by K. E. Mills
Melissande's suite of rooms was four staircases and three corridors away from her office. The good news was that only one guard stood sentinel. The bad news was that he was young and athletic. But if the expression on his face was anything to go by he was also bored to sobs and therefore not inclined to be a martyr to his job. Back to good again.
Reg nipped Gerald's ear. 'Come on, then. Get rid of him.'
Ducking back around the corner before the guard noticed them, Gerald shoved the book under one arm and wrestled with his conscience. He wasn't going to hurt the man, not really. Creating an illusion of discomfort wasn't the same as actually hurting someone. And it was in a good cause. An excellent cause. If the guard knew how he was helping his kingdom he'd probably volunteer.
Reg bounced on his shoulder. 'Gerald] What are you waiting for?'
He took a deep breath and peered around the corner. The guard was still there, scratching his armpit. Softly, Gerald let out his held breath and with it the hex a very tipsy Monk had once invented as a practical joke.
'What's happening, what's happening?' Reg demanded. 'Shh,' he hissed. 'Any second now…'
The guard, who had short black hair, pimples and an impressive pair of biceps, stopped looking bored and started looking puzzled. After a moment puzzlement grew to unease. He began to shift himself from one foot to the other and back again as his brows knitted tighter and his hands bunched into fists.
Half a minute later he was trying to cross his legs without falling over. Half a minute after that he uttered an anguished moan and fled.
'Right!' With Reg clinging to his shoulder Gerald rushed to the double doors of Melissande's apartments, opened them, eased through the gap and locked them again. Then he turned to see exactly where they were.
Reg groaned. 'Oh my deary gracious me. What is this, a boudoir or a second-hand bookshop?'
'Well technically, Reg, it's a foyer… but I know what you mean. Blimey!'
Floor to ceiling, from one side of the room to the other, the walls were lined with bookshelves, and the bookshelves were crammed with books. Thick books, thin books, yellow and red and brown and blue books, old books and new. They were piled on the floor as well, little towers of books listing alarmingly to port and starboard. Somewhere beneath all the clutter were a few scattered rugs, faded and threadbare. Reg sneezed. 'That girl is beyond redemption!'
The girl in question walked through an open doorway on the far side of the foyer, head down and nose in a book as she came.
Reg sneezed again. 'You really weren't joking when you said you didn't want to get married! Well I don't think you've got too much to worry about, ducky.This lot's better than a chastity belt!'
Melissande's head snapped up and she froze mid-stride. ' Youl How did you two get in? You didn't do something awful to Ronnie, did you?'
Gerald hid the textbook behind his back. If she'd just turn around for a moment he could stick it on a pile with some others and she'd never know he'd had it… 'Ronnie? You mean the guard?'
'No, the pot plant in the corner. Of course the guard. What have you done with him?' 'You're on first-name terms with your guard?'
'Please. He's two months younger than I am and we've known each other all our lives. Now stop trying to weasel out of answering the question! Did you do something awful to him?'
He managed a weak smile. 'That would depend on your definition of awful.' 'Tentacles and exploding boils leap to mind.'
'Nothing of the kind!' he said, offended. 'What kind of a wizard do you think I am? I just made him think he needed to answer a call of nature.'
As Reg cackled her amusement, Melissande snorted.'Very creative of you. Juvenile, but creative. The nearest loo is two floors away. What do you want?'
'Your crystal ball,' said Reg. 'Ours is on the blink and we need to reach Markham.'
'Who?' said Melissande, then held up a hand.'No. I remember.' She shuddered. 'Unfortunately. All right. It's in the study. Just because I'm locked up doesn't mean I don't have work to do.' She stepped aside and with a sweep of her arm indicated the doorway she'd just walked through.'After you.'
Damn. So much for surreptitiously ditching the textbook. He waited for Reg to fly through the open doorway then finagled his way past the princess, who followed him in and headed straight for a paperwork-cluttered table in the middle of the study. This room, like the foyer, was stuffed to the gills with books.
'Nice to see you've kept the motif going,' observed Reg as she landed on the back of a ratty old armchair piled high with leather-bound tomes. 'Very thematic'
Melissande looked up from tidying the mess, frowning. 'Are you here to use my crystal ball or give me interior decorating advice?'
