by I K Dirac
“He is now being reminded of the great mercy that is being shown to him and to prepare to prostrate himself before Zoabh and hope that his many transgressions will not cause him to be banished to the underworld forever,” said Feducia.
The rope was put round the neck of the Mandrinian and pulled tight. Jim watched as the last vestige of life drained from his face. The congregation gave a great roar of invocation to their god and the choir's volume rose to a triumphant climax.
Their vehicle took them back to their hotel. As they got out, de la Beche took Feducia's hand.
“Thank you so much, darling, for a truly memorable day.”
12
The High Admiral of the Orsonian Battle Fleet, in his office for the first time after the Triumph, found himself contemplating a proverb in Old Orsonian, which, roughly translated, said that revenge is a dish that can be served at any temperature, but blame is best served piping hot.
“Civil Servant 21346, come in here at once!”
The Civil Servant entered the office feeling the full weight of being blameless on his shoulders.
“Civil Servant 21346, who ordered those Gryphodons?”
For several seconds he stared back at the Admiral blankly, unsure of how to answer.
“I thought you did, High Admiral. They were your particular request.”
The Admiral bushed the answer aside.
“I meant who ordered those Gryphodons, the ones that couldn't do a simple thing like walk through an arch and ...” He paused as he tried to think of a suitable form of words that would maintain his dignity,“… could not contain themselves?”
Again the Civil Servant paused while he composed his reply.
“They were Gryphodons from the Imperial Stables of the Royal Denebian Empire, High Admiral. They pull the Imperial Coach on all great occasions. They were especially chosen by the Denebian Emperor himself in honour of your Triumph.”
The Admiral pondered this news. The Orsonians had a particularly tricky relationship with the Denebians. Their empires adjoined and the Admiral knew that the Orsonian part of the frontier was not easy to defend. Previous Denebian emperors had cast covetous eyes over the region and he was keen not to antagonize the current incumbent. Blame would have to be sought elsewhere.
“What imbecile made the arch so narrow that the Gryphodons could not get through?” he roared.
Civil Servant 21346 recoiled slightly.
“The arch is the victory arch of the Emperor Gardinian, High Admiral.”
The Admiral had thought for some time that the cult of Gardinian could be taken too far. This was proof.
“The Emperor Gardinian only had clip-clopping horses to pull his carriage. I had Gryphodons. Naturally that required the arch to be widened. Any idiot could have seen that.”
Civil Servant 21346 thought that he would prefer that the mantle of any idiot did not fall on him
“The dimensions of the arch were taken from those of the Great Gate of the city of Bandroga, High Admiral, through which the prophet Mistrali entered with his army and slew the Bandrogan infidels and established the reign of Zoabh over all of Orson.”
The High Admiral felt a hint of apprehension.
“Are you sure, Civil Servant 21346?”
“Yes, High Admiral. The Emperor Gardinian, as I am sure you know, had a particular devotion to that period of the Prophet's life. Would you like me to quote you chapter and verse from scripture?”
There was very little that the Admiral would have liked less, but declining to listen to sacred scripture was not possible for someone in his position.
“Very well.”
Civil Servant 21346 drew breath.
“This is from Chapter VI, Verse XII of the Second Book of the Bandrogans, when Mistrali and his army had been besieging the City for six months, with no seeming prospects of success”:
And Zoabh said unto Mistrali, “Make ye a Great Siege Engine and its dimensions shall be six and seven-thirteenths peglits wide and eleven and nine-seventeenths peglits high. Take ye it to the Gate of Bandroga and it shall fit so that the hair of an mite shall not pass between Engine and Gate. And I will cause the Gate to open and none shall escape your wrath.” So they made the Great Siege Engine and took it to the Gate and lo it fitted, as Zoabh had said. And when they had fitted it, the Gate flew open as Zoabh commanded, but none of the inhabitants could flee the City. And so the army of Mistrali entered the City and slew them, one and all. And Zoabh was well pleased with all that they had done.
