Mage Prime (Book 2) (23 page)

Vailin’s reply was controlled, his words cutting the air like shards of flint. “Perhaps it would have been more convenient for you to make an appointment, Chancellor. Then I could have given you the attention you seem to think you deserve. Now, what is the other point you wish to make?”

Seemingly impervious to the heightened tension in the room, Leggitt took another step forward and clasped his hands together as if in supplication. “It is my considered opinion that our economy would fare best if we were indeed to place our trust in our magicians. After all, they would require very little in the way of supplies and equipment, and from what I am led to believe, transport would present no problem to them either. In fact, should this course of action be implemented, I foresee an almost minimal drain on our resources.”

With a self-satisfied smirk he gave a short assertive nod, as if to emphasise the validity of his statement. He stood back to await the anticipated approbation of his king. This was not as immediately forthcoming as he might have wished. Leggit’s facial expression, the wide mouth, bulging heavy-lidded eyes and puffy rounded chin had stirred something in Vailin’s memory. The young monarch stood up from his throne, his lithe body taut with pent up anger. Moving to stand close beside Lady Evalin, he murmured a few words into her ear. One slender and perfect eyebrow arched upwards in surprise and she peered round Vailin’s shoulder at the Chancellor.

Suddenly realising he might just have provoked his monarch into doing something rash, Leggitt vainly attempted a slow, and hopefully dignified withdrawal. He had managed to reach the comparative safety of the crowded central floor when he began to see things from a completely different perspective. The subdued clamour of debating voices stilled to awestruck silence as the ministers formed a jostling circle around the space currently occupied by a large and gasping Horned Toad. One hardened cynic was heard to comment on the improvement, which elicited a few nervous sniggers. The displaced Chancellor released a mournfully bellowing croak and deposited a dark green and slippery mess on the polished parquet floor. Vailin stepped down from the dais, crossed the floor and looked dispassionately down at Evalin’s handiwork.

Washing his hands theatrically he scanned the bloodless faces of his ministers. “So now has the toad-eater become the toad. Perhaps one of you would be brave enough to put him somewhere safe.”

Without a backward glance Vailin returned to his throne. Stone faced, he sat and watched while Minister Thios hurriedly scooped up the confused and panting toad in the skirt of his robe and scurried out through a side door. While a floor attendant armed with mop and bucket swabbed away the smelly green evidence, the visibly trembling Prime Minister cautiously approached the dais.

Before he could utter a word, Vailin forestalled him. “We will
not
take an adjournment Prime Minister. What we
will
take is a vote, which I expect to be fair and honest, totally uninfluenced by the latest incident. I trust each one of my ministers will use their vote wisely.” He stood and moved to the edge of the dais, to smile coldly down at Duckitt. “I will await the note of the bell in eager anticipation.”

With the Lady Evalin on his arm and escorted by two guards, he left the Council Chamber. An unperturbed Master Gibb followed close behind, accompanied by a somewhat nervous and ashen-faced young scribe. Gibb turned and gave him a little smile.

Keeping his voice low, the royal secretary reassured him. “It’s not always like that, you know. When you’ve been here a bit longer, you’ll see that most of the time it’s pretty ordinary, but there’s some serious things happening at the moment, so we have to be ready for anything.”

The young scribe nodded wordlessly and followed Master Gibb into the office, while Vailin and Lady Evalin headed for the comfort of an ante-room.

The Lady Evalin turned away from the window. “It’s getting dark outside, Vailin. Are you thinking they’ll be much longer?”

Vailin looked up from the sheaf of papers he had been perusing, reached out and tugged on a bell-pull. After spending a couple of hours in the ante-room, waiting for a result, they had grown tired of its windowless stuffiness and removed themselves to Vailin’s light and airy sitting room. A side door opened to admit Jobling. Without a word being said, he walked quickly and quietly around the side of the room and drew the heavy, cream damask curtains against the rapidly descending night.

He turned and bowed briefly to Lady Evalin and Vailin. “I have taken the liberty, sire, of despatching Master Gibb to the council chamber, in order to assess the state of affairs therein.”

Vailin allowed himself a little smile. If there was one thing he could rely on, it was Jobling’s knack of knowing exactly what to do and the right time to do it. “Thank you Jobling. As you have deprived me, yet again, of the opportunity to give you orders, perhaps you could tell me what we are having for supper?”

As always, Jobling handled the remark with equanimity. Unhesitatingly he recited a short but varied menu. Vailin’s stomach began to make little growling noises.

He made a wry face. “If they take much longer, I shall feel inclined to have them all locked in, and make them wait while we enjoy our meal.”

