The Accidental sorcerer ra-1

by K. E. Mills

  She glowered. 'Haven't you heard? Oysters give you food poisoning!' He threw a pillow at her. 'Butterflies are actually very loving, you know, Professor Dunwoody,' said His Royal Highness Prince Rupert, confidingly 'Loving and gentle.' There were smears of butterfly dust all over his patched mustard yellow velvet dinner jacket, and in his eyes the gleam of the fanatic. His long thin nose was disfigured by a neat strip of plaster.

  'Really?' said Gerald, trying not to stare at it. 'I didn't know that.'

  It was twenty past seven, he was seated with the prince and the princess in the king's private dining room, and they were waiting for King Lional to arrive.

  Noticing him trying not to notice his nose, the prince blushed and laughed. He sounded like a lamb separated from its mother. 'Just a little misunderstanding with one of the Vampirella Majesticas, Professor,' he explained, giving the bandaged wound a self-conscious tap. 'I blame myself, naturally. I mean, the poor little Vampirellas can't help themselves. Their instinct is to bite and they follow their instincts, so if one is silly enough to put one's nose in their way, well, one can hardly blame them, now can one? Creatures — and people — act according to their natures and there's no point expecting otherwise. Don't you agree?'

  Gerald shot a beseeching look across the table at the princess but she wasn't paying attention. She'd brought a folder of work along with her and was busily totting up figures. In honour of the occasion she'd changed her clothes, but despite the fact that silk and satin and a certain amount of lace figured in the ensemble she still managed to look rumpled and tweedy.

  He turned his attention back to the prince. 'Agree? Certainly, Your Highness.'

  The prince beamed. 'I say, I do like you, Professor.' He leaned a little closer. 'So what do you think of Lional's private dining room? Isn't it the swankiest you've ever seen?' It was. The ceiling was some thirty feet overhead, and ripe with chandeliers. The walls were panelled with gilded mirrors. The mahogany dining table was laden with gleaming cutlery in four different varieties. There were three different kinds of glasses, an assortment of gold plates and bowls and two napkins for each diner.

  Resisting the impulse to tuck one under his chin as a subtle hint that yes, on the whole he was ready for his dinner, thanks ever so much, he scowled at the overabundance of ironmongery and cursed himself for cutting short Reg's 'Etiquette For All Occasions'lecture.

  As a finishing touch, whoever was responsible for setting the table had managed to squash in arrangements of wan-looking flowers. Any minute now they were going to start him sneezing. Behind each gilded dining chair, ramrod stiff and conspicuously not listening to both the conversations of his betters and any rumbling digestive systems, stood a magnificently liveried manservant complete with white gloves and a little napkin laid over the left arm, which was held away from the body at a precise ninety-degree angle. It looked like a desperately uncomfortable way to spend an evening.

  Prince Rupert leaned even closer. 'Don't tell anyone I told you so,' he whispered,'but for what it cost to have the place refurbished three months ago we could've paid the Kallarapi twice what we owe them and still have change left over.' One bony finger tapped the side of his bandaged nose. 'But there you are. Lional does love his little comforts.'

  Without looking up, the princess said, 'Rupert. No telling tales out ofTreasury.'

  The prince blushed. 'Sorry, Mel.' He tittered, embarrassed, then nodded. 'I say, Professor, I do like your robe. Reminds me of the pattern you find on a Greater Winged Triple-Tipped Thribbet.'

  'Thank you, Your Highness. It's actually Fandawandi silk. Quite rare.' 'Beautiful. Where did you get it?'

  Back home, wizard robes were largely seen as pretentious affectations from a bygone era. But he suspected they were the kind of thing that would appeal to the king… and besides, this particular robe had sentimental value.'It was a graduation gift from my father, Your Highness. He's a tailor.'

  'Really?' Prince Rupert marvelled. 'I say, that's fantastic. I'm useless with my hands, I'm afraid. All thumbs. I'd never dare pick up a needle and thread, you know, in case I stabbed myself in the eye. How desperately clever of him, I'm sure.'

  Gerald considered the prince. Was he being sarcastic? No. No, there wasn't a sarcastic bone in Prince Rupert's daft body. The compliments were genuine.'Thank you, Your Highness.'

