The Accidental sorcerer

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

There was a loaded silence in the audience chamber once the stunned Kallarapi delegation had departed.

Lounging on his throne Lional looked at Gerald, eyebrows elevated. '"Prayers and fasting", Professor? Do feel free to explain that little unsolicited piece of inspiration.' Sprawled at his feet, Tavistock snarled.

Through teeth gritted so hard they were nearly breaking, Gerald said,'My apologies, Your Majesty. I thought you might appreciate a chance to think about what you were doing.'

Lional's fingers drummed on the arm of his throne. 'Well, I didn't.'

'No, Your Majesty,' he replied, reckless with rage. 'It's clear to me now you had no intention whatsoever of thinking!

As Reg, still on his shoulder, made alarmed noises in his ear, Lional considered him. 'Do you know, Professor, I liked you much better when you were diffident and ingratiating. Recall, if you can, that I am your king!

'You're not my king! I'm Ottoslandian, we don't have kings! And after what just happened I can see why!'

Lional sat up. 'I'm warning you, Professor. You're on very thin ice.'

7'm on thin ice? I am?' Choking, he took a stamping half-turn around the dais. 'And what do you call that little stunt you just pulled, Your Majesty? I call it tap-dancing on a melting ice floe! Have you forgotten that Sultan Zazoor has an army? And don't you understand that when he figures out he's been had he's going to introduce us to it? Intimately?'

'I suggest, Professor,' said Lional, coldly, 'that you moderate your tone."

'To hell with my tone!' he retorted. 'You've spent the last hour playing fast and loose with a foreign power's religious icons! You forced Reg into impersonating one of them and manipulated me into upholding the lie! I don't have enough fingers and toes to count all the rules I've just broken! And you tell me to moderate my tone?'

Lional sighed. 'I must say, Professor, you disappoint me. What I have done, sir, is solve the punitive Kallarapi tariff crisis, thus rescuing New Ottosland from certain bankruptcy and thousands of my subjects from suffering, and I've taken the first steps in consolidating a lasting alliance with our Kallarapi neighbours while incidentally saving Melissande from the tragedy of spinsterhood. All in all, it's been an excellent afternoon's work. I deserve congratulating, not scolding.'

The man was serious. He really thought what he'd done was praiseworthy. Oh, dear God…

'And what about Mel- I mean, Her Highness?' he said, suddenly exhausted. 'What if she doesn't want to marry the Sultan of Kallarap?'

Lional looked baffled. 'What she wants is irrelevant. The Melissandes of New Ottosland have always married to further the interests of the kingdom.'

Which may be true… but he wondered if anyone had thought to remind the current Melissande of that. 'All right. What if the sultan doesn't wish to marry the princess?'

'Oh, I don't think that's very likely,' said Lional, carelessly. 'Not want to marry a young woman in the prime of her child-bearing years, capable of giving him a fistful of sons to carry on his quaint camel-breeding empire?' He shrugged. 'I admit Melissandes not exactly beautiful. But you know what they say, Professor. All cats are grey in the dark. Really, you mustn't fret so. You'll give yourself indigestion.' A lazy smile. 'Besides. Zazoor will do whatever his gods tell him to do. In that respect he's as gullible as his gormless little brother.'

If there'd been something handy he would have thrown it at Lional and the consequences be damned. 'But, Your Majesty, think. What if Shugat wasn't as convinced by our little charade as he led us to believe? What if he takes a moment on the way home to stop for a chat with his gods and the gods say "Wedding? What wedding?" What do you think is going to happen then?'

'My dear Gerald…' said Lional tartly. 'Calm yourself. Shugat is nothing but a moth-eaten old man with delusions of grandeur. And as for the gods of Kallarap… surely you've worked it out by now?' 'Worked what out, Your Majesty?' 'The gods of Kallarap don't exist!' Gerald stared.'You don't know that!'

Lional let out an exasperated groan.'I'll tell you what I know, Professor. I know that when Shugat asked his gods to kill me, they didn't. And when I stood here and invited them to strike me down in my stockings, nothing happened againV

'Actually, you invited them to strike down Reg and Tavistock.'

