The herald at the doors blew a belated, vaguely musical trill through his horn and announced, 'Be upstanding for His Majesty King Lional the Forty-third!'
But Gerald was already on his feet, along with Rupert and the princess. Languid as molten gold, the king made his way to the head of the table; Tavistock padded with him, rawboned tail waving in a parody of greeting.
'So sorry to have kept you waiting,' Lional said, smiling as he eased into his throne-like chair. He didn't sound sorry at all.
'That's quite all right, old chap,' Rupert said cheerfully as they sat down again. 'We hardly noticed you weren't here, actually. Been having a lovely chat with the new wizard. I must say I think you've made an excellent choice this time, Lional. This one's much chirpier than those other old fossils. Grand, isn't it?'
Princess Melissande shoved aside her paperwork and covered her eyes with one hand. Sprawled indolently by the king's chair, Tavistock complained with a throaty rumble like distant calamitous thunder.
The king's smile widened. 'I'm relieved you approve, Rupert. Professor — ' he added, as the manservants began pouring wine and serving soup, 'allow me to compliment you on your attire. You quite put me to shame.'
'His father made it, Lional,' said Rupert. 'Wasn't that grand of him?'
The king stared, his cerulean eyes wide. 'Your father? Really?'
Pillock, pillock, pillock and prat. Gerald smiled. 'Yes, Your Majesty. He's a tailor. Or at least he was, until he retired.'
'Was he indeed?' Lional spread out his napkin with a snap.'Fancy that. Mine was a king, you know'
He felt his fingernails bite into his palms. Bastard. 'Indeed, Your Majesty. But then I think that to his son, every father is a king.'
Silence, broken only by Tavistock's resumed rumbling. Then Lional threw back his golden head and laughed. He sounded genuinely amused. Princess Melissande, the colour flooding back to her face, loosened her grip on her spoon.
'Professor, I believe you're right!' Lional declared. 'Let us raise our glasses to fathers, shall we?' He laughed again. 'Especially absent ones."
The toast was drunk. Abruptly bereft of appetite, Gerald toyed with his bread roll. One of the manservants had given Tavistock an enormous bloody haunch of something to gnaw on. He'd never realised how big a lion's teeth were. Or how sharp. What had he been thinking?
Unlike his brother, who slurped, Lional consumed his lobster bisque daintily, fastidiously. Pausing between spoonfuls he dabbed his lips with his napkin and said, 'Melissande, I hope you've informed the Kallarapi I'm granting them the honour of an audience tomorrow' She nodded. 'Yes, Lional.'
'Excellent. I look forward to showing them the error of their ways. Don't you, Professor? Naturally, you will be in attendance. Lending the appropriate air of gravity and menace.'
Menace? He cleared his throat, very carefully not looking at the princess. 'Of course, Your Majesty. Although you know, my skills haven't been what you'd call honed in the international arena. I wonder if there's not someone else more suited who could take my place? Or at least join us. Her Highness Princess Melissande, perhaps. She is your prime minister, after all.' And if she attended the meeting he wouldn't have to worry about the king thinking he was her spy.
Lional's expression chilled. Sublimely oblivious, Rupert pulled a dog-eared book out of his pocket, propped it up against a vase and began to read as he continued to slurp his soup. The book's cover was graced with a watercolour of an improbably smiling butterfly.
'My dear Professor,' said Lional. He didn't sound at all friendly. 'That won't be necessary. Your experience as a wizard will be quite sufficient for my purposes.'
Across the table, Princess Melissande was attempting to semaphore a message via her unplucked eyebrows. Gerald tried to ignore her. 'I'm sorry, Your Majesty. Would you mind explaining what you mean by that?'
The king considered him. 'Oh, dear. Please don't tell me you're going to be obtuse, Professor. I find obtuse people very… wearing!
Not as wearing as they find you, I'll bet. 'Obtuse, Your Majesty? No. At least, that's not my intention. I just don't want any misunderstandings when we meet with the Kallarapi. Misunderstandings could give rise to an unfortunate international incident.'
The king dropped his spoon into his emptied soup bowl. The manservant behind his chair winced. 'I am not concerned about international incidents. No great nation can afford to concern itself with the hurt feelings of its inferiors. I hope you are not suggesting, Professor, that I place the selfish desires of these Kallarapi above the welfare of my own people?'
Oh, thank God Reg wasn't here. 'Of course not, Your Majesty' he said carefully. 'But — '
'There is no but, Professor,' said the king. 'It has been said that diplomacy is the waging of war by other means. If that is indeed the case then where the Kallarapi are involved you may consider yourself my secret weapon.'
Secret weapon? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He snuck a glance at the princess. She was very pink about the face and her fingers were white-knuckled on the stem of her almost emptied wine glass.
'Lional,' she said with commendable calm, 'is that a good idea?'
Lional ignored her. 'Do you know, Professor, what the very best thing about being king is?'
He couldn't help himself. 'The hours, Your Majesty?'
Beside him, Rupert surfaced from his butterfly daydreams long enough to bleat his amusement. 'The hours! I say, that's a good one! The hours! That is a good one, isn't it, Lional? The hours?'
'The very best thing about being king, Professor,' said Lional, as though his brother didn't exist, 'is that all my ideas are good ideas. In fact since I came to the throne I haven't had a single bad one. Have I, Melissande?'
Rupert said, 'Ooh, I don't know about that, Lional, I mean there was that business with the horses, the monkeys and the — ' 'Rupert,' said his brother. 'Get out.'
Rupert flinched. 'Sorry, Lional,' he whispered, picked up his book and retired.
'All I meant! the princess began, and was silenced with a glare that sizzled the air between them.
'It seems to me,' said the king, his voice lightly coated in ice, 'the time has come for us to remind the world that New Ottosland is a sovereign nation, a kingdom of tradition, antiquity and significant heritage. We must no longer allow ourselves to be dismissed and trifled with because we appear insignificant. The fire ants of Sanarabia appear insignificant yet they can reduce the mighty elephant to bloody bone and sinew. So it may be with New Ottosland, should the unwise choose to render us one whit less than our proper due. For too long nations like Kallarap have treated us with contempt. Well, to that I say: no longer. We must assert ourselves as New Ottoslanders, the equals of any nation in the world.'
'And I'm not saying we shouldn't,' the princess persisted. 'But to be taken seriously on the world stage we have to look like a world power. Which means we need things like privy councils, to give us gravitas. And supply valuable diplomatic experience.'
'My privy council was short-sighted, lily-livered and stuck in the past like hogs in mud,' snapped Lional. 'Aged relics… and their sons are relics-in-waiting. Which is why I banished them to their estates where they can dwindle their dying days in contemplation ot the nation they and theirs might have birthed had they the least wit, imagination or courage.'
Princess Melissande released an exasperated breath. 'I know they're ancient and irritating, Lional, but as it turns out they actually got quite a lot done around here and I have to say, in all honesty, that expecting me to pick up the slack is a bit unfair. I mean, I'm doing my best, and so are my staff, we really are, but we just can't keep up and — '