Nov. Bargain, Part the Fifth, Subpart D.
Jan. 11th, 2004 12:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camwynAnd we're back to "Grandfather's Legacy". Huzzah!
The earlier part may be found here.
"Nevertheless," Sagara said, "you are here. The king must know. All the Nagas must." I could've been wrong, but for a moment it looked like he was smiling. "It is not often we get such a chance as this."
That didn't sound good.
The snake slid backwards, though his eyes were still on me. I could still feel the coil he'd slung behind my legs, and stayed exactly where I was. Sagara lifted his head, hood stretching out further than I would have thought possible, and let out a great hiss. The top of his head began to glow.
I am quite serious. At first, I thought it was catching the sun's rays somehow, but no- Sagara's head had something on it I couldn't make out that had a light all its own. It was a brilliant red, quickly growing so bright that I had to block the light out with one hand. Even then, the light seeped through my fingers. It was saying something in a language too full of hissing to understand, but I thought I could make my name out once or twice. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and waited.
The light stopped. The hissing went on, but it seemed to be coming from all around me. I dropped my hand.
"Open your eyes, Preston," whispered Sagara, "and see the gathering of those who have come to judge you."
We stood at the center of a circle of open space defined by Sagara's coiling length. Beyond that scaly line were. . . snakes. Angry, hissing snakes of every size and shape and possible permutation- little spotted things, cobras differing from Sagara only in their size, pythons, and snakes I couldn't put a name to. I saw all the snakes of India that I had ever heard of, and more- you see, not all of the gathered, hissing crowd were entirely snake. Beyond the ordinary snakes who clustered nearest to Sagara I could make out serpents nearly as big as he, but with the arms of a human being. I saw another creature I suppose I will have to call a snake, but only because I can't think of a word for a beast with a man's head on a serpent's body. There was at least one man-sized cobra who must surely have had at least three heads, if not more, and there were creatures that looked like nothing so much as the lamias my mother had told me existed in the myths of the Greeks. There were two of them, serpent bodies as thick as Sagara's rising perhaps a meter off the ground- but only that far, because that was the point at which they suddenly ceased to be snakes and gave over to human shapes. Those two looked like Indian women of extremely high caste. They were even dressed in saris and jewels, each one wearing a large ruby squarely between her eyebrows. You could almost call them beautiful, but there was a kind of hardness about their expressions that cut all such thoughts off before they could take root.
Still, I know a lady when I see one. I bowed. They didn't acknowledge it, but I thought perhaps I saw a little bit of a change for the better in their expressions. One of them raised a hand, calling out to Sagara in some human language. The cobra dipped his head to her; so did all of the other snakes. A moment later they did the same thing towards the other snake-woman. When Sagara lifted his head, he turned to me and hissed, "His Majesty's daughters are pleased. This is most unexpected."
"Why?" I started to ask, but a motion caught my eye. The taller of the two snake-women had clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head. Her sister slithered backwards, almost seeming to draw half the other snakes back with her, forming an open path wide enough to ride a horse through.
What came down that path could never have ridden a horse; then again, it wouldn't need one. Even without Sagara's murmur, the Naga King was unmistakably royalty. Like his daughters, he was human above, serpent below. The lines of his face were as aristocratic as anything you might see in the House of Lords, dusky though his skin was. Where his daughters wore saris he wore the sort of ornaments I had only ever seen in the museums of London. Strings of gemstones, heavy gold earrings, wrist bracers and arm bands- he looked like nothing so much as one of the statues in the British Museum, down to the lethal-looking hooked spear in his hands. His black hair was pulled up atop his head in a complicated, braided pile- even that was like the statues, though not quite the same. About the only thing that seemed the least bit different was that he, like his daughters, wore a ruby between his brows. His was at least the size of the end of a man's thumb.
The Naga King didn't seem to see me as he arched an eyebrow at Sagara. The enormous cobra nodded, drawing his coils out of the way, and the King slithered into what remained of our open space. Then, and only then, did Sankhapala turn in my direction. "Is this the one?" he asked in English, his words as clear and civilized as any man's.
