Sample chapter of Garth Nix's Confusion of princes (2nd part)

This is the second part of the first chapter of the book 'Confusion of Princes' by Gart Nix, the author of Sabriel and the Keys of Kingdom series. All rights belong to him.

Even after I was brought up into consciousness, I was often returned to the dream state in

order to aid recovery from the surgeries that bonded Mektek enhancements to my bone and
flesh.
Once my organic body met the requirements and the Mektek enhancement was done, I
spent most of my time in the sometimes nightmarish mental space where I learned the
particular Psitek capabilities reserved for Princes, the arts of domination and command the more ordinary techniques of mental communication, shielding, and so forth.
I’m not sure if you can call this a childhood, now that I think about it.

From the age of ten to seventeen, I was fully conscious, being taught more mundane
things by various priests, and I played with holographic friends and the mind-programmed
children of servants. It was always my games we played. From very early on, I knew I was a
Prince, and very special, and in my own mind absolutely certain to rise even higher and
become Emperor in time. Everything reinforced this, and in fact for some time I thought I
was the only Prince in the whole galaxy, a willful misapprehension that persisted to some
degree even after I had been taught that I was one of millions.

This was because even though I had been told of the existence of other Princes, I had not

yet met any. Nor did I know when I was going to, until one day I awoke with the familiar
mental voice of my tutor, Uncle Coleport, whispering in the back of my mind. (I called him
‘Uncle’ because that is the mode of address for male priests. Female ones are called ‘Aunt,’
but of course there is no familial relationship.)

:Prince Khemri. This is the day of your investiture, the

sixteenth anniversary of your selection. Your Master of
Assassins awaits an audience:

I opened my eyes and smiled. It was the first time in my life that I had been addressed

not as ‘Prince Candidate,’ but ‘Prince.’ My remaking and training was complete. I would
commandeer a sleek, deadly warship, probably a Verrent corvette or something similar, and go out into the Empire and immediately make my mark.
Or so I thought.

As I was dressed by my valet, a mind-programmed thrall, I reviewed what I knew about

the investiture of a Prince, which was surprisingly little. The first step was to be assigned a
personal court, and the most important member of that court was the Master of Assassins. He
or she was directly assigned by the Imperial Mind and so could be entirely trusted. My
Master of Assassins would help me select my other staff and vet them, an essential process. If
a Prince could not depend upon their court, they would not long survive.

I met my Master of Assassins in one of the temple’s reception rooms, a chamber of

pleasant waterfalls paying homage to a past Emperor’s love of water features. It was a
favored spot for punishment details, and as was often the case, the sound of the falling water
was being suppressed by the work of novices who stood in the pools up to their waists, blue
pulsing in their temples as they flexed their Psitek strength. I had been there once when the
rumble of a waterfall suddenly cut in, and I saw an unconscious novice float by and be
sucked under where the flowing river met a bulkhead. The priests also undergo harsh
training, sometimes with fatal results.

:My name is Haddad <<identifier>>. I am sent by the

<<Sigil of the Imperial Mind>> to serve you, Prince
Khemri:

Haddad was also a priest. All the assassins are priests of the Emperor in Hier Aspect of

the Shadowed Blade. Unlike most of the other Aspects, assassins do not specialise in any one
of the trinity of Imperial techs; they are generalists who use all techs in the service of their
Prince.

:Greetings, Uncle Haddad. I accept you, and bind you to my

service:

‘Good, Highness,’ said Haddad. ‘Speak aloud. What weapons are you carrying?’

‘None,’ I replied. I was surprised. ‘We are in a temple—’
‘We are in a reception room of a temple, Highness,’ said Haddad. ‘It is not covered by
the general truce. Have the priests here trained you with Bitek weapons?’
‘No. . . .’
‘Any weapons?’
‘Sword and dagger, hand blaster, nerve-lash, the basics for dueling,’ I said. Haddad was
looking around, moving about me, an ovoid instrument that I did not recognise in his hand. I
presumed it was some kind of weapon.

For the first time in my life, I was becoming nervous, and already the euphoria of

becoming a Prince was fading, to be replaced by an emotion that I had never really felt before
and was slow to understand.
Fear.

‘Slowly back away toward the inner door, Highness,’ said Haddad. He had stopped

circling and was now intent on one of the waterfalls, watching the novice who stood there,
supposedly shielding us from the noise of falling water.

I hesitated for a moment. Now that I was finally a Prince, I was reluctant to take any

more orders from a priest. But there was something in Haddad’s voice, and after all, he was
my Master of Assassins. . . . I started to retreat toward the inner door that led into the temple
proper.

The novice in the closest waterfall moved. His hand came out from under a sodden robe,

ready to throw a small silver box. But before it left his hand, Haddad fired his weapon. A
blindingly bright bolt of energy shot across the chamber, shearing the novice in half.
‘Back!’ shouted Haddad as I stood watching in disbelief, still several feet from the door.
His voice cut through even the sudden roar of the waterfall. ‘Back!’
The small silver box rose from the bloodied water to hang in the air, and it opened like a
flower to reveal a central stamen of pulsing red that was pointed directly at me. Haddad fired
again, but the box jinked away, and the energy bolt missed it by a hair.

