The Accidental sorcerer ra-1

by K. E. Mills

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

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Gerald looked at Reg, who shrugged. 'She's got to find out sooner or later, sunshine. At least right now she's anaesthetised.'

  He put his aching head in his hands. Forget about being born beneath an unlucky star. Clearly he'd popped out beneath a misfortunate bloody galaxy.

  The princess was staring at him suspiciously as she wrung out the sopping handkerchief.'Find out what, Gerald? What exactly happened after I left the audience chamber?'

  Oh lord. 'Well, Melissande,' he said, 'it's got something to do with New Ottosland's foreign policy'

  'Foreign policy?' she echoed. 'Don't make me laugh. The closest thing we've got to foreign policy is "oh look, here comes a stranger, let's throw a rock at him but make sure you get his money first!" Trust me. Lional doesn't care about foreign policy'

  'Where does he stand on religion?' said Reg, scratching the side of her head.

  'As far away from the church as he can get while still being in New Ottosland.' She sat up a little straighter. 'Why? What's religion got to do with this?'

  Gerald looked at Reg, who shrugged again, shorthand for Get on with it, sunshine. Oh hell.

  'Everything,' he said, bracing himself. 'The king told the Kallarapi delegation that their gods want New Ottosland and Kallarap to join together as one big happy family' Melissandes jaw dropped.'He told them what?

  'Don't worry, it gets worse,' added Reg. 'What he actually said was the Kallarapi gods told him in person that they've chosen you to be Za
zoor's bride.' 'And the Kallarapi believed him?'

  He nodded. 'Apparently. They're going back home to give Zazoor the glad tidings.'

  Dazed, Melissande slumped against the fountain's centre pedestal. 'In person? How? That's not even remotely possible. It's completely impossible.'

  'I think you'll find "impossible" is a relative term, Your Highness.'

  She fixed him with a terrible stare. 'Tell me exactly what happened, Gerald. All of it.' So much Jor her being anaesthetised.

  By the time he'd finished re-enacting the meeting with Kallarap's delegation, all the hectic colour had drained out of her face, leaving her chalk-white with horror.'No! Lional wouldn't! And then she laughed. 'What am I saying? Of course he would! Oh, Melissande, you fool, you idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid…' Beside herself with anger and regret she started pounding her fist into her leg.

  Gerald caught her wrist in his hand. 'Steady on. You'll hurt yourself

  'Hurt myself?' she said, wrenching free. 'I should behead myself. He used Tavistock and your stupid bird to make the Kallarapi think their gods, which we aren't even supposed to know about, are on his side! And when they realise it was all a put-up job we're going to be up to our eyeballs in a religious war!' She buried her face in her hands. 'Oh, Gerald. How could you let him do it?'

  And look! It was his fault again! 'Let him? Are you saying I could've stopped him?'

  'You could've tried!' she retorted, raising her face to him once more. Her eyes were brimful of tears again.'You're the court wizard, Gerald. You've got a responsibility to this kingdom and its people to protect them from harm!'

  Now hang on, that was just downright unreasonable. 'From harm, yes!' he shouted. 'But nobody ever said I had to protect them from the king You left that little detail out of the job description, didn't you, Your Highness?' Stung into movement, he stamped backwards and forwards in front of the fountain. 'In case you hadn't noticed, Melissande, your brother Lional is as mad as a meat axe!'

  'He is notl' she shouted back.'He's temperamental, I grant you. Impatient. Occasionally insensitive. And yes, all right, sometimes he acts without considering the consequences and then expects other people to clean up the mess! But he's not madV