by Alex Bell
Lex was not the only one who had found out about Jeremiah ahead of time. Word had got around that the young nobleman was coming to the Wither City and it was not all that hard to put two and two together. Carey East and Alistair Trent had been a famous pair in their time and already the newspapers were making a big to-do about the possibility of their grandsons being pitched together in a thrilling Game of wits and derring-do.
Jeremiah’s ship arrived in the Wither City the next day. Quite a little crowd had turned out to welcome him and people lined the harbour, stuffed in like sardines around the closed-up stalls of the midnight markets. Lex had considered watching the proceedings from the deck of his own ship so as not to get jostled and shoved by the masses but decided against it for the simple reason that he just couldn’t wait to meet Jeremiah. So he went down to the docks and Jesse went with him to see what all the fuss was about.
Lex had met Carey East just once, almost eleven years ago, when he and Lucius had been six years old. Their parents had been killed about a year previously when a water witch sank their boat, and Alistair Trent had retired from adventuring to look after them. When Carey East came by for a surprise visit one day, he brought presents for both Lex and Lucius and stayed with them until the next morning. Lex had never seen his grandfather so happy and he remembered Carey East being a large, loud, bluff, yet refined man. Of course, Carey East died two years later whilst battling with a sea serpent. But he had been the most famous, the most noble adventurer the world had ever seen and Lex was extremely proud of the association the Trents had with the Easts – a strong, unbreakable tie between two fine families stretching back across three generations . . .
So, when the gangplank was lowered over the side of the grand ship, Lex was right there beside the red carpet, next to the mayor himself. When Jeremiah appeared at the top of the gangplank there could be no doubt whatsoever that it was him. He was, to put it frankly, the most handsome person Lex had ever seen in his life. People started to cheer and wave flags. It didn’t matter that the only noteworthy thing Jeremiah East had done so far was to appear in view; he simply looked like the sort of person people cheered and waved flags at. The people who didn’t have flags waved their hats. Lex had neither a flag nor a hat so he merely contented himself with grinning stupidly. Usually he would have been a little bit jealous − all right, extremely jealous and irate and resentful − that someone other than himself was basking in the limelight. But when people cheered for Jeremiah and his family, Lex couldn’t help feeling that they were cheering for his family, too. For weren’t the Trents, after all, indistinguishably bound up with the Easts?
Jeremiah momentarily looked taken aback by the crowd’s reaction but then raised his hand to gracefully acknowledge the applause before walking down the gangplank. He wore a royal-blue coat with shiny golden buttons that was probably worth more than all the items of clothing Lex owned put together. He must have been at least six foot, with black hair swept boyishly back from his forehead, blue eyes, white, even teeth and the fine-boned features of a true aristocrat. You could even see it in the way he held himself − with his shoulders back and his head high so that he sort of looked down his nose at everybody. He looked much older, somehow, than his twenty-one years.
‘He fancies himself something rotten, doesn’t he?’ Jesse remarked. He stood on Lex’s left hand side, lounging with his hands in his pockets. ‘Snot-nosed kid, if ever I saw one.’
Lex gaped at him. ‘Snot-nosed—That’s Jeremiah East! He’s refined, that’s all! He’s from one of the most noble families in the world!’
Jesse shrugged placidly and said nothing. Lex turned back in time to see Jeremiah step on to the harbour and shake hands with the mayor.
‘Welcome to the Wither City, Mr East.’
‘I’m very happy to be here,’ Jeremiah replied graciously.
‘This is Lex Trent,’ the mayor said, indicating Lex at his side. ‘He, of course, is—’
‘Oh, a pageboy. How considerate,’ Jeremiah said. ‘My servants have my luggage in hand but you can take my sword if you think you can manage not to drop it. It’s very heavy.’ And with that he unbuckled his sword belt and thrust it into Lex’s arms.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Lex was momentarily speechless and could only gape at Jeremiah in stunned silence, horribly aware of Jesse sniggering beside him.
