The time had come to act, but his past experience with Yellat prepared him to expect opposition. All the appeals he had made for Lady Peg during her husband’s long absence had fallen on deaf ears. The king’s stubborn refusal to reinstate his daughter in his court had lasted for more than twenty years. Only the scheming of two madmen had forced the estranged members of the royal family to work together and ultimately achieve reconciliation.
Beccaroon stopped to gaze out the window, but the beautiful view did not have the usual soothing effect. His scowl deepened. Verrin Schope had come back with a wizard and a librarian in tow. The wizard claimed that their success in defeating the masterminds of corruption had been through the influence of the god of his country. The tales of their Wulder intrigued Beccaroon, but he wasn’t ready to dig deeper into this foreign concept.
He left the window and its beautiful view. Under the circumstances, having a powerful and omniscient god would be handy. He didn’t care to call upon Boscamon to stick his finger in this pie. A capricious god was worse than no god at all.
Sir Beccaroon turned the corner and saw that the king waited for him at the end of the corridor. The grand parrot recognized the obstinate set of the man’s jaw. As he approached the ruler of Chiril, he made his courtly bow.
The king nodded. “I just arrived myself. The others should be waiting for us in the council room. I trust your news is worthy of gathering them in such a hasty manner?”
“It is.” Beccaroon flicked away the doubt that fluttered through his mind. He had no reason to suspect his information was false. His sources were reliable. But he did question whether or not this council, under the influence of a “wait and see” ruler, would agree with him.
A footman opened a carved wooden door, and the king and the great parrot entered a richly appointed chamber. Verrin Schope, Paladin, and three court officials stood and acknowledged the king. Only the three men from King Yellat’s circle of advisors gave a full bow. The king went to his chair, which was larger and more ornate than the others. He sat and gave a signal for the rest to take their places around the oval table.
Then the king fixed his royal gaze upon Sir Beccaroon. “You called us together. You have information?”
Beccaroon inclined his head. “I do.”
He strolled to the other end of the table, covertly studying those assembled, trying to determine their receptiveness to this meeting. Verrin Schope drooped in his chair. He examined a piece of paper on the table where he rested his hands. The three advisors to the king sat straight, giving the appearance of preybirds lined up on a branch, eying the field and eager to be the first to spot a morsel for an afternoon snack. Paladin wore his congenial but noncommittal expression. Beccaroon found this young man hard to measure. His face hid his thoughts.
A perch had been placed for him instead of a chair, but Beccaroon did not sit. He continued across the room to a map of the country. “I have received intelligence through a network of friends about each region of Chiril. My informants tell me that men from Baardack are gathering in small groups within our borders.” He pointed to the map with a wingtip. “Here, here, and here, there are as many as two dozen congregated, evidently with no business to warrant their presence. Between these spots, smaller groups of a half dozen each are loitering in our country. If you draw a line through these localities, you can see they are strategically placed to interrupt trade and damage our supply lines.”
Advisor Cornagin, an o’rant of noble birth, held up a letter and shook it. To Beccaroon, the fluttering pages sounded like wing feathers rattling as a large bird took flight.
“My subordinates,” said Advisor Cornagin, “also noted an influx of strangers into the local guilds. Of course, they have met with resistance. Our people aren’t happy to give up their jobs to foreigners.”
Beccaroon nodded. He also had this news on his list. Cornagin, no doubt, wanted the king to know that he was doing his job. The three advisors were part of the king’s inner circle. They probably chafed at having a meeting called by an outsider.
The marione advisor, Malidore, cleared his throat and shifted back and forth on his seat. “As quickly as the amazing story of the three statues spread among the populace, the disturbing news of the theft followed. People are alarmed that the rebellion led by Runan rose up with no one in our government aware of the threat. The tale is”—he glanced at Paladin and Verrin Schope—“that outsiders had to save our skin, so to speak. Follow that with the statues being easily lifted right out of the Amber Palace, and we appear to be a most inept government.”
