came Xter, into the banqueting hall. Next moment — the dragon! He’s the one!’
Dolglin Chin Xter was so shocked and shaken by his batde with the guards that he could barely stand. He had no breath for eloquence. Indeed, he barely had breath sufficient to sustain life. Verily, he looked as if he might have a heart attack instanter. So there were good reasons for his silence. Health reasons. But few spectators thought of that. To most of the mundane intellects present, Xter’s silence meant only one thing: he must be guilty.
‘I order Xter to be suspended and arrested,’ said Varazchavardan. ‘On charges of high, low and middle treason. On charges of keeping dragons without licence. And — and — and of letting prisoners escape.’
‘Prisoners?’ said the Empress Justina, bewildered. ‘Stand still, you men! Still, I say! Vazzy, what’s this about prisoners?’
All action in the Star Chamber was for the moment suspended as the Empress confronted her Master of Law.
‘The prisoners I speak of are the Malud marauders who were trapped in the starvation cage,’ said Varazchavardan. ‘Xter let them out! I have proof!’
‘You are mistaken,’ said the Empress with a considerable degree of severity. ‘Young Chegory Guy let the prisoners out.’
On hearing that, Varazchavardan realised he had made a mistake. He had over-reached himself. He pushed on recklessly:
‘Then arrest him too!’ said Varazchavardan. ‘Doubtless he was Xter’s agent.’
‘He only let them out so we could shelter from the dragon in the cage,’ said Justina. ‘If he hadn’t let them out, I’d be dead. Eaten by the dragon.’
‘But who brought the dragon into the banqueting hall in the first place?’ said Varazchavardan. ‘Xter! Don’t you see? It’s a conspiracy! In came Xter, in came the dragon, then Chegory opened the cage, out went the prisoners, in went the Empress, confusion reigned-’
‘But I reign here and now,’ said the Empress. ‘Varazchavardan! You are out of order! Be seated!’
The Empress Justina was not a political genius. But her father, Lonstantine Thrug, had taught her the basics. In particular, he had taught her that speed is dangerous. Speed kills! Right now, a great many things were happening very very quickly. The Empress did not like it. Was Varazchavardan guilty? Was Xter? Was Odolo? She knew not, but knew full well she needed time to think about it.
‘Be seated!’ she said, repeating her order to the recalcitrant Varazchavardan.
But Varazchavardan would not be seated. Since he had gone too far already he must now go further yet — or be doomed for certain. His accusing talons needled the air as he shouted:
‘Xter! You’re under arrest! And you! The Ebby! And that corpse master, he’s under arrest! And-’
‘Halt!’ cried Justina. ‘This has gone too far! This is a gross abuse of our Presence, of the judicial process, the constitutional mechanism, your office and the public patience.’ What the Empress said might have made very litde sense if subjected to detailed intellectual analysis, but it sounded magnificent. She continued: ‘Nobody is under arrest here. Not unless I say so.’
‘Then say it!’ said Chegory Guy desperately, seizing his chance. ‘Say it about Varazchavardan! He’s a drug pusher! Xter’s right! I’ve proof! Varazchavardan’s evil! Drugs, drugs, that’s what he’s into! I saw him, he had liquor, barrel upon barrel of it. I saw it Downstairs! He had rum!’
He had rum! In Injiltaprajura, that was about the worst accusation one could make about someone.
‘That is a baseless accusation,’ said Varazchavardan roundly. ‘A vile slander. This Chegory is in league with Xter! He’s part of a criminal conspiracy to undermine the administration of law. Treason, in a word!’
Chegory could hear pounding footsteps fast-approaching. Whose footsteps? Who was coming?
‘We’ll see,’ said the Empress Justina grimly. ‘For the moment, Vazzy, you’re out of a job. I’m removing you from your position. You’ll-’ She broke off as armed guards came pounding into the Star Chamber. At their head was the captain of her palace guard, the elegant Bro Drumel. ‘Brody!’ said Justina. ‘Just the man I wanted to see! I want you to-’
‘Seize the bitch!’ shouted Varazchavardan. ‘It’s now or never, man!’