"I believe so, your Majesty," answered Sagara.
The rule I was taught as a child is: a gentleman neither grovels nor kowtows. Bow, yes, grovel, no. And in the presence of royalty one must always remember, one knee before the sovereign, two knees before God. I took a deep breath, bowed my head, and went down on one knee.
There was silence then, even from the snakes. Funny how loud the noises of the world around you can be, when all the other noises stop. "Your Majesty," I said, "my name is Frank William Preston, and I'm a sergeant of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I don't know who you're looking for, but I very much doubt it's me."
He laughed, but not in a good way. That was a laugh that said 'I don't believe you' more clearly than any words I've ever heard. "My minister is very wise, Preston," said the Naga King. "I have known him many lifetimes of men. He does not lie."
"I'm not saying that he does, your Majesty." I kept my eyes down and my voice steady. "But even a wise man can be mistaken-"
The hissing started again. That's not a comforting sound, not when it's coming from everywhere around you. "I know the smell, your Majesty," whispered Sagara. "I would know that smell anywhere."
"Hmm," said the Naga King, sounding thoughtful. "Perhaps. . ."
I still waited. It suddenly occurred to me that of all the situations I'd been in these past several weeks, this was the worst yet. Alone, without so much as my dog- surrounded by natives with no reason to like White men- mistaken for someone who had obviously antagonized them- and without any ghost of a chance that anyone else knew where I was. Not a comforting thought, by any stretch of the imagination. I'd been in worse spots before and come out alive- but not by much.
While I was thinking this, something caught me lightly just under the chin- a spear butt. "Rise," said the Naga King. "I would like a better look at you."
"Yes, your Majesty."
It might've been my imagination, but the circle of snakes seemed to have gotten smaller around us. Then again, it may have had more to do with Sankhapala himself. Up close, the Naga King was bulkier than his minister, though his serpent half wasn't nearly so long. It was all I could do not to turn to face him as he slowly circled around me; I kept my eyes on Sagara instead. It was easier than looking at the rest of my surroundings. The King's minister had lost any traces of expression and simply watched with dark, glittering eyes as Sankhapala circled – once, twice, three times.
At last, the Naga King came to a stop. "I cannot tell," he said, fingering his spear. "The smell is right, yes, but it is not the same."
Sagara looked at me, flicking his tongue. "It is the same name," he insisted. "I tell you, this Preston is the one-"
That tore it. Absolutely, positively tore it. Constable Deadman I could understand. Mr. Otani I could almost handle. But having my name, and apparently my very smell, recognized by a bunch of hostile snakes on the other side of the globe ENTIRELY from anywhere I had ever been? That was more than any man ought to be asked to take. Ever!
"Excuse me!" I called out, putting up a hand for attention. It wasn't necessary- the King and his minister were already staring at me in what looked like shock. "Your Majesty- Sagara- would someone PLEASE tell me exactly what I stand accused of? I've said it already – I've never been to India. I've never seen a Naga before today. Why, where I come from, we don't even have snakes!"
The Naga King looked like he was about to choke on his own tongue. Sagara, whose hood was flaring out again, regained speech a little faster. "Majesty," he offered, "perhaps you are right. . ."
"What do you mean, Sagara?" The King leaned on his spear, looking to the cobra quickly.
"Perhaps it is not the same smell, after all." His tongue flicked out again. "One who wields the kind of power that could trap your son in bondage could not possibly be so stupid-"
My turn to choke, I guess. I've been called a lot of things in my day. Stupid's not one of the more common ones.
Sagara canted his head, continuing. "-as to lie so baldly to your face. Perhaps this one is not the Preston who offended us, but only of the same blood?"
The Naga King turned, eyes narrowed, and peered at me once more. "It may be so," he said. "Or- perhaps he thinks the years have been long enough to make our memories go astray?"
