American Science Fiction Five Classic Novels 1956-58 (17 page)

That ended the audience as such. I was anxious to get away, but you do not walk out on a king; that is one prerogative they have retained. He wanted to show me his workshop and his new train models. I suppose he has done more to revive that ancient hobby than anyone else; personally I can’t see it as an occupation for a grown man. But I made polite noises about his new toy locomotive, intended for the “Royal Scotsman.”

“If I had had the breaks,” he said, getting down on his hands and knees and peering into the innards of the toy engine, “I could have been a very fair shop superintendent, I think—a master machinist. But the accident of birth discriminated against me.”

“Do you really think you would have preferred it, Willem?”

“I don’t know. This job I have is not bad. The hours are easy and the pay is good—and the social security is first-rate— barring the outside chance of revolution, and my line has always been lucky on that score. But much of the work is tedious and could be done as well by any second-rate actor.” He glanced up at me. “I relieve your office of a lot of tiresome cornerstone-laying and parade-watching, you know.”

“I do know and I appreciate it.”

“Once in a long time I get a chance to give a little push in the right direction—what I think is the right direction. Kinging is a very odd profession, Joseph. Don’t ever take it up.”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit late, even if I wanted to.”

He made some fine adjustment on the toy. “My real function is to keep you from going crazy.”

“Eh?”

“Of course. Psychosis-situational is the occupational disease of heads of states. My predecessors in the king trade, the ones who actually ruled, were almost all a bit balmy. And take a look at your American presidents; the job used frequently to kill them in their prime. But me, I don’t have to run things; I have a professional like yourself to do it for me. And you don’t have the killing pressure either; you, or those in your shoes, can always quit if things get too tough—and the old Emperor—it’s almost always the ‘old’ Emperor; we usually mount the throne about the age other men retire—the Emperor is always there, maintaining continuity, preserving the symbol of the state, while you professionals work out a new deal.” He blinked solemnly. “My job is not glamorous, but it
is
useful.”

Presently he let up on me about his childish trains and we went back into his office. I thought I was about to be dismissed. In fact, he said, “I should let you get back to your work. You had a hard trip?”

“Not too hard. I spent it working.”

“I suppose so. By the way, who
are
you?”

There is the policeman’s tap on the shoulder, the shock of the top step that is not there, there is falling out of bed, and there is having her husband return home unexpectedly—I would take any combination of those in preference to that simple inquiry. I aged inside to match my appearance and more.

“Sire?”

“Come now,” he said impatiently, “surely my job carries with it some privileges. Just tell me the truth. I’ve known for the past hour that you were not Joseph Bonforte—though you could fool his own mother; you even have his mannerisms. But who are you?”

“My name is Lawrence Smith, Your Majesty,” I said faintly.

“Brace up, man! I could have called the guards long since, if I had been intending to. Were you sent here to assassinate me?”

“No, Sire. I am—loyal to Your Majesty.”

“You have an odd way of showing it. Well, pour yourself another drink, sit down, and tell me about it.”

I told him about it, every bit. It took more than one drink, and presently I felt better. He looked angry when I told him of the kidnaping, but when I told him what they had done to Bonforte’s mind his face turned dark with a Jovian rage.

At last he said quietly, “It’s just a matter of days until he is back in shape, then?”

“So Dr. Capek says.”

“Don’t let him go to work until he is fully recovered. He’s a valuable man. You know that, don’t you? Worth six of you and me. So you carry on with the doubling job and let him get well. The Empire needs him.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Knock off that ‘Sire.’ Since you are standing in for him, call me ‘Willem,’ as he does. Did you know that was how I spotted you?”

“No, Si—no, Willem.”

“He’s called me Willem for twenty years. I thought it decidedly odd that he would quit it in private simply because he was seeing me on state business. But I did not suspect, not really. But, remarkable as your performance was, it set me thinking. Then when we went in to see the trains, I knew.”

“Excuse me? How?”

