by B. J. Beach
“I’m sure you will all agree that it would be the utmost folly to even consider moving troops and equipment to an undetermined location in an inhospitable country that is at best, a six week sea voyage distant. On the strength of information I have received, there are already steps being taken which could prove to be far more effective.”
One minister’s patience began to wear a little thin. Snatching a flag from the hand of a nearby attendant, he raised it high in the air. Protesting loudly, the usurped attendant marched off, followed almost immediately by his fellows, throwing their flags on the floor in support as they left. A mad scramble to retrieve the little blue pennants ensued, while the Prime Minister almost shouted himself hoarse in an attempt to restore some kind of order. Vailin braced his knees, folded his arms and looked down at the melee with amused indifference. The minister who had instigated the commotion stood firm, his pennant raised defiantly above his head.
Yielding to a grudging admiration, Vailin returned to his throne and waited patiently for the bickering to subside. “It would seem, gentlemen, that a new tradition has been established. From now on you can all wave your own little flags. No doubt we can find far more productive occupations for our loyal attendants.”
A muted cheer went up from the back of the room, where the dozen or so floor boys were standing at ease. Vailin rewarded them with a little smile.
He turned his attention to the minister who still valiantly refused to lower his pennant. “Minister Stamp. Your arm must surely be aching by now. Please rest it, and let us hear what is so vital it has caused you to dispense with hundreds of years of tradition.”
The Minister of Health lowered his arm, relief evident on his careworn and kindly face. He took a pace forward. “As it appears that we have little choice but to consign our fate to the powers of magic, are there not in this whole wide land other skilled magicians who would be willing to unite with Master Symon and Master Karryl? If they were to combine all their powers, then I for one would feel more optimistic about the outcome.”
Once again the room echoed to cries of derision and roars of approval. Quickly they subsided as Vailin raised his hand. “Minister Stamp, I will tell you and everyone else assembled here. It is virtually guaranteed that Master Symon and Master Karryl will not be standing alone in this.”
A clear voice rang out from a shadowed alcove just below and to the left side of the dais. “Indeed they will not.”
The tall stately figure of the Lady Evalin moved forward. Her loose flowing robes of iridescent blue shimmered as she stepped gracefully up onto the dais and crossed to stand beside Vailin. A hush immediately fell over the room.
Evalin smiled at the king. “Now, isn’t that amazing?” The smile fell from her face and her expression darkened as she turned swiftly to face the assembled ministers. “I have no desire to insult your intelligence, but you gentlemen really do not know what we are up against. None of you experienced the horror of the grelfon attack, which is indeed fortunate, but I tell you this. If they were to arrive in force, then without the use of some very powerful magic, none would survive. To talk of raising armies is wasting breath. One Vedric magician could fell the best part of a battalion before they could even raise their puny weapons.”
Protocol was abandoned. A tide of blue flags thrashed furiously, the ministers all shouting at once. Through all the commotion, a small figure in a dark grey robe moved purposefully forward. He stood, hands clasped, waiting patiently in front of the dais.
Vailin’s stentorian roar surprised even Lady Evalin. “Prime Minister! Call your members to order! We would like to hear what Minister Thios has to say.”
Keeping his voice low, Vailin leaned towards Lady Evalin. “Personally, I’d like to beat every one of them about their silly heads with their little blue flags. It might be an exercise in futility, but it would certainly give me an inordinate amount of satisfaction.”
The expression he showed his now quietened ministers was almost smug. “There! You see gentlemen, what a quiet, orderly approach can achieve.”
He leaned forward and looked down at the diminutive Minister of the Lower Temple. “You seem to have no blue flag, Minister Thios.”
In anticipation of a royal reprimand, a few sniggers flitted round the room.
Thios opened his tiny hands and turned a benign expression up to his king. “I have never felt the need of one, Your Majesty.”
Stifling the onset of an appreciative chortle, Vailin indicated that Thios should continue.
The grey robed Minister tilted back his tonsured head and regarded the Lady Evalin with bright, guileless eyes. “With reference to my lady’s last and I must admit, rather disconcerting observation, would I be correct in assuming that our own magicians would have comparable powers.”
