You need me, Tommy, but it would be a very bad mistake for me to tell you that. No, you must say it to me. There must be no question about who is in charge. Not now, not ever.
"Can't refuse?" Thomas whispered. He had jerked upright on his elbows at Flagg's awful news. Now he fell weakly back on his pillows again. "Can't? I feel weak again. I think the fever's coming back. Send for the doctor. I might need to be bled. I-"
"You're fine," Flagg said, standing up. "I've filled you full of good medicine, your fever's gone, and all you want is a little fresh air to finish the job. But if you need a doctor to tell you the same thing, Tommy" (Flagg let the smallest note of reproach creep into his voice), "then you need only to pull the bell."
Flagg pointed at the bell and smiled a little. It was not a terribly kind smile.
"I understand your urge to hide in your bed, but I wouldn't be your friend unless I told you that any refuge you sense in your bed or in trying to stay sick, is a false refuge."
"False?"
"I advise you to get up and begin working at getting your strength back. You're to be crowned with royal pomp and cer-emony in three days' time. Being carried up the aisle in your bed to the platform where Peyna will stand with the crown and scepter would be a humiliating way to start a kingly reign, but if it comes to that, I assure you they will do it. Headless kingdoms are uneasy kingdoms. Peyna means to see you crowned as soon as possible."
Thomas lay on his pillows, trying to absorb this information. He was rabbit-eyed with fear.
Flagg grabbed his red-lined cloak from the bedpost, swirled it over his shoulders, and hooked its gold chain at his neck. Next he took a silver-headed cane from the corner. He flourished it, crossed his waist with it, and made a large bow in Thomas's direction. The cloak... the hat... the cane... these things scared Thomas. Here had come a terrible time when he needed Flagg more than he had ever needed him before, and Flagg looked dressed for... for...
He looks dressed for gaveling.
His panic of a few moments ago was only a minor scare in comparison with the frightful cold hands which seized Thomas's heart now.
"And now, dear Tommy, I wish you a healthy disposition all of your life, all the cheer your heart can stand, a long, prosperous reign... and goodbye!"
He started for the door and had actually begun to think the boy was so utterly paralyzed with panic that he, Flagg, would have to think of some stratagem for returning to the little fool's bedside on his own, when Thomas managed a single, strangled word: "Wait!"
Flagg turned back, an expression of polite concern on his face. "My Lord King?"
"Where... where are you going?"
"Why..." Flagg looked surprised, as if it hadn't occurred to him until now to think Thomas would even care. "Andua to start with. They are great sailors, you know, and there are many lands beyond the Sea of Tomorrow I've never seen. Sometimes a captain will take a magician on board for good luck, to conjure a wind if the ship is becalmed, or to tell the weather. If no one wants a magician-well, I am not as young as I was when I first came here, but I can still run a line and unfurl a sail." Smiling, Flagg mimed the action, never dropping his cane.
Thomas was up on his elbows again. "No!" he nearly screamed. No.
"My Lord King-"
"Don't call me that!"
Flagg crossed to him, now allowing an expression of deeper concern to fill his face. "Tommy, then. Dear old Tommy. What-ever's wrong?"
"What's wrong? What's wrong? How can you be so stupid? My father's dead by poison, Peter's in the Needle for the crime, I must be King, you are planning to leave, and you want to know what's wrong?" Thomas uttered a wild, shrieky little laugh.
"But all these things must be, Tommy," Flagg said gently.
"I can't be King," Thomas said. He seized Flagg's arm, and his nails sank deeply into the magician's strange flesh. "Peter was meant to be King, Peter was always the smart one, I was stupid, I am stupid, I can't be King!"
"God makes Kings," Flagg said. God... and sometimes ma-gicians, he thought with an inward titter. "He has made you King, and mark me, Tommy, you will be King. Either you'll be King or there will be dirt shoveled over you."
"Let it be dirt, then! I'll kill myself."
"You'll do no such thing."
"Better to kill myself than to be laughed at for a thousand years as the prince who died of fright."
"You'll make a King, Tommy. Never fear. But I must go. These days are cold, but the nights are colder. And I want to be clear of the city before dusk falls."
"No, stay!" Thomas clutched wildly at Flagg's cloak. "If I must be King, then stay and advise me, as you advised my father! Don't go! I don't know why you want to go, anyway! You've been here forever!"
Ah, finally, Flagg thought. This is good-in fact, this is RICH.
"It is hard for me to go," Flagg said gravely. "Very hard. I love Delain. And I love you, Tommy."
"Then stay!"
"You don't understand my situation. Anders Peyna is a powerful man-an extremely powerful man. And he doesn't like me. I should think it fair to say he probably hates me."