“You were
polite
, man! I’ve made him look at my trains in the past—and he always got even by being as rude as possible about what a way for a grown man to waste time. It was a little act we always went through. We both enjoyed it.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

“How could you have known?” I was thinking that I should have known, that damned Farleyfile should have told me . . . It was not until later that I realized that the file had not been defective, in view of the theory on which it was based, i.e., it was intended to let a famous man remember details about the
less
famous. But that was precisely what the Emperor was
not
—less famous, I mean. Of
course
Bonforte needed no notes to recall personal details about Willem! Nor would he consider it proper to set down personal matters about the sovereign in a file handled by his clerks.

I had muffed the obvious—not that I see how I could have avoided it, even if I had realized that the file would be incomplete.

But the Emperor was still talking. “You did a magnificent job—and after risking your life in a Martian nest I am not surprised that you were willing to tackle me. Tell me, have I ever seen you in stereo, or anywhere?”

I had given my legal name, of course, when the Emperor demanded it; I now rather timidly gave my professional name. He looked at me, threw up his hands, and guffawed. I was somewhat hurt. “Er, have you heard of me?”

“Heard of you? I’m one of your staunchest fans.” He looked at me very closely. “But you still look like Joe Bonforte. I can’t believe that you are Lorenzo.”

“But I am.”

“Oh, I believe it, I believe it. You know that skit where you are a tramp? First you try to milk a cow—no luck. Finally you end up eating out of the cat’s dish—but even the cat pushes you away?”

I admitted it.

“I’ve almost worn out my spool of that. I laugh and cry at the same time.”

“That is the idea.” I hesitated, then admitted that the barnyard “Weary Willie” routine had been copied from a very great artist of another century. “But I prefer dramatic roles.”

“Like this one?”

“Well—not exactly. For this role, once is quite enough. I wouldn’t care for a long run.”

“I suppose so. Well, tell Roger Clifton—— No, don’t tell Clifton anything. Lorenzo, I see nothing to be gained by ever telling anyone about our conversation this past hour. If you tell Clifton, even though you tell him that I said not to worry, it would just give him nerves. And he has work to do. So we keep it tight, eh?”

“As my Emperor wishes.”

“None of that, please. We’ll keep it quiet because it’s best so. Sorry I can’t make a sickbed visit on Uncle Joe. Not that I could help him—although they used to think the King’s Touch did marvels. So we’ll say nothing and pretend that I never twigged.”

“Yes—Willem.”

“I suppose you had better go now. I’ve kept you a very long time.”

“Whatever you wish.”

“I’ll have Pateel go back with you—or do you know your way around? But just a moment——” He dug around in his desk, muttering to himself. “That girl must have been straightening things again. No—here it is.” He hauled out a little book. “I probably won’t get to see you again—so would you mind giving me your autograph before you go?”

Rog and Bill I found chewing their nails in Bonforte’s upper living room. The second I showed up Corpsman started toward me. “Where the hell have you been?” 

“With the Emperor,” I answered coldly.

“You’ve been gone five or six times as long as you should have been.”

I did not bother to answer. Since the argument over the speech Corpsman and I had gotten along together and worked together, but it was strictly a marriage of convenience, with no love. We co-operated, but we did not really bury the hatchet— unless it was between my shoulder blades. I had made no special effort to conciliate him and saw no reason why I should—in my opinion his parents had met briefly at a masquerade ball.

I don’t believe in rowing with other members of the company, but the only behavior Corpsman would willingly accept from me was that of a servant, hat in hand and very ’umble, sir. I would not give him that, even to keep peace. I was a professional, retained to do a very difficult professional job, and professional men do not use the back stairs; they are treated with respect.

So I ignored him and asked Rog, “Where’s Penny?”

“With
him
. So are Dak and Doc, at the moment.”

“He’s here?”

“Yes.” Clifton hesitated. “We put him in what is supposed to be the wife’s room of your bedroom suite. It was the only place where we could maintain utter privacy and still give him the care he needs. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“It won’t inconvenience you. The two bedrooms are joined, you may have noticed, only through the dressing rooms, and we’ve shut off that door. It’s soundproof.”

“Sounds like a good arrangement. How is he?”

