Chapter 52 - A Royal Reception
"Good gods," Simon said, pretty much echoing Roland’s words from the first time he’d seen this palace, "Surely this is a mirage? You can’t have something opulent in such a sea of poverty can you?"
"You think it is gaudy on the outside," Roland told Simon, "Wait until you see the levels of bad taste inside this place."
The capital palace of Siraq was set up on a high hill, a six story building built of the finest materials from the known world. It had been designed by the first kings of the nation many years before and had been added on to by many of them until it was its current opulent polyglot of materials and designs.
"So is there anything I need to know?" Simon asked his mentor, "I don’t particularly want to cause a diplomatic incident."
"Keep your mouth shut," Roland shrugged, "As far as they are concerned you are nothing but a part of my entourage, despite the fact that we’re equals under Mullinix law."
"Why’s that?" Simon asked him.
"They are a strict constructionist society," Roland said as he hopped off his bicycle, "The government here believes that power belongs in one man’s hand. Envoys are a necessary evil, but they only accept one. They do, however, understand the concept of the Entourage."
"So that’s why Massimaferro has to make the trip," Simon said, "Despite the fact that Insegniferro or even Medoferro would be better suited to the negotiations."
"Exactly," Roland agreed, "Technically, according to their protocol here Paulus should be taking this, but they never fully understood our system. They consider the Mullinix as the sole ruler and consider us weak for the fact that our Mullinix are willing to give up power while they live."
"But they’ll take our money without a problem," Simon chuckled, "Ain’t Hypocrisy great?"
"You said it," Roland chuckled, "We’ll probably spend a day or so here hashing out the details and then head back to Skolnik to let them know."
"A day or two?" Simon asked him, "How hard is it to set a time and date?"
"Usually we have to debate everything right down to the food served," Roland informed him, "Your job will be to take notes for me, that way I can get away with having you in the room during the negotiation."
"I’ll try to keep them legible," Simon grinned, "I never did do well in penmanship."
"Do the best you can," Roland shrugged, "Most of it will be bullshit anyway."
They walked together, walking their bikes up the large winding hill road up to the front gates. They were slightly dirty from the riding, but Roland presented the Mullinix seal to the front gate guard, who checked it against the list he held. The solemn young man nodded and handed the seal back, waving them through.
They walked through and parked the bikes in a spot. Their guards, who had been shadowing them by a few hundred meters, pulled in at this time as well and looked towards Roland for further instructions.
"Follow along," Roland told them, "Keep weapons tied off in here. If they ask you to remove them, do so."
"Yes sir," came the reply.
"Are you armed, Simon?" Roland asked him, having forgotten to do so earlier.
"No obvious weapons," Simon grinned, "Nothing that’ll show if they frisk me at any rate."
"Keep that too yourself," Roland told him, "Make damn sure they don’t find out about that."
"No worries on that score," Simon chuckled, "I work better as a channel for Medo anyway."
"All right," Roland nodded, "Let’s go in."
They approached the front door of the inner palace area and entered in as the dignitaries they were. Simon’s jaw almost hit the floor as he saw the gaudiness of the receiving area. It was designed to make an impression, and that was one thing it most certainly did, though probably not the they were hoping for.
"I didn’t think taste this bad was possible," Simon said under his breath.
"Hush!" Roland exclaimed softly as they walked over.
A very well dressed man walked out, looking over the Mullinix group and rightly picking out Roland as the leader of the group. He extended a hand, which Roland took and shook vigorously in the Siraqi manner. They smiled and the well dressed man greeted the whole group.
"Welcome to Siraq gentlemen," the smooth talking man said in flawless Mullinix, "We’ve been expecting you since we got word that you crossed the border."
"Thank you," Roland said, "I am Roland Hoffs, personal representative of the Mullinix. I’d like to present my aid and scribe, Simon Sutcliffe."
"Welcome to the palace," the man said, "I am Serekota Dixkid, aid to the high ruler of all of Siraq. I wanted to greet you personally."
"We appreciate that," Roland said, "We’re in your hands, Serekota."
"We realize that you’ve traveled a long way," Serekota told them, "We’ve prepared a place for you to rest before your audience."
"Thank you," Roland said, "We do not wish to impose."
"It is no imposition," Serekota insisted, "How can friends impose? While you refresh yourselves I’ll inform his highness of your arrival. He’s looking forward to seeing you."
"As are we," Roland said, having to strain to keep the surprise down, "Thank you."
"Follow me," Serekota told them, "We’ve got an array of local cuisine for you to try."
"Excellent," Roland smiled, "I haven’t had a good Siraqi Meat Pie since I was here last time."
"We have plenty for all of you," Serekota told him, his smile and his hair not moving at all, "If you like I’ll even have the chef prepare a recipe for your own palace cooks."
"I’d like that," Roland agreed, "Thank you, Serekota."
"No problem, Roland," Serekota beamed, "I’ll be back with you in an hour or so."
With that the well dressed man left the room and left Roland and Simon along with their guards in the room. Simon looked out and saw that the door closed solidly, though it didn’t latch shut.
"What the hell?" Simon asked the older representative, "I thought you said they were usually not all that friendly."
"Your guess is as good as mine," Roland said, taking a dinner roll from the table, "This is a new experience for me. Usually I have to wait an hour before anyone even greets us properly."
