The Accidental sorcerer

CHAPTER THREE

Melissande heard the commotion when she was still one dingy corridor away from the palace's Large Audience Chamber. Raised voices. Indignant expostulations. The rat-a-tat-tat of ebony canes on marble-tiled flooring. She felt her insides clench. Her brisk footsteps slowed, and her heart suddenly felt too large for her chest. Someone was arguing with Lional.

She started hurrying again, breath caught in her throat. More than likely it was the Council. Oh, how could they be so stupid? Didn't they understand her brother yet? When were they going to realise that Lional wasn't his father? The late king had been a kind, mostly ineffectual man who was more than happy to let the Council run the kingdom on his behalf. Leave him alone to potter in his gardens and trundle out once or twice a year for public display and he was perfectly content. Lional wasn't. For a start, he didn't like gardens. Even less did he like being told what to do by a bunch of nattering old men. The only thing Lional and the late king had in common was the name. And in the last few months, as kingship took its toll, Lional s temper had grown markedly short.

Fearing the worst she sprinted the final eight yards and skidded around the corner to the audience chamber's reception area. Now she could make out actual words in the shouting. Words like 'foolish' and 'ridiculous' and 'misguided'. Saint Snodgrass preserve them.

Her other brother was sitting in a plush red velvet chair, his bony nose stuck in a book as usual. From the ratty state of his britches and jacket he'd come straight from his butterfly house. It was possible he'd even slept there last night; half a green butterfly wing was caught in his hair and he had a rumpled, unbedlike look. Ignoring the shouting and the two discomfited attendants on either side of the open chamber doors, she rushed up to him and snatched the book from his hands.

'Rupert! What's going on? What are they yelling about now, do you know?'

Rupert blinked at her myopically. 'What are who yelling about? Oh! You mean Lional and the Council?' He shrugged. 'Haven't a clue, Melly. Sorry. I was engrossed in a particularly fascinating chapter about the mating habits of the Larger Crested Swamp Butterfly of Lower Limpopo.' A gleam of passion shone in his faded blue eyes. 'I'd give just about anything to have one in my collection but the Lower Limpopo government is so unreasonable when it comes to exporting their native fauna. I've even asked Court Wizard Greenfeather to help, since he's from Lower Limpopo and seems to know everybody important, but — '

'RupertV Confiscated book pinned between her knees, Melissande clapped her hands sharply in front of his face. 'Are you sure you don't know what they're yelling about?'

'Positive,' said Rupert cheerfully. He wiggled his fingers at her. 'Can I have my book back, please?'

Swallowing an impatient sigh she shoved it at him. There was no point getting angry with Rupert. He was a darling man, a sweet and thoughtful brother, but not even an adoring sister could call him the brightest candle in the palace chandelier.

Inside the audience chamber the shouting stopped. She heard Lional say, 'Raise your voices to me one more time, gentlemen, and there will be consequences, is that clear?'

There was a moment's silence and then the voices resumed. This time they were pitched at a respectful murmur.

'Whoops,' said Rupert, wincing. 'I think they've really made him cross this time.'

Melissande slumped into the chair beside him. 'They always do, the silly old fools. You'd think they'd learn.' With a sigh, she patted Rupert's threadbare knee. 'What brings you here, anyway?'

He brightened. 'I need permission to leave the country. There's a terribly important symposium in Aframbigi I want to attend. "Natural Mutations Arising From Captive Lepidoptery Breeding Programs". It's being chaired by Professor Sunyi herself!' He released a tiny, ecstatic sigh. 'I've read every book and pamphlet she's ever written. The idea of meeting her — '

'Is pretty much out of the question,' she said, as gently as she could. 'Balloon season's over and the Kallarapi are still refusing nonessential camel-train passage.'

Rupert's expression turned mulish. 'There's still the portal.'

'The portal? Don't be silly, Rupert. Lional will never let you use it. Not for a butterfly symposium.' 'He might. If I ask him nicely.'

