Accidental Sorcerer (13 page)

New Ottosland was so
green.
There was grass
everywhere,
and trees, and flowers, and all kinds of hairy
animals.
The air was so full of smells it was heavy, sitting on his skin like a dirty blanket, and no amount of washing in New Ottosland's profligate waters could cleanse him. It was true: New Ottosland was an unclean, godless land. Not like Kallarap, with its burning deserts and sharp, unscented air and the living presence of the gods all around, their tears, shed for love of the Kallarapi people.

Oh, he wanted to go
home.

But he couldn't, not until Shugat said. Not until they'd had their audience with New Ottosland's king and spoken the words of his brother the sultan, may he live forever. And when that audience would happen was anybody's guess. The appalling king was keeping them waiting and waiting and waiting ... the insult was calculated. Unforgiveable. His brother should force the infidel Lional to his knees for that alone. Shugat should beseech the gods to smite him and all his kind from the face of the world ...

Imagining the gods' wrath Nerim shivered, even though there was a fire burning in the room. That was another thing wrong with New Ottosland. It was too cold during the day and too hot at night. How could these New Ottoslanders
live
here? What were the gods
thinking,
to have given them -

Horrified, scrambling, he prostrated his body on the carpeted floor. What was he
doing?
He was questioning the gods! Oh, great Grimthak and

Lalchak and Vorsluk forgive him! This New Ottosland was a disease, rotting his brain!

Paralysed with penitence, he began to pray

A voice above him enquired, dryly, 'What are you doing, Nerim?'

For one terrible moment he thought it was the flaming voice of Grimthak himself.'I - I -'

'Oh, get up,' said the voice. 'You look ridiculous.'

It wasn't Grimthak. It was Shugat ... which was almost as bad and practically the same thing. Shugat was Kallarap's holy man, the most powerful man in all of Kallarap after the sultan, may he live forever. Shugat was learned, he was wise, he was beloved of the gods.

Nerim rolled over and clambered to his feet. 'Forgive me, Shugat,' he said, and pressed his hands to his heart.'I was praying for strength."

Shugat nodded, looking stern. He always looked stern. And old. It was impossible to imagine Shugat unwrinkled and unbent and subject to the follies of youth.'Strength for what, Nerim?'

He chewed his lip. He hated confessing his weaknesses to Shugat, who had none, nor patience for anyone else's. 'I - I -' He winced. 'I don't think I can bear this terrible place another day!' he whispered, trying not to wail.'I want to go home!'

Shugat nodded again.'As do I.'

'When will the king see us, do you know? It has been
days.
Does he truly expect us to deliver the words of our sultan, may he live forever, to a mere woman? And not even a beautiful one!'

'The woman is of high estate among her own people,' said Shugat. 'Mock not the ways of other men, Nerim. The gods permit all peoples to live their lives in accordance with their rules.'

He stared. 'But she is
ugly,
Shugat! And forward and immodest and she speaks like a man! She is an
insultV

Shugat smiled, revealing his gums. 'Of course she is. But the insult comes from her brother, not her. Be at peace, Nerim. The king will see us when he judges we have been suitably humbled.'

'Humbled!'
He felt another surge of rage.'He is an infidel, not worthy to clean my brother's boots!'

'Even an infidel may have a purpose,' said Shugat, shrugging. 'We are here because the gods sent us. We will leave when we have done what they desire us to do, in the fashion they design for it to be done.' He paused, his expression darkening. 'Do not presume to question the gods, Nerim. That way lies madness and pain.'

The look on Shugat's face was the one he wore just before administering a sharp clout to an offender's ear. Nerim bowed, hurriedly. 'As always you are right, Shugat. Forgive me.'

'I forgive you,' said Shugat, and with a weary sigh lowered himself into the bedroom's chair.

'Are you ... well, Shugat?' he asked hesitantly. Asking him personal questions was always a risky undertaking; Shugat resisted all attempts to engage in normal conversation. Only with the sultan, may he live forever, was he seen to laugh and even then not often. But the strain of this mission was beginning to show: there were dark circles beneath the holy man's eyes, and the healthy colour in his cheeks had faded.

Shugat waved a dismissive hand. 'I am well,' he said curtly. Then he sighed. 'But also ... troubled.'

