Slandolin in which they were written; indeed, the tiny letters tended to blur together in a single wash of purple unless she tightened her vision by squinting; but she knew exactly what was written there.
Each of the five pages claimed (in blatant libel) that Nadalastabstala Banraithanchumun Ek, High Priest of the Temple of Zoz the Ancestral, was in possession of an organic rectifier; and claimed, furthermore, that Ek had made exclusive and utterly selfish use of such an arcanum to make himself immortal. Justina planned to leak the five pages in sundry quarters and thus to turn the mob against the mutant. To her own advantage: for a mob which had demolished a High Priest of Zoz must necessarily fear retribution from Aldarch Three.
Given the nature and history of Aldarch III, it was entirely possible that such retribution might take the form of the execution of one person in every ten within the city of Injiltaprajura, or the blinding of nine in ten, or the lopping of the ears of ten-tenths of innocent and guilty alike. So there was a possibility — a slight possibility — that mob rule and its guilty aftermath might give Justina the political leverage she needed to unite her people into a coherent and patriotic whole.
Were she to succeed in such an enterprise, then denying Untunchilamon to an invasion fleet would be the easiest of tasks; for the seas of Moana were wide and dangerous; the lagoon approaches to Injiltaprajura long, narrow and tortuous; and Justina’s high-climbing city itself eminently defensible.
So Justina had great hopes for her forgeries; though the distribution of such would be a task of the utmost delicacy, and on this matter she was not yet quite sure how to proceed.
Maybe Log Jaris could help her.
In the meantime…
‘Come,’ said Justina, ‘let us retire to the Star Chamber.’
‘The study will serve,’ growled Idaho. ‘There’s only a few of us.’
‘Ah,’ said Justina, ‘but I want Varazchavardan to sit in on our revelations.’
‘Varazchavardan!’ said Idaho, scandalized.
‘He is my Master of Law,’ said Justina gently.
‘He tried to kill you.’
‘And who has not?’ said Justina.
‘I have not!’ said Idaho. ‘And I could name others. Why, by walking down Lak Street I could find drummers by the dozen who are innocent of all attempts on your life.’
‘Julie,’ said Justina, ‘why must you be so literal? I’m so good at rhetoric, and you always spoil it for me. My enemy’s enemy is my friend, is he not?’
‘He is,’ said Idaho grudgingly.
Since this was a fundamental doctrine of faith among the Yudonic Knights of Wen Endex, Idaho could scarcely deny it.
‘Well then,’ said Justina, ‘our dear friend Varazchavardan has Ek as his enemy, for Ek had refused his petition for pardon. It follows that Varazchavardan is our ally. Odolo, could you…’
‘It is done, my lady,’ said the olive-skinned conjuror, and bowed, and hied himself away to the nearby villa owned and occupied by Aquitaine Varazchavardan.
‘We will also want the counsel of Pelagius Zozimus,’ said Justina.
‘Then we’ll have to send someone chasing after May,’ said Idaho, ‘for Zozimus is on Jod with Pokrov and Crab.’
‘Much as it hurts me to contradict you, dear Julie, on this occasion I must. Unless I am sadly misinformed, the wizard is in our kitchen at this very moment, instructing my new chef in the making of pavlovas.’
‘Pavlova?’ said Idaho. ‘What is pavlova?’
‘An amusing dish most ruinous to the teeth but delighting to the t ongue,’ said Justina. ‘And, as I have no teeth worth mentioning, the t ongue is free to demand.’ ‘But what exactly is it, this pavlova?’ said
Idaho. ‘And who is your new chef? Why wasn’t I told about him?’
‘It’s a her, actually,’ said Justina. ‘Come, Julie, let us remove ourselves to the Star Chamber. Oh, and we’ll want Dardanalti in on this. And Sken-Pitilkin, if he’ll consent to spare a moment from his bird nesting.’
So saying, the Empress opened the door of her study, and Idaho escorted a quivering Rat into the corridor outside. The Empress followed, closing the door behind her. The study was empty and untenanted, the five sheets of the countervailing forgery spread out upon the imperial desk.
It was then that the dragon Untunchilamon bestirred itself, arched its back, fanned its wings briskly then took to the air. Round and round it went, flying thrice about the desk.
Then it dived.
Straight into the inkwell.
Sploosh!
Sprays of black ink flew forth as the dragon Untunchilamon kicked and cavorted in the delicious cool of this most interesting of substances. Then, in a rapture of selfgratification, it rolled itself dry, using for that purpose five sheets of purple-scripted ricepaper which might have been put out expressly for that purpose.
Whereafter the dragon, sated, exhausted and immensely pleased with itself (despite the fact that it was still somewhat inky), took itself off to its nest to siesta in earnest.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When Shanvil Angarus May arrived on the island of Jod, he easily persuaded Ivan Pokrov to come to the pink palace with Chegory Guy and Olivia Qasaba. With them went the algorithmist Artemis Ingalawa, who invited herself along so she could supervise any bargaining on ‘a possible use of the Analytical Engine’.
Across the harbour bridge they went; then through the slumlands of Lubos; up Shindik Way to its intersection with Goldhammer Rise; then up Lak Street toward the pink palace.
Though he was on his way to an imperial palace to discuss affairs of state, Chegory Guy was wearing nothing but a loin cloth and boots. Had he wished, he could have demanded that he be provided with gorgeous embroidered robes of silk like those affected by Injiltaprajura’s wonder-workers; or he could have worn any of the five plain silken robes which had found their way into his wardrobe as a result of the generosity of the Empress Justina.
But Chegory, fearful of the hostility he felt his new eminence was arousing among the populace, did his best to pretend to humility.
At first, intoxicated by the heady combination of power and love, Chegory had worried not at all about the risks he was running. But old habits of caution and worry had rapidly reasserted themselves, to the point where, acutely conscious of the fragility of Untunchilamon’s present political arrangements, Chegory doubted they could or would last for much longer. Sooner or later, Injiltaprajura would realize that the Crab was not truly wazir. Then Chegory would have to deal with his enemies, these being all good citizens of Injiltaprajura who feared or hated Ebbies. Once they knew that Chegory was virtually ruling Untunchilamon in his own right, then they would surely tear him to pieces.
It greatly annoyed Chegory that his dearest darling Olivia had very little sense of the dangers they were running. She adorned herself with fine silks and with jewellery lent to her by the Empress; and this display of finery would, Chegory feared, be held against her when at last the two of them had to survive without the protection of the illusion which was now the sole guardian of their safety.
‘It’s so hot,’ said Olivia, as they tramped uphill past that ship-sized monolith of bone known as Pearl. ‘If it gets any hotter, I’m going to melt.’
‘Don’t say that,’ said Chegory in distress.
He thought — for a moment — that she was going mad. While boarding at the Dromdanjerie, he had become familiar with many kinds of lunacy, including the unfortunate condition in which one imagines oneself to be literally melting.
‘I was only joking,’ said Olivia crossly.
Chegory almost made a sharp retort, but restrained himself. He wiped his sweating brow and looked up. Sunbright lightlances stabbed out from the glitter dome atop the pink palace. Chegory looked away. Purple sunlights danced across his field of vision like so many minor hallucinations caused by the ingestion of a mild dose of zen.
