Accidental Sorcerer (17 page)

Opening his mouth he let them fly free.

Power licked his bones with a lascivious warmth. Revelling in it, he uttered a silent command that summoned to his inner eye an image of the princess as she was at this moment: vertically challenged - horizontally overcompensated - crowned with that unfortunate hair - slathered with all the wrong makeup and swathed in that dreadful dress. But not for much longer.

Preserving modesty, the bilious green satin darkened and transmuted to a rich, glowing blue-green shot-silk taffeta which melted over the feathers and the tragic squashed-mulberry netting, swallowing them entirely. For a moment it slipped and slid around her as though making up its mind. Then the fabric settled sinuously into place .. . and Melissande was wearing an elegantly simple frock with a demure v-neck, long sleeves and tapered skirt that finished a decorous two inches below her knees.

'So far, so good,' Reg whispered. 'Now for the shoes.'

He snapped his fingers and recited the next incant. The little Melissande before his mind's eye squeaked as the black bricks disappeared from her feet and she immediately became four inches shorter. Then she squeaked again as new shoes appeared. Slim, elegant midnight blue shoes, with just enough heel to enhance her posture and lengthen her legs, and a gently tapered toe to lend an air of sophistication. The finishing touch: sheer silk stockings. Black. Unladdered.

'Very nice,' approved Reg. 'Hair next.'

Still watching his inner Melissande, Gerald uttered a new incant. Obediently the princess's rusty red hair untangled and became a smooth, shining fall of rich auburn that rearranged itself into a gleaming helmet and rolled into a smooth twist at the back. The warty crystal pins disappeared, replaced by pearl-headed pins that inserted themselves diplomatically and discreetly, keeping the twist in place without the least sign of frenzied skewering. They matched the jewellery perfectly, which he left alone.

Reg clacked her beak. 'Well done. Now gild the lily.'

He frowned. Gild the - oh. Melissande's makeup. Yes. Of course. But
makeup?
He took a deep breath and thought of his mother's quiet, understated elegance.

With a raised fingertip he erased the virulent blue eye shadow, the clumping mascara, the clown-red rouge and the flaming lipstick. Replaced them with a discreet feathering of lavender, a tinting of eyelash, a hint of blush on the cheek, a suggestion of rose on the lips.

Tentatively he opened his eyes to check the result in the flesh, and only just stopped his jaw dropping in shock.'
Wow\
Your Highness, you look ... wonderful.'

'I'll be the judge of that,' she said, nervously truculent. 'So don't just stand there. Fetch me a mirror!'

With a careless snap of his fingers he produced the full-length cheval-glass from his own dressing room. Melissande looked at her reflection.'Oh,' she said at last. Her expression was unreadable.

Eyes glittering, Lional stared intently at his sister. Slowly, as though in a trance, he slid off his throne, stepped down from the dais to the chamber floor and prowled around her in rapt silence. Then he turned.

'Professor, you are ... magnificent.'

'Oh, no, Your Majesty' he said, his eyes not leaving Melissande's face. 'Not me. But I think Her Highness might be.'

She was still vertically challenged. Still horizontally overcompensated. Her hair was still, at heart, a rusty red. But any suggestion of frumpiness had vanished. She was sleek now, and polished, and she looked like Lional's sister.

'Cor!' said Reg.'It
is
a bloody miracle!'

Diffidently, he stepped forward. 'Your Highness? Is it - you know - all right? I can change it if you're not satisfied. Just say the word.'

Slowly, as though waking from a dream, Melissande tore her gaze away from her elegant, polished reflection. She appeared dazed. 'No,' she said faintly. 'That won't be necessary. Thank you very much.'

She didn't sound terribly grateful, though. If anything, she sounded ... despairing.

'Yes indeed,' said Lional, and poured himself back into his throne, gold on gold. Beside him, Tavistock purred. 'That's another debt of gratitude you've incurred, Professor. At this rate you'll see me beggared!'

He bowed.'Not at all, Your Majesty.'

Still dazed, Melissande said, 'Lional, we'd better not keep the Kallarapi waiting any longer.'

'Indeed not! Professor, get rid of the mirror. Melissande, invite our guests to join us.'

Gerald returned the mirror to his suite and watched Melissande cross the vast expanse of carpet to the audience chamber's doors. Wearing high heels she even
walked
differently. Almost ... alluringly.

