The Eye of Zoltar

Negotiations in Cambrianopolis

Cambrianopolis was close to the border with Midlandia but a good hour’s drive north of the frontier with the Kingdom of Snodd. It was a large, sprawling city built in the ‘shabby war-torn chic’ style so popular in the Empire. Most of the city seemed to be piles of rubble interspersed with roofless houses and half-dilapidated apartment blocks, leaning dangerously and blackened by smoke. It was all contrived, of course, like a large and uniquely complex Victorian folly, or a theme park celebrating mankind’s ceaseless warmongery, or something equally daft. Most of the apparently empty buildings were fully occupied, and not unsafe at all. The overall effect was one of a nation in constant civil war, something that was not the case at all – the Tharv dynasty had ruled unopposed for over three centuries.

We found our way to Emperor Tharv’s State-Owned Ransom Clearance House, which was a large building that, despite having bars on the windows, was run along the lines of a five-star hotel: there was an extensive menu, reliable room service and a health spa and pool. If you were going to be kidnapped anywhere, Cambrianopolis was the place. Some people even came on holiday deliberately to be kidnapped as the Clearance House was full of interesting people. One might, for instance, mix with long-term resident the Duke of Ipswich over breakfast, and be invited to buy tea for the deposed and penniless King Zsigsmund VIII in the afternoon.

Addie said she’d wait for us by the half-track, so I showed my credentials at the door, took a number and then sat on one of the benches and waited to be called. The Clearance House was designed to make negotiations as quick and easy as possible: agree a price, pay the money – release. Notwithstanding, negotiations could sometimes drag on for decades. The Duke of Ipswich had been here sixteen years as everyone tried to come to an agreement. The ransom was the easy bit; the argument was over who was going to pay for the duke’s food and laundry expenses.

Our number was eventually called and we entered a small, cheerless room with dusty grey filing cabinets and a dead potted plant. Our negotiator was a young, tidily dressed woman with an intriguing scar running vertically down her cheek and across to her lower lip.

‘Hello,’ she said pleasantly, rising to greet us. ‘Welcome to the Cambrian Empire’s Ransom Clearing House. My name is Hilda and I will be negotiating on behalf of the Nation. Offers made in this room are legally binding and negotiations may be recorded for training purposes.’

I asked whether my handmaiden could sit in, which was okay, and then said who I was and who I wanted to release. Hilda’s eyebrows rose as I spoke, but whether that was because of me or Boo, I wasn’t sure. I’d like to think a bit of both.

Hilda the negotiator spoke into a phone to have Boo’s file sent up and then made small talk about the weather and asked whether we had any news from the Kingdom of Snodd. I tried to fill her in about politics but she was really only interested in the Kingdom’s most famous stunt performer, Jimmy ‘Daredevil’ Nuttjob.

‘On fire last I heard,’ I told her.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘news doesn’t really cross the border. There could be a war going on and we’d be the last to hear about it. Ah, the file. Thank you, Brigitte.’

Hilda opened the file and scanned the contents.

‘So,’ she said after a while, ‘Miss Boolean Champernowne Waseed Mitford Smith, aka “Once Magnificent Boo”. Occupation: Sorcerer. Condition: Healthy but minus her spelling fingers so deemed “damaged goods”. Charges: Unauthorised importation of a Tralfamosaur, illegal flight over the border and using magic to avoid detection. Charges dropped through the intervention of the Emperor, but after refusing to do any sorcery for him and threatening to “punch him painfully in the eye”, she was transferred to the Clearing House for disposal. We’ve had two best offers for her, both of which are currently on hold. But since you are a recognised negotiator for Kazam Mystical Arts Management and have the prior claim, we will transfer her to you if we can agree terms. If you don’t buy her release, we’ll accept the highest best offer. Okay?’

‘Not really,’ I said.

‘Splendid. Here we go: we’re looking to get thirty back for her.’

