“I see,” said Gertz, clearly not seeing at all. “Well, Your Highness. I’m sure if your brother His Majesty King Rupert has no objection to his royal sister being left unchaperoned, then I have nothing to say on the matter.”
Fresh sweat was trickling down Gertz’s thin, sallow cheeks. A nervous tic flickered beside his left eye. He was looking positively ill with wedding strain. Though he irritated her, to her surprise Melissande felt a welling of sympathy.
“Are you all right, Mister Secretary?” she asked. “After what happened, I mean? You were even closer to danger than I was, and I know it gave me a nasty turn.”
Gertz tugged at the high, braid-covered collar of his official uniform tunic. “Yes. I am. Thank you for your asking, Your Highness. It was a most unpleasant experience, but it’s behind us now and that’s all that matters.”
He didn’t look like a man who’d left a brush with death behind him, but there was no point contradicting him.
“So, Secretary Gertz, is there a way I can help?”
Looking hunted again, Gertz surrendered to the inevitable, produced a white silk handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face. “I suppose-if you insist-you might pass a message to Mister Ibblie, Your Highness. He should be in his office on the fourth floor. If you’d remind him that Goby must follow the musical program as it has been arranged then I would be-”
“I’m sorry, but who-?”
“Goby,” said Gertz, sounding almost impatient. “Dowager Queen Erminium’s music master. He’s conducting tonight’s ensemble at the reception prior to the wedding ceremony.” Another flourish with the handkerchief. “Twice now in rehearsal he has substituted his own compositions for those of Crown Prince Hartwig’s court composer.” An offended sniff. “It seems that the honour of conducting the ensemble is insufficient to Goby’s needs. I have spoken with him most directly, but he seems determined to go his own way. If he should try the same knavish trick tonight then I tell you plainly I shan’t be responsible for the consequences!”
Oh dear. Politics and Erminium. A lethal combination. No wonder the poor man was on the brink of a breakdown.
“Yes, Secretary Gertz, I quite understand,” Melissande said gravely. “It would be a debacle.”
“These bloody Borovniks,” Gertz said under his breath, surprisingly savage. “It’s a pity we never drowned them in the Canal when we had the chance.”
A mutually shocked silence, as they stared at each other.
“Oh my,” Gertz said faintly. “Oh dear. Your Highness, forgive me, I-”
She held up her hand. “No. No. It’s quite all right, Leopold. I didn’t hear a thing. I’ll just-I’ll go and see Secretary Ibblie now. Good day.”
Leaving Hartwig’s damp, distraught Secretary of State to his card placing, she took herself off to see Ibblie. And as she toiled up the stairs, thought: Poor little Leopold. I think the pressure has finally got to him. A good thing for his sake it’s all nearly over.
Mister Ibblie, having risen to greet her, took the news of Erminium’s music master with commendable equanimity.
“Yes, Your Highness, I was aware there’d been…”A diplomatic smile. “Some friction. Should the chance arise, you might reassure Secretary Gertz that steps have been taken to contain Master Goby’s-” A pause. “Unbridled enthusiasm.”
Impressed, Melissande nodded. “He’ll be very pleased to hear it, Mister Ibblie. I’m afraid Secretary Gertz is a little overwhelmed just now.” Then she winced. “Oh. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. Only, to be brutally frank with you, sir, I’m not entirely convinced he’s as sanguine about the accident at Lake Yablitz as he’d like everyone to think. And since Hartwig-the Crown Prince, I mean-relies on him so heavily-and, indeed, since they’re family — ”
Ibblie offered her a small bow from the other side of his desk, which was thickly papered with notes and memos and scribblings. It brought back not-so-fond memories of her time as practically a prime minister.
“The gracious delicacy of your feelings, Princess Melissande, does you great credit,” Ibblie replied. “If I may be so bold as to say? And might I also say that I, for one, am most grateful that you saw to the safe return of our wedding party.” He shuddered. “So much rests on the success of this marriage. Any threat to it must be seen as a threat to both nations.”
“Mister Ibblie,” she said, completely charmed, “I could not agree more. And if I might say something else, intending no offence? If ever the day should come when you feel the need for new surroundings-notwithstanding your natural allegiance to your homeland, of course-I wish you would come to me. My brother, King Rupert, is always in need of good men upon whose expertise and counsel he can rely.”
And who aren’t staring the age of ninety-four in the face.
Another bow. “Your Highness, I am deeply touched,” said Ibblie. “And I shall remember your flattering offer.”
“Do, Mister Ibblie,” she said. “Now, unless there’s something I can help you with, I’ll return to the Secretary and set his mind at ease over the Dowager Queen’s music master.”
“Thank you, Your Highness, that’s very kind,” said Ibblie. “But I’m tolerably confident I have everything under control. Although-”
“Yes?” she said, helpfully.
Ibblie was staring at a hand-scrawled note, his expression fastidiously displeased. “It has just been brought to my attention, Your Highness, that the Lanruvians have departed Splotze. Without, I might add, formally informing the Crown Prince.”
“Departed?” She stared. “You mean they’re not attending the fireworks? Or the reception? None of it?”
Ibblie let the note drop. “Apparently not.”
“But… what about their cherries? I thought they wanted to sell you their cherries?”
If he was surprised that she knew of that, he was too self-disciplined to let it show. “I’m afraid I couldn’t say, Your Highness. The ways of Lanruvia are a mystery to me.”
And me, Melissande thought, staggered. So does this mean they were never part of the plot against the wedding?
She had no idea. She couldn’t begin to imagine what Gerald was going to say.
“Mister Ibblie, I’m astonished. Does Hartwig know?”
“He does not,” said Mister Ibblie. “But if you could inform Secretary Gertz, then the Secretary could inform the Crown Prince. That is the proper way such news is delivered.”
In other words, You and Hartwig might be chummy, but I’d rather you kept your nose out of this.
And she was more than happy to oblige.
Leaving Ibblie to his ruthlessly efficient organisation, she went back downstairs to Leopold Gertz and gave him the good news about the music master, followed by the bad news about the Lanruvians. Then she escaped the state dining room-Gertz’s agitation was contagious-and, unsettlingly adrift, wandered aimlessly around the armour display in the palace’s Grand Entrance Hall.
What use am I now? None. Gerald and Bibbie don’t need my help to investigate the fireworks. Mister Ibblie doesn’t need me. Leopold Gertz doesn’t want me. And neither does Ratafia any more. Even Ludwig’s cross, since I upset his little snowbud. Hartwig would be pleased to see me, but I don’t think I could cope with his wandering hands.
The enormous clock in the hall chimed a quarter to three. Lord, it was hours yet before she needed to dress for the fireworks. Assuming, of course, that they went ahead. Assuming Gerald and Bibbie didn’t blow them up early, by accident, or discover some terrible thaumaturgical tampering they couldn’t undo and had to call a halt to the whole event.
I could read a book, I suppose. Or knit.
And then she had an idea. Mitzie! She should do the right thing and visit Bibbie’s sad little kitchen maid. See how the girl was faring, make sure she didn’t need anything.
Now with something useful to do, Melissande abandoned the horse armour and spiked dog collars-though really, in hindsight, they’d have come in rather useful around Hartwig- and made her way below stairs to the palace’s vast kitchens.
