The thin-faced man in the velvet skullcap stopped in front of Fontagu and gave a very small, very unconvincing bow. ‘The Emperor will see you now.’
‘I should think so, too,’ Fontagu replied, slipping his long fingers under the gold-braid edge of his cape and giving it a flick. ‘Do you know how long I’ve been waiting here?’
‘You’d best show a little less of the superior attitude, if you know what’s good for you,’ the man in the skullcap advised. ‘The Emperor prefers to be the most important person in any room.’
‘Indeed.’ Fontagu’s throat was dry as he tried to swallow. ‘Of course. Thank you.’
The man nodded to one of the palace guards, who swung open the huge carved doors that led into Florian’s great chamber.
Fontagu gasped. It was a large room, full of shiny, ornate things, and people in expensive looking clothes, with shiny, ornate things hanging from them.
At the far end of the room, under the huge window, and flanked by a couple of statue-still guards, was Florian. His throne was made of marble, with a high carved back and a velvet seat-cushion. He lolled against one of the arms, his beady little eyes even more lost in his face than ever. The life of an emperor was a good one, especially the food he could ask for at any time, day or night. Evidently he asked for it day and night.
The man in the skullcap cleared his throat and announced the entry of Fontagu in his streaky voice. ‘Fontagu Wizroth, my lord.’
‘The Third,’ Fontagu muttered.
The man ignored Fontagu’s correction, choosing instead to bow low and back away to the side of the room.
Rather than speaking to Fontagu, Florian turned his head to address the tall young man who stood, hands clasped, beside the throne. ‘Janus, who’s this again?’ he murmured.
‘This is Fontagu, the actor.’ Janus said the word ‘actor’ with all the distaste of a contagious disease.
‘Oh yes, I remember.’ Florian sat up a little higher. ‘Come a little nearer, Actor,’ he said, in a louder voice.
Fontagu took another step closer, then dropped to one knee and bowed his head, just as he’d been instructed to do. ‘My lord, it is my truly great, great honour.’
‘Yes, yes, get up,’ Florian said, waving his hand lazily. ‘So, presumably you received Our missive?’
‘Your what? I mean, I don’t understand, my lord.’
‘Our missive. Our message. Our letter. Oh, never mind. You must have got it – you’re here now, aren’t you? So, what did you make of it?’
‘Your letter? Oh, I thought it was very good.’
Florian raised one eyebrow. ‘Good?’
‘Well worded. And the calligraphy was quite exquisite – did you do it yourself?’
‘What?’ Florian blustered. ‘Of course I didn’t do it myself! I’ve got… I mean, We have scribes to do that kind of thing!’
‘Of course you do,’ Fontagu replied quickly. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest -’
‘Oh, do shut up,’ Florian sighed. ‘So, are you going to do it or not?’
‘The play? Yes, of course – it would be a great honour.’
‘Yes, indeed it would. And you’re to spare no expense, do you hear?’
Fontagu bowed his head. ‘None shall be spared, my lord. Is there someone I should talk to about the production budget?’
Florian frowned. ‘I fear you misunderstand Us, Actor. You are to spare no expense.’
‘Um… Oh!’ Fontagu suddenly burst out laughing. ‘Oh, you mean my money! Of course, how silly of me!’
Janus put his hand to his mouth and disguised a laugh with a cough. ‘You didn’t think the Emperor was going to spend his own money on a birthday gift for himself, did you?’
‘No! No, definitely not,’ stammered Fontagu.
Tiredly, Florian raised one hand, and Fontagu fell silent. ‘All right, you’re wasting Our time. Tell me, Actor, what play have you chosen to perform for Us?’
Fontagu reached under his cloak and took out his manuscript. ‘If it please my lord, I would be honoured to present for your edification my original production of The Gimlet Eye.’
‘ The Gimlet Eye, indeed?’ Florian replied. ‘We’ve seen that once before.’
‘All respect, my lord, but you’ve never seen it done like Fontagu Wizroth the Third shall do it.’
‘We’ll see,’ Florian grunted.
‘Is that the script there?’ Janus asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Bring it to me,’ Janus said, reaching out his hand, and the man in the skullcap hurried over, took the script from Fontagu and carried it to Janus.
‘Um… that’s my only copy,’ Fontagu protested.
Janus flicked through a couple of the pages. ‘Very well,’ he said after a moment, handing the script back to the servant, who returned it to Fontagu.
‘We’re done with this one,’ Florian said with a tired wave of his hand.
‘All right, Actor, go back to where you lodge,’ Janus said. ‘You’ll hear from us in due course.’
‘Thank you,’ Fontagu said, bowing low. ‘Thank you, my lord. Thank you everyone.’
