Trent’s grin was sly. “Oh, you don’t like that, do you? Yes, years of litigation, the courts in an uproar. The expense. The uncertainty. Poor magistrates gnashing teeth in their sleep. The
Morrel mopped the translucent skin of his forehead. “The barristers’ fees will eat us alive!”
“Oh yes, oh yes.” Trent’s manner was airy and casual.
“Your Highness,” Baldon pleaded. “I beg of you, spare us this travail. This was all settled
“Not by my lights. Nothing was settled except that Incarnadine was crowned and I wasn’t. I didn’t get so much as an invite to the coronation. Pity, I would have RSVPed and everything. Had an outfit all picked out.”
It was Tragg’s turn to plead. “My lord prince, we cannot have this.”
“Then make me Prince Regent, and I’ll lay off. It’s easy.”
Yorvil cackled appreciatively. Trent grinned at him.
Baldon turned to the man on his left. “Lord Hivelt, as Royal Counsel and Barrister General, how do you assess the legal merits of His Highness’s claim?”
Hivelt’s long hair was salt-and-pepper, though he looked not much younger than the rest of the ministers. His voice, however, was strong and resonant. “It’s hard to say, my Lord. There is the fraternal twin question to be considered.”
Tragg huffed. “That old chestnut! A legal chimera.”
“I’m not so sure,” Hivelt said.
Baldon asked, “But how would you rate His Highness’s chances for making good his claim to the throne?”
Hivelt shook his head. “Ah, that’s impossible to say. He does have a prima facie case, after all —”
“Really, Hivelt!” Tragg’s eyes were sharply admonitory.
Hivelt shrugged. “It’s the truth. As His Highness said, it would be a long bout of litigation, probably dragging on for years. There’s no telling which way it would come out. Eventually, he might very well succeed in wresting the throne from Prince Brandon.”
Expressions of chagrin were exchanged around the table.
Baldon leaned forward. “Your Highness, you spoke of terms?”
Trent answered, “Yes. Conditions under which I will take the job. The term of regency will extend beyond Brandon’s attainment of majority. In other words, he won’t be crowned until …”
Trent broke off and laughed again.
“Yes, Highness,” Tragg urged. “Until …?”
“Well, until I either croak or get tired of the whole mess and abdicate … uh, step down. Then Brandon becomes Lord of Perilous and king of the realms therein.”
“Oh, come, gentle lords,” Trent said. “I know it’s a grab for power. I admit it. It’s a scam, a ruse. I’ll be king in all but name, not just regent. But I’ve been waiting for just such an opportunity all my life. Now it’s here, knocking away, and I’m making my move. All legal and proper. I think I deserve the throne, and I think I was wronged by having the throne denied me. It’s that simple. You may detest my methods, but my motives are pure. I simply want what is rightfully mine, what was granted me by the divine grace of the gods.”
““Legal and proper,”” Tragg scoffed. “There is a term for what you are about.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of the word. One man’s blackmail is another’s friendly persuasion. Sure, I’m railroading you. But you guys … pardon my lapsing into cant. You’re all past masters at the art of strong-arming. You wouldn’t be in the positions you’re in if you weren’t. Why this sudden pretense of being shocked when the wrestling match starts going against you?”
“With respect, I object to your choice of metaphor.”
Trent took his foot from the table. “Forget the rhetorical devices. I’m making you an offer you shouldn’t refuse. I’ll settle for a souped-up regency in exchange for signing papers to the effect that I relinquish all claims to the Siege Perilous, in perpetuity, in aeternum, et cetera. Do we have a deal?”
At the end of his patience, Tragg protested, “His Highness wants both sides of his bread buttered. He wants us to choose between making him king de facto and entertaining his pretensions to kingship de jure. In short, make him king now or wait till he outmaneuvers us and steals the throne later. Sir, we are damned if we do or don’t!”
“Damned right. That’s it in the proverbial nutshell. I have you guys over a barrel and you know it.”
Yorvil cackled fiendishly, slapping the table.
Trent looked at him, amused.
Hivelt surveyed the room, tallying silent assent. “My lords, shall we all say that we’ll take it into consideration?”
Tragg’s fist hit the table. “I’ll not stand for it!”
Hivelt sighed. “One objection, then. Any others?”
“I want an answer soon,” Trent said.
“Surely, sir, you’ll let us consult in private before —”
“Of course, of course.” Trent’s smile suddenly left him. “About the coroner’s inquest …”
“There will be no autopsy,” Hivelt said.
“Huh? Why?”
“Canon law. No mutilation of the king’s body is permitted.”
“Not even when there’s some question as to the cause of death?”
“No. Under no circumstances.”
“What does Dr. Mirabilis think the cause of death was?”
“He will make a preliminary post mortem report in a few hours. However, he’s limited in what he can do.”
“Has he said
“He did say something about heart failure.”
Trent snorted. “That’s a big help.”
“We’ll know eventually,” Hivelt said, shrugging. “Mirabilis says he has plenty of non-intrusive procedures.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“His Highness’s solicitude concerning his brother is most touching,” Tragg said. The irony fairly oozed.
Trent’s manner had undergone a rapid change. He looked uneasy. But he managed a crooked grin. “Tragg, that was right over the plate. Not your usual breaking ball. Why don’t you come right out and say I had him murdered?”
“Again, His Highness’s choice of metaphor eludes me.” Tragg sniffed.
Baldon intervened, “I’m sure Lord Tragg means no such imputation.”
“I know he does. But no matter. My lords, I must leave. Uh, one thing more. The funeral.”
“A grand state funeral, of course, Highness.”
Trent nodded. “Yeah, with all the trimmings, I expect. When?”
“According to canon law, the body must lie in state for ten days —”
“Ten days? Preposterous. And I’ll bet no embalming is allowed either.”
“Correct, Highness. But a spell of preservation will be cast.”
“Right,” Trent answered dubiously. “Still, ten days …”
Baldon raised his hands in helpless appeal. “There is no relief from canon law. Am I not right, Renalto?”
The small man next to Baldon nodded. “As Minister Plenipotentiary for Religious Affairs, it is my duty to see that canon law is obeyed to the letter. I shall do so.”
“Very well,” Trent said. “I’ll not object to any of the mummery if I get a quick reply to my proposal.”
Hivelt said, “I think we have a deal on that, at least. We … Your Royal Highness, is anything wrong?”
A rivulet of sweat was making its way down the line of Trent’s jaw. He gave his head a brisk shake. “Not a thing. I have to go. Messenger your decision to me as soon as possible.”
“You will be where, sir?”
“Club Sheila. I must leave the castle for a while, but I’ll be back.”
