by Moore, John
Pollocks looked over his shoulder. “Lady Catherine Durace. Yes, Sire. Born and raised in Damask. She’s been living with relatives in Noile until recently. She returned for the funeral. I haven’t heard that she plans to leave anytime soon.”
“And who is the other one?”
“Rosalind Amund,” Oratorio answered. “Lady Catherine’s lady-in-waiting. I believe her father is a justice on the Noile court.”
“Hmm. Pollocks, do we still have those rooms in the south tower for detaining political prisoners?”
“Certainly, Sire.”
“Nice rooms? Big? Comfortable?”
“Oh yes, Sire. They’re all as nice as your own room, and of course, the suite at the top floor of the tower, which is meant for detaining our most influential prisoners, is quite luxurious.”
“Is it ready for use? Clean linens, fresh towels? Ash-trays emptied? Has the minibar been restocked?”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t say, Sire.” Pollocks found the line of questioning disconcerting. “It hasn’t been used in a quite a while.”
“Well, check. Get the servants out of bed and give the place a dust-off. Put a basket of fruit on the table and mints on the pillow. You know what I mean. Oratorio!”
Oratorio instinctively came to attention. “Yes, Sire.”
“Get a couple of guards in here. Make sure they look presentable. Clean uniforms, buttons buttoned, that sort of thing.”
“Yes, Sire.” For the second time, Oratorio and Pollocks found themselves going out the door together. Once again they exchanged quizzical looks. Then each shrugged and went down the hall in separate directions.
Charlie leaned his elbows on the windowsill and watched the scene below. Catherine had pushed back her hood, and her long hair shimmered gold and red in the flickering torchlight. Her face, rising from a dark fur collar, was softened by shadows. The pale oval seemed to float over the dark cloak. Charlie closed his eyes and listened to her voice, which seemed to hold a musical sweetness. He opened his eyes again and focused on her lips. They were, he decided, the most perfect lips of any woman alive. He wondered what it would be like to . . .
“The guards are here, Sire,” said Oratorio, standing at his shoulder. Two burly men were standing behind him. Their beards were still damp, indicating that Oratorio had sent them to a washbasin before bringing them in.
Pollocks returned, with a pear in his hand. “The tower room is ready, Sire. Complete with mints, fruit basket, and little bottles of shampoo and conditioner.”
“Good, good.” Charlie suddenly straightened his shoulders and flung the window full open, so the frame made a loud crash against the wall. The two girls in the courtyard looked up. He pointed dramatically at Catherine. “Arrest that woman!”
Lord Gagnot thought that Charlie was one of the most sensible young men he had met in a long time. The prince didn’t insist on any sort of ceremony, but rose from the throne when Gagnot came in, escorted him to a table that was piled high with accounting books and invoices, and invited Gagnot to pour himself a drink. Gagnot told him a few stories of riding and hunting on his estate, and found himself warming to this young man who listened so attentively and made appreciative comments. Gagnot found it admirable that Charlie was respectful to his elders, even when he outranked them socially. His Lordship paused in his storytelling to pour himself another whiskey, and that was when Charlie casually mentioned that he had passed Gagnot’s estate on his way into town, and what a lovely manor house he had.
“Yes, isn’t it? We just remodeled the whole thing. Added a new wing, too.”
“It’s quite impressive.”
“You must come to dinner so you can see the inside. I don’t know much about decorating, myself, but my wife did an excellent job picking out the new carpets and draperies. The furniture’s all heirloom, of course.”
“I understand Lady Gagnot likes to give lavish parties.”
“Oh yes. We both love to entertain. Wait until you see one of our parties. We’ll be sending you an invitation to the autumn ball.”
“Thank you. Of course,” said Charlie, smiling gently, “it did seem a rather large place to be supported on an estate of that size.”
“Hmm? Oh yes. Well, it does take a bit of careful money management. But we know how to spend our money wisely. Lady Gagnot knows how to stretch a shellac.”
