"Oh, very much a fur personage, my Prince, and more loyal than you might imagine a cat can be."
That incident, when Jamas tried to place it, happened a good two years before the regent's death.
SOMEHOW OR OTHER, the prince, though eager to assume total control of his destiny on reaching the age of twenty-one, had always imagined that Mangan would still be in his tower quarters, with Niffy keeping him company, ready to take over vexatious or tedious problems and solve them in his wise, smooth, and clever way. As ruler, Jamas would then be able to do what he wanted to.
"Why did he have to die now?" Jamas asked his favorite equerry, a baron not many years his senior but of a more cautious nature: one of Mangan's most felicitous appointments for Jamas. "I mean, we have that border dispute…"
"Ah, but Jamie," and Grenejon Klanto, Baron Illify, slipped into the familiar mode since they were alone in the prince's quarters in that hour after Mangan's death, "you said you knew how to manage that yourself."
Jamas, his mouth open to refute that allegation, closed it. One of Mangan's maxims echoed in his head: There is no harm to admit error. To compound it with falsehood is most unwise!
"Well, not as Mangy would have… no, he's dead. I can't be disrespectful when he isn't even cold, can I?" Jamas said in a rueful tone. Then he ran both hands through the crisp blond curls that delighted women and irritated him. Straight hair did not sweat as much under a helmet. "No, mine would have been a more direct approach."
Jamas sighed because he was a very able swordsman and had studied classic battle strategy and troop deployment with more enthusiasm than he had coped with the hazards of grammar and spelling. He had, of course, had the very best possible martial training available-as did every male of his line-and had become extremely proficient in every way possible of rendering an opponent helpless, if not dead.
Jamas liked fighting. Mangan had studiously avoided martial confrontations. Which, Jamas had felt, deprived his princely self of a chance to show off his prowess, proving his valor and reminding foes that he would be a dangerous adversary.
War is the last resort and the most expensive one, was another of Mangan's maxims. Diplomacy might take longer but has more lasting results for the common weal.
"Not now," the prince went on, "when the princedom is in mourning."
"Not too much mourning, your highness," said Frenery, who had been Mangan's secretary for decades. He bobbed in an effort to show his respect to his sovereign. "The regent did not wish to, ahem, bore the court or put the treasury to unnecessary expense for obsequies which, he said," and Frenery gave a little cough for the regent's idiosyncrasies, "he would not be able to enjoy or control."
Prince Jamas frowned at the plump Frenery. "What?"
"Well, sire, to be sure, you remarked yourself that our dearly departed smiled as he passed from his mortal coil?"
"Hmm, yes, I did. So?"
"The regent requested that post mortem ceremonies be limited to a fine meal and good wines with perhaps a libation to his memory? If you were so disposed?"
"Humph," was the prince's surprised rejoinder. He was somewhat relieved that he wouldn't have to endure long-winded eulogies, the longest of which would surely come from Frenery, who was so punctilious about protocol, respect, and stuff like that. Despite his deep affection and respect for Regent Mangan, Jamas had not been looking forward to such rituals. For a man of Mangan's rank and prestige, speakers could waffle on for hours, and he could think of other things that he would rather do on a fine spring day.
"Eat, drink and be merry, huh," Grenejon said with the hint of a smile. "Yes, Mangan would prefer that, sire. He was never one for pomp and ceremony." Grenejon cast a meaningful glance at Frenery, inviting his support.
"Oh, yes, Baron Illify, quite right. In fact, the regent set aside a fine red wine which he hoped could be used for the occasion."
"Did he?" the prince was cheered. Mangan's taste in wines was known well beyond the borders of Esphania: and rightly.
"Yes, bins 78, 79, 80, and 81," Frenery said, consulting the thick sheaf he always carried about with him for note-taking. Several sheets broke loose and fell to the floor, as they often did from Frenery's overfull notebook. Baron Grenejon almost automatically bent to retrieve them.
"Mangan was always forethoughtful, wasn't he," the prince added and then gave orders for a sumptuous banquet to follow immediately after the interment of the regent Mangan's mortal remains.
MASTERING THEIR GRIEF, the palace chefs managed a feast of gastronomic excellence.
"Mind you," the head chef said with both honest sorrow and happy anticipation of showing off his talents, "lately the regent hasn't been able to enjoy the rich and highly seasoned dishes of which I am a master. But I do believe I managed to cater quite inventively, titillating his palate without upsetting his digestion."
The second chef nodded, which was all that was required of him when his superior launched on this sort of talk.
"Therefore, we shall contrive to present all the foods I'm sure the regent would have liked to have eaten were he enjoying the superb health our prince does."
And he did so, and the prince found that he could put aside his grief quite easily when confronted with pickled neats' tongues, tiny spiced sausages, chilled shellfish, livers cooked with apples and oranges, cold fruit cream soups, and the swan/goose/duck/chicken/ guineafowl/squab entree, and the baron of beef, the racks of lamb and the stunning array of vegetables and legumes which generally accompany such courses. The removes were equally sumptuous: fish, scallops, prawns, lobsters, and mussels simmered in butter and garlic, and the special sauces for which the head chef was renowned.
In Mangan's cellar, a white wine had been set aside for the fish courses, as dry as one could be had, as well as the fine red. Of both there had been sufficient to keep full the glasses of the guests: the principal earls, dukes, counts, viscounts, and their families, all of whom wished to honor the regent. For in truth, Mangan Tighe had managed not to quarrel with any of them, and they all wished to be present to honor his memory. Especially as there was such a splendid feast.
But, first, the prince did his duty by his mentor and guardian. He rose to his feet before the assembled, who hastily rose to theirs. He lifted high his glass, as did they.
"Let us tonight remember, as he would have wished us to, the fine qualities, great wisdom and kindness of the late Mangan Tighe, regent, friend, and mentor. We shall miss him greatly, but we wish him well in the afterlife to which he has gone. May he still be smiling!"
The prince nearly spilled his wine before he could get the glass to his mouth because he felt something rub his silk stockinged legs. If the toast he drank was no more than a sip, and if he sat down abruptly, pushing aside the fine linen tablecloth to peer under the table, he was the prince and everyone was just as glad the toast had been so brief.
"What's the matter, my Prince?" Grenejon asked, leaning across his table companion.
"Ah, nothing, nothing," the prince said, unwilling to admit that he thought the regent's cat had just stroked his legs. He brushed the notion aside and applied himself to the superb food.
However, later, as the harpers went from incidental dinner music to the more enjoyable ballad singing, he felt something settle against his right foot. Inconspicuously dropping his napkin, he had a good look under the tablecloth as he retrieved the napery.
Niffy's bright eyes glinted at him in the gloom. Prince Jamas also noted how many ladies' slippers were standing empty under the long head table.
A touch on his shoulder and he straightened up. A fresh napkin was dangled at him.
"Nonsense, this is fine," he said, waving off the servitor.