Dear Rupert. Deluded, ever-hopeful Rupert. There was no point arguing, either. The only trait he and their older brother had in common was a streak of stubbornness as wide as the Kallarapi Desert. She patted his knee again. Sometimes she felt like Rupert's mother, not his little sister. 'Yes, Rupe. You can always ask.'

'Don't worry, I will.' He sniffed. 'Why do you want to see him?'

'I don't. I was summoned.' She chewed at a fingernail. 'I hope it's not about finishing school again. How many more times can I say no? For pity's sake, I'm nearly twenty-one! Finishing school would finish me all right, but not in the way he thinks. And anyway, I don't have time.'

'Because of your correspondence course with Madame — '

'ShhhV she hissed, and glanced at the po-faced chamber attendants. They never looked as though they were listening but one couldn't be too careful. She lowered her voice. 'Partly. And I have a feeling I should be here.'

'But Mel…' said Rupert anxiously, 'you might not have a choice. After all, Lional's the king now. Father didn't much mind what any of us did so long as we weren't running all over his flowerbeds. But Lional's got views. Especially about being contradicted.'

She waved a dismissive hand.'I'm his little sister. Putting me in prison wouldn't look good. Besides, Lional's bark is far worse than his bite, you know that.' She patted his knee again. 'Don't worry'

Rupert smoothed his thin fingers over the cover of his precious book. 'Well, I hope you're right, Mel. But I still think you should reconsider. You never know, finishing school might be fun and at least it'd get you away from here for a — '

' Dismissed? roared a voice from inside the audience chamber. 'The entire Council? Is Your Majesty quite madV

'Mad? No!' was Lional's cold reply. 'But I am sorely tempted to serve you your liver fried with onions for daring to take that tone with me, your kingl'

Melissande and Rupert leapt to their feet. Even the diplomatically deaf, dumb and blind chamber attendants quivered. 'That sounded like Lord Billingsley,' Rupert whispered hoarsely. 'He always was a bit tactless.'

'There's tactless and then there's suicidal,' Melissande whispered back. She felt Rupert's cold hand groping for hers and wrapped her fingers round it. 'I'm sorry, Rupe, but I think asking Lional for permission to leave the country will have to wait.'

Rupert nodded. 'Yes. D'you want me to stay anyway? You know, for moral support?'

A fresh babble of angry voices rose within the audience chamber. 'No, I'll be fine. You go. We both know Lional in a temper gives you hives.'

He let go of her hand. 'Well,' he said, sounding relieved.'If you're sure…'

She was certain. Rupert got on Lional's nerves even more than Lord Billingsley and the rest of the Council. All her life she'd pushed herself between them like a wodge of cotton wool, preventing unfortunate breakages.

'Positive.' She stretched up and kissed his stubbly cheek. 'I'll see you at dinner, all right? Say hello to the butterflies for me — and don't forget to shave. Lional's got views about that too, remember?'

Rupert departed, clutching his book. A moment later Lional's Council — his former Council — filed out of the audience chamber. Their expressions were identically thunderous. Ebony cane tips rapping the floor, they muttered to one another under their wheezing breaths as they limped and shuffled into the chamber's reception area, a group of old men whose aggregate age approached a staggering one thousand years. No wonder Lional was tired of them.

Lord Billingsley, the youngest at seventy-six, paused to look down his bulbous nose at her. Like his colleagues he was dressed in the height of courtly fashion: striped trousers, tail coat and boiled shirt, with half a diamond mine's worth of stick pins and gewgaws thrust into his polka-dot silk cravat. 'Your Highness.' She nodded.'Lord Billingsley.' 'Here to see the king?' 'That's right.'

'Then I suggest you take a moment to talk some sense into him!' Billingsley snapped. His left eye twitched uncontrollably, threatening to shoot his monocle clear across the room. 'He seems to have completely lost his reason!'

What could she say? The stuffy old man might well be right. It did seem crazy for Lional to dismiss the Council. He might be the king but he could hardly run the country on his own. However, agreeing with Billingsley meant disagreeing with Lional and that was treason. Technically, anyway. If Lional overheard he might ship her off to finishing school out of pique, no matter how old she was or how many times she declined the offer.

