by K. E. Mills
'Of course she is,' said Reg, nodding vigorously. 'Didn't I tell you it runs in the family? Perhaps next time you'll listen when I — '
'If you don't shut up,' hissed Melissande,'I swear I'll feed you to Boris! For your information I am not crazy, I'm desperate! In fact I am so desperate I'm prepared to entrust the fate of my kingdom and all its subjects to a Third Class wizard who takes advice from some freakish mutated parrot with terminal verbal diarrhoea!' She laughed, somewhat wildly. Which means I must be crazy!' Abruptly, the laughter exploded into a loud sob. 'Oh damnV she cried, threw herself face down into the remaining cushions, and burst into tears.
Horrified, Gerald stared at Melissande's heaving shoulders. Oh, God, what do I do now? She's royalty and we're in public, I can't cuddle her…
Reg jumped over to the seat beside the weeping princess and poked her in the behind with her beak. There was an eruption of cushions as Melissande wrenched herself upright. 'How dare you? You are the most repulsive creature I've ever met!'
'In that case you need to get out more,' Reg retorted. 'Now just you get a grip on yourself, Madam Watering-Pot. Yours aren't the kind of looks that are improved by blubbering. Besides, this isn't the behaviour I expect from a princess. Or a prime minister. You've got to walk the walk, ducky, not just talk the talk.'
As Melissande gaped, speechless, Gerald fished out a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. 'She means well, you know. And she's right.'
'Really?' said Melissande, snatching the handkerchief and pressing it to her wet face. 'What about? The fact I'm a frump or that I'm a failure?'
Hello, my name is Gerald and I'm between a rock and a hard place… 'You're not a failure,' he said after a difficult pause.
'Yes I am,' she retorted, glowering. 'I never should've let Lional start this stupid game of brinksmanship with Zazoor, I knew it'd end up pear-shaped.' She looked at the soggy handkerchief. 'Do you want this back?'
'Not particularly. Besides, I've got another one somewhere.'
She shoved it up her sleeve and heaved a shuddering sigh. 'I'm sorry, Gerald. I never should have dragged you into this.'
Yes, she was bossy. But she wasn't so bad, really. He shrugged.'It's all right. 1 let myself be dragged.'
'Well, for what it's worth…' She managed a watery smile.'I'm glad.'
'Oh pleaseV cried Reg, and dove headfirst into the cushions.
Melissande stared at her kicking toes. 'She's muttering about arses and tea-kettles. Should we take her to a vet?'
'Doctor, if you don't mind!' snapped Reg, sitting up. 'And no. I'm not the one who needs his head examined!'
A rancorous silence fell.'Look,' said Gerald at last, 'there's no point getting all worked up over what might happen, Melissande. I'll do whatever it takes to keep His Majesty from doing something… regrettable… in the meeting. I promise.'
'Whatever it takes. I hope those aren't famous last words.' She sniffed. 'AH right.Thank you. Now, we'd best get back to the palace. I've got appointments scheduled all afternoon and that's before Lional gives me his daily list of Things I Can't Be Bothered Doing Myself So Just Take Care Of Them For Me, Would You?' 'As you wish, Your Highness.'
Extracting her parasol from beneath the cushions, Melissande turned and poked the driver between his shoulder blades. When he looked round, expression enquiring, she bawled, 'Home, William!'William touched his fingers to the curly brim of his coachman's hat and took a left-hand turn along yet another tree-lined street.
'You know,' Gerald mused, 'when you think about it, the underlying cause of all this kerfuffle is the fact you're totally reliant on Kallarap for getting things in and out of the country. Why not just arrange for some industrial-grade portals and bypass the Kallarapi altogether?'
Melissande slumped against the carriage cushions. 'We can't afford them.The only reason we've got any kind of portal at all is because Pomodoro Uffitzi constructed one for us.'
What? Wliat? He'd travelled halfway across the world in an amateur unsanctioned portal? 'But — but that's illegal]' he protested. 'There's international law governing portal installations. They're supposed to be constructed by a specially certified thaumaturgical company and inspected regularly. If something went wrong someone could — ' She appeared surprised.'Nothing's gone wrong.'
'No, not yet! But if your portal's a do-it-yourself job by some smart-alec nobody wizard then it's only a matter of time!'
