Accidental Sorcerer (5 page)

He couldn't have cared less. 'Reg!' he called in the loudest stage whisper he could manage. 'Reg, are you out here?' Nothing.

'Don't be an idiot,' he told himself sternly. 'She's fine. She's only a bird on the outside. Anybody who tries to mess with Reg is making their last mistake. She'll be back. She's just trying to wind you up.'

And it was working, dammit.

Defeated, Gerald pulled his head back into the room and slumped on the edge of his horrible bed. Two more springs died, noisily.

His stomach grumbled. Lunch had been hours ago and he'd been a bit busy since then, one way and another. But steak and chips in the club's dining room was an expense he could no longer afford and anyway ... Errol Haythwaite and his ghastly friends were downstairs.

He didn't have the heart to face them. Not without Monk Markham as back up, at least. And if that made him a coward then fine. He was a coward.

There was a tin of baked beans in the cupboard, and a can opener, and a spoon, for emergencies. If this didn't qualify as an emergency he didn't know what did.

Bloody hell. I hate baked beans.

Morose, disconsolate and feeling more alone than he'd ever felt in his life, he went about eating his pathetic, solitary suppe

Even less did he like being told what to do by a bunch of nattering old men. The only thing Lional and the late king had in common was the name. And in the last few months, as kingship took its toll, Lional s temper had grown markedly short.

Fearing the worst she sprinted the final eight yards and skidded around the corner to the audience chamber's reception area. Now she could make out actual words in the shouting. Words like 'foolish' and 'ridiculous' and 'misguided'.

Saint Snodgrass preserve them.

Her other brother was sitting in a plush red velvet chair, his bony nose stuck in a book as usual. From the ratty state of his britches and jacket he'd come straight from his butterfly house. It was possible he'd even slept there last night; half a green butterfly wing was caught in his hair and he had a rumpled, unbedlike look. Ignoring the shouting and the two discomfited attendants on either side of the open chamber doors, she rushed up to him and snatched the book from his hands.

'Rupert! What's going on? What are they yelling about now, do you know?'

Rupert blinked at her myopically. 'What are who yelling about? Oh! You mean Lional and the Council?' He shrugged. 'Haven't a clue, Melly. Sorry. I was engrossed in a particularly fascinating chapter about the mating habits of the Larger Crested Swamp Butterfly of Lower Limpopo.' A gleam of passion shone in his faded blue eyes. 'I'd give just about anything to have one in my collection but the

Lower Limpopo government is so unreasonable when it comes to exporting their native fauna. I've even asked Court Wizard Greenfeather to help, since he's from Lower Limpopo and seems to know everybody important, but -'

'RupertV
Confiscated book pinned between her knees, Melissande clapped her hands sharply in front of his face. 'Are you sure you don't know what they're yelling about?'

'Positive,' said Rupert cheerfully. He wiggled his fingers at her. 'Can I have my book back, please?'

Swallowing an impatient sigh she shoved it at him. There was no point getting angry with Rupert. He was a darling man, a sweet and thoughtful brother, but not even an adoring sister could call him the brightest candle in the palace chandelier.

Inside the audience chamber the shouting stopped. She heard Lional say, 'Raise your voices to me one more time, gentlemen, and there will be consequences, is that clear?'

There was a moment's silence and then the voices resumed. This time they were pitched at a respectful murmur.

'Whoops,' said Rupert, wincing. 'I think they've really made him cross this time.'

Melissande slumped into the chair beside him. 'They always do, the silly old fools. You'd think they'd learn.' With a sigh, she patted Rupert's threadbare knee. 'What brings you here, anyway?'

He brightened. 'I need permission to leave the country. There's a terribly important symposium in Aframbigi I want to attend. "Natural Mutations

Arising From Captive Lepidoptery Breeding Programs". It's being chaired by Professor Sunyi herself!' He released a tiny, ecstatic sigh. 'I've read every book and pamphlet she's ever written. The idea of
meeting
her -'

'Is pretty much out of the question,' she said, as gently as she could. 'Balloon season's over and the Kallarapi are still refusing nonessential camel-train passage.'

Rupert's expression turned mulish. 'There's still the portal.'

'The
portal?
Don't be silly, Rupert. Lional will never let you use it. Not for a butterfly symposium.'

'He might. If I ask him nicely.'

Dear Rupert. Deluded, ever-hopeful Rupert. There was no point arguing, either. The only trait he and their older brother had in common was a streak of stubbornness as wide as the Kallarapi Desert. She patted his knee again. Sometimes she felt like Rupert's mother, not his little sister.