‘Oh dear,’ the mayor said, flapping his hands in an embarrassed fashion. ‘This isn’t the pageboy, Mr East. This is Lex Trent.’
‘Trent?’ Jeremiah repeated with a slight frown. ‘Can’t say I recall any Trents. You’re not at the Academy, are you?’
Finding his tongue at last, Lex said, ‘My grandfather was Alistair Trent.’
Now, at last, recognition seemed to finally dawn in Jeremiah’s eyes and he said, ‘Oh, the Chronicler’s grandson. I suppose you want my autograph. I’m afraid I don’t have a pen on me right now but catch me later and we’ll see what we can do. I assume we’re to be put up in a tavern whilst we’re here?’ Jeremiah said, turning back to the mayor. ‘We’ve had a very long journey and are anxious to settle in. Can you have someone show us the way?’
And before Lex knew what was happening, Jeremiah had grabbed back his sword and they were all walking away, leaving him standing with Jesse in the crowd.
‘Don’t see what all the fuss is about, myself,’ the cowboy said, before wandering off, no doubt in search of the nearest tavern.
Inwardly, Lex cursed himself. He didn’t know what had come over him. Under normal circumstances he would have said, ‘I? I want your autograph? Oh, come now!’ in the most obnoxious tone he could muster. But he had been utterly unprepared for Jeremiah’s manner. He had had a nice little image in his head of the two of them embracing like brothers, the crowd going nuts, photographers flashing their cameras, maybe even a bit of confetti thrown their way . . .
‘Good heavens, it sounds like you were expecting to marry Jeremiah, not merely meet him for the first time!’ Lady Luck said when he expressed his disappointment to her, later.
‘Our grandfathers were best friends,’ Lex protested, turning pink. ‘That should mean something.’
‘Well, perhaps he was just tired from his long journey,’ the Goddess replied airily. ‘I’m sure the two of you will get on like a house on fire at the feast this evening.’
Lex just grunted at this. Jeremiah had not seemed at all tired to him. He had just seemed like rather a jerk, in spite of the shiny gold buttons and the tall, dark, handsome thing he had going on. Lex found it difficult to believe that Jeremiah’s attitude towards him would be in any way changed that evening. He was therefore surprised when Jeremiah caught him as he was passing the Town Hall later that evening and said, ‘Look, Trent, I’m sorry if I seemed a bit abrupt with you earlier. Long journey and all that. And I didn’t realise you were going to be,’ he lowered his voice a little, ‘a fellow player.’
No excuse, Lex thought silently. Everyone knew his name by now because of what he had achieved in the last Game: all the records he had broken, all the things he’d done that had never been done before − like being crowned in the Golden Valley and going down to the Lands Beneath. Those things hadn’t been easy. They had been tremendously difficult and yet Lex had pulled them off spectacularly well. He deserved a bit of respect for that, surely? Even from someone as high born as Jeremiah East. Lex had to resist the urge to say fiercely, ‘I was a king for five seconds, you know!’ just in case Jeremiah didn’t know, which really didn’t seem at all likely.
‘Come on,’ the nobleman said, ‘let me buy you a drink.’
‘I don’t drink,’ Lex replied, still rather suspicious of this sudden change of heart.
‘Oh, that’s right, you’re not eighteen yet, are you?’ Jeremiah said. ‘Well, don’t worry, I expect we can sneak one through.’
‘No, it’s nothing to do with my age,’ Lex replied. ‘I just don’t drink.’
For someone who put such a high premium on having a sh
arp mind, a quick tongue and always being one step ahead of everyone else, Lex stayed well away from drink and drugs of any kind. But Jeremiah once again seemed to misunderstand him, for he said, ‘Dear me, you are a stickler for the rules, aren’t you? I used to be like that − terrified of breaking a rule and getting into trouble. Don’t worry. You’ll grow out of it in time.’