I turned and dived for the door, a door that exploded in front of me as the silver box

delivered its payload directly above my head. I rolled away from the smoking, molten
remains of the doorway and twisted around, thinking that I would see the silver box
reorienting itself for another attack.
Instead I saw it struck by Haddad’s third shot, my additional eyelids and visual filtering
automatically adjusting so that I was not blinded forever by the brilliance of the nanofusion
implosion as the box’s power plant overloaded.

Haddad picked me up, and together we ran to one of the other doors and entered the

temple. A Priest of the Aspect of the Mending Hand coming the other way bent his head to
me before leading his gang of acolytes onward to repair the damage caused by the would-be
assassin.

‘How did . . . who would . . .’ I started to say, the words
I wanted not coming readily to my tongue despite the efforts of internal autonomous
systems that were trying to steady my heartbeat and restore calm.

‘We will talk in your quarters, Highness,’ replied Haddad. ‘They are safe. For now.’

My chambers in the temple were one of the things I was looking forward to leaving
behind. Already in my imagination I had planned far more extensive and luxurious
accommodations. I knew as a Prince I could commandeer such things, provided they were not
already the property of another Prince or protected under the authority of a Prince, a temple,
or the Emperor Hierself.

But I was glad to enter the simple living chamber that day. I sat down in the single chair

as Haddad stood before me, and we both looked at each other, though of course Haddad kept
his eyes down, as was only proper.

I had not seen an assassin before, or at least had not recognised any, for Haddad looked

no different from any other priest. The priests of each Aspect had their own distinctive formal
robes, but they rarely dressed in them, usually adopting simple tan-coloured robes or
shipsuits, one-piece coveralls like the one Haddad wore now.

He was tall and spare of frame, and looked to be around forty or fifty years old. His skin

was lighter than my own, and more yellow than brown. His head was shaved, to reveal the
transparent panels that ran from his temple to the back of his ear, the mark of a full priest. I
could see the sheen of blue cooling liquid pumping around his brain, indicating that he had
some Psitek activity running, though I could detect nothing with my own Psitek abilities. He
had one natural eye, the iris a deep brown colour, and one Bitek replacement, which was
entirely green, without a pupil, and obviously specialised, but I did not know its type or
purpose.

I wondered what he thought of me and how I measured up. He would have served

Princes before me, as assassins were transferred by the Emperor every ten years. Haddad
might well have been Master to other newly hatched Princes about to embark on their careers.
I was taller, faster, and stronger than the priests, the novices, and the mind-programmed
servants I had lived among, but now a faint shadow of doubt crept in as Haddad stood before
me. Perhaps I was not much of a Prince. Maybe I would be not quite as fast, or strong, or tall
as the others. I might even be ugly, for I had the face I was born to have, Princes being
forbidden to change their appearance, apart from enhancements or necessary repair. I had
never thought of this, because I had never shared the company of equals, or even those who might venture an unbiased opinion.

:What was that silver box . . .:

I began to send, but Haddad interrupted.
:Mindspeech not recommended:
‘There are too many people within the temple and the outer grounds who can eavesdrop
on mindspeech in close proximity,’ said Haddad. ‘I am blanking the aural receptors and other
devices in the room, so it is best to speak aloud.’

‘Good,’ I said, trying to act as if I was in command and Haddad was acting on my

instructions. But it did not sound like that, even to me.
‘You did well to evade the flower-trap’s firebeam, Highness,’ said Haddad. ‘However,
you must take it as a warning of things to come. A Prince or number of Princes are aware that
you have ascended, and they seek to remove you before you become even a potential threat.’
‘What? Already?’ I asked. While I knew about competition between Princes, at this stage
I thought it was more chivalrous and I had no idea it was so . . . well . . . lethal. ‘I haven’t
done anything yet! I haven’t even connected to the Imperial Mind!’

‘It is because you have not yet connected to the Mind,’ said Haddad. ‘If successfully

killed now, you are permanently removed, with no chance of rebirth. One fewer Prince to
contend with, and the Emperor’s abdication is only two years away.’
‘That makes it even more foolish of them,’ I said. ‘When I become Emperor, I certainly
won’t forget or forgive these attempts on my life!’

Haddad didn’t even blink at this remarkably naive assertion.

‘I suspect they do not recognise your true potential at this stage, Highness,’ said Haddad.
‘It is simply a common and accepted strategy to remove any newly ascended Prince
candidates as an opportunity kill.’

‘It’s a pathetic strategy,’ I muttered. ‘I wouldn’t do it. Where’s the honour in taking out a

new Prince?’
Haddad was silent, no doubt thinking that either I was a soft idiot or I would soon change
my tune.
For my part, I was bottling up a sudden rage at the priests who hadn’t told me that I
might be assassinated straightaway and had neglected to inform me that the Emperor’s
abdication was so close. I was aware that the Emperor abdicated every twenty years, and one
of the ten million Princes of the Empire would ascend the throne. But I did not know how this
came about, though I presumed the existing Emperor chose their heir, and I had not known
the next such abdication and ascension was only two years away. I would have to work fast to
do some glorious deeds and make myself known so the Emperor would choose me to be hier
successor. Which was annoying, since I wanted to just look around the Empire a bit first, in
my own ship. Though I supposed some adventures might come my way in any case.

‘The priests should have told me about all this,’ I said after a few moments of silence.

‘It is an intentional part of your education, or lack of education, Highness,’ said Haddad.
‘The winnowing begins as soon as you are made a Prince. Approximately thirty-two
percent of all ascending Prince candidates do not last past the first hour out of their childhood
temple.’