Tara Duncan and the Forbidden Book (5 page)

“I don't know if we have the time,” Robin interrupted, not unkindly. “The empress is sure to have us called in soon. We let it be known that we're here to stand by Cal, so—”

“Stand! That's the word for it,” said Fabrice with a sigh. “I can't
stand
always having to get Cal out of the tight spots he gets into. Professional, for short, plus second letter of the alphabet, plus Lunar Excursion Module, for short = pro + b + LEM = problem. That's Cal, all over.”

Tara was about to reply when a big mouth and an eye took shape on the door. “A visitor requests permission to meet you,” said the mouth. “Should I let him in?”

“Who's the visitor?” asked Robin cautiously.

The eye blinked, and they got the impression that the door was feeling uncomfortable.

“I'm guessing it's a gnome, but I've never seen one before. Would you like me to ask the other doors what race he belongs to? They're sure to know.”

“No, that's all right,” said Sparrow. “Let him in.”

The door didn't stir. Oops! Sparrow had forgotten the magic word.

“Er, please!”

The mouth smiled, and the door shortly opened to reveal a very odd individual. Tara looked down . . . and down . . . and down, to find a tiny blue figure wearing a mud-colored doublet and pants and a matching bonnet from which protruded a big tuft of orange hair.

“It's a Smurf!” said Fabrice, laughing.

“Miss Tara'tylanhnem?” the creature asked in a tiny, high-pitched voice. “I am Glul Buglul, a gnome, and Sir Caliban Dal Salan's compensator. I was not originally assigned to this trial, but the empress specifically insisted that I work with Sir Dal Salan. Though you are free to request another compensator if I do not suit you.”

“Compensator?” wondered Tara, who was fascinated by the odd character.

“He'll be assisting Cal at the hearing,” explained Sparrow. “The Truth Tellers will read Cal's mind to find out what happened, and the compensator will interpret what they transmit to him.”

“Why?” Fabrice asked, surprised. “Can't the Truth Tellers speak?”

“They're telepaths,” Sparrow said with a shiver. “They can read our minds, but they never developed vocal cords. So the compensators receive the Tellers' brain waves and speak for them. They're the only ones who can do that, in fact.”

Tara frowned. “But if the compensators are the only ones who can communicate with them, how can you be sure they're telling the truth?”

“The Tellers may be mute, but they are not deaf!” said the gnome with great dignity. “If one of us shaded the truth, they would hear it immediately.”

“Sorry. I didn't mean to insult you,” said Tara, who had been thinking out loud. “It's just that everything is so different on your world. And I'm very worried about my friend.”

“If he is innocent of the crime the empire has charged him with, he is in no danger,” explained the gnome. “However, to better understand the situation, I will need your testimony. Do I have your permission to take your depositions?”

This made Fabrice uncomfortable. He had seen plenty of movies on Earth where the friendly cop asks witnesses if he can interview them, and the next thing they know, the witnesses are behind bars. He opened his mouth to refuse, but Tara beat him to the punch.

“Of course you can,” she said. “We all saw what happened, and we'll tell you everything.”

The gnome pulled out a small box with two large ears that seemed to be listening very carefully. One after another, the friends described the boy's tragic death, or at least as much of it as they could. Master Chem hadn't lifted the Informatus spell he'd cast on them, so they weren't able to talk about Angelica's plot against Tara.

When they were finished, Buglul bowed.

“The case seems simple to me,” he said. “If the Truth Tellers confirm your story, the worst the defendant faces will be a reprimand for distracting the apprentices. The real guilty party is whoever transformed the vortex and thereby caused the boy's death. You did say that the counter-spell seemed to come from the area where the high wizards were standing. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” said Robin. “It was very clear. Some sort of dark power countering all our efforts. That power is what killed the boy!”

“Thank you,” said the gnome, bowing again as he folded the two ears and put the box in his pocket. “You will be summoned in a few minutes for the start of the trial.”

Fabrice was impressed. No doubt about it—telepathy was pretty darn practical. “My first retransmits image and sound,” he muttered to himself. “My second is a kind of road, my third is the biblical you, and my whole is a very useful faculty.”

