by Simon Hawke
"And I will make certain handbills go out with every member of our sales force, advertising for soldiers and mercenaries," Harlan added.
"What about King Durwin?" Brewster asked.
"Leave King Durwin to me," said Harlan. "I have been thinking about this problem and I believe I may have a solution. I will send a delegation to Durwin's court, informing him of our decision to form the sovereign state of Brigantium and thanking him for his support."
"But... he has not given us any support," said Shannon.
"Of course not, but that's beside the point," said Harlan. "My message to King Durwin will be printed up in all the handbills we shall distribute throughout the other kingdoms. By officially thanking him for his support, we will be giving the impression that he has, in fact, supported us from the beginning. And as a gesture of goodwill, and to commemorate our alliance, Darn will be given favored nation trading status, which means that they will be able to purchase all of our export goods at a significant discount, and that any goods imported from Darn will be admitted free of tariffs."
"But they are not exporting any goods to us," said Mac with a frown. "And since when have we had import tariffs?"
"Since about a minute ago, when I thought of it," said Harlan. "You see, by publicly thanking Durwin for his support, as well as giving him a discount on our trade goods and exemption from import tariffs, we will be making it appear as if Durwin has been giving us his official backing all along. And it might not be a bad idea to open a brewery in Franktown, Darn's capital city. We shall need to expand our production facilities anyway, to compensate for our contract with the dwarves, and we've been talking about moving the rendering plant, as well, which we shall need to do in order to expand the keep and build a fortified palace. We shall let Durwin have a brewery and a rendering operation, which our people shall establish and run, but which will employ the poor citizens of Franktown. In this manner, we shall be helping Durwin's economy and cutting him in for fifty percent of the profits. It will expand our operations, and at the same time, give Durwin an incentive not to interfere with us."
"And, coincidentally, establish an alliance in the eyes of all the other kingdoms," Brewster said. "That's very clever, Harlan. You have the makings of a brilliant politician."
"Politician!" Harlan blanched. "Sir, I am a respected businessman! There is no need to be insulting."
"Sorry," Brewster said. "But you are the prime minister, after all."
Harlan looked crestfallen. "I know. I have reached a new low. I knew I should have been a bard."
"Well, if you had been, I'm sure you would have been a very successful one," said Brewster.
Harlan brightened. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Brewster said.
"Well, perhaps in another life," said Harlan with a sigh. Then his gaze fell on the table where Mick and Pat were exploring the contents of the Bag of Holding. "Yipes!"
The table was piled high with ancient, rolled-up scrolls and leather-bound vellum tomes and glittering amulets and silver chains and gem-encrusted bracelets, several crystal balls on ornate pedestals, rings with hidden compartments, golden goblets inscribed with eldritch runes, daggers etched with mystical designs, carved wooden staves, human skulls turned into candleholders, glass vials containing potions of all sorts, ceramic pots storing magical powders and incense, and several dozen sets of keys.
"All that came out of there?" asked Brewster, in astonishment.
"There seems to be no end to it," Mick replied.
"You still think Warrick would have surrendered all that voluntarily?" asked Teddy smugly.
"What's this?" asked Pat, reaching inside the bag and grunting. " 'Tis heavy enough." He pulled out a large book that barely made it through the opening of the bag. It was at least four inches thick and handsomely bound in old black leather with silver fastenings.
"Let me see that," Brewster said, impressed by its appearance. He read aloud the ornate script stamped into the cover in silver letters. "The Grimoire of Honorious."
"That's it!" cried the chamberpot excitedly in a muffled voice. "That's it, by the gods, that's it! Get me out of here!"
"Brian?" Brewster said, looking around. "Where are you?"
"I'm underneath all this bloody trash!" Brian's voice came from beneath the pile on the table. "I took a nap and these stupid fools have buried me!"
They started rummaging through the treasure trove on the table until they found the chamberpot and pulled it out.
"Honorious!" said Brian. "That's the wizard who enchanted me, curse his black, unlamented soul!"
"Then ... if this is his grimoire," said Shannon, "that could mean-"
"The spell! The spell he used on me is in there! It has to be!"
