The Song of the Quarkbeast: Last Dragonslayer: Book Two (11 page)

‘I am much honoured,’ said Perkins, trying to avoid her jet-black eyes.

‘Then you honour too easily,’ she replied before turning to Blix. ‘Still drowning puppies, Conrad?’

‘That was never proved,’ replied Blix as the temperature in the room lowered another two degrees.

‘Pleasantries are over,’ said Tenbury nervously, ‘The paperwork, if you please, Miss Strange.’

I presented the paperwork to Ruprecht, who stared at it absently for a few seconds before Tenbury checked it and then passed it to Once Magnificent Boo, who grunted her approval.

‘You may proceed,’ said Tenbury.

‘This is my chosen spell from Group “A”,’ announced Perkins, as the Useless Brother and the chair he was sitting in elevated several feet, rotated once slowly, and then settled back down again.

‘Gosh,’ said the Useless Brother.

‘Accepted,’ said Boo.

Over the next twenty minutes, Perkins undertook several other acts of enchantment, which by their variety and scope demonstrated his understanding of the arts. He changed the colour of water in a jug to blue, made a light bulb glow without wires, and took off his own T-shirt without removing his shirt, which, while sounding easy, is actually one of the hardest to do in Group ‘C’. In fact, he managed all of the tasks without a problem and to Boo’s approval, and after several more assorted enchantments we were ready to hear any arguments opposing his application. This is where I expected Blix to drum up some technicality and block us, perhaps in retaliation for our observation that iMagic’s Samantha Flynt was less than perfect when doing her magic feats, and conducting the test in a swimsuit was pointless and demeaning to the profession and women in general. He could have tried to block us, but he didn’t.

‘We have no objections to Mr Perkins’ application.’

This was suspicious – mostly because that’s what any reasonable person might have said, and Blix was rarely, if ever, reasonable.

Perkins was now ready to undertake his last act of sorcery, which was to be a Class Six enchantment of one’s own invention that ‘was to show originality, flair, and must be between one and three thousand Shandars’.

‘For my final enchantment,’ declared Perkins, ‘I will set distant dogs barking.’

‘What?’ said the Useless Brother. ‘That’s it? This is
most
unsatisfactory. I was hoping for a shower of mice or conjuring up a marshmallow the size of my head or something.’

‘It does sound a bit . . easy,’ added Lord Tenbury.

‘I concur that it
sounds
lame,’ said Perkins, ‘but making distant dogs bark is a spell of considerable subtlety that combines distance, canine mind control and pinpoint selectivity.’

‘Cadet Perkins is correct,’ said Once Magnificent Boo quietly, ‘the test is valid.’

‘Very well,’ said Lord Tenbury. ‘Proceed.’

‘Yes,’ said the Useless Brother. ‘Proceed.’

We stepped out on to the ramparts outside the Ministry of Infernal Affairs office, a section of flat lead roof on the high outer wall of the castle. Eight storeys below us was the inner courtyard, and from our lofty perch we could see the Dragonlands, a vast tract of unspoiled land, untrod by humans for over four centuries and now home to the only two Dragons on the planet, Feldspar Axiom Firebreath IV, and Colin.
²

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ began Perkins, ‘for this test I will set four distant and very separate dogs barking. But to dispel the notion of chance, you may choose the direction from which the dogs are to bark, and the size of the dog.’

‘Can I choose first?’ asked the Useless Brother, who was suddenly interested.

‘Of course,’ said Lord Tenbury, ‘you
are
the Minister of Infernal Affairs, after all.’

‘I am, aren’t I?’ Ruprecht said, pleased with himself, looking out over the battlements and waving a finger in the direction of the kitchens. ‘I choose a chihuahua, and from over there.’

Perkins concentrated for a moment, and pointed two fingers in the direction Ruprecht had indicated. Almost immediately, there came the sharp bark of a small dog, somewhere quite far away, and from the direction he had indicated.

‘That’s one,’ said Boo.

‘A Great Dane,’ said Blix, ‘from there.’

A moment later, there came the unmistakable deep, gruff tones of a large dog. The sound was so distant that if there had not been a breeze to bring it to our ears, we may not have heard it at all. Perkins was doing well, and the bark of a cocker spaniel next up was a similarly expert piece of spelling. If it had been any closer it would not have been distant, and if it had been ten feet farther away, we would not have heard it at all.

