The Accidental sorcerer

CHAPTER TEN

King Lional. At his side Tavistock the cat-turned-lion, its expression now unbearably smug: seemingly the animal liked its new look. The king's ring-smothered hand rested negligently on the beast's vast, maned head. He was dressed neck to knee in richest black velvet, the lush fabric carelessly strewn with seed pearls and diamonds. Poised in the doorway, glittering beneath the chandeliers, he looked as though someone had draped him in a section of cloudless midnight sky.

The herald at the doors blew a belated, vaguely musical trill through his horn and announced, 'Be upstanding for His Majesty King Lional the Forty-third!'

But Gerald was already on his feet, along with Rupert and the princess. Languid as molten gold, the king made his way to the head of the table; Tavistock padded with him, rawboned tail waving in a parody of greeting.

'So sorry to have kept you waiting,' Lional said, smiling as he eased into his throne-like chair. He didn't sound sorry at all.

'That's quite all right, old chap,' Rupert said cheerfully as they sat down again. 'We hardly noticed you weren't here, actually. Been having a lovely chat with the new wizard. I must say I think you've made an excellent choice this time, Lional. This one's much chirpier than those other old fossils. Grand, isn't it?'

Princess Melissande shoved aside her paperwork and covered her eyes with one hand. Sprawled indolently by the king's chair, Tavistock complained with a throaty rumble like distant calamitous thunder.

The king's smile widened. 'I'm relieved you approve, Rupert. Professor — ' he added, as the manservants began pouring wine and serving soup, 'allow me to compliment you on your attire. You quite put me to shame.'

'His father made it, Lional,' said Rupert. 'Wasn't that grand of him?'

The king stared, his cerulean eyes wide. 'Your father? Really?'

Pillock, pillock, pillock and prat. Gerald smiled. 'Yes, Your Majesty. He's a tailor. Or at least he was, until he retired.'

'Was he indeed?' Lional spread out his napkin with a snap.'Fancy that. Mine was a king, you know'

He felt his fingernails bite into his palms. Bastard. 'Indeed, Your Majesty. But then I think that to his son, every father is a king.'

Silence, broken only by Tavistock's resumed rumbling. Then Lional threw back his golden head and laughed. He sounded genuinely amused. Princess Melissande, the colour flooding back to her face, loosened her grip on her spoon.

'Professor, I believe you're right!' Lional declared. 'Let us raise our glasses to fathers, shall we?' He laughed again. 'Especially absent ones."

The toast was drunk. Abruptly bereft of appetite, Gerald toyed with his bread roll. One of the manservants had given Tavistock an enormous bloody haunch of something to gnaw on. He'd never realised how big a lion's teeth were. Or how sharp. What had he been thinking?

Unlike his brother, who slurped, Lional consumed his lobster bisque daintily, fastidiously. Pausing between spoonfuls he dabbed his lips with his napkin and said, 'Melissande, I hope you've informed the Kallarapi I'm granting them the honour of an audience tomorrow' She nodded. 'Yes, Lional.'

'Excellent. I look forward to showing them the error of their ways. Don't you, Professor? Naturally, you will be in attendance. Lending the appropriate air of gravity and menace.'

Menace? He cleared his throat, very carefully not looking at the princess. 'Of course, Your Majesty. Although you know, my skills haven't been what you'd call honed in the international arena. I wonder if there's not someone else more suited who could take my place? Or at least join us. Her Highness Princess Melissande, perhaps. She is your prime minister, after all.' And if she attended the meeting he wouldn't have to worry about the king thinking he was her spy.

Lional's expression chilled. Sublimely oblivious, Rupert pulled a dog-eared book out of his pocket, propped it up against a vase and began to read as he continued to slurp his soup. The book's cover was graced with a watercolour of an improbably smiling butterfly.

'My dear Professor,' said Lional. He didn't sound at all friendly. 'That won't be necessary. Your experience as a wizard will be quite sufficient for my purposes.'

Across the table, Princess Melissande was attempting to semaphore a message via her unplucked eyebrows. Gerald tried to ignore her. 'I'm sorry, Your Majesty. Would you mind explaining what you mean by that?'

The king considered him. 'Oh, dear. Please don't tell me you're going to be obtuse, Professor. I find obtuse people very… wearing!

Not as wearing as they find you, I'll bet. 'Obtuse, Your Majesty? No. At least, that's not my intention. I just don't want any misunderstandings when we meet with the Kallarapi. Misunderstandings could give rise to an unfortunate international incident.'

