Диана Джонс - A Sudden Wild Magic

“Now, look —!” said Michael.

“You look,” said Tod. “The woman’s grabbed one gualdian already. You’re gualdian on one side, and on the other you’ve got Gordano birthright—”

“I’ve yet to notice either,” Michael said.

“Marceny will. Gods in hellband, she’ll want you even more than she’ll want me! My old dad will never forgive me if I let us both go.”

That seemed to shut Michael up. As they came to the centaurs milling at the end of the causeway, Tod looked up at the great yellowing bowl of the sky. Given luck, they could reach Josh by nightfall. The foremost centaur had a pale wedge of a face, like a slice of white cheese, and was clearly in some kind of authority. Tod snabbled him. “You in charge here? Good. The centaur in the grove isn’t a ghost. He’s Horgoc Anphalemos Galpetto a Cephelad — know the family? Great. And he’s stranded in Lady Marceny’s grove, in bad trouble. Can you choose me all your fastest folk? We’ll need to go in and out quick, and I don’t want anyone left on the way. Tell them to form up round my car in five minutes.”

“Quite the little Pentarch, aren’t we?” Michael murmured.

The king appeared entirely unhurried. He gave orders — or rather, issued mild requests to centaurs, humans, and some of the odder folk, some in uniforms and others in sober suiting — all of which, Gladys noticed, were obeyed as if they were commands with the death penalty attached. From this she conjectured that the power he could raise was formidable. It seemed hard on such a small, mild man. And she noticed he was seldom at a loss. In fact, the only time she saw him disconcerted was when he courteously asked his guests what they wished to eat before leaving for Leathe. The High Head asked for passet, Gladys for sausages.

The gnomish-looking lackey stared. The king blinked. It was clear both requests were extraordinary. “And the ether monkey?” the king asked, recovering. “Will he eat?”

“No,” the High Head and Gladys said in chorus. The High Head shot her a venomous look and explained, “Your Majesty, they are not from our band of the Wheel. They are said to live on base energies. No doubt these are plentifully available from this one’s mistress.”

“Well, well,” said the king. “Magus, I realize your position is deeply unpleasant for you, and your future uncertain, but I must insist on courtesy. Would it reassure you if I try to discover what is going on in Arth?”

The High Head’s face showed a terrible eagerness. Poor man, Gladys thought. “If — if that is possible, Your Majesty.”

The king got up and ambled to his desk, where he stood looking out of the window and apparently tapping his desktop aimlessly. “As you know,” he observed, “I seldom do this in person, but I think it is time that I did. Ah. There are not much in the way of tides just now, but something — I should say Someone — has favored me with an excellent wave band. Here we are.”

The window in front of him rippled, dimmed, and became shot with flecks of light. Like a bad television warming up, Gladys thought. As in a television, sound came first. Laughter. Peals of it. One of the laughers broke off to say, “Arth here. Who is it now?”

“If it’s Leathe again, tell them what to do with it,” someone else said.

“This is the king,” stated His Majesty, “wishing to speak to whoever is in charge.”“Oh— Goddess!” said the first speaker. This was followed by a muttered discussion, giggles, and the sound of a chair falling over.

“Yes, all right — she’s bringing him,” said someone else. “Find some coffee. Quick.”

The window cleared with a flick to bright blue light, and a face twice lifesize looked out of it. It was swaying slightly. For an instant, Gladys had the notion she was seeing the Great Centaur again. But this was a man, trying very hard to look serious and businesslike. He said, with great care, “I am Acting High Head until the coming elections, Your Majesty. How can I help you?”

“Edward!” said the ex-High Head. He looked betrayed.

“Yes, you can tell me what’s going on there,” said the king.

“Well, nothing much at the moment,” Edward replied.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Your Majesty. We’re all very drunk. We’ve been celebrating for a long time — the repeal of Oath and Constitution, you know.” The High Head put his face in his hands.

“Do you intend to draw up new ones?” the king asked.

“In a bit,” said Edward. “I mean, yes, of course, Your Majesty. Someone said they were working on it, I think.” He seemed to realize that this was a little inadequate. He frowned importantly. “We shall ask for two hundred women from the Pentarchy the next time the tides are right. Then we’ll abolish the service-year — and celibacy, of course — and — What? Oh yes. A lot of the mages and most of the cadets want to go home.”

“That seems to be on the right lines,” said the king, “but a little sketchy, High Brother. Add two things to it now. Perhaps if you have a Brother handy to write this down, it would assist you to remember tomorrow, or whenever your party is over.”

Edward turned and made fierce gestures to someone out of sight. A hand appeared, passing him a block of paper and a pen. After a slight tussle, in which Edward attempted to retain the wineglass he had in each hand as well as the paper and pen, and the hand — possibly a female hand — firmly removed both glasses, he turned and nodded owlishly at the king. “Ready.”

“Splendid,” said the king. “Write, One: No further research is to be done on otherworld without written royal permission. Two: The function of Arth is, in future, to supply the Pentarchy with the same sort of inventions that we have hitherto gained from otherworld, and these are to be discovered purely by the Brotherhood’s own unaided efforts.” While Edward laboriously wrote, the king said over his shoulder to Gladys, “I’m ashamed of the way we’ve been sponging on your world — and they can do it themselves, you know. Some of the best brains in the Pentarchy are over there. Is there anything else I should tell him?”

“Ask about our women,” Gladys said.

“Oh yes. Have you got all that down?” the king asked Edward. He nodded, looking as sober as only someone extremely drunk can. “Then the last thing I have to say is about the five otherworld women in Arth. What arrangements have you made to send them home?”

There was an instant outcry. Shouts of “No!” and “Don’t you take our women!” and “They’re staying !” filled the paneled office deafeningly. Edward’s face was jostled out of the screen, replaced by several angry ones, two of them female, and then jostled back. Gladys sighed with relief. Flan and Judy seemed fine.

This time, Edward was icy cold sober. “I’m very sorry, Your Majesty. We have no intention of sending any of the women anywhere. They have asked to stay. We made them all citizens of Arth this morning.” His image vanished with a crash and a slight tinkle, as if someone had broken a large sheet of glass. Evening sun dazzled through the window again.

The king turned away from it. “Well, there you are. I shall go there and try to sort things out in due course, but the next tides are not for nearly two years, I’m afraid, and by that time it will be very hard to remove anyone who wants to stay.”

Gladys shrugged. “That’s five more full sets of ideas.”

“I know,” said the king.

The dejection of all three was interrupted by a footman entering with a trolley. Gladys eyed the carefully sliced black pudding that was the Pentarchy’s notion of sausage and politely said nothing. The king, however, was unable to resist murmuring to her, “How can the man eat passet?”