'Mere detail,' said Lional. 'What matters is there was no striking of any kind. Which leads me to one of two conclusions. Either the gods don't exist or they approve of what I'm doing! Either way, I win.' He smiled.'And Zazoor loses.'

On his shoulder, Reg heaved a sigh and scratched the back of her head. 'You know,' she mused,'I hate to admit it but he's got a point.'

'There. You see?' said Lional. 'Even your little feathered friend agrees there's nothing to be concerned about.' Reg sniffed.'Well, I didn't say that!

Lional sat back. 'I think, Professor, you need a little quiet time to reflect upon this momentous occasion. Given your excellent assistance I shall overlook the tone and content of your recent remarks. This time. Don't feel obliged to join me for dinner. I shall look for you in the morning. We'll go hunting." 'Hunting?'

'Yes indeed,' said Lional, nodding. 'I'll see you in my private stables at seven, Professor. Just you, I think. No need to rob Vorsluk's emissary of her beauty sleep.'

'Sarky bastard,' muttered Reg. 'I'll give him beauty sleep…'

'Hunting,' said Gerald. Oh, lord. He'd thought Melissande had been joking about that. Arid just when he thought things couldn't get any worse…

'Don't be late,' added Lional. 'I can't abide unpunctuality. It puts me in such a bad mood.'

It was a dismissal. Gerald bowed, jerkily, and made his escape before he forgot every last oath he'd ever taken as a wizard and turned King Lional the Forty-third into a toad. Nerim sat in an overstuffed armchair in the palace guest quarters' salon and shivered. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so afraid.

It was hard to say which scared him the most: the fact that for the first time in his life he'd been in the living, speaking presence of the gods… or that in the half hour since he and Shugat had returned to their suite the holy man had refused to utter a single word. Instead he remained motionless and cross-legged on the floor under the window, eyes closed, hands in his lap.

From birth every Kallarapi knew his people were the gods' chosen. Never once had Nerim doubted it. Some of his earliest memories were of sitting on Zazoor's knee in the private temple of their father the sultan, may he dwell with the gods in perpetual peace, listening to Shugat pronounce the desires of the gods. Shugat, whom the gods now refused to answer.

When he and Shugat had left Kallarap it had been in the safe and sure knowledge the gods were sending them to give New Ottosland's king one last chance to honour his sacred oath and pay to them the tariffs required by treaty. Shugat had said so. Shugat had said the gods were enraged by King Lional's refusal to follow the path laid down by his honoured ancestor King Lional the First. He'd said this was a sacred mission to restore the honourable bonds of mutual obligation between Kallarap and New Ottosland. He'd said the gods would reward them for doing their holy duty.

Shugat had said twthing about weddings and new alliances and the gods revealing their presence to the New Ottosland king. Surely he would have mentioned it if the gods had told him about any of that? So… what was going on?

Had Shugat somehow offended them? Had his refusal to acknowledge their presence in New Ottosland turned them against him? And if that were true what did it mean for the rest of Kallarap? If Shugat had sinned did it mean the punishment must fall upon all Kallarapi? Upon Zazoor?

Nerim barely stifled his cry of grief and terror. Flinging himself from the armchair to his knees before the ominously silent Shugat, he held out his hands in desperate entreaty. 'O Holy Shugat, I beseech thee… speak to me! Are we forsaken? Are we abandoned? After a thousand years of protection do the Three now belong to New Ottosland?

Shugat's eyes snapped open. They were black as night and blazing with the heat of countless suns. Startled, Nerim fell backwards. So ferocious was the fire in Shugat's eyes that he scuttled behind the safety of the armchair and cowered there as the holy man stared and stared at nothing he could see.

At long last the leaping black flames died and Shugat's eyes were his own again. The old man stirred. Flexed his fingers in his lap and nodded his bald head in answer to a question only he could hear. Using his staff to help him, he got to his feet. 'Come, Nerim,' he said.'It is time to go home.' Because he was too angry to wait for a native palace guide and subsequently made every wrong turn it was possible to make, sometimes more than once, it took Gerald forever to get back to his suite from the king's audience chamber. Slamming open the doors, he stormed inside.