She graced Lord Billingsley with her most imperious smile. 'Like you, my lord, I am His Majesty's loyal and obedient subject. If, during our audience, he asks me to talk some sense into him I will certainly attempt to do so. Was there anything else?'

Lord Billingsley cast a glance towards his colleagues, huddling like elderly sheep at the reception entrance, and made a great show of harrumphing and pretending hed got the answer he wanted. Then he bowed, creakily.

'Not at this moment, Your Highness. Doubtless this is but a temporary state of affairs. I'm sure His Majesty will soon come to regret this decision. We will return to our estates now and await our recall. Good day'

Watching the offended Council members retreat, she almost felt sorry for them. All those years running the show behind the scenes while her father the cabbage king played figurehead… and now here was Lional. At nearly thirty he was less than half Lord Billingsley's age, and to the Council's mind scarcely old enough to shave unassisted. Throwing his weight around. Inconveniently insisting that kings had more important things to do than poison aphids and peruse seed catalogues.

'Melissande!' a deceptively sweet voice called from within the audience chamber.'I'm waitingV

She sighed and looked to the rigidly non-commital chamber attendants. The one on the right banged his ceremonial pikestaff on the floor and said, unnecessarily, 'His Majesty will see you now, Your Highness.'

'Apparently. Don't bother announcing me, Willis.' She poked a couple of escaping hairpins back into her slapdash bun, squared her shoulders and marched into the enormous, echoing audience chamber.

Lional was down off his throne, standing instead by the large leadlight windows in the grandiose room's far wall. Shafting sunlight turned his wavy hair to burnished gold and sparkled the rubies and emeralds in his crown. Long and lean, he wore his dark green silks like a second skin. His thickly lashed blue eyes were luminous, his wide cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. His skin was lightly golden, and blooming fresh like a child's. Every inch of him shrieked athletic elegance and grace. He looked like a living legend. It was hard to believe they were related.

A fat orange cat wove complicated patterns around his booted ankles. Tavistock. She didn't like Lional's pet, but the fact that he loved it without reservation gave her heart when his casual inconsiderations drove her to swearing and sometimes to tears.

It was a long walk up the thin strip of crimson carpet to reach him, and he didn't acknowledge her presence until she came to a stop a few feet from him. Tavistock eyed her with a slitted green gaze, smirking. Dratted animal.

Ignoring it, she sniffed. 'Good morning. What was all that business with the Council? Surely you haven't — '

He raised a finger and both eyebrows. 'Ah ah ah! What are we forgetting, Melissande?' She frowned. 'I don't know.'

The finger wagged, admonishing. 'I think you do.' 'No, I really don't.'

He sighed. 'You're supposed to curtsey. I am the king, though sometimes I think the fact escapes you.' She looked around the otherwise deserted chamber. 'Lional, we're the only ones in here.' 'Nevertheless…' 'Oh, please! I'm wearing trousers!'

His glance was disapproving. 'Put on a dress, then. You should wear a dress anyway. One with lace. And flounces. It's more princessly.'

'You know perfectly well I don't wear dresses,' she said, rolling her eyes. 'They make me look like a badly sewn-up sack of wheat. Lional, have you really dismissed the Council?'

He turned away from the window and returned to his throne on its crimson-carpeted dais.Tavistock leapt into his lap with a grunt, turned around twice and settled on his knees. Claws like tiny scimitars paddled green silk, pulling threads. Lional tickled under the cat's chin. 'You don't approve?'

No, she didn't, but wasn't stupid enough to say so.'I don't understand. I know Lord Billingsley and his cronies are tedious, but they — '

'Refuse to accept reality. The old regime is dead and buried, just like Father. / am king now. I make the decisions. Not them.'

'Lional…' She stepped closer. 'Be fair. They're old men, set in their ways, and you've been king for less than a year. I'm sure you'll get used to them once — '

'It's not for me to get used to them!' snapped Lional. 'Like all my subjects they exist to serve, Melissande. And if they won't I have no use for them.'

