the compet.i.tion for weeks. Speculation is intense, and I've read of enormous sums wagered upon the outcome. The victor, whoever it may be, garners great glory for his or her own country." And a valuable piece of real estate for herself. And a valuable piece of real estate for herself.

"Quite true. Yet the sponsorship of a well-equipped contestant demands a considerable outlay of capital, and the endeavor itself might be termed frivolous. A large expense of such dubious necessity is particularly difficult to justify now, at a time of national crisis."

"The national crisis seems to have escaped my notice, Deputy Underminister."

"Understandable. Relatively few of our countrymen realize that invasion is imminent. In the near future-possibly a matter of weeks-Vonahr will be a.s.saulted by forces of the Grewzian Imperium. For the present, it is best that the threat continue largely unrecognized."

Luzelle stared at him.

"The information I am about to impart is sensitive," vo Rouvignac continued. "I believe, however, that you are fit to receive it. But come, let us find someplace and go indoors. It is starting to rain in earnest."

The big drops were now pattering down fatly. Students were running for cover. Bowing her head against the onslaught, Luzelle accepted the arm her companion offered, and together they hurried across University Square into the mouth of Cider Alley, where the overhang of the old-fashioned houses afforded shelter. Presently they reached a small but very smartly painted cafe, and entered to find the place crowded with rain-spotted refugees. Vo Rouvignac managed to commandeer the last unoccupied table, beside the kitchen door. Seating themselves, they ordered lemon tea. For some moments neither spoke.

The steaming mugs arrived. Luzelle took a sip and set her drink aside. Meeting vo Rouvignac's eyes, she answered him at last; characteristically, with a question.

"How do you know that the Grewzians plan an invasion?"

"The independent reports of several agents confirm it," he told her. "Even were that not so, the situation is self-explanatory to those who take note of such things."

"Anyone who reads the newspapers knows that the Imperior Ogron favors expansion. He's annexed or invaded various territories to which, theoretically, Grewzland possesses legitimate claim-"

"Utterly false justifications, for the most part."

"-certain foreign allies of the ousted governments have offered active resistance, which the imperior has crushed-"

"Attacking upon the flimsiest of pretexts."

"-but the Grewzian activities have generally directed themselves eastward. Well, to the south also, these days. There's nothing I've read or heard to suggest that the imperior has any intention of shifting his attention west toward Vonahr. Certainly Grewzland possesses no reasonable claim to Vonahrish soil, and cannot pretend otherwise. We've attempted no meddling in Grewzian affairs, offered neither threat nor provocation. Furthermore, the Imperium now comprises such a vast area, it hardly seems probable that Ogron should regard a Vonahrish conquest as necessary or even desirable-"

"Miss Devaire, you are an intelligent young person and reasonably well informed, but more than a little naive," vo Rouvignac observed, so mildly that the words lost their sting. "You argue upon the a.s.sumption that Grewzian policy is the product of rational, well-intentioned, more or less civilized intellects. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. Grewzian policy is dictated by the will of the Imperior Ogron III. The imperior, a vainglorious mystic fancying himself a latter-day embodiment of the Gorzlaar of Grewzian folklore, is the natural scion of a culture traditionally celebrating personal courage, martial prowess, and fanatical patriotism. The Gorzlaar, if you'll recall, is a legendary warrior-king-G.o.d destined to conquer all the civilized world, thus leading the Grewzian people to their glorious collective destiny. The imperior has embarked upon this project with much elan, and a.s.suredly will not cease either until he has accomplished his goal or until he is forcibly halted."

She believed him. Something in his dry professorial certainty convinced her, and she attempted no further denial, but instead inquired, "If that's true, why keep it a secret? Shouldn't our people be warned?"

"Such a move would only hasten the Grewzian a.s.sault."

