Alfric reached up and chucked the vogel under the chin, whereupon it opened one purple eye and looked at him in a malevolent fashion which was disconcerting in the extreme.
‘For a parrot-bat,’ said Alfric, trying to recover his composure, ‘you don’t talk very much.’
‘Some of us,’ said Skaps, ‘prefer to think.’
Then the vogel closed its eye and went back to sleep, leaving Alfric unsure whether he had actually heard that little speech or not. He concealed his discomfiture by pretending an interest in the cradle which sat on one of the tables. Inside was the baby Alfric had rescued from the swamp giant Kralch. Much to Alfric’s surprise, the infant was giggling. When Alfric thought of babies, he thought of them as perpetually operating in the crying mode. The idea that they could sometimes be happy was an alien notion indeed.
‘Isn’t it cute?’ said Morgenstem.
‘I love it,’ said Cod.
‘I’d love a drink,’ said Alfric, turning from the baby to the bar.
Nobody stood behind the bar. But on top of the bar stood a huge hissing cockroach, which was doing its best to deal with the repeated onslaughts of a determined untunchilamon. Alfric moved closer, fascinated by this scene of combat. Though the miniscule dragon was no larger than the massive orthopterous insect, Alfric thought the firedrake would surely conquer.
As Alfric watched, the dragon spat sparks and closed with the cockroach. The roach hissed and outsquirted a fine spray of a vile and stinging fluid. The untunchilamon squeaked in rage and threw itself upon its manxome foe. The two creatures grappled with each other, rolled over and over, then tumbled to the floor and broke apart. Making a rapid recovery, they confronted each other, ready for a second round.
Then the floorboards began to creak and tremble as someone came tromping down the stairs, and the cockroach scuttled away to the nearest mousehole while the untunchilamon took to the air.
Who was it who was coming down those stairs?
Why, it was Anna Blaume herself, she of the larded skin, the blue-green yellow hair.
‘For you,’ said Alfric, handing her the flowers.
‘Thank you,’ said Anna Blaume.
Then kissed the flowers.
One of the petals came away, and she ate it, her strong white teeth crunching its force-grown beauty into little pieces. Then she swallowed it, grinning. She was strong and virile, the promise of many children dwelling between her stalwart thighs.
‘Is Viola here?’ said Alfric.
‘Viola has taken herself off to the convent,’ said Anna Blaume.
‘You must be joking,’ said Alfric in astonishment.
‘No,’ said Anna Blaume. ‘It’s the truth.’
Alfric thought a convent was the last place in the world where Viola Vanaleta would be happy. Galsh Ebrek’s convent was the refuge of all those women who were dissatisfied with life in a world of men; and, if there was any truth in the rumours Alfric had heard, their days were largely given over to drinking bouts, wrestling matches and shameless indulgence in other uncouth pleasures.
‘She’s divorcing me, I take it,’ said Alfric.
‘She’s divorced you already,’ said Anna Blaume.
‘What?’
‘Go to the divorce court if you don’t believe me,’ said Anna Blaume. ‘It’s all finished.’
‘But-but-’
‘She forged your signature on certain documents, of course,’ said Anna Blaume. ‘Otherwise the whole thing might have taken much more time. You don’t object, do you?’
‘It is but a trifle,’ said Alfric heavily. Then, realizing he was a free man: ‘Will you marry me?’
‘No,’ said Anna Blaume.
‘Why not?’
‘You had your chance.’
This was true. When Alfric had been engaged to Viola Vanaleta, Anna Blaume had asked him to break the engagement and marry her instead. But he had refused. A mistake.
‘Your mother’s here,’ said Anna Blaume.
‘Gertrude?’ said Alfric, again startled.
‘Yes,’ said Blaume. ‘You don’t have any other mother, do you?’
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ said Alfric. ‘Where is she?’ ‘In the beer garden,’ said Anna Blaume.
So Alfric went out of the back door to greet his mother. She was sitting at a table which rested on the flagstones which paved the beer garden. She was drinking gin. Little Ben Zvanzig was sitting under the table, playing with his pet frog, while Anna Blaume’s daughter Sheila, with half a dozen dolls at her disposal, was playing at being a brothel keeper.
‘Mother,’ said Alfric.
Greeting Gertrude with a kiss on her cheek.
‘Alfric, my boy,’ said Gertrude. ‘Sit down. Sit down.’
Alfric sat. And the orks Cod and Morgenstem, who had followed him outside, sat down also.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ said Alfric, producing the paperweight.
‘Alfric,’ said Gertrude. ‘That’s very nice of you.’
A tear glistened in her eye, and Alfric hoped she wasn’t going to cry.
‘Where have you been today?’ said Gertrude.
Alfric was about to answer when he realized the question was being directed at the orks.
‘Up at Saxo Pall,’ said Cod.
‘How did it go?’ said Gertrude.
‘Not too bad,’ said Cod. ‘Yes. All in all, things aren’t going too badly.’
‘By which we mean,’ said Morgenstem, glumly, ‘that things could be worse. Much worse. We could have come down with bubonic plague by now.’
‘But we haven’t,’ said Cod.
‘But we will,’ said Morgenstem. ‘If we stay in Galsh Ebrek we surely will. It’s only a matter of time.’
‘Ah well,’ said Gertrude, ‘I’m sure it’ll all come right for you in time.’
Then she excused herself from the table and toddled into the Green Cricket. Alfric knew he should be moving. He should buy horses from Anna Blaume and be gone. Instantly. But he was finding himself possessed by lethargy.
‘What happened between you and Banker Xzu?’ said Cod.
‘Nothing much,’ said Alfric.
‘Did he offer to help you?’ said Morgenstem. ‘Help you win the throne, I mean.’
‘No,’ said Alfric. ‘He told me to get out of Galsh Ebrek lest I die in my sleep. He told me I’ve been kicked out of the Bank. I’m not welcome here.’
‘So… so who is actually going to rule in Galsh Ebrek?’ said Cod.
‘Unless I’m very much mistaken,’ said Alfric, ‘Justina Thrug has come out on top, with Ursula Major as her puppet.’
Then he elaborated.
‘That’s nice to hear,’ said Cod. ‘At least it means there won’t be a war in the city. Political stability makes things easier for us ambassadors. In theory, at least.’
‘But in practice, probably not,’ said Morgenstem. ‘What’s the prob lem?’ said Alfric.
‘Nobody takes us seriously, that’s the problem,’ said Cod. ‘Because we’re orks. It makes it very hard to get business done.’
‘And,’ said Morgenstem, ‘we find it hard to settle to business in any kind.’
‘Why?’said Alfric.
‘Because,’ said Morgenstem, the eyes of the big lubbery creature growing wet with tears, ‘we’re afraid. Afraid of living here. Afraid of the Knights and the commoners.’
‘Afraid?’ said Alfric. ‘I don’t believe it! You were heroes up in Saxo Pall. Challenging Ursula Major like that. I was ever so impressed.’
