of some kind; but, now the muck of generations had been scoured away, he saw the floor was made of the smoothest white-veined black marble.
Sitting on the throne was Ursula Major, as poised as ever. She was wearing silks; and her nipples flowered against her silks. Something in the way she sat suggested that she was fully conscious of the perfection of her breasts and the effect it had on the susceptible; and, little as Alfric wanted to admit it, in truth he was one of the susceptible.
‘Stand here,’ said Guignol Grangalet.
‘Where?’ said Alfric, taking his eyes off Ursula Major.
‘Never mind where he says,’ said Cod firmly. ‘You’re staying with us.’
Again the orks stood firm; and Alfric stayed in the company of those ambassadors from the Qinjoks as they made between them an interminable and wearisome speech about the long friendship which had endured between that king and the lords of Galsh Ebrek.
The witnesses to this speech were many; but Alfric felt very much alone and isolated, for the many were Yudonic Knights to a man, and fear of assassins had kept him from making any effort to repair his relationships with the breed.
While listening to Cod and Morgenstem enlarge upon their theme, Alfric had ample time to watch Ursula Major, and to think, and to wonder. Was she still ruling as regent? Or had she declared herself to be the new king? Really, the question was immaterial. Obviously, she was now the ruling power in Wen Endex: and that was what really mattered. He observed the way she teased a strand of her hair through her fingers. She was bored with this, he could tell. Boredom betrays itself swiftly. So was she unhappy sitting on the throne? Perhaps. But perhaps it was her nature to be bored with life; and, in any case, since when did anyone surrender a throne out of mere ennui?
As Alfric watched Ursula Major, admiring the elegance of the hair which flowed in ripples about her neck, he knew that he wanted her; but greater than lust was the desire to kill. But if anyone was going to do any killing in Saxo Pall, it was more likely to be Ursula than Alfric.
At last, Ursula Major was finished with the orks.
‘We will deliberate,’ she said, thus sidelining the petition which the orks had just made, which was for them to be allowed to address a general assembly of the Yudonic Knights of Galsh Ebrek.
Now Ursula was ready to deal with Alfric.
‘Alfric,’ she said.
‘Greetings, aunt,’ said Alfric.
He chose to address her thus for two reasons. First, because he knew she hated to be thus addressed. Second, because he wanted to stress the family connection. Surely Ursula Major could not order the death of a family member without shaming herself beyond redemption.
Or could she?
In Obooloo, Aldarch the Third had celebrated his victory in a seven-year civil war by disembowelling his forty-seven brothers and feeding his twenty-nine sisters to the Favoured Rats; but nobody thought any the worse of him for that.
‘We hear,’ said Ursula Major coldly, ‘that you were the man who got my father killed.’
Alfric had been ready for many accusations. He thought Ursula Major might have tried to accuse him, for example, of being a werewolf. But never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that she would blame him for Tromso Stavenger’s death; and he was so taken aback that he could hardly believe this charge was seriously intended.
‘We see,’ said Ursula, ‘that you make no effort to deny the charge.’
Alfric recovered the use of his voice and said:
‘The man met his end as a hero should. Fighting against Herself.’
‘You got him killed,’ said Ursula.
Her debating style was clumsy; but, for that very reason, it was going to be difficult to deal with. Alfric had honed his speaking abilities in moots conducted by the Bank; and, in such debates, a speaker dropped a line of argument once it had been decisively refuted. Alfric, believing that he had so refuted his aunt’s accusation, was more than irritated to find her staunchly repeating it.
‘We killed the Hag,’ said Alfric.
‘So?’ said Ursula. ‘A dozen men with crossbows could have done as much with less fuss and no deaths whatsoever.’
‘I believe She would not have fallen easily to any hunters,’ said Alfric. ‘Anyway, the matter is closed. She is dead, and there’s an end to it.’
‘The issue is not closed,’ said Ursula. ‘Her death is greatly regr etted, for She was an asset to the state.’ ‘That,’ said Alfric, is the most nonsense I’ve heard in one breath since the day I was bom.’
‘What you fail to understand,’ said Ursula, ‘is that our monsters are assets. Amongst other things, they discourage invasion. You have done much to wreck the reputation of Wen Endex. Lusting for personal gain, you slaughtered the dragon Qa. Poor Kralch you humiliated. You dared the lair of the very vampires themselves and returned unscathed, much to the diminishment of the stature of those valued allies of ours. Finally, you have participated in the murder of Herself. ’
‘She was a killer,’ said Alfric.
‘So She was,’ said Ursula. ‘That was Her purpose. To stalk the nig ht and kill. To be a thing of terror. A thing to make hideous all beyo nd our walls. You understand?’ ‘No,’ said Alfric.
‘Of course you don’t understand,’ said Ursula scornfully. ‘But it is true. She did us a great service. She bound all of Wen Endex in a great alliance. Thanks to Her, the commoners ever found the swords of the Yudonic Knights a welcome asset rather than an irksome imposition. By killing as She did, She made our people see the ruling hierarchy as a chivalrous and self-sacrifidng order, as an asset rather than a burdensome ruling class.’ ‘You seem to be accusing me,’ said Alfric, ‘of stirring up revolution.’
‘Your actions, witted or witless, present us with that possibility,’ said Ursula.
‘I do not believe for one moment that there will be a revolution.’
‘Of course there will be no revolution,’ said Ursula. ‘For we will do what we must to prevent it. She helped secure our ruling order, and could help us yet; therefore, we will reinvent Her. As for the dragon, why, no doubt we can get another one, somewhere. In due course, we can also assist the swamp giant and the vampires to recover their reputations.’
‘You’re mad,’ said Alfric, in disbelief.
‘No,’ said Ursula. ‘I am not mad. I am simply better educated than yourself. You think yourself a coldblooded banker, whereas in fact you see the world through a haze of romance. Your vision of power is blurred by the glamorous impracticalities of legend and myth. You still think that power exists as a service to the people. In this you are a child.’ ‘For what then does power exist?’ said Alfric.
‘To serve itself,’ answered Ursula Major.
Alfric looked around at the silent assembly.
‘You dare say that?’ said he. ‘Here? In front of witnesses?’
‘All those here today are gathered together in an alliance of power,’ said Ursula Major. ‘In other times it may be politic to speak with greater circumspection. But today, this once, we can indulge ourselves in the truth.’
So she spoke. Then studied Alfric with a cold calculation which made him suddenly afraid, terribly afraid. She had planned his doom; he was sure of it. Her speech was just a preface to his death, or — or to something worse.
He had thought to come here to throw her off her throne, to dismiss her with a word. He must have been mad. Completely deluded. He should have fled from Wen Endex immediately after his father’s funeral. He would have been safer in Obooloo than here.
Suddenly, Ursula Major smiled.
Was Alfric reprieved?
No!
For Ursula said:
‘You are a criminal, for you have wilfully destroyed state assets to further your own ambition, and you have led an old and senile man to a hideous death. This amounts to treason. Therefore we pronounce your doom. You
