She passed me a sheet of paper. I scanned the contents, and my heart fell. It was a letter from Representatives of the unUnited Kingdoms to the Mighty Shandar, outlining a case of ‘Breach of Contract’ they had filed with the unUK’s highest court.
‘The thing is,’ said D’argento in a half-apologetic tone as I read the lawsuit, ‘that the Mighty Shandar doesn’t do refunds.’
The problem was this: the Mighty Shandar had been contracted to rid the Kingdoms of Dragons four centuries before, and was paid a lot of money to do so. His plan required the last Dragon to die of old age, something that I personally intervened to ruin. There were now two Dragons left, and that was two more Dragons than the contract stipulated. Unless he rid the Kingdoms of all the Dragons he’d have to return the cash. And it was a lot of cash, paid to him four centuries ago – the interest alone would fund at least half a Troll War.
‘We have the money,’ said D’argento. ‘The Mighty Shandar’s share in Skybus would cover the debt pretty much on its own. No, it’s the principle of the matter. A job was left unfinished, and we’re not keen to make a habit of it. Clients might lose confidence, and in business, confidence counts.’
‘I agree with that,’ I replied, ‘but Dragons aren’t much into eating people any more – it’s probably the last thing on Feldspar and Colin’s mind.’
‘They have names?’
‘Certainly. In the first month of their new life they did a goodwill tour around the world to promote their “not eating people or burning stuff” agenda, and they are at present in Washington, DC, reading the entire contents of the Library of Congress in order to understand a little more about humans.’
‘Admirable, I’m sure,’ said Miss D’argento, ‘but the refund issue still stands. Don’t take my word for it, for you are to be honoured: the Mighty Shandar wants to speak to you personally.’
Miss D’argento checked her watch and somewhere a clock struck two. Almost immediately the statue of Shandar turned from black to grey to a sort of off-white. There was a pause, then Shandar took a deep breath as life returned to his body, and the off-white coating seemed to burst off his skin and clothes like dry skin. He staggered for a moment, shook himself and looked around.
‘Welcome back, O Mighty Shandar,’ said Miss D’argento, beaming and clicking a stopwatch. ‘It’s two o’clock on the afternoon of 14 October 2007. You’ve been in petra for sixty-two days. We’re currently at Madley International Airport in the Kingdom of Snodd.’
She handed him a damp towel so he could refresh himself, then a clipboard and pen.
‘Ongoing progress reports, sir.’
His eyes scanned the text.
‘I’ll take two minutes,’ he said, his voice a deep baritone that seemed to transmit confidence, awe and leadership in equal measure.
‘This is Jennifer Strange,’ said D’argento, gesturing in my direction, ‘as you requested.’
He looked across at me. He was a handsome man, tanned, appeared healthy and was imposingly large. His eyes, which regarded everything with the minutest attention to detail, appeared not to blink, and were of the brightest green, like a cat’s.
‘Miss D’argento? Make that four minutes.’
He shook my hand.
‘I’m very pleased to meet you at last. A worthy opponent is the only opponent worth opposing.’
His handshake was firm, yet cold, which is hardly surprising; a few seconds ago he had been stone.
‘You assisted the Dragons in destroying my carefully laid plans,’ he added in a quieter voice. ‘Plans four centuries in the making. All that work for nothing, and now they’re asking for a refund. Worse, you have damaged my hundred per cent wizidrical success rate and bruised my credibility as a sorcerer of considerable power.’
I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing. He had a point to make, and he’d make it soon enough.
‘For any one of those reasons I should banish you to the icy wastes of outer Finlandia.’
‘If that was your plan you would already have done so.’
‘Very true,’ he said with a half smile, ‘but I’m not into revenge. It has a nasty habit of biting you back when you least expect it. I have a feeling that punishing you would upset the delicate Good–Bad balance.’
Most sorcerers believed in what they called ‘The Balance’. Simply put, all life requires equilibrium to survive. For every death there is birth, for every light there is dark, for every ugliness there is something that shines with the greatest lustre. And for every truly heinous act, there are always multiple good acts to compensate. It’s why evil despots are always defeated, and why a truly awful reality TV show can never go on for ever.