The Lady Evalin raised an eyebrow in consternation. “My dear Minister Thios. To be sure it surprises me that you find it necessary to ask. Had you been a little more attentive in your prayers, I have no doubt you would have found the answer to that and many other questions. However, for the benefit of those assembled whose strength of faith may be found wanting, let me assure you that any practitioner of the magical arts who comes against our own, will find themselves very hard pressed.”
Murmurs of approval rippled round the Council Chamber, little groups breaking off and debating amongst themselves. Vailin smiled to himself. The number of dissenting voices had reduced considerably. He had a sneaking suspicion that Lady Evalin was gradually and surreptitiously taking a hand in influencing the direction of the proceedings. Deciding to spend at least a short while as an interested spectator, the young king rested his chin in his hand, crossed his ankles and startled the mild-mannered Minister Thios with a wide and boyish spontaneous grin. Uncertain how to respond, Thios gave a brief but respectful tilt of his head, before returning his gaze to the Lady Evalin, who was about to continue addressing the ministers.
Noticing that the grey-robed cleric had not returned to the main body but was standing patiently, albeit wearing a slightly aggrieved expression, Evalin bent forward and spoke quietly to him. “Would there still be something troubling you Minister Thios?”
The diminutive Minister wrung his hands a little, and looked up earnestly into Evalin’s face. “It may not have any direct bearing on the business at hand, my lady, but I feel you should know. For the twenty-seven years I have been Minister of the Lower Temple, I have not once relaxed in my duties of service and devotion. Nevertheless, in all that time, it has never been my good fortune to have communion with the goddess to whom my temple is dedicated.”
Evalin gave him a benevolent smile. “Persevere and have patience, dear Thios. Maybe it is not yet the right time, but rest assured, you are not forgotten.”
Looking slightly dubious, Thios thanked her and turned away, as one minister broke away from a large group near the back of the room. He held his flag high in the air.
Vailin groaned inwardly and sat upright. “Chancellor Leggitt. I was beginning to think you were not in attendance. You have been uncommonly quiet.”
The tall, soberly dressed Chancellor sidled towards the dais like a dog after scraps. Vailin half expected him to bare his teeth. He wasn’t disappointed. The ingratiating smile was almost sickening, and Vailin briefly entertained a thought about the security of the treasury.
“Not for want of trying, Your Majesty. As second only to the Prime Minister, I feel that I should have been heard more promptly.”
The hard glint in the eyes of both his king and the Lady Evalin should have warned the peevish Chancellor that he was on thin ice. Appalled by this singular lack of courtesy, the entire assembly fell silent. To a man, they waited with bated breath for Leggit to fall headlong into his self-made pit of impropriety.
Vailin’s reply was controlled, his words cutting the air like shards of flint. “Perhaps it would have been more convenient for you to make an appointment, Chancellor. Then I could have given you the attention you seem to think you deserve. Now
, what is the other point you wish to make?”
Seemingly impervious to the heightened tension in the room, Leggitt took another step forward and clasped his hands together as if in supplication. “It is my considered opinion that our economy would fare best if we were indeed to place our trust in our magicians. After all, they would require very little in the way of supplies and equipment, and from what I am led to believe, transport would present no problem to them either. In fact, should this course of action be implemented, I foresee an almost minimal drain on our resources.”
With a self-satisfied smirk he gave a short assertive nod, as if to emphasise the validity of his statement. He stood back to await the anticipated approbation of his king. This was not as immediately forthcoming as he might have wished. Leggit’s facial expression, the wide mouth, bulging heavy-lidded eyes and puffy rounded chin had stirred something in Vailin’s memory. The young monarch stood up from his throne, his lithe body taut with pent up anger. Moving to stand close beside Lady Evalin, he murmured a few words into her ear. One slender and perfect eyebrow arched upwards in surprise and she peered round Vailin’s shoulder at the Chancellor.
