Chapter 16: In Which Names Are Named

The Grand Magic Master couldn't remember when he last felt so apprehensive. "Remember, boy, lie if you must, but please, do not insult the King."

"Whatever you say, old man," the boy answered breezily.

"You must address him as 'Your Majesty' and me as 'My Lord'," Marning snapped.

The boy shrugged. "Whatever you say, old man."

"Are you taking this seriously, boy?"

"More seriously than even you are."

Marning caught the boy by the shoulder and turned him around, steering him away from the large double doors of the King's audience chamber. "We'll postpone this meeting. You are far from prepared for it."

But the timing was terrible. At the moment, the doors swung open, and the steward inside looked at their backs with puzzlement and cleared his throat. "My Lord," he said as Marning and the boy turned to face him. "His Majesty, the King, is ready to see you."

Marning coughed and nodded one gruff nod at the steward before walking in, the boy following behind as he had been instructed. Marning bowed gracefully at the King.The boy's bow was awkward.

There was a long and heavy silence. He knew from the King's deepening frown that Daphour did not know how to react, he recognised the likeness at once. The tension in the air grew as the King was once again tormented by Harlock Cooper, now through the appearance of his offspring.

"May the gods save us." The King finally broke the silence. Marning longed to turn and look at the boy just to see what kind of expression he was wearing. He could do it, with magic, without the King ever knowing. Alas, the oath of honour he had taken upon being promoted to Grand Magic Master forbade him to use magic in the King's presence. Yet now his will to have this audience pass smoothly warred against his sense of honour.

"Come closer, child," the King commanded. Docile as a lamb, the boy moved forward, with long, even strides, he did not glance at Marning when he passed him. "So you are the rat boy?"

"Your Majesty," piped the boy, his voice surprisingly boyish, "I'm just Rat, sir."

"Just rat," the King repeated with a smirk. "Just rat." He mused, stroking his long white beard. "I remember quite well, some years ago, our Esteemed Grand Magic Master presented before me another just rat. As everyone has been saying for weeks, the resemblance is quite striking."

The King fell into silence, and no one dared to interrupt it. Marning was too old and experienced, too weathered by this cranky, crazy monarch to believe that the storm was going to pass with a few stupid word puns — Daphour was only getting warmed up. The King longed to pick at old wounds, he itched for a fight, for a reason to hate this boy as much as he had hated the boy's father.

"I wonder how they could overlook one detail that is so different between the first just rat and the second?" the King contemplated aloud. "With the first, upon first glance you would have believed you'd met an angel, while in fact he was a devil within, but you..." The king's smile was merciless. "You wear your heart on your face."

The boy stood motionless.

"Should that lead me to believe that you are an angel within?" Daphour continued. "Or are you a different kind of trap?"

Silence. This time the King shifted in his chair. "Well, just rat, you have been such a mystery to me these past weeks. What are your thoughts? I order you to speak them."

"I'm just a kid from the streets, your majesty, and my name is Rat." The boy's voice was firm and even; it carried clear through the hall. It was so like Harlock's voice when he was a boy, only dirtier, scratchier, roughed up by a hardscrabble past. "I don't know what you mean by all those things you say, sir. Those are my thoughts, your majesty."

Marning suppressed a sigh of relief. As dimwitted an answer as that was, he preferred the boy to pass as harmless rather than cleverly scheming.

"Why then do you glare at me this way?" asked the King.

Marning refrained from slapping his forehead. The Grand Master had caught the boy in countless little lies, he could lie faster than anyone could blink, why couldn't he lie properly now? Why could his words be trained but his eyes could not? Had the boy been giving the King his most insolent look the whole time? The boy did not even seem startled by this royal reprimand, but he did not reply.

Later, Marning wondered what would have happened if he had interrupted right then. Could he have apologised for the boy's crudeness and steered him away? He wondered, like he often wondered about many things, if there would have been anything to salvage.

"Boy," Daphour said, his face reddening, "when your King asks you a question, you are obligated by law to answer."

"I'm just curious, your majesty, " the boy replied weakly. "Curious like boys are, your majesty."

The King's eyebrows rose. "Curious? What about, boy?"

"Just curious..." The boy's voice grew weaker, was he struggling against his own urge to create an explosion? Was the boy itching for a fight too?

Marning grabbed the boy by his shoulder. "Now, now, that is quite enough, He is only ten, your majesty, and has never received proper adult guidance, forgive his rudeness."

"Wait, Grand Master," the King stopped him. "I wish to hear him. I have my reasons to dislike you, child, for your father and all he meant to me and mine, but you, why do you loathe me so?"

