"Yes," the sovereign said, "Reading him I understand that we and Earthmen are very much alike. Or we were alike. You know this representation of time that brings downfall to the best and the proudest, goes backwards…"
The sovereign paused.
"Were you looking for someone?" he said suddenly, nodding at the folder a corner of which was sticking out of the armchair.
"Yes, I was looking for Shavash. I need his signature."
"Maybe I could sign something here? I am sure you don't have anything… reprehensible."
Sovereign Varnazd smiled shyly saying these words and Bemish had an unpleasant feeling. What does he mean, "anything reprehensible?" Does he mean that Bemish is not a swindler? Or that all the filth doesn't touch the papers?
"So would you like me to sign anything?"
Bemish hesitated. On one side, two papers indeed required the sovereign's signature — he would have to wait three weeks to get it. On the other hand, what if Shavash gets displeased? He will think that Bemish crept into the garden, found the sovereign behind the Shavash's back, told him God knows what, left Shavash without rightly earned gifts and, to conclude, acted improperly.
Bemish raised his eyes. The Emperor suddenly smiled bitterly and spoke. "I am sorry. I know that my signature doesn't mean much but I often forget that it can also cause damage."
Oh, my God! — Bemish was astonished — he understands everything! But why…
"I would like to do something nice for you," the sovereign said.
"You… I have seen some of your paintings. May I see others?"
The sovereign smiled.
"Let's go."
In five minutes, they passed through the sovereign's bedroom into a light room with eight corners. The guards gaped, if any Earthmen — Van Leyven or Nan — had found themselves in the guarded halls, at least, it had happened a long time ago.
Bemish wasn't mistaken — the sovereign's Varnazd drawings were wondrously good. He probably wasn't a genius painter, he likely followed one of the old masters — every single drawing was done in a traditional manner with light watercolors, slightly faded from the beginning, — and there was something sad and defenseless in all of them, something that resonated surprisingly well with the face of the sovereign of Great Light Country. "I wouldn't hire him even as a department head," Bemish thought.
Bemish stopped for a long while in front of a certain drawing. It depicted a view out of a window — probably a palace one, judging by a curled frame corner — a view of a winter garden. Huge wet snow sheets pushed dry flowers to the ground, four commoner gardeners looking like sparrows with ruffled feathers, were starting a fire in the middle of a large black clearing. A forlorn spear was poised behind the fire. It was clear that the painter felt bad for these people but he thought that he couldn't change anything. It was winter coming year after year. Unfathomable sea whose waves are years…
"Well," the sovereign Varnazd said, "Which one do you like the most?"
Bemish pointed at the drawing with the gardeners at the fire.
"What else?"
Bemish picked another one.
"You have an excellent taste," the sovereign said. "These are the best."
"Have you painted them a while ago?"
"Yes, it was seven years ago when I was a Khanalai's prisoner. These are my guards. Do you see the spear?"
Bemish paled. Yes, sovereign Varnazd was a Khanalai's prisoner seven years ago and not just a prisoner — Khanalai did everything but starved him, wiped his fingers at Varnazd's hair during his feasts, and just waited for the full victory to execute an unworthy emperor…
"It's possible that to draw well, you have to suffer. I had a reason then to pity myself."
"You seem not to pity yourself," Bemish dared. "You seem to pity the peasants that guard you."
They left the eight cornered room for a terrace. A light armchair with a golden head and spreading wings at the sides — it seemed to be flying — stood next to the balustrade and several foot stools stood next to it. The sovereign sat in the armchair and showed Bemish to a stool. They sat down, the sovereign paused and asked.
"They write in your newspapers that I should have a parliament elected and transfer the power to the people — that is, they say, the only way to manage corruption and power abuse. And my officials keep pointing out that the people are poor, lost and embittered and that there are a lot of underground sects in the country. If only rich are allowed to vote, a rebellion will fire up and if everybody is allowed to vote, crazy zealots will make one half of parliament and the officials bribed by the criminals — another half. They also say that an assembly can rule only during easy times, and one man should rule during uneasy times. It is in assemblies' nature to think slowly and in the uneasy times one has to make fast decisions and any slow decision in uneasy times will be a wrong one. What do you think?"
Bemish felt uncomfortable sitting on a gilded perch — he wasn't a parrot, was he? He stood and said.
"I think that one can always find a thousand reasons why democracy is not good. And I think that all these reasons are untrustworthy. I don't think that people are as stupid as unscrupulous politicians picture them and I bring you my apologies, sovereign, but I am sure that it is more difficult to fool a million of stupid commoners than one smart emperor."
Varnazd paused.
"When I was Khanalai's prisoner, I thought a lot about it. I thought that my own errors caused the civil war and the worst of it was that it wasn't really my fault. It's just that if everything depends on one person, the officials around him want to solve all their problems by fooling this person and they, of course, succeed. And I decided that one man shouldn't rule the country because perfect sovereigns don't exist and only the sovereigns who consider themselves be perfect, exist."
Bemish grinned.
"I apologize, sovereign, but it's not really evident that you have chosen this way."
"I was talked out of it," Varnazd said, "By the Earthmen — Nan and Van Leyven. They started arguing that an election would cause anarchy, that the people would consider it to be a shame and a concession to the Earthmen who forced their decisions on the freed emperor, that even Khanalai realized that the Empire of Great Light existence was based on worshipping God-king while an elected assembly would be despised, not respected. It may all be correct, but the real reason was that Nan and Van Leyven knew it would be easier for them to rule in my name than in an elected assembly's name. Yes, they talked me out of it."
"I don't think so," Bemish said. "You let yourself be persuaded. You had shrunk away from power when you hadn't had it, but when you got it back you didn't really want to refuse it."
Bemish expected anger or an emotionless "no" but the sovereign lowered his head suddenly and tears showed at his eyelashes.
"It's so strange," Varnazd said. "I told myself what you've just said many times. And now you told me the same words and I am ready to hate you for it."
And he flapped his sleeves.
"Where is it, my power? You are even afraid to get your papers signed, the same ones that Shavash will bring tomorrow for my signature! You are afraid that Shavash will suspect you conniving something and will not let you use the papers signed by me! And you and Shavash are friends!"
"Sovereign," Bemish said, "if you understand everything, why do you act this way? Why wouldn't you set an election day?"
"Do you know," Varnazd asked, "who will become the Empire's first minister after the election?"
Bemish shrugged his shoulders.
"Shavash! I don't believe that my people will elect a zealot or a fool! They will elect a smart man. Shavash will bribe everybody and everybody will like him, he will even find a path to the zealots' hearts using his spies — but while I am alive, Mr. Bemish, I will not allow Shavash to rule my people. We don't have a god similar to your Satan but believe me, if we did, Shavash would be his son."
Before leaving Bemish, the sovereign Varnazd suddenly brought his guest to a pavilion where the paintings drawn the previous centuries hung. The paintings covered the wall like a spotty carpet — like an iconostasis — small marble altars, braziers and gold basins with fresh pine branches floating in them, stood in front of the most beautiful paintings.
Bemish saw a girl and a dragon immediately — an altar stood in front of it — and Bemish thought worriedly whether the brazier smoke harmed the drawing or, to the contrary, protected it.
"I would like to give it to you," the emperor said. Bemish bowed.
"Your Eternity, I can't accept such a gift."