Accidental Sorcerer (9 page)

Audience Chamber. Why? Where did you think we were going?'

'But - but - Your Highness - I can't see the king
now.
I need to freshen up - change into my best attire! I can't appear before a king looking like -'

The princess stopped. 'You can and you will. I've got strict instructions to escort you to His Majesty's presence the moment you arrive so let's just get it over with, shall we? You've got the rest of the day to stand in front of mirrors primping. Provided, of course, His Majesty doesn't send you packing back to Ottosland.'

'Send me packing?' he said faintly. 'I don't understand - I thought -'

'Ha,' said Reg, under her breath. 'Didn't I tell you? Not that I'm one to gloat, of course, or say "I told you so", but if you'd just listened to me and -'

He twitched his shoulder, hard. 'Shut up, Reg.'

Hands shoved into her pockets, Princess Melissande had the grace to look uncomfortable. 'All right. Look. Here's the thing. You're not the first court wizard Lional's hired, all right? But the others didn't work out, so -'

'How many others?' he interrupted, and to hell with protocol. 'And why didn't they work out?'

She sighed, shoulders slumping. 'It's complicated.'

Complicated.
The story of his bloody life. He took a deep breath, subduing angry panic. The woman standing in front of him might look like a badly dressed shop assistant but she was in fact royalty and had to be treated as such. Let appearances lull him into a false sense of security and he'd be portalling back to Ottosland faster than Reg could find something to complain about.

'I see,' he said, with extreme care. 'And if I may be so bold as to ask, Your Highness, complicated
how,
exactly?'

She let out a short, sharp breath. 'My brother - His Majesty - is a young and energetic man, Mister Dunwoody. He has views. Plans. A vision for the future. Our kingdom isn't the most progressive country in the world. In fact some might say - and perhaps not without cause - New Ottosland has become moribund. His Majesty intends to ... stir things up a bit.'

'Well, that seems reasonable. Only I don't see -'

The princess held up a finger. 'The thing is, not all of the king's plans are what you might call
practical.
Daring, yes. Ambitious, absolutely. But practical? Not so much.' Her gaze lost focus, as though she were staring into the past. 'Practicality's never been Lional's strong suit, bless him. And there are other considerations as well. Matters geographical and political about which His Majesty is ... sensitive. That's where I, as prime minister, come in.'

'I'm sure you do,' he said. 'But I
still
don't understand why my predecessors -'

'Mister Dunwoody, have you ever worked for royalty before?'

'Worked for?' He resisted the urge to look at Reg.'No, Your Highness. I haven't.'

'Then allow me to give you a little advice. His Majesty doesn't care for being contradicted.

Or being told his requests are silly, frivolous and beneath the dignity of any self-respecting wizard. To be honest I would've thought that'd be obvious, he is a king, after all, but your predecessors had different ideas. To be blunt, Mister Dunwoody, your predecessors made it clear they thought Lional should defer to them and not the other way around. Well, obviously, he couldn't put up with
that!

'Well, no, of course not, Your Highness. But -'

'Excellent!
she said, smiling fiercely. 'So, really it's very simple. Just remember that even though you're the wizard, it's
Lional
who wears the crown. Do what he asks with a song and a smile and the two of you will get along splendidly'

He didn't have to look at Reg to know she wasn't impressed. He cleared his throat cautiously. 'Yes. Well. Only I should warn you that I'm bound by certain sacred oaths, Your Highness. Oaths that transcend national borders and the loyalty one owes an employer, that must take precedence over -'

She flapped a hand at him. 'Yes, yes, I know all about that. And you needn't worry. Of course you won't be asked to violate your wizard's code. Lional - His Majesty - can get a trifle overexcited at times but he's a
king,
not a
criminal!

Right. A king who'd already sacked who knew how many royal wizards. Who had plans and visions and was inclined to be overexcitable. All of a sudden his hasty decision to take the job was looking very suspect ... What was it Monk had said?

'History is littered with the corpses of fools who got tangled up with kings who have plans!'

His sudden attack of doubt must have shown, because the princess's irritated expression collapsed into something close to entreaty. 'Look, Professor, I know it sounds impossible but truly, it's not so bad as that. Lional's just ... highly strung. Massively intelligent people often are, you know. And he's sensitive, too, that he's accorded the respect due to his position. As a wizard, I'm sure you can understand that.'

