him. i'd rather see you dead here and now — I'd rather kill you myself than see you — ' She stopped. Stared straight ahead, down the long straight carriageway leading from the palace forecourt to the distant palace gates. 'Oh blimeyl That's all we need!' Dropping back to the balustrade she looked over at Melissande, sitting with Monk on the edge of a low rectangular flowerpot. She raised her voice.'Oy! You! Madam-Queen-in-Waiting! Front and centre, ducky, New Ottosland's got visitors!'
Melissande and Monk stared. Monk had a protective arm around her shoulders; strangely, she didn't seem to mind. Gerald sighed. So that's what arse over teakettle looks like, does it? 'Queen-in-Waiting, Reg?'
Reg sniffed. 'Well, once we've dealt with Lional this placeil have a monarching vacancy, won't it? And who in his right mind is going to put Butterfly Boy on the throne? If he hasn't been burned to a crisp, that is.'
'What visitors?' Melissande demanded as she and Monk joined them. Reg pointed a wing. 'Those ones.'
Shading her eyes, Melissande squinted down the length of the carriageway and further into the distance, i can't see them.They're too far away'
Gerald summoned the hand-held magnifying glass from his suite's workshop then flicked it with his fingers.'Binoculari expandarium'. 'Very nifty, mate,' said Monk, impressed.
'Oh yes. I'm nifty all right.' He couldn't hide the bitterness. Monk flinched. 'Look… Gerald…'
'No sympathy,' he said quickly. 'Not unless you want to see a grown man cry' He handed Melissande the enhanced magnifying glass. 'Here. Make sure to keep it six inches from your face or you'll hurt your eyes.'
Clasping it gingerly she looked again. 'Oh, what? It's the Kallarapi army! Hundreds of them! TlwusandsV
'Three thousand six hundred and forty seven,' Reg said glumly. When they stared at her she added, 'I've always been good at maths. And birds have excellent eyesight.'
'Huh,' said Melissande. 'How the hell did they get here so quickly? Lord, look at all those swords! And those camels — those are war camels, they're trained to rip out a man's throat with one bite and disembowel with a kick!' Her fingers were bloodless on the magnifier's handle. 'Gerald, I can't see their faces properly! Beef this thing up for me!'
'Certainly' he said.'If you want your eyes to pop like overripe plums.'
'Not really' She lunged over the parapet, trying to get a better look at the approaching army. As one, he and Monk grabbed her by the shirt tails before she overbalanced and plunged headfirst to the ground. 'Damn. I'm sure their leader looks familiar. Who is that?'
'Trouble, that's who,' said Reg. 'With his best friend Disaster come to keep him company'
Melissande gasped. 'Oh, Saint Snodgrass save us! It's Sultan Zazoor!' Gerald stared at her. 'Zazoor? Are you sure?'
'She's sure,' said Reg. 'He's riding a black camel. Sultan's privilege, that is. And guess who's at his left hand?'
His heart sank. 'Shugat. Who else?' He took another look down the carriageway. The Kallarapi army was much closer now. Sunshine gleamed on the unsheathed scimitars at their sides, and the ominous drumbeat of padded camel feet on the gravel was now just audible. 'Who's Shugat?' said Monk.
'Trust me,' he said, still staring at the approaching army.'Nobody you want to meet.' i don't know,' said Reg. 'Might not be such a bad thing, him turning up. That ratty old holy man's got power to burn. Maybe if you two worked together, Gerald…'
Oh yes, that was likely. If Shugat had come all this way to make friends with the wizard responsible for Tavistock and the dragon he'd eat Melissande's parasol, with mustard. 'You'd best get down there to meet them, Your Highness,' he said to Melissande. 'Once you've explained the situation there's no chance Shugat and the Sultan will blame you for what's happened. With any luck they'll be able to protect you from Lional.'