‘A bull terrier,’ I said, for it was my turn to choose the final dog, ‘from over there.’

Perkins was relaxed and on a roll. His magic licence was in the bag. Nothing, I thought, could stop us now. He had raised his index fingers to cast his final spell when there was a sharp cough from behind us. We turned to find a footman dressed in full livery with embroidered jacket, tight red breeches, stockings and a wig. He held a staff which he struck twice on the ground, announcing in a shrill voice:

‘His Gracious Majesty, King Snodd IV!’

¹
A mixture of levitation and juggling. Although not of any huge practical use, it is a measure of a practitioner’s skill. To levitate one or ten objects is easy; to make them all do different things when in the air takes considerable power and concentration. The Mighty Shandar could reputedly also do Blix’s trick but with bison. Remarkable to behold, but what the bison thought about it was not recorded. Owing to constraints within the ARAMAIC-128 notation required in the enchantment, thirty-two objects is the maximum anyone can work with.

²
Colin is the smaller of the two if you ever meet. At the time of the events surrounding the bridge gig they were spending a fortnight in Washington, DC, reading the entire literary output of mankind at the Library of Congress, in order to better understand the species. They thought it ‘in general a charming read, but tending towards monotony’. This is the principal reason they do not feature in this story.

King Snodd IV

Everyone but the Useless Brother and Boo knelt as the King walked out on to the flat roof where we were standing. He was on his own, or more accurately, he had so few courtiers, hangers-on and advisers that he might as well have been alone – I counted an astonishingly low dozen, which was normal when the King was in a solitary frame of mind. Snodd’s ridiculously high staffing levels were not unusual within the royalty of the Ununited Kingdoms. He reputedly needed four valets to take a bath, and a minimum of two to go to the loo. One to hold the toilet paper and the other to . . . well, I’m sure you get the picture.

It was Tenbury who spoke first.

‘Your Highness,’ he said, ‘you bless us with your presence.’

‘I do rather, don’t I?’ he replied.

The King was a youthful-looking forty, and was in annoyingly good health for those who thought it might be better for all concerned if he would drop dead and let his wife, the considerably less militaristic and more diplomatic Queen Mimosa, take over. One of the few acts of civil disobedience within the Kingdom in recent years had been a march in support of Queen Mimosa having greater control in government. The King was prepared to use water cannon, riot police and tear gas, until Queen Mimosa stepped in herself and told the marchers to ‘return home and be patient’, something that they did, much to the King’s astonishment and annoyance – he’d not used his riot police for a while and thought they needed some practice.

‘I heard my good friend Jennifer Strange was in the castle,’ said the King, ‘and I just – why is that woman not grovelling or averting her eyes in my presence?’

Everyone looked up from where they were kneeling.

‘This is the Once Magnificent Boolean Smith, Your Majesty, the magic test adjudicator and recently appointed Beastmaster.’

‘What happened to Hugo?

‘He came off worse in an argument with a Tralfamosaur.’

He stared at Boo again and took two steps forward to remonstrate with her.

‘Now listen here, good lady, I am the . . .’

His voice trailed off as he fell into the inky blackness of her eyes.

‘Lumme,’ he said, ‘I have the queerest feeling that I’m drowning.’

‘Not yet,’ replied Once Magnificent Boo in an ominous tone, ‘but you shall, and in mud, deserted by those you thought were friends.’

There was a difficult pause as the King and his courtiers took this in. The fact that there
was
a pause rather than an instant contradiction seemed to suggest not only that the King thought this a feasible demise, but his attendants did too.

‘Now listen here—’

‘Your Majesty should forgive a respected ex-enchantress her eccentricities,’ said Tenbury in a soothing tone, and whispered something in the King’s ear.

‘Indeed,’ said the King, ‘all may rise, since we are friends together.’

We got to our feet, the King cleared his throat and, ignoring Boo, began again.

‘I heard my good friend Jennifer was in the castle and I popped by to say “wotcha”.’

I was immediately suspicious. The King never ‘popped’ by anywhere, rarely said ‘wotcha’ and was
definitely
not a friend.