Florian said nothing. He was somewhat distracted by the pigeon that had flown from its perch at the top of the large window behind him, swooped down into the throne room and, with perfect accuracy, dropped a small, runny spatter of white onto his shoulder.
With a quiet little thought of thanks, Tab extracted her mind from that of the pigeon. ‘He’s all right,’ she told Philmon. Then she laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’ Philmon asked.
‘The pigeon – it left a little present for Florian. Right here,’ she added, patting her shoulder.
‘You made it do that?’
She smiled. ‘I might have.’
‘You’re terrible, Tab,’ Philmon said, breaking into a grin as well. ‘So what happened? Did your trick with the pigeon work? Did you get a good look? Could you hear anything?’
‘I saw everything, and I heard everything. He’s doing a play, like he said. He’s doing The Gimlet Eye.’
‘ The Gimlet Eye?’
‘Yes. I remember Stelka used to talk about it from time to time. It’s famous. In fact, I think I might have seen it once, with some of the other magicians. It was very long,’ she added. ‘I quite possibly fell asleep in the middle of Act Five.’
Philmon coughed. ‘ Five? How many acts are there?’
Tab shrugged. ‘I’m not actually sure. Six, maybe. I was asleep.’
‘What’s it even about?’
‘It’s one of those hero plays. You know, big scary monster thing roaming the land, terrorising the little people, until the hero stops it with some heroic act. Or something,’ she added. ‘Like I say, it’s all a bit hazy.’
‘Huh,’ said Philmon. ‘And I bet I can guess who the hero is going to be.’ He stopped walking, puffed out his chest and slipped the end of his right hand inside the opening of his shirt. He tried to deepen his voice, which made it squeak and crack. ‘It is I, Lord Florian the Heroic, come to slay the… What’s the monster called?’
‘The Gimlet Eye is the name of the monster. It uses its gaze to kill, or something.’
‘And that’s the play he’s doing?’
‘Yes.’
Philmon sniffed. ‘Well, at least he’s not dead. Yet.’
They hurried around the end of the palace towards the main front gate. With his hat and his cape, it didn’t take them long to spot Fontagu, who was walking as quickly as his long legs could carry him.
‘Thank the gods he’s not running,’ Philmon said.
‘He’d never let anyone see him run,’ replied Tab. ‘How undignified!’
‘He’s definitely in a hurry, though,’ said Philmon.
They jogged after him and, after pushing through the crowds near the palace and in the streets nearby, they finally caught up near the Old Tree Guesthouse.
‘Fontagu! Hold up a minute,’ Tab called, but he didn’t appear to have heard her. He just carried on walking.
‘Fontagu!’ she called again. ‘Font -’ Her voice caught in her throat as a short, red-headed man stepped out of a doorway, and straight into the path of Fontagu, who took a sudden, uncertain backward step.
Judging by his broad shoulders and his hefty arms, the red-headed man had once been powerful. Much of that bulk had now softened, and following the laws of age and gravity, had transformed into a heavy gut. Even so, he still formed enough of an imposing figure to intimidate Fontagu.
‘Who is that?’ Philmon said.
‘Just wait,’ Tab replied, reaching out and holding Philmon back by the arm. ‘Let’s see what this is all about.’
‘We can’t hear what they’re saying anyway.’
‘Just wait,’ Tab said again.
She was glad of that decision a moment later, when they saw the red-headed man step behind Fontagu, pinning his arm behind him. A flash of fear flickered across Fontagu’s face, and as he was half-guided, half-pushed into the doorway, Tab saw the glint of something shiny held against the small of his back.
‘Now what do you suppose that’s all about?’ Philmon wondered aloud.
‘Have you ever seen that man before? Because I’m sure I haven’t,’ Tab said.
Philmon shook his head.
‘Huh,’ Tab remarked to herself, turning to look behind them. ‘What do you think we should do – follow them?’
‘No need,’ Philmon replied, as Fontagu reappeared, staggering slightly as he stepped down onto the pavement. His face was pale and his eyes wide as he glanced up and down the street, before setting off towards home. A moment later the red-headed man appeared as well. He too looked furtively up and down before limping up the hill towards Tab and Philmon, who did their best to melt into the crowd as he hurried past.
‘What was that smell?’ Tab said when he’d gone.
‘Tigerplums,’ Philmon replied. ‘He was eating one.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘Some people like them.’
‘Yes, crazy people.’
‘Didn’t you see the colour of his mouth? All stained yellow.’
‘I didn’t see – I was too busy trying not to vomit from the smell. It stinks worse than Vlod’s spoiled boingy deer meat. Come on,’ Tab said, and they ran down the hill in pursuit of Fontagu.
