Tales of Majipoor Read Online Free PDF Page A

ramshackle cottage in a dreary corner of town, and sent one of his aides in to ascertain whether he was awake. He was, though not happy about it. Fortunately, the Coronal was no early riser either, and his idea of “morning” was more like early afternoon.
    Mundiveen seemed taken aback by this summons to the Coronal’s chambers. “Why does he want to see me?”
    “I told him you knew a great deal about the Piurivars. He’s interested in them, all of a sudden. At court he hasn’t wanted to talk about them or, maybe, even to think about them, but now, for some reason – please, Mundiveen. You have to come.”
    “Do I?”
    “He is the Coronal.”
    “And he can call me to his side just like that, with a snap of his fingers?”
    “Please, Mundiveen. Don’t be difficult.”
    “Difficult is what I am, my friend.”
    “For me. A favor. Let him ask you a few questions. This is more important than you can possibly know. The future of Majipoor may depend on it.”
    “I doubt that. But for me my not seeing him is more important than you can possibly know. Let me be, Stiamot.”
    “A few questions, only. I’ve promised him I’ll bring you. Come. Come, Mundiveen.”
    “Well—”
    Stiamot saw him weakening. Some powerful inner struggle was going on; but as the moments passed Mundiveen’s resistance appeared to be diminishing. Refusing a royal command was evidently something that even the crusty, acerbic Mundiveen was unwilling to do. Or perhaps it was merely the fierce lofty indifference that seemed to underlie everything he said or did, that cosmic shrug with which he faced the world, that led him ultimately to yield.
    “Give me half an hour to get myself ready,” Mundiveen said. But the meeting was a brief and unhappy one. Mundiveen was strangely tense and withdrawn during the journey to the Residency, saying almost nothing. He came limping into the Coronal’s chamber with Stiamot beside him, and when he saw Strelkimar he shot a look of such coruscating hatred at him as Stiamot had never seen in human eyes. Strelkimar, who was poring over a sheaf of newly arrived dispatches, took no notice. He barely looked up, greeting Mundiveen with no more than a grunt and a casual glance, and signalled that he wanted to continue reading for a moment. One had to grant a Coronal such whims, but Stiamot knew that Mundiveen was no man to honor even a Coronal’s whim, and half expected him to turn indignantly and leave. Surprisingly, though, he simply stood and waited, a tightly controlled figure, practically motionless, his breath coming in a harsh rasp, and at last the Coronal looked up again. This time, when his eyes met Mundiveen’s, some violent unreadable emotion – shock, anger, despair? – swirled for an instant across Lord Strelkimar’s face. Then it vanished, and was replaced by a steely fixed stare. He stared at Mundiveen with a terrible piercing force that reminded Stiamot of the look that that Metamorph had given him in the street. But despite the grim power of that stare Strelkimar seemed somehow unnerved by Mundiveen’s presence, confounded, dazed.
    “You are the expert on Shapeshifters?” the Coronal asked finally, in a low, husky voice.
    “If that is what your man tells you, my lord, I will not deny it.”
    “Ah. Ah.” A long silence. He was still staring. Another string of unfathomable emotions played across his features, a twitching of his lip, a clenching of his jaw. He was holding some inward debate with himself. Then the Coronal shook his head, slowly, the way a man at the last extremity of exhaustion might shake it. He was barely audible as he said, not to Mundiveen but to Stiamot, “It was a mistake to call him here. This is not a good moment for a meeting. I find myself very weary, this morning.”
    “If you say so, my lord.”
    “Very weary indeed. The man can go. Perhaps another time, then.”
    He made a gesture of dismissal.
    Stiamot was dumfounded. To ask that Mundiveen be brought, and then