Charlie put his hand on one of the ledger books and casually slid it over. “The Council of Lords put you in charge of the public granaries, did they not?”
“Hmm? Oh yes. They asked me to take the job and I accepted. Just one of the many responsibilities I have taken on in the service of Damask.”
Charlie flipped the ledger book open. He compared an entry in it with an invoice. “And yet it seems that the inventories don’t match the amount of grain that was deposited for storage.”
“Uh, probably some clerical error. I’ll have it looked into.”
“Perhaps you should look into the granaries themselves, as I did this morning. They should be nearly full. Instead they are nearly empty.”
Gagnot put his glass aside and exhaled through puffed cheeks. “All right, Charlie, I can see where this is going. You want a cut of the action, right? Well, I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I just can’t do it. I’m paying too many kick-backs to the Council of Lords as it is.”
“You’re betraying your public trust. You’re stealing grain from the public warehouses, selling it to your cronies at rock-bottom prices, and taking a kickback for letting them make enormous profits.”
“I’m not keeping the entire payoff.” Gagnot was growing exasperated. “That’s what I’m telling you. There are so many other nobles and government officials with their hands out that I’m just about losing money on the deal.” This was merely a negotiating ploy. Gagnot was really making a huge profit. He sat back in his chair and rested his hands over his ample belly. “I can give you a small cut now, maybe a bit more after the price increase.”
“What you’re doing is illegal.”
“It certainly is not, Your Highness. I’m authorized to dispose of surplus grain and set the price.”
“As well as immoral and unethical. The way the year is going, we’re going to need that grain to feed hungry people. And we’ll need it soon, Lord Gagnot. People will be suffering.”
“Suffering? I should say not, Prince Regent. They won’t be suffering. They’re commoners. They’re used to being hungry.”
“Oh yes,” said Charlie. “Now that you’ve explained it, I see what you mean. As long as the nobility has plenty to eat, there isn’t a problem. Excuse me, Lord Gagnot.” He closed the ledger books, got up, and left the room, almost immediately encountering Oratorio in the hall. “Ah, Oratorio. Just the man I wanted to see.”
“And I wanted to see you, Sire,” said the young knight. He looked nervous. “It’s about the ghost. He appeared again. I took a message this time.”
“Not now, Oratorio. I don’t have time for ghosts. I’m going to see the wizards. But first I have a task for you. Lord Gagnot is in that room. Find a couple of guards and arrest him.”
Oratorio was starting to think that he could not see the prince regent without having to arrest someone. “Very good, Sire,” he said moodily. “The tower again?”
“The Barsteel,” said Charlie, referring to Damask’s infamous prison. He continued on his way. Oratorio went off to collect another pair of guards. No sooner had Charlie rounded the corner than Packard and Gregory stepped out of the shadows. This did not seem odd to Oratorio. Packard and Gregory were men who spent a lot of time standing in shadows. He bowed to them and they, in turn, fell in step with him.
“Ah, Oratorio,” Gregory said. “Going to arrest another one, eh? Our prince regent has been busy this morning.”
“I’m afraid so. Lord Gagnot this time. To the Barsteel.”
“The Barsteel? Is Charlie aware that it has been out of use for years? In fact, I believe the bottom level is being leased to a coffee shop.”
“He’s filling it up again, sir. There are still cells on the upper levels. And it wasn’t totally out of use. The Marquis de Sadness is being held there.”
Gregory knit his brows. “I can’t place him, although the name sounds familiar. The Marquis de Sadness?”
“Oh, you know him,” said Packard. “He wrote those kinky books. You know, the ones where he said he derived erotic pleasure from making women unhappy.”
“Oh, right. Throwing his socks on the floor, leaving the toilet seat up, belching at the dinner table.”
“Sometimes he waited until Friday afternoon to ask a woman on a date, totally upsetting her plans for the weekend.”
“A very cruel man,” confirmed Oratorio. “Well, he’ll have some company now.