"But Vonahr must arm herself, and quickly. The army must mobilize, the border cities strengthen their defenses, the munition factories increase production, the navy modernize its-"

"Useless," vo Rouvignac cut her off calmly. "Moments earlier you mentioned the newspapers and gazettes. If you read them, then you already know that the Imperior Ogron has spent the last half decade or so preparing his country for war. And to give credit where it's due, he has done an excellent job. Grewzland now possesses the largest, best-equipped, and best-trained army in the world; an unsurpa.s.sed navy; the most modern and efficient factories and railroads; great natural resources-its own, augmented by those seized from a growing roster of subject nations; a skilled and enthusiastic workforce; and, thanks to the great war effort, a flourishing economy. While the imperior has thus busied himself, we Vonahrish have essentially...fiddled. The inattention of years is not to be remedied in a matter of weeks. I a.s.sure you, we are quite unfit to resist the impending invasion."

"But we are not alone." Luzelle's mind cast swiftly about in search of salvation. "The city-states and western Republican-Enclaves must surely recognize the Grewzian threat. Kyrendt, Travorn, Ferille-clearly it would be to the advantage of all to form a defensive alliance with Vonahr."

"Not a bad thought, saving the sad reality that the condition of the nations in question hardly differs from our own. They can furnish little a.s.sistance."

"What are you saying, then?" Luzelle demanded. "That Vonahr is about to disappear down the maw of the Grewzian Imperium, and there's nothing at all we can do about it? Perhaps you advise immediate and unconditional surrender?"

"That, at least, would avert wholesale destruction."

"What sort of wretched weak-livered talk is that, coming from a Vonahrish official? Have you any idea idea how those Grewzian pigs treat their conquered territories?" how those Grewzian pigs treat their conquered territories?"

"A pretty clear one, I believe. Please calm yourself, Miss Devaire. I admire your spirit, but must advise you to rein it in until you've heard all I have to say. I do not advocate surrender at this time. There is another possibility worthy of investigation. It involves a new and potentially devastating weapon, of-er-arcane origin."

"You surprise me. I didn't think anyone in today's government would admit to a belief in the significance of arcane phenomena. A world blessed with gaslight, steam engines, and indoor plumbing has no further need of sorcery and superst.i.tion, or so I've been told." So she had indeed been told, more than once, by no less than Master Girays v'Alisante himself. And he'd dismissed her arguments to the contrary with that intolerable superior smugness of his. She only wished that he could be here now to discover how wrong he had been.

"The ancient disciplines are by no means bereft of their partisans or their pract.i.tioners," vo Rouvignac observed. "Even today there are princes and presidents aplenty known to seek counsel of sorcerous savants. One such ruler is Miltzin IX, king of the Low Hetz. Miltzin, a collector of human oddities, extends his patronage to a number of so-called magical adepts. The favored group includes several known swindlers and confidence men, but at least one member is widely believed to possess genuine talent of a high order. This man-calling himself 'Nevenskoi,' and claiming unverifiable Rhazaullean nationality-has let it be known to his sorcerous colleagues all over the civilized world that he has succeeded in kindling a new form of fire, a blaze imbued with rudimentary sentience and subject to its creator's human will."

"The fire fire is supposed to be aware?" Luzelle demanded. Her companion nodded, and she opined, "Nonsense!" is supposed to be aware?" Luzelle demanded. Her companion nodded, and she opined, "Nonsense!"

"You may well think so, but in fact the report has been confirmed. Too many reliable correspondents have submitted eyewitness accounts of remarkable demonstrations at King Miltzin's Waterwitch Palace to doubt the truth of Nevenskoi's disclosure. Clearly this Rhazaullean adept has accomplished all that he claims. The Sentient Fire exists. It is capable of unsupervised advance or retreat, expansion, contraction, gluttonous consumption or self-denial, all at the behest of its human master. The potential military value of such a discovery at this time is incalculable, particularly to those among us disinclined to cultivate a taste for Grewzian offal pudding and Imperiorstein ale."