Eagerly he sat on the bed. 'By what, Shugat? Tell me. I am the brother of the sultan, may he live forever, sent with you to speak the words of the gods' chosen ruler of Kallarap. Gladly will I lend you my wisdom. Speak to me as you would my brother, your friend, and I will listen with his ears.'

Shugat's eyes widened. He was silent for a moment, lips twitching. Then he nodded. 'Very well, Nerim. There is a man of great power in this kingdom. His presence here .. . concerns me.'

'Concerns
you?
How can that be?'

'Many things concern me, Nerim,' Shugat said sharply. 'The heat of the sun, the pallor of the moon, the fall of a sparrow from the sky. But this man ... he is a wildness. An unpredictability. He is chaos given form. I sense that our fates flow together like the mingling of two springs becoming one beneath the sand ... but how or why this should be, I cannot tell. And so I am concerned.'

He frowned. 'But ... you are Shugat, the wise and holy. Surely no man of flesh and blood can concern
you.
As well to say the gods themselves fear him!'

Shugat stood, his eyes flashing. 'Bite your tongue, Nerim, you witless boy! I said nothing of fear, nor of the gods! And only a fool pays no heed to a man of power! Are
you
a fool? Did your brother the sultan, may he live forever, send a fool with me to talk of broken oaths and forsaken honour with the King of New Ottosland?' His left hand lifted and his gods' eye, the crystal embedded in his forehead, pulsed with the fire of a thousand suns.

Horrified, Nerim fell to his knees, arms rising to shield his face. 'No, no, Shugat! I spoke in ignorance but I am no fool! Do not punish me. Please, please,
do not punish meV

An age passed before Shugat spoke again. 'Of course I will not punish you, Nerim,' he said at last, sounding weary beyond bearing.

"Thank you, thank you!' he cried.Then he gasped as Shugat raised him to his feet and lightly shook him. Despite his fear he opened his eyes. The fierce crystal was dormant again, and Shugat's expression was a blend of impatient kindness and urgency.

'But you must not wake my ire in such a fashion!' the holy man warned him. 'The gods sleep very close to the surface of my dreams in this place, boy. And the power I feel here scrapes my nerves as a sandstorm at noon scours the sky'

Trembling, Nerim let his legs fold him back to the bed. 'Why did you not speak of this man and his power when first we arrived?'

'When first we arrived he was not here,' said Shugat. He too resumed his seat, and his thin brown fingers wrapped themselves about the arm of the chair. 'But he is here now. His power is newly woken ... and it is mighty ... and what his presence means to us I do not know. But it does mean something, Nerim. Of that I have no doubt.'

He didn't understand, but he nodded anyway. It seemed safest. 'What do the gods say of this man? What do they say we must do?'

Shugat frowned, and shook his head. 'They say nothing, Nerim. Which means they are not yet ready to speak. We must be patient. When it is time for the gods' purpose to be revealed it will be revealed, and not a moment before.'

'Yes, Shugat,' he said obediently.'Shugat -'

But he was interrupted by a forceful knock upon their guest quarters' outer doors. Shugat went to answer it. He heard the holy man say, in the horrible New Ottosland tongue, 'Ah, Your Highness. How may I assist you?'

He pulled a face. What did the ugly immodest woman want
now?
Not more sightseeing, surely. He was sick to death of monstrous New Ottosland architecture. He joined Shugat in the foyer, wishing he could avert his eyes from the king's lowly sister who dared appear before them with her face uncovered and in clothing that outlined her - her
legs.

And they weren't even
attractive
legs.

The king's lowly sister nodded at him. 'Thank you for seeing me, Prince Nerim. I just stopped by to let you know His Majesty would be pleased to grant you an audience tomorrow afternoon at three, if that should prove convenient to yourself and Holy Shugat.'

He nodded. 'Certainly Your Highness.' The honorific nearly stuck to his tongue but Zazoor had impressed upon him the need to observe all niceties of good behaviour. And Shugat had promised him a clout on the ear it he forgot.'It is a meeting which we have long looked for.'

'Yes,' said the woman. 'Well -'

'His Majesty is a busy man with the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders,' said Shugat smoothly. 'He must be miserly with his favours.'

The king's lowly sister nodded. Nerim winced; truly, he'd seen prettier camels ... 'Your graciousness is appreciated, Holy Shugat,' she said. 'I'm sure now that an amicable outcome will be achieved.'