"Then maybe the spell to reverse it is in there, too," said Mick.
"Open it! Open it and see, quickly!" the chamberpot cried.
Brewster unfastened the silver clasps and opened the grimoire to its table of contents. "Let's see . . . Spells of Compulsion, Love Spells, Spells of Repulsion, Spells to Raise Demons, Spells to Cure Headaches, Spells to Cause Headaches, Spells to Ensure Regularity, Spells to Cause Constipation, Spells to Make Noses Run... what kinds of spells are these?"
"Go on, keep reading!" the chamberpot urged him.
"... Spells to Cause Night Terrors, Spells to Attract Wealth, Spells to Enhance Sexual Performance ... hmmmm, page 362." Brewster started leafing through the pages.
"Later! Later!" the chamberpot shouted. "Go back to the listing!"
"Oh, okay," said Brewster, turning back to the table of contents. "Let's see now, where was I? Oh, right. Spells to Bring About Unbelievable Orgasms .. . wait a minute, I want to see this one...."
"Will you forget about that?" cried Brian. "You've got all day to browse! I've been a chamberpot for sixty some odd years, for crying out loud!"
"Okay, okay," said Brewster. "Ah, here we are. Spells of Transformation, page 593."
"Aye, that's the one!" cried the chamberpot excitedly. "Turn to that one, quickly!"
"Hold on, I'm getting there," said Brewster. "Okay, here we are. Now let's see ... Spell to Transform People into Newts, Spell to Transform People into Toadstools, Spell to Transform People into Footstools... footstools?"
"Hononous had dozens of them," Brian said. "He liked having his enemies under his foot."
"Right," said Brewster, wryly. "Okay, here we go. Spell to Transform People into Chamberpots."
Shannon grinned. "I suppose he also liked his enemies to catch-"
"Never mind," said Brewster, interrupting hastily. "We get the point."
"Does it say how to reverse the spell?" asked the chamberpot, anxiously.
"Hold on, I'm skimming it," said Brewster. "The writing's a bit hard to read. It's rather florid. Honorious seemed to go in for lots of purple prose and his script is really elaborate-"
"Will you forget about his penmanship and get on with it?" cried Brian.
"Ah, here it is," said Brewster. He read aloud. "To reverse the spell, repeat the words, 'Abracadabra, change back.' "
About one third of the items on the table clattered to the floor as the chamberpot suddenly disappeared with a popping sound and Brian materialized in its place, sitting on the table in his normal human form.
"Abracadabra, change back?" he said with disbelief. "Sixty miserable years of being a lousy chamberpot and that was all it took to break the spell?"
"I guess it looks that way," said Brewster, raising his eyebrows.
"Aaaaarrrrrrgggggh!" Brian screamed, kicking out his legs and sweeping most of the table clean as items went crashing to the floor.
While Prince Brian, finally freed of his enchantment, tears his hair and hammers his fists against the table in frustration, we will diplomatically take our leave and pay a visit to the Kingdom of Pitt, to check in on Bonnie King Billy and his luscious queen, the lovely and ever-so-sultry Sandy. Thought your faithful narrator forgot all about them, huh? Well, just because they're onl
y minor supporting characters and we haven't seen them since the last book in the series (The Inadequate Adept, Warner Books) doesn't mean they've been entirely neglected. They simply haven't had their lines come up yet. But we're about to get to their scene, don't worry. Remember, always trust your narrator. Now, where were we? Oh, right. Cue King Billy.
"_____________"
I said, cue King Billy.
"_____________"
Billy, you nitwit!
"Huh? What? Sandy, my dove, did you just say something?" Sandy turned from her vanity, where she sat holding a mirror and brushing her lovely, long blond hair. "No, I said nothing."
"I thought I heard someone call my name," said Billy with a frown. "And rather disrespectfully, too."
"And you naturally thought it was me?" said Sandy, raising her delicate eyebrows. "Really, William, you are developing a persecution complex. You are starting to see conspirators everywhere."