"Hard to believe, with so many so certain that the old arts are dead," Luzelle murmured. "You're certain there's no mistake and no trickery?"

"Entirely certain."

"But how agreeable for His Majesty Miltzin. I suppose the bidding is feverish."

"By no means. The king will have none of it. Determined to preserve traditional Hetzian neutrality, Miltzin has declared himself unwilling to part with the secret, to anyone, at any price. Already he has declined a bouquet of a.s.sorted offers, resisting the eloquence of the world's most persuasive amba.s.sadors, including our own. His Majesty displays no sign of weakening, but perhaps the continual importuning has begun to fray the royal nerves. As of last week, all known foreign representatives were expelled from the Low Hetz. Requests for audiences with the king are routinely denied. Diplomatic correspondence is perused by Miltzin's personal secretaries, and no plea pertaining to the Sentient Fire is permitted to reach the king's eyes."

"Is His Majesty blessed with a singular sense of humor, or is he merely feebleminded?"

"He is an eccentric one, beyond doubt."

"Aren't there ways of circ.u.mventing eccentricity? The Low Hetz hardly qualifies as a great power. What's to prevent Vonahr from loosing a few regiments upon the city of Toltz, seizing this Nevenskoi, his records and arcana, and conveying all back home to Sherreen without further ado? And why don't we strike before the Grewzians think of doing the same? Doesn't it seem to you that every second of delay is-"

"Softly, Miss Devaire. Do you imagine that you are the first to think of that? The scheme is enterprising but impractical. You see, Miltzin IX keeps his tame sorcerer stowed away in a secret workroom hidden somewhere in the depths of the Waterwitch Palace. The workroom's location is known to few. Moreover, the Waterwitch itself-built on a small island set amid treacherous swamplands outside of Toltz-is accessible only by means of three successive drawbridges. This location and design, evidently appealing to His Majesty's sense of whimsy, in fact provide excellent defense. An a.s.sault upon the palace is sure to be a protracted affair, during the course of which Nevenskoi and his knowledge will undoubtedly vanish, perhaps forever."

"I see."

"Do you?"

"Not the whole of it." Luzelle studied her companion. "Why are you telling me all of this, Deputy Underminister? I a.s.sume it's connected in some way to the Grand Ellipse and the ministry's offer of sponsorship, but I don't see how."

"You recall the prize awaiting the winner of the race?"

"A Hetzian peerage, I believe, together with some sort of house or castle." Whose sale might keep her financially afloat, thus preserving independence, freedom, and pride.

"And one other thing-a private audience with Miltzin IX. A rare, almost unique, opportunity for a foreign emissary to catch the ear of the king."

"That's it, then?" Luzelle inquired in disbelief. "All of this elaborate, expensive strategy of sponsoring a Grand Ellipse contestant, in the faint hope that your candidate will, against all odds, not only win the race but then go on to somehow persuade the king of the Low Hetz to sell a secret that he has so far firmly refused to part with?"

"To sell the secret, or at the very least to reveal-perhaps inadvertently-the whereabouts of Master Nevenskoi."

"Rather a long shot, isn't it?"

"Better than no shot, Miss Devaire."

"Why, you people must be as loony as Mad Miltzin himself!"

"I would prefer to think otherwise. Actually, matters in Toltz have lately shown signs of change. We have it upon good authority that King Miltzin's latest enthusiasm-an investigation of the approaching Grizhni Comet's communicative properties-severely strains the depleted Hetzian treasury. The construction of the new Phoenixfire Palace at Juschl imposes another large burden. Last summer's drought, so destructive of the Hetzian lorber crops, inflicts additional damage. In short, there's reason to hope at this juncture that a generous cash offer, appropriately presented, might find His Majesty receptive."

"Appropriately presented?"

"Set forth in the manner best calculated to touch the king's heart, as well as his mind."

"Doesn't that call for the talents of an experienced diplomat?" she inquired carefully. "Forgive my dullness, but I don't understand why you've come to me. Not that I don't appreciate the compliment, but aren't there better-qualified candidates to be found?"