"Don’t knock it," Simon chuckled, washing himself off in the provided basin, "I’ll take food and cleaning basins over waiting around."
"Amen to that," Roland agreed and looked at the guards, "Stay close but keep your weapons put away. Do not even clean them here. Go ahead and have some food though."
The guards dove into the food while Roland and Simon got themselves ready for an audience. Roland wasn’t expecting it to happen that afternoon, but knew from experience that they expected you to be ready at a moment’s notice. Simon finished the food and got himself as presentable as he ever was.
"How do I look?" Simon asked Roland.
"Your usual rumpled self," Roland chuckled, "But that’s ok. You’re a diplomat, not a salesman."
"I thought diplomats were salesmen," Simon grinned, straightening his tie, "Of the manure variety."
"That’s one way to put it I guess," Roland agreed, "When we get in there just keep your mouth shut and write things down. I don’t care if my pants are on fire, you don’t say a word."
"Remind me not to set your pants on fire in the throne room then," Simon grinned impishly, "Don’t worry. I have no intention of starting an international incident today."
"See that you don’t," Roland told him, "I can’t run as fast as you can."
Simon was about to say something else, but the door opened and Serekota Dixkid returned in. Roland looked up and stood up to meet the King’s representative, giving a quick motion to Simon to remain seated. Simon nodded and watched as Roland shook hands in the Siraqi manner.
"The king is ready to see you now," Serekota told him, "If you are well enough rested, that is."
"Certainly," Roland nodded, fighting hard to keep his jaw from hitting the door, "When
ever you are ready."
"No time like the present," Serekota told them, "Follow me."
Roland nodded at Serekota and shared a very surprised look with Simon. The guards were left in the room with the food as the Mullinix representatives were walked through to the anteroom. The anteroom made the front areas look like slums, considering the place was covered with gold plating, using what pretty much had to be the national treasury to cover the place.
"Is this for real?" Simon asked Roland quietly.
"Yeah," Roland said, "Something to behold, isn’t it?"
"Yes," Serekota said, "Rather than letting our treasury sit uselessly in a vault somewhere one of the king’s forefather’s decided to put it to good use. Beautiful, isn’t it?"
"That’s one word for it," Simon mumbled.
Roland smiled and half tuned out what Serekota was saying as he looked at the place. The end tables alone probably could have paid to feed half the starving people in the streets of the Siraqi capital. Simon was feeling much the same, but hadn’t seen enough suffering yet to really appreciate it.
They walked silently down the long corridor until they entered the actual throne room itself. It wasn’t so much a room as a grand, opulent cavern filled with every gift that they had received over the years. Grand paintings and items that looked expensive were all over the walls, and the tables surrounding the sides were covered with things that made it look like the world’s most expensive garage sale.
The King of Siraq was sitting in his throne, a far oversized golden chair that was so bright that it almost made you flinch at the sheer extravagance of it. Care was shown with its upkeep, as every visible surface was cleaned to a shine. Roland wondered if this was show for representatives or if they paid someone to keep it this way all the time.
"Roland," the king said, acting as if he was glad to see him, "You’ve aged well over the last decade. How is Insegniferro adjusting to his retirement?"
Simon watched this display with interest. He knew full well the disdain that Roland and pretty much everyone else held for this despotic ruler, but Roland was doing a masterful job at hiding it. In order to justify his presence, Simon dutifully pulled out a notepad and began scribing notes.
"Insegniferro is enjoying the reduced duties," Roland told him, "Though he would rather not have paid the price he did for them."
"Taliaferro was an old man," the king shrugged, "It was his time. Massimaferro has been waiting for a while."
"That he has," Roland agreed, "I’d like to thank you for seeing us so promptly, sire."
"You came at a good time," the king said, "This must be Simon, representative of your new apprentice, Medoferro."
"Yes sire," Roland said, again surprised, as Siraqi monarchs almost roundly ignored the apprentices, "May I present Simon Sutcliffe, of Mullinix Centre."
"A pleasure to meet you, sire," Simon lied, bowing appropriately.
"I guess we should get down to business," the king told them, "It is time again for those pesky trade talks, I see."
"Yes sire," Roland nodded, preparing himself for a long negotiation session, "We would like to see an equitable agreement for the talks…"
The king held out a hand, stopping Roland. Simon watched, wondering what was going to happen next.
"We came to an equitable agreement for the talks last time," the king told them, "The cottage complex on the border near the Mullinix Border Village was an acceptable location last time and the accommodations were magnificent. Shall we save ourselves a lot of time and just agree to repeat the location and settings again?"
Roland was taken aback at this. It was a single piece of common sense that ranked high among things he thought he’d never hear. Simon looked at his mentor and wondered just what the heck was going on there. It took nearly a full minute for Roland to regain his composure.
"I think we can agree on that," Roland said, "That cottage complex is still there and we should be able to borrow it for a few days. Just how soon would you like to have this meeting?"
"This meeting is important for all of us," the king said, "You have problems down in the south and we could use some changes in the trade plan as well. Will one week from tomorrow suffice?"
"That," Roland almost stammered, "Will be fine, your highness."
"Excellent!" the king said, "You and young Simon will dine with me tonight and head back in the morning to get your end started."
"As you wish, Excellency," Roland stated, "We’d be honored to dine with you."
"Very well!" the king said flamboyantly, "Let us go see some of our art collection as the feast is prepared…"
The Mullinix Book 1: Ascension Page 55