" 'Tis because there are conspirators everywhere," said Billy in a surly tone. "First 'twas petitions, then 'twas demands, now I am faced with public denunciations, with riots and demonstrations... they have even defaced my statues!"
"Well, the statues didn't look anything like you, anyway," Queen Sandy said, resuming her brushing.
" 'Tis not the point! The point is that the people are losing respect for me!"
"That implies they had respect for you in the first place," Queen Sandy said laconically.
"There, you see?" said Billy, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "Not even my own queen respects me! How can you say such a thing to me? I have always been a good king! I have always been good to my people! Do I not feed the poor?"
"Aye, but you feed them with spam," replied Queen Sandy.
"So what's wrong with that?"
"Have you ever eaten spam?"
"No."
"I didn't think so."
"Well, what should I feed them then?"
"William, we have had this conversation countless times before," Queen Sandy said, putting down her hairbrush and turning toward him. "I tell you that the people need bread, and vegetables, and meat, and you always say that it would be too expensive. I tell you the people need jobs, and you always say there are not enough to go around."
"Well, there aren't," King Billy said in a sulky tone. "Especially since that outlaw sorcerer in Brigand's Roost has started stealing all our trade. Warrick warned me about him, and Warrick was right, as he usually is."
"Warrick has you twisted around his little finger," said Queen Sandy with disdain.
"He has not! Waylon says the same thing. Something must be done about that man! He is ruining my kingdom!"
"Your brother Waylon's first allegiance is to Warrick, not to you," said Sandy. "He resents you because you were born first and you got to be the king while he only gets to be the royal sheriff."
"Nonsense! Waylon is loyal and true! Has he not been constantly engaged in putting down the riots and raising an army to defend my kingdom against this upstart sorcerer?"
"Give an army to an unscrupulous man whose ambition knows no bounds and what do you suppose he will do with it?" asked Sandy. "Waylon has always wanted your throne, and now you are giving him the means to seize it."
"I do not want to listen to that kind of talk! You are only trying to upset me! You are always treating me as if I were a child! Well, I am not a child!" King Billy said, stamping his foot. "I'm not! Now leave me alone! I have important strategy to plan."
He went over to a large table on which a relief map of the Kingdom of Darn had been constructed with sand and dirt. Rows of little lead soldiers and cavalry squadrons were set up on the borders, and Billy started moving them about, making galloping sounds and bugle noises with his mouth.
Queen Sandy sighed and rolled her eyes, then got up and left the royal bedchamber. She knew there was no reasoning with Billy when he got like this. She was married to a moron, and a childish one at that. And the worst thing about it was, she had no one in the palace in whom she could confide. She had ladies in waiting, of course, but she could not trust any of them. Warrick always knew everything that went on in the palace. She had married Billy when she was just fifteen, an arranged marriage to cement an alliance between her kingdom and Pitt, and though she was well loved by her subjects, she often felt like a stranger in her own house.
Billy had never mistreated her in any way, quite the opposite; he doted on her, and that made it all the worse. If he had been a cruel and unfeeling husband, it would have been easy to resent him, but he was rather lovable in his own goofy way. What she resented was his relentless stupidity. She realized he couldn't help it, and that was the most frustrating thing about it. He would always be a pawn for men such as Warrick and Waylon. Billy was simply a born follower. Unfortunately, he had also been born king.
She went down the hall to her own private apartments and told the guards on duty that she was retiring early because she did not feel well, and was not to be disturbed. This did not surprise the guards at all. They knew the queen often retired early when she did not feel well, which really meant that she and the king had argued once again and Billy would be spending the night alone. The guards simply nodded and looked at one another knowingly.
"And stop looking at one another knowingly," Queen Sandy said irritably. "I hate that."
The guards looked properly contrite, but she knew they would be smirking as soon as they closed the doors behind her. She smiled. They wouldn't smirk if they knew what was about to happen.
