Hugh Cook - The Wishstone and the Wonderworkers

Artemis Ingalawa seated herself with authority on one of the long benches of woven bamboo provided for onlookers. She looked around severely. She was in her power mood, her managing mood, her executive mood. In which she was potentially very dangerous. Note that while Artemis Ingalawa had been born into the culture of elegance which dominates Ashmolea South, her family actually came from Ashmolea North. There the Ingalawa clan is notorious for breeding slaughter swords and assassins.

Blood will tell!

Chegory, fearing as much, hoped Ingalawa would not precipitate any untoward incidents. If she did, he didn’t think he could cope. He was too tired. So tired he would need but to close his eyes to voyage instantly into dreams. But his blood rose on the moment to the alert when Olivia seated herself beside him and took his hand. Ah yes! He rose and roused! Consumed by thoughts of juice and softness, of the monstrous secret crouched between her thighs, of harlot-fingered night engorging the cravings of her pubic whirlpool, of [Here a lengthy and turgid digression of considerable improbability has been excised. By Order, Drax Lira, Redactor Major.]

Yet Chegory’s pleasure was not perfected by Olivia’s presence, for he was all too conscious of Varazchavardan’s pink eyes dragonising him. The white-fleshed Master of Law had a predator’s eyes and claws to match. When Chegory closed his own eyes to avoid that implacable stare, he could not help but imagine those claws whittling away his flesh till they reached his very bones.

Slowly, the other actors in this courtroom drama gathered into the Star Chamber. Here came the conjuror Odolo. Sweating — and not just because of the heat. Then the Empress Justina arrived, handbag in hand, to spectate at the depositions hearing — the actual conduct of which would be governed by Judge Qil.

On this day of butterfly dreams and banana-skinned decision [Words doubtless senseless, but there is no helping that. Often one suspects that the Version we are translating from is hopelessly corrupt. But what can one expect from a madman? This insertion here placed by Valther Nash, Consulting Translator.]

— the Empress was wearing a curious confection which was composed mostly of string, with but a little silk at each of the seven Strategic Places.

[One of the Strategic Places is the omphalos, but I have been unable to precisely locate the other six. These matters are dealt with in detail in the Book of Flesh, but access to this scholarly treatise has been denied to me by a prudish Librarian Major. Oris Baumgage, Fact Checker Minor.]

The Empress smiled upon Chegory Guy, her smile making it very, very clear that she had not forgotten him. Then she saw Olivia was cosseting Chegory’s hand.

‘Who is your charming young friend?’ said Justina, in tones less than entirely friendly.

‘This is but — but a friend of my family,’ said Chegory, inventing as best he could.

Was Olivia at risk? Perhaps! Yet Chegory, feeling her stiffen, knew he should not have spoken of her in such dismissive tones. She was offended. She was, after all, an Ashdan — and these people have far more pride than the rest of us.

‘What kind of friend?’ said Justina, in tones auger-sharp. Sweat dripped from Chegory Guy’s forehead as he sought desperately for some adroit way to resolve his difficulties; that is, to divert Justina’s attention from Olivia without offending that delicious young personage. He failed entirely. To his horror, he heard himself saying:

‘Oh, just some Ashdan.’

Young lovers take note: this is not the way to talk of the lust of your heart in her presence. In proof of which, Olivia took umbrage immediately, and removed herself. Chegory wanted to flee to her side, to apologise, to kneel and kiss, to whisper and grovel. But he was not free to so express himself, for the Empress Justina was still talking to him:

‘… which will be tonight.’

‘Pardon?’ said Chegory.

‘You have an audience with me,’ said the Empress Justina. ‘Tonight.’

‘Tonight?’ said Chegory, gaping like an idiot.

‘All night,’ said the Empress Justina. ‘From dusk to dawn. Undokondra and bardardornootha entire and complete.’

‘My… my lady. I am… I am honoured. But — um — ah…’

But Olivia would kill him.

‘We are glad you are properly appreciative of the honour,’ said Justina severely. ‘That is as it should be. Wait here once you have given evidence. We shall meet at session’s end.’

Thus she spake, then smiled, and withdrew.

Chegory swore to himself as he watched the Empress seat herself on a chair of woven cane and place her crocodileskinned handbag down beside her. A sensible choice was this chair of cane, for it was far too hot to endure the magnificence of a velvet-clad throne. Slaves, each wearing naught but a tight-strapped codpiece, fanned her with ostrich feathers.

[One doubts that either the Empress Justina or her slaves could have been attired as suggested by the Originator. One recalls, for a start, that the ostrich is a purely mythical beast. Yet there are improbabilities here which are larger yet. In all likelihood the descriptions of dress given above are but a quirk of the Originator’s purile imagination. Doubdess the Empress and her slaves were in fact decently clad in woollen gowns and leather weather helms. Sot Dawbler, School of Commentary.]

Then the depositions hearing commenced. Chegory was among the first to give evidence, but once finished he could not leave the session because the Empress Justina had commanded him to wait. Thus he sat solitary. Sweating. Aware that he was being dragonised by the Empress, by Qasaba and Ingalawa, and by Varazchavardan himself.

Gods! What ivsill become of me?

At length the depositions hearing came to an end. Judge Qil announced his decision.

‘Odolo,’ he said, ‘you can count yourself lucky. I am dismissing several of the charges which have been laid against you. First, the smoking charge. It would be wrong for you to be put on trial for smoking at a royal banquet since the smoking the law alludes to clearly relates to the consumption by combustion of kif, opium or grass clippings.

‘I am reluctantly dismissing the charges of keeping an unmuzzled dragon within the city limits, of displaying a dragon with intent to terrorise and of allowing a dragon to come in close proximity to alcohol. To my deep regret, the law is clear. For the purpose of the relevant clauses a dragon is strictly defined as an imperial dragon, land dragon or sea dragon. The corpse master Uckermark has testified that dissection proves your alleged creation to be none of these three, hence while it is obviously a dragon of some description it is not a dragon for the purposes of the law. It may however be a dog, but that seems doubtful — so the alternative charges of keeping, displaying and allowing a dog are also struck out.

‘A charge of transforming yourself into a beast of terror is also dismissed, as are the accusations of witchcraft, illegal hypnotism, heresy, insult general to a public religion and striking fear into the heart of the Empress. The last charge cannot be sustained since our beloved Empress is the daughter of a Yudonic Knight and is known to be fearless.’ By now both Justina and Odolo were smiling on the judge. But the eminent Qil was not finished. He continued: ‘However, Odolo, on many counts a prima facie case has been established against you.’

The conjuror cringed. The very vraisemblance of cowardice incarnate. The judge onspake remorselessly:

‘Therefore I am committing you to trial on two charges of high treason, three of middle treason, one of low treason and a half-charge of sub-treason. You will also be tried on charges of revolution, waging war against the state, attempted murder, practising generative magic without a licence, littering, common insolence, disorderly conduct, and conduct prejudicial to civil discipline.’