'I can do both,' said Reg, scratching her head. 'It's no skin off my beak, ducky' She peered around the room suspiciously.'Where's that Boris?'
'Out. Just because I'm a prisoner there's no need for him to be one as well.'
Reg sniffed.'Typical. Bloody cats. Wouldn't know the meaning of loyalty if it bit them on the bum.'
'So. Gerald,' said Melissande, pointedly ignoring Reg as she sorted through the clutter. 'Why do you want to get hold of Markham so urgently?'
Taking advantage of her distraction he shoved the textbook into the general disorder and took a step back. 'Oh. Ah. I need a second opinion.'
'If it's to do with your bird I'll give you — ha!' With a pleased smile Melissande unearthed the crystal ball from beneath a tumbled pile of ledgers. 'No. It's nothing to do with Reg.'
'What, then?' she said, polishing the crystal ball with her sleeve. 'Has something else happened I should know about?' What she doesn't know can't hurt her. 'Ah — no.'
She looked at him, eyes narrowing behind those unflattering glasses.'Gerald?'
'Why don't you ask him how he's feeling?' said Reg, all spurious sweetness. 'Mere hours ago he was writhing on a bed of pain… or had you forgotten?'
Melissandes cheeks coloured. 'Sorry. Of course. How are you feeling, Gerald?' 'I'm fine. Starving to death, but fine.'
'Now ask him what really happened yesterday' Reg added.
Exasperated, Melissande planted her hands on her hips.'What are you talking about?' 'In a nutshell? Your pretty brother lied, ducky'
Melissande laughed, and started to make more space for the crystal ball. 'Don't be ridiculous! Lional's the king. He doesn't need to lie. If you don't mind I've got a lot of work to do, so call Markham and — ' 'Oh,' said Gerald.'Ah — I can explain that.'
She'd noticed the pilfered textbook. 'I left this in my office,' she said, picking it up. 'At the bottom of a locked drawer.' Damn, damn, damn. 'Your Highness — '
'Have you been spying on me, Professor?' she demanded, her fingers bloodless as they gripped the book. 'Did Lional put you up to this?'
He turned on Reg before she could speak. 'Don't. All right? Just don't. Let me handle this, all right?'
Reg closed her beak, fluffed up all her feathers, and retreated into sulky silence.
Hesitantly he took a step closer to the furious princess. 'Melissande, listen. Please. It's not what you think.'
Her chin came up. 'It isn't? So you didn't break into my office and go through my desk? My book just magically appeared out of thin air and dropped into your lap?'
'No, of course it didn't,' he said. 'You're right. I broke into your office and I went through your desk. But trust me, not for Lional!'
' Trust you?' She tossed the book back onto the table then wrestled her temper under control. 'AH right. Why, then? And I give you fair warning, if I don't like the answer you will be sorry'
I'm already sorry. 'It's like Reg said,' he told her, carefully. 'I need to get through to Monk and my crystal ball's not working.' 'So you thought you'd steal mine?' 'Borrow' 'It's only borrowing when you ask first!'
He risked a smile. 'Believe me, I wish I had. I didn't want to disturb you. Sorry'
She just looked at him, stony-faced. Clearly the smile wasn't working. 'Well, there's the ball. Use it and go.'
He nodded at the discarded textbook. 'I didn't realise there was a Witches' Academy here in New Ottosland.'
'There's not,' she said stiffly, arms folded. 'If you must know I'm doing a correspondence course with Madam Ravatinka's Exclusive School of Witchery. It was advertised in a back-issue of The Ottosland Express. And don't you dare sneer. You're a correspondence-course graduate yourself!' i wasn't going to sneer,' he protested. 'Are you any good?'
She unfolded her arms. 'I'm not bad. I've passed all my First Year tests. But so far it's just been theory. We don't start the practical stuff till next year.' Calmer now, she flicked him a sharp look. 'Gerald, did Lional really lie about your accident?'
The nearest chair was piled high with books. He shifted them to the floor, buying some time, and sat down. 'Go on,' said Reg. 'Tell her.' He sighed. 'Well…'
'For the love of Saint Snodgrass stop trying to protect me!' cried Melissande. 'I'm not a little girl, I'm — '
'A princess and a prime minister. I know,' he said. 'Melissande, I'm not trying to protect you.' Her eyes were scornful.'No?'
'All right. Perhaps I am. A bit. But I'm protecting me, too.' 'From what?'
