Hugh Cook - The Werewolf and the Wormlord

So…

Had the Bank ever truly intended Alfric to become Wormlord?

He knew, now, that he would never know. More likely, the Bank had threatened from time to time to make Alfric king, using this threat for political leverage. Or…

Alfric gave up.

He would never work out all the intricacies of the power game which had been played in Galsh Ebrek.

But one thing was for certain. He had thought himself the complete politician: but he had been as a child compared to these people.

‘Well, Izzy my darling,’ said Justina, breaking into Alfric’s long silence. ‘You’ve had time enough to think. Has your thinking proved profitable? Do you understand a little better now?’

‘I do,’ said Alfric thickly.

The Thrug smiled, showing remarkably few teeth but a good deal of tongue and gum.

‘Well then, Izzy my darling,’ said she. ‘What can we do for you?’

‘I would like to have a word with Banker Xzu in private,’ said Alfric.

‘You may,’ said Justina. ‘Your orks can wait here.’

‘They’re not my orks,’ said Alfric. ‘They’re King Dimple-Dumpling’s orks.’

‘Relax,’ said Justina. ‘We know your orks to be ambassadors. We’re hardly going to kill diplomats for their blubber, are we now?’

This comment was so shockingly offensive that it left Alfric wordless. So he made no further remarks as he accompanied Comptroller Xzu from the Council Chamber.

Xzu led Alfric to a small office near the Council Chamber. As they seated themselves on either side of a rosewood desk, Alfric looked round the office, seeing abaci, foreign-language books and paperweights which he guessed to have been manufactured in Chi’ash-lan.

Alfric guessed this to be Xzu’s private office. And judged, moreover, that the office had been long occupied.

‘Perhaps you think,’ said Xzu, ‘that this office bespeaks a very close relationship between Saxo Pall and the Flesh Traders’ Financial Association. If that is indeed what you think, then you are entirely correct. The relationship between the Bank and the throne is very close, much closer than low-ranked bankers imagine it to be. Tell me, Alfric, what did you come here for?’

‘I came here,’ said Alfric, ‘to suggest to Ursula Major that I be appointed head of her inland revenue department.’

Xzu laughed.

His laugh was mirthless.

‘A poor joke, Alfric,’ said Xzu. ‘If that’s what you really intended, I suggest you’ve taken leave of your senses. You know where you should be right now, Alfric?’

‘Where?’ said Alfric.

‘On your way to Port Domax, that’s where. Another city, another country, another continent. A new start. Take my advice, Alfric. Run. If you stay, you die. Nappy died last night.’

‘So I heard,’ said Alfric.

‘And?’ said Xzu. ‘Are you going to run? I can assist you with passage money if you’re short of cash.’

‘No thank you,’ said Alfric. ‘I’m not going. I want you to convene a formal meeting of the Governors of the Bank. I want to ask for the Bank’s support and protection.’

‘You won’t get it,’ said Xzu.

‘Even so,’ said Alfric, ‘I still want you to convene that meeting. I am a Banker Second Class. I have a right to be heard.’

‘Alfric,’ said Comptroller Xzu, ‘I have news for you. You’re not a banker of any class. The Bank has expelled you. Your place in the Flesh Traders’ Financial Association has been given to Ciranoush Zaxilian Nom.’

Alfric stared at Xzu.

‘It’s true, Alfric,’ said Comptroller Xzu. ‘I’m not joking. You’re out. Nom is in.’

‘You — you must help me,’ said Alfric thickly. ‘You must help me to fight back. You must!’

‘Must?’ said Xzu. ‘I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.’

‘You must!’ said Alfric. ‘Or — or I’ll expose you.’ ‘Expose me?’ s aid Xzu.

‘Yes! I’ll tell them what you did!’

‘And What did I do?’ said Xzu.

‘You — you took bribes,’ said Alfric. ‘You took bribes from me.’

Xzu looked at Alfric, pitying the poor fool.

‘I was authorized to accept your bribes,’ said Xzu.

‘And to accept your forged medical reports. The Bank gave me written orders to do as much. You see, we thought we might have a use for you.’

Alfric opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Like a fish dragged from the water, a fish trying to breathe in a world suddenly become inimical and incomprehensible.

‘You see,’ said Xzu softly, ‘the Bank cannot predict the future, nor does it attempt to do so. But it does make contingency plans a long, long time in advance. We think long term, you see.’

Alfric bowed his head, as if ashamed of himself.

He was ashamed of himself.

He had been totally outclassed, out-thought and outmanoeuvred; and such was the blindness of his pride that he had never suspected this for even a moment, not until the revelations of this day of disaster.

Then Alfric straightened up. He picked up a paperweight, a glass bauble with a yellow flower encapsulated in its depths.

‘May I have this?’ said Alfric.

Xzu looked at him in surprise.

‘What for?’

‘A gift,’ said Alfric. ‘A gift for my mother.’

Xzu studied Alfric and the paperweight both, tried to figure out what Alfric’s tactics were, then said abruptly:

‘Take it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Alfric.

And withdrew.

Alfric collected the orks from the Council Chamber then left Saxo Pall, making for the Green Cricket.

‘Where are we going?’ said Cod.

‘To Anna Blaume’s,’ said Alfric.

‘Oh, that’s good,’ said Morgenstem. ‘You’ll have a chance to have a drink with us, and we can have a good talk.’

‘Sorry, but no,’ said Alfric. ‘When we get to the Cricket, I’m going to buy horses and be gone. I have to get out of Galsh Ebrek soon, now, today. Because those who rule from Saxo Pall most definitely intend to kill me.’

As Alfric walked through the streets of Galsh Ebrek, he began to consider what kind of future he might make for himself in Port Domax. His years of strength were half over, but in all probability another thirty-three years of health remained to him. In that time, could he raise the army he would need to recover the throne of Wen Endex?

As Alfric was so thinking, he turned into Fraudenzimmer Street. And there was the Green Cricket, a two-storey building painted pink. Yes, it had always been pink. But Alfric had seen it so often by night that he had quite forgotten its colour till now.

‘Flowers, mister?’ said a girlchild, coming up to him with a bouquet.

‘How much?’ said Alfric.

She named the price; he paid. Where women were concerned, flowers were a most effective weapon of diplomacy. They might sweeten Anna Blaume’s temper and lower the price of the horses Alfric wished to buy from her.

Thus armed, Alfric advanced upon the Green Cricket. The slovenly thatch was steaming in the hot sun. A few icicles yet clung to the eves; but, even as Alfric approached, one fell off and dagger-darted to the mud below. The front door was open, and the dwarves Du Deiner and Mich Dir were fighting in the doorway. They were supposed to be scrubbing the front step, but, instead, Du Deiner was trying to force Mich Dir’s head into a bucket of hot soapy water.

‘Hey,’ said Alfric. ‘Stop that.’

At which the struggling dwarves knocked over the bucket of water, which went all over Alfric’s boots. He didn’t worry. He had other things to worry about.

With Cod and Morgenstem on his heels, Alfric went inside, into the Green Cricket. He looked around, as if he had never seen it before by daylight. Skaps the vogel hung upside down from one of the rafters overhead, sleeping. 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.