  Another bleating laugh. 'Goodness, Professor, there's no need to stand on ceremony. Plain old Rupert, that's me. A prince in name only, I'm afraid. No credit to the crown.' The foolish mouth drooped for a moment. 'Sad to say, I'm a trial and a tribulation to the king. No, no, don't try to deny it, Melly. It's true. They think Nanny Prendergast dropped me on my head when I was a baby and never admitted it. I dare say that's true, too. It's the only reason I can think of, at any rate.'

  'Well, well, well,' drawled an impeccable voice from the doorway. 'How… delightful… to see you all enjoying yourselves so much. Without mel

  CHAPTER TEN

  King Lional. At his side Tavistock the cat-turned-lion, its expression now unbearably smug: seemingly the animal liked its new look. The king's ring-smothered hand rested negligently on the beast's vast, maned head. He was dressed neck to knee in richest black velvet, the lush fabric carelessly strewn with seed pearls and diamonds. Poised in the doorway, glittering beneath the chandeliers, he looked as though someone had draped him in a section of cloudless midnight sky.

  The herald at the doors blew a belated, vaguely musical trill through his horn and announced, 'Be upstanding for His Majesty King Lional the Forty-third!'

  But Gerald was already on his feet, along with Rupert and the princess. Languid as molten gold, the king made his way to the head of the table; Tavistock padded with him, rawboned tail waving in a parody of greeting.

  'So sorry to have kept you waiting,' Lional said, smiling as he eased into his throne-like chair. He didn't sound sorry at all.

  'That's quite all right, old chap,' Rupert said cheerfully as they sat down again. 'We hardly noticed you weren't here, actually. Been having a lovely chat with the new wizard. I must say I think you've made an excellent choice this time, Lional. This one's much chirpier than those other old fossils. Grand, isn't it?'

  Princess Melissande shoved aside her paperwork and covered her eyes with one hand. Sprawled indolently by the king's chair, Tavistock complained with a throaty rumble like distant calamitous thunder.

  The king's smile widened. 'I'm relieved you approve, Rupert. Professor — ' he added, as the manservants began pouring wine and serving soup, 'allow me to compliment you on your attire. You quite put me to shame.'

  'His father made it, Lional,' said Rupert. 'Wasn't that grand of him?'

  The king stared, his cerulean eyes wide. 'Your father? Really?'

  Pillock, pillock, pillock and prat. Gerald smiled. 'Yes, Your Majesty. He's a tailor. Or at least he was, until he retired.'

  'Was he indeed?' Lional spread out his napkin with a snap.'Fancy that. Mine was a king, you know'

  He felt his fingernails bite into his palms. Bastard. 'Indeed, Your Majesty. But then I think that to his son, every father is a king.'

  Silence, broken only by Tavistock's resumed rumbling. Then Lional threw back his golden head and laughed. He sounded genuinely amused. Princess Melissande, the colour flooding back to her face, loosened her grip on her spoon.

  'Professor, I believe you're right!' Lional declared. 'Let us raise our glasses to fathers, shall we?' He laughed again. 'Especially absent ones."

  The toast was drunk. Abruptly bereft of appetite, Gerald toyed with his bread roll. One of the manservants had given Tavistock an enormous bloody haunch of something to gnaw on. He'd never realised how big a lion's teeth were. Or how sharp. What had he been thinking?

  Unlike his brother, who slurped, Lional consumed his lobster bisque daintily, fastidiously. Pausing between spoonfuls he dabbed his lips with his napkin and said, 'Melissande, I hope you've informed the Kallarapi I'm granting them the honour of an audience tomorrow' She nodded.
'Yes, Lional.'

  'Excellent. I look forward to showing them the error of their ways. Don't you, Professor? Naturally, you will be in attendance. Lending the appropriate air of gravity and menace.'

  Menace? He cleared his throat, very carefully not looking at the princess. 'Of course, Your Majesty. Although you know, my skills haven't been what you'd call honed in the international arena. I wonder if there's not someone else more suited who could take my place? Or at least join us. Her Highness Princess Melissande, perhaps. She is your prime minister, after all.' And if she attended the meeting he wouldn't have to worry about the king thinking he was her spy.

  Lional's expression chilled. Sublimely oblivious, Rupert pulled a dog-eared book out of his pocket, propped it up against a vase and began to read as he continued to slurp his soup. The book's cover was graced with a watercolour of an improbably smiling butterfly.