"Perhaps." Sagara's hood folded out of sight. "Send for Samadarshi, Majesty. He will have the truth from this man."
The earlier part may be found here.
"Nevertheless," Sagara said, "you are here. The king must know. All the Nagas must." I could've been wrong, but for a moment it looked like he was smiling. "It is not often we get such a chance as this."
That didn't sound good.
The snake slid backwards, though his eyes were still on me. I could still feel the coil he'd slung behind my legs, and stayed exactly where I was. Sagara lifted his head, hood stretching out further than I would have thought possible, and let out a great hiss. The top of his head began to glow.
I am quite serious. At first, I thought it was catching the sun's rays somehow, but no- Sagara's head had something on it I couldn't make out that had a light all its own. It was a brilliant red, quickly growing so bright that I had to block the light out with one hand. Even then, the light seeped through my fingers. It was saying something in a language too full of hissing to understand, but I thought I could make my name out once or twice. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and waited.
The light stopped. The hissing went on, but it seemed to be coming from all around me. I dropped my hand.
"Open your eyes, Preston," whispered Sagara, "and see the gathering of those who have come to judge you."
We stood at the center of a circle of open space defined by Sagara's coiling length. Beyond that scaly line were. . . snakes. Angry, hissing snakes of every size and shape and possible permutation- little spotted things, cobras differing from Sagara only in their size, pythons, and snakes I couldn't put a name to. I saw all the snakes of India that I had ever heard of, and more- you see, not all of the gathered, hissing crowd were entirely snake. Beyond the ordinary snakes who clustered nearest to Sagara I could make out serpents nearly as big as he, but with the arms of a human being. I saw another creature I suppose I will have to call a snake, but only because I can't think of a word for a beast with a man's head on a serpent's body. There was at least one man-sized cobra who must surely have had at least three heads, if not more, and there were creatures that looked like nothing so much as the lamias my mother had told me existed in the myths of the Greeks. There were two of them, serpent bodies as thick as Sagara's rising perhaps a meter off the ground- but only that far, because that was the point at which they suddenly ceased to be snakes and gave over to human shapes. Those two looked like Indian women of extremely high caste. They were even dressed in saris and jewels, each one wearing a large ruby squarely between her eyebrows. You could almost call them beautiful, but there was a kind of hardness about their expressions that cut all such thoughts off before they could take root.
Still, I know a lady when I see one. I bowed. They didn't acknowledge it, but I thought perhaps I saw a little bit of a change for the better in their expressions. One of them raised a hand, calling out to Sagara in some human language. The cobra dipped his head to her; so did all of the other snakes. A moment later they did the same thing towards the other snake-woman. When Sagara lifted his head, he turned to me and hissed, "His Majesty's daughters are pleased. This is most unexpected."
"Why?" I started to ask, but a motion caught my eye. The taller of the two snake-women had clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head. Her sister slithered backwards, almost seeming to draw half the other snakes back with her, forming an open path wide enough to ride a horse through.
What came down that path could never have ridden a horse; then again, it wouldn't need one. Even without Sagara's murmur, the Naga King was unmistakably royalty. Like his daughters, he was human above, serpent below. The lines of his face were as aristocratic as anything you might see in the House of Lords, dusky though his skin was. Where his daughters wore saris he wore the sort of ornaments I had only ever seen in the museums of London. Strings of gemstones, heavy gold earrings, wrist bracers and arm bands- he looked like nothing so much as one of the statues in the British Museum, down to the lethal-looking hooked spear in his hands. His black hair was pulled up atop his head in a complicated, braided pile- even that was like the statues, though not quite the same. About the only thing that seemed the least bit different was that he, like his daughters, wore a ruby between his brows. His was at least the size of the end of a man's thumb.
The Naga King didn't seem to see me as he arched an eyebrow at Sagara. The enormous cobra nodded, drawing his coils out of the way, and the King slithered into what remained of our open space. Then, and only then, did Sankhapala turn in my direction. "Is this the one?" he asked in English, his words as clear and civilized as any man's.
