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‘Mother,’ said Alfric.

Greeting Gertrude with a kiss on her cheek.

‘Alfric, my boy,’ said Gertrude. ‘Sit down. Sit down.’

Alfric sat. And the orks Cod and Morgenstem, who had followed him outside, sat down also.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ said Alfric, producing the paperweight.

‘Alfric,’ said Gertrude. ‘That’s very nice of you.’

A tear glistened in her eye, and Alfric hoped she wasn’t going to cry.

‘Where have you been today?’ said Gertrude.

Alfric was about to answer when he realized the question was being directed at the orks.

‘Up at Saxo Pall,’ said Cod.

‘How did it go?’ said Gertrude.

‘Not too bad,’ said Cod. ‘Yes. All in all, things aren’t going too badly.’

‘By which we mean,’ said Morgenstem, glumly, ‘that things could be worse. Much worse. We could have come down with bubonic plague by now.’

‘But we haven’t,’ said Cod.

‘But we will,’ said Morgenstem. ‘If we stay in Galsh Ebrek we surely will. It’s only a matter of time.’

‘Ah well,’ said Gertrude, ‘I’m sure it’ll all come right for you in time.’

Then she excused herself from the table and toddled into the Green Cricket. Alfric knew he should be moving. He should buy horses from Anna Blaume and be gone. Instantly. But he was finding himself possessed by lethargy.

‘What happened between you and Banker Xzu?’ said Cod.

‘Nothing much,’ said Alfric.

‘Did he offer to help you?’ said Morgenstem. ‘Help you win the throne, I mean.’

‘No,’ said Alfric. ‘He told me to get out of Galsh Ebrek lest I die in my sleep. He told me I’ve been kicked out of the Bank. I’m not welcome here.’

‘So… so who is actually going to rule in Galsh Ebrek?’ said Cod.

‘Unless I’m very much mistaken,’ said Alfric, ‘Justina Thrug has come out on top, with Ursula Major as her puppet.’

Then he elaborated.

‘That’s nice to hear,’ said Cod. ‘At least it means there won’t be a war in the city. Political stability makes things easier for us ambassadors. In theory, at least.’

‘But in practice, probably not,’ said Morgenstem. ‘What’s the prob lem?’ said Alfric.

‘Nobody takes us seriously, that’s the problem,’ said Cod. ‘Because we’re orks. It makes it very hard to get business done.’

‘And,’ said Morgenstem, ‘we find it hard to settle to business in any kind.’

‘Why?’said Alfric.

‘Because,’ said Morgenstem, the eyes of the big lubbery creature growing wet with tears, ‘we’re afraid. Afraid of living here. Afraid of the Knights and the commoners.’

‘Afraid?’ said Alfric. ‘I don’t believe it! You were heroes up in Saxo Pall. Challenging Ursula Major like that. I was ever so impressed.’

‘Were you?’ said Cod.

‘Yes,’ said Alfric. ‘Really.’

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Cod. ‘We did… we did rise to the occasion, and we know it. We’re proud of it. But it’s the routine that’s wearing us down.’

‘The routine,’ said Morgenstem, ‘of just living in this city.’

‘They make jokes about us, you see,’ said Cod. ‘Jokes about eating us. I can take a joke. But it’s not a joke, not really. They really do want to eat us. I can’t sleep at night for the bad dreams.’

‘Sleep by day, then,’ said Alfric carelessly ‘Oh, it’s all right f or you,’ said Morgenstem. ‘You’re not an ork. Nobody ever threatened t o boil you down for your blubber oil.’

‘Well… no,’ said Alfric, conceding the point.

‘If you were ambassador,’ said Cod, ‘King Dimple-Dumpling’s ambassador, I mean, then people would take you seriously. You could get things done. Not like us orks.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Alfric. ‘The Izdimir Empire has an ambassador here, but nobody takes him too seriously. They make jokes about him too, you know. It’s not just because you’re orks. It’s because you’re outsiders. Anyway, if it’s getting too much for you, why don’t you go back to the Qinjoks?’