King Yellat ground his teeth. “For hundreds of years we manage to keep peace. At the first sign of trouble, before we are even given the chance to counteract, we are labeled buffoons.”
The three advisors reacted with assurances that the king was still highly esteemed. Beccaroon tuned out the four-way conversation that pulled the men away from their business at hand.
Sir Beccaroon studied his old friend Verrin Schope. The parrot expected him to speak up at any moment and explain some of the unusual circumstances of the day. But he sat there, brooding. Paladin looked far more interested in the discussion than Verrin Schope did.
Chief Advisor Likens tapped his fingers on the table. A fine network of wrinkles crisscrossed his dark complexion, reflecting his age as an emerlindian.
Sir Beccaroon deferred to the man who was the oldest in the room. He waited a moment, knowing the advisor would have something of value to contribute.
“The harbor masters tell me a disturbing tale. Our traders are not returning from Baardack. Those who normally make monthly trips from our coastline to theirs went out but did not come back. I had thought it too early to be concerned, but with these other developments, I fear foul play.”
Sir Beccaroon bobbed his head and moved back to the table, hopping onto the perch. “I, too, have unsettling reports. The correspondence from my district is sketchy. Whereas in the past, my constables have sent very lucid accounts, this last batch contained rambling, disjointed information. From what I could pull out of these notes, either discontent or a malaise has captured my countrymen. They either stew verbally about their lot in life, or they sit in a morose stupor.”
Verrin Schope’s head came up, and he looked directly into Beccaroon’s eyes. “For some reason, the statues are no longer in line. I feel the effects as well.”
The king made a scoffing noise and deliberately ignored his son-in-law. He placed his hands flat on the table and looked at each of the other men sitting with him. “We must first determine which of these threats is most dangerous. We’ll prioritize them and set about making a plan to eliminate each menace.”
A knock on the door interrupted the king. “Come,” he called out in annoyance.
The footman appeared in the doorway. “An urgent message for Chief Advisor Likens, your majesty.”
“Send him in.”
A disheveled courier bowed quickly to his king, then hurried to pass a folded paper to Likens.
The emerlindian councilman dismissed him. “You may wait outside.”
After reading quickly through the one-page missive, Chief Advisor Likens glanced around the table. “This is unconscionable. A citizen of Chiril has been tried in Baardack courts and sentenced to death.”
“What’s this?” asked King Yellat. “Surely they wouldn’t throw our diplomatic relations to the wind.”
Likens threw the paper he held onto the table. “There’s more. The man is dead. And I probably wouldn’t have been informed now except that Trader Bount was executed in Baardack and his body shipped home in a basket. A Baardack vessel sailed into Sandeego. The sailors dumped the basket and the merchandise Bount had taken to trade on the dock. A litigation pronouncement tagged the basket. Evidently, a Baardack citizen filed a grievance against Bount for a shady business deal. He was found guilty and hung.”
The king exploded out of his chair. “Preposterous. How dare they?”
Advisor Cornagin leaned forwa
rd, one clenched hand resting on a stack of papers. “All foreigners must be isolated, returned to their homeland, and denied entrance in the future.”
“On what grounds?” asked King Yellat. “We’ve good relations with all of our neighboring countries. If we treat their citizens with disrespect, the action will escalate this incident with Baardack.”
“I’m more concerned for our countrymen who have not returned,” said Chief Advisor Likens. “I recommend sending a delegation to Baardack to make inquiries and, if necessary, lodge a protest with King Odidoddex.”
“I agree,” the king said and turned to the marione advisor, Malidore. “We must also lay to rest the notion that we are not in control of Chiril’s destiny. In the same fashion that the first stories spread through the streets, let the people know that we have secreted the Trio of Elements statues to safety.”
Paladin broke his silence. “I find it strange that the rumors of the insurgent army and theft from the castle spread so quickly.”
“Yes,” said Chief Advisor Likens. “That says to me that something beyond the normal dispersion of gossip is at play.”