She quickly changed out of her dressing gown and slipped into a pair of brown leather breeches, high boots, a white runic, and a brown doublet. Then she tied her long blond hair back in a ponytail and tucked a long dagger into her belt. She knew there was no chance that Billy would feel bad about their argument and come to her apartments to apologize. Billy never admitted he was wrong. He was the king, and the king could not possibly be wrong about anything. What Billy preferred to do was wait until the next day and then simply pretend the argument had never happened. And since only the king could countermand her order to the guards that she was not to be disturbed, she knew that she could count on complete privacy until morning.
She slipped on a long black hooded cloak and went into her bedroom. She pressed a hidden button behind the headboard and a panel in the wall slid open, revealing a secret passageway. Billy had no knowledge of this passageway. She had discovered it quite by accident the third year of her marriage. When she first found the secret panel and opened it, she discovered a note inside. It said, "Don't tell anyone about this. It's just a little secret between us girls."
Thinking about the interesting dynamics of past royal marriages, Sandy lit a candle and ducked inside the passageway, then the panel slid shut behind her.
Seven
The private Lear jet landed at Heathrow Airport as Colin Hightower polished off the last of the Jack Daniel's in the well-stocked bar. The stewardess was amazed at his capacity, but being a professional, she kept her opinions to herself. Her passengers were a decidedly odd pair. She had flown private flights with everyone from corporate VIPs to rock stars and she thought she had seen it all, but this couple was definitely unique.
The man looked like a seedy racetrack tout and the young woman with him, well, the stewardess had no idea what to make of her. She was a lot like the groupies rock stars often brought along on their travels, but this one was a real case of arrested development. She seemed to have the mind of a child. She acted as if she had never even been on an airplane before. During takeoff, she had acted frightened-which was not unusual, lots of people were afraid of flying-but once they were airborne and the captain had turned off the seat belt sign, she had flitted from window to window, marveling at the view and exclaiming with wonder that they were flying like birds. Undoubtedly, she had to be on drugs. It was probably the only way a guy like that could get a pretty young girl like her. Maybe he was a dealer, but he sure as hell didn't look like one. He certainly didn't look like an
yone who could afford flying on a private jet. His clothes were cheap and tasteless. But then again, rich people had their eccentricities. It was not for her to judge. She was glad she'd soon be rid of them now that they were landing.
"Oooh, look, Colin, we're coming down!" Megan exclaimed excitedly.
"Just stay in the seat, luv, and keep your belt fastened until the plane has stopped moving," Hightower replied. It felt strange being back in London once again. It had been a long time. He wasn't sure what to expect, but his instincts told him he was really on to something. He had a feeling he was shortly going to find out what this whole thing was all about.
He had checked in with his editor and was told that there had been a call for him, from someone on the staff of The New Yorker magazine, no less. The caller said it was urgent that he get in touch with her and left a number. Several cautious phone calls later, Colin was on the line with somebody named Pamela Fairburn, and she had given him a real earful. He had a feeling there was someone else present on her end, and that she could not speak freely, because she had been somewhat evasive with her answers, but she had told him enough to really pique his curiosity. She arranged to send a private jet for him, to meet him at whatever location he chose, and told him she would put him up at company expense, carte blanche, at the Mayfair Hotel. It was extremely urgent, she had said, and concerned national security, high-level defense contracts and all that, and it was extremely important that she meet with him in person. And by all means to bring Megan.
Hightower was naturally suspicious, but he couldn't resist such a come-on. It certainly wasn't the police. They wouldn't spend that land of money. This had all the earmarks of large-scale private enterprise. The jet had been chartered by EnGulfCo International, one of the largest multinationals on the face of the earth. Yes, he had rocked somebody's boat, all right. Whatever was behind this curious story, he was definitely on the right track.
The jet had met him at a small private airfield outside Scranton, Pennsylvania, and the landing was practically a touch and go. They had stayed on the ground only long enough to take him and Megan on. Now, as they landed, they taxied not to the terminal, but to a private hangar, where a stretch limousine was waiting for them. The driver held the doors open for them and they drove off as soon as they had entered. No going through customs or anything. And the bar in the limo was well stocked with Jack Daniel's. Hightower decided he could definitely get used to this sort of treatment.