"I believe so, your Majesty," answered Sagara.
The rule I was taught as a child is: a gentleman neither grovels nor kowtows. Bow, yes, grovel, no. And in the presence of royalty one must always remember, one knee before the sovereign, two knees before God. I took a deep breath, bowed my head, and went down on one knee.
There was silence then, even from the snakes. Funny how loud the noises of the world around you can be, when all the other noises stop. "Your Majesty," I said, "my name is Frank William Preston, and I'm a sergeant of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I don't know who you're looking for, but I very much doubt it's me."
He laughed, but not in a good way. That was a laugh that said 'I don't believe you' more clearly than any words I've ever heard. "My minister is very wise, Preston," said the Naga King. "I have known him many lifetimes of men. He does not lie."
"I'm not saying that he does, your Majesty." I kept my eyes down and my voice steady. "But even a wise man can be mistaken-"
The hissing started again. That's not a comforting sound, not when it's coming from everywhere around you. "I know the smell, your Majesty," whispered Sagara. "I would know that smell anywhere."
"Hmm," said the Naga King, sounding thoughtful. "Perhaps. . ."
I still waited. It suddenly occurred to me that of all the situations I'd been in these past several weeks, this was the worst yet. Alone, without so much as my dog- surrounded by natives with no reason to like White men- mistaken for someone who had obviously antagonized them- and without any ghost of a chance that anyone else knew where I was. Not a comforting thought, by any stretch of the imagination. I'd been in worse spots before and come out alive- but not by much.
While I was thinking this, something caught me lightly just under the chin- a spear butt. "Rise," said the Naga King. "I would like a better look at you."
"Yes, your Majesty."
It might've been my imagination, but the circle of snakes seemed to have gotten smaller around us. Then again, it may have had more to do with Sankhapala himself. Up close, the Naga King was bulkier than his minister, though his serpent half wasn't nearly so long. It was all I could do not to turn to face him as he slowly circled around me; I kept my eyes on Sagara instead. It was easier than looking at the rest of my surroundings. The King's minister had lost any traces of expression and simply watched with dark, glittering eyes as Sankhapala circled – once, twice, three times.
At last, the Naga King came to a stop. "I cannot tell," he said, fingering his spear. "The smell is right, yes, but it is not the same."
Sagara looked at me, flicking his tongue. "It is the same name," he insisted. "I tell you, this Preston is the one-"
That tore it. Absolutely, positively tore it. Constable Deadman I could understand. Mr. Otani I could almost handle. But having my name, and apparently my very smell, recognized by a bunch of hostile snakes on the other side of the globe ENTIRELY from anywhere I had ever been? That was more than any man ought to be asked to take. Ever!
"Excuse me!" I called out, putting up a hand for attention. It wasn't necessary- the King and his minister were already staring at me in what looked like shock. "Your Majesty- Sagara- would someone PLEASE tell me exactly what I stand accused of? I've said it already – I've never been to India. I've never seen a Naga before today. Why, where I come from, we don't even have snakes!"
The Naga King looked like he was about to choke on his own tongue. Sagara, whose hood was flaring out again, regained speech a little faster. "Majesty," he offered, "perhaps you are right. . ."
"What do you mean, Sagara?" The King leaned on his spear, looking to the cobra quickly.
"Perhaps it is not the same smell, after all." His tongue flicked out again. "One who wields the kind of power that could trap your son in bondage could not possibly be so stupid-"
My turn to choke, I guess. I've been called a lot of things in my day. Stupid's not one of the more common ones.
Sagara canted his head, continuing. "-as to lie so baldly to your face. Perhaps this one is not the Preston who offended us, but only of the same blood?"
The Naga King turned, eyes narrowed, and peered at me once more. "It may be so," he said. "Or- perhaps he thinks the years have been long enough to make our memories go astray?"
"Perhaps." Sagara's hood folded out of sight. "Send for Samadarshi, Majesty. He will have the truth from this man."