He stretched, and placed the sheaf of papers on a side table, just as a door opened on the opposite side of the room.

Master Gibb walked briskly in to stand in front and slightly to one side of his king. “They appear to have reached an impasse, sire. I think the bawling and shouting stage must be over. They’re all standing in little groups talking, but very quietly; quite subdued in fact. Prime Minister Duckitt is walking up and down and wringing his hands, probably because no-one’s speaking to him, and the attendants are all sitting in the far corner, playing battle-stones.”

Vailin’s mouth set in a determined line, and he stood up from his chair. “Right. I think it’s time to end this. Let’s chivvy them along then we can eat.”

He picked up the narrow gold circlet with its single pigeon’s blood ruby, slid it onto his dark hair and led the way out through the door by which Master Gibb had entered. No sooner had they stepped into the ante-room than the bell rang, signalling that the votes had been cast and counted.

Vailin gave Evalin a satisfied smile. “How’s that for timing? It would seem the impasse has been broken.”

Master Gibb held open the door, then followed Vailin and Evalin onto the council chamber dais. A ragged sort of rustling ensued as the assembled ministers bowed, accompanied by a light clatter as the attendants hastily cleared away their game of battle-stones. Vailin and Evalin seated themselves, and the scribes picked up their quills.

Prime Minister Duckitt stepped forward, his expression one of abject apology. “Unfortunately, Your Majesty, we do not have a unanimous decision, despite the Lady Evalin’s most persuasive argument.”

Vailin looked across at Evalin and raised an eyebrow, but she merely gave him a little secretive smile and an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

Turning to look at the Prime Minister, Vailin leaned forward slightly. “So, we do not have a unanimous decision. That was to be expected, I suppose. Do we have a majority in favour of our magicians?”

Duckitt’s expression rapidly altered to one of relief. Straightening his fleshy shoulders, he tucked in his chins and addressed Vailin as if declaring a personal victory. “Indeed, Your Majesty. There were four abstentions and three black balls, which gives you a very good majority.”

Vailin stood up and moved to the front of the dais. “That is all I wanted to know.” He let his gaze travel around the room. “I now trust that those who abstained and those who voted against will nevertheless, put their best efforts into supporting the immense amount of work that will shortly become necessary. You will be receiving files from my office within the next few days. I declare the council adjourned. Thank you, gentlemen.”

Leaving the Prime Minister standing open-mouthed, Vailin turned and offered his arm to Lady Evalin. To the accompaniment of the traditional ripple of applause they made an unhurried and dignified exit.

Jack pulled up his jacket collar against the chill and searching wind hurtling down the alley behind him. The weather had taken a turn for the worse that afternoon, which suited him well. The occasional necessary lurk in the shadowy entrance of a dockside alley called for the cover of inclement weather, and its propensity for persuading the majority of ordinary people to stay indoors. The Royal warrant sat snug, safe and unused in an inside pocket, ready to be produced only if all else failed. Twenty years as spy-master had yielded an impressively diverse collection of tried and tested, if sometimes questionable, methods. For the most part these had stood him in good stead. However, on this particular occasion he had felt that good shiny metal would speak a lot louder and clearer than any royal warrant. His instincts had served him well, and earlier in the day gold and silver had changed hands in a certain ship-captain’s cabin. The ship had been searched from stem to stern, foredeck to scuppers. Now, one of Jack’s men leaned idly on the rail. The quarter-master, whose clothing he had borrowed, remained below, happily playing battle-stones with the first mate.

A dog barked at the far end of the alley. Jack stepped back, becoming one of many shadows under the dripping eaves. On deck, his man had heard the signal. Casually he strolled to a spot nearer the gangplank, and began coiling a rope left there for the purpose. Further along the dock, a shabbily dressed sailor, the worse for drink, weaved his way unsteadily towards the ship. Seemingly oblivious to the stinging rain which blew almost horizontally into his face, he stood swaying from side to side just below the bow. The man on deck appeared to ignore him for a few minutes.

Then, as if he had just noticed him, he dropped the coil of rope and called down over the rail. “Get yourself aboard Trigg! You’ll catch your death!”

Trigg peered up through the driving rain. “Cal! I’ll be… hic… righ’ up.”

This was the signal Jack had been waiting for. Their quarry was in sight. Another dog barked, the sound coming from far down the dock to his left, and Jack knew his men were closing in. The drunken sailor staggered and stumbled up the gang-plank and onto the ship, collapsing in a sprawl against a nearby stanchion. Jack smiled to himself in the darkness. The whole plan had gone well, from the moment when he had persuaded the captain to let him know if anyone should ask to book passage on the rather grubby cargo ship. He hadn’t had long to wait.

