* * *
—
Fortunately, his brooding and depression gave him all the excuse he needed to avoid going to luncheon, to Court, and to dinner, though several times during the day, Star covered the Valdemar badge on its hand, indicating that someone was scrying on him. He probably gave them pretty much what they were expecting, since all he did was sit and stare out the window, mostly not moving.
His gut reaction was I have to free it! But of all of the things he was doing, or wanted to do, this was absolutely the most impossible.
He was certain without bothering to ask that his rank as a Duke would not be enough for him to order the Dolls to free it. As for doing it in person, well . . . that was sheer insanity. The thing was surrounded most of the time by human tenders. How would he get past them? He certainly would not be able to order the Dolls to restrain them. And if he did manage to find another window when it wasn’t being tended between now and the Regatta, how would he keep it from killing him when he did free it? If he could?
I have more things to do than I have time, energy, resources, or . . . me. I have a hundred things to do, and only enough “me” to tend to fifty.
Granted, Isla and Hakkon were taking care of some of the remaining fifty. But he was the only one here.
“My Lord Duke?”
He looked up at Star, who had uncovered the badge on its hand. “My Lord Duke, it appears to this one that you are perturbed and upset.”
“I feel . . . stretched too far, thinned out over too many things, pulled so that I’m full of holes and if I take on even a little more strain, I’m going to snap,” he confessed to the Doll, and by extension, to all the Dolls.
Star remained silent. Probably because the Dolls could not think of any way to help him. Or maybe the Doll just didn’t understand what he’d said. He took it for granted that they understood human emotions, human frailties, human failings—after all, they had been observing humans for decades now. But maybe they didn’t understand him. Maybe they thought he was infallible, that he’d always manage a solution.
“I can’t do everything,” he said hopelessly. “I might not be able to do even what I’ve promised. I—”
Star stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “You have several significant flaws, including that once you are convinced you are capable of one thing of a certain scale, you are equally convinced you can handle more. You do not allow for their cumulative effects upon you. You are doing what you can.” Rose brought a tea tray and poured a half-cup, then added honey and two syrups. Patiently, Rose offered the cup to Kordas, and he accepted it using both hands because he was a little shaky at the moment.
Rose said, “Thanks to you, every Doll has a talisman that will take it to the refuge. Even the Record Keeper. And the hostages will be taken there as well. And everyone in your home who is willing to go will be there as well. That is three times as much as you had thought you could do. Chance and the future are uncertain; but these things are true.”
“Yes, but—”
Star stopped him with, “We intend to empty the royal stables of horses. They will come with us.”
He stared at Star’s “face” in disbelief.
“So no matter what should betide, this much will be true. At the end of the Regatta, the Emperor will have no servants and no horses, and the entire Palace will be in disarray. No one left will know how to react. Most of the humans here scarcely know how to care for themselves.” There was no doubt of the contempt in the Doll’s voice. “And when the Palace is in disarray, what do you think the courtiers will do?”
Kordas was a third of the way into his tea, and could only murmur “Um . . .”
Star continued. “Those who are in possession of a talisman to return home—and most of them are—will flee to their homes and the comfort of their homes. The ones who are not will be useless burdens on the Emperor’s Guard corps and the few human servants. You have heard the Emperor speak. He is not a man much given to thought. He can order members of the Guard or the human servants to do many things—but if they cannot do them, these things will not be accomplished.” Star paused. “It is the opinion of the Record Keeper that before he thinks of anything else, the Emperor will see to his own comfort. He will recall those who used to serve here from the legions, weakening them ever so slightly—but more importantly, throwing them into some disarray. He will demand more servants from his nobles. All this will take time. The pellet-machines will have fallen silent. No more pellets will be sent to the southern war, and it will further slow to a halt. By the time there are humans minding the machines, some of them will have shaken apart. There may be explosions. No one knows how to mend the machines. The war is more important in the Emperor’s mind than anything else. By the time he turns his attention to the ‘who’ behind the disappearance of the Dolls, the trail we left will be cold, and evidence will vanish too. It may appear that you simply disappeared along with all the other nobles—after all, you have been clamoring to do so. It may be thought that the hostages decided to leave in the confusion as well.”
“I don’t want to keep the child hostages, I just want them to be forever out of—there. None of this is certain—” Kordas said, hesitantly.
“And none of it is impossible,” Star pointed out, and he suddenly got the impression that a great many of the Dolls had focused their attention on him.
There was a long silence.
Kordas finished the tea, handing the cup over to the awaiting Rose, and spoke to all of the Dolls through Star. “I just realized—I’m not sure I’ve explained to all of you why I hate this place. I want—it isn’t revenge on this City, it’s more like—I’m inside a hulking, poisoned, rotting monster that isn’t even aware it’s destroying itself with every footstep, it just keeps plodding along, causing misery and eating misery, instead of being put down in mercy. It feels like leaving it alive is an act of cruelty.” He rubbed at his temples. “Do you know what they’ve given up here, in the Palace? In the City? They’ve given up empathy. They’ve given up sentiment, fond thoughts of the little things that make life worth living, that make it special and wondrous and joyful.”
Kordas leaned in earnestly to Star, trying to pour his feelings out after so much tension. “Here at the Palace, everyone is well fed, and they gossip, and they present themselves as ‘acceptable’—but they’re joyless and without quirks, all the time, because those quirks could be questioned along with their loyalty. I’m the only one who sits at the tables and talks about things that I love that aren’t pointedly to the Empire’s benefit. I’m the only one who just talks about what they like. Everyone else—maneuvers. They keep what they love, and how they love it, hidden away so no one above them in rank can use it against them.”