'Yes, Rupe. You can always ask.'

'Don't worry, I will.' He sniffed. 'Why do you want to see him?'

'I don't. I was summoned.' She chewed at a fingernail. 'I hope it's not about finishing school again. How many more times can I say no? For pity's sake, I'm nearly twenty-one! Finishing school would finish me all right, but not in the way
he
thinks. And anyway, I don't have time.'

'Because of your correspondence course with Madame -'

'ShhhV
she hissed, and glanced at the po-faced chamber attendants. They never looked as though they were listening but one couldn't be too careful. She lowered her voice. 'Partly. And I have a feeling I should be here.'

'But Mel ...' said Rupert anxiously, 'you might not have a choice. After all, Lional's the king now. Father didn't much mind what any of us did so long as we weren't running all over his flowerbeds. But Lional's got
views.
Especially about being contradicted.'

She waved a dismissive hand.'I'm his little sister. Putting me in prison wouldn't look good. Besides, Lional's bark is far worse than his bite, you know that.' She patted his knee again. 'Don't worry'

Rupert smoothed his thin fingers over the cover of his precious book. 'Well, I hope you're right, Mel. But I still think you should reconsider. You never know, finishing school might be fun and at least it'd get you away from here for a -'

' Dismissed?
roared a voice from inside the audience chamber. 'The entire Council? Is Your Majesty quite
madV

'Mad? No!' was Lional's cold reply. 'But I am sorely tempted to serve you your liver fried with onions for daring to take that tone with
me,
your
kingl'

Melissande and Rupert leapt to their feet. Even the diplomatically deaf, dumb and blind chamber attendants quivered. 'That sounded like Lord Billingsley,' Rupert whispered hoarsely. 'He always was a bit tactless.'

'There's tactless and then there's suicidal,' Melissande whispered back. She felt Rupert's cold hand groping for hers and wrapped her fingers round it. 'I'm sorry, Rupe, but I think asking Lional for permission to leave the country will have to wait.'

Rupert nodded. 'Yes. D'you want me to stay anyway? You know, for moral support?'

A fresh babble of angry voices rose within the audience chamber. 'No, I'll be fine. You go. We both know Lional in a temper gives you hives.'

He let go of her hand. 'Well,' he said, sounding relieved.'If you're sure ...'

She was certain. Rupert got on Lional's nerves even more than Lord Billingsley and the rest of the Council. All her life she'd pushed herself between them like a wodge of cotton wool, preventing unfortunate breakages.

'Positive.' She stretched up and kissed his stubbly cheek. 'I'll see you at dinner, all right? Say hello to the butterflies for me - and don't forget to shave. Lional's got views about that too, remember?'

Rupert departed, clutching his book. A moment later Lional's Council -
his former
Council - filed out of the audience chamber. Their expressions were identically thunderous. Ebony cane tips rapping the floor, they muttered to one another under their wheezing breaths as they limped and shuffled into the chamber's reception area, a group of old men whose aggregate age approached a staggering one thousand years.

No wonder Lional was tired of them.

Lord Billingsley, the youngest at seventy-six, paused to look down his bulbous nose at her. Like his colleagues he was dressed in the height of courtly fashion: striped trousers, tail coat and boiled shirt, with half a diamond mine's worth of stick pins and gewgaws thrust into his polka-dot silk cravat.

'Your Highness.'

She nodded.'Lord Billingsley.'

'Here to see the king?'

'That's right.'

'Then I suggest you take a moment to talk some sense into him!' Billingsley snapped. His left eye twitched uncontrollably, threatening to shoot his monocle clear across the room. 'He seems to have completely lost his reason!'

What could she say? The stuffy old man might well be right. It did seem crazy for Lional to dismiss the Council. He might be the king but he could hardly run the country on his own. However, agreeing with Billingsley meant disagreeing with Lional and that was treason. Technically, anyway. If Lional overheard he might ship her off to finishing school out of pique, no matter how old she was or how many times she declined the offer.

She graced Lord Billingsley with her most imperious smile. 'Like you, my lord, I am His Majesty's loyal and obedient subject. If, during our audience, he asks me to talk some sense into him I will certainly attempt to do so. Was there anything else?'

Lord Billingsley cast a glance towards his colleagues, huddling like elderly sheep at the reception entrance, and made a great show of harrumphing and pretending hed got the answer he wanted. Then he bowed, creakily.