  'My dear Professor,' said Lional. He didn't sound at all friendly. 'That won't be necessary. Your experience as a wizard will be quite sufficient for my purposes.'

  Across the table, Princess Melissande was attempting to semaphore a message via her unplucked eyebrows. Gerald tried to ignore her. 'I'm sorry, Your Majesty. Would you mind explaining what you mean by that?'

  The king considered him. 'Oh, dear. Please don't tell me you're going to be obtuse, Professor. I find obtuse people very… wearing!

  Not as wearing as they find you, I'll bet. 'Obtuse, Your Majesty? No. At least, that's not my intention. I just don't want any misunderstandings when we meet with the Kallarapi. Misunderstandings could give rise to an unfortunate international incident.'

  The king dropped his spoon into his emptied soup bowl. The manservant behind his chair winced. 'I am not concerned about international incidents. No great nation can afford to concern itself with the hurt feelings of its inferiors. I hope you are not suggesting, Professor, that I place the selfish desires of these Kallarapi above the welfare of my own people?'

  Oh, thank God Reg wasn't here. 'Of course not, Your Majesty' he said carefully. 'But — '

  'There is no but, Professor,' said the king. 'It has been said that diplomacy is the waging of war by other means. If that is indeed the case then where the Kallarapi are involved you may consider yourself my secret weapon.'

  Secret weapon? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He snuck a glance at the princess. She was very pink about the face and her fingers were white-knuckled on the stem of her almost emptied wine glass.

  'Lional,' she said with commendable calm, 'is that a good idea?'

  Lional ignored her. 'Do you know, Professor, what the very best thing about being king is?'

  He couldn't help himself. 'The hours, Your Majesty?'

  Beside him, Rupert surfaced from his butterfly daydreams long enough to bleat his amusement. 'The hours! I say, that's a good one! The hours! That is a good one, isn't it, Lional? The hours?'

  'The very best thing about being king, Professor,' said Lional, as though his brother didn't exist, 'is that all my ideas are good ideas. In fact since I came to the throne I haven't had a single bad one. Have I, Melissande?'

  Rupert said, 'Ooh, I don't know about that, Lional, I mean there was that business with the horses, the monkeys and the — ' 'Rupert,' said his brother. 'Get out.'

  Rupert flinched. 'Sorry, Lional,' he whispered, picked up his book and retired.

  'All I meant! the princess began, and was silenced with a glare that sizzled the air between them.

  'It seems to me,' said the king, his voice lightly coated in ice, 'the time has come for us to remind the world that New Ottosland is a sovereign nation, a kingdom of tradition, antiquity and significant heritage. We must no longer allow ourselves to be dismissed and trifled with because we appear insignificant. The fire ants of Sanarabia appear insignificant yet they can reduce the mighty elephant to bloody bone and sinew. So it may be with New Ottosland, should the unwise choose to render us one whit less than our proper due. For too long nations like Kallarap have treated us with contempt. Well, to that I say: no longer. We must assert ourselves as New Ottoslanders, the equals of any nation in the world.'

  'And I'm not saying we shouldn't,' the princess persisted. 'But to be taken seriously on the world stage we have to look like a world power. Which means we need things like privy councils, to give us gravitas. And supply valuable diplomatic experience.'

  'My privy council was short-sighted, lily-livered and stuck in the past like hogs in mud,' snapped Lional. 'Aged relics… and their sons are relics-in-waiting. Which is why I banished them to their estates where they can dwindle their dying days in contemplation ot the nation they and theirs might have birthed had they the least wit, imagination or courage.'

  Princess Melissande released an exasperated breath. 'I know they're ancient and irritating, Lional, but as it turns out they actually got quite a lot done around here and I have to say, in all honesty, that expecting me to pick up the slack is a bit unfair. I mean, I'm doing my best, and so are my staff, we really are, but we just can't keep up and — '

  'Then I suggest you find new ways of motivating your employees,' said Lional, smoothly. 'And yourself. Unless you'd like me to do it for you?'

  She bit her lip and looked down. 'No. Thank you.That won't be necessary'

  'I suspected as much,' said Lional. Still rankled, he shifted in his chair. 'And what about you, Professor? Is there anything you'd like to add while we're all feeling so delightfully conversational?'