‘Come here, child,’ said the King, and I approached cautiously. The last time we had met he had me put in jail for daring to meddle in his plans to invade the Duchy of Brecon. Thankfully, ‘averting a war with pacifist aforethought’ couldn’t be found anywhere on the statute books so I was released after two weeks of half-rations and a single sheet to sleep under in a damp cell without natural light. To anyone else it might have been unbearable, but after being brought up by the Blessed Ladies of the Lobster, it was really quite relaxing. I’d not slept so well for months.

‘Good afternoon, Your Majesty,’ I said, curtsying. ‘How best can I serve you?’

When I was a Dragonslayer I could do more or less what I wanted, but now I was simply an agent at Kazam and a loyalish subject of the King I had to be more careful. With despots it was always best to flatter and say ‘yes’ as often as possible. The King smiled, revealing a set of ridiculously white teeth. He wore a monocle and was thought of as handsome for a member of the royalty, and slightly like a weasel if he’d been anyone else. He had a silly habit of always wearing a crown, and lots of scarlet and ermine.

‘I have decided that I should take this Mystical Arts nonsense with more seriousness than I have in the past,’ he announced, ‘and now the power of your old-fangled “magic” is arising once more, I must have a dedicated wizard at court in order to see how best the nation’s newest asset can be efficiently exploited.’

He thought for a moment.

‘I mean, ‘how magic can best be used to serve the people’. What do you think?’

‘I think that the Mystical Arts are best independent,’ I replied. ‘They should serve no one in particular, and be beholden to no—’

‘You are but a child,’ he said patronisingly, ‘simplistic and unversed in the way of the world. What do you say, All Powerful Blix?’

I thought of mentioning that he was simply ‘the Amazing Blix’ but then this whole thing seemed to have a certain degree of stage management about it. There had been negotiations behind my back, and right now I was not guiding events, but their passenger.

‘I think that is a fine idea, sire,’ said Blix obsequiously. ‘Your Gracious Majesty has a responsibility to better promote this new power for the betterment of the Ununited Kingdoms.’

‘I could not have put it better myself and did,’ said the King, turning back to me. ‘You are appointed to the post, Mr Blix. Miss Strange, can I rely upon Kazam to afford all help that Court Mystician All Powerful Blix requires?’

I stared at him for a moment. A Court Mystician was a big jump for Blix and a worrying one. By ancient decree from the days when wizards were more powerful than they are now it made him eighth in line to the throne, after the royal family and Lord Tenbury. At times like this, I simply did what the Great Zambini would have done. He had expressly told me that Blix was not to be trusted in any way, shape or form. I chose my words carefully.

‘I’m afraid to say that we would have to rigorously examine any requests from Blix and consider each very carefully on its individual merits.’

The King raised an eyebrow.

‘Is that a yes?’

‘No.’

The King smiled at me.

‘You are so very, very predictable, Miss Strange. I could force your houses to join, and even enact legislation to have Kazam outlawed. But those are the acts of a despot, not those of a fair, just and much-loved leader. Me,’ he added, in case I was wondering who he was referring to. ‘No, I suggest that a new company be formed from Kazam and iMagic which will be called “Snodd Magic PLC” and from these fine beginnings great things will be achieved. What do you say?’

I didn’t have to choose my words so carefully this time.

‘I believe I speak for all Kazam’s members when I say that I must reluctantly decline your Majesty’s generous offer. We will not support the Amazing Blix in any form whatsoever, and would strongly resist any attempt at a merger.’

‘Is that a no?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh dear.’ The King sighed. ‘An impasse. What do we do when we reach an impasse, Useless Brother?’

‘A what?’

‘I’ll tell you,’ continued the King, ‘we should have a contest to decide the matter. Magical contests are always enjoyed by the unwashed and the destitute – and
especially
by the unwashed destitute. I understand it is a traditional way to resolve matters between those versed in the Mystical Arts. Is that not so, Court Mystician?’

‘Most definitely,’ said Blix, turning to me. ‘From the head of one House of Enchantment to another, I challenge Kazam to a contest. Winner takes control of the other’s company.’

I couldn’t really back out even if I’d wanted to. The Sorcerer’s Protocol was obscure, ancient, mostly illogical and cemented into law by long implementation. To refuse a challenge was unthinkable, but then to
issue
a challenge was also unthinkable – it was something only ill-mannered dopes without any manners would do. Wizards like Blix, in fact.