The High Admiral pondered some more. Zoabh might have been well pleased, but he was more than a little vexed. He thought he saw a chink in the argument.
“Well of course a peglit is an Old Orsonian measurement. Does anyone really know what it was exactly?”
Civil Servant 21346 was quick to reply.
“I believe they do, High Admiral. The Emperor Gardinian, assisted by scholars from the Holy Synodrin, made a careful study of all known scriptural sources and decreed that one peglit was the equivalent of 1.2475 imperial metres. That has since been written into Synodic Law.”
The High Admiral began to feel his irritation rising. Quoting scripture with facility was borderline insolence on the part of a junior Civil Servant. On the other hand, disputing the exact dimensions of a peglit was beneath the dignity of a High Admiral, even if he had any desire to dispute a ruling of the Holy Synodrin, which he most definitely did not.
“Oh very well, then. Arrange for it to be rebuilt exactly as it was.”
“As you wish, High Admiral.”
There was something in the tone of the Civil Servant's reply that made the Admiral suspicious, even though his expression remained impassive.
“Is there something you haven't told me, Civil Servant 21346?”
“No, High Admiral.”
His suspicion deepened.
“Then is there anything more that I should tell you?”
“Nothing, High Admiral, unless you wished to take precautions against the prophecy of Destroduma.”
The Admiral's brows furrowed. Destroduma was, in the Admiral's opinion anyway, a madman, who had lived centuries ago and had uttered countless obscure prophecies that the credulous and the malign appeared to take much more seriously than they deserved.
“Which prophecy?”
“That if the Righteous Gate is breached, then an Emperor will fall.”
“Is the Righteous Gate Gardinian's Gate?”
“It is generally considered so, High Admiral. No other gate in the Empire would seem to fit.”
“Does it matter? I am not an emperor and the gate wasn't breached; it fell down.”
“As you say, High Admiral.”
The Admiral decided to press home his advantage. No civil servant was going to get the better of him.
“Exactly how many prophecies did Destroduma make?”
“Nine hundred and sixty four, High Admiral.”
“And how many have proved correct?”
“Two, High Admiral.”
“Rather fewer than would be expected by chance, I believe?”
“As you say, High Admiral.”
Satisfied, the Admiral gave a gracious wave.
“That will be all, Civil Servant 21346.”
Nevertheless he made a note to call in the High Exorciser and have him perform a ritual to remove any possibility of the prophecy coming to pass. One could never be too careful about these things.
13
De la Beche fixed an expectant gaze on the hotel receptionist. “Now, darling, we're looking for somewhere where we can get away from all the hurly-burly of the Triumph. Somewhere a little relaxing, perhaps even a little louche, if you get my meaning, where those in the know like to go. I'm sure you must know a little watering-hole or two that would fit the bill.”
The receptionist gave his most obsequious smile.
“Ah yes. I understand. I believe the Picaresque Parrot might suit your needs. It has the ambience that I think you are looking for and it has a very
select clientele. It is reservation only. Our hotel has an arrangement with them. I can book for you.”
“Sounds just the ticket. How do we get there?”
“It's not far from here. Turn right along this main highway, take the second right and a little way down on the left you should see the sign.”
The Picaresque Parrot was exactly where the receptionist said it would be. The sign showed a green parrot wearing a tricorn hat with a patch over one eye and a spyglass tucked beneath its wing. They descended some steps and found themselves in a large, dimly-lit cavern. The clientele sat round tables and at the far end, a bar was just visible. A flunkey approached dressed in a tricorn hat, long frock coat, breeches and boots. His expression remained impassive as he gazed upon de la Beche, dressed in a long macramé lace wrap trench coat over a silk blouse and long skirt.
“Can I be of assistance?”
De la Beche mentioned the hotel. The flunkey nodded, showed them to a table and asked them what they would like to drink.
“Something festive, with a little fizz in it, I think. What do you have?”
“We have some of the finest sparkling wines in the Galaxy. Our cellar is renowned throughout the Empire. I would particularly recommend the Donsallinger – a very fine vintage.”
