Castle Dreams

Fourteen Office of the Regency (Temporary Quarters)

“Hello?”

“Am I speaking to His Excellency, the Regent?”

“You are.”

“This is Giles, in the Ministry of Supply and Materiel.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Excellency, if I might have a word with you?”

“Yes! Go on.”

“Those requisition forms you filed. Excellency, they weren’t in proper format. Not only that, it was entirely the wrong form for such a requisition.”

“So?”

“All requisitions must conform to procedure or they won’t go through.”

“So? Fix it so they do go through. I need that stuff.”

“Begging your pardon, Excellency, but I can’t touch them. It’s against regulations.”

“Hang regulations. Have one of your people do it.”

“No can do, Excellency. Interoffice procedural regulations are quite specific. They don’t quite have the force of statute law, but —”

“Oh, all right, send them back.”

“I already did. This is a courtesy call. Please use the right form next time. For the materiel you’re asking for, it’s Office Supplies Requisition Form 1867 dash 401 —”

“Wait! Damn it, this pen doesn’t work.”

“Yes, Excellency.”

“Rupert! Gimme one of those … Right. Okay, what was that form number again?”

“Office Supplies Requisition Form 1867 dash 40178374 …”

“Right, right.”

“Dash 2673 slash J.”

“ … 2673 dash J.”

“No,slash J.”

“Slash J. Right, got it. Will do.”

“And they have to be signed by you personally.”

“I did sign them! … Didn’t I?”

“No, Excellency, the forms were rubber-stamped, by your secretary, I presume.”

“Oh.”

“That’s no good for 2673 slash J. For any slash J form — you better write this down for future reference — any slash J form must be signed personally, not stamped …and — this is also very important — you must affix your seal of office.”

“My goddamned seal of office hasn’t come from the castle smithy yet.”

“Well, that’s a problem. In that case I’ll have to have a sworn affidavit from you until you get the seal.”

“Gods! All this for a damned box of paper clips?”

“Afraid so, Excellency.”

“Amazing. Very well. Is that all?”

“Yes, Excellency. I’m truly sorry for any inconvenience.”

“Forget it.”

“But regulations … well, you know.”

“I’m learning. Goodbye.”

“Have a nice day.”

Trent slammed the phone down.

“Rupert!”

The scribe came running back into the crypt, which had been hastily transformed into a working office.

“Excellency?”

“I need that damned seal. When?”

“It’s on rush order. They said Monday at the earliest.”

“Rats. Every damned form requires it. See if you can’t rush them a little more.”

“Yes, Excellency.” Rupert wrote in a tiny notebook.

“What’s next?”

“The Foreign Minister of Lytton is still waiting in the hall.”

“Oh. Send him in.”

“But the guild official has been waiting longer.”

“What guild official?”

“The Castle Craftsmen’s Guild, Excellency.”

“Oh. I forgot. Well, send him in first.”

“The Foreign Minister’s the more important person. If you make him wait any longer it could be taken as a slight, and he might leave in a huff. Diplomatic incident. On the other hand —”

“Spill it.”

“If the guild guy gets ticked off, he might just call a wildcat strike.”

“Jeez, can he do that?”

“Well, sure.”

“Get him in here.”

The guild official was a burly fellow smoking a huge green cigar. He wore an expensive embroidered ministerial gown that did not quite hide his enormous gut. A red plume rose from his tricorn hat. He approached Trent’s desk with a confident stride.

“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” Trent said.

“You’ve had our grievance report for two weeks. We got nothing back from you.”

“I hope you realize that I’ve been in office only a matter of days.”

“I was speaking of the Administrative Offices. We want action on our grievance.”

Trent shuffled papers around his desk. “Right. I can’t seem to — Rupert! ”

Rupert was brushing past the guild man with a file folder.

“Excellency.”

Trent took the folder and opened it. He glanced at the papers within.

“All right … uh, why don’t you précis for me what exactly this is all about?”

“Hey, it’s complicated. You shoulda read it.”

“Sorry. Condense it.”

“Actually, we’re making some seniority adjustments. All we ask is that you go along with it and change your employee roster accordingly. Not much to ask … Excellency.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that Administration turned us down. We filed a grievance. You got it in your hand.”

“Fine. Why are you making these adjustments — and when you say “adjustments,” you mean what, exactly?”

“Demoting some employees to a lower seniority, is all.”

“In favor of others, I assume?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Why?”

“It’s an internal matter. Guild business.”

“So why come to us?”

“You gotta alter wage scales, benefits, schedules —”

“Who works and who doesn’t, what they get paid.”

“Yeah, you got it … Excellency.”

“My brother turned you down, didn’t he?”

“Yup.”

“And you expect me to go against his wishes.”

“You’re in charge now, aren’t you? The Council of Ministers —”

“No deal. I think I can intuit what’s going on, and I don’t like it. I don’t like fiddling with a servant’s livelihood unless there’s a very good reason, and you’ve given me none.”

“Like I said, it’s internal. You can’t interfere.”

“I can refuse to act favorably on this grievance.”

The guild man waved his cigar menacingly.

“And I can close this castle down.”

“Get that weed out of my face, mister. I don’t take kindly to threats.”

“I can order a walkout any time,” the guild official said casually, withdrawing the pungent cigar.

“Let me ask you a question. Why does it take no less than five footmen to attend a coach?”

“You got a problem with that?”