'Oh, but — Pomodoro Uffitzi — he wasn't a nobody, he had pages of commendations and awards and references, he wouldn't — '
He could easily have shaken her silly. 'Melissande! Portal installation is a specialist's job.' He stared at her, aghast, but she didn't seem to realise the gravity of the situation. 'Look, I do know what I'm talking about, I used to be a thaumaturgical compliance officer!'
'Well you're not one now,' she snapped, flushed. 'Now you're an honorary New Ottosland citizen. And you can't report us, it'd be treason.'
/ take it back. She's as bad as the king. 'I was an oath-sworn wizard before I was a New Ottoslander, honorary or otherwise, and — '
'So you keep saying,' she said impatiently. 'Fine. I'll hang a great big Out of Order sign on the portal door. Happy now?'
'Oh yes,' he said. 'I can just see your brother paying attention to that.'
Reg broke the crackling silence with a pointed rattling of her tail feathers. 'Yes, well, I suggest we worry about this little hiccup after we've dealt with the Kallarapi. What d'you say?' 'Fine,' muttered Gerald. 'Excellent,' snarled Melissande. 'Oh, please,' groaned Reg.
After that there was nothing more to be said. During the forty-five minute journey back to the palace they clip-clopped over the picturesque Canal Bridge, past the fountain-studded Art Gallery, the Mint, the recently vacated House of Ministers, an Academy for Young Gentlemen, a Seminary for Young Ladies, the Royal Playhouse, the Royal Opera House and down the full length of fashionable King Lional High Street where all the important people bought their necessities, apparently.
Eventually they arrived at the palace's rear entrance. Various servants bustled in and out with messages and packages and a constant stream of tradesmen's wagons trundled further along to the loading bay, where another servant was ticking off their deliveries and arguing about payment. They alighted from the carriage and stood looking at each other.
'Well,' said Melissande. 'That's that, then. You'll come and see me, after the meeting?'
Gerald made sure Reg was secure on his shoulder, and bowed.'Certainly, Your Highness.' 'Good. Excellent.'
She turned on her heel and marched away. He watched her go, frowning. 'I can't believe she let me travel through an unregulated portal. I could've been killed!
' We could've been killed,' Reg pointed out. 'But we weren't, so let's worry about it later. Right now there are far more interesting things to worry about.'
Yes. Like spying for the princess. He swallowed a groan. 'Fancy a walk? I need to air my brain, and those look like gardens over there…'
They were indeed gardens. Beautiful ones, spreading out from the palace in a lake ot colour and perfume. If they were Lional the Forty-Second's legacy, well, royalty had surely done worse. Like now, for instance.
Reg whistled approvingly as they wandered among the flowerbeds. 'Very nice. If more kings stuck to harmless pursuits like weeding and fertilising, the world would be a better place.' 'I say!' cried an excited voice.'I say, ProfessorV
Gerald turned — and there was Prince Rupert, bouncing up and down in the middle of a neighbouring pansy patch. Both hands were filled with plucked blooms.
He smiled and waved. 'Good morning, Your Highness.'
'Rupert,' said the prince. 'Remember? I'm just collecting a few treats for my butterflies. Since you're out and about would you like to come and see them?'
No. I've got better things to do with my time, like panic about this stupid meeting where I'm single-handedly supposed to avert a full-scale international invasion, complete with camels.
Reg leaned close to his ear. 'Say yes,' she muttered. 'He may be a prat but he's a royal prat. Never get on the wrong side of royalty, sunshine. It always ends badly.'
Swallowing a groan, he made himself smile. 'That sounds lovely, Rupert,' he said. 'I'd be honoured.'
Rupert beamed. 'Splendid! Come along, then! Follow me!' Rupert's butterfly house was situated on the far side of the gardens. Flooded with light, it was filled with beautifully maintained cages, a variety of aromatic mini-habitats and an immaculately arranged workroom containing butterfly food, magnifying glasses, three crammed bookcases, two microscopes and a wide array of nets and other butterfly-catching paraphernalia.
Gerald was surprised. Given Rupert's scatterbrained demeanour he'd not expected such clutterless order and pristine attention to detail. As for the butterflies… there were hundreds, in every colour, shape and size imaginable. They were riotously beautiful… and he hadn't been expecting that, either. Whoever noticed butterflies?
Rupert was still beaming. 'Don't tell Lional, but I call this butterfly house "my little kingdom",' he confessed. 'And a well-run little kingdom it is too.'