“I'm guessing
tele
and
path,”
said Tara, “but I'm stumped on the third.”

“Thee,” said Fabrice. “Tele + path + thee = telepathy.” He paused, then asked, “So, what do we do while we're waiting?”

“Nothing, I'm afraid,” said Tara. “The imperial guards are pretty well armed, so we can't really stroll around without permission.”

But as it turned out, they didn't have long to wait. A purple ifrit came and led them through the lush interior gardens to the Double Throne Room, where the empress and the emperor were waiting.

The impressive hall was so big one practically had to pack a lunch just to get across it. On the wall were colorful frescoes of unicorns leaping, imps picking flowers chided by fairy dragonflies, and giants munching on hills. In short, a lot was going on.

There was gold everywhere, of course. The gold animal sculptures were so beautiful—they almost seemed alive. A gorgeous crystal and gold pegasus—Tara's gift to the two sovereigns on her previous visit—stood center stage, a sign of their gratitude toward the young spellbinder.

A number of crystalists were observing everyone carefully. These were OtherWorld's journalists, easy to recognize because of the littlewinged cameras, called scoops, that always hovered around them. Tara was surprised to note that many of the female spellbinders had copied the empress's distinctive white forelock in their hair. So much the better, she thought. The Empress of Omois didn't know that Tara was actually her niece, and it hadn't occurred to Tara to hide her telltale white forelock.

Few courtiers seemed interested in the trial, but the high wizards of Omois and Lancovit were out in force, floating around the twin thrones under the direction of Lady Auxia, a brown-haired high wizard who was the empress's cousin and the palace administrator. To Tara's great surprise, Master Chem had brought a whole contingent from Lancovit: Master Dragosh, the vampyr; Lady Boudiou; the elf Master Den'maril; Lady Sirella, a mermaid floating gracefully in her water bubble; the cahmboum Master Patin; Master Sardoin; and Master Chanfrein. The only Lancovit wizards missing were Lady Kalibris, whose administrative duties probably kept her back at the Living Castle, and the medical shaman, Master Night Bird.

Tara shuddered to see the vampyr, whose fangs always looked ready to bite her. And she gulped when Master Chem spotted her. The old dragon looked angry enough to turn them into toads.

But when Tara turned her attention to Empress Lisbeth'tylanhnem, she was so dazzled by the young woman's beauty that she forgot the vampyr and the dragon. The first time Tara saw the empress, her incredible mass of hair had been red. This time, it was its natural color and flowed like a golden river down to the matching sandals on her tiny feet, its magnificence highlighted by a single white forelock. Enveloped in this silky stream and wearing a cream-colored robe studded by jewels in the pattern of the imperial emblem, Empress Lisbeth'tylanhnem literally glowed. Her milky skin was highlighted by a touch of pink on her cheeks and red on her scarlet lips. Beneath the heavy gold crown sparkled a pair of large, deep blue eyes. Taken as a whole, the picture was almost too perfect, and Tara wondered if the empress used magic to enhance her natural beauty.

Seated next to her on a matching throne, under the hundred-eyed purple peacock, Emperor Sandor was wearing a plain steel half breastplate inlaid with gold. His blond hair was woven in a braid that lay across one broad shoulder. He looked bored to death, but sat up when he saw the four friends and the dog, his interest piqued.

The granite-faced majordomo asked for their names and titles, and announced them: “Her Royal Highness Princess Gloria Daavil, called Sparrow. High Wizard Manitou Duncan. Apprentice Spellbinder Tara'tylanhnem Duncan, called Tara. Apprentice Spellbinder Robin M'angil. Apprentice Spellbinder Fabrice Besois-Giron. The princess, the high wizard, and the spellbinders are here in response to your Imperial Majesties' summons in the matter of the defendant, Caliban Dal Salan.”

The empress's eyes widened when she heard Tara's full name. At their first meeting, she had been surprised by the name, which was normally reserved for the imperial family. But she had forgotten about it when the vortex raged out of control and nearly destroyed her palace. The emperor, however, was now alert and paying Tara his full attention.

Master Chem and the empress opened their mouths to speak, but Sandor beat them to it.