“A bottle of that for me if you please, a bottle of your finest spirits for the good doctor here and something delicious but not intoxicating for this young person. My other colleague here,” he said, indicating Mister Betelgeuse, “has special dietary requirements. He has brought his own refreshments.”
The drinks arrived and de la Beche and Doctor Culpepper sampled theirs with evident satisfaction. Jim took a sip of the pink liquid in a glass decorated with exotic fruit around the brim and found it was indeed delicious, tangy and fruity with an exquisite mix of sweetness and acidity. From a shoulder bag, Mister Betelgeuse took out a phial of blue liquid that appeared to be glowing slightly and sucked in a small quantity through a tube. Jim could see no sign of whether he found it pleasant or not.
Above the low hum of conversation in the bar could be heard the tinkling of a keyboard, playing a tune that Jim thought sounded familiar. Doctor Culpepper started humming along to it. “An old favourite. Can't quite remember what it's called. Come to me in a minute, I expect.” He reached for his glass and downed a good slug of spirit and continued humming. “Not quite there yet. On the tip of my tongue. Another couple of snifters and I'm sure I'll have it.”
De la Beche was looking round the bar. “Delightful little melody I'm sure, Sawbones darling, but we're here for something else. We need to find out anything we can about the whereabouts of this Kwokkah thing that the Orsonians are supposed to have got their hands on. So where to start? Well, the one thing we do now know is that this High Admiral is definitely numero uno on Orson. Presumably, if anyone knows about the Kwokkah, he does. No doubt he has lots of minions to do his dirty work and some of them must know something. Where I wonder might we find them?”
As he spoke, a well-cushioned blond female in a glittering full-length dress that showed almost all of her magnificent décolletage approached and sat down uninvited at their table. Jim was almost felled by a blast of her perfume.
“Hello, ducks. Haven't seen you around before. Are you new in town?”
De la Beche smiled graciously.
“We are indeed. Travellers from distant worlds, eager to take in all that your beautiful city has to offer.”
She seemed pleased. “Dolly's the name. The Parrot is my place. Everyone knows me round here.” She gestured to a flunkey who brought over a glass and set it down beside her. She lifted Culpepper's bottle of spirits and filled the glass. “Don't mind if I do. Cheers.” Half the glass swiftly disappeared. Her eyes alighted on de la Beche's outfit. “Nice frock, ducks. You must tell me where you got it?”
“This little thing? I had it run up by a little boutique I know. It's on a planet rather distant from here. Not much to distinguish it, but they have some absolutely marvellous seamstresses.”
She nodded appreciatively.
“So I see. If you let me know their details I may give them a call. Now, what are you hoping to do while you are in town?”
“We do quite a bit of travelling, darling. Wherever we go, we like to sample the spirit of the place. We want to get to know the real Orson, not some fake tourist pastiche.”
Dolly clapped her hands.
“Well if you want to know the real Orson, you've come to the right place.”
“We have? Do tell us more.”
She laughed. Jim felt her hand slide up his thigh and then squeeze it gently. “Where did you get this one? He's lovely, isn't he? So cuddly. I'd like to take him home with me. Make a man of him, if you know what I mean.” She laughed again, louder. A look of consternation appeared on Jim's face.
“I'm not sure he has time for that,” said de la Beche. “Maybe next time we're in town. You were going to tell us about this place.”
Dolly gave another hoot. “As it's you, I will, but you must promise to bring this little thing with you next time.”
“That's a promise, darling. You were saying ...”
“Well, everyone knows the Parrot. It's where they all come to let their hair down, isn't it?”
“They do? Who are they?”
She shook her head.
“You really haven't been in town long, have you? Orson's a bit stuffy, isn't it, a bit lah-di-dah, a bit know-your-place. There's them at the top and there's the rest of us. You must have heard about the High Admiral. It was his big day today. Very full of himself he is – and don't he make everyone around him know it. So after they've all bowed and scraped all day, they come in here for a bit of relaxation. They'll all be in tonight, you can bet on it.”