'But Lional, you need a Council,' she said. 'This kingdom's like a duck on a mill pond, you know. There's you sitting serenely on the surface and underneath there are all these other people working like demented grasshoppers to keep things moving. Believe me, I do understand if you don't want those councillors, but traditionally it's an hereditary position. Billingsley and the rest of them all have sons, they'll assume — '

'Assumptions,' said Lional, dangerously, 'are unwise. I have suspended Council activity for now. Billingsley, his cronies and their encroaching sons are forbidden the palace until further notice. I need time to think without them bleating in my ear, wanting this, demanding that, all under the mistaken impression that I'm here to give them things. Besides, they were costing an absolute fortune to feed and house here at court. It's about time they fed themselves and all their hangers-on, too. Last time I looked this was my palace, not a hotel.'

She shook her head.'Gosh, Lional. They're not going to like that.'

He smiled, his ring-laden fingers now buried in Tavistock's extravagant fur. 'Behold me not heartbroken at the prospect.'

It was true, the cost of keeping councillors, courtiers and their servants around the place was ruinous. But even so… 'All right, you've stood down the Council for a while. So what will you do in the meantime? Somebody has to keep the wheels of government turning.'

Another smile. 'In the meantime, Melly, I have you.'

She nearly swallowed her tongue. 'Me? Lional, are you ma-' No, no, no. Don't say it. Dungeons were rumoured to be uncomfortable places. '- making a mistake?'

'Are kings capable of making mistakes?' her beautiful brother mused. 'No, I don't believe they are. Melissande, my darling little sister, you cannot refuse me.The kingdom needs you.'

'It needs a council more. Look, Lional, I appreciate your thinking of me but you need to think again. I'm not cut out for — '

'Oh, but you are. Intellectually you are as a giant to my former councillors' antish, ancient little minds,' said Lional blithely. 'And you're terribly organised. It used to irritate me, you know, the way you sat your dolls alphabetically by name along your toy shelf, but I see now I misjudged you. You're a born pettifogging administrator, Melly. And as New Ottosland's inaugural prime minister you'll — '

'Prime minister? You want to make me prime minister?' She knew her voice was squeaking but she couldn't help it. 'Lional, you can't! It's against tradition! And I'm a girl!'

Lional's lips pursed. 'Are you sure? I thought girls wore dresses.'

'Oh, ha ha,' she said, feeling desperate. 'Lional, seriously, you can't make me prime minister.'

'I'm the king, Melly,' snapped Lional. 'I can do whatever I want. And what I want is to drag us into the modern era and onto the international stage, kicking and screaming if necessary.'

She folded her arms. 'Not to mention foaming at the mouth. Lional — '

Ignoring her, he traced the edge of Tavistock's ear with a fingertip. His perfectly sculptured lips were curved in a dreaming smile. 'I have such plans for this kingdom. A splendid vision.'

'Then you need to get your eyes checked, because if you're really seeing me as prime minister then — ' The smile vanished. 'SilenceV

She flinched and shut her mouth. Scowling, Lional shoved Tavistock off his lap, heedless of the cat's indignant yowling, and leapt lightly down from the dais.

'Save your breath, sister dear, for I'll entertain no further debate,' he said, pacing. 'You are henceforth Her Royal Highness Princess Melissande, Prime Minister of New Ottosland. Feel free to choose an office of your own, provided it's not too large, and decorate it however you like except expensively, because in case you hadn't noticed Father left us virtually bankrupt, the old coot. And after that make sure the kingdom continues to run like clockwork. That's all I ask.'

Dazed, she sat heavily on the edge of the dais. 'That's all':'

'Well, it is a very small kingdom, Mel. I can't imagine it'll be that hard.'

She felt like tearing her hair out. 'And I suppose in my spare time you'd like me to whip you up a plate of meringues?'

'I don't like meringues,' said Lional, and leaned against the wall. 'I'd not say no to half a dozen eclairs, though. With extra chocolate and cream.' She nearly threw Tavistock at him/Lional…!'

