Maal Dweb, Emperor of Xiccarph, was awoken by the scraping cries of Mong Lut the automaton. He had dreamed of his days as a sorcerer-lad in Ilap, the Ilap two centuries past, when it was yet ruled by the geryons of Ulassa…He shook himself, cast aside his blankets of dried algae. Mong Lut withdrew from a dresser Maal Dweb's customary robe of imperial aubergine, and dressed his lord. They passed through a high hall and a gaudy antechamber, and arrived at a marble portico.
"I have a visitor today, no?" said Maal Dweb.
"Yes," said Mong Lut in high-pitched Xalese. (Maal Dweb had amused himself giving the automaton different voices and accents. Now it spoke like an elderly woman of the Xalan upper classes.) "The taisech of Upper Ommu-Zain. He's here to see you about the plague."
"Right, right," said Maal Dweb.
They reached the portico of Maal Dweb's manse. The taisech, flanked by two automata of iron, sat cross-legged and stiff on the marble, a full glass of durian smoothie before him; then he heard the footsteps of Maal Dweb, and wheeled about to see the lord of all the solar system. He sank to his knees, offering the ceremonial words of self-deprecation and praise to Maal Dweb.
Maal Dweb waited with crossed arms until the taisech had finished, then sat opposite him. There was silence for a bit. He looked down at the stooped taisech: dight but in a loincloth and sandals, a strip of rough fabric wound about the chest, an Ommu-Zanian pendant emblazoned with the rune demarcating submission.
"So let us commence," he said. "You told Mong Lut that you wanted to bargain with me about the plague."
"O incomparable lord, I humbly lay my woes, and the woes of my people, at your feet; I call upon your strength, your wisdom, your love and mercy; I sue for your aid."
"You want an antidote, isn't that right? Let's set some terms. What are you willing to give me?"
"O Maal Dweb, almighty king of the firmament and its denizens, my people, most numerous of the tribes of Ommu-Zain, are in mortal peril. Pestilence lies ever on our people, like a thick smoke; fully a fifth of our number have vomited up their own innards. The men of the cities, of Meskavij and Pomalozn, shy from our presences, as though we reek; they have ceased to trade with us, they bar us from their gates. I have called upon your mercy; I have approached you, knowing your far-seeing intelligence; I beg you to aid us. We must have an antidote to the plague."
Maal Dweb had not paid much attention to Ommu-Zain of late. Most of his recent monarchial efforts had concentrated on the akrogb of Mornoth; their many limbs made them splendid laborers, and he needed a new Great Wall.
He privately calculated how long it would take for him to come up with an antidote, and arrived on an estimate of about six months.
"Very well," he said. "I have, of course, various reagents to cure the disease that so ravages your people: I am all-knowing, all-wise, my boundless wealth encompasses all cures. But you have not yet made me an offer of sacrifice."
The chieftain thought, then, sensing Maal Dweb's expectant gaze: "O God of beasts and men, suns and moons, skies and stars, I believe we might donate the bones of five thousand young men to your ossuary in Pomalozn."
"Too few," said Maal Dweb. "Fifteen thousand?"
A sigh. "O omnipotent Lord of the three fiery dawns, that is a steep price indeed."
"If you balk, I may commute it thus: ten thousand men killed, their bones furnished to the government of Pomalozn; ten thousand men conscripted to work on the Fortifications of Ilap; ten thousand persons, of either sex, delivered to a corps of my automatons, thence to one of my laboratories, to be experimented upon. The total number of sacrifices is twice as large; but their deaths are not wholly certain."
The chieftain paused, then said, at length, "O Emperor of boundless mercy and generosity, I accept your proposal."
An automaton of cobalt and corundum wheeled onto the portico; its arms ended in scythes. "Shall I kill the stranger, Lord?"
"I'd rather you find another robot with decent manual dexterity who can make me an akrogb sandwich," said Maal Dweb. "Good. I am glad you have seen the wisdom in my plan. I'll take your accession as binding; if you do not promptly deliver the goods I have requested, you may be sure my reprisal will be bloody. Mong Lut? Mong Lut!" Presently the brass man padded softly onto the balcony. "Kindly escort my valued guest down the stairway, to the base of the fortress."
The taisech gone, Maal Dweb ate his sandwich and looked out across his garden: a small jungle no less dense and perilous than all Xala, comprising coy, upraised fronds, thorny vines spontaneously woven into labyrinths, causeys of limestone and marble and stairs of quartz, glowing fruits like lanterns, the upraised limbs of fungal growth; ever there came from the labyrinth a hiss as of many fauna, the hum of insects, the choke and roar of larger beasts. Far beyond he might see the edge of the great plateau upon which his manse and garden were built.
Above: the sky, the three suns. It was late afternoon: Carmine overlapped the edge of Emerald, so the afternoon was dim; dull Amber sat in the lefthand side of the sky.
Maal Dweb grew wistful, and decided to return inside. He climbed staircases, opened gates of crystal and ebony, trod a plank-bridge he had strung between two of the highest cupolas of his manse, and attained at last a small room, far from his usual bedchamber, that was furnished with a few printed scrolls and journals. He switched on a gas-lamp and began to read. Presently he tired, and slept.