‘King Dimple-Dumpling wouldn’t like that,’ said Morgenstem. ‘He has to have an ambassador in Galsh Ebrek.’

‘Then let him send an ogre,’ said Alfric. ‘One of his sons, perhaps. This just isn’t the place for orks. I’m quite happy to come along to the Qinjoks and tell the king that myself.’

‘Oh,’ said Cod, ‘that’s awfully kind of you. But it wouldn’t really be a good idea. The king’s most awfully keen to keep an ambassador here. We’re under orders.

We can’t leave unless we can find someone to substitute for us.’

Cod paused.

Looked at Alfric.

Morgenstem did likewise.

And Alfric thought to himself, in amusement:

— They want me to be ambassador?

Oh no.

That was impossible.

Or was it?

Technically… technically it might be possible. If Alfric became the ogre-king’s ambassador in Galsh Ebrek, then the Powers That Be would not dare murder him, lest they start a war with the Qinjoks. But… but Alfric planned to leave the continent of Yestron for the continent of Tameran. To make a new life for himself in Port Domax. There, life would be a struggle, but there was no limit to what he might achieve, given time.

Whereas to be the ogre-king’s ambassador in Galsh Ebrek would surely be a dead end.

‘Maybe you’re mistaken about the importance the king attaches to diplomatic representation in Galsh Ebrek,’ said Alfric. ‘I don’t see why King Dimple-Dumpling really needs an ambassador here at all. Our relations are perfectly cordial, and will remain so as long ' as the annual tribute is paid.‘, Alfric frankly did not think that payment of that annual tribute represented much of a strain on the treasury of the king of the Qinjoks.

Cod looked at Morgenstem.

Morgenstem looked at Cod.

‘Shall we tell him?’ said Morgenstem.

‘Let’s,’said Cod. '

So Morgenstem said to Alfric:

‘King Dimple-Dumpling wants to open a bank. Here. In Galsh Ebrek.’

‘A bank?’ said Alfric, not bothering to conceal his surprise.

‘Yes,’ said Morgenstem. ‘A bank.’

‘But why?’ said Alfric.

‘Why does anyone open a bank?’ said Cod. ‘To make money. The king’s got all that treasure up in the Qinjoks with no place to invest it. The stuff just sits there getting warm in spring and cold in autumn. If the king had a bank, he could lend out his money for interest. Invest. Land, ships, insurance. You know. You’re a banker. I don’t have to tell you all this stuff, you know it already.’ ‘It’s a nice idea,’ said Alfric cautiously. ‘But investment opportunities in Galsh Ebrek are somewhat limited. I don’t know that there’s room enough for another bank. Not here.’

‘Of course there is,’ said Cod. ‘After all, you trade with the world.’

A fever-flush burnt through Alfric’s veins. He felt dizzy. Did the orks know about that? But how? How could they?

— Careful now.

— This could be a trap.

Then Alfric chided himself for being so foolish. Of course the orks knew nothing of the Bank’s secret. They couldn’t. It just wasn’t possible. When the orks said that Galsh Ebrek traded with the world, all they meant was that ships came and went, and those ships could go anywhere in the world to do their trading.

‘Let’s have some wine,’ said Alfric abruptly.

He raised his voice, and, by dint of a little shouting, summoned Du Deiner from inside the Green Cricket. Orders were placed, and, shortly, Alfric was sipping on some delicate lemon-flavoured wine. By now he had quite recovered himself, so he said:

‘With reference to trade, you know as well as I do that a few ships come and go to and from Wen Endex. So, yes, certainly, we trade with the world. But it’s a lean tradeline, isn’t it?’

‘Ah,’ said Cod. ‘But it’s not ships I’m talking about. I’m talking about the Door.’

Alfric felt as if he had been abruptly dumped into a barrel of boiling water. They knew! They knew! The orks were privy to the Secret! This was a thunderbolt upset if ever there was one.