“Is that so? Why would they come here rather than anywhere else.”
She smiled knowingly.
“Because you can say things here that you can't say anywhere else. They allow it, you see. Anywhere else and your feet wouldn't touch the floor, but here everyone has a bit of a laugh. They all let off steam, and then it's back to work next day.”
“And how exactly do they let off steam?”
“Usual way, ducks. They get smashed out of their minds and wet themselves laughing at the comedian's taking the piss out of the high and mighty and then try to get laid, only most of the time they're too bladdered to get it up. Talking about comedians, Joko Cornatty is on tonight. You must see him. He makes me roar.”
She leaned back and Jim sat mesmerised as her ample bosom rocked as she laughed. De la Beche nodded.
“It sounds most enticing. We shall certainly stay. And could I ask a favour? If any of the High Admiral's entourage do come in, would you introduce us? As visitors we always like to make new friends.”
“Anything for you, ducks. They always sit at the same table. I'll make sure you can sit next to them. After a few drinks they're anybody's – and some say so am I.” She started laughing again. “I think it's going to be a good night and we must show our little cuddly one a good time, too.” She squeezed Jim's thigh again, this time a little harder.
***
Music sounded a jolly ta-ra, curtains drew back at one end of the bar to reveal a stage and on bounded a figure in top hat, multi-coloured jacket and tight red trousers that Jim assumed must be Joko Carnatty. He waved and blew kisses to the audience, grinning.
“Well here we are again, playmates. Give us an Ooh!”
“Ooh!” replied the audience.
Joko shook his head sadly.
“Call that an ooh! I've had bigger oohs from my cat's arse. Try again.”
“Oooh!” went the audience, this time much louder.
“Bit better, bit better,” said Joko. “Keep going. By the time I've finished, you lot might have woken up. You know I was beginning to think people round here didn't like me. When I was coming in somebody said to me, 'We don't get many of your sort in here.' I said I'm not surprised, the prices you charge for drinks.�
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The audience whooped in agreement, many holding up their glasses in salute. The Bountiful crew were now sitting at a table close to the stage. Jim looked to his left and saw a large table around which a number of male figures were seated. Most were in uniform, although neckties and buttons were loosened. They were clearly well on the way to being inebriated. One of them started to heckle Joko, shouting something Jim did not quite catch. Joko peered down at him.
“Hello, dearie. Love the outfit. Didn't recognise you with the clothes on.”
The heckler slumped down in his seat, mouthing obscenities. The rest of the audience whooped again and his companions collapsed in laughter. Jim became aware that Dolly had pulled up a seat next to him. She yelled encouragement. “Give it to them, Joko! Oh, he does make me roar.” Jim felt her hand on his thigh again. “Hello, cuddly boy. Enjoying the show?” He did his best to smile.
Joko saw an easy target. He waved to the table of uniforms.
“I see the Fleet's in tonight. Hello, boys.” The uniforms waved back, though Jim thought some of their smiles were a little forced. “Everyone loves a sailor, don't they? Oh yes they do. I can see you do, madam – and you too, sir. Don't try to hide it. I can see that look on your face. We all love the boys in blue, don't we playmates? And the men in blue too, of course. So masterful.” He looked straight at the audience, lips pursed in a half kiss. Then he cupped his hand to his ear. “What's that you're asking, dearies? Who are the men and who are the boys? A dear friend of mine asked me that only the other day. 'How do you separate the men from the boys in the Fleet, Joko?' she asked. You usually need a crowbar dearie, I told her.”
He was getting into his stride.
“But seriously boys, seriously, we all know why you're here. We're all very proud of you, aren't we, playmates?” A mixture of cheers and laughter rose from the audience. “You taught those Mandrinians a lesson they'll never forget. You showed them what Orsonians are made of. Take a bow, boys.”
The uniforms rose, a little unsteadily, to their feet to acknowledge the cheers of the audience.