'We'd all best get down there,' said Reg, with an anxious glance at the cloudless sky. if that dragon comes back it'll pick us off like pigeons up here.' She looked at him, eyes narrowed. 'And as for what we were discussing — '
Before he could answer, Melissande said, 'Reg is right, Gerald. As your de facto employer I forbid you going anywhere near black magic. If Pomodoro Uffitzi's books are what made my brother — ' She stiffened her spine. '- what he's become, then you can't risk using what's in them. I know we have to… stop… Lional. But not like that. It's out of the question.'
'You heard her,' said Reg. 'And rumour has it she's the prime minister.'
'It's not worth the risk, mate,' Monk said unhappily. 'It's obvious you're something extraordinary, but even so. You'd be mad to try it.'
One by one Gerald looked at them, all so anxious on his behalf. 'You don't understand, any of you. You don't understand what Lional — '
'We understand what might happen if you use that bloody Lexicon)' said Monk, and shoved him. 'Just — pull your head in, Gerald. You're not throwing your life away if you don't have to!'
/ don't deserve him. I don't deserve any of them. 'And if I have to?' he asked gently.
Monk stepped back. 'We can cross that bridge when — if- we come it. But we're not there yet, mate, so for now you'll do as you're told. Right?'
Definitely I don't deserve them. He nodded. 'Right.'
'Wonderful!' said Reg, shaking her wings. 'So now that's settled, can we please go and greet the Kallarapi before their ratty old holy man leaves a calling card we'll never forget?' By the time they'd flapped and run down and along and through the deserted palace staircases and corridors and out onto the forecourt, Zazoor and his slow-marching army were just a stone's throw away. Panting, sweating, they skidded to a halt on the gravel. Down here the smell of death and destruction was thick enough to turn the stomach; up close the charred bodies were sickening. Gerald watched Melissande's expression harden as she stared at them. Watched her make a conscious decision not to react, not to give way. To be royal… whatever that meant.
Back on his shoulder, Reg breathed, 'Good girl, ducky.That's the way a princess does things.' i knew them all,' she said bleakly. 'But Rupert's not one of them.' Letting out a hard breath she shoved loose hair pins back in her bun, then blotted her face on her grubby sleeve. 'Right. You lot wait here. I'm the prime minister, I'll take care of this.'
They watched her march forward to meet the Supreme Ruler of Kallarap, his holy man and his army.
'You know,' said Monk, after a moment. 'That's a lot of camels.'
Reg snorted. 'And warriors. And swords. And spears.'
'That holy man.' Monk shuddered. 'I see what you mean, Gerald.'
Power roiled off Shugat like heat from the sun. Gerald nodded.'He's something, all right.'
'Every last one of them stinks of magic,' said Monk. 'Explains how they got here so fast. They must have used some kind of accelerando incant. I wonder if — '
'Shut up, Monk,' he said, as Shugat's power crawled like fire ants over his skin. 'I want to hear what they're saying.'
Monk started to object, changed his mind, and shut up.
Standing alone and stiff-backed in the wide gravel driveway, Melissande looked small and vulnerable as Zazoor drew his jet-black camel to a complaining halt before her and inclined his head in greeting. From his unadorned turban to his curly-toed boots he was dressed in shimmering white. His face was clean shaven, lean and hard and unreadable. He looked pristine and cool and frighteningly unapproachable. All his attention was focused on the princess.
Gerald felt sweat trickle the length of his spine. The rest of us might as well he rocks. Or rose hushes.
Defiant in her ghastly shirt and trousers and sensible shoes, Melissande bobbed a kind of curtseying bow. 'Welcome to New Ottosland, Sultan Zazoor.'
'Princess Melissande,' Zazoor replied politely. 'My gods-betrothed wife… or so I am given to understand by your esteemed brother the king.'
The breeze had stilled. Nothing stirred. Their voices carried clearly through the warm, death-tainted air.
'Yes. And your gods, Magnificence?' countered Melissande. 'Do they agree with my brother?'
Zazoor flicked a glance at Shugat, silently menacing to his left on a camel so white it was hard to look at. 'No. They say your brother the king is… mistaken.'
'Alas, Magnificence,' said Melissande, her chin lifting. 'My brother the king is mad.'
