Theodyssey 1. Privateer

by I K Dirac

  “Sound riveting, darling; we will certainly be there. Ah, it looks like we're here.”

  The Syllabubbian Palace, with its neo-Palladian frontage, sat discreetly between two larger and much gaudier edifices that were adorned with pilasters, gargoyles and other ornamentation. A uniformed flunkey opened the door and they entered a lobby whose light, pastel-shaded walls were decorated with paintings of classical scenes. Above the low murmur of conversation, Jim could hear a sound of singing that he thought he recognized but could not quite place.

  “It’s something called Wagner,” said de la Beche. “All roar and bombast. I prefer something a little more musical.”

  They approached the hotel desk. The attendant looked up from his screen.

  “Can I help you?”

  “We would like to take rooms, darling, if that's not too much trouble.”

  “Do you have a reservation?”

  “Not as such, but we were hoping you can accommodate us. This is the only place we would dream of staying in this city.”

  The attendant's expression softened almost imperceptibly.

  “I see there are four of you. The only thing we can offer you at present is our most prestigious suite, the Imperial Suite. It does have four bedrooms and a living room and balcony, plus a full butler service and, of course, all the comforts of this hotel, which I am sure you know is among the finest in the city.”

  “Splendid,” said de la Beche. “We'll take it.”

  ***

  The main room in the suite was decorated as tastefully as the hotel brochure claimed – ornately carved furniture with touches of gilding, elaborate cornices, inlaid wooden floors and finely-patterned rugs. Jim stared intently at a painting that hung on one wall of several draped figures who seemed to be examining a large stone monument.

  “Et in Arcadia Ego,” said de la Beche. “A most appealing reproduction. You see them everywhere. I’m never sure why.”

  Dr Culpepper opened the doors of a cupboard to reveal a large number of bottles. He stepped back in astonishment.

  “Oh I say, what have we here? I do believe this is the finest collection of single malt whiskies I have ever seen.”

  “Just a little one for the moment, darling,” said de la Beche. “We have work to do. We’re here to find out where this Kwokkah thing might be and that means we need to need to start making contacts, keeping our eyes peeled and our ears close to the ground. Where do you think we might start?”

  “I think we might start with what our driver mentioned, Captain,” responded Mister Betelgeuse. “From what he said, I understand that most of the high-ranking Orsonians will be present. It may be possible to pick up something if we can get among them.”

  De la Beche nodded appreciatively.

  “Good point, Mister Betelgeuse. Let’s go down to the lobby and see if they can tell us a bit more about this parade.”

  ***

  “What can I do for you?”

  The concierge seemed fascinated by de la Beche’s gown of shot silk, which he wore under a shiny leather blouson.

  “Can tell you about this parade, which we hear is the big event round here, darling?”

  The concierge was taken aback.

  “Parade? Do you mean the Triumph?”

  “I suppose I do. What’s it all about?”

  The concierge stood up straighter and her back stiffened.

  “The Triumph is an ancient Orsonian tradition, which dates back to the early days of our Empire. Military leaders who had won particularly glorious victories over our enemies and had brought new worlds into the Empire were awarded a Triumph. The military leader is allowed to parade ceremonially through the city, accompanied by his gallant soldiers and all the prominent figures of the Empire. Accompanying him also will be floats and pageants depicting his deeds and there will be feasting and general rejoicing throughout the city.”

  “Sounds absolutely delightful. How may we join in?”

  The concierge glanced at her screen.

  “I understand that you are staying in the Imperial Suite.”

  “We are, and very comfortable it is, too.”

  She smiled.

  “The Triumph is tomorrow and for our special guests we have arranged a complete package that will enable you to experience it in all its glory. It starts off in the Imperial Fields, where we have reserved seats in the grandstand. It goes through the City, up the Martial Parade and past the Imperial Palace. Transport is available to take you to any of those points, so that you can follow its progress. Then it goes on to the Temple of Sublime Peace, where all give thanks to Zoabh for the victory. Places in the Temple are reserved for you. You will not miss a thing.”