'Well, yes, of course, but -'

'Please.' She said the word stiffly, as though it was completely unfamiliar. And probably it was; royalty wasn't in the habit of begging. Her clear green eyes - rather nice eyes, actually, now that he came to look more closely - were suspiciously shiny. And her hands were caught together in a gesture that used by anyone else would surely be called wringing. In short, she looked desperate. Dangling on the end of a very short tether. 'The thing is, you see, I could really use your help.'

'Oh, lord,' Reg muttered. 'That's torn it.'

The princess blushed, making all her freckles disappear, and shoved her hands back in her pockets. 'The king's getting a bit impatient with me, you see, taking so long to find him the right wizard. If you change your mind and leave before even
meeting
him, well, it's bound to make him tetchy. And I've got so much on my plate as it is, I am the prime minister, you know, I don't just sit around painting my nails, Mister Dunwoody; I work very hard around here and, to be perfectly frank, the last thing I need is to have to go scouring the globe for
another
wizard, really, it's a most prestigious appointment, I would've thought you'd jump at the chance to serve as a royal court wizard and -'

'All
rightY
he said, before she dropped dead at his feet from asphyxiation.'I'll stay!'

'You will?'The words came out in a disbelieving squeak. 'Oh. Well - good.' She cleared her throat, and with a visible effort banished all signs of vulnerability.'Then let's go. Boris, heel!'

And off she marched again, the long thin cat undulating in her wake.

Gerald, with Reg muttering on his shoulder and his carpet-bag banging against his leg, hurried after them.

Endless corridors and staircases later - blimey, the palace was worse than a rabbit warren, he'd get lost five times a day - they arrived at an antechamber occupied by a single attendant, standing at attention before a pair of open double doors. Over the man's uniformed shoulder Gerald caught a glimpse of a larger room beyond, full of windows, plush gold carpet and a great deal of gilt.

'The prime minister and Professor Dunwoody to see His Majesty,' announced the princess. 'Professor Dunwoody is His Majesty's new wizard.'

The attendant bowed; only the extreme rigidity of his spine betrayed his surprise. 'Certainly, Your Highness.' His gaze flickered to the black cat at her heels.'Er ...'

'I know, I know!' She plopped the cat on the nearest velvet-covered chair.'Wait out here, Boris.'

The cat crossed its eyes in displeasure but condescended to stay put. After another flickering glance the attendant rapped his pikestaff smartly onto the scuffed parquetry floor. 'Her Royal Highness the Princess Melissande, Prime Minister of New Ottosland, and Professor Dunwoody,Wizard!'

Gerald's first thought, as he and Reg followed the princess into the king's presence, was that if this was the Small Audience Chamber he didn't want to see the Large one.

The room was huge and opulent in the extreme. Chandeliers like exploded diamonds dripped light onto every surface. Stained glass windows framed with silk curtains admitted shafts of stained glass sunshine. The walls were striped blue and gold and crammed with oil paintings of well-fed, self-satisfied aristocrats astride unlikely horses, or patting blockish cattle, or presiding over flocks of sulky children.

Apparently oblivious to the surrounding magnificence and his choked amazement at it, Princess Melissande led Gerald and Reg along a narrow strip of crimson carpet towards a dais at the far end of the chamber. Upon it loomed an extraordinary confection of wrought gold and rubies: the throne. And on the throne, with a fat orange cat puddled in his lap, sat a man.

Gerald swallowed. No. Not a man. A king. And if he was going to survive here, let alone thrive here, he musn't ever forget it.

'Cor,' said Reg in an undertone. 'This is all gone a bit upmarket compared to last time. Last time the throne was wood with a bit of gold paint slapped on and even then it was peeling. That one's got to be giving him piles.' She let loose an admiring whistle.'And
he's
an improvement on last time, too! Phwoar! What a looker! If
he'd
been king then instead of the old fat one, history'd have a different story to tell and no mistake!'

Three paces ahead of them, the princess's fingers curled into fists and her head jerked sideways, just a fraction. Anguished, Gerald joggled his shoulder as hard as he could.'Reg! Shut
upV

Reg subsided, complaining under her breath.

