Page 42 of Twins for the Barbarians

“Precisely. Yes, Kingo, I am a man of science at my core. But I have seen enough in Opal City since the plague broke out to make me understand that science itself cannot explain everything. Science is still evolving. What we see now as miracles may be explained logically at a later time, but for now, in the absence of empirical data, all we have is faith that Sunna protected us. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“The simplest explanation is usually true,” I say, nodding slowly. I don’t agree, though. He’s hiding something. I can’t tell from Solomon’s words or behavior directly, but I can tell from the fleeting glances his wives keep exchanging between them. They know more than they’re sharing with us, and I need to find out what.

“How about we focus on your tasks for today, Kingo,” I say. “You’ll delve into the palace’s archives, but what will be the scope of your inquiry?”

“I’ll be looking into any medical data stored here,” he says. “Anything pertaining to the plague and how it was managed.”

“Oh, you’ll find plenty of reports in the medical section,” Leela replies. However, we don’t have any of the raw data here—only the reports and memos sent to the king just before the virus became an epidemic.”

“It’s a good starting point,” Kingo says. “Thank you. Where is the raw data?”

“I don’t think it survived,” Solomon replies, “but you’re welcome to try the basement of the hospital. You’ll need to be accompanied there by one of my wives and a couple of soldiers.”

“Yes. I’ll make my plans accordingly,” Kingo mutters.

I look at Helios and Kharo. After our conversation last night, I know they’re itching to investigate on their own, and I need to give them the proper distraction so they can slip past the soldiers.

“Your Grace,” I ask the king, “would you be kind enough to give me a tour of the palace and its grounds? My men would like to rest for the day. Our journey here has taken a greater toll on our strength than we first thought.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Solomon replies with a cool grin. “I’m sure Helios and Kharo know not to leave the palace unattended.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it, Your Grace,” Helios replies. “Besides, we don’t know our way around the city. The last thing I want at this point is to get lost and draw attention to ourselves.”

“Very well,” Solomon grins.

He seems to like it when we play by his rules. That’s the mark of a megalomaniac, or it may be that we’re simply dealing with a man who felt helpless—until he was made king, and his sense of self-importance grew. Either way, Solomon bears watching. The man is hiding information.

One way or another, I’ll get it out of him.

A couple of hours later, Helios and Kharo are supposedly relaxing in our room, but I’m pretty sure they’ve already snuck out without alerting the guards that the king has posted outside our door. Kingo is elbow-deep in medical reports in the royal library. I have no idea where Solomon’s wives are, but I understand they’re raising six children between them, so they’ve probably got their hands full as mothers when they’re not attending meetings and other events at Solomon’s side.

In the meantime, I walk beside the king as we make our way through the palace’s east wing. Two soldiers walk quietly behind us.

Solomon has changed his clothes—I notice he likes to switch colors and fabrics to match the moment and the occasion. For breakfast, he opted for white and beige cotton. For our walk, Solomon wears a dark green tunic with tight silk pants and a black embroidered cape over one shoulder.

He seems to relish being royal. If, before, he spent most of his life in a lab, perhaps trying to make himself heard and to earn the respect of his peers, then being crowned the king of Opal City has surely mended his injured ego.

“This is the so-called historical wing,” he says. “The first one built. Back then, this was literally the whole palace. Opal City wasn’t even a city. There was a moat around the building, if you can believe that.”

“A moat? Filled with water?” I ask, trying to imagine this wing as a stand-alone structure.

“No, with lava. There was a stream coming from Kaos all the way down here. It’s since dried up once the volcano became dormant,” he says.

The east wing is massive on its own, with black stone walls and a matching marble floor shot through with shimmering red veins that remind me of Sunnaites’ eyes. The tall windows let in enough sunlight to brighten it. The curtains are threaded with gold, and expansive, gold-brushed chandeliers and wall sconces provide even more light. It’s imposing but not suffocating.

“A moat filled with lava! I presume it kept the enemy at bay,” I tell the king.

“Yes, and there were plenty in the early days. Imagine if we were still divided into tribes, fighting over territories instead of coming together as a kingdom to grow and evolve,” he says, then pauses and laughs bitterly. “But you don’t need to imagine that, do you?”

“No, Your Grace. I’m afraid Sunna’s people have devolved in that sense.”

“Tell me about Earth. Is it the same there?” he asks.

I shake my head slowly. “We’re more of a mixed bag, not a united kingdom like Sunna used to be, mind you. But we survived our plagues and rose from the ashes over and over again. We are many countries—democracies and monarchies alike. We have some just rulers among them, but we also have despots. Our history is just as diverse and as colorful, but we seem to be driven by the desire for progress and a need for more, always more.”

“More land; more money.”

“More weapons, too,” I reply.

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