They caught up with him a couple of streets later. He’d been making very good time.
‘Fontagu!’ Tab panted as they reached him.
He spun around, his hand to his chest. Then the back of his hand went to his forehead. For a moment, Tab wondered if he was about to pass out. ‘Oh Tab, must you startle a chap so? You know my disposition is delicate!’
‘Yes, I’m sure it is, especially after you’ve been held up at knife point.’
‘Whatever are you talking about, my dear child?’
‘We saw you,’ Philmon said. ‘We saw that man with you.’
‘Yes, that stinky, stinky man. Who was he?’ asked Tab. ‘And what did he want?’
Fontagu gave a forced laugh. ‘Oh, that? That was nothing! That was just a… a fellow actor, a thespian such as I. We were practising a scene.’ He tried to smile.
Tab and Philmon simply frowned at him. ‘Do you always rehearse in the middle of the street?’ Philmon asked. ‘Or in dark doorways?’
‘Come on, Fontagu, we’re not complete idiots,’ Tab said.
Fontagu slumped a little. ‘You’re right, of course. He wasn’t a colleague.’
‘So who was he?’
Fontagu’s usual demeanour was already starting to return. He flicked back his cape, adopted his dramatic wide-legged stance. ‘You know, children, you don’t have to know everything about my affairs. I am, after all, a grown-up.’
‘We know,’ Tab replied. ‘It’s just -’
‘So don’t be so nosy! Goodness me, you’d think that you were my sainted parents, the way you follow me around, constantly spying on me!’
‘Did he have anything to do with your appointment at the court?’ Tab asked.
‘Or The Gimlet Eye?’ Philmon added.
For a moment Fontagu was completely lost for words. It was something they very rarely saw. ‘ The Gimlet… How would you know about The Gimlet Eye? You have been spying on me!’
Neither Tab nor Philmon felt that they were in a position to disagree. ‘It’s because we worry about you,’ Tab explained.
‘Worry? About me? Why would you worry about me?’
Tab began to count off on her fingers as she spoke. ‘You got ambushed by the Tolrushians, you betrayed Quentaris under so-called torture…’
‘It was torture!’
‘… you smuggled the Equen Queen onto Quentaris…’
‘Not to mention that you stole an icefire gem and uttered a spell that sent Quentaris spinning into one vortex after the next,’ Philmon said.
Fontagu’s eyes flashed indignantly. ‘You have never heard anyone accuse me of that!’ he said defiantly.
‘Only because the one person who saw you do it – me! – has never told any of the people she might have told.’ Tab raised her arms high, pointing to the masts, rigging and great sails overhead. ‘All of this is your doing, Fontagu. All of it! If anyone ever found out, they’d string you up in the Square of the People until the crows had pecked out your eyes, before throwing you to the scavenjaws.’
Fontagu winced. ‘Don’t say that. Please.’
‘All I’m saying is that you haven’t exactly been the perfect citizen up to now, so we worry about what you might get up to next. Or who might catch up with you,’ she added.
Fontagu’s chin was crumpling as he fought back tears. ‘I do appreciate your concern, children, most sincerely I do. I am ever so touched. But you must trust me when I say that everything is under control. And with that said, I must take my leave. I have a great deal of preparation to… to prepare. Yes, that’s right, to prepare. So goodbye now.’
He turned then, and with a clumsy flourish of his cape he strode away. But his stride lacked some of its usual arrogance, as if some of his pride had leaked out of a small rupture in his side.
‘“Trust me”, he says,’ Philmon muttered. ‘I wouldn’t trust that man as far as I could spit.’
‘Did you notice anything missing?’ Tab said.
‘Like what? Tab? Where are you going?’ He jogged after Tab, who had turned and was striding up the hill, back towards the palace.
‘Did you notice anything missing?’ Tab repeated when he’d caught up to her. ‘What was Fontagu carrying when he left the palace?’
‘Um… just his script.’
‘And did he have it just then?’
Philmon frowned as he tried to remember. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘So either he dropped his script, or Red-head took it. And I doubt that he’d drop something so precious. And did you notice how Fontagu managed to avoid telling us how he knew Red-head?’
‘So where are we going now?’
‘We’re going after Red-head, obviously.’
‘What are you going to say to him?’
Tab stopped and regarded Philmon for a long moment. ‘I’m going to ask him why he was so mean to our friend Fontagu,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Honestly, Philmon, you must think that I’m quite the idiot.’
‘I just wondered.’
‘All I’m going to do is follow him.’
‘Can I come?’
‘I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.’