fiction - brigits_flame - brass

[hwango]

Emperor Tioban XIV, the Chosen of the Gods, Keeper of the Sun and the Moon, Beloved of Dragons, and Jewel of the Race of Man had killed seventeen musicians. Not personally, of course. Most of them were killed by whatever guard happened to be standing nearest at the moment he ordered their death. A few were killed by the emperor's ifrit, two by his basilisk, and one had his soul devoured by the emperor's hungry ghost. This last casualty was also the most recent.

All of this death and suffering occurred not because the emperor disliked music. On the contrary, the emperor surrounded himself with music in nearly his every waking moment, and all of those during which he slept - muted hymns were sung by his bedside to keep his dreams untroubled. Musicians played for him while he held court, while he ate his meals, and while he schemed and plotted with his closest advisors against neighboring lands. Musicians even played for him in his most private study, a place forbidden to even his advisors or his personal guards. Thirteen men guarded the room from the outside, but inside that room the emperor's only guards were his ifrit, his basilisk, and his hungry ghost. And it was in that place that he enjoyed his music the most, where he shared it with no other soul - for none of the ifrit, the basilisk, nor the hungry ghost could be said to possess such a thing as a soul.

So the deaths were not due to any lack of love for music on the part of the emperor. Rather, they were due to what one might charitably describe as his mercurial temper. This temper could be unleashed for offenses such as a missed note or a song of which the emperor had grown weary. Not all such slights resulted in an execution, of course, but it had become a common enough occurrence that after the last such incident Karasu, the head of the emperor's household, thought that perhaps something should be done. The last man to fall prey to the emperor's pique had been the most marvelous horn player who only paused to catch his breath at an inopportune moment. Karasu also vaguely recalled that the man had left behind family of some sort. A wife, perhaps?

"O favored of the heavens," Karasu said to the emperor, "I have given some thought to the problem of the musicians in your private study."

"And what problem might that be?" answered the emperor. Ah, thought Karasu. This is going to be tricky indeed. Not that dealing with such a cruel madman was ever otherwise.

"O mighty emperor, I have noticed that of late the musicians attending you in the your study have met with your displeasure with increasing frequency, in spite of the remarkable talent and renown possessed by each of them. I wondered if perhaps they were...unsettled by your guards."

"Are you suggesting that while in my study I dispense with my ifrit, my basilisk, and my ghost, Karasu? That I leave myself defenseless against assassins?" In spite of the mild tone with which this question was delivered, it carried an obvious promise of death if it were answered incorrectly. Karasu was no fool, for certainly no fool could have held the position he did for long.

"Certainly not, o exalted one. Your safety is of course the paramount concern of every citizen in the land." Karasu paused a fraction of a second to consider the magnitude of this lie before pressing onwards. "I thought merely that in that place perhaps you might be better served by a musician that is not human." The emperor did not immediately reply to this. "There are many talented craftsman and magicians in this land. With your permission, my liege, I shall put out a call for them to devote their skills to the situation."

The emperor was intrigued. Not because he was concerned in any way with the increasing loss of life, but because if the music in his study were provided by some clever mechnical or magical contrivance then he would not need to share it with even the musician himself. It would truly be his and his alone. So he approved of Karasu's plan with an enthusiasm that caught Karasu quite by surprise. And unthinkable amount of wealth was offered up as a prize to the individual who could provide the emperor with his music. The emperor was less generous with his patience - the contest would be held after a single month.

The following thirty days saw two harpists and a singer consumed by the ifrit's fire, and three drummers and a flautist eliminated by more ordinary methods. If anything, the emperor's anticipation for the contest was making him even more prone to fits of lethal temper.

Four competitors presented themselves in the great hall. Already the emperor was disappointed. He had been expecting to choose from dozens, if not hundreds. Did these people not realize what a great and powerful man he was?

The first entry was submitted by a man dressed in furs, from whose neck hung amulets and talismans made from exotic woods and animal bones. He had bound some sort of mud spirit to a box containing a series of crystal disks. The instrument was as strange as the performer, but together they produced haunting, ethereal tones that were quite lovely.