Thirty grand was a lot of cash, but actually a little less than I thought they’d ask for. But Boo was, as they said, damaged goods, so her value was limited.

‘Ridiculous,’ I said, ‘she doesn’t even work for us. I’m here as a friend, and would be asking Boo to refund me once we get her home.’

‘But she is a sorcerer,’ said Hilda, ‘and even though her power might be diminished, we understand she can still spell – just with limited accuracy and duration. Give us twenty-five and you can take her away now and I’ll chuck in some B&Q vouchers and two tickets to the Nolan Sisters concert next month.’

‘Twenty-five?’ I echoed. ‘Out of the question. Houses of Enchantment don’t have that kind of cash and you well know it.’

The negotiations went on like this for about twenty minutes. We were both polite but firm, and I finally agreed at eighteen, which I thought quite reasonable. It was always possible Boo might make a contribution of a few thousand, although somehow I doubted it.

‘Excellent,’ said Hilda, filling out a form. ‘How will you be paying?’

I placed the twenty-thousand-moolah letter of credit that Moobin had given me on the table and slid it across. Hilda glanced at it.

‘That’ll do for her room service and bar bills. What about the rest?’

‘Eighteen, you said,’ I told her, ‘this is good for twenty.’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘we seem to have been talking at cross-purposes. I meant eighteen million.’

‘Eighteen million?’ I said.

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Boo was once one of the world’s greatest sorcerers. The highest best offer was for eight million. Do you want to go away and raise the funds and then come back? I’ll have to warn you that if we don’t see any cash by Sunday, we withdraw our offer and take the best offer.’

‘Hang on—’ I began, but the Princess interrupted me.

‘We’ll pay now,’ she said, rummaging in my shoulder bag. ‘You do take all forms of currency, I take it?’

Hilda nodded and said that they took everything except goats ‘as there was something of a glut at present’ and the Princess presented her with the receipt I had received for the Bugatti Royale.

‘There,’ said the Princess, ‘this should cover it.’

Hilda looked at the note, which stated that we were owed the value of the Royale, signed by Emperor Tharv himself.

‘We don’t take receipts,’ said Hilda.

‘It’s not a receipt,’ said the Princess. ‘Technically speaking what you have there is a banknote. Any banknote is merely a promissory note issued by a government against its assets to enable the citizenry to more easily trade commodities. And by assets one might usually mean gold, although you could choose mice, turnips or tulip bulbs. Often you don’t need any assets at all – if the citizenry believe their national bank will remain solvent come what may, a simple promise is enough, backed by nothing more tangible than … confidence.’

Hilda looked at the Princess blankly, then at me.

‘Yes, I know,’ I said, ‘we’ve had to endure her for a while now but the funny thing is, she’s usually right.’

Heartened by this, the Princess continued.

‘… and since that receipt is signed by Emperor Tharv, who is the Cambrian head of state, that note is legal tender to the value of one Bugatti Royale.’

‘But it’s a car,’ I said, ‘it’s not worth eighteen million.’

The Princess smiled.

‘Not quite correct. There were only seven Bugatti Royales made, and the last one sold at auction for over twenty million. The Bugatti is not so much a car, more an exquisite work of art you can take to the shops. You’ve been driving around in a Van Gogh.’

‘You like economics, don’t you, handmaiden?’ said Hilda, picking up the telephone.

‘Is there anything else?’

‘Hello?’ said Hilda into the receiver. ‘I need to speak to the Master of the Sums.’

We waited for a few minutes while Hilda explained the situation, and after a minute or two she put her hand over the receiver.

‘The Bugatti Royale exchange rate stands at 19.2 million Cambrian plotniks,’ she said. ‘Would you like to take the deposed and penniless King Zsigsmund VIII in lieu of change?’

‘No, I’ll take a Volkswagen Beetle, please,’ I said. ‘One in particular. Pale blue, 1959 – the one Boo arrived in. The rest can be cash.’