Stories from the Council Chambers (#1)
- based on true events
Disclaimer: Stop Googling yourself, Gary.
Gary, my Prime Minister, was in a particularly foul mood - he wanted to spend the holiday in Naxen with Cythera and the children. He should have known that this wasn't a viable option. Not when so many important political issues hinge on the council sessions in the spring.
"Let's get down to business then!" said Lord Reiser of Queen's Reach, with a certain amount of joviality. He's always happiest when Gary is sulking. The Gods alone know what Gary did to upset the man. I suspect it may have something to do with wheat exports and the outlawing of multiple wives. Queen's Reach traces their lineage back to a younger Tusainie Prince, you see. Between you and me, they're not quite right in the head, the lords and ladies of Queen's Reach. I really can't risk offending them, because they've managed to obtain exclusive trading rights for fine Tusainie wines (from the Eastern region of Sark) and you would not believe the riots that ensue when our cooks are not able to procure the proper amounts of Tusainie alcohol. Of course, now that Liam was amis with the Duke, bootlegging was not entirely out of the question.
Anyways. "Business," said Gary, possibly more sour than every before. Seriously: has he been sucking on lemons? And if so, where was he getting these lemons in the off season? This was worrying. Perhaps there was illegal importation going on under Gary's very nose.
"Let's talk about your career in tax evasion." Gary needed to learn tact. You have to work up to these things, otherwise people tended to take offense.
"Eh?" said Lord Reiser. "What, exactly, are you implying?" The smile was still plastered on his face.
"Implying? No." Said Gary. "Stating? Yes."
Things were about to get ugly.
This was when an arrow soared in through the open window (the councellor of agriculture has an unfortunate taste for strong colognes - it's his way of covering lingering bovine smells) striking Lord Reiser through the shoulder.
"I am hit!" cried Lord Reiser, staggering backwards like a drunken fool, ultimately fainting from shock, though not from loss of blood.
"Oh, bugger shit mother goose," swore Gary, clearly unimpressed. As far as curses go, this is not one of his best. Clearly spending time with infants has dulled his wits. Then, doing his job, he called out "Guards!"
The other councellors, cowards, were diving under the table by this point, and fleeing in mass hysteria. Maybe I should have fled as well, but a morning assassination attempt is so much more interesting then tax reports.
"Prime Minister, please draw the curtains," I said. It was time to bring this mockery to a close.
"Lord Reiser," I said, seeing that his eyes were fluttering open.
"Yes, Majesty?" he croaked. Pitiful.
"Tell me, who would want you dead."
"Has it occurred to you, Sir," said a voice from underneath the table. "That the attempt may have been intended for you?"
"Nonsense, Councellor," I replied. I would have called him by name - it's much more emphatic - but I couldn't recall it, without seeing his face. "If someone wanted me dead, they would have hired an assassin with much better aim."
"It's true." Gary nodded sagely. I can count on him to back me up when it matters.
"I can't imagine that anyone would want... me dead," stammered Reiser.
"Are you sure?" Asked Gary, accidently (I'm sure) knocking the water pitcher off the table and onto the floor. There was a sudden squealing and sounds of heads hitting the underside of the table. The man has unusually clumsy elbows.
"You don't partake, for example, in any under the table importing or exporting?" No one noticed my passing attempt at humour. Least of all, the councellors under the table.
"Especially," Gary carried on, "In the way of silk ladies' undergarments?"
I doubt that this was an idle conjecture. Gary is uncomfortable discussing underthings in the general way of things.
"I confess!" Squealed Reiser, pulling at the arrow in his shoulder. "I've been shipping Carthaki silk underthings! May I have medical attention now?"
Gary looked at me. I could tell he was warming up to a long interrogation. I silenced him with a shake of my head and peered down at Reiser on the floor, pausing for dramatic effect. "Very well," I said at last. "Prime Minister, we require a healer."
I think that Gary may have rolled his eyes. Before rushing to do as he was bid.
I haven't had a chance to confer with Gary since these events although I have had reports that he paid a certain Godson, a squire of Goldenlake the sum of fifty gold nobles for services rendered with a quill and quiver.
I have no doubt that these rumours are unfounded. Regardless, I will have training master Mindelan look into these matters. I have complete trust in her judgement.
Politics can be so dull.
--Gary, if you are reading this, I need those documents on the Stone Mountain land boundaries so I can fold paper cranes with my daughters on Friday. Please be prompt.