'Remarkable,' Lional murmured.

She opened the doors and said something to someone in the anteroom beyond. There was a pause, and then the sound of a male voice raised in protest. Melissande's shoulders stiffened. She tried to speak again and was over-ridden. She stepped back, closed the doors and marched back to the dais.

So much for allure. The way she was walking now, those high heels were deadly weapons.

'They won't come in,' she announced, flushed with anger.

'Won't come in?' said Lional, eyebrows lifting. 'Whatever do you mean?'

'Exactly what I said, Lional. The Kallarapi won't come in while I'm here. Prince Nerim refuses point blank to discuss
anything
with a woman present.'

Lional sat up. 'Well, that's unacceptable! You're not a woman, you're my prime minister! How dare he insult me in this fashion? He'll meet with both of us or go back to Kallarap with his tail between his legs and an empty purse to boot!'

Melissande sighed. 'No. New Ottosland's future is a million times more important than my pride. Or yours, for that matter. It's all right, Lional. I'll g°'

For a moment it looked as though Lional was going to argue, then he nodded. 'Very well. Your sacrifice is appreciated, Melly. And don't you worry: I'll make sure the Kallarapi pay for this insult.'

'Thank you. I think.' She turned, her expression strenuously neutral. 'Professor? Good fortune attend your first encounter with the Kallarapi. I look forward to hearing all about it.'

So. It was back to spying again.
Damn.
Gerald bowed. 'Thank you, Your Highness.'

As she disappeared through a small, discreet door in the wall behind the dais, the chamber's main doors flung open.

'Your Majesty!' the herald shouted. 'I present to you Prince Nerim of Kallarap, Blood of the Sultan, and Shugat, Holy Man of the Kallarapi.'

In walked the Kallarapi delegation to the strains of a blistering fanfare. Gerald let out a hard breath.
Here we go, then. Saint Snodgrass defend me.

From the look of him, Prince Nerim hovered somewhere around eighteen years of age. His height was average, his build slender. Olive skin was moulded over high cheekbones and a broad brow. His deep-set eyes, fringed with extravagant lashes, were a clear light brown. A short black beard jutted from his chin, barbered and pomaded into a ruthless point which was tucked into a gold ferrule. His shirt and trousers were of pristine white linen. A belt of solid gold studded with emeralds clasped his waist. On his feet were curly-toed golden half-boots decorated with diamonds and on his head a cloth-of-gold turban. Fixed front and centre was a yellow diamond bigger than a hen's egg, with four curly white feathers dipped in gold sprouting above it. Shiny black ringlets curled from beneath the turban's edges, shyly brushing his shirt collar.

'Talk about sending a boy to do a man's job,' breathed Reg, swallowing a snort of disgust. 'That popinjay's window dressing, Gerald. It's the
other
one we need to worry about ...'

The other one.
Kallarap s holy man.

Shugat was so old his spine had curved him over like a sapling under heavy snow. A scraggly grey beard adorned his brown leather face and his bald, polished head was bare. He wore a plain brown robe, rough-spun and ill fitting, which was belted around his concave middle with a ratty old bit of rope. His callused feet were encased in scuffed leather sandals and his gnarled, ringless right hand grasped a knobbly wooden staff taller than he was.

Set into his forehead, above the bridge of his fiercely hooked nose, some kind of rough-hewn crystal the colour of dirty milk and no bigger than a bantam's egg.

Shugat looked up, revealing deep-sunk eyes as bright and burning as newborn stars ...

...and Gerald felt a shocking shudder run right through him as he fell headlong into that molten gaze.

Waves of power were suddenly radiating off the Kallarapi holy man, distorting the surrounding air. Holy man? Try
wizard.
Even from thirty feet away Gerald could feel his skin crisp and his hair curl from the raw thaumaturgical energy Shugat emitted. On his shoulder, Reg was gasping.

All that power ... and he'd never sensed so much as a
spark
of it even though they were living in the same palace. He'd never met anyone who could hide himself so completely. Shugat was to First Grade wizardry what elephants were to ants.

Bloody hell! Lional thinks he can tell this man what to do? He thinks I can tell him? He really is mad. Shugat could squash us flat with the blink of one eye.

This meeting was a waste of time. Doomed to failure before it had even begun. The Kallarapi didn't
need
an army. They had Shugat ... and all New Ottosland had was him.