Suddenly realising he might just have provoked his monarch into doing something rash, Leggitt vainly attempted a slow, and hopefully dignified withdrawal. He had managed to reach the comparative safety of the crowded central floor when he began to see things from a completely different perspective. The subdued clamour of debating voices stilled to awestruck silence as the ministers formed a jostling circle around the space currently occupied by a large and gasping Horned Toad. One hardened cynic was heard to comment on the improvement, which elicited a few nervous sniggers. The displaced Chancellor released a mournfully bellowing croak and deposited a dark green and slippery mess on the polished parquet floor. Vailin stepped down from the dais, crossed the floor and looked dispassionately down at Evalin’s handiwork.
Washing his hands theatrically he scanned the bloodless faces of his ministers. “So now has the toad-eater become the toad. Perhaps one of you would be brave enough to put him somewhere safe.”
Without a backward glance Vailin returned to his throne. Stone faced, he sat and watched while Minister Thios hurriedly scooped up the confused and panting toad in the skirt of his robe and scurried out through a side door. While a floor attendant armed with mop and bucket swabbed away the smelly green evidence, the visibly trembling Prime Minister cautiously approached the dais.
Before he could utter a word, Vailin forestalled him. “We will not take an adjournment Prime Minister. What we will take is a vote, which I expect to be fair and honest, totally uninfluenced by the latest incident. I trust each one of my ministers will use their vote wisely.” He stood and moved to the edge of the dais, to smile coldly down at Duckitt. “I will await the note of the bell in eager anticipation.”
With the Lady Evalin on his arm and escorted by two guards, he left the Council Chamber. An unperturbed Master Gibb followed close behind, accompanied by a somewhat nervous and ashen-faced young scribe. Gibb turned and gave him a little smile.
Keeping his voice low, the royal secretary reassured him. “It’s not always like that, you know. When you’ve been here a bit longer, you’ll see that most of the time it’s pretty ordinary, but there’s some serious things happening at the moment, so we have to be ready for anything.”
The young scribe nodded wordlessly and followed Master Gibb into the office, while Vailin and Lady Evalin headed for the comfort of an ante-room.
CHAPTER THIRTYSIX
The Lady Evalin turned away from the window. “It’s getting dark outside, Vailin. Are you thinking they’ll be much longer?”
Vailin looked up from the sheaf of papers he had been perusing, reached out and tugged on a bell-pull. After spending a couple of hours in the ante-room, waiting for a result, they had grown tired of its windowless stuffiness and removed themselves to Vailin’s light and airy sitting room. A side door opened to admit Jobling. Without a word being said, he walked quickly and quietly around the side of the room and drew the heavy, cream damask curtains against the rapidly descending night.
He turned and bowed briefly to Lady Evalin and Vailin. “I have taken the liberty, sire, of despatching Master Gibb to the council chamber, in order to assess the state of affairs therein.”
Vailin allowed himself a little smile. If there was one thing he could rely on, it was Jobling’s knack of knowing exactly what to do and the right time to do it. “Thank you Jobling. As you have deprived me, yet again, of the opportunity to give you orders, perhaps you could tell me what we are having for supper?”
As always, Jobling handled the remark with equanimity. Unhesitatingly he recited a short but varied menu. Vailin’s stomach began to make little growling noises.
He made a wry face. “If they take much longer, I shall feel inclined to have them all locked in, and make them wait while we enjoy our meal.”
He stretched, and placed the sheaf of papers on a side table, just as a door opened on the opposite side of the room.
Master Gibb walked briskly in to stand in front and slightly to one side of his king. “They appear to have reached an impasse, sire. I think the bawling and shouting stage must be over. They’re all standing in little groups talking, but very quietly; quite subdued in fact. Prime Minister Duckitt is walking up and down and wringing his hands, probably because no-one’s speaking to him, and the attendants are all sitting in the far corner, playing battle-stones.”
Vailin’s mouth set in a determined line, and he stood up from his chair. “Right. I think it’s time to end this. Let’s chivvy them along then we can eat.”
