Chapter 4 - Lies and Consequences

Randor looked up from watching Adam pace to see that the sun was westering in the sky. He blinked with alarm and stood up. When did court start today? He took a last glance at Adam, said, "Deactivate," and swept the viewer up and into his pocket.

As he started across the room, the door opened and Duncan peered in. "Your highness," he said when he saw that Randor was within. "Is something wrong? Court was due to start a half hour ago."

"I know, I'm sorry," Randor said. "I got distracted." Duncan stepped back to let Randor pass, but the king got an image of what was awaiting him in the throne room. Disputes over livestock and land, petitions about merchants' rights, or customers' rights, or both. Long winded supplicants who just wanted to hear themselves speak. He couldn't do it. Not today, not with Adam locked away in a box no one knew where.

His grimace must have been obvious, for Man-at-Arms closed the door, and said, "Randor, what's wrong? I can see that something's troubling you."

"It's nothing," Randor said, trying to toss it off as if it were true. "I just have a headache." Rubbing his forehead, he sighed. "Cancel court for me today, would you, Duncan?" Duncan nodded, his eyes very worried, and Randor walked past him. "I'm going to my study."

"Maybe you should rest, your highness," Duncan suggested.

He shook his head. "I'm going to my study," he repeated, and walked down the hall.

Once there, he walked over to the window, resisting the impulse to reactivate the view into Adam's little world. It was incredibly necessary, though, for him to watch the boy. As long as he was watching, he knew what was happening. He couldn't stand the thought that something dreadful might happen while he was occupied elsewhere. Before he give in to temptation, there was a knock at the door. He determined to ignore it, but the knock came again, this time more insistent.

Growling, he walked across to the door and opened it. Dorgan stood there, hand upraised to continue knocking. He tilted his head and gazed up at the king. "Are you going to let me in, or shut the door in my face?" he asked in his sardonic tones.

"What do you want, Dorgan?" Randor growled, hoping that his obvious hostility would cause the man to leave.

"I want to have a private discussion with the father of one of my patients," Dorgan said irritably. "Let me in, Randor." With ill grace, knowing that Dorgan's patient was well beyond his reach, Randor stepped back and let the healer in. He went over and sat glumly in a chair, prepared to hear whatever Dorgan's complaint was. He looked up in surprise, though, when the healer started to speak. "So how long have you had this headache, Randor?" Dorgan asked walking over and putting a hand under Randor's chin.

Randor tried to extricate himself, but the healer just gripped firmly and gazed into his eyes. "No dilation, that's good. Where exactly does it hurt?"

He took Dorgan's wrist in his hand and pushed the healer away. "It's just a headache, Dorgan. Nothing you need to worry about. What, did Duncan run to you the minute I left him?"

Dorgan slowly straightened, an expression Randor dreaded on his face. The healer was about to give him the third degree about his symptoms, and Randor just wasn't up to trying to invent an illness. "All right, Randor, I can see that you're going to be stubborn. Sit down, boy, and tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, Dorgan. I have a headache, that's all." Randor walked over to the window and looked out. Just yesterday Adam had stood by that fountain with Mekanek and Teela.

"Are you worried about Adam?" the healer asked.

Randor stiffened. "No," he growled. "Adam's fine!"

There was silence behind him for a moment, then Dorgan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I never said he wasn't. Randor, it's natural that you would worry about your son after the events of the last few months, but if you worry yourself sick, you won't do yourself or him any good."

Randor shook his head, and made a disbelieving noise low in his throat. Much to his alarm, the noise continued and morphed into a laugh that he couldn't control. He clamped his hands over his mouth to stifle the hysterical laughter that tried to burst from him. It very quickly shifted to sobs, which he could control no more effectively than the laughter. Dorgan grabbed him by the shoulders and guided him to a chair.

"What is it, Randor?" the healer asked, eyes dark with worry. "I struck a nerve, that's clear, but you must talk to me."

Randor shuddered with sobs for a long while, then finally he lay back, worn out by the emotions that had wracked him. He took several long, deep breaths, then said, "No, I can't. That's just it, I can't tell anyone."

Dorgan lifted an eyebrow. "Well, you're going to tell me, or I'll have you in the infirmary so quick you won't know what hit you."

"No!" Randor exclaimed. "No, I have to be - to be - I can't be locked away in the infirmary."