'Not at this moment, Your Highness. Doubtless this is but a temporary state of affairs. I'm sure His Majesty will soon come to regret this decision. We will return to our estates now and await our recall. Good day'

Watching the offended Council members retreat, she almost felt sorry for them. All those years running the show behind the scenes while her father the cabbage king played figurehead ... and now here was Lional. At nearly thirty he was less than half Lord Billingsley's age, and to the Council's mind scarcely old enough to shave unassisted. Throwing his weight around. Inconveniently insisting that kings had more important things to do than poison aphids and peruse seed catalogues.

'Melissande!' a deceptively sweet voice called from within the audience chamber.'I'm
waitingV

She sighed and looked to the rigidly non-commital chamber attendants. The one on the right banged his ceremonial pikestaff on the floor and said, unnecessarily, 'His Majesty will see you now, Your Highness.'

'Apparently. Don't bother announcing me, Willis.' She poked a couple of escaping hairpins back into her slapdash bun, squared her shoulders and marched into the enormous, echoing audience chamber.

Lional was down off his throne, standing instead by the large leadlight windows in the grandiose room's far wall. Shafting sunlight turned his wavy hair to burnished gold and sparkled the rubies and emeralds in his crown. Long and lean, he wore his dark green silks like a second skin. His thickly lashed blue eyes were luminous, his wide cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. His skin was lightly golden, and blooming fresh like a child's. Every inch of him shrieked athletic elegance and grace. He looked like a living legend.

It was hard to believe they were related.

A fat orange cat wove complicated patterns around his booted ankles. Tavistock. She didn't like Lional's pet, but the fact that he loved it without reservation gave her heart when his casual inconsiderations drove her to swearing and sometimes to tears.

It was a long walk up the thin strip of crimson carpet to reach him, and he didn't acknowledge her presence until she came to a stop a few feet from him. Tavistock eyed her with a slitted green gaze, smirking. Dratted animal.

Ignoring it, she sniffed. 'Good morning. What was all that business with the Council? Surely you haven't -'

He raised a finger and both eyebrows. 'Ah ah ah! What are we forgetting, Melissande?'

She frowned. 'I don't know.'

The finger wagged, admonishing. 'I think you do.'

'No, I really don't.'

He sighed. 'You're supposed to curtsey. I
am
the king, though sometimes I think the fact escapes you.'

She looked around the otherwise deserted chamber. 'Lional, we're the only ones in here.' 'Nevertheless ...'

'Oh, please! I'm wearing trousers!'

His glance was disapproving. 'Put on a dress, then. You should wear a dress anyway. One with lace. And flounces. It's more princessly.'

'You know perfectly well I don't wear dresses,' she said, rolling her eyes. 'They make me look like a badly sewn-up sack of wheat. Lional, have you really dismissed the Council?'

He turned away from the window and returned to his throne on its crimson-carpeted dais.Tavistock leapt into his lap with a grunt, turned around twice and settled on his knees. Claws like tiny scimitars paddled green silk, pulling threads. Lional tickled under the cat's chin. 'You don't approve?'

No, she didn't, but wasn't stupid enough to say so.'I don't understand. I know Lord Billingsley and his cronies are tedious, but they -'

'Refuse to accept reality. The old regime is dead and buried, just like Father. / am king now.
I
make the decisions. Not them.'

'Lional ...' She stepped closer. 'Be fair. They're old men, set in their ways, and you've been king for less than a year. I'm sure you'll get used to them once -'

'It's not for me to get used to them!' snapped Lional. 'Like all my subjects they exist to serve,

Melissande. And if they won't I have no use for them.'

'But Lional, you need a Council,' she said. 'This kingdom's like a duck on a mill pond, you know. There's you sitting serenely on the surface and underneath there are all these other people working like demented grasshoppers to keep things moving. Believe me, I do understand if you don't want
those
councillors, but traditionally it's an hereditary position. Billingsley and the rest of them all have sons, they'll assume -'

'Assumptions,' said Lional, dangerously, 'are unwise. I have suspended Council activity for now. Billingsley, his cronies and their encroaching sons are forbidden the palace until further notice. I need time to think without them bleating in my ear, wanting this, demanding that, all under the mistaken impression that I'm here to
give
them things. Besides, they were costing an absolute fortune to feed and house here at court. It's about time they fed themselves and all their hangers-on, too. Last time I looked this was my palace, not a hotel.'

She shook her head.'Gosh, Lional. They're not going to like that.'

He smiled, his ring-laden fingers now buried in Tavistock's extravagant fur. 'Behold me not heartbroken at the prospect.'

It was true, the cost of keeping councillors, courtiers and their servants around the place was ruinous. But even so ... 'All right, you've stood down the Council for a while. So what will you do in the meantime?
Somebody
has to keep the wheels of government turning.'