  “Sounds absolutely entrancing. We can’t wait to go. Do enlighten me on one point, though. What part did this person Zoabh play in the proceedings?”

  The concierge gave a surprised gasp.

  “Zoabh is our God. He makes all things possible.”

  De la Beche nodded apologetically.

  “Of course, darling. Silly of me to forget. Do give him my apologies.”

  ***

  Later that evening they went down to dinner in the hotel restaurant. Its decor was similar to their room and its walls were hung with tapestries depicting scenes of courtly life, presumably on ancient Orson. A waiter approached and gave a slight, unctuous bow.

  “Good evening. I am your waiter, Domitiano. What is your pleasure?”

  “Well, darling, our pleasure would be food. We’re all famished. We have never been to Orson before, so what would you recommend?”

  The waiter displayed an expression of eagerness to please tinged with smugness.

  “Of course we have a large range of fine dishes on our menu but, if I might say so, our specials of the evening are among the finest in the Empire. I would certainly suggest you try them.”

  “Absolutely, so what might they be?”

  Smugness was gaining the upper hand in the waiter’s expression.

  “Well to start I would suggest the Potage Julienne, a vegetable soup made from sautéed strips of darcip, turrot, preek, gibbage, muttuce and mutilery boiled in consommé and garnished with diced royale or, if you prefer, the Potage á la Reine, halican consommé thickened with terrioca and garnished with shredded gurbot cooked in court-bouillon and a savoury custard made from egg and alervil. For your main course we also offer a choice of two. The Timbale de trécasses à la financière is stuffed cappercocks glazed in their own juices mixed with Madeira and Cognac, which are then arranged on croutons and garnished with sliced truffles, cockscombs and a financière sauce made from peram, herbs, Madeira and truffles. That dish I can assure you is superb, but the next, I think I can say, cannot be bettered anywhere in the Empire. The Filet de Chelodonie Desiderataine is sirloin of Chelodoney served in a Desiderataine sauce made from hancradish, malagan jelly, white denderberries, candied vitric peel and Sálaga, a fortified wine.”

  “They all sound divine, but what’s so special about the last one?”

  The waiter looked surprised.

  “Are you not connoisseurs of Chelodoney?”

  “Alas not, darling. We’re from rather far away. Its particular delights seem not to have reached us yet.”

  The waiter was now in full smug mode.

  “Chelodoney is an animal from the planet Desiderata. Its meat is acknowledged by all gourmands as being the finest in the Galaxy. It combines sublime texture with the most exquisite taste. There is no other meat that can possibly compare, and in this hotel we pride ourselves on obtaining Chelodoney only from the finest sources.” He clicked his fingers and another waiter appeared. “Bring the Chelodoney Pedigree.”

  The waiter returned carrying a large, leather-bound book. Domitiano opened it and flicked rapidly through its pages. He pointed to a passage.

  “This establishment, where all our Chelodoney comes from, is one of only five given the designation of premier domaine. I quote: ‘Raised on a terroir that supports the most succulent g
rasses and a unique mixture of wild flowers, herbs and sedges, the meat combines unmatched texture and supreme tenderness with complex tasting notes.’ You can see the full pedigree here,” he added, pointing further down the page. “Connoisseurs who eat here will always insist on seeing the pedigree before ordering. We only take meat where the sire and dam have won championships in the best shows.”

  De la Beche smiled.

  “I think we are all convinced, darling. Three of us will have the Potage á la Reine and the Chelodoney. My officer, Mister Betelgeuse, is on a special diet. He has brought his own food. I hope you don’t mind.”

  The waiter nodded graciously.

  “Of course not. And to drink?”

  De la Beche turned to Dr Culpepper. “Perhaps you would like to choose Doctor.”

  Cupepper looked a little bemused.

  “I’m more of a quantity man myself, when it comes to wine,” he said looking at their waiter. “What do you suggest?”