'Dammit!' he shouted, stamping about the sun-dappled foyer. 'Dammit, dammit, dammitl That bloody man! That insane, megalomaniacal, off-his-rocker, bastardY

Reg jumped off his shoulder and perched instead on a handy chair back. 'Careful now, or you'll do yourself a mischief And close those doors before somebody hears you and repeats what you're saying to our little blond friend!'

Whirling, he gestured wildly at the open doors; they slammed shut so hard the hinges nearly buckled.

'What am I going to do, Reg? What the hell am I going to do?'

Reg sighed and stretched one wing above her head.'Well, for starters you're going to calm down.'

'Calm down? How can I calm down? You were there! You saw what happened! If word of this gets out I am finished] I am sanctioned into the middle of next century] And most likely I'm in gaol]'

She sighed, and stretched the other wing. 'Stop panicking, Gerald. Word isn't going to get out.'

'You don't know that!' he shouted. 'Good God, with my luck five minutes after the Kallarapi delegation unsaddles its last camel there'll be a report on its way to the Department!'

'Oh, Gerald! Enough with the hysteria! Shugat could just as easily go home and tell his sultan "Slight change of plans, sunshine. Put on your prettiest turban, you're going to a wedding!" So how's this for an idea? Why don't we wait to see what happens before you start picking out a fetching prison ensemble?'

He groaned, still pacing. 'Wedding. Oh lord. Melissande's going to kill me.'

Reg tipped her head to one side consideringly. 'Not necessarily. The wretched girl might be secretly in love with Zazoor. This could be the best news she's had since she heard about sensible shoes.' He stopped pacing.'You think?'

Reg sniffed. 'Well… no. But at the rate you're going you'll be throwing yourself into that fountain to drown and I can't see me pulling you out in time. Not with my arthritis. And anyway she won't blame you. How can she? None of this is your fault. Lional's not your barmy brother.'

'Trust me, that won't make any difference!' he retorted.'I was there and I didn't stop it! Of course it's all my fault!'

'Well, you heard what His Raving Majesty said. It's a question of duty. She might not like the idea of marrying Zazoor but she is a Melissande and — '

'Oh Reg, come on!' he said, and started pacing again. 'Can you see her meekly trotting off to live the rest of her life in a tent? Leaving Lional here with no-one but Rupert to keep him in check?'

Reg deflated. 'Damn. Now you've got a point.' Then she brightened. 'I know,' she said, cackling. 'Maybe we'll get lucky and old Shugat'll stir Zazoor up for an invasion and when the sand settles there won't be any Lional left to explain away or cause any more grief!' 'Regl That's a terrible thing to say!'

She snorted. 'Maybe, but are you going to tell me the idea doesn't give you a happy tingling feeling?'

Possibly it did but that wasn't the issue. 'This isn't about getting him killed. I'm a wizard, not an assassin.' 'I know, I know,' she said, placating.

'God! He pressed the heels of his hands against his aching temples. 'What the hell am I going to do?' 'Call that Markham boy.'

Abruptly tired of pacing, Gerald slumped into the nearest chair. 'Why? The last person I can tell any of this to is Monk.'

'Of course you can't! You can't talk about today to anybody outside this foyer!' said Reg. 'But you do need to find out if he's tracked down any of those other wizards yet. They might be your only hope for keeping Lional under control!'

Of course. He'd forgotten all about his predecessors, and asking Monk to track them down. This damned place was getting to him…

'I got your message,' said Monk from the uncertain depths of his crystal ball. 'And I've started tracking those wizards' whereabouts. Bottomley's one of ours, I should hear something about him soon but — ' Then he scowled. 'All right. I know that look. What's gone wrong now?'

Draped across his workshop bench, Gerald swallowed. 'Nothing.'

'Don't you try that "nothing" mouthwash with me, Dunnywood! I can read you like a book and the page I'm looking at has "Trouble" written all over it. What's going on?'