Beccaroon eyed the men in the room. Everyone but Verrin Schope followed the conversation with keen interest. The artist sat with his chin propped on his hand, still looking preoccupied.
Was he listening? Perhaps he dreamed about his stay in Amara and the intriguing tales of a god called Wulder who ruled above kings and queens. Would Beccaroon’s old friend ever again be of any use to his people?
Paladin pressed on. “The morale of the people is also a cause for alarm. I agree that there is more at work here than the circumstances we can identify. And I am curious why, as Verrin Schope has suggested, the three statues are not together.”
“I suggest,” said Beccaroon, “that Verrin Schope, Paladin, and I venture out of Ragar and get a closer look at the unrest in the neighboring towns.”
Paladin looked up and nodded, but Verrin Schope remained silent.
The king frowned at the quiet sculptor. “Verrin Schope?”
He looked up. “I apologize, King Yellat, but I must add to this gloomy scenario.” He closed his eyes and remained quiet.
“Well?” roared the king. “What else darkens our doorstep?”
With a weary sigh, Verrin Schope opened his eyes and shook his head. “Our plan to take the statues out of the city succeeded. But the scheme to put them back together in a secure place has not. Morning Glory, Day’s Deed, and Evening Yearns are still separated.”
King Yellat stared at his son-in-law. In a subdued tone, he said, “So you say, but I don’t understand why that is relevant to the dealings with Baardack. This is a local problem.”
“Local? Yes, local. I am using all my energy to keep myself from disassembling. But a disheartened populace does not defend itself well. And a disgruntled populace is easily persuaded to be disloyal. I believe this local problem will affect the outcome of any hostilities with Baardack.”
Beccaroon assessed his friend anew, this time without the shroud of condemnation he had allowed to impair his judgment. Verrin Schope did look pale. Would he scatter as he had before?
The artist continued. “I believe our original assessment that Odidoddex seeks to take over Chiril is accurate. However, with the three stones separated, we have the added danger of unrest among the people. It would seem that the power of the stones, which caused physical anomalies a few weeks ago, is now causing an illness of the spirit.”
The feathers around Sir Beccaroon’s neck fluffed out as indignation ruffled his usual calm. “Awk! It seems to me that this god, Wulder, who you think so highly of, has created a hideous situation. If this being is so wise, why did He design something that could be so easily broken? Why are we paying the price for your chipping away at one of His cornerstones? As a god, He is no better than the Boscamon fairy tales.”
Verrin Schope sagged in his chair and shook his head, his expression one of great sadness. “We are responsible for the corruption. Wulder is incapable of doing wrong.”
Sir Beccaroon hopped off his perch. “How very convenient for Him.”
“You don’t understand,” said Verrin Schope. “It is because I am too inadequate to explain His Infinite Being. You will have to meet Him, Bec. It is the only way to truly comprehend.”
“Whether He exists or not, we have problems to solve.” Beccaroon walked back to the map. “I’m willing to meet your god, even entertain Him, as long as He doesn’t interfere with the serious business we have at hand.”
He turned back to glare at Verrin Schope, but his chair was empty.
10
Verrin Schope Disappears
“Well,” said the king, “I am disappointed once again. Verrin Schope is as unreliable as any other artist I’ve ever met.” He shook his head. “Gone, without a word.”
Beccaroon dropped his irritation with his old friend and sprang to his defense. “This situation is caused by the statues being out of alignment. He didn’t run away from this meeting. That’s absurd. The Verrin Schope I know is as conscientious as he is brilliant.”
The king’s face twisted in disdain. Beccaroon realized he’d just implied that King Yellat’s opinion was absurd. Not exactly a diplomatic move. He flapped his wings once, tamped down his frustration, took a deep breath, and attempted to reason with King Yellat and his council.
“When the news came in the middle of the night that foreign forces were sneaking into Chiril, Verrin Schope arranged to have the statues spirited away for the safety of the country. He knew how the dismantling of the display would affect him. I would hardly claim such a selfless act to be irresponsible.”