‘I’m not scared of breaking the rules—’ Lex began at once, rather heatedly for the very suggestion couldn’t have been any further from the truth. If he wanted to drink alcohol then he most certainly would − rules be damned. It was mere coincidence that his own preference happened to coincide with the rules just this once.
‘Well, a pint of Grandy then,’ Jeremiah interrupted, in such a jovial voice that Lex had to refrain from his protests because to continue them would appear churlish. ‘You can still drink with me and the lads if you just stick to the soft stuff.’
And Lex found himself being manoeuvred into the tavern that was attached to the Town Hall. Well, what could it hurt? The feast wasn’t due to start for another hour. He had told Jesse where and when he had to be there and he was sure the cowboy would turn up because there was going to be food and he knew that Lex could force them to switch if he wanted to, just by biting into the nearest pork pie. Besides which, a cowboy never passes up the chance of free food. When they went into the building, the hall was on their right and the tavern on their left. As they walked past the doorway Lex noticed that the hall was already set up for the feast − with rows of long tables lining the huge room and colourful bunting hanging from the walls and the ceiling.
‘My friends were going to meet me here,’ Jeremiah said as they walked into the tavern. ‘Oh, yes, there they are at the back.’
The feast was invitation only − so that just the important people would be there and not any plebs gobbling up the free food and drink. It seemed that quite a lot of people had had the same idea as Jeremiah and his friends, to come to the tavern for a couple of drinks first, for the place seemed to be stuffed with city officials and lawyers and important men who were no doubt all on the guest list. Jeremiah bought a round at the bar and then they went to the table at the back where he introduced Lex to his five friends. Lex could hardly tell them apart for they were all tall, dark and handsome with names like Jones and Smith, and they all persisted in calling each other things like Jonesy and Smithy and Williamsy and Easty. It was quite baffling to Lex who, of course, had not been privately and expensively educated at the prestigious Academy.
‘What are you drinking, Trenty?’ one of the friends asked, peering at the pint of Grandy with a puzzled expression.
‘Don’t call me Trenty,’ Lex said.
‘He’s having a pint of Grandy, poor boy,’ Jeremiah said, thumping Lex on the back so hard that his face almost ended up in his drink. ‘He’s not eighteen yet.’
‘You don’t say?’ One of the friends − Lex thought it was Jonesy − practically goggled at him in astonishment. ‘I didn’t realise they let children play in the Games!’
Lex stared at him. With a tremendous effort of will he just about managed not to hurl his Grandy in the twit’s face. ‘I am seventeen years old,’ he said coldly. ‘In the last Game I defeated a minotaur and a medusa simultaneously; I became a king − my name is on the Royal Monument in the square out there; I went on to the Space Ladders; I saw an underworld pass by with my own eyes; I went down to the Lands Beneath and − at the end of it all – I won the bloody thing!’
Lex felt extremely vexed. There was something most undignified about having to tout his own victories in such a way. Usually, whenever anyone said anything to him about the previous Game, Lex made a great show of being modest about it. ‘It was nothing,’ was his usual response. But he was only going to say that if the person he was speaking to knew full well that it was quite far from nothing. Modesty only worked when people knew just how splendid he really was. And these nobles didn’t seem to have the faintest clue.
‘You did follow the last Game, didn’t you?’ he said.
‘On and off,’ Jeremiah said. ‘But we had studying to do, too, you know. After all, we are Academy educated.’
‘Well, some people have to bother about things like that I suppose,’ Lex said.
The root of the problem was that Jeremiah and his friends seemed like stuck-up snobs to Lex, and Lex seemed like an irritable little upstart to them.
It was Jeremiah who came up with the brainwave of spiking Lex’s drink.
‘Take him down a peg or two, eh?’ he said to Jonesy when they were getting another round at the bar. ‘Do him the world of good.’