'Well, you know, the butterflies rely on me, don't they?' said Rupert, as they wandered past cage after cage of jewel-bright insects. 'If I didn't look after them properly they might get sick, or die, and that would be unforgiveable.'
He nodded. 'You're right. It would be.' He stopped in front of a cage neatly labelled: Vampirella Majcsticas. Danger: Do Not Touch. The savagely scarlet and black insects clustered on their hunks of fresh raw meat and waved ominous antennae at him. Safely anchored to his shoulder, Reg burbled like a kettle with a sock shoved down its spout. He stroked her wing with a reassuring finger. 'So… they really are dangerous, then?'
'Everyone's dangerous, Gerald,' Rupert said gently. 'Or they can be, if you're not careful. I mean, you seem like a terribly nice chap and all that, especially for a wizard, but I expect you could do a mischief or two if you put your mind to it.'
'Well, yes, I could' he admitted reluctantly 'Only I wouldn't.'
'No, you wouldn't,' said Rupert. 'You're a thoroughly decent chap, I can tell. But some wizards aren't so scrupulous, Gerald. I've heard stories…'
The sight of the Majesticas sucking blood from the raw meat was… unsettling. He turned away. 'Old stories from our distant past, Rupert. It's true that once upon a time there were wizards who abused their powers, wizards who ran amok doing unspeakable things. But not any more. My colleagues and I are closely monitored. There are terrible penalties for the irresponsible uses of magic these days. Modern wizarding is about humanitarian advances and scientific discovery, not subjugation and warfare and dark deeds in the dead of night.' Rupert beamed.'Well, that's a relief!'
'Honestly,' he insisted as they continued to wander past more butterfly enclosures. 'Wizardry's perfectly safe and reliable these days. Those other kinds of wizard are history'
'I'm very pleased to hear you say so,' said Rupert earnestly. 'Because when you get right down to it there's something not very nice about a person who likes other people to be afraid of him. A person like that bears very close watching, don't you agree?'
'Er… yes. Probably' he said, after a moment. Was it his imagination or was Rupert trying to tell him something…
Rupert, his watery blue eyes wide, smiled his foolish, tremulous smile. 'You're staring, Gerald. Was it something I said?'
'What? Oh! No! Sorry. I just — I was off with the butterflies.'
Rupert chortled. 'I say. that's a good one! "Off with the butterflies"! I must remember that! Now, I expect you'll want to be on your way. Busy, busy, busy. I'll see you again soon, though, yes?'
'Yes. Yes,' said Gerald. 'And thanks for showing me around.'
Outside in the gentle sunshine, Reg cackled. 'Hard to believe he's related to the other two, isn't it?'
'Practically impossible,' he agreed as they headed back to the palace. 'He's such a fluffy, harmless man I feel guilty for getting impatient with him.'
Reg snorted. 'He's such a fluffy, harmless man that after five minutes in his company I want to rush to the nearest park and find some pigeons to poison!'
'Oh, come on, Reg! You don't! I mean, isn't that practically mur-'
'Why hello, there. Professor,' said King Lional, stepping out from behind one of the large, flowering trees that lined the path. 'Fancy meeting you here.'
Gerald stopped, heart pounding, and managed a ragged bow. 'Your Majesty! Ah — you startled me.' Lional smiled. 'I'm sure I did.' 'Is there something I can do for Your Majesty?'
'Indeed there is,' said the king. There was something… unsettling in that smile. 'You can introduce me to your loquacious little friend!'
CHAPTER TWELVE
'Bugger,' said Reg.
Lional wasn't alone. At his side appeared the muscular watchfulness of Tavistock, whose tawny mane had been shimmered with gold dust. The former cat stared up at Reg with slitted topaz eyes, tail swishing to and fro.
Leaning a negligent silk-clad shoulder against the trunk of the tree that had hidden him, Lional drawled,'Well? What's its name, Professor?'
'Reg,' said Gerald. Damn, damn, damn. Why the hell had he let Rupert waste his time with butterflies? He could've been up in his suite by now, sending that list of ex-court wizards to Monk. Instead… 'Her name is Reg. Your Majesty'
'How quaint,' said Lional, and straightened. In the bright summer sunshine everything about him glittered: his diamond rings, his ruby and emerald brooch, his bared teeth.
He cleared his throat. 'I can explain, Your Majesty.The thing is — '
'Thank you, Gerald, I'm perfectly capable of speaking for myself,' said Reg, with a rattle of tail feathers.'Let's start with you not call me "it", Your Majesty. I'm a sensitive soul and my feelings are easily bruised.'