"It's made of dirt," said the emperor with a frown. "I can smell it from here. Next."

The second man wore the clothes of a simple craftsman. A tiny pair of spectacles were perched on his nose. He presented the emperor with a carved wooden man holding a lyre. It was pleasing to the eye, and it played competently, but in the end it was nothing more than an elaborate music box. It could only play a few songs, and adding more to its repertoire would require removing the cogs for old ones.

"Too limited," the emperor proclaimed.

The third competitor fared the worst of all. He was dressed in gaudy, colorful robes and a comically tall hat, and he had brought with him a magical harp that he claimed played itself and could be taught any number of songs. When he first commanded it to play it did nothing. After some tinkering he only managed to elicit a horrible, dissonant racket, at which point the emperor ordered the thing smashed to pieces and its maker dragged from the hall.

And so there was a certain amount of nervous murmuring among those assembled by the time the fourth contestant presented herself. She wore a plain but well-tailored black dress complete with a mourning veil. Whatever she had brought with her had been concealed under a tattered old blanket, which she pulled away without further ceremony to reveal a man fashioned of gleaming brass. Attending courtiers gasped and oohed in appreciation. This was certainly the prettiest device yet. And, it turned out, the most versatile.

The brass man could play the drums. It could tap out notes with just its fingers as if they were miniature cymbals or wave its arms to ring tiny hidden bells. It could even walk on its own. All of its limbs were so finely crafted and oiled that none of these movements were accompanied by any clanking or metallic shrieking that might be expected of a metal man. But, most impressively, it could produce the sounds of brass horns without any additional instruments, and its mechanical breath seemed limitless.

The emperor was delighted.

"How many songs does it know?" he asked.

"O great emperor, I have taught it all the songs my late husband used to play, from the pages of music he left behind. They number many, but I could teach it more if they were needed."

"Excellent, excellent!"

The woman bowed low. "I am greatly pleased that you find it to your liking, my emperor."

The contest at an end, the emperor ordered the hall cleared and the brass man brought immediately to his study. Several members of the court wished to congratulate the mysterious woman or question her about her creation, but were disappointed to learn that she had taken her reward of gemstones and immediately departed.

Eager to enjoy his solitary music, the emperor retired to his study and commanded the brass man to perform for him. It was every bit as marvelous as he'd hoped.

For hours the brass man played song after song for him alone as he shuffled around important bits of paper, read poetry, and wrote letters to various allies he had not yet betrayed. Everything was perfect. The emperor wasn't even alarmed when the brass man began to play a particular song, just mildly surprised, though he couldn't at first figure out why. He still wasn't concerned when he eventually figured out that it was a song he had heard only a few times before - an original composition by a musician who had played for him in the past. It didn't even seem strange to him that he was hearing it again now, and so he was utterly surprised to feel cold metal hands close around his neck from behind and squeeze.

The ifrit surged forth from its bottle and doused the brass man in flames, but the brass man would not burn.

The basilisk swooped down from its perch and spat venom in the brass man's face, but the brass man felt no pain.

The hungry ghost rose from its urn and reached inside the brass man's chest with its spectral hands, but the brass man had no soul.

The brass man played its song uninterrupted as it strangled the life from the emperor. Thirteen men guarded the other side of the door, and none of them heard anything but the muffled song. It was many hours before anyone would discover anything to be amiss.

Far from the palace, the horn-player's widow boarded her ship, bound for another land and never to return. She was confident that her creation would perform well. It would not need to learn more songs.

Comments

[bluegerl.livejournal.com]

Oh hoh ho. I love these... they are true tales heard sitting crosslegged in the sand outside the Mosque Bleu in Samarkand.... YUMMY!!!!!!! Scheherezade and a thousand and one nights.... mmmmmmm. thanks tons.

[hwango.livejournal.com]

Glad you enjoyed it. = )

[katden.livejournal.com]

That's brass ;)

[hwango.livejournal.com]

...good? = )