'I told you, Monk. Nothing! he insisted. Then added, as his friend's expression scrunched warningly, 'Much. Nothing I can go into right now.' He dragged his fingers through his hair. 'Let's just say its not easy being court wizard to His Sovereign Majesty King Lional the Forty-third of New Ottosland and leave it at that, eh?'

'Uh huh,' said Monk, unimpressed.'Fine. Just so long as you haven't gone and transmogrified anything else!'

With an effort, he made his voice cheerful. 'No. No, I haven't done that.'

'Good!'Then Monk's ferocious scowl cleared. 'Look, Gerald, if the job's such a stinker chuck it in. Come home. I'll hide you in the cupboard till everyone's stopped talking about Stuttley's. Honestly, there's bound to be a fresh scandal any day now.'

He sighed. 'I wish I could, Monk. But it's out of the question. Things around here have got a bit… complicated.'

'Complicated?' Monk slapped his forehead, aghast. 'I knew it! Didn't I say I can read you like a book? Ha! I can read you like bloody hieroglyphics, mate!' He groaned. 'Complicated means politics, doesn't it? Go on, doesn't it? God, I hate politics.'

Not as much as I do, trust me. 'I told you, I can't discuss it. And even if I could, I wouldn't.' Monk's eyes squinted suspiciously. 'Why not?' 'Plausible deniability'

'Bloody hell, Gerald, what is it with you?' his friend demanded. 'This was supposed to be a cushy little job in the middle of nowhere, a doddle, a giggle, a walk in the park, and now you're talking complications and plausible deniability and all of a sudden — '

'Hang on,' he interrupted, distracted by the sound of loud erratic banging in the foyer. 'I have to go, Monk, there's someone at the door. Get back to me about those other wizards as soon as you can, okay? Leave a message if I'm not in.Thanks. Bye'.'

'He's right, you know,' said Reg, perched on her ram skull. 'We should skedaddle while the skedaddling's good.'

He snatched at the fraying ends of his temper. 'Reg — '

'I know, I know!' she said. 'You've got a contract, you made a promise, blah blah blah. But I'm right, sunshine. If we stay you'll be sorry.' He was already sorry. 'Look — '

The loud erratic banging started up again. Reg tutted disapprovingly. 'Would you listen to that? Go on, see who it is before they knock the doors flat to the floor.' He went.

'Cheery pip pip, Professor!' a fatuously smiling Melissande greeted him. Precariously propped against the doorframe she waggled her magically manicured fingers at him while Boris, draped around her neck like an evil moulting fur stole, leered and flicked his tail. Melissande patted him, cooing, then burped.

Gerald recoiled in automatic self-defence as a pungent wave of alcohol fumes wafted over him. Oh hell. This is all I need. 'Your Highness. How… unexpected.'

Beaming, she held up a bottle half-full of something that looked suspiciously like whiskey. 'Care for a little drinky-poo, old bean, eh what? We have news to celebrate! Lional informs me I'm about to be marriedV His heart sank. 'Oh lord.' 'Who is it?' Reg called.

He raised his voice. 'One of our chickens coming home to roost.'

'Eh?' said Melissande, peering blearily through her glasses. 'Who are you calling a chicken?'

'Nobody' he said helplessly, and stood back from the door. 'Would you like to come in?'

Another burp. 'Why I don't mind if I do!' she trilled, and tottered all the way into the foyer on the midnight blue patent leather high heeled shoes that he'd so kindly and stupidly conjured for her. Boris turned his head to look back over her shoulder. He was still leering.

Gerald closed the foyer doors, took a deep breath and shouted, 'Regl I think you'd better get out here! NowV Twenty minutes later, they still had company.

'Oh God,' he said, one hand pressed firmly over his eyes. 'Which one?' asked Reg.

'I'm not fussy,' he replied, and groaned. 'I can't look, Reg. What's she doing now?'

'Well, she's just climbed into the ornamental fountain,' said Reg. 'And she's standing on the goldfish.'

'Oh, Godl What's that dreadful noise? Did she slip? Is she drowning? Tell me she's not drowning!'

'No, she's not drowning,' said Reg, after a pause. 'And neither's Boris, mores the pity. He's scarpered under the nearest table. She's — and I use the word in its loosest possible context — singing.' It was no good. He had to look.

