With an effort Melissande pulled herself back from the brink of embarrassment… and didn't object when Monk took her hand in his. 'Nobody's helping,' she muttered, it was stupid to come here, we should have stayed in New Ottosland. Saint Snodgrass only knows what trouble Gerald's got himself into now. He had no business forcing me to come here. I should be at home, fighting for the people, I'm prime minister of New Ottosland and practically the queen!'
Not that she wanted to be. She couldn't think of anything worse. I wonder if I'll have to change my name to Lional…
'Don't you worry about Gerald,' said Reg. 'He's a wizarding prodigy. He can take care of himself.'
Melissande exchanged a mordant glance with Monk over the top of Reg's head. Clearly the bird didn't believe her own pep talk. / don't believe it either, I'm afraid. It'll take more than a prodigy to beat Lional and his dragon. It'll take a miracle… and I'm not sure they exist.
'Don't give up, Mel- Your Highness,' said Monk. 'The Deparment will come through for us, I know it. It's just going to take time. This is a hideously complicated situation, you know, involving five different nations, three of whom currently aren't officially talking to each other.'
Ah, politics. / am sick to death of politics. I think I'll ban them when I'm queen. She pulled a face at Monk.'I'm not giving up. And call me Melissande.'
Even though he was as worried as she was, his lips quirked in a brief grin. 'Thought you'd never ask. Look, do you want me to go hunting for Rupert while — '
The main chamber's large double doors opened. 'Come in, please,' said a discreet secretarial type dressed in sober black. 'Lord Attaby will see you now.'
Abruptly aware of appearing less than her best, Melissande slid off the chair and lifted her chin, defiant. 'And not a moment too soon. I was just about to make a Scene.'
As Reg hopped onto Monk's waiting shoulder she marched past the discreet secretary and into the chamber. Stalked across the room's ding)' carpet, Monk and Reg at her heels, and halted in front of the long polished oak conference table on the far side of the room. There was a click behind her as the secretary closed the double doors.
To her fury she saw the Ottosland officials at the table had been drinking tea and eating biscuits. Tea and biscuits while my kingdom is dragged to hell in a handbasket. How dare they? 'Right,' she said, glaring at the three men ranged before her. 'Which one of you is Lord bloody Attaby?'
The man in the middle, reeking of affluence and self-importance, inclined his head fractionally. His thinning silver hair was slicked to his skull with something smelly and expensive. 'I am Lord Attaby, Minister of Thaumaturgy for the Ottosland government.'
She looked left then right at his silent bookends. 'And these two?' 'My colleagues,' said Lord Attaby blandly. 'I see. And do they have names?'
'None that are relevant to these proceedings,' said Lord Attaby. 'Madam.'
She snorted, i'm not madam, I'm Her Royal Highness Princess Melissande, Prime Minister of New Ottosland and — and — Queen Presumptive.'
Lord Attaby laced his fingers before him, frowning.'Or so you claim.'
'Claim?' she demanded. 'What, you think I'm lying?' i think you are a young foreign woman lacking both identification and requisite travel documentation who has entered this country by dubious and possibly illegal means,' said Lord Attaby, looking down his nose at her. 'And who, it would appear, has suborned one of its citizens into breaking some very, very, serious laws.'
Monk stepped forward. 'No, she hasn't, Lord Attaby. That's all on me. And she is who she says she is, I can vouch for that. Unless you think I'm lying, too.'
Lord Attaby's chilly expression plummeted below freezing, it would appear, Mr Markham, you have been labouring under the mistaken apprehension that your illustrious family name would afford you unlimited protection in this matter. Allow me to disabuse you of this naive — '
The man on Lord Attaby's right lowered his raised, silencing hand. Melissande looked at him more closely; anyone who could halt an aristocrat mid-tirade was worth examining. He was extremely… nondescript. Unlike Lord Attaby, whose shirt was silk, he wore plain cotton. His watchband was leather, not gold, and he altogether lacked a pampered air. His hooded grey eyes were years older than his round, faintly lined face and mousy brown hair suggested. He didn't look like an enemy. He didn't look like a friend. More than anything he looked like a greengrocer or some other kind of inoffensive shopkeeper. How very odd, she thought. / wonder who he is?
The man on Lord Attaby's left took advantage of the silence and said, 'Your part in this, Monk, will be dealt with in due course. For now let us focus on the reason for Her Highness s unorthodox appearance in the country.'
Melissande glanced at Monk. He was subdued now and pink around the edges. 'Yes, Unc- Sir Ralph.'
'Lord Attaby' said Monk's important relative, properly deferring. 'Do continue, sir. I believe time is a commodity in short supply'
'Time, Lord Attaby, has pretty well run out!' Melissande said hotly. 'At least for your citizen Professor Gerald Dunwoody! I'm assuming you do care about him at least, even if you couldn't give a toss about the five dead wizards or the people of Kallarap or my people in New Ottosland, some of whom are already dead because of this string of disasters! You know, none of this would ever have happened if people like you hadn't failed to monitor Pomodor Uffitzi more carefully! If he hadn't got his hands on those dreadful grimoires, I wouldn't be standing here thaumaturgically related to a dragon!'
Lord Attaby sat back. 'Does this mean your… government… accepts no responsibility for this? Are you now claiming that your brother King Lional bears no culpability whatsoever tor the murder of five wizards, one of whom was an Ottoslander, or the deaths of your unfortunate citizens and his intended invasion of your peaceful neighbour?'
She felt herself turn red.'No,' she said curtly.'Of course Lional's culpable. He's also crazy. I'm not making excuses, I'm just giving you the facts.'
Lord Attaby smiled. It was extrememly unpleasant, in my experience, Prime Minister, facts are remarkably malleable things. They can be massaged to fit any number of scenarios depending upon a variety of preferred outcomes.' 'Really?' she said, seething. He nodded. 'Really'
'How very interesting. Because in my experience that's known as falsifying evidence. Manipulating the truth. To be blunt, Lord Attaby, it's known as lying. Also covering your arse!
The nondescript man on Lord Attaby's right looked down, lips twitching. Monk's illustrious relative frowned disapprovingly. Lord Attaby scowled, his pouchy face burnished dull crimson. 'Young woman — '
'No, not "young woman",' she said.'You were right the first time. Do at least try to keep the protocol intact.' She leaned her fists on the oak conference table and thrust her face into his. 'Now let's get something straight, my lord. As far as I'm concerned there's plenty of blame to go around for this fiasco. And when it's over, by all means, let's sit down with tea and biscuits and parcel it out like lumps of sugar. But before that, if it's not too much to ask, could you and your hoity-toity Departmental chums here stop pointing fingers for five seconds and do something constructive?' She raked them with a furious gaze. 'Because in case you've forgotten, gentlemen, people are dying1. And in light of that, how I got here and so on and so forth is just a steaming pile of bollocks!'
'I'm so sorry,' said a hesitant, apologetic voice from the doorway. 'You mustn't be offended. My sister has a temper but her heart is in the right place. And as it happens, this time I agree with her. We don't have time for recriminations.'
Melissande spun round. 'Rupert? Rupert, where the hell have you been?'