"So tell me what's going on, Randor." The old healer sighed. "Do I have to make a promise of silence? Like when you sprained your wrist when you were twelve trying to -"

"Dorgan, it's nothing that paltry." Randor shook his head. He knew Dorgan; he'd do what he threatened. And with the looks he'd been getting from Marlena and Duncan, they'd probably go along with it. "All right. If you swear you won't tell anyone, anyone at all."

Dorgan looked suspicious, but he nodded. "I trust that you have good reason for this, Randor." The way he said it meant that he'd be quite annoyed if Randor's reason wasn't good enough. Randor wasn't worried about that, he just hoped that Dorgan could keep the secret. Dorgan pursed his lips and said, "I swear that I will tell no one."

Randor gazed into Dorgan's eyes. "A shapeshifter has kidnapped Adam and taken his place." Dorgan's eyebrows raised into his hair line. "He's holding Adam hostage to force me to do his will."

"What?" Dorgan narrowed his eyes. "Skeletor, or one of his lackeys?"

Randor shrugged, but shook his head. "It was the first thing I thought of as well, but it really doesn't seem to be the case this time."

"What does he want?" Randor opened his mouth to speak, but Dorgan rushed on. "Randor, you're not doing it, are you? You can't! Rotten as it is, you're king first and father second."

"He just wants Duncan to make something. I'm playing along to buy time. I'll figure something out, I'm sure."

Dorgan shook his head dubiously, but he shrugged. "As long as nobody gets hurt," he said. "You know the boy would never cope with that." Randor nodded agreement, thinking of Adam's sweet nature. "Where is Adam?" Dorgan asked suddenly.

Shaking his head, Randor said, "I don't know. He could be in the basement of the palace or on the other side of the planet for all I know."

"Is he being properly taken care of? What are the conditions he's in? Does he have enough food? Enough rest? Have you asked any of these questions? They're not hurting him, are they?" Dorgan's questions came so quickly after each other that Randor couldn't get a word in edgewise. Finally the old healer had to take a breath.

"I can show you," he said, reaching into his pocket for the viewer. "Activate." Dorgan leaned over it with avid interest.

"That's a tiny room. Is that the only space he has?"

"Yes, but he is exercising."

"Is he?" Dorgan was leaning close, peering at the images. "That's peculiar. An empty plate just appeared on the table."

Randor slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair. "That vile, deceitful, cruel, vindictive -" He snatched the small stone back and gazed into it. Adam was looking at the plate with disgust. Raising an eyebrow, he bent and picked the offending object up. Holding it like a discus, he flung it into the wall where it shattered into a thousand pieces.

**

Adam surveyed the destruction he'd caused with delight. What, was the imposter trying to make him angry at his father? It wasn't his father's fault he was here. It wasn't his father's idea to keep sending empty plates. The pottery shards, however, gave him an idea. Sorting through them, he pulled out the longest ones with sharp ends that he could find. Gathering the others up, he dropped them in the middle of the table with a malicious grin. Then he picked up the biggest of the shards and contemplated it.

**

"What's he going to do with that?" Dorgan asked with an oddly nervous tone in his voice. "How long has he been there, Randor? How long without food?"

"Two days," Randor said. "And he hasn't eaten since yesterday's breakfast."

"He couldn't - he wouldn't -"

"What?" Randor demanded, not taking his eyes off Adam. "He wouldn't what?" The boy, unaware of the alarm he was causing back at the palace, walked across the room and dug into the wall with the end of the broken piece of pottery.

"Oh, thank goodness," Dorgan sighed, all the tension running out of him. He sat down, and Randor glanced over at him curiously. "He's been so depressed lately, and I thought he might - if he was afraid the fellow was going to really stop feeding him - that he might just do away with himself."

Randor throat constricted, and he looked back at where Adam was carving in the wall. He was alive, and he wasn't doing anything alarming. Just carving hash marks. One, two, three. . .six? What was he counting? Oh, plates. That's how many meals had been represented by the plates sent to him. Randor took a deep breath and turned to the healer. "Dorgan, please do me the favor of never making that suggestion again," Randor said in a strained voice. "I don't think my heart can take it."

"What sort of exercise is he doing?" Dorgan asked.

"Mostly walking. This morning he did a fair number of stretching exercises, and then he walked around the room in circles for most of the day."