He picked up the narrow gold circlet with its single pigeon’s blood ruby, slid it onto his dark hair and led the way out through the door by which Master Gibb had entered. No sooner had they stepped into the ante-room than the bell rang, signalling that the votes had been cast and counted.
Vailin gave Evalin a satisfied smile. “How’s that for timing? It would seem the impasse has been broken.”
Master Gibb held open the door, then followed Vailin and Evalin onto the council chamber dais. A ragged sort of rustling ensued as the assembled ministers bowed, accompanied by a light clatter as the attendants hastily cleared away their game of battle-stones. Vailin and Evalin seated themselves, and the scribes picked up their quills.
Prime Minister Duckitt stepped forward, his expression one of abject apology. “Unfortunately, Your Majesty, we do not have a unanimous decision, despite the Lady Evalin’s most persuasive argument.”
Vailin looked across at Evalin and raised an eyebrow, but she merely gave him a little secretive smile and an almost imperceptible shake of her head.
Turning to look at the Prime Minister, Vailin leaned forward slightly. “So, we do not have a unanimous decision. That was to be expected, I suppose. Do we have a majority in favour of our magicians?”
Duckitt’s expression rapidly altered to one of relief. Straightening his fleshy shoulders, he tucked in his chins and addressed Vailin as if declaring a personal victory. “Indeed, Your Majesty. There were four abstentions and three black balls, which gives you a very good majority.”
Vailin stood up and moved to the front of the dais. “That is all I wanted to know.” He let his gaze travel around the room. “I now trust that those who abstained and those who voted against will nevertheless, put their best efforts into supporting the immense amount of work that will shortly become necessary. You will be receiving files from my office within the next few days. I declare the council adjourned. Thank you, gentlemen.”
Leaving the Prime Minister standing open-mouthed, Vailin turned and offered his arm to Lady Evalin. To the accompaniment of the traditional ripple of applause they made an unhurried and dignified exit.
CHAPTER THIRTYSEVEN
Jack pulled up his jacket collar against the chill and searching wind hurtling down the alley behind him. The weather had taken a turn for the worse that afternoon, which suited him well
. The occasional necessary lurk in the shadowy entrance of a dockside alley called for the cover of inclement weather, and its propensity for persuading the majority of ordinary people to stay indoors. The Royal warrant sat snug, safe and unused in an inside pocket, ready to be produced only if all else failed. Twenty years as spy-master had yielded an impressively diverse collection of tried and tested, if sometimes questionable, methods. For the most part these had stood him in good stead. However, on this particular occasion he had felt that good shiny metal would speak a lot louder and clearer than any royal warrant. His instincts had served him well, and earlier in the day gold and silver had changed hands in a certain ship-captain’s cabin. The ship had been searched from stem to stern, foredeck to scuppers. Now, one of Jack’s men leaned idly on the rail. The quarter-master, whose clothing he had borrowed, remained below, happily playing battle-stones with the first mate.
A dog barked at the far end of the alley. Jack stepped back, becoming one of many shadows under the dripping eaves. On deck, his man had heard the signal. Casually he strolled to a spot nearer the gangplank, and began coiling a rope left there for the purpose. Further along the dock, a shabbily dressed sailor, the worse for drink, weaved his way unsteadily towards the ship. Seemingly oblivious to the stinging rain which blew almost horizontally into his face, he stood swaying from side to side just below the bow. The man on deck appeared to ignore him for a few minutes.
Then, as if he had just noticed him, he dropped the coil of rope and called down over the rail. “Get yourself aboard Trigg! You’ll catch your death!”
Trigg peered up through the driving rain. “Cal! I’ll be… hic… righ’ up.”
This was the signal Jack had been waiting for. Their quarry was in sight. Another dog barked, the sound coming from far down the dock to his left, and Jack knew his men were closing in. The drunken sailor staggered and stumbled up the gang-plank and onto the ship, collapsing in a sprawl against a nearby stanchion. Jack smiled to himself in the darkness. The whole plan had gone well, from the moment when he had persuaded the captain to let him know if anyone should ask to book passage on the rather grubby cargo ship. He hadn’t had long to wait.