“Excuse us, Oratorio,” said Packard. He put his hand on Gregory’s shoulder and the two men fell back a few steps so they could talk quietly. “Did Gagnot give us our cut from those grain sales?”
“Oh yes. He’s paid up with us.”
“Excellent.” Packard joined back up with Oratorio. “The Barsteel, eh? Well, I’m sure if the prince feels that way, there must be a good reason.”
“It’s not for me to say, sir.”
“Oh, come now, Oratorio.” Packard gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Your father and I are old friends. Gregory and I have known you since you were a baby. You can speak freely around us.”
“Well . . . yes,” Oratorio conceded. He remembered that he was talking to the two men who had put the prince in power. “Charlie is just starting his rule. It’s really too early to judge. He seems to want to crack down on corruption, which I guess isn’t a bad thing.”
“And Lady Catherine?”
“I suppose he has some reason for arresting her, even though I can’t think what it could be. People are pretty upset about that.”
“When matters of state become as confusing as this,” said Gregory, “I often ask myself what the old king would have done. But I suppose you know that better than any of us, eh, Oratorio?”
“Sir?”
“Well, the rumor is that you saw his ghost on the ramparts last night.”
“It wasn’t just me,” said Oratorio defensively. “Lots of guys have seen it.”
“They say it spoke to you.”
“It gave me a message for Prince Charlie.”
“What was the message?”
“It was a confidential message, sir. For Prince Charlie.”
“Of course, of course. And what did our prince say when he received it?”
“I haven’t had a chance to give it to him. He has been busy.”
“We’ll be having lunch with the prince today,” said Packard. “It would be no trouble to deliver the message for you.”
It was not an unreasonable offer, Oratorio considered. Either of the king’s brothers could have taken the throne. There were any number of family members they could have chosen. So clearly they weren’t trying to grab power for themselves. They had put Charlie into power, in fact. Oratorio had grown up in an atmosphere of court intrigue, but for once there was no reason to suspect subterfuge. Nonetheless . . .
He stopped and faced the two elderly men. “I’m sorry,” he said truthfully, “but it’s just not the kind of message that can be passed along.”
“It’s up to you then,” said Packard heartily, dropping his hand from the knight’s shoulder. “We won’t detain you any longer, Oratorio. Come and see us if you ever want to talk.” He and Gregory slowed their pace and let Oratorio get out of earshot again.
“I don’t like it,” said Gregory. “We didn’t figure on the king coming back as a ghost. Who knows what he has to say? I went up there myself at night trying to spot him. Didn’t see a thing.”
“Considering the circumstances, I really don’t think either of us wants to meet him again.”
“I don’t want Charlie to meet him, either. He could undermine Charlie’s trust in us.”
“Maybe. He could also tell Charlie his secret. That would save us a lot of effort.”
“We’ll find it,” said Gregory. “We have time. There are only so many places it can be.”
The castle had a weather map. As a child Charlie had loved to look at it, and even now he thought it was the coolest thing in the wizards’ tower. It lay on a large table, a three-dimensional model of Damask, Noile, and the surrounding areas, with tiny rivulets of water flowing through the streams and rivers, ice that formed and melted on the mountaintops according to the season, and clouds that floated above the surface, reflecting the precipitation patterns in real time.
What the wizards’ tower lacked was wizards. Thessalonius was still missing, and Damask couldn’t afford to keep even a small staff of experienced wizards. Charlie found himself meeting with a journeyman and two apprentices. The journeyman had been hired from a temp agency, a young man trying to build up some work experience. The two girls were bright enough, but were only here for the semester on a work-study program.
It was Jeremy, the journeyman, who had to give Charlie the bad news. “It doesn’t look good, Your Highness.”
“But the crops seem okay.”
“For now, Sire. We’re still getting some rain. We’ll continue to get some. But already we’re down nine inches for the year. The reservoirs are down to seventy percent level. If the pattern continues, the grain harvest will be poor. We’ll get a harvest of sorts, but the tonnage will be seriously short.”