Shandar looked at the clipboard for a moment, signed something, then continued to read while he spoke to me. Someone as powerful as Shandar would be able to read two books and converse with three people at the same time – even in different languages.
‘You seem a resourceful young lady, Jennifer. I’m not often beaten, and the experience has renewed a sense of excitement that I have not felt for a long time. You appreciate that I have almost unlimited power at my disposal?’
‘I know that, sir, yes.’
‘Are we sure about this?’ asked the Mighty Shandar, pointing to a clause in one of the notes he was looking at.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied D’argento. ‘They want the state of Hawaii moved to the middle of the Pacific.’
‘I thought it was fine between Wyoming and Arkansas.’
‘The venerable Lord Jack of Hawaii said the move is on account of the climate – and they want to retrofit the collective memory so everyone thinks it’s always been there.’
‘Standard stuff,’ said Shandar, signing the contract, ‘and they didn’t quibble over the price?’
‘Not a murmur.’
He sighed and shook his head.
‘Where have all the good negotiators gone?’
‘Two minutes gone,’ said Miss D’argento, consulting her stopwatch.
‘So with my power almost unimaginable right now,’ he continued, turning back to me, ‘your friends the Dragons are easily exterminated. Take it from me that I could – and would – destroy them in a twinkling, thus completing the contract and avoiding a refund.’
‘Then you will take on the might of Kazam as well, Mighty Shandar,’ I said, ‘for we will do anything to prevent you harming a single scale of a Dragon.’
It was a bold speech, and I felt myself shiver in fear of how he might react. He appeared not to hear me at first and spoke again to his agent.
‘We’re not doing this,’ he announced quietly as he handed an unsigned contract back to Miss D’argento. ‘There are quite enough boy bands on the planet as it is.’
He turned back to me.
‘The combined power of your sorcerers would not equal a thousandth of my power,’ he said.
‘I know that,’ I replied, ‘and so do they. But it would not stop them. They would all die defending one of their own, and the Dragons, masters of the magical arts themselves, are one of us.’
The Mighty Shandar regarded me thoughtfully. I’d not consulted the sorcerers on any of this, but I knew them well enough, and so did he.
‘Then I have a proposition for you, Miss Strange. Are you listening?’
‘I’m listening.’
‘As you can see, my time is strictly rationed. I have no spare time to search for rare and exotic trinkets to add to my collection of Wonderful Things. Miss D’argento is too busy with managing my affairs, and drones are all very well for heavy lifting and the odd senseless act of violence, but they have no finesse. So: find something for me and I’ll leave the Dragons alone and take the indignity on the chin.’
‘I’m still listening,’ I said. ‘What do you want me to find?’
‘A magnificent pink ruby the size of a goose’s egg. It belonged to a wizard I admire greatly. You can find me … the Eye of Zoltar.’
‘That’s a tall order,’ I said, having absolu
tely no idea what he was talking about, but keeping that to myself. It didn’t pay to look an idiot in Shandar’s presence.
‘One minute to go,’ said Miss D’angelo, consulting her stopwatch.
‘Do we have a deal?’ asked Shandar.
I didn’t need to think for long. If I didn’t agree to find this ‘Eye of Zoltar’ then Shandar would attempt to kill the Dragons, and we would be honour bound to try to stop him, and that would end in our collective annihilation.
‘I’ll find you the Eye of Zoltar,’ I said, ‘whatever it takes.’
‘Good choice,’ said Shandar with a grin. ‘I knew you’d agree.’
‘Any clue as to where it is?’ I asked. ‘The world is a big place.’
‘If I knew where it was,’ snapped Shandar, ‘I’d get it myself.’
Since the meeting was clearly at an end, I returned to where the Princess and Tiger were waiting for me. From the Bugatti Royale we watched as Shandar talked quietly with D’argento, signed some more forms and eventually, when his four minutes were up, changed rapidly back into obsidian.