Joining her on the dais, he slung his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. 'Oh, come on, Melly. It's not like you won't have help. I'm sure I saw dozens of minions loitering about the place somewhere. It's about time they earned their keep. You'll love it. Giving orders from dawn till dusk. Bullying entire government departments into shape. You'll think you've died and gone to heaven.'

She let herself slump against him.'Only if I can come back and haunt you. Lional…'

Another rallying squeeze. 'You can do this, Mel. I know you can. I meant what I said about having a vision. We could be a great country, you know. Influential. Powerful. A major player on the world stage.'

'I know you think that,' she said carefully, after a moment. 'And it's a nice idea, Lional, really, but please be serious for a moment. You said it yourself: the treasury's practically empty. What's more, we're hogtied and shackled by outdated traditions that'll get us laughed right off the world stage. Face it. We're a backwater colonial collection ot rustics living in the middle of a bloody great desert and nobody cares what we do, or think, or say. Even the old mother country's almost forgotten we exist!' She pulled a face. 'If you really want me to be your prime minister then fine. I'll be your prime minister. But as for the rest…'

Lional dropped a kiss on the top of her head and stood. 'You let me worry about the rest, Mel. I'll make it happen, you'll see. And a lot sooner than you think. Tradition?' He snapped his fingers. 'That for tradition! Right now, though, we need to concern ourselves with an important new development.'

Groaning, Melissande got up and shoved her hands into her trousers' capacious pockets. 'I'm almost afraid to ask.' Lional grinned. 'The Kallarapi are coming.'

She looked out of the nearest window, alarmed. 'Now?'

Tavistock had curled up on the throne with his tail wrapped round his nose. Lional pushed him off and sat again, right leg slung negligently over its padded arm. The cat jumped back up to his lap, disgruntled.

'Not quite. According to the message I received this morning they should be here in a day or two.' 'Which Kallarapi, do you know?'

'The holy man and the useless younger brother,' he said, examining his manicured fingernails.

'And are they coming with or without accessories?' Lional's eyebrows lifted.'I beg your pardon?'

She folded her arms again, glaring. 'Are they bringing their army?' He snorted. 'Oh, come along now, Mel. We don't owe them that much. Strictly speaking we don't owe them anything at all.' 'That's not how they see it.'

'I don't particularly care how they see it,' he said, admiring the way his ruby rings caught the sunlight.

She gave him a look. 'I know. I expect that's why they're coming.'

Typically, he ignored the look and the comment. 'As my prime minister, Melissande, it'll be your job to entertain them while they're here. Naturally it won't do for me to see them. An audience with me will give them entirely the wrong idea. You'll show them the sights of a civilised society. Remind them of our blood ties to the oldest nation in the world. And after that you can show them the relevant records proving that when it comes to trade tariffs we're the ones who've been robbed, not them. In short, I expect you to make our culturally challenged neighbours lift their ridiculous camel-train embargo. It's not helping our financial position at all!

'That would be the point of it, Lional,' she said, and heaved a sigh. 'The thing is… I know you're convinced we're in the right but I wish you'd reconsider. Our trading treaty with the Kallarapi has been in place for nearly four centuries and there's never been any dispute over who owes what to whom until now.'

'Meaning what, pray?' demanded Lional. 'That somehow I'm to blame for their rapacious greed? Why? Because I'm newly come to the throne? Must I remind you, Melissande, that the Kallarapi have also recently acquired a new ruler? And that all this trouble just happens to coincide with Zazoor's ascension to the throne, or the stuffed camel-hump, or whatever it is he sits on?'

She pressed her fingertips to her temples. 'I know. And that's the problem, isn't it? You and Zazoor have hated one another from your first day at boarding school. Now, instead of behaving like sober, responsible potentates, you're treating this disagreement like just one more of your playground scuffles! And it's not! People's livelihoods are at stake here, Lional. Our very kingdom is at stake! Don't you understand? Now when you punch Zazoor everybody gets a nosebleed!'

