His wife, Dienu Pasharatid, reclined on cushions nearby. She rose now, a tall and graceful woman, thin, greyish in cast, severe in appearance.
“If you statesmen wonder why in my country you are called the Savage Continent, look no further than this latest lie of magnitude. Who would be to blame for such arms trading? Why should my husband be always mistrusted?”
SartoriIrvrash pulled his whiskers, so that his face was tugged into an involuntary smile. “Why do you mention your husband in connection with this incident, Madame Dienu? No one else did. I didn’t.”
JandolAnganol rose again. “Two of our agents, posing as Driat tribesmen, went into the lower bazaar and bought one of these new inventions. I propose a demonstration of what this weapon can do, so that you will be in no doubt that we have entered a new era in warfare. Perhaps then you will see my need to retain phagors in my army and my realms.”
Addressing himself directly to the Pannovalan prince, he said, “If your refinement will allow you to tolerate the presence of ancipitals in the room…”
The diplomats sat up and stared apprehensively at the king.
He clapped his hands. A leather-clad captain from his cortege went to a passage and called an order. Two dehorned phagors marched smartly into the room. They had been standing motionless in the shadows. Their white pelages picked up the light as they passed by the windows. One of them carried a long matchlock before him. A passage was cleared across the middle of the chamber as he set it down and crouched beside it to prepare for firing.
The hand-artillery piece had a six-foot iron barrel and a stock of polished wood. Both barrel and stock were bound at intervals with silver wire. Near the muzzle was a folding tripod of sturdy design with two clawed feet. The phagor packed powder into the mechanism from a horn carried at his belt, and used a ramrod to tamp a round lead ball down the barrel. He settled himself and lit a fuse. The captain of phagors stood over him to see that all was performed properly.
Meanwhile, the second phagor had moved to the other end of the chamber and stood near the wall, looking forward and twitching an ear. Any humans lolling about on cushions had rapidly cleared a wide space for him.
The first phagor squinted along the barrel, using the tripod to support the muzzle. The fuse spluttered. There was a terrific explosion and a puff of smoke.
The other phagor staggered. A yellow stain appeared high up on its chest, where its intestines were situated. It said something, clutching the spot where the shot had entered its body. Then it fell dead, collapsing with a thud on the floor.
As smoke and smell filled the council hall, the diplomats began to cough. Panic took them. They jumped up, tugging their charfruls, and ran into the open. JandolAnganol and his chancellor were left standing alone.
After the morning’s demonstration of fire power, of which the queen had been a secret onlooker, she went and hid herself in her quarters.
She hated the calculations that power entailed. She knew that the Pannoval contingent, led by the odious Prince Taynth Indredd, were not aiming their remarks against Sibornal, for it was taken for granted that Sibornal was a permanent enemy; that relationship, sour though it was, was well understood. JandolAnganol was the target of their talk, for they wished to bind him closer to them. And in consequence she—who had power over him—was also their target.
MyrdemInggala lunched with her ladies. JandolAnganol, by the laws of courtesy, lunched with his guests. Guaddl Ulbobeg earned black looks from his master by pausing at the king’s place and saying, in a low voice, “Your demonstration was dramatic, but hardly effective. For our northern armies are having increasingly to fight against Sibornalese forces armed with those very matchlocks. However, the art of their manufacture can be learnt, as you will see tomorrow. Beware, my friend, for the prince will force a hard bargain on you.”
After her lunch, scarcely tasted, the queen went alone to her quarters and sat at her favourite window, on the cushioned seat built round its bay. She thought of the odious Prince Taynth Indredd, who resembled a frog. She knew that he was related to the equally disgusting King of Oldorando, Sayren Stund, whose wife was a Madi. Surely even phagors were preferable to these scheming royalties!
From her window, she looked across her garden to the tiled reservoir where she swam. On the far side of the reservoir, a tall wall rose, hiding her beauty from prying eyes, and in the bottom of the wall, just above water level, was a small iron grille. The grille formed the window to a dungeon. There, JandolAnganol’s father, the deposed King VarpalAnganol, was imprisoned, and had been since shortly after the queen’s marriage. In the reservoir were golden carp, visible from where she sat. Like her, like VarpalAnganol, they were prisoners here.
A knock came at her door. A servant opened it, to announce that the queen’s brother awaited her pleasure.
YeferalOboral was lolling against the rail at her balcony. They both knew that JandolAnganol would long since have killed him, but for the queen.
Her brother was not a handsome man; all the beauty in the line had been bestowed in superabundance on MyrdemInggala. His features were meagre, his expression sour. He was brave, obedient, patient; otherwise his qualities were few. He never carried himself well, as did the king, as if to emphasize that he intended to cut no figure in life. Yet he served JandolAnganol without protest, and was devoted to a sister whose life he held so much more dear than his own. She loved him for his ordinariness.
“You were not at the meeting.”
“It wasn’t for the likes of me.”
“It was horrible.”
“I heard so. For some reason, Io Pasharatid is upset. He’s generally so cool, like a block of Lordryardry ice. Yet the guards say he has a woman in town—imagine! If so, he runs a great risk.”
MyrdemInggala showed her teeth in a smile. “I detest the way he looks at me. If he has a woman, so much the better!”
They laughed. For a short while, they lingered, talking of cheerful things. Their father, the old baron, was in the country now, complaining of the heat and too old to be reckoned a danger to the state. He had recently taken up fishing, as a cool pursuit.
The courtyard bell rang. They looked down to see JandolAnganol enter the court, closely followed by a guard carrying a red silk umbrella over his head. The phagor runt was close to him, as ever. He called to his queen.
“Will you come down, Cune? Our guests must be entertained during a lull in our discussions. You will delight them more than ever I could.”
She left her brother and went down to join him under the sunshade. He took her arm with formal courtesy. She thought he looked weary, though the fabric of the umbrella reflected a flush like fever on his cheeks.
“Are you coming to a treaty with Pannoval and Oldorando which will ease the pressures of war?” she asked timidly.
“The beholder knows what we’re coming to,” he said abruptly. “We must keep on terms with the devils, and placate them, otherwise they’ll take advantage of our temporary weakness and invade us. They’re as full of cunning as they are of fake holiness.” He sighed.
“The time will come when you and I will be hunting and enjoying life again, as of old,” she said, squeezing his arm. She would not rebuke him for inviting his guests.
Ignoring her pious hope, he burst out angrily, “SartoriIrvrash spoke unwisely this morning, admitting his atheism. I must get rid of him. Taynth holds it against me that my chancellor is not a member of the Church.”
“Prince Taynth also spoke against me. Will you get rid of me because I am not to his liking?” Her eyes flashed angrily as she spoke, though she tried to keep lightness in her tone. But he replied sullenly, “You know, and the scritina knows, that the coffers are empty. We may be driven to much we have no heart for.”