She was right, though. Lional the Forty-third possessed the kind of astonishing male beauty generally found only on the cover of a romance novel. He even made Errol Haythwaite look plain, and that was an achievement. Gerald, more or less resigned to the face that looked back at him from his mirror every morning, suppressed a stab of envy. He had a lot more to worry about here than coming a distant last in an unlikely beauty contest.

Aside from himself and Reg, the princess, the king and his cat, the chamber was empty. Was that usual? According to Reg, kings and queens habitually surrounded themselves with advisors, fawners, toadies and any number of extraneous personnel designed to remind the monarch of his or her importance, wit, intelligence and general indispensability to the welfare of the kingdom.

So ... where was everyone?

They reached the dais, eventually, and the narrow crimson pathway widened into a square. Princess Melissande stopped and cracked her knees in a brief, trouser-legged curtsey. 'Here's the new wizard, Your Majesty. Professor Gerald Dunwoody, lately of Ottosland.' She stepped aside. 'Professor, you have the honour of addressing my brother, His Sovereign Majesty King Lional the Forty-third.'

Nakedly revealed to royalty's stringent perusal Gerald dropped his carpet-bag and bowed, but not too deeply He didn't want Reg to fall off his shoulder. 'Your Majesty. It is indeed an honour.'

From atop his lofty perch, Princess Melissande's brother stared down his architecturally perfect nose. In his lap, the fat orange cat favoured Reg with a slit-eyed glare and rumbled deep in its throat.

'Now, now,Tavistock,' the king reproved.'You've already had lunch.' He glanced at his sister. 'Where's your horrible beast, by the way?'

The princess sighed. 'Outside.'

'Good. See that it stays there.' One kingly finger, graced with an eyeball-sized emerald, tickled the orange cat under its chin. 'So. This is my new wizard. He looks a bit young, Melissande.'

The princess's expression became a trifle fixed. 'Does he?'

'Yes,' said King Lional, frowning. 'Very young, in fact, when you consider the others. They were old enough to be this one's father - or possibly an uncle.'

Gerald looked from king to princess, not certain whether to be annoyed, amused or apprehensive.

Was royalty generally in the habit of discussing people as though they were in another room when in fact they were standing right next to them?

'Oh, I don't know,' said the princess valiantly. 'He's not
that
young. And anyway, lots of people don't look their age.'

Apparently royalty was. At least around here.

The king's elegant fingers were drumming the arm of his throne. 'That may be so, but unless this one's discovered an incant to knock twenty years off his face, I think I may be right in suspecting he lacks the requisite minimum fifteen years' wizarding experience. Well?'

It took Gerald a moment to realise the comment was aimed at him. 'What? Fifteen years experience? But the Positions Vacant piece said "no experience necessary", Your Majesty.'

'I can explain, Lional,' the princess said as her brother's expression frosted over.

'I certainly hope so, Melissande,' said the king. 'For your sake.'

Princess Melissande flinched, but she stood her ground.'I thought we needed a different approach. All the other wizards met your specifications to the last full stop but none of them worked out, did they? So I thought perhaps we'd have more success if I found you a wizard who was slightly less ... set in his ways. One who could more easily adapt to the way we do things here in New Ottosland. A wizard who'd be grateful for the opportunity to serve a king instead of always banging on about how much better old Emperor Whosiewhatsit from Somewhere Else ran
his
country back in the day. You see? I was just thinking of you, Lional.'

The king was not amused. 'And I'm sure that's very touching, Melissande, but if you'd just gone on thinking for a moment or two
longer
perhaps you might've realised that there is such a thing as
appearancesl
What will other realms and sovereignties think of me, Melissande, when they see I am being counselled by a beardless escapee from the nursery?'

Princess Melissande snorted. 'Well, Lional, seeing as how you refuse to meet with any other realms and sovereignties, I don't see how they're going to think anything at all!'

The king leaned forward, which made the orange cat hiss.'And what is
that
supposed to mean?'

'You know perfectly well what it means! It means when are you going to give an audience to the Kallarapi delegation? This tariff business is
serious,
Lional! It's only a matter of time before they widen the camel-train ban to include essential imports! You can't ignore -'