Tavistock yowled, lashing his tail. Lional patted his head. 'My sentiments exactly, Tav. Have a care, Melissande. There are ways and ways one may talk to a king. Some of them lead to unfortunate consequences.'

'Like being fired, you mean?' she retorted. 'Oh, please. You'd be doing me a favour. All I'm saying, Lional, is that like it or not they've got the advantage over us. The terms of the treaty are specific and binding and there's nothing we can do to change them!'

Lional's immaculate fingernails drummed the arm of his throne. 'I suppose you have a point,' he admitted at last, grudgingly.

'Yes. I have a point. I have lots of points, but not as many as the Kallarapi army. They've got thousands, each one at the end of a sword!' Feeling pressured, Melissande shoved her hairpins back in her bun again. 'I'll take a good long look at the tariff books myself, Lional, and I'll talk to the Kallarapi delegation when it gets here. But you have to be prepared to give some ground. Forget it's Zazoor you're dealing with. Remember you have a responsibility to your subjects.That's all I ask.'

Lional smiled, revealing his perfect white teeth. 'There. Didn't I say you'd make a splendid prime minister?' Scooping Tavistock into his arms, he stood. 'Very well. I'll do as you suggest — this time. But be warned, Mel. There's giving ground and then there's surrender… and I'll see this verdant oasis of ours a charred and stinking ruin before I surrender it to anybody… least of all Zazoor.'

Melissande felt her heart sink. He meant it. When it came to Sultan Zazoor, Lional wasn't entirely rational. He never had been, even as a child. What a shame the old sultan's heir had fallen into quicksand, leaving his second son to rule. She could foresee nothing but tantrums and fisticuffs for the next five decades or so. It was a depressing vista.

'AH right, Lional,' she said, and dredged up a smile. 'I'll consider myself duly warned. Now is there anything else? Only it seems I've suddenly got a lot of reading to do.'

'In fact there is,' said Lional. 'I'm in need of a new court wizard.'

She stared. 'Another one? Why? What happened to Bondaningo?'

'Wizard Greenfeather resigned in a huff late last night and returned home via the portal just before dawn,' said Lional, shrugging. 'I did my best to dissuade him but he was a most recalcitrant fellow. Refused point-blank to reconsider. I don't mind telling you, Mel: my feelings are hurt.'

'I don't believe it,' she said. 'He didn't even say goodbye. And I liked Bondaningo. Much more than any of the others. He wasn't as ancient as most of them and didn't talk to me as though I were six. Why did he resign?'

Lional waved a hand. 'I don't recall and it doesn't matter. He's gone. Find me another one, will you? Same specifications as before.'

She shoved her fists in her pockets. 'I've already found you five, Lional. At the rate you're going every wizard in the world is going to have "Former advisor to the King of New Ottosland" on his credentials.' Then, as Lional's face collapsed into displeasure, she added, 'All right, all right] I'll find you another one!' 'And quickly. It's very important.'

'Yes, quickly, I promise. But for the love of Saint Snodgrass, please don't fire or offend him until I've finished dealing with the Kallarapi!'

Lional smiled. It was like watching the sun break free of lowering storm clouds. 'For you, sister dear, whom I love as life itself? Of course. Anything for you.'

She'd never been able to resist Lional's smile, not even after he'd decapitated one of her dolls or torn the ears off her favourite stuffed donkey. 'Thank you. Now can I go?'

'You are excused, Prime Minister,' Lional said grandly, still smiling, and waggled his fingers. 'Ta ta!'

Marching out of the audience chamber, head whirling with dread premonitions of lurking obstacles yet to be discovered, Melissande throttled a shriek of frustration.

Prime minister? Prime minister? Whatever had she done to deserve this? And what had possessed her to accept the appointment? She'd only had the job five minutes and already she had a migraine. If only she'd said yes to finishing school…

But it was too late now and regrets were pointless. She was Princess Melissande, Prime Minister of New Ottosland, and the Kallarapi were coming. Time to get to work.