The Song of the Quarkbeast

King Snodd IV

Everyone but the Useless Brother and Boo knelt as the King walked out on to the flat roof where we were standing. He was on his own, or more accurately, he had so few courtiers, hangers-on and advisers that he might as well have been alone – I counted an astonishingly low dozen, which was normal when the King was in a solitary frame of mind. Snodd’s ridiculously high staffing levels were not unusual within the royalty of the Ununited Kingdoms. He reputedly needed four valets to take a bath, and a minimum of two to go to the loo. One to hold the toilet paper and the other to . . . well, I’m sure you get the picture.

It was Tenbury who spoke first.

‘Your Highness,’ he said, ‘you bless us with your presence.’

‘I do rather, don’t I?’ he replied.

The King was a youthful-looking forty, and was in annoyingly good health for those who thought it might be better for all concerned if he would drop dead and let his wife, the considerably less militaristic and more diplomatic Queen Mimosa, take over. One of the few acts of civil disobedience within the Kingdom in recent years had been a march in support of Queen Mimosa having greater control in government. The King was prepared to use water cannon, riot police and tear gas, until Queen Mimosa stepped in herself and told the marchers to ‘return home and be patient’, something that they did, much to the King’s astonishment and annoyance – he’d not used his riot police for a while and thought they needed some practice.

‘I heard my good friend Jennifer Strange was in the castle,’ said the King, ‘and I just – why is that woman not grovelling or averting her eyes in my presence?’

Everyone looked up from where they were kneeling.

‘This is the Once Magnificent Boolean Smith, Your Majesty, the magic test adjudicator and recently appointed Beastmaster.’

‘What happened to Hugo?

‘He came off worse in an argument with a Tralfamosaur.’

He stared at Boo again and took two steps forward to remonstrate with her.

‘Now listen here, good lady, I am the . . .’

His voice trailed off as he fell into the inky blackness of her eyes.

‘Lumme,’ he said, ‘I have the queerest feeling that I’m drowning.’

‘Not yet,’ replied Once Magnificent Boo in an ominous tone, ‘but you shall, and in mud, deserted by those you thought were friends.’

There was a difficult pause as the King and his courtiers took this in. The fact that there was a pause rather than an instant contradiction seemed to suggest not only that the King thought this a feasible demise, but his attendants did too.

‘Now listen here—’

‘Your Majesty should forgive a respected ex-enchantress her eccentricities,’ said Tenbury in a soothing tone, and whispered something in the King’s ear.

‘Indeed,’ said the King, ‘all may rise, since we are friends together.’

We got to our feet, the King cleared his throat and, ignoring Boo, began again.

‘I heard my good friend Jennifer was in the castle and I popped by to say “wotcha”.’

I was immediately suspicious. The King never ‘popped’ by anywhere, rarely said ‘wotcha’ and was definitely not a friend.

‘Come here, child,’ said the King, and I approached cautiously. The last time we had met he had me put in jail for daring to meddle in his plans to invade the Duchy of Brecon. Thankfully, ‘averting a war with pacifist aforethought’ couldn’t be found anywhere on the statute books so I was released after two weeks of half-rations and a single sheet to sleep under in a damp cell without natural light. To anyone else it might have been unbearable, but after being brought up by the Blessed Ladies of the Lobster, it was really quite relaxing. I’d not slept so well for months.

‘Good afternoon, Your Majesty,’ I said, curtsying. ‘How best can I serve you?’

When I was a Dragonslayer I could do more or less what I wanted, but now I was simply an agent at Kazam and a loyalish subject of the King I had to be more careful. With despots it was always best to flatter and say ‘yes’ as often as possible. The King smiled, revealing a set of ridiculously white teeth. He wore a monocle and was thought of as handsome for a member of the royalty, and slightly like a weasel if he’d been anyone else. He had a silly habit of always wearing a crown, and lots of scarlet and ermine.

‘I have decided that I should take this Mystical Arts nonsense with more seriousness than I have in the past,’ he announced, ‘and now the power of your old-fangled “magic” is arising once more, I must have a dedicated wizard at court in order to see how best the nation’s newest asset can be efficiently exploited.’

He thought for a moment.

‘I mean, ‘how magic can best be used to serve the people’. What do you think?’

‘I think that the Mystical Arts are best independent,’ I replied. ‘They should serve no one in particular, and be beholden to no—’

‘You are but a child,’ he said patronisingly, ‘simplistic and unversed in the way of the world. What do you say, All Powerful Blix?’

I thought of mentioning that he was simply ‘the Amazing Blix’ but then this whole thing seemed to have a certain degree of stage management about it. There had been negotiations behind my back, and right now I was not guiding events, but their passenger.

‘I think that is a fine idea, sire,’ said Blix obsequiously. ‘Your Gracious Majesty has a responsibility to better promote this new power for the betterment of the Ununited Kingdoms.’

‘I could not have put it better myself and did,’ said the King, turning back to me. ‘You are appointed to the post, Mr Blix. Miss Strange, can I rely upon Kazam to afford all help that Court Mystician All Powerful Blix requires?’

I stared at him for a moment. A Court Mystician was a big jump for Blix and a worrying one. By ancient decree from the days when wizards were more powerful than they are now it made him eighth in line to the throne, after the royal family and Lord Tenbury. At times like this, I simply did what the Great Zambini would have done. He had expressly told me that Blix was not to be trusted in any way, shape or form. I chose my words carefully.