  If he said what he really wanted to say he'd find himself getting intimately acquainted with a headsman's axe. 'Well… as a matter of fact there is, Your Majesty. Another question, if you don't mind.'

  'No,' said the king. 'I don't mind. Provided it's not obtuse'.

  'Well, sir, in short: what exactly do you mean, secret weapon?' 'The man's barking mad," said Reg late the next morning, through the remains of her breakfast mouse. 'How does he think you're going to make those Kallarapi buggers change their minds about the tariffs?'

  Gerald stirred his porridge with his solid gold spoon and frowned.'He didn't say. He just laughed and waved in the next course.'

  'I mean,' she continued, 'as far as I can tell, the only thing that's going to stop this tariff tiff before it gets well out of hand is Lional sitting down to a great big slice of humble pie.' She sniffed. 'And how likely is that, I ask you?' 'Not very,' he said, still frowning.

  Reg cackled. 'Not at all, sunshine. Trust me. There's nothing you can tell me about Lional that I don't already know. I was giving his type the cold shoulder when I still had a shoulder to give 'em, and that's more centuries ago than I care to think about. I tell you, he's lost his marbles down the privy.'

  He winced and looked around the fountain-tinkled foyer. 'Careful, Reg. For all we know the walls have ears. Pillock or not, Lional's the king. You can't flap about the place saying he's mad.'

  With a burp Reg hopped off the back of her gilded chair and started marching to and fro across the table. 'Listen, sunshine, the fact he's a king only makes it more likely he's off his rocker. Royalty's always inbred. Comes of them being snobs and refusing to marry a good bit of commoner every third generation or so. I mean, look at that Prince Rupert. From what you've told me it's clear he's a grade A nutter. Madness probably runs in the family. You want to keep an eye on that Melissande or next thing we know she'll be after you in the middle of the night with a jewelled dagger and a fixed smile, you mark my words.' He groaned. 'Honestly, Reg. You do go on.'

  She waved an emphatic wing under his nose. 'Gerald, I'm serious. You need to respect my experience in these matters. Sending a bunch of worn-out dukes and barons and their gormless offspring on a one-way trip to their country estates is one thing. Nothing wrong with that. Did it myself on a regular basis, generally speaking they're nothing but a bunch of parasites anyway. But seriously entertaining the idea that he could use an oath-protected wizard as any kind of weapon, secret or otherwise, is clear proof that Lional's two oars short of a rowboat.'

&
nbsp; On second thoughts he wasn't in the mood for porridge after all. Reaching to the fruit bowl for an orange he said, 'His Majesty's not mad, Reg, he's just… determined to have his own way. I swear, if he thought I could make the Kallarapi back down by turning up at this meeting naked I'd be well advised to get used to inconvenient breezes.'

  'Deary deary me, I don't know,' Reg fretted, kicking the solid gold toast-rack in passing. 'The more I hear, the unhappier I am about staying in this place.'

  Moodily, he peeled his orange. 'It's a crazy setup, all right.'

  Reg stopped.'Hallelujah, he's seen the light! You start packing and I'll nip down to madam's office to give her the good — '

  'Not so fast!' he said, waving orange peel in her face.'You're forgetting my contract.'

  She made a sound like an exploding firecracker and turned a complete somersault. 'For the love of Saint Snodgrass, Gerald, there isn't a contract signed that can't be broken and lord knows you've got grounds with this one. I ask you, where is the benefit in dancing to the whirligig tune of some addle-brained power-drunk third-rate backwater king?'

  There was orange juice running down his fingers. Reaching for a napkin he said, teeth clenched tight, 'That's not the point. The point, Reg, is — '

  'Oh, I know what your point is, Gerald. It's that bloody princess! You've gone and fallen arse over tea-kettle for Madam Fashion Disaster, haven't you? Oh Gerald] How could you!'

  He could have banged his head on the table. 'Reg, for pity's sake. I have not fallen arse over teakettle for the princess.'

  Reg squinted at him suspiciously 'Are you sure? Because I'm not blind, Gerald, I saw the way you were around her yesterday, dumbstruck with admiration, and — '

  'Are you cracked? I wasn't dumbstruck with admiration, I was just dumbstruck!' he cried.'She's even bossier than you are and I didn't think that was possible! I'm telling you, Reg, I am not in love with — '