“Tell me, child, how do you happen to have such a distinctive name?” he asked in a well-modulated purr. “Are you aware that it is normally forbidden to have the same last name as the empress?”

In coming to Omois, Tara knew that she might face the problem of being the legitimate heir to the empire—well, the secret heir, anyway. And from the look on Master Chem's face, he clearly didn't want her revealing this little detail in the middle of Cal's trial.

Let's see if a diversion will get me out of this fix,
she thought.

“Oh, really? I'm terribly sorry,” she said, ducking the issue. “We came here to support our friend Cal, who has been unjustly accused of the boy's death. Since we all witnessed the event and I closed the vortex
(may as well remind him that she was the one who saved the palace from destruction),
it seemed essential that we give our testimony.”

“I see,” murmured the emperor in a vaguely malevolent tone. “Have you come to claim the imperial favor that my half-sister granted you, so you can save the guilty party?”

This time Master Chem spoke up.

“What do you mean, guilty party?” he exploded. “The boy's death was an accident, as you know perfectly well. We only came to prove Caliban's good faith. I suspect there's a malicious plot behind all this, and I plan to uncover it, believe me!”

Chem was so furious that he began to hiccup, to the point where a worried Lady Boudiou started pounding him on the back. Despite her efforts, the old wizard's face turned an interesting eggplant color.

Empress Lisbeth was about to turn her attention back to Tara when the little crowd suddenly screamed in terror. Under their horrified eyes Master Chem had begun to swell. He grew larger and larger, and sharp claws grew from his fingertips, a white mane replaced his hair, his skin became covered with blue and silver scales, a spiny crest shredded his robe, and huge fangs burst from his throat. Within seconds, a magnificent and imposing dragon stood where the old wizard had been. With an excited
zoom
the buzzing scoops rushed to transmit the images to their crystalists.

“Hic!”
The huge blue dragon hiccupped and belched a blast of fire that just missed the highly inflammable wooden ceiling.

As diversions go,
Tara thought to herself,
this one takes the prize!

The emperor was slack-jawed for a moment until he remembered that he was the empire's military chief, after all, and bravely drew his sword. Next to him, the guard captain brandished his own swords, but looked no more confident. From the corner of his eye he noticed the scoops filming him, so he tightened his grip on his weapons, trying to look martial.

“Stop that!” the empress raged at the guards who were trying to pull her to safety. “Unhand me!”

In a fury, she went to stand in front of the dragon, hands planted on her hips.

“Master Chemnashaovirodaintrachivu!”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,
hic!”
he rumbled.

“This is an insult to our court! You will immediately shapeshift back, or I will have you thrown in prison for outrage to our person.”

The dragon bowed graciously, bringing his terrifying muzzle down level with the angry young woman's face.

“Very well, Your Imperial Majesty. I hear,
hic!,
and I obey.”

“Good,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “And stop that huffing and puffing! You reek of sulfur, and it stinks!”

The dragon began to shrink and its fangs disappeared, as did its scales. Soon the old wizard was again standing in front of them, wearing a robe that he barely had time to conjure, so as not to wind up naked in front of the empress. She glared at him for a moment, then turned back to Tara.

“Very well. So, what were we saying before we were so rudely interrupted?”

“That you were going to give us permission to help our friend Caliban?” suggested Tara, displaying her sweetest smile.

The emperor opened his mouth, and Tara sensed that he might be about to ship them right home, but the empress spoke first.

“Of course you can assist your friend, child. That's why we requested your presence. We will summon the Truth Tellers immediately, and then we can get back to this name business.”

Maybe the emperor could be fooled, but the empress was too clever not to have noticed that Tara had carefully avoided answering her.

The four friends respectfully bowed to the sovereigns and were awkwardly imitated by Manitou, Sheeba, and even Gallant, whose body wasn't really designed for bowing. Then they stepped aside, leaving room for Cal and the telepaths.

The Truth Tellers appeared a few moments later and Fabrice whistled with surprise. They didn't have any mouths! Their bright, intelligent eyes lit on people and things with interest and patience. Wrapped in long white tunics, they moved slowly, gliding gracefully over the ground. Their heads were covered with big black helmets that ended in a point at the back.