The drones quickly crated him up, and the forklift reappeared and placed the crate back into the rear of the cargo aircraft. Once that was done a clothes rail that had been standing unnoticed to one side was approached by the drones, and they deftly jumped back on to their coat hangers, the empty suits returning to what they had been – creatures given life only by the will of Shandar. The human manservant wheeled the clothes rail into the back of the aircraft, swiftly followed by Miss D’argento in the Phantom Twelve. A minute later the rear cargo door was closed, and the engines started up. By this time tomorrow they could be anywhere on the planet.
I tapped the Helping Hand™ to bring it out of sleep mode and it dutifully pulled the wheel around and we drove out of the hangar. We paused on the perimeter track to watch Shandar’s aircraft lumber almost impossibly into the sky with its tiny wings, then headed towards Zambini Towers.
‘The Eye of Zoltar?’ said Tiger when I’d finished relating what Shandar had said. ‘What on earth’s that?’
‘I’ve no idea. The person to consult is someone with a clearer idea of what the future might bring.’
‘I’m no clairvoyant,’ said Tiger, ‘but I think I know who you mean.’
The Remarkable Kevin Zipp
The Remarkable Kevin Zipp was one of Kazam’s most accomplished clairvoyants. When we walked back into the offices at Kazam he was checking out baby futures. Not in a stocks and shares kind of way, obviously, but what a baby’s life had in store for them. It was a good way to earn ready cash, as Kazam was constantly short of money. Two mothers had their tots with them, and Kevin was checking each by holding on to their left foot for a moment.
‘If she wants to go out with someone named Geoff when she’s sixteen,’ he said as the first mother stared at him anxiously, ‘try to get her to go out with Nigel instead.’
‘There’s a problem with Geoff?’
‘No, there’s a problem with Nigel. Ban Geoff from her life and he’ll become unbelievably attractive and she’ll forget all about Nigel, and believe me, she needs to. Nigel is big trouble.’
‘How big?’
‘Really big.’
‘Okay. Anything else?’
‘Not really – although you might consider joining the National Trust and holidaying in Wales. It’s quite nice, I’m told, and not always raining.’
‘Oh. Well, thank you very much,’ said the mother. She handed Kevin a ten-moolah note and moved off. The second mother presented her baby to Kevin, who once again held the baby’s foot. He closed his eyes and rocked slowly in his chair for a moment.
‘This is preposterous,’ said the Princess. ‘I’ve never seen a more ridiculous load of mumbo-jumbo in my entire life!’
‘You’re young yet,’ I said, ‘lots of time to see some gold-standard mumbo-jumbo, and quite frankly, this is the place to see it.’
‘Concert pianist,’ Kevin murmured thoughtfully, still holding the baby’s foot, ‘and make sure he likes boiled cabbage, tasteless stew and runny porridge.’
‘He’ll be a pianist?’ asked the mother excitedly.
‘No, he’s going to murder one – aged twenty-six – so better get him used to prison food from an early age … hence the boiled cabbage.’
The mother glared at him, slapped the money on the table, and left the room. Kevin looked confused.
‘Did I say something wrong?’
‘Perhaps you should temper the bad news with good,’ I suggested.
‘I couldn’t tell them the really bad news,’ he replied. ‘The “concert pianist” thing was their minority timeline; their senior timeline – the most likely one – has them both not lasting the week. Oh, before I forget: this came in today.’
He handed me a letter. It was postmarked from Cambrianopolis, the capital city of the Cambrian Empire, and looked official.
‘Oh dear,’ I said as I read the letter. ‘Once Magnificent Boo’s been arrested for “illegal importation of a Tralfamosaur”.’
‘That’s a trumped-up charge,’ said Tiger. ‘The Cambrian Empire has herds and herds of the things – people pay good money to hunt them, for goodness’ sake.’
‘There’s a reason,’ I added. ‘She’s been transferred to Emperor Tharv’s State-Owned Ransom Clearance House, ready for negotiations.’
‘The Cambrian Empire are still kidnapping people?’ said Tiger. ‘When are they going to enter the twenty-first century?’