The boy shrugged the shoulder that did not have Marning's hand on it. With a small shudder, the Grand Master realised that this untamed child was leaning into him for support. This boy who wanted no comfort was subtly showing his nervousness.

The King leaned forward, "The Bull" looking more than ever like a large, mountainous bully. "What are you curious about, child?" he demanded.

"I wonder," said the boy as he stared straight into the King's eyes. "I wonder how many times a day you have to wash your hands to clean away the blood?"

Marning's body stiffened as the King drew in a deep and sudden breath. "What did you say?" Daphour whispered.

"Moe was the first one to go," the boy said. "Then, the next day, we found that girl named Gretchen on the bakery roof," his tone was flat, void of emotion, as if he were reciting a poem. "Later we found her street brother Rock, and then we started to lose count, but I remember their names. Flora and Vorgan and Eme and Koffa and Ridges and Holker and Treenoff and Elses and Pix and –"

"What is this?" the King asked. Marning was a captive audience to this spectacle, torn between the sheer pleasure of seeing the King so disdained, and the horror of it.

"... Norma and Kite and Alzor and Limity and Xease – "

"Stop it at once!" barked the King, his voice booming through the hall. The boy went on, in a persistent chant.

"... and Elpha and Oin and Cavel and Wit and Jregor and Prune and Zyyrav – "

"Grand Master, control this child!" Marning yanked the boy backwards, his eyes darting over to the one servant in the room who held her loyalty with the Grand Master higher than she held it with the King. One nod was all it took to bring her rushing forward. Mitchillie caught the boy by the ear and marched him away. He did not resist, his legs dragging in the direction she led, but he continued to recite the litany of names as he was led off.

The echoes of those names hung in the air like the ghosts of the street children they had belonged to as the red-faced King turned to the Grand Master.

Who stood still and braced himself for the worst.

***

Marning knew that there wasn't much mercy in the world. What mercy there was mostly came about by a kind of good luck. For instance, it was merciful that the King could not order the death of a Wielder, for he stood to lose his own life in such an undertaking. It was merciful that Marning in his years of service had developed enough latitude with the King so that he could keep his balance even in the face of an onslaught of royal rage.

It was merciful that he had enough perseverance and resilience to withstand even the worst of the King's threats. And it was merciful, utterly merciful, that at the end, their need for a magical champion was stronger than anything Daphour could conjure.

When it was all over for that evening, he was weary in a way that sleep could not cure. But there was one confrontation he could not save for later.

He was not surprised to find the boy sulking in his room, sitting in the same place by the window where he had found him several days before. He was not surprised to see him jump to his feet, face red with rage, eyes flashing with hatred and contempt when Marning entered.

"Save your anger, foolish boy."

"You're a fool," the boy snapped. "A fool and a manipulator."

Marning was too tired to raise his voice. "A manipulator?"

"What am I here for?" yelled the boy. "What do you and your King want from me?"

"Your power," Marning answered calmly, "your skills, your fighting spirit."

"What do you want it for?" His lips were white, his face was crimson, blood vessels were pulsing in his neck. "What does the King need me for?"

"To compete in the Tournament."

The flames in the lamps began to flicker as if a window had been left open; the furniture in the room began shaking gently, as if the earth were trembling. When he spoke, the boy's voice was deep and harsh and not the voice of a boy. "The Tournament for which the streets were cleaned," he stated. "I'll never serve that King."

"It is not for the King," the Grand Master said, "it is for the people."

"Whose people? Not mine," the boy whispered, taking a step toward Marning, looking at him with an intensity that was not a child's, nor were the tears in his eyes the tears of a child. "My people are dead. Slaughtered. Old men, women, but most of all, most of all, children."

Marning had grown used to the boy's rages. He had done nothing but scream for the first few weeks at the palace, but he had not wept and he had not been so vividly coherent.

"Only you can prevent a war, boy."

"I won't!" he cried, "I won't fix your mistakes! Whatever you want, whatever you think I have, I'll quench it. I'll choke it until it dies."

"You cannot, it is stronger than you, it is greater than you. It won't suffer your stupidity. Once you are acknowledged as a Wielder, you will always be one."

"I'll use my power to destroy my power."

Marning's heart was racing. If the boy was anything like his father, he could surely manage. "Don't speak of such foolish things."

The boy wiped his wet cheeks dry with his sleeve. "Leave me alone you old lunatic!" he shouted hoarsely. All the lamps went out at once and the room was plunged into darkness.

Marning opened his mouth to speak, but he could hear the boy stifle a sob. He stood there another moment longer and then left the room.