Lional's flawless face was vivid with delight. 'Extraordinary,' he murmured. 'Tell me. Professor, was it a very difficult ensorcelment to perforin? Of course, I realise you're a brilliant wizard but even so… birds are singularly stupid creatures. To give one such a convincing appearance of intelligence, I can scarcely — '
'Oy!' said Reg. 'What d'you mean appearance of intelligence! What d'you think I am, some kind of metaphysically enhanced ventriloquist's doll? I'll have you know — '
'I'm so sorry, Your Majesty,' said Gerald, Reg's beak caught firmly between thumb and forefinger. 'She gets flustered in the presence of royalty. Doesn't know what she's saying.'
To his surprise the king didn't appear in the least offended. 'Incredible. You must tell me how you did it!'
'But I didn't, Your Majesty. Reg was — articulate — when we met.'
Lional frowned.'You're telling me this isn't your handiwork? How disappointing. But you can duplicate the enchantment, can't you? Recreate the same extraordinary linguistic achievements elsewhere?' One elegant hand strayed to the top of Tavistock's head; the lion rumbled deep in its throat at the touch.
The implication was unmistakable. Oh God… 'Tavistock? Your Majesty wants me to — '
Wrenching her beak free of his fingers, Reg cackled scornfully. 'Why? What kind of conversation are you going to get from an overgrown cat? Milk now, scratch my tummy, and somebody empty the damned litter tray. Hardly what you'd call scintillating, is it?' 'Scintillating or not…' said Lional.
'I'm so sorry, Your Majesty,' Gerald said quickly. 'I'm afraid it's impossible.'
Lional's smile chilled. 'Does that mean you can't… or you won't?'
Saint Snodgrass, arc you listening? Get me out of thisl 'It means I don't know how,' he said, with care. 'And it would be far too dangerous for me to… experiment. I might end up hurting Tavistock and that would violate my oaths. I'm sorry'
For one terrible moment he thought the king was going to argue, or start making threats. A flush of temper mantled Lional's cheekbones and his lips pinched tight. Then he heaved a sigh. 'I'm sorry too, Professor. It would've been so entertaining! I shall just have to amuse myself with your bird her
e, shan't I?'
He wanted to ask 'Amuse how?' but didn't dare. Instead he bowed.'Your Majesty.'
'Very good. Go, now. I shall see you in the Large Audience Chamber at three.' Another bow.'Yes,Your Majesty.' 'And Gerald?'
Swallowing a curse, he stopped walking, rearranged his expression into bland helpfulness and swung about.'Your Majesty?'
Lional was suavely smiling again. 'Make sure to wear that splendid robe you had on at dinner. The Kallarapi are a primitive people, easily impressed by bright display, and we do want to put our best sartorial feet forward, don't we? No need to mention it's hand-made, of course. Oh, and bring your bird, too. I dare say they'll find it… charming.' Safely within their apartments once more, Reg gave vent to her feelings in a long, loud raspberry. 'Appearance of intelligence, my arse!' Then she whacked Gerald on the head with her wing. 'And what d'you mean I get flustered in the presence of royalty! Cheeky bugger! I'd have a bloody hard time of it looking in the mirror every morning if that was the case, wouldn't I?'
Slumping into the nearest chair, Gerald watched her fly outraged laps of the foyer. Each time she passed the caged parrots she paused to engage in rude exchanges. Ordinarily he'd have laughed but he didn't have the energy. He was exhausted and he had another headache; the royal family of New Ottosland was a lot harder going than he'd bargained for.
Temporarily puffed, Reg fluttered to join him on the arm of the chair. 'That wretched Lional's a menace,' she announced. 'He's let inheriting a crown go right to his head. No wonder all his other wizards sloped off or got themselves fired. You mark my words, Gerald, there'll be tears before bedtime if someone doesn't haul him into line quick smart.'
'Mine, probably' he said, pulling a face. 'Reg, why do you think he's so keen on having you at this meeting?'
She shrugged. 'I expect he wants to lord it over the Sultan's delegates. See, I've got a wizard and a talking birdie. So double nyah.' "Well, that's just childish,'
'I know,' she sighed.'But you need to understand, Gerald, you're not dealing with normal people now. You're amongst royalty. Think Errol Haythwaite and multiply by a hundred. Which means our pretty friend Lional bears close watching.'