  Domitiano could not prevent a microscopic rise of the eyebrows.

  “For the soup I suggest a white Aldeberan – dry, subtle and with hints of wild berries. For the Chelodoney I don’t think you should chose anything other than a bottle of Chateau Cassiopie. It is universally acknowledged to be the perfect companion to Chelodoney.”

  Culpepper look relieved.

  “Excellent old boy. Splendid choices I’m sure. Bring ‘em on.”

  Jim watched, admiring the delicacy and finesse of Domitiano and the other waiting staff, as food and drinks were delivered. They finished the soup and then, after a short interval, three waiters came to the table in procession, each bearing a large covered plate. They were set down on the table and the waiters removed the covers with a flourish. Jim found himself looking at large reddish-brown steak accompanied by a rich sauce and surrounded by vegetables of varying hues of green, red and yellow.

  “Filet de Chelodonie Desiderataine, gentlemen,” said Domitano, pride suffusing his voice. “The finest dish on this planet – or on any other, in my humble opinion.”

  Jim cut a slice of the steak and bit into it. Since his capture he had just begun to appreciate food. His parents were vegetarians and disapproved of luxury of any sort. His academy took things to a Spartan extreme. Bread, gruel and stodge of an indeterminate vegetative nature were all they were given to eat. Now his palate had begun to thrill to the subtleties of spice and seasoning, sweet and savoury. As he chewed he found the meat almost melted in his mouth and with it came a whole new spectrum of flavours. De la Beche too had begun to eat.

  “I have to say, darlings, that Chelodoney may be all it's cracked up to be. Beautiful texture, most piquant taste with the sauce and a delightful finish. I wonder why Chef has never served it. And the wine is first class, too. Hats off to Domitiano for his selection.”

  Mister Betelgeuse made a noise that Jim thought might have been a cough.

  “I believe, Captain, that Chef may have had a difference of opinion with suppliers of Chelodoney in the past.”

  De la Beche chuckled.

  “Tried to rook them did he? I must have a word with him when we get back. Come what may, this has certainly set us up for tomorrow.” He raised his glass. “To our day out.”

  10

  The High Admiral of the Orsonian Battle Fleet looked into the mirror and found that he was still in love with what he saw. He gazed affectionately across his desk at the picture of his four wives, sixteen concubines and fifty-three children. He looked around and regarded with considerable satisfaction his huge office, with its magnificently carved furniture, rich tapestries and immensely valuable paintings.

  His eye then turned less affectionately to the young civil servant who had just entered. The feeling was reciprocated. Beneath the civil servant's seemingly blank expression was seething hate and resentment. The civil servant had no wives, no concubines and no children and few immediate prospects of any. Orsonians, to an extreme extent among the sentient beings of the Galaxy, were creatures of their hormones, pheromones and other chemical messengers that coursed continually through their bodies. The civil servant was of the age when those chemicals conspired to produce paroxysms of lust. He was overwhelmed with tumescence. He could think of little else but copulating frenziedly, indiscriminately, everlastingly, but he had not the remotest hope of quenching his desires because females were monopolized by the rich and powerful and lucky, like the High Admiral, who now addressed him so peremptorily.

  “Civil Servant 21346, are all the preparations in order for my Triumph?”

  The High Admiral was served personally only by young and lowly officials. This was a precaution. In the days when the Imperial crown was inherited solely by descendants of the first Emperor, assassination had become an art form. An emperor was known for the wit, skill and panache by which he had despatched his immediate predecessor. However, the turnover of emperors became such that it exhausted even the fecundity of the Imperial family. Eventually, there were no candidates surviving to inherit. It was then decided to appoint Emperors, called First Citizens as a sop to the populace, by acclamation and allow removal by assassination only when trusted advisers declared them mad or incompetent. This had happened rather too often in the opinion of the Admiral, and so, trusted advisers were now kept at arm's length. The young and lowly were assumed to be too stupid and cowardly to attempt anything similar and could be treated with the contempt they deserved.

  “I believe so, High Admiral.”