And promptly wished he hadn't. Oh blimey. And to think I thought Stuttley's was the worst trouble I could get into.'I don't believe this, Reg,' he muttered.'We have to get her out of here. If somebody comes in and finds her it'll be whoops-a-daisy and chains for two in the dungeons!'

Melissande, soaked to the skin and blissfully warbling, threw her head back and hit what she fondly imagined was a High C.

'At least the dungeons would be quiet!' Reg shrieked, and launched herself across the foyer to the fountain.'Oy! You! Princess Diva! Put a sock in itV

Arrested in mid-arpeggio, Melissande blinked. 'Oh. It's you. The funny-looking feather duster with verbal diarrhoea.' She leaned forward confidingly'My cat Boris doesn't like you.'

'I'm shattered,' said Reg grimly perching on the edge of the fountain's top tier level with Melissande s bloodshot eyes. 'And you're drunk.'

'Yes,' said Melissande, and fished at her feet for the bottle of whiskey. Raising it with a flourish she swallowed another big mouthful, burped loudly, and beamed upon the world at large.'I rather think I am.'

Reg rolled her eyes. 'And that's going to help matters, is it?' 'Well it can't bloody hurt them!' 'Tell me that again tomorrow.'

'You know,' said Melissande, frowning, 'you really shouldn't take that tone with me. I am a princess. And the prime minister.' Suddenly noticing the haphazard modesty of her sodden clothing she squeaked, and with fumbling fingers started to rectify the situation.

'And you're doing a fine job of both, I must say,' scolded Reg. 'Drunk and disorderly in the private residence of an unmarried gentleman, madam? What kind of an example is that to set for this year's crop of debutantes? You're a danger to the fabric of society, not to mention my eardrums if you start singing again! Why don't you take yourself back to your own apartments, put your head in a nice big bucket of iced water and we'll agree to forget this unfortunate interlude ever — '

Modesty more or less restored, Melissande took another generous swig of whiskey then waved the bottle under Reg's beak. 'Don't look at me in that tone of voice, you disreputable cleaning implement. Didn't you hear me? I'm a princess. And I'm getting married, to a sultan, which means I'll be a sultana — ' She stopped and thought for a moment. 'That can't be right. Sultanas are wrinkly grapes. I am not a wrinkly grape.'

Reg sniffed. 'Stay in that water for much longer and you'll be doing a pretty good impersonation.'

But Melissande wasn't listening. 'In fact, if you put it all together, I'll be a princess sultana. Or a sultana princess.'

'Yes, yes,' said Reg impatiently. 'The International Sultana Growers' Alliance will probably make you their mascot and then won't some poor fool in a grape suit be relieved. The point is, you stupid girl — '

'You can't talk to me like that!' Melissande spluttered, swaying dangerously. 'I'm a princess, a prime minister and very nearly a wrinkled grape! And you haven't congratulated me! No-one's congratulated me.'

'Probably no-one's been game to,' said Reg. 'Now why don't you be a sensible little sultana-in-waiting and put down the bottle, eh? I mean, don't you think you've had enough?'

'No,' said Melissande, and took another huge swig of whiskey.'I haven't had nearly enough.'

Reg opened her beak to argue, reconsidered, and said, 'You know what? You're right. Most marriages are best conducted when at least one of the victims is pickled. In which case can I fetch you another bottle? Or would you prefer a keg?'

'Reg, are you out of your mind?' Gerald demanded, and pushed away from the bit of foyer wall he'd been leaning against. 'Just — go away! You're not helping! Your Highness — ' As Reg retreated to the nearest chair, hugely offended, he inched towards the fountain, ready to break Melissande's fall and be crushed to a pulp if she did a sudden nose-dive over the side. 'You're right. I'm sorry. Please accept our condolences — I mean congratulations — on your impending nuptials. This is wonderful news.'