Damn. I really should have listened to Reg.

the crimson carpet with all his might. The ensuing thunderclap shivered the chandeliers and rattled the lead-lined window panes. Tavistock leapt to his feet, roaring.

'Blasphemy!'
the holy man roared back. The crystal in his forehead burst into burning life, pulsing like the sun. Prince Nerim was cowering.

'This is bad, Gerald, this is
had'
Reg muttered.

'I know, I know, shut
up!'
he muttered back, then sidled closer to the throne. 'Your Majesty?'

Lional was smiling, one hand stroking Tavistock's head, the other dangling idly over the side of the throne. 'Now, now, Professor. Blasphemy is in the eye of the beholder. The trick is to appear profoundly unimpressed. I encourage you to follow my example.'

Mad, mad, and with a crazy death wish.
With an effort he smoothed his face to match Lional's bored, sleepy expression.'Yes, Your Majesty.'

Now the Kallarapi delegation was huddled in conference. There was more staff-thumping, some fist waving and hissed ranting from Shugat and a lot of anguished whispering from Nerim.

'Perhaps, gentlemen,' said Lional, poisonously polite, 'you'd like to step outside until you're quite ready to meet with us? I'm sure we have nothing better to do than twiddle our thumbs while you rehearse your presentation.'

Nerim and Shugat broke apart. They exchanged looks: Nerim's pleading, Shugat's grim. After a fraught pause Nerim wilted and the tatty old holy man advanced towards the throne. His eyes still blazed but the burning crystal in his forehead was quiescent again.

'You king of New Ottosland!' Shugat's voice was gravelly, his Kallarapi accent pronounced; he made no attempt to shorten vowels or soften consonants.'You mock us with your blasphemy!'

'Mock
you, sir?' said Lional, vastly innocent. 'I think not. Incidentally, do feel free to make your obeisances at your earliest convenience.'

Gerald stopped breathing. What was Lional doing? Putting on a good face was one thing, playing with fire another. Surely even
he
could feel the power pouring out of the Kallarapi holy man? Did he think a trinket crown would save him? If so he was sadly mistaken.

Before Shugat could incinerate everyone within a mile of the audience chamber, Prince Nerim leapt forward and clutched at his arm. There were more exchanged looks: this time Nerim's mute appeal was so desperate his eyes almost popped out of his head. Another fraught pause, then Shugat nodded grudgingly and stepped back.

Gerald started breathing again.

Nerim cleared his throat and bowed. Not deeply, but sufficiently enough that Lional's faint smile remained undiminished. 'O King,' he said, his voice quavering slightly, 'mine brother, His Glorious Magnificence Sultan Zazoor, may he live forever, of the Holy, Great and Immortal Empire of Kallarap, bids me greet you in his name.' Unlike Shugat, his accent was barely discernable. Boarding school polish, Gerald decided. Like his brother.

Lional inspected his manicured fingernails. 'That's nice.'

The prince's eyes flashed. 'Mine brother the sultan, may he live forever, also commends to you his holy man Shugat.'

With obvious and severe reluctance Shugat offered Lional a parsimonious bow. Lional inclined his head in return, teeth glittering in a smile. 'Welcome to my court, gentlemen. And allow me to present to you Professor Gerald Dunwoody. My royal wizard.'

Shugat thudded his staff again: the chandeliers overhead tinkled to the faint echo of thunder, rolling on some distant horizon.

'Not
wizard! Blasphemer!' he retorted. 'As are you, little king! It is not for outsiders to know the faces of our gods: the Dragon, the Lion, the Bird!'

Gerald felt his heart stutter.
That's
who the Kallarapi worshipped? Animal spirits? Spirits like Reg and Tavistock, who were here now because of him? Oh no.

Is this a coincidence or does the king know something?

On his shoulder, Reg was moaning.

Lional held up his hand and admired one opulent diamond ring. 'I know more than their faces, Shugat. I know their names.'

Nerim gasped. For long moments there was silence as Shugat's seamed features reflected some bitter inner battle. 'No outsider knows names of our secret, sacred gods.'

Lional sighed. 'Grimthak, Vorsluk and Lalchak,' he said, counting on his fingers.'Sound familiar?'

Not a coincidence. This is more than knowing, this is a plan. And I'm a part of it ...

Oh no. He
really
should have listened to Reg.

Shugat staggered as though he'd received a mortal wound. 'Not possible! Not
possiblel'
he hissed.