"Your qualifications are most unusual, and ideally suited to the task at hand." He studied her dispa.s.sionately. "In the first place, your public reputation as an adventurous, courageous traveler justifies your partic.i.p.ation in the race. Then, your gender masks your mission, for the enemies of Vonahr won't readily credit official reliance upon a female. And finally, your personal attributes are more than likely to impress His Majesty in your favor."

"Personal attributes? I'm not certain I understand you." She was not certain that she wanted to.

"To speak plainly, Miss Devaire, you are a woman of uncommonly striking appearance, and the king's tender susceptibility is well doc.u.mented. Moreover, you are recognized as a lady of some worldly knowledge, experience, and sophistication, quite capable, should you so choose, of exploiting your many resources to best advantage in the service of your country. Thus it is much to be hoped that the charm of the messenger may greatly influence King Miltzin's response to our offer."

He spoke gracefully enough, but his meaning was clear, and not pretty. Luzelle took a thoughtful sip of tea, and briefly considered tossing the contents of the mug straight into the face of the deputy underminister. She controlled the impulse; vo Rouvignac intended no insult, after all. If he, along with the rest of the world, regarded her as a woman of questionable character, she had only herself to blame.

"The ministry's approach to the problem is novel." She let nothing show on her face. "In fact, your methods surprise me. Deputy Underminister, have you and your a.s.sociates not considered the possibility of public embarra.s.sment, should this afternoon's meeting come to light?"

"I do not believe that it will come to light." The potentially menacing observation sounded merely avuncular upon vo Rouvignac's lips. "Should I misjudge, however, whatever embarra.s.sment or trouble that comes will be mine alone, for the minister of foreign affairs will deny all knowledge of the matter. If necessary I am prepared to a.s.sume full personal responsibility."

"I understand." She did indeed. Quite clear now why she hadn't been invited to set foot within the sacred confines of the Republican Complex.

Time now for the indignant refusal, the flash of outraged virtue, but Luzelle held her tongue, for the alternatives were bleak. She stood within six months or so of financial ruin, preceding the most humiliating imaginable return to her father's house. Once she vanished into that well-ordered limbo, she might never again emerge. On the other hand, should she compete in the Grand Ellipse at the ministry's expense, her partic.i.p.ation alone was sure to draw public notice, boosting the sale of her books and increasing her value as a lecturer. And should she actually win the race, then her fame, fortune, and independence were a.s.sured for the rest of her life.

What then? Will you select a more lucrative profession, becoming in truth what so many already believe you to be?

I will, she silently informed her father, if that's the only way to live free in the world. I will let nothing and n.o.body stop me. Whatever is necessary- if that's the only way to live free in the world. I will let nothing and n.o.body stop me. Whatever is necessary- "I will do it," she finished aloud.

"Miss Devaire?" The deputy underminister looked surprised.

"I accept your offer of sponsorship. I will run the Grand Ellipse. And make no mistake, I will win. I'll use whatever means I must, I'll do anything." Her companion was staring at her, so Luzelle added for good measure, "Anything at all."

2.

EXACTLY ONE WEEK LATER she set off for the Low Hetz. The journey between Sherreen and the Hetzian capital city of Toltz demanded three days and two nights of travel by rail, but Luzelle spent the time comfortably. The cash with which the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had so amply supplied her purchased the softest lavender-scented berth in the sleeping car, the costliest of fare in the dining car, the most solicitous of porters, waiters, and conductors all along the route. It was a far cry indeed from her customarily economical mode of travel. she set off for the Low Hetz. The journey between Sherreen and the Hetzian capital city of Toltz demanded three days and two nights of travel by rail, but Luzelle spent the time comfortably. The cash with which the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had so amply supplied her purchased the softest lavender-scented berth in the sleeping car, the costliest of fare in the dining car, the most solicitous of porters, waiters, and conductors all along the route. It was a far cry indeed from her customarily economical mode of travel.