Shugat shrugged. 'The gods determine all outcomes.'

'Ah. Yes,' she said. 'Of course. Well, that's all I wanted. Unless you particularly desired another carriage ride into the city?'

'No,' said Shugat.'No more carriages.'

The king's lowly sister nodded again, and left.

Nerim resisted the urge to pull a face at the closed door.'An audience at last!' he said, returning gratefully to their own civilised tongue. 'What do you think this means, Shugat?'

Shugat's leathery features creased in a frown. 'The gods know. I shall withdraw and meditate, that they might tell me what they require.'

'And me, Shugat?' he said eagerly. He was the sultan's brother, after all, may Zazoor live forever. He was instrumental in this very important mission. 'What should I do?'

Shugat sighed.'Go back to sleep, Nerim.'

* * *

Instead of returning to her office and tackling more prime ministerial problems, Melissande decided she needed a moment's respite from care. She headed for Rupert's butterfly house. A few precious moments discussing nothing more important than insects was exactly what she needed right now.

The
gods
decide all outcomes? Well
plwoey
on the gods! If that was the case then it was about time the gods pulled out their collective finger and got this ridiculous tariff situation sorted
immediately.

'Because I've had enough, all right?' she demanded as she trounced down the staircase leading to the palace's south saloon vestibule. 'Are you listening? Did you hear me? I-have-had-enoMg/z!'

A startled footman tripped over his mop and bucket. 'Your Highness?'

She helped him to his feet. 'Sorry, Norbert. I wasn't talking to you.'

Mystified, Norbert dabbed soap suds off his elbow.'Very well, Your Highness.'

'Carry on, then,' she said grandly, and pointed to a grimy patch beside the nearest wilting pot plant. 'You missed a bit.'

Rupert was in the meticulously tended garden attached to his butterfly house, snipping the heads off dead flowers. When he saw her his face lit up. 'Melly!'

She joined him, kissed his grubby cheek then surveyed the flowerbeds. 'Hey, Rupes. What are you doing?'

'Oh, you know, chores. A butterfly keepers work is never done,' he said, his smile fading a little. 'It's so sad. All the
Floribunda Magnificos
have died off, you see? So I have to prune them. My poor butterflies won't know what to do with themselves. The
Magnificos
are their favourite supper - almost thirty percent sugar in the nectar, with chambers nearly twice as big as any other flower.'

She considered the headless bushes. 'And that's good, is it?'

'Oh, Melly, that's
marvellous',
he said earnestly, waving his pruning shears for emphasis. She took a prudent step back. 'Bigger chambers mean their little proboscises don't have to work so hard!'

She had no idea what he was talking about. 'How wonderful. I'm so pleased for them.'

'Yes,' he sighed. 'They do love their
Magnificos.
Oh well. They'll just have to make do with the sweet sillies and cuttings from the honeypot tree.'

'You really love your butterflies, Rupert, don't you?' she said, and brushed her fingers over his arm.

He blushed. 'I know, I know. A grown man in transports over insects; it seems ridiculous. But they're as important to me as Boris is to you and Tavistock is to Lional.'

Tavistock.
She had a blinding flash of memory: Lional's cat, changing. The look on her brother's face. The look on Gerald Dunwoody s face, too. Terrified and exhilarated and shocked beyond the telling. And what
that
might mean she was too afraid to wonder ...

'What?' said Rupert, anxiously. 'Melly, what's happened? Tavistock's all right, isn't he? Don't tell me he's got himself run over by a carriage! Lional will skin the driver alive, he
dotes
on that cat!'

'No. No, Tavistock's not dead.' She pulled a face. 'But he's not a cat any more, either.'

'Not a cat?' said Rupert, bewildered. 'Melly, what are you talking about?'

There was a charmingly hand-carved wooden bench a few feet to the left. She sat on it and shoved the hairpins back in her bun. 'The new wizard's here.'

Rupert looked disappointed. 'Oh, no! And I'd promised myself I'd be there to meet him! What's he like? Is he nice? Nicer than Grumbaugh? Although that's not much of a challenge, eh?'

'He seems very nice,' she said, cautiously. 'Lional likes him, at any rate.'

'Yes, well, Lional's liked all of them to start with, hasn't he?' Rupert pointed out. 'And then he's either fired them or frightened them away. Why should this new one be any different?'