The king dropped his spoon into his emptied soup bowl. The manservant behind his chair winced. 'I am not concerned about international incidents. No great nation can afford to concern itself with the hurt feelings of its inferiors. I hope you are not suggesting, Professor, that I place the selfish desires of these Kallarapi above the welfare of my own people?'

Oh, thank God Reg wasn't here. 'Of course not, Your Majesty' he said carefully. 'But — '

'There is no but, Professor,' said the king. 'It has been said that diplomacy is the waging of war by other means. If that is indeed the case then where the Kallarapi are involved you may consider yourself my secret weapon.'

Secret weapon? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He snuck a glance at the princess. She was very pink about the face and her fingers were white-knuckled on the stem of her almost emptied wine glass.

'Lional,' she said with commendable calm, 'is that a good idea?'

Lional ignored her. 'Do you know, Professor, what the very best thing about being king is?'

He couldn't help himself. 'The hours, Your Majesty?'

Beside him, Rupert surfaced from his butterfly daydreams long enough to bleat his amusement. 'The hours! I say, that's a good one! The hours! That is a good one, isn't it, Lional? The hours?'

'The very best thing about being king, Professor,' said Lional, as though his brother didn't exist, 'is that all my ideas are good ideas. In fact since I came to the throne I haven't had a single bad one. Have I, Melissande?'

Rupert said, 'Ooh, I don't know about that, Lional, I mean there was that business with the horses, the monkeys and the — ' 'Rupert,' said his brother. 'Get out.'

Rupert flinched. 'Sorry, Lional,' he whispered, picked up his book and retired.

'All I meant! the princess began, and was silenced with a glare that sizzled the air between them.

'It seems to me,' said the king, his voice lightly coated in ice, 'the time has come for us to remind the world that New Ottosland is a sovereign nation, a kingdom of tradition, antiquity and significant heritage. We must no longer allow ourselves to be dismissed and trifled with because we appear insignificant. The fire ants of Sanarabia appear insignificant yet they can reduce the mighty elephant to bloody bone and sinew. So it may be with New Ottosland, should the unwise choose to render us one whit less than our proper due. For too long nations like Kallarap have treated us with contempt. Well, to that I say: no longer. We must assert ourselves as New Ottoslanders, the equals of any nation in the world.'

'And I'm not saying we shouldn't,' the princess persisted. 'But to be taken seriously on the world stage we have to look like a world power. Which means we need things like privy councils, to give us gravitas. And supply valuable diplomatic experience.'

'My privy council was short-sighted, lily-livered and stuck in the past like hogs in mud,' snapped Lional. 'Aged relics… and their sons are relics-in-waiting. Which is why I banished them to their estates where they can dwindle their dying days in contemplation ot the nation they and theirs might have birthed had they the least wit, imagination or courage.'

Princess Melissande released an exasperated breath. 'I know they're ancient and irritating, Lional, but as it turns out they actually got quite a lot done around here and I have to say, in all honesty, that expecting me to pick up the slack is a bit unfair. I mean, I'm doing my best, and so are my staff, we really are, but we just can't keep up and — '

'Then I suggest you find new ways of motivating your employees,' said Lional, smoothly. 'And yourself. Unless you'd like me to do it for you?'

She bit her lip and looked down. 'No. Thank you.That won't be necessary'

'I suspected as much,' said Lional. Still rankled, he shifted in his chair. 'And what about you, Professor? Is there anything you'd like to add while we're all feeling so delightfully conversational?'

If he said what he really wanted to say he'd find himself getting intimately acquainted with a headsman's axe. 'Well… as a matter of fact there is, Your Majesty. Another question, if you don't mind.'

'No,' said the king. 'I don't mind. Provided it's not obtuse'.

'Well, sir, in short: what exactly do you mean, secret weapon?' 'The man's barking mad," said Reg late the next morning, through the remains of her breakfast mouse. 'How does he think you're going to make those Kallarapi buggers change their minds about the tariffs?'

Gerald stirred his porridge with his solid gold spoon and frowned.'He didn't say. He just laughed and waved in the next course.'

'I mean,' she continued, 'as far as I can tell, the only thing that's going to stop this tariff tiff before it gets well out of hand is Lional sitting down to a great big slice of humble pie.' She sniffed. 'And how likely is that, I ask you?' 'Not very,' he said, still frowning.

Reg cackled. 'Not at all, sunshine. Trust me. There's nothing you can tell me about Lional that I don't already know. I was giving his type the cold shoulder when I still had a shoulder to give 'em, and that's more centuries ago than I care to think about. I tell you, he's lost his marbles down the privy.'