The unusual spectacle of a young woman traveling on her own drew the inevitable speculative attention, but those squadrons of well-paid menials furnished effective protection, and n.o.body hara.s.sed her.

The tracks between two such prominent capitals as Sherreen and Toltz were well maintained, and the journey northeast proceeded smoothly, through miles of rich Vonahrish farmland, over the rolling terrain of rural VoGrance Province, then down the hills and across the border into the Low Hetz, whose political neutrality immediately proclaimed itself.

The train wheezed to a halt at Lolkstok Station, and the local customs officials tramped on through the cars, demanding pa.s.sports and declarations. Luzelle signed the appropriate doc.u.ments, submitted her modest luggage to inspection, received the requisite stamp upon her pa.s.sport, then directed her attention out the window to the platform, where, for the first time, she spied uniformed Grewzian soldiers.

They didn't look so bad-many, in fact, were distinctly handsome, with those Grewzian long-limbed frames and those Grewzian chiseled straight noses. Unjustly maligned, perhaps. The accounts of atrocities inflicted upon helpless subject populations were probably exaggerated.

Won't those clean-cut lads look just splendid, marching in triumph through the streets of Sherreen. In a matter of weeks, the deputy underminister had informed her. In a matter of weeks, the deputy underminister had informed her.

The train departed Lolkstok Station, traveling north through many an improbably quaint gabled and halftimbered medieval town, over flowery meadows impossibly idyllic, to reach Toltz in the soft gloom of springtime dusk.

Luzelle alighted. A porter whisked her luggage into the station house and disappeared, reappearing moments later with a cabdriver in tow. Money changed hands, and her valise seemed to fly to the waiting vehicle, which was lower, wider, and heavier than a Sherreenian fiacre, and drawn by a correspondingly st.u.r.dy Hetzian bay. Luzelle climbed in and the door closed. The driver ascended, the whip snapped, and the cab clattered off.

She sank back into a fat upholstered seat deeper and softer than she had expected. Unlike her own countrymen, these Lower Hetzians favored comfort over elegance, and she meant to enjoy it while she could, for circ.u.mstances would alter once the race began. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. The thought quickened her pulse. Only another few hours to go. The thought quickened her pulse. Only another few hours to go.

She looked out the window. The gaslight glowed through the deepening twilight, warming the pale stone faces of mansions, monuments, and ceremonial archways frilled and curlicued in the shamelessly ornate style of the previous century. Sherreen, Flugeln, Lis Folaze-virtually every capital city boasted its architectural extravaganzas, but nowhere else in all the world did the embellishment reach such heights of exuberance as here in the Low Hetz. The most elaborate structure in sight, however-the famous Aspiration Tower, a white marble effusion clothed from top to bottom in bas-relief carvings of lunatic complexity-was modern; a testament to the artistic zeal of the present king, Miltzin IX, whose heart she was required to touch.

The cab halted before the new Kingshead Hotel, a grand edifice recently replacing the King's Head Inn that had occupied the site for centuries. Many mourned the pa.s.sing of the ancient inn, but undeniably the new hotel was a marvel of luxury and comfort equipped with every modern amenity, from gaslight in most chambers to an astonishing steampowered lift. There were even private bathrooms in certain wildly extravagant suites.

The cab departed. Another porter carried her bag into a lobby ominously crowded. Taking her place in line before the registration desk, she glanced about. Was the place always so mobbed? If not, what accounted for this evening's crush?

The race, idiot.

Of course. The commencement of the Grand Ellipse (tomorrow!) was attracting international attention. The betting was frenetic; the gain or loss of fortunes rested upon the outcome. Sportsmen of every stripe had converged upon Toltz to see the racers off.