‘I think they have to consider entering the fifteenth century first,’ said Kevin.
Traditionally, it was princes and kings and knights and stuff that were ransomed as you could get a lot for them, but pretty much anyone was fair game in the Cambrian Empire. If you weren’t royal, the release fees could actually be fairly modest – some people cost less to release than a parking clamp, which is kind of depressing and very welcome, both at the same time. But the long and short of it was that if we wanted Boo back, we would have to pay. And that would mean going over there with a letter of credit and doing a deal of some sort.
‘I spoke to Moobin and he’s writing you out a note that will be good for twenty thousand. I think he wants you to nip over there and negotiate.’
Cambrianopolis was less than a couple of hours’ driving from here, but I didn’t relish the idea, even with a ‘Safe Conduct’ voucher attached to the letter.
‘Why me?’ I asked.
‘Because you’re about the most sensible person in the building. Who’s that?’
He had noticed the Princess for the first time.
‘This is Laura Scrubb. She’ll be with us for a week or two.’
I nodded to the Princess, who reluctantly shook hands with Kevin, then made a point of smelling her hand with obvious distaste before wiping it on her uniform.
‘She’s the Princess, isn’t she?’ said Kevin with interest, peering more closely at what might appear, at first glance, to be an undernourished handmaiden.
‘I’m afraid so,’ I replied, ‘but keep it under your hat. If she’s kidnapped by agents of a foreign power we’ll have to waste a lot of time and energy getting her back.’
‘Probably do her the power of good,’ said Kevin, ‘and knock some sense into her thick overprivileged head.’
‘You are so disrespectful,’ announced the Princess haughtily, getting out her list and pencil again. ‘Name?’
‘Kevin Spartacus.’
‘Related to this nitwit here?’ she said, pointing at Tiger. ‘That figures, and I don’t know who to pity more.’
She scribbled the name he’d given her on the piece of paper while Kevin peered at her as one might gaze at a particularly intriguing variety of beetle. I was suddenly worried – I’d seen that look before. He was seeing something, or he had seen something. Something in the future, and something about the Princess.
‘This is very interesting,’ he said at length. ‘Yes, very interesting indeed. Definitely keep her identity a sec
ret.’
And so saying, he prodded the Princess with a bony finger and said: ‘Fascinating.’
‘I’m not here to be studied,’ said the Princess. ‘I am here to study you.’
‘You will almost die several times in the next week,’ said Kevin Zipp thoughtfully, ‘but will be saved by people who do not like you, nor are like you, nor that you like.’
‘That’ll be you lot, then,’ said the Princess, looking at Tiger and me.
‘It might help if you were to invest in a bit of warmth,’ said Kevin.
‘If you have foreseen I am to be saved then it doesn’t much matter what I do, now, does it?’
‘I only foresee a version of the future,’ said Kevin, ‘how it unfolds is up to you. Despite what I can see, we are all of us, in some way or another, responsible for our own destinies.’
The Princess didn’t make any retort to this, and instead asked where the lavatory was. I told her and she stomped off.
‘Was that true?’ asked Tiger. ‘The near-death thing, I mean?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Kevin with a shrug, ‘she’ll come within a hair’s breadth of death – may even meet it. It’s all a bit fuzzy, to be honest. But I’ll tell you this: the Princess will be involved in the next Troll War, which will be when least expected. It will be bloody, short – and the aggressors will be victorious.’
‘We will?’ I asked in surprise, for in the past the Troll Wars had been noted only for the swift manner in which humans had been utterly defeated.
‘Yes. Strange, isn’t it? Then again,’ he added cheerfully, ‘I’ve been wrong before. And don’t forget that what I see is only a possible version of events – and sometimes a knotted jumble of potential futures all seen as one.’
This, unfortunately, was true. Fate is never precisely determined. The strange thing is that all of us are clairvoyant. Any future you can dream up, no matter how bizarre, still retains the faint possibility of coming true. Kevin’s skill was of dreaming up future events that were not just possible but likely. As he once said: ‘Being a clairvoyant is ten per cent guesswork and ninety per cent probability mathematics.’