‘I’m afraid to say that we would have to rigorously examine any requests from Blix and consider each very carefully on its individual merits.’

The King raised an eyebrow.

‘Is that a yes?’

‘No.’

The King smiled at me.

‘You are so very, very predictable, Miss Strange. I could force your houses to join, and even enact legislation to have Kazam outlawed. But those are the acts of a despot, not those of a fair, just and much-loved leader. Me,’ he added, in case I was wondering who he was referring to. ‘No, I suggest that a new company be formed from Kazam and iMagic which will be called “Snodd Magic PLC” and from these fine beginnings great things will be achieved. What do you say?’

I didn’t have to choose my words so carefully this time.

‘I believe I speak for all Kazam’s members when I say that I must reluctantly decline your Majesty’s generous offer. We will not support the Amazing Blix in any form whatsoever, and would strongly resist any attempt at a merger.’

‘Is that a no?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh dear.’ The King sighed. ‘An impasse. What do we do when we reach an impasse, Useless Brother?’

‘A what?’

‘I’ll tell you,’ continued the King, ‘we should have a contest to decide the matter. Magical contests are always enjoyed by the unwashed and the destitute – and especially by the unwashed destitute. I understand it is a traditional way to resolve matters between those versed in the Mystical Arts. Is that not so, Court Mystician?’

‘Most definitely,’ said Blix, turning to me. ‘From the head of one House of Enchantment to another, I challenge Kazam to a contest. Winner takes control of the other’s company.’

I couldn’t really back out even if I’d wanted to. The Sorcerer’s Protocol was obscure, ancient, mostly illogical and cemented into law by long implementation. To refuse a challenge was unthinkable, but then to issue a challenge was also unthinkable – it was something only ill-mannered dopes without any manners would do. Wizards like Blix, in fact.

‘I reluctantly accept,’ I replied, annoyed by the inflexibility of the Protocol, but not too worried. We could easily outconjure iMagic in any test they chose. ‘What shall the contest be?’

‘Why not Hereford’s old bridge?’ suggested Tenbury. ‘Kazam were planning on rebuilding it on Friday, and we can instead have a contest. Kazam can build from the north bank, and iMagic from the south. First one to get their keystones fitted in the centre of the middle arch wins the contest. Royal Magic Adjudicator, is that fair?’

‘As fair as you’ll see in this kingdom,’ said the Once Magnificent Boo, which I think meant she agreed.

‘I agree the terms,’ said Blix with a smile I didn’t much care for. ‘Jennifer?’

‘I too agree,’ I said, ‘with the proviso that if Kazam wins, the position of Court Mystician is taken up by someone of our choosing.’

‘Very well,’ said the King. ‘Blix, you agree to this?’

‘I agree.’

‘What’s a keystone?’[25] asked the King’s Useless Brother.

‘Well, there it is, then,’ said the King, ignoring him entirely, ‘carry on,’ and he swept from the roof with his entourage. A contest was always stressful, but we weren’t in much trouble. Even with Lady Mawgon as alabaster we still had five sorcerers to their three. Besides, dealing with Blix and the rest of the rabble over at iMagic once and for all might actually help matters.

‘Well,’ said Blix, ‘may the best side win.’

‘We plan to,’ I replied.

‘Can we finish the application?’ asked the Useless Brother. ‘I’m keen to use that stamp.’

‘A bull terrier,’ I said after a brief pause, ‘from Dorstonville.’

Unfazed, Perkins gesticulated with his fingers and, far away, a bull terrier barked.

‘The test is complete to my satisfaction,’ announced Boo. She signed the form awkwardly with her gloved hands and left without a word to any of us.

The form was duly countersigned by the Useless Brother and the heavy rubber stamp descended.

We stayed for a few minutes in the outer office while the paperwork was processed, and twenty minutes later we were back outside, where Tiger was waiting for us in the Volkswagen.

‘How did it go?’ he asked.

Perkins showed him the certificate, and Tiger congratulated him. We all talked about the contest on the journey back to Zambini Towers.

‘I’ve never seen a wizidrical contest before,’ said Tiger.

‘Few have,’ I replied, ‘and although an unwelcome distraction, they never cease to be anything but dramatic.’

‘The most spectacular contest was chronicled in the seventeenth century by Dude the Obscure,’ said Perkins, who was more up on this sort of stuff, ‘and was between the Mighty Shandar and the Truly Awesome Spontini. Shandar won three forests to a seven-headed dog in the first round, but lost nine castles to a geyser of lemonade in the second. It has been calculated that the deciding round used in excess of half a GigaShandar an hour, and involved some deft transformations, several vanishings, an exciting and wholly unrepeatable global teleport chase and an ice storm in summer. It was said the crackle was depleted so completely that no useful magic was done anywhere in the world for over six months.’

‘Who won?’ asked Tiger.

‘The Mighty Shandar,’ replied Perkins, ‘who else?’

‘Spectacular perhaps,’ I said, ‘but the most nail-biting was reputedly a low-level contest between two spell-managers of middle ranking who simply had an armchair hover-off in 1911. First one to touch the ground in their armchair lost. The tension had been considerable, apparently, and the contest was won after seventy-six hours of eye-popping concentration by Lady Chumpkin of Spode, who apparently lost three stone in weight with the effort.’

‘Will we win the bridge contest?’ asked Tiger.

‘Without a doubt,’ I said, with not quite as much certainty as I could have wished.