He had just left a dockside tavern after taking a leisurely lunch. Strolling along the dock, he probed his teeth with a gold-tipped tooth-pick, just another merchant returning to his dockside warehouse. Drawing nearer the ship he saw the captain leaning on the rail, munching on an apple. Suddenly the captain spat, screwed up his face and threw the half-eaten fruit onto the dock, before turning swiftly and going below. This was the signal. The Naborian had booked passage, and Jack already knew that the ship was due to sail on a midnight tide. He ambled over and toed the apple’s battered and bruised remains into the water, before resuming his stroll towards the warehouse area of the dockyard. Taking a key from the pocket of his fashionably tailored merchants’ coat, he let himself in through a side door and swiftly crossed the half empty warehouse. In a tiny office he exchanged the costly coat for a sailor’s well-worn but still very serviceable pea-jacket. He let himself out through a back door which opened onto a narrow alley, frequently used as a convenient dumping ground for unwanted crates and chests, and set off to gather up a few of his best men.

Everyone was now in place. The carefully laid trap would soon be sprung. Jack watched and listened. Keeping the rest of his body perfectly still, he reached down to his waist. As if by magic, a long, narrow-bladed knife appeared in his hand. He hefted its perfect balance across his palm. The second footfall was barely audible. Imperceptibly, Jack shifted his balance and waited. Seconds later he spun round. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the lethal blade whistling through the darkness. A muffled oath reached his ears. Allowing himself a grim smile of satisfaction, Jack resumed his surveillance.

His smile widened into a malicious grin as a hoarse voice whispered just behind his right ear. “Gods! Jack! You nearly ‘ad me that time! I was dead certain you never ‘eard me!”

The spymaster’s only response was to hold out his hand. A slender hilt was placed carefully across his palm. Without speaking, Jack slipped the knife back into his waistband as a shadow flitted from behind him, crossed the alley, and attached itself to the wall. They waited. A temporary easing of the rain allowed the glow of the dockside lamps to give Jack a clear view across the dozen or so paces to the ship. Cal was now standing at the top of the gangplank, grasping the hand-ropes on either side as he watched a dark clad figure hurrying towards the ship.

When they were close enough, Cal called out a greeting. “Good evening sir. You must be our one and only passenger. Please come straight up.”

Wearing a black calf-length coat and carrying a seemingly heavy canvas holdall, the man quickly looked all about him before hurrying sure-footedly up on to the ship.

Cal stood to one side and gave the passenger a respectful nod. “If you’ll follow me sir, I’ll show you to your cabin.”

The sailor began to lead the way across the deck. Jack and his men closed in. Miraculously recovered from his drunken stupor, Trigg sprang to his feet. Propelled by a carefully gauged under-arm pitch, three lengths of rawhide, each with a ball of compressed leather attached, whistled through the air to entangle themselves around the passenger’s feet. With a loud and angry cry, he toppled face down on the deck. From behind deck-stowed crates two more men dashed out and pinned his arms to the floor. Swiftly, Cal thrust a black cloth bag over the man’s head and secured the neck.

Crouched beside the struggling victim, Trigg tied his ankles with a length of thin, strong cord. He then untangled and removed the weapon which had brought him down. His arms secured behind his back with another length of cord, the way-laid passenger was dragged roughly to his feet and steered towards the gangplank.

Cal turned to one of the men who had been hiding on deck. “Can’t you stop him hollering, Geddon? He might be yelling a spell for all we know!”

Geddon’s grin could have curdled milk. His eyes glinting in the lamplight, he reached into the back of his belt. The black-jack made a brief thudding contact with the side of the black bag and their captive slumped forward, limp and silent. Quickly he was man-handled down the gang-plank. On the dockside, Jack was now waiting with a tired looking horse and an even more tired looking cart. Jack sprang off the seat into the bed of the cart, and lifted the lid of a wooden chest with a number of holes drilled in the sides. The unconscious Naborian was unceremoniously packed inside, and the chest secured with two large padlocks. Jack then stowed the heavy canvas bag behind it. He returned to his seat and looked down at his men. “Well done. Your pay will be in the usual place at the usual time. There’ll be a bonus later if this is who I think it is.”

Trigg stepped forward and looked up into Jack’s face. “Gods! Jack! He must be. He’s the only bloody Naborian in the city!”

Reaching under the seat, Jack pulled out a brown slouch hat, which he put on and pulled low. “That remains to be seen. Stay watchful.”

He flicked the reins. The tired horse broke into an amble, the iron shod wheels of the cart making a loud metallic protest. Jack drove out of the dock and headed out across the sleeping city towards the palace.