To Chegory’s bewilderment, Bro Drumel and his men laid rough hands upon the Empress Justina without so much as a moment’s hesitation. Comprehension came to him a trifle belatedly: Bro Drumel and his men must long have been leaguing with Varazchavardan. Here was conspiracy true and proven!
‘What are your orders?’ said Bro Drumel to Varazchavardan.
‘Secure the palace,’ said the sorcerer. ‘Let none enter or leave. Guard the treasury. Summon up the troops. Declare a State of Emergency. I am taking control of Untunchilamon in the name of Aldarch the Third, Mutilator of Yestron.’
‘You cannot do this!’ cried Justina, in high dudgeon truly. ‘Such base ingratitude! Such vile turpitude!’
‘Silence, bitch!’
That was Bro Drumel speaking. Then he said no more, for the Empress thumped him with her handbag, and he fell as if poleaxed. Roaring like a buffalo in heat, Justina laid about her, laying out guardsmen right and left.
‘Cut her down!’ screamed Varazchavardan, quite losing his cool. ‘Kill her where she stands!’
But none of the guardsmen was quite prepared to hack into the imperial flesh. Instead, they abandoned their scimitars and endeavoured to subdue the Empress by brute force alone. As batde imperial progressed, Chegory Guy edged toward the door.
‘The Ebby!’ said Varazchavardan. ‘Don’t let him get away! Seize him! And those Ashdan bitches! The corpse master, get the corpse master!’
This was done. Thus Chegory Guy, Olivia Qasaba, Artemis Ingalawa and the corpse master Uckermark were swept into Varazchavardan’s net together with the Inquisitor Xter and the Empress Justina. Yes, Justina was captured. Panting, sweating, speechless with rage and exhaustion. She spat at her treacherous guard captain as he picked himself up off the floor.
‘Search them,’ said Bro Drumel.
Obedient to his orders, the guards began to search the captives. Starting with Justina.
‘Take your filthy hands off me!’ said the Empress Justina, rapidly recovering her voice. ‘How dare you maul the royal person with your vulgar paws?’
Her wrath made very little impression on the guards. Unfortunately most of Untunchilamon’s soldiers were from Ang, and hence had scant natural regard for the daughter of a Yudonic Knight from Wen Endex. While they had served her faithfully during the years of civil war, none fancied the idea of dying in a futile attempt to shield her from the wrath of Aldarch the Third, who now seemed certain to obtain victory in Yestron.
To the guards, throwing in their lot with Varazchavardan made a lot of sense. As they were eager to prove their loyalty to that eminent sorcerer, they made a thorough job of their search. Since the Empress was wearing virtually next to nothing they found scarcely anything about her person.
But a search of her handbag uncovered:
A bodkin, a poison ring, a pet asp in an enamelled box, a confectionery case holding half a dozen condoms and a piece of zurkish delight, a soljamimpambagoya rock, two pages of a treatise on sodomy, a miniature prayer scroll, a twist of hashish, a snuff bottle, a clean sweat-pad, two pearls, a tiny spoon designed for cleaning the nostrils, a fragment of pumice, a silken pomander, a likoraskifdadona, assorted coinage, some items related to intimate feminine hygiene, the tooth of a basilisk strung on a silver chain, a dragon’s tooth, a piece of raw ambergris, a scorpion embalmed in amber, an embroidered snot-rag, an ivory chin-scratcher and a dead mosquito.
Now that Varazchavardan was sure Justina was not in possession of any concealed weapons, he approached.
‘Faugh!’ she said. ‘So this is the thing which means to kill me!’
There was a low grumble from the audience. To his discomfort, Varazchavardan realised that a great number of spectators had entered the Star Chamber, attracted by the drama there taking place. He had not noticed them till then, for none had dared venture on to the ground-floor battleground. Instead, they were crowding the mezzanine floor. If he tried to have Justina killed out of hand, he might precipitate a sudden outbreak of suicidal patriotism amongst the spectators.
Varazchavardan counted his guards, rough-counted the spectators, then substituted ‘murderous’ for ‘suicidal’. If things got out of hand, he might die. Here and now!
‘Nobody means to kill you,’ said Varazchavardan, in his most sincere and soothing voice. ‘My dear Justina,