'The consequences of unfounded accusations. Reg has a bee in her bonnet but I don't hear it buzzing. At least not very loudly. There's suspicion but no proof to back it up and until there is proof…' Troubled, he considered her. 'But leaving yesterday aside, it's likely things are going to heat up around here anyway. With the Kallarapi. 1 don't suppose you'd consider leaving? I could get you to the portal undetected. You could go and stay with Monk till the dust settles.' Melissande stared.'Leave? Run away, you mean.'
Reg clattered her beak. 'Run away, make a strategic withdrawal, charge in a backwards direction, make tracks, bugger off — does it matter what you call it? Just answer the question, ducky. If he gave you the chance would you scarper?'
'And if I did?' said Melissande, still staring. 'Who'd take over as prime minister? Rupert? He wouldn't last five seconds against Lional.'
True, true, lamentably true. 'You could take him with you.'
'Well that'd be nice and inconspicuous, wouldn't it?' said Melissande, rolling her eyes. 'Me, Rupert and five thousand butterflies all sneaking out of the country together. Because you'd never get him to leave them behind, you know. And I wouldn't leave him. If I was going. Which I'm not. Shocking as this may sound, Gerald, you aren't the only one around here who's sworn an oath and takes it seriously. Or do you think only wizards have a sense of honour?' Stung, he stood up.'Of course not.' 'So I guess that answers your question, doesn't it?' 'Yes. I guess it does.'
Reg cackled.'I'll give you this, ducky. You may have the deportment of a demented mongoose but you've got guts to go with it.' Melissande looked at her.'Thank you. I think.'
'More guts than sense is what you've got,' Gerald retorted.'If you'd give me some privacy I'll rustle up Monk, then Reg and I'll be on our way'
She shook her head. 'Whatever you have to say you can say in front of me. Unless it has nothing to do with New Ottosland.' Her eyebrows lifted; for a moment she looked like just Lional.'Has it?'
For a heartbeat he considered lying. For her own good, naturally. Then he discarded the idea. Not only would she probably not believe him, if she did then found out later he'd deceived her, well… 'Fine. On one condition: whatever gets said in this room stays in this room.'
She sighed. 'Naturally. Shocking as it sounds I do have a passing familiarity with discretion, Gerald.' Also with sarcasm. He nodded. 'Right.'
But when he tried to put the call through, nothing happened.
'Don't look at me,' said Melissande. 'It was working last night when I spoke to the Babishkian Minister for Trade about their last shipment of grooslok.Try it again.' Stomach churning, he tried it again. Still nothing.
'Maybe it's you,' said Melissande. 'You're concussed, that could — '
'No,' said Reg, frowning. 'It's not Gerald. The etheretic transductors have gone hinky' 'The what?' said Melissande blankly.
Reg looked down her beak. 'The etheretic transductors, ducky. The squillions of teeny tiny thaumaletic particles bumping around in the atmosphere acting as crystal ball carrier waves.' She sniffed. 'I hope you didn't pay a lot for this Madam Rinky Tinky's correspondence course. Because if she doesn't know enough to teach you about etheretic transductors, madam, I'd say you've done your dosh.'
'It's none of your business how much I paid,' said Melissande, colouring. 'And anyway, all that technical stuff isn't covered until next year.'
'Well, if this Madam Rinky Tinky doesn't know-enough to teach her First Year students about etheretic transductors, the dangers associated with, I'd be very surprised to learn she had any Second Year students on her books at all!' retorted Reg. 'In fact it's a wonder to me you haven't blown yourself to smithereens already!'
'I'll have you know,' Melissande said hotly, hands on hips, 'that Madam Ravatinka is a highly qualified expert and — '
She was interrupted by the sound of her apartment doors opening and an autocratic voice crying, 'Melissande? Where are you? Come out here immediately, I wish to talk to you!'
'LionalV whispered Melissande. 'Damn. If he finds you two here we're cooked. I'll get rid of him. Whatever you do don't make a sound or tonight the three of us will be sleeping in chains!'
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Heart thumping, Melissande plastered a welcoming expression onto her face, pulled the study door not quite closed behind her and shoved her hands into her pockets.'Good morning, Lional.'
Lional tossed the book he was perusing onto the floor. She tried not to wince as the cover loosened, spilling pages.'What took you so long?'
