Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) Read Free Page A

entrust to my care, and which she desires me to impart to Your Majesty.”
    “The greetings,” said His Majesty, “are acknowledged. And we are anxious to hear whatever intelligence you bring us.”
    “Then, Sire, I will at once relay this message.”
    “And you will be right to do so. Is it written?”
    “No, Sire, it was entrusted to me, by Sennya herself, from mouth to ear.”
    “Then you may deliver it the same way.”
    “I shall do so, Sire,” said Seb. She cleared her throat and began. “This is it, then: Sire, Her Highness, Sennya, faced with a personal crisis of the most extreme character, begs to be excused from the Meeting of the Principalities. She hopes she has not too much incurred Your Majesty’s displeasure by making this request, and hopes, moreover, that Your Majesty will do her the kindness of granting it.”
    His Majesty frowned, and the Orb took on a slight orange cast. He then looked around, and his eyes fell on the barrel-chested form of Jurabin, who was moving, or rather, bulling, his way through the courtiers to reach the throne. His Majesty stirred impatiently; Seb appeared quite at ease, although a few courtiers noticed that a certain amount of perspiration was evident at her temples.
    Jurabin arrived at last, and leaned forward to allow His Majesty to whisper to him. His Majesty quickly explained what had transpired, and Jurabin, upon hearing the news, looked at His Majesty with an expression of mild surprise, and accompanied the look by pronouncing these words, “But, Sire, what question does Your Majesty do me the honor to ask?”
    His Majesty flushed slightly, and the courtiers, who were unable to hear this conversation, noticed that the Orb darkened. “In the first place, Beespatch,” said the Emperor, referring to Jurabin by title, as His Majesty always did when annoyed, “It was my opinion that you, as Prime Minister, ought to be made aware that yet another Delegate—in fact, an Heir—has backed out of the meeting. Other than that, I have not done you the honor to ask you a question, although, if I may make a suggestion—” His Majesty’s voice was heavy with sarcasm—“you may want to consider whether we ought to no longer accept excuses of any kind. If this continues, no one will be at the meeting at all.”
    Jurabin perceived that he had, perhaps, annoyed His Majesty a little. He said, “Forgive me, Sire. My poor brain is straining to bear what is, perhaps, too much of a load, and so if I am brusque with my sovereign, believe there is no disrespect intended.”
    His Majesty relaxed, and signified with a wave of his hand that it was of no
moment. Jurabin continued, “If my advice in the matter is of any use to Your Majesty—”
    The Emperor signified that his advice was welcome.
    “—I would say that by refusing to accept these excuses, Your Majesty would run the risk of being called a tyrant. Moreover, this is only the forty-sixth cancellation, which means we can still expect over two hundred delegates, which seems to me sufficient.”
    “Mmmmph,” said His Majesty. “That depends how many more cancellations there are.”
    Jurabin bowed, but did not reply, seeing that he had convinced the Emperor, who then addressed the waiting messenger with the words, “Very well, the request is granted. Give your mistress my warmest regards.”
    “I will not fail to do so, Sire,” said the messenger, who then backed away from His Majesty, bowed low, and left the room to return to her mistress. As she left, the Emperor turned to his Prime Minister and said, “I wish to have two words with you, Jurabin.”
    “Of course, Sire. I hope I have not been so unfortunate as to incur Your Majesty’s displeasure.”
    “No, no, but this last messenger has brought to mind certain matters, and I wish to discuss them with you.”
    “As you wish, Sire. But allow me to point out that the time Your Majesty does your courtiers the honor of spending with them—”
    “Is up even at this