“How about the orchards?”
Jeremy ran the projection again. Lines of small clouds formed at the shoreline and moved across the table, spraying tiny showers on mountains the size of bread boxes. Rivers, snaking down the mountains in little grooves, ran into Noile. A handful of tiny streams, each hardly more than a scratch, trickled into Damask. “The early summer stuff will be close to normal. But the late-maturing fruit will dry up on the vines and trees. Nothing will make it to autumn.”
Charlie put his finger on the groove that represented the Organza River, letting the water flow around the tip. “It’s just a projection, right? Have you got any confirming data?”
“Evi, show him the caterpillars.”
Evelyn, the taller of the apprentices, brought over a pasteboard disk. It was covered with number, lines, and brightly colored gradations. A handful of striped caterpillars crawled around it. “There are various formulas for predicting the weather based on the number and thickness of the their stripes.”
“I did that when I was a kid. That actually works?”
“Oh yes,” said Evelyn. “I did a term paper on it. Let me find it. Tweezy, do you have it?” The younger girl, who had the appearance of a blond mop, stepped forward and showed the prince a bound report. It was written on pink notebook paper, and the i’s were dotted with little hearts, but the writing was clear and concise. “The formulas don’t agree about just how severe it’s going to be, but they all predict a shortfall of rain.”
“Jeremy, can you make it rain?”
The journeyman stepped back before he answered, to stand in front of a screen of light blue glass. Charlie noticed that whenever a wizard discussed the weather, he always stood in front of a blue screen and made odd sweeping motions with his hands. Charlie had never asked why. He assumed it was part of the magic of weather prediction. “No,” said Jeremy firmly. “I can’t. Not me, not Thessalonius, not anyone else. Weather systems are just too big. There’s more energy in one thunderstorm than in all the magical spells ever devised put together. And don’t believe all that talk about the flapping of a butterfly’s wing in Angostura causing a thunderstorm in Illyria. The great wizard Ambergris thought he could work with that. He spent years doing calculation after calculation, filling up reams of paper with his charts, creating what he called a map of the solution, looking for something called an ‘attractor.’ Then, when he was finally satisfied with his work, he traveled to the foothills of Alacia and at a precise place and time set loose a single butterfly. And look what happened.”
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nbsp; “What did happen?” asked Tweezy.
“Caterpillar infestation,” answered Charlie. “Took them ten years to get it under control. You can bet the orchard growers weren’t happy with him.
“You can’t blame the caterpillars,” said Evelyn. “They just did what they were supposed to do. Ambergris should have been careful not to use a pregnant butterfly.”
Charlie was getting the idea that she rather liked caterpillars. “He could have used a male butterfly.”
“Humph,” Evelyn and Tweezy said together. They glared at him with expressions that clearly said, Typical male attitude.
“The point being,” said Jeremy, trying to get back on topic, “that it’s tough enough just trying to predict the weather, much less trying to control it.”
“Okay then, how good are your predictions?”
“Not good at all. Oh, we do all right up to maybe three days in the future. But a savvy farmer can do nearly as well. Out past a week into the future, we can’t do anything without Thessalonius.”
“This is important, Jeremy. Farm production is critical this year. How good is Thessalonius?”
“Pretty good.” Jeremy gestured at the table map. “Prediction is his specialty. He has spent half of his life on it. Which is not to say he is very accurate. But he has managed to develop some real power of prediction, and you know, that’s extremely rare. Pretty much everyone else in the Twenty Kingdoms who claims to be a seer is a fraud. Of course, there’s the High Priestess of Matka. She’s supposed to be pretty good. But she’s rather cryptic.”
“Excuse me, Your Highness,” said Evelyn. “But the Organza River is flooding again.”
Charlie removed his hand from the model and shook the water off his cuff. “Did Thessalonius leave any notes? Are there any spells or guides that can help you improve your accuracy?”
“If he wrote anything down, it will be locked in his study. We can’t get at it.”