He winced and looked around the fountain-tinkled foyer. 'Careful, Reg. For all we know the walls have ears. Pillock or not, Lional's the king. You can't flap about the place saying he's mad.'

With a burp Reg hopped off the back of her gilded chair and started marching to and fro across the table. 'Listen, sunshine, the fact he's a king only makes it more likely he's off his rocker. Royalty's always inbred. Comes of them being snobs and refusing to marry a good bit of commoner every third generation or so. I mean, look at that Prince Rupert. From what you've told me it's clear he's a grade A nutter. Madness probably runs in the family. You want to keep an eye on that Melissande or next thing we know she'll be after you in the middle of the night with a jewelled dagger and a fixed smile, you mark my words.' He groaned. 'Honestly, Reg. You do go on.'

She waved an emphatic wing under his nose. 'Gerald, I'm serious. You need to respect my experience in these matters. Sending a bunch of worn-out dukes and barons and their gormless offspring on a one-way trip to their country estates is one thing. Nothing wrong with that. Did it myself on a regular basis, generally speaking they're nothing but a bunch of parasites anyway. But seriously entertaining the idea that he could use an oath-protected wizard as any kind of weapon, secret or otherwise, is clear proof that Lional's two oars short of a rowboat.'

On second thoughts he wasn't in the mood for porridge after all. Reaching to the fruit bowl for an orange he said, 'His Majesty's not mad, Reg, he's just… determined to have his own way. I swear, if he thought I could make the Kallarapi back down by turning up at this meeting naked I'd be well advised to get used to inconvenient breezes.'

'Deary deary me, I don't know,' Reg fretted, kicking the solid gold toast-rack in passing. 'The more I hear, the unhappier I am about staying in this place.'

Moodily, he peeled his orange. 'It's a crazy setup, all right.'

Reg stopped.'Hallelujah, he's seen the light! You start packing and I'll nip down to madam's office to give her the good — '

'Not so fast!' he said, waving orange peel in her face.'You're forgetting my contract.'

She made a sound like an exploding firecracker and turned a complete somersault. 'For the love of Saint Snodgrass, Gerald, there isn't a contract signed that can't be broken and lord knows you've got grounds with this one. I ask you, where is the benefit in dancing to the whirligig tune of some addle-brained power-drunk third-rate backwater king?'

There was orange juice running down his fingers. Reaching for a napkin he said, teeth clenched tight, 'That's not the point. The point, Reg, is — '

'Oh, I know what your point is, Gerald. It's that bloody princess! You've gone and fallen arse over tea-kettle for Madam Fashion Disaster, haven't you? Oh Gerald] How could you!'

He could have banged his head on the table. 'Reg, for pity's sake. I have not fallen arse over teakettle for the princess.'

Reg squinted at him suspiciously 'Are you sure? Because I'm not blind, Gerald, I saw the way you were around her yesterday, dumbstruck with admiration, and — '

'Are you cracked? I wasn't dumbstruck with admiration, I was just dumbstruck!' he cried.'She's even bossier than you are and I didn't think that was possible! I'm telling you, Reg, I am not in love with — '

'Good morning,' said a bemused voice from the doorway.'I knocked, but nobody answered.'

Princess Melissande, even more rumpled and harassed than she'd been yesterday. This morning she was wearing dark blue trousers and a pale green shirt that may or may not have been recently introduced to a hot iron. Her hair was scraped back into a lumpy plait and the freckles on her face remained uncamouflaged by makeup. Behind the glasses, her eyes looked tired.

Gerald dropped the orange and stood. 'Your Highness. Good morning. Please, come in.'

As he hurried to close the foyer doors behind her she slumped into his vacated chair and reached into the fruit bowl for a candied kumquat. 'I interrupted you, Professor. You were saying something about not being in love with… what?'

'What?' He glared at Reg, who crossed her eyes at him. 'Ah — oh, yes! The idea of being His Majesty's secret weapon against the Kallarapi. I think, as a plan, it could do with a rethink. Reg agrees.'

The kumquat stopped halfway to the princess's mouth. 'Reg agrees? You were discussing affairs of state with a bird?'

'Oh, yes. She's very knowledgeable. Well. About some things, anyway. You'd be surprised.'

Princess Melissande continued to stare. 'You were discussing affairs of state with a bird.'

Reg snorted. 'Says the woman with a brother who probably starts the day by asking his butterflies what underpants he should wear!'

'Rupert?'The princess smiled.'Oh, you mustn't mind Rupert. He's quite harmless and very sweet once you get to know him.'

Gerald perched on the edge of the tinkling fountain, mindful of splashes. 'So… what do you think, Your Highness?'