'And even more than their names, Shugat,' continued Lional, inexorable, 'I know
them.
And I welcome them. With open arms and a loving heart do I welcome the gods of Kallarap to New Ottosland.'

With a slash of his staff Shugat indicated Tavistock and Reg.
'These?
You say these mimicking beasts are
our gods?'
Letting out a harsh cry like the lamenting of crows he plucked free the crystal from his forehead, leaving a bloodless crater in his flesh, and held it aloft. Incandescent light flooded into every cranny and corner. '
Woe to the blasphemer, for he shall burn in the fires of the Dragon. The Bird shall tear out his wicked tongue and the Lion devour his heart. So says Shugat, Holy Man of Kallarapi'

With a shriek Prince Nerim fell to his knees, arms cradling his head. He began sobbing.

Lional laughed. Ignoring the stricken prince, ignoring Shugat and the light from his terrible crystal, he leaned over the side of his throne and said conversationally, 'Did you know, Professor, there are so many holy men in Kallarap I'm sure you can't cross a single sand dune without falling over one.'

Gerald unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Melissande was going to
explode
when she heard about this.'Really, Your Majesty?' he croaked.

'Really. But the
sultan's
holy man is accounted something special. According to Kallarapi folklore, the
sultan's
holy man speaks to their gods on a daily basis. Imagine!'

And when the gods spoke back after today's little debacle three guesses what they were going to say ... 'That sounds very ... religious, Your Majesty.'

'It certainly does,' agreed Lional.'Of course now that I come to think of it, as far as I'm aware nobody has actually
witnessed
this miraculous event. As far as I'm aware, the sultan's holy man just totters out of his little temple or cave or whatever
claiming
to have received a list of instructions from the gods and, for some reason I don't altogether understand, my old school chum Zazoor
believes
him.' He shrugged. 'Mind you, Zazoor always was the gullible sort.'

The incandescent light faded, leaving Shugat's crystal dull and unreflecting. Still holding it the holy man rammed his staff into the carpet yet again.
'More
blasphemy!' he shouted over the echoing thunder.

Lional frowned. 'Shugat, old chap, I feel compelled to point out you're getting tedious.'

With a nervous glance at Shugat, Prince Nerim swallowed his sobs and clambered to his feet. 'Hasty words, O gracious king. Holy Shugat was merely ... taken aback.'

Shugat glared and thumped his staff; the chandelier overhead danced and tinkled as the rolling thunder died away. 'Do not speak for me, Blood of the Sultan! These beasts are blasphemy and so is doubting my speech with the gods! Now you tell me, King, how our sacred secret ways are open to you.'

'Ah,' said Lional. 'You suspect some foul magic, perhaps? Sorry, but no. As it happens a little sultan told me.'

Shugat's head snapped
back.'Zazoor?'

'While we were at school. We were both a little drunk, you see, and had a bet regarding ... well. Never mind. The point is, I won. Oh dear,' he added, eyes alight with malicious amusement at the identical looks on Shugat and Nerim s faces. 'Was he not supposed to say anything? Perhaps you should ask the gods to smite him, you know, just a little bit, the next time you're chatting.'

Nerim said hoarsely, 'Your Majesty, surely these matters are for the holy men of our nations to discuss at another time and place. The sultan, may he live forever, did not send us here to talk of gods, but of - of -' He swallowed convulsively. '- debts unpaid.'

'Ah ... yes ...' said Lional. 'Well, I think you'll find the two matters are more closely connected than you thought.'

Nerim threw Shugat a desperate look. Leathery face creased with displeasure, Shugat nodded. 'We will hear your words on this. King. And then -' He smiled ominously. 'You will hear ours.'

'By all means,' said Lional.'If there's time. Now. As I was saying, Gerald,' he continued, shifting a little on his throne so that one shoulder was presented to the Kallarapi delegation, 'the sultan's holy man claims to be the sole recipient of his gods' wisdom. And certainly I can see why he would. Any man with the exclusive ear of the gods is in a remarkable position of power, as I'm sure you'd agree.'

Gerald couldn't trust himself to speak. If he spoke he'd unleash a torrent of abuse that would get him thrown into a dungeon or worse. If he spoke he'd likely do even more damage to New Ottosland-Kallarap relations than the king was managing all by himself.