The Kingshead Hotel could not hold them all. Would-be guests were being turned away by the dozen. Theoretically the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had arranged her reservation, but in the event of a misunderstanding- The line inched forward. Luzelle confronted the clerk and gave her name. No misunderstanding. Miss Devaire was expected, and her room awaited her. Miss Devaire was exceedingly welcome to the Kingshead. He was a very well schooled, discreet clerk, displaying no flicker of that impertinent curiosity she had so often encountered during the course of her travels.

He handed her a key and she followed her bag across the lobby to that incredible brand-new lift-the first she had ever seen-which bore her, to her delight, effortlessly from the ground floor all the way up to the fourth. Abandoning the lift with reluctance, she proceeded along a lushly carpeted corridor to her own room-not one of the miracle suites with a private bath, but s.p.a.cious and very comfortable indeed. She tipped the bellboy generously, and the lad all but genuflected. Affluence was so enjoyable.

Alone again, she let her eyes travel the chamber. Gleaming, ponderous walnut furnishings, heavily carved in the Hetzian fashion. Tall windows along two walls, with big gla.s.s panes, obviously of modern manufacture. Thick, wine-colored carpet, matching dark-red brocade curtains and counterpane. Dark-red towels on the rack above the washstand, fresh cake of soap, generously sized pitcher and basin. Bra.s.s spittoon, polished and mercifully empty. Attractive, expensive, impersonal.

Luzelle consulted her pocket watch and her stomach, both of which told her that the dinner hour had not yet arrived. Opening her bag, she burrowed within to extract a pasteboard folder full of doc.u.ments, product of anonymous bureaucratic labor. The papers included a set of maps detailing the entire curve of the Grand Ellipse; a fine a.s.sortment of tickets and tokens; a suggested itinerary; lists of hotels and inns; a fistful of railroad, stagecoach, and steamship timetables; and an international directory of commercial transport enterprises that included riverboats, livery stables, rafts, barges, the Big Wormworks, gliders, chasmistrios, hoppers, b.u.mpers, sleighs, dogsleds, treeswingers, and more.

Her own experience in traveling had taught her the inevitability of the unexpected. Still, this pile of detailed information had to be worth something. No doubt she'd be glad she had it, someday.

And perhaps sooner than she expected. For the course of the Grand Ellipse, initially transecting the modern, comparatively civilized western nations, stretched far eastward, curving through the remote mountainous reaches of largely untamed Bizaqh and Zuleekistan, through the savage forests of Oorex, even as far as exotic Aveshq. In the weeks to come, one of those stiff little lists or maps supplied by the ministry could conceivably spell the difference between victory and defeat.

The chimes of a large clock somewhere nearby sounded the hour. Time to change for dinner, and the choice of garments was easy, for she had brought but one remotely suitable dress-a very simple, long-sleeved affair of heavy black silk twill, resistant to wrinkling, forgiving of stains, and devoid of the boning and flounces that would have devoured precious s.p.a.ce in a suitcase. She b.u.t.toned herself into it and studied the result in the mirror above the washstand.

Sedate, almost as sedate as the Judge himself might have desired, although the indiscreet radiance of her red-gold curls would never have met with His Honor's approval. The plain, modest scoop neck of the gown screamed for decoration. Returning to her valise, she extracted the one small vanity permitted to add its weight to her luggage-a necklace and matching earrings of silver set with aquamarines the color of her eyes; pretty pieces, but not valuable enough to draw the attention of thieves. She put them on, and the image in the mirror sparkled to life. His Honor would not have been pleased.

She went down to the gently lit hotel restaurant, where an impeccably impa.s.sive headwaiter seated her alone, and not at a bad table. No doubtful or suspicious hesitation, no lifted brows, no hiding the unescorted female behind the potted palms.

A waiter took her order and retired, leaving her to wait. In earlier years she had never ventured into a public restaurant, inn, cafe, or cookshop without a book in hand; any random volume in which to bury her nose and her acute self-consciousness. These days, inured to the curiosity of strangers, she could afford to let her eyes range the room freely.