  The High Admiral was less than satisfied.

  “Believe? I'm not interested in what you believe, Civil Servant 21346. I want to know. I will ask you again. Is everything ready?”

  “Everything is reported to be ready, High Admiral.”

  “Is the procession organized? Is everybody aware of what they are supposed to do?

  “The procession rehearsal went most satisfactorily, High Admiral. Would you like to discuss it with the Master of Ceremonies?”

  The High Admiral had no wish to talk to the Master of Ceremonies, who he regarded as an over-fussy martinet. He was not by nature a master of details, but there was one detail on which he wanted to be reassured.

  “Have the Gryphodons arrived and are they being well looked after?”

  “Yes, High Admiral. Special stables have been built to accommodate them. They are very big,” he added.

  “Big? Of course they are big. That's what a Triumph needs. Do you know what beasts they used for the last Triumph?”

  Civil Servant 21346 shook his head.

  “That was before I joined your service High Admiral.”

  The High Admiral grimaced.

  “Horses. That's what they used. Horses. Do you know what a horse is, Civil Servant 21346?”

  “No, High Admiral.”

  “A horse is a little incey-wincey thing that goes clip-clop when it walks. I don't want any clip-clopping on my Triumph. I want the earth to shake when I go by. Gryphodons are what I want. They will make the earth shake.”

  Civil Servant 21346 could only agree. He had been to see them in their stables. Everything about Gryphodons was huge. The High Admiral moved on to other aspects of the Triumph.

  “Is my robe ready?”

  “Yes, High Admiral. Your robe is with your dresser now. Shall I bring him in?”

  “Yes. I need to make sure it fits.”

  The dresser entered the office bearing the robe on outstretched arms. He made a swift bow.

  “Your robe is ready, your High Admiral sir. Shall we try it on?”

  The High Admiral waved for Civil Servant 21346 to leave. A High Admiral's torso was not a sight for the eyes of junior officials. The dresser looked at him expectantly.

  “Well?” said the High Admiral.

  “Aren't we going to undress, your High Admiral sir?”

  The High Admiral looked at him sternly.

  “What do you mean undress? What am I supposed to wear underneath?”

  The dresser pursed his lips and shook his head in admon
ishment.

  “Oh no, your High Admiral sir. It's not the done thing to wear anything under the Triumphal robe. Not the done thing at all. It's made of the finest Sirian silk,” he added, “It will feel simply divine on the skin.”

  The High Admiral decided that he had no option but to agree. He disrobed reluctantly, turning his back to the dresser to prevent his seeing his private parts. At first he insisted on putting on the robe himself, but found it fell off him. The dresser rolled his eyes and silently tut-tutted.

  “If I may be so bold, your High Admiral sir, it needs two of us to put it on. You stand there while I put it over your shoulders. Now I need to tie this here and just a little bit further down another tie. This bit goes over your arm, like so.” He bent the High Admiral's left arm and draped a fold of the robe over it. “Now, doesn't that look simply superb! Quite a triumph just by itself. If you just bend down a little, I will put the golden leaf crown on your head and the Great Seal of Orson round your neck. There, take a look.”

  The High Admiral studied his appearance in the mirror and found his affection growing ever stronger. The iridescent purple of the robe showed off his complexion to perfection; its sweeping folds emphasized his magnificent virility. The golden crown and the Great Seal seemed to give him even greater gravitas than he already possessed. All in all, he concluded, no emperor had ever cut a finer figure.

  11

  The next morning they went down to the hotel lobby to collect their invitations to the Triumph. The receptionist introduced them to a sharply-dressed young female who was waiting nearby.

  “This is Feducia, your guide. She will ensure that your day will be truly memorable and will be able to answer any questions that you may have about the Triumph and Orsonian customs in general.”

  Feducia smiled sweetly and gestured towards the hotel entrance.

  “If you will follow me, I will take you to the your transport. We will be going first to the Imperial Fields where the Triumph is due to start in about an hour.”