Melissande staggered a pace sideways, the better to thrust an outstretched finger into his face. ' Wonderful?'The flattering hairstyle he'd conjured for her was proving no match against water, head-tossing and the effects of a determined splurge of drinking; trailing vines of rust red hair waved about her flushed face and plastered themselves to her damp cheeks. 'What makes you think it's wonderful? It's terrible, you stupid wizard! And it's all your fault]'

I knew it. 1 knew it. Of course she's blaming me. He stepped back, stinging with guilt. 'Look here, Your Highness, that's bloody unfair. I'm not the one who pass-the-parcelled you over to Sultan Zazoor. That was your brother's idea, not mine.'

She stamped her foot splashily. 'Don't worry, there's plenty of blame to go around!' 'What's that supposed to mean?"

'It means marrying me off to Zazoor might have been Lional's idea but he never would've thought of it if you hadn't tarted me up like a prize cow for the market!'

'Prize cow?' he echoed. 'Well, thank you very much! For your information I did not make you look like a cow, I made you look beautiful! And then what happened? Instead of sticking around and doing your duty as princess and prime minister you caved in to the antiquated notions of those stupid bloody Kallarapi and left me in there all alone with your insane brother and everything went arse over tea kettle and I still don't know how I'm going to fix it! I don't even know if I can! I mean, I could've done with you in there for some moral support, Melissande, I needed you there for moral support. The only reason I was in there in the first place is because you manipulated me into fighting your fight for you. The least you could've done was be there in case of slight catastrophes! But no! You were too busy piking out! And anyway, do you honestly believe I wanted this to happen? Do you think I had any idea that it could? Well I didn'tl Brothers don't give their sisters away to virtual strangers where I come from. That's just a quaint New Ottosland custom! And — and — '

He stopped shouting and waving his arms, suddenly and acutely aware that Melissande, Reg and even Boris were all staring at him in mute astonishment. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and cleared his throat.

'Yes? And?' said Melissande, with ominous sweetness. 'Don't stop now, it's just getting interesting.'

'And I never intended for things to get so out of hand,' he finished lamely.'I'm sorry'

She brandished the whiskey bottle at him. 'Sony? What good does sorry do me, Mister Professor Gerald Dunweedin', or Dunnywood, or whatever your name is? I mean if you're so sorry why don't you rattle off to Kallarap on the back of a camel to be their sultana and I'll stay here being the princess prime minister!' He stared. 'I don't want to be their sultana.'

' Well neither do 71' she cried, stamping her foot so hard she sent a wave of water over the side of the fountain. 'I never asked you to make me look beautiful, did I? I never asked you to stick me in this dress and these shoes and fix my makeup or my hair! What do you think I am, blind? Of course I know how appalling I look! Didn't it ever occur to you that I dress like a frump on purpose? Don't you think I'd figured out by the time I was three that slender pretty New Ottosland princesses get bartered away like — like — primary produce? I've spent years cultivating my Chubby Fashion Disaster Persona! And then you and your bird come along and ruin it in five minutes flat! How could you do that to me, Gerald? I thought you liked me!' She was weeping now, overflowing with rage and whiskey.

On purpose? She'd done it all on purpose? Why the hell hadn't she said so? 'I–I do like you,' he stammered, appalled. 'I just had no idea. You mean the trousers and the sensible shoes and the awful hair are camouflage?1

'Of course they're camouflage, you dolt!' she shouted. 'And so is the chubbiness! All designed to make sure nobody would look at me as marriage market material so I could stay here in New Ottosland where I'm needed, and where I can keep both eyes on Lional! So congratulations, Professor! You've just scuttled the careful work of a lifetime!'

'Bloody hell,' he said faintly. 'You should've told me! This morning, in the carriage, I thought — it just seemed to me that you didn't like — '

'Being a frump? I hate it, but that's not the point, is it? I was doing it for New Ottosland and now — ' Overcome with alcohol and emotion she sat down in the fountain, the whiskey bottle cradled in her arms. 'What I don't understand is why', she said, fishing a sodden handkerchief out of her cleavage and mopping her tear-streaked face. ' Why has Lional suddenly decided he wants to deepen our close ties with Kallarap? What close ties? We don't even have adjacent strings! And he despises Zazoor, so how could he possibly want him as a brother-in-law? It doesn't make any senscV