Shadow of All Night Falling Read Online Free PDF Page B

a harmless and lovable screwball, the sort who wanted watching lest he catch his death of forgetting to get in out of the rain.
    He also achieved success by bringing himself to the attention of Authority. In the crowd there were men of a sort he had seen in other kingdoms, too average, too disinterested, too carefully attentive beneath that disinterest, to be anything but spies. Storm King spies, who would be very much interested in any large gathering. Nepanthe, their Princess, had proven cunning politically. She had made certain her followers, proven traitors once, couldn’t escape suffering if she fell. Their names and deeds would be made painfully available to any successor government-and they would die. They had to support her, take deep interest in anything which might foreshadow a movement to bring their Princess to ruin.
    They were the shadow men who backboned the government Valther had built for his sister. Attracting their attention lay at the root of Saltimbanco’s plan. Everyone, especially they and their mistress, had to think him a harmless clown.
    “What do you think?” one shadow man asked the other.
    “A clown with a new act. I imagine he’ll end up asking for money.”
    And at just that moment, Saltimbanco did so, proving himself less than wholly concerned with his listeners’ souls. He smiled to himself on seeing the spies’ knowing nods. He was safe for a while.
    Day after day, week after week, he continued his idiot’s speeches, moving about the city so the greatest numbers might hear him. He spoke on a different subject each day, parlaying the philosophical nonsense of centuries into a mad but innocent reputation. In time he gathered a following of young enthusiasts who appeared at all his harangues. Those he feared. Would they taint his political neutrality? The young being the political idiots they were, and denied any other place of meeting, might be using his speeches as cover for some clandestine activity. But time showed his fears groundless. These were no activists, just bored youngsters enjoying themselves.
    Because he was enjoying himself hugely, and making a fortune from donations, the weeks slipped away rapidly. Spring was but a month distant when he decided the city was ready for his magnus opus, a long-winded and, to the people in the street, laughable oration praising the Princess Nepanthe-for the political weather was growing more treacherous daily, and the woman faced increasing popular opposition. Daringly, the speech was to be presented on the steps of the Tower of the Moon.
    Because most Iwa Skolovdans thought the speech a new high in his career of idiocy, Saltimbanco felt certain they would place him where he wanted. Indeed, they turned out in record numbers. When he reached the Tower, astride his patient donkey, he found a vast crowd waiting. They cheered. A nervous, redoubled Tower guard eyed them uncertainly.
    The soldiers relaxed when they spied him. They now assumed nothing but storms of laughter would be raised. Saltimbanco prayed he would incite no insurrection.
    Ponderously he mounted the steps leading to the Tower entrance, lifting the skirts of his monkish robe like an old woman about to go wading. His ears told him his audience would be warm before he spoke a word.
    He stopped five steps below the soldiers, turned, launched upon flowery rivers of praise dedicated to Nepanthe. Soon the crowd were roaring delightedly.
    Nepanthe sat in the shadows of her lonely chamber, mind in a stupor. A dark mood was on her. She cared not at all for the world, had but one foot in the realm of consciousness. The dreadful demons of her dreams now pursued her even by day. She could sleep only when she fell from exhaustion. This coming out of Ravenkrak had worsened things, not, as she had hoped, made them better.
    Dimly, as through a sound-baffling curtain, the roaring reached her. The Werewind’?, was her first startled thought. Then: Those’re human voices!
    She went to a window