'About what?' she asked around a mouthful of kumquat.

'About Gerald the secret weapon,' said Reg. 'Oy — you don't suppose that pretty brother of yours has got some bright idea about using him as leverage, do you?'

'You mean is he thinking literally a secret weapon? Spells of destruction at thirty paces followed by some hasty handiwork with a mop and bucket?' The princess swallowed and reached for another kumquat. 'No. Look, Lional talks big, he always has, but it never comes to anything.'

'Are you sure?' said Reg. 'I mean, he does know, doesn't he, he can't just point Gerald like a musket and shoot this Zazoor when he holds out his hand for the dosh? I mean, he does know that?'

'Of course he does,' snapped the princess.'Look, Professor, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. Lional knows perfectly well he doesn't have any choice but to pay Zazoor what's owed. I expect all he wants to do is show you off to the Kallarapi. Make the pill he's got to swallow a little less bitter. You may have a holy man but I've got a wizard, so nyah. Nothing dangerous. Just diplomacy'

He pulled a face. 'That doesn't sound terribly diplomatic to me. What if things get out of hand?'

'You won't let them.' She sighed.'Professor, I'm not a complete ignoramus. I do know that wizards are forbidden to use their magic to cause harm.'

Reg rattled her tail feathers. 'You might, ducky, but what about that brother of yours?'

'He knows too!' she insisted, exasperated.'You're not the first wizard we've had around here, remember?'

Now there was a point. And an idea. He narrowed his eyes. 'Exactly how many were in the job before me, Your Highness?'

The second kumquat eaten, she pretended to be interested in a banana. 'A few,' she muttered. 'Forgive me, but that's not very specific'

'You want specific? Fine. Five. All right? There were five court wizards before you.'

'F(Ve?' He slid off the fountain. 'The king's had five other wizards? I'm his sixth wizard?'

'Oh, don't you stand there looking surprised! You've met him!' 'I'm not surprised, Your Highness, I'm deceivedV

'I did not deceive you!' said the princess, shoving out of the chair. 'If you'd asked me in the interview how many wizards had been in the job already I'd've told you! You didn't ask!'

Perched on the edge of his abandoned porridge bowl, Reg snickered.'She's got you there, sunshine.'

Disgusted, Gerald considered Lional's angry sister. Then he sighed. 'Yes. She does. I apologise, Your Highness.That was uncalled for.' 'It certainly was.'

'But not unexpected,' added Reg. 'You knew perfectly well he'd never have taken the job if all your dirty linen had been hanging on the line in plain sight, madam.'

Princess Melissande sat again, slumping. 'What can I say? I was desperate.'

Gerald dropped once more to the edge of the fountain. 'I know the feeling.' He and the princess exchanged tentative, rueful smiles. 'So who were they, then? These predecessors of mine?' 'Why does it matter?'

He shrugged. 'It doesn't. I thought I might know one or two, that's all.' 'I doubt it.They were all years older than you.' 'Still…'

She rolled her eyes. 'Oh, for the love of Saint Snodgrass. As if I didn't have anything better to do than go staggering down memory lane…' Then she sighed. 'All right. Give me a moment.'

As she chewed her lip, he triggered a recording incant under cover of scratching his nose then dabbled his fingers in the fountain's water, waiting.

'Well,' she said at last,'net in chronological order, there was Humphret Bottomley, the prat.'

In the air above and behind her the name Humphret Bottomley appeared in glowing silver letters. It hung there unmoving, like liquid smoke. 'That's an old-fashioned Ottosland name,' he murmured. 'Who else?'

She screwed up her face. 'Pomodoro Uffitzi. Aloysius Beargarden. Er — er — oh, yes! Grumbaugh. Lord, how could I forget him? Barked in monosyllables and spent most of his time locked up in what's now your workroom, making smelly smoke. And Bondaningo Greenfeather.' Her face softened into a smile. 'Terribly sinister-looking with all those tattoos and facial piercings but actually very nice. And that's all of them. Satisfied now? Say yes.'

With another deceptive nose scratch Gerald closed down the recording incant with its five silver smoke names and stored it in a nearby pot plant. He'd retrieve it later and run the names past Monk at the first opportunity. Get him to find their whereabouts and how they could be contacted. Seeing as how he was going to be stuck here in New Ottosland for a while it seemed only prudent to do some belated homework on his charming pillock of an employer.

'Yes. Thank you, Your Highness,' he said. 'Your patience is most appreciated. Doubtless you didn't come here to — ' He sat up. 'Good lord. I'm so sorry. Why did you come here?'