"He's going to wear himself out that way." Dorgan watched as Adam started carving words on a different wall. "Though it's not as if there's anything to do in there."

Randor's eyes narrowed. "I pointed that out to his double, but he says he has to think about it."

"Well point it out again, Randor. Be forceful."

"I don't want to antagonize him. He's threatened to -" Randor paused, then grabbed the healer's arm with an iron grip. "Dorgan, you really can't tell anybody what you know! He threatened to cripple Adam if I told anyone."

Dorgan raised an eyebrow, his expression growing remarkably determined. "He touches that boy and I will lay him out flat. I didn't spend the last two months getting him back in shape just so some evil twerp could break him again."

Randor agreed with the substance, if not the detail, of Dorgan's rant. "In any case, you must treat the imposter just as if he were Adam," he said, releasing the healer's arm.

"Which means hassling him about missing his physical therapy." Dorgan grinned maliciously. "Well, your highness, I have a prescription for you. Eat your dinner tonight and -"

"I can't," he said, shaking his head. "I can't watch Adam be delivered an empty plate and then eat."

"It won't do the boy any good if you weaken yourself," the healer said remonstratively. "Eat your dinner and if that moron doesn't feed Adam tomorrow, we'll go to work on him together." Randor shrugged noncommittally. "I think I'll tell Duncan that you're having migraines. That ought to keep him occupied for awhile. Stay in here most of the time and close the drapes." With that, Dorgan turned and left the room. Self-consciously scanning his memory for the symptoms of migraine, Randor closed all the drapes.

Shortly thereafter, a servant knocked with a tray of food. Randor sent him away. He couldn't bear the thought of eating while Adam went without, no matter what Dorgan said.

He stretched out on the couch under the windows and watched Adam well into the night. He hadn't spent this much time watching that boy sleep since he was a tiny baby. That rotten little weasel was going to pay for this.

****

Randor awakened the next morning to see Marlena sitting at the table with a tray of breakfast steaming before her. She had apparently been waiting for him to wake up. He was surprised that she'd managed to get into the room without waking him in the first place.

When she saw that his eyes were open, she walked over and squatted so that their faces were on the same level. Randor wondered suddenly where the viewer was. Where had it fallen? If Marlena saw it. . . . He relaxed when his questing hand found that it had fallen behind the couch cushion. He left it there and met Marlena's eyes. She looked furious.

"All right, Randor, what's going on?" she demanded.

He squinted his eyes and brought a hand up to cover them. "I don't know what you mean, Marlena," he muttered. "I don't feel all that well this morning."

"Small wonder with you sleeping on a couch that isn't long enough for you. Get up, Randor. It's time for breakfast, and you need to eat."

"I'm not really hungry, Marlena," he said. "Please, just leave me alone. Dorgan said I needed to rest."

Marlena stood up so that she was looming over him. It was amazing how so small a woman could loom so successfully. He sat up. His head really did hurt.

"You want me to leave you alone?" she repeated icily.

"Just for now, Marlena," he said, not meeting her eyes. "I have to work through this on my own."

"I see." Her lips were tightly compressed together. "Very well." She turned and walked to the door of the study. "Eat your breakfast," she ordered as she let herself out.

Randor looked at the food, but he didn't really feel very hungry this morning. Probably because he'd already missed a full day's meals.

Reaching into the couch, he pulled out the magical stone and gazed at Adam, doing his stretching exercises, totally ignoring the empty plate that sat on the table. He'd give the villain till lunch. If there wasn't food on that table by lunch time today, that imposter was going to be hurting.

****

A light, hesitant tapping on his shoulder brought Mekanek back down to earth again, literally. He'd been observing some activity far out on the fertile plains while his body remained seated on the fountain in the courtyard. He didn't want to leave the palace because, of the masters, only he, Ram-Man and Duncan remained. The others had been sent off on errands for the machine that the king was having built. As his head descended back to shoulder height, he wondered who it could be. He'd grown used to identifying his friends by the way they tapped him while his head was in the clouds. Ram-Man's fingers were larger than those of anyone else he knew, and he was prone to tickling. Buzz-Off tapped sharply, always and only three times. Stratos didn't tend to tap, but he'd startled Mekanek a time or two by flying out to find him.

He glanced down as his body came into easy view and saw that Queen Marlena was standing next to him. Worried, he wondered what she wanted. It wasn't like the queen to interrupt him in this way. He stood as his neck retracted the last few feet. "Your highness, what can I do for you?" he asked, inclining his head respectfully.

