The Purple Emperor

CHAPTER FORTY NINE

Chalkhill found a simbala parlour with a trendy outdoor terrace and ordered himself a thimble-sized shot. He sipped the liquid music gratefully, listening as it slid gently down his throat to expand into a fiery symphony that drained the tensions from his body.

''Can I talk now?' the wangaramas wyrm Cyril asked inside his mind.

'No,' Chalkhill said.

He allowed the music to wash over him, creating heroic visions. He saw himself in robes of imperial purple (rather more stylishly-cut, of course, than the sort of thing the old Emperor used to wear) dispensing justice, winning wars, counting his gold and, above all, telling people what to do. Jasper, the Purple Emperor – how proudly the words rolled off his subjects' tongues.

'Can I talk now?' Cyril asked again.

The symphony was dying back, and while there was still some music in the glass, Chalkhill set it to one side and let his visions fade. 'All right,' he said, 'I'm willing to discuss it. But I don't want any of your lectures, Cyril. I know it goes against your nature, but let's keep this brief.'

After a strangulated pause, the wyrm said, 'Yes, OK.'

'You're offering to make me Purple Emperor? I didn't misunderstand that?' 'No.'

'How?' Chalkhill asked bluntly. 'How are you going to make me Purple Emperor? The short version, please.'

It wasn't all that short, but it was a lot more interesting than most of Cyril's waffle. The wyrms, who seemed to have developed some sort of collective consciousness since they established their mental Net, had formed more symbiotic relationships in the last year than in the whole of their recorded history.

Not only that, but the nature of the symbiosis had undergone a striking change. In the old days, the wyrms linked with their hosts more or less at random. Now the links were carefully selected. With a rising mixture of delight and alarm, Chalkhill learned the wyrms had infiltrated the highest councils in the land.

'I volunteered to join with you because of your political connections,' Cyril said. 'You've worked for Lord Hairstreak, you've met Prince Pyrgus and Princess Blue, you're a wealthy man who moves in high social circles. You can get us places no one else could.'

Chalkhill wasn't so sure of that, but he carefully shielded his thoughts from the wyrm. 'Do the others you've linked with know about your plans for revolution?'

There was a long pause before Cyril said, 'Not all of them…'

'How many of them?'

There was another long pause. 'Just a few. We have to pick them carefully. It's a matter of trust.'

'Why pick me, then?' Chalkhill asked suspiciously. He couldn't imagine why anybody in their right mind would decide to trust him, given his track record.

'You're one of the few we've found who hasn't any scruples whatsoever,' Cyril told him cheerfully.