Perhaps it was because Lex had never drunk before, perhaps it was because he hadn’t eaten much that day or perhaps it was simply because he was so skinny . . . whatever the reason, it turned out to be an unfortunate fact that Lex could not hold his drink. It went straight to his head. One minute he was sitting there feeling quite normal, the next he was slurring his words and talking in a much louder voice that he would normally. He was hardly aware of this himself, although he did notice that the others seemed to have distinctly warmed to him and they were now all having rather a good time when they hadn’t been getting on at all well before.
The really unfortunate thing about it, though, was that, when each of Jeremiah’s friends went up to buy their rounds, they too thought it would be a splendid idea to add a little something to Lex’s drink. By the time an hour was up, he was thoroughly drunk and just trying to get his muddled head around why he wasn’t feeling normal when someone tapped him on the shoulder and he looked round into a familiar face.
Mr Montgomery Schmidt, through a series of unfortunate mishaps, had been Lex’s companion in the last Game. He was a tall, thin old lawyer with the sense of humour of a dead mollusc. He certainly did not look at all amused right now as he addressed the table with his sternest expression.
‘You reprobates! You ought to be thoroughly ashamed of yourselves!’ He pointed at Smithy and said, ‘I saw you, young man, not a moment ago spiking that drink at the bar. Don’t drink it, Lex.’
‘You spiked his drink?’ the others all said at the same time, then they grinned foolishly at each other as they realised what must have happened.
‘You mean to say that you have all . . .’ Schmidt trailed off, horrified. ‘Good heavens, the feast is due to start any minute! Come along, Lex, you’d better get some fresh air—’
‘I don’t need your help,’ Lex said, waving the lawyer’s hand away. ‘And I’m not drunk.’
He stood up to prove his point but that instantly made him feel ten times worse. His head spun, the room tilted, he lost his balance and staggered. Instinctively, he reached out to stop himself from falling but only succeeded in dragging a whole table down with him in a spectacular crashing and rolling of tankards.
Oh my Gods, he thought, face down in spilt beer. I really am drunk!
It was even worse than he had imagined it would be. No quick thoughts were coming into his head; no snappy comebacks were presenting themselves in his mind; no brilliant, genius plans were clamouring for his attention. This must be what normal people felt like all the time! He was dimly aware of Jeremiah and his friends cheering and clapping behind him like this was all some huge joke. Schmidt grasped Lex’s collar and dragged him upright as Jeremiah and the others got up and made their way to the hall, still laughing heartily.
‘You’ve got to go in, Lex,’ Schmidt was saying urgently. ‘The feast is about to begin. Where’s your companion?’
‘Well now, what’s going on here?’ asked a drawling voice.
Lex looked round to see Jesse strolling through the now-almost-empty tavern towards them.
‘He spiked my drink!’ Lex croaked.
‘Who? Him?’ Jesse said, squinting at Schmidt doubtfully.
‘Not me, you fool! Jeremiah East!’ Schmidt snapped. His eyes went to the Binding Bracelet on Jesse’s wrist. ‘Oh, good, you’re him. Look, you’ve got to get in there. Get him .
. . Get him some coffee or something. Try to sober him up enough so that he can disguise it. He’ll be in terrible trouble if they realise he’s drunk; he’s underage.’
‘Not a problem,’ Jesse said. ‘I know just the thing. Come on, kid, we’ll have you dried out in no time.’
The cowboy had to hold on to Lex’s arm quite tightly to make sure he didn’t fall down again as he practically dragged him through the hall, which was now bustling with people who were all talking and laughing noisily as they waited for the fun to begin. The grand table on the raised stage at the end of the room was for the three Gods − Lady Luck, Kala and Thaddeus. Filling up the rest of the stage was a huge crystal ball of the type you got in stadiums. When the Gods announced their players, the whole thing would be broadcast to other crystal balls around the world so that everyone might know who was playing in the Game. Then the food and drink would be brought out and the feast would start.
Luckily, the Gods had obviously decided to be fashionably late and had not arrived yet. Jesse dumped Lex down in a chair at the end of one of the three long tables set up in the room and then disappeared, saying something about going to get him some coffee.