A knock sounded on the door.
“Come,” ordered the king.
A footman opened the door, bowed, and addressed the assembly. “Lady Peg has sent for Sir Beccaroon.”
The king looked from the footman to the grand parrot. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, and he nodded. “You may go.”
Beccaroon swallowed the words that sprang to mind. Glad to get rid of me.
No need to add to the animosity. He wouldn’t do any good here. The council was aware of the threat to their country. Let them stew on the ramifications. Endless discussion would most likely follow. Eagerness to find Verrin Schope and attack the problem on their own provided enough motivation for him to bow politely and excuse himself.
Although he rarely flew inside a building, the palace foyer offered ample room. He took wing as he came out of the council hall and landed at the top of the stairwell. He strutted down the common hallway and turned down the corridor to the private chambers.
Lady Peg stood in her doorway, wringing her hands and watching for Sir Beccaroon. She started talking before he reached the midpoint of the corridor.
“He’s doing it again, Bec. Scared me. And scaring one’s wife is not something he enjoyed doing previously. Although I’m not sure he enjoyed doing it this time, which doesn’t excuse him for doing it. Because one minute he was not there, and then he was. And I didn’t expect him so soon because everyone knows when one goes to a council meeting, everyone talks and talks and then everyone argues and argues, then they move into the pontificating stage, which lasts for hours.
“But Verrin Schope says he disappeared from the council room, which is sure to irk my father, and he reappeared in our bedroom. My husband, not my father. Having my father pop into my chambers would have thoroughly unnerved me. But for Verrin Schope to do so only caused me momentary alarm.
“He—my husband, not my father—is just sitting on the trunk that has that piece of wood from my closet, with a look on his face that shouts, ‘Don’t talk to me just yet, Peg!’ ”
She paused to pull in a breath of air. “And so I sent for you. Because if my husband can’t tell me what’s going on right now, you can.” She pressed a handkerchief to her lips. “Bec, has Tipper returned?”
“No, milady, she has not.”
“I’m not used to her being gone. I should like
to leave the palace now and go home.”
He put a wing around her back and gently guided her into her room.
Verrin Schope nodded in greeting, then rose to close the door. “Bec, it’s clear that we must do something about the state Chiril has fallen into.”
“Which state?” asked Lady Peg. “Was it damaged?”
Verrin Schope grinned at his wife. “No, dear. Why don’t you pack? We’re going on an expedition.”
Her face brightened, and for a moment, Beccaroon saw the astonishing likeness to her daughter, Tipper. He sometimes forgot how much the two looked alike. Lady Peg’s expression was often one of bemusement, whereas Tipper always looked alert and intelligent. The different attitudes toward life made a significant difference in their appearance.
Lady Peg came to her husband’s side, gave him a quick kiss, then scurried into the adjoining room of their suite. She closed the door behind her.
Verrin Schope sat on the trunk once more and addressed Beccaroon. “I don’t suppose the council came up with any brilliant ideas after I left.”
The grand parrot’s muscles relaxed with a sigh. He took a perch on the arm of a chair and settled his feathers. “In a few minutes? Awk. It will take a great deal longer than a few minutes.”
“Are you game, old friend, to venture forth with me and Peg to see what we can do?”
Beccaroon clicked his tongue. “Yes, in fact, that is exactly what I propose.”
A mischievous grin added a twinkle to Verrin Schope’s eyes. “Really? You were going to propose an expedition to rout the enemy? An expedition that includes Lady Peg?”
Beccaroon refused to rise to the bait. “It will certainly disguise our intent to have the lady with us. But our concern should be for her safety.”
Verrin Schope nodded. “With the two of us, she’ll be safe. I wouldn’t leave her here in the palace, nor would I send her home to Byrdschopen with only two servants there.”
“I agree. Where do you propose we start?”
“At one of those locations where an influx of foreigners has congregated.”
Dragons of the Valley Page 7