'Sorry. I was working.' She cleared her throat. 'Actually, I'm glad you're here. I need to make an urgent call on my crystal ball and it won't connect.'
'Why tell me?' said her difficult brother. 'I'm a king, not a crystal ball repairman. And I don't recall giving you permission to have a crystal ball in here while you're under house arrest.'
Oh, Saint Snodgrass. Give me strength… 'I may be under house arrest, Lional, but I'm still the prime minister. Who's going to shuffle the paperwork if I don't? Unless you'd like to fire me and appoint Rupert to the position instead?'
He frowned. 'Don't be ridiculous. Rupert is an idiot.' 'I rest my case.'
'Why won't the wretched thing work?' he demanded, eyeing her with cold, impatient displeasure. 'Did you drop it?'
Her fingers clenched inside her pockets but she managed, just, to keep her temper. Losing it now would be fatal; Lional was clearly in a precarious mood.
'No, Lional, I didn't drop it,' she said, flawlessly reasonable. 'The etheretic transductors are on the blink. Tell Gerald — Professor Dunwoody — to fix them, would you? It's about time he started earning his keep.'
'Thank you, Melissande! / will be the judge of who's earning their keep in my kingdom and who isn't! And speaking of which — ' 'Of what?' she said, after a moment.'Lional?'
Lional stared into thin air, his expression suspended. Then he stirred. 'Did you just say… etheretic transductors?
Taken aback, she blinked at him. 'Yes. Why — don't tell me you've heard of them?'
'As a matter of fact, I have. And they're on the blink, you say?' 'They are. Yes.'
'Ah. Then it would appear we've been struck by polarised lightning,' said Lional. 'In which case there's nothing our good Gerald can do. Wizards can't reverse the effects of a polarised lightning strike. Nobody can. All one can do is wait for the etheretic conditions to return to normal. So, Melissande. About this wedding…'
'Forget about the bloody wedding, Lional!' she snapped before she could stop herself. At the look on his face she whipped her hands from her pockets and held them out placatingly. 'At least for the moment, and tell me what you're talking about. I've never heard of polarised lightning. How do you know what it is, or what it does to etheretic conductivity?'
He let out a short sharp sigh. 'Polarised lightning is an extremely
rare, practically unheard of thaumaturgical phenomenon, a bizarre concatenation of colliding atoms, random particles and misfiring tetrothaumical emissions.'
Well, Madame Rink- Ravatinka had definitely never mentioned that. 'It is?' Lional glared. 'Didn't I just say so?' 'Er — according to who?'
'Former Court Wizard Grumbaugh, actually. The city was struck by it during his brief and unlamented tenure. Grumbaugh was most put out. He couldn't use his crystal ball for nearly three days. Yes, and it knocked out the portal too. Most inconvenient.'
Lional could be the most plausible liar when he felt like it. But why would he lie about something like this? Sorry Gerald, it looks like you're clean out of luck. 'And why is this the first I'm hearing of it?' she asked, feeling slighted.
'You were away at the time, officiating at some dreary little village ceremony somewhere unimportant,' said Lional, waving away her annoyance. 'By the time you got back the disruption was over. It must've slipped my mind.'
'But I was working practically all last night and I didn't see any lightning.'
'You wouldn't,' he said promptly. 'It's black, apparently. More or less invisible even during the day. But etheretic disruptions are a classic indicator of polarised lightning activity. Grumbaugh left behind some kind of monitoring apparatus, he said we were uniquely prone to the problem because of the desert and other technical claptrap I didn't listen to.' Lional's expression subtly shifted and his eyes took on a militant glitter. 'If you don't believe me I can fetch it and — '
'No, no,' she said swiftly. 'Of course I believe you, Lional. It's just a nuisance. I've got so much work to do.'
'Leave it to your staff,' he said coldly. 'That's what they're for. You, Melissande, have a wedding to plan.'
Bloody hell, the wedding again? When would her impossible brother listen? 'Lional, please reconsider! How can you do this? Hand me over to a man you despise as though I were a — a — lamp you didn't care for? Don't my feelings come into this? Doesn't it matter to you that I don't want to marry Zazoor?'
'Putting it bluntly, no,' he said. 'All that matters is my kingdom. And I'll use any coin I have to secure its future, Melissande; even my own flesh and blood.'