“Yes, I happen to have a problem with that. From now on three is the maximum.”

“We got a contract!”

“I’m renegotiating, unilaterally, as it were.”

“We’ll walk!”

“Then walk.”

“The funeral! You’ll need —”

“Get out.”

“But —”

“Out! And take that burning bush with you. You don’t have the proper beatific mien for it.”

Rupert shook his head as the guild official stalked out. When the door slammed he said, “You handled that very badly, Excellency. If I may make so bold as to say.”

“You just said it. Yeah, you’re right. He really got my goat. I suppose I’ve bought myself a load of trouble.”

“He not only controls the craftsmen — seamstresses, wainwrights and such — but teamsters and draymen as well.”

“I know, I know. Okay, get the other guy in here. Ye flipping gods.”

“Excellency, there are more visitors in the hallway — we really should get a proper anteroom —”

Trent groaned, wiping his forehead with a paisley handkerchief.

“Excellency?”

“Monster headache. I’ll be all right. It’s the goddamned banishment thing. I’ll have to take a break at some point, get the hell out of the castle.”

“Your schedule for the next few days is crammed. In fact, it’s crammed into next week.”

“To say nothing of the state funeral. That’s got to last what, all day?”

“Most of the day, Excellency.”

“Wonderful. With lugubrious music, too.”

“His Majesty’s tastes in music were good. The Missa Solemnis is scheduled.”

“Oh. Well … Gods. Rupert, do you smoke? I need a cigarette.”

“I wasn’t aware that His Excellency —”

“I quit long ago, but this curse thing is driving me crazy. I need something, and alcohol won’t do. With booze I’d just teleport right to cloud cuckoo land, nothing would get done.”

“I can have someone run to the tobacconist.”

“Fine. Let’s see … oh, the guy from Lytton. By the way, where and what the hell is Lytton?”

“A kingdom in the Albion aspect. Much like England of Earth in the Elizabethan period.”

“Okay, Rupert, show the fellow in. Oy.”

“Gevalt,” the secretary said, turning toward the door.

One after the other, visitors trooped in and out of the office: envoys, ambassadors, ministers plenipotentiary — diplomats of every sort, along with aposse comitatus of castle functionaries, each with their problems, grievances, petty squabbles, and sundry preoccupations.

The clock chimed nineteen times.

Trent looked up. “Ye gods and little pink elephants, look at the time.”

Rupert closed the door on the clot of supplicants still in the hallway.

“No more, Rupert, I’m fagged out.”

“The Regent’s office is hereby closed for the day.”

“Thank the deities.”

Trent reached for the pack of cigarettes, found one crumpled, and lit it anyway. He took a long drag and sat back.

“I’m done in. Did Inky do this every single day?”

“This was a relatively slow day.”

“You gotta be kidding me. I mean, there are only so many hours. Come on.”

“Oh, he used magical coping methods, indubitably.”

“I’d hate being forced into that. Not good to have a gaggle of spells going on at one time. It gets confusing and sometimes it’s dangerous.”

“His Majesty was a past master at that art.”

“I know. “Art’ is the key word. I’m a good magician, but Inky had a certain style about him. He was a stylist. An artist. So am I, but some styles are better than others. Inky was great at subtle spell interaction.”

“He was, Excellency. That he was.”

Trent sighed. “Sometimes I lean toward acceding to the proposition that Inky was simply the better magician.”

“His Excellency underrates himself.”

“You’re kind, Rupert. But I’m afraid it’s true.”

Trent took another long pull on the cigarette. He began a bout of coughing which threatened to turn into a fit.

Still hacking, he mashed the cigarette out in a clamshell ashtray. The tray flipped to the floor and smashed.

“Is His Excellency all right?” Rupert asked, bearing a glass of water.

Trent took it and drank. Recovered, he said, “Thanks. Ye gods, those frigging things can kill you!”

Rupert smiled.

“No more,” Trent said firmly, throwing the rest of the pack of cigarettes into the trash can. “Enough of that. I’ll never live my twenty-five score years and ten if I start smoking again.”

“His Excellency makes a wise decision.”

“Let’s cut the “Excellency’ bit, all right? It’s really starting to rankle. Makes me sound like I should be wearing a handlebar mustache and goatee.”

“It is the proper honorific for your station.”

“We’ll have to do something about that. I’m still a prince of the realm, you know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And maybe I should have stayed a prince.”

Trent suddenly rose.

“Sir, are you leaving for the day?”

“I’m outta here. I’ll be back tomorrow … I think.”

“Excell — er, my lord prince. One more thing.”

Trent was tying on his cape as he replied, “What is it now?”

“Just this report from the Royal Undertaker that I thought might not wait.”

“What’s it say?”

“It’s sealed, my lord, and marked “Confidential.””

“Really? Let’s have it.”

Trent took the envelope from his side and ripped it open.

“Have no idea what the Royal flipping Undertaker would have to say that I —”

He read.

Rupert stood by, arms folded.

Trent lowered the sheet and stared off. Presently he said, “Holy smoke.”

Rupert’s eyes widened.

Trent looked at him. “Send a note to my wife. Won’t be home for supper.”

“Yes, my lord prince. Shall I say —?”

“I’m going to Malnovia.”

Trent walked purposefully out of the crypt, slamming the door behind him.

Rupert looked around at the shambles the office had become, and sighed.

“What a flipping mess.”