Clifton frowned. “Better, much better—on the whole. He is lucid much of the time.” He hesitated. “You can go in and see him, if you like.”

I hesitated still longer. “How soon does Dr. Capek think he will be ready to make public appearances?”

“It’s hard to say. Before long.”

“How long? Three or four days? A short enough time that we could cancel all appointments and just put me out of sight? Rog, I don’t know just how to make this clear but, much as I would like to call on him and pay my respects, I don’t think it is smart for me to see him at all until after I have made my last appearance. It might well ruin my characterization.” I had made the terrible mistake of going to my father’s funeral; for years thereafter when I thought of him I saw him dead in his coffin. Only very slowly did I regain the true image of him—the virile, dominant man who had reared me with a firm hand and taught me my trade. I was afraid of something like that with Bonforte; I was now impersonating a well man at the height of his powers, the way I had seen him and heard him in the many stereo records of him. I was very much afraid that if I saw him ill, the recollection of it would blur and distort my performance.

“I was not insisting,” Clifton answered. “You know best. It’s possible that we can keep from having you appear in public again, but I want to keep you standing by and ready until he is fully recovered.”

I almost said that the Emperor wanted it done that way. But I caught myself—the shock of having the Emperor find me out had shaken me a little out of character. But the thought reminded me of unfinished business. I took out the revised cabinet list and handed it to Corpsman. “Here’s the approved roster for the news services, Bill. You’ll see that there is one change on it—De la Torre for Braun.”

“What?”

“Jesus de la Torre for Lothar Braun. That’s the way the Emperor wanted it.”

Clifton looked astonished; Corpsman looked both astonished and angry. “What difference does that make? He’s got no goddamn right to have opinions!”

Clifton said slowly, “Bill is right, Chief. As a lawyer who has specialized in constitutional law I assure you that the sovereign’s confirmation is purely nominal. You should not have let him make any changes.”

I felt like shouting at them, and only the imposed calm personality of Bonforte kept me from it. I had had a hard day and, despite a brilliant performance, the inevitable disaster had overtaken me. I wanted to tell Rog that if Willem had not been a really big man, kingly in the fine sense of the word, we would all be in the soup—simply because I had not been adequately coached for the role. Instead I answered sourly, “It’s done and that’s that.”

Corpsman said, “That’s what
you
think! I gave out the correct list to the reporters two hours ago. Now you’ve got to go back and straighten it out. Rog, you had better call the Palace right away and——”

I said, “Quiet!”

Corpsman shut up. I went on in a lower key. “Rog, from a legal point of view, you may be right. I wouldn’t know. I do know that the Emperor felt free to question the appointment of Braun. Now if either one of you wants to go to the Emperor and argue with him, that’s up to you. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to get out of this anachronistic strait jacket, take my shoes off, and have a long, tall drink. Then I’m going to bed.”

“Now wait, Chief,” Clifton objected. “You’ve got a fiveminute spot on grand network to announce the new cabinet.”

“
You
take it. You’re first deputy in this cabinet.”

He blinked. “All right.”

Corpsman said insistently, “How about Braun? He was promised the job.”

Clifton looked at him thoughtfully. “Not in any dispatch that I saw, Bill. He was simply asked if he was willing to serve, like all the others. Is that what you meant?”

Corpsman hesitated like an actor not quite sure of his lines. “Of course. But it amounts to a promise.”

“Not until the public announcement is made, it doesn’t.”

“But the announcement
was
made, I tell you. Two hours ago.”

“Mmm . . . Bill, I’m afraid that you will have to call the boys in again and tell them that you made a mistake. Or I’ll call them in and tell them that through an error a preliminary list was handed out before Mr. Bonforte had okayed it. But we’ve got to correct it before the grand network announcement.”

“Do you mean to tell me you are going to let
him
get away with it?”

By “him” I think Bill meant me rather than Willem, but Rog’s answer assumed the contrary. “Yes. Bill, this is no time to force a constitutional crisis. The issue isn’t worth it. So will you phrase the retraction? Or shall I?”