Marlena gestured that he sit and joined him on the edge of the fountain. It was just past luncheon and the king would be holding court later, so the courtyard was largely deserted. The guard he'd asked to keep an eye out for mischief-makers caught his eye and Mekanek nodded, dismissing him.

Then he gave all his attention to the queen, whose expression was very troubled indeed. "Your highness, what's wrong?"

She looked into his eyes and sighed. "That's just the trouble, I can't be sure anything is wrong. But things don't feel right." She was definitely anxious, Mekanek thought as he watched her worry at her wedding band.

"Is there anything I can do to help you find out, your highness?"

She nodded, and an look of distaste came over her features. "Much as I dislike it, I believe there is." Mekanek watched as her expression shifted from distaste to worry to determination. "As one of Randor's oldest friends, I believe I can ask this of you, though I fear it will make you very uncomfortable." Mekanek didn't know what to say, so he just waited for his queen to come to her point. "In fact," she continued, "I shall quite understand it if you refuse to undertake this task."

"Your highness, I -"

She held up a hand. "No, my friend, don't make any rash promises. Wait until you know what I want." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then let it all out in a rush of words. "I want you to keep a quiet eye on my husband."

Mekanek stared at her in shock. "You want me to spy on the king?" he asked in a low voice, just to make sure he'd heard right.

"I know how it sounds, but he's acting very strangely. "He's not eating his meals and he hasn't been sleeping in his bed at night. I'd understand it if there was some crisis, but everything seems normal."

"Didn't Dorgan say he was having trouble with migraines?" Mekanek asked.

She gave an irritated snort. "That doesn't explain everything. Did you hear about Cringer's odd behavior toward Adam day before yesterday?" Mekanek nodded. That had been a bizarre story, but Teela wasn't given to exaggeration. "Well, according to some of those I've spoken to, Randor seemed to take the whole thing as a joke. Adam's standing, horrified, and his father's spouting witticisms." That did sound odd. Marlena's bewildered eyes caught at Mekanek's heart.

He whistled with dismay. "I must say, that doesn't sound much like Randor."

"And he actually rebuked Duncan in public." Mekanek jaw dropped. "Most of the other masters have been sent hither and yon, searching for strange materials so that Duncan can build a device that Randor wants for some unknown and unspoken purpose. He's not talking to me, he's not talking to Duncan. Something odd is going on, and I want you to do what you can to find out what." Mekanek just stared at her for a long moment, mightily disturbed by what he'd heard. Randor's queen wasn't a hysteric, and he'd never seen her so nervous.

She pursed her lips and prepared to stand up. "Now is when you tell me I'm just being silly," she said, a resigned expression on her face. "All I ask is you don't tell Randor any of this."

"Wait, your highness!" Her eyes returned to his face, and she subsided back to the side of the fountain. "I didn't say no. I'm just," he shook his head, "shocked, I guess. I'll do what I can."

She smiled at him tightly, got up and walked swiftly away toward her apartments. Mekanek watched her go, pondering how best to go about the unusual task she had set him. He would have to go at it delicately. There was an ugly word reserved for those caught spying on their kings. And as he would never dream of implicating Marlena, he would have no defense.

Getting up, Mekanek stretched. Stratos was due back later today. Maybe he'd have some ideas. Though the queen hadn't said that he could mention it to anyone else. He'd better ask her before involving the Avion.

He wandered through the gardens toward the building which housed the king's study. Some considered it odd that Randor had both an office and a study in different parts of the palace complex, but it had been the queen's idea. She determined that Randor have a place where he could spend some time in privacy. For her to be suggesting that Mekanek violate that privacy - well, it was a measure of how worried she really was. Ah, good. There was a good bushy tree next to one of the study windows. No one seemed to be around, so Mekanek just sort of casually swung himself onto one of the lower branches. He climbed upward a few feet or so to a point where his body was hidden from easy view. Then he carefully extended his neck, twisting in and out among the branches nearest the trunk, finally gaining a marginally obstructed view in through Randor's partially open window.

The king sat at a table, and Mekanek could see the edge of what appeared to be a fully laden breakfast tray that was pushed aside. That was certainly a hard boiled egg, anyway. Randor seemed utterly focused on . . . on . . . What was that thing he was looking at?