/ have to see this through, I have to wait till we're alone. Then I'll tell Lional what I think of him. Then I'll let him know that I quit. And if Melissande has the brains of an ant she'll quit too and come back to Ottosland with me.

'Mmm,' he said, and somehow managed to hide his rage.

'Yes, indeed,' Lional continued, as though the inarticulate comment was a ringing endorsement. 'A man with exclusive access to the gods is a man in a unique position. But what if the gods have been telling him something he doesn't want to hear? What if they want to change a few things and this holy man prefers things to stay the same? Prefers it so strongly that he ignores the gods' wishes? Might the gods then not choose
another
way of communicating their desires?'

Prince Nerim goggled.'I am confused ...'

Lional sighed and rolled his eyes. 'Of course you are. You know, I must introduce you to mine brother Rupert. The two of you would get along splendidly'

With a withering look Shugat shouldered Nerim aside. 'You say
you
now speak for Kallarap's gods?'

The king spread his elegant hands wide. 'I'm not saying anything, old chap. I just draw your attention to this lion and this bird, the very embodiments of Lalchak and Vorsluk, newly come to my court as
you
arrive to press your dubious claims upon me.'

'And what of Grimthak the Dragon?' Shugat rasped. 'First among the gods. Where is he?'

'I'm sure I've no idea,' said Lional.
'I
don't presume to tell a god where and when he should present himself for inspection. Perhaps you do. If so I must say you're a braver man than I.'

Shugat rammed his staff into the floor so hard that smoke puffed out of the carpet. When the ringing echoes of the latest thunder clap had finally died he shouted, 'The Holy Ones do not dwell in New Ottosland! They are the gods of Kallarap!'

Lional picked some lint from his knee. 'I see. So what you're
saying,
and do correct me if I'm wrong, is that
you
are in a position to dictate to three
gods
where and upon whom they bestow their favour? Is that what you're saying, Shugat old chap?'

Shugat's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, spittle flecking his lips. Then he raised his staff overhead and shouted, 'The gods strike you dead, King! The gods smoke your bones and boil your eyeballs in their sockets!'

Silence. After a moment, Lional raised his eyebrows. 'Oh dear. It appears the gods aren't listening, Shugat. At least not to you.'

Reg leaned close.
'Now
do you agree we should've got while the going was good, sunshine?'

Gerald nodded, feeling sick.
For once I don't care if she does say 'I told you so'. I deserve it. Oh lord, what a mess.

Prince Nerim was staring at his brother's holy man, the first cracks of doubt showing in his armour of belief. Shugat brandished his staff some more. A short sharp wind swirled around the audience chamber, rattling the chandeliers. 'Blood of the Sultan, you
will not
heed him. He is a trickster!' he shouted at Nerim. 'A defaulter of debts!
Oath-breaker
¹
'. I
am the holy man!
I
speak to the gods!'

'Well, Nerim, as / understand it,' said Lional into the fraught silence, 'what Shugat
actually
does is converse with a lump of carved wood that's supposed to
represent
the gods, more or less, in a rough, pre-modern impressionistic kind of way' His hand drifted to Tavistock's head and rested there, suggestively. 'I have to say / prefer a more -
direct
- method of communication.'

Shugat's face suffused with blood. 'These beasts are not our gods!'

'I never said they were!' Lional protested, wounded innocence incarnate. 'What they
are,
I believe, are the gods' emissaries. Sent here by the gods themselves to make their wishes known.'

Gerald bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood. His shoulder stung where Reg's claws had pierced his robe, clutching him in shock. She was burbling hysterically under her breath.
'He's mad, lie's mad, he's totally bonkers .. '.

Shugat scowled, squinting at Reg. 'This bird looks not like Vorsluk. It looks not like any bird I have ever seen.'

'I'm sure I wouldn't know,' said Lional. 'Not being an expert on birds. But I must say it seems very comfortable, doesn't it, sitting on my wizard's shoulder? You'd think they were old friends.'

Shugat surged forward and pointed his staff. 'You there. Wizard. You claim friendship of Kallarap's gods?'

Oh shit.
He stared at Lional. Lional stared back. He was smiling with his lips but his eyes were terrible. 'Now, now, Professor. There's no need to be shy,' he said, so eminently reasonable, so deceptively sane. 'Answer the holy man, there's a good fellow. Truthfully, of course. Gods are very particular about truth, I believe. And certainly / don't want you to lie.
So.
Are you and the bird friends?'