Grailblazers. Part 18

'Happy?'

'Yes,' replied Turquine from the corridor. 'Coming?'

Bedevere smiled. 'In a minute,' he said.

The main thing to remember if you are ever offered tea by the Queen of Atlantis is that you should accept, without question or hesitation. Never mind if you can't take the tannin or if you'd rather have coffee; when the Queen offers you tea, you have tea.

Six of the seven PAs knew this. The seventh had no objection to tea, but didn't quite understand where it was going to come from, seeing as how they were standing in a bare, deserted corridor that extended as far as the eye could see. In the grip of what, with hindsight, he identified as a subconscious urge to self-annihilation, he pointed this out.

The Queen smiled.

'Gosh,' she said, 'aren't you the clever one. You're quite right, we'll have to improvise.' She closed her eyes, clenched her elegant white hands and said: 'Let there be tea.'

And tea there was, in Snoopy mugs, with a matching milk jug, sugar bowl and biscuit jar.

'There,' said the Queen, 'it's surprisingly easy so long as you aren't too ambitious to start with.'

Closer inspection revealed that there were seven mugs for eight people. That, as even the PA could recognise, was a Hint.

When they had finished their tea, the Queen beamed at them, vanished the mugs ('Saves was.h.i.+ng up,' she explained) and rapped hard on the biscuit jar with her sceptre. There was the necessary quant.i.ty of blue light and burning sulphur, and the jar turned into a door in the wall.

'Explanations wanted, anyone?' she said sweetly. Silence. 'Fine,' she said, nodding in approval, and loosed off a small but powerful burst of personality at the doubting PA. 'After you,' she said.

Some are born brave, others achieve bravery and some are forced into acts of great courage by the unimaginable terror of what might happen to them if they refuse. The PA closed his eyes, reached for the door handle, turned it and pushed.

Nothing. Wouldn't budge.

'I think you'll find it opens better if you pull,' said the Queen.

The number of native-born Atlanteans who have been inside the registered office is small, but not nearly as minute as the number who've ever wanted to be inside it. As to the number of those who have ever got out again, there are no reliable statistics. The PA smiled sheepishly at the Queen, mumbled something about a far, far better thing and preferring to be in Philadelphia, and stumbled in.

'Name.'

'John Wilkinson.'

'Occupation.'

'Tax inspector.'

'Thank you, please take a seat over there, we'll get back to you in just a moment. Right then, next, please, Name.'

'Stanislaw Sobieski.'

'Occupation.'

'Revenue official.'

'Thank you, please take a seat over there, we'll get back to you in just a moment. Right then, next, please. Name.'

'Li Chang-Tseng.'

'Occupation.'

'Customs officer.'

'Thank you, please take a seat over there, we'll get back to you in just a moment. Right then, next, please, Name.'

'Francois Dubois.'

'Occupation.'

'Revenue official.'

'Thank you, please take a seat over there, we'll get back to you in just a moment. Right then, next, please. Name.'

The fourth man smirked.

'Guess,' he said.

The desk clerk didn't look up. She had another twelve thousand, five hundred and seventeen more management trainees to deal with, and already she could feel a headache coming on. 'I don't guess,' she said. 'People tell me. Name.'

'Weinacht,' said the fourth man. 'My name is Klaus von Weinacht.'

'Occupation.'

Von Weinacht laughed. He laughed so loud you could hear him all over the reception area, and twelve thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine revenue officials looked up and stared. What they saw took them back an average of thirty years ...

... To a child, half-delighted, half-terrified, peeping out from under the blanket at the knife-blade of light under the door. To the sound of silence audible, darkness visible, stillness palpable; and a half-imagined clattering of hooves and clas.h.i.+ng of bells in the unspeakable enigma of the night.

'Well now,' von Weinacht said, throwing back his hood, 'how about delivery man?'

The Queen stood in the doorway and stared.

'You!' she said.

Bedevere looked up and smiled vaguely. 'Yes,' he said. 'Long time no see.'

For a moment, the Queen hesitated; then she turned and yelled for the guard. Bedevere shook his head.

'Sorry,' he said, 'but it isn't going to work. You know your trouble? b.l.o.o.d.y awful management relations.' He indicated the stunned PA curled up by the door. 'All the rest have scarpered,' he said, 'and I don't think he's in a fit state to be of much use to you. I hit him,' he added, 'with the door.'

The Queen looked down and saw a few shards of smashed porcelain. Then she smiled.

'Never mind,' she said, 'plenty more where that came from.'

'Doors or heavies?'

'Both,' replied the Queen, 'although I was thinking more of the jar. Actually, I was rather fond of that one. Been in the family for ages and...'

Bedevere was impressed. 'That old, huh?' he said. 'Oh well, never mind. You can't make an omelette, as they say.'

The Queen laughed lightly. 'Very true,' she said, and sat down on the cardboard box. 'Now then,' she went on, 'what can I do for you?'

Bedevere looked at her, and his face seemed to have undergone something of a transformation. Gone was the slightly sheepish look that always reminded Turquine of the last thing but one he saw in his mind's eye before going to sleep; in its place was an expression of gentle but hard determination, such as you might find on the face of someone who will break both your arms if necessary, but with a fitting sense of gravity and decorum.

'I want my money back,' he said.

The Queen's mouth fell open, and for the first time since the groat was demonetised she couldn't think what to say, 'I'm sorry?' was the best she could do.

'So you should be,' replied Bedevere sternly. He was silent for a moment, and then added, 'You don't remember, do you?'

The Queen shook her head. 'Frankly,' she replied, 'no.'

Bedevere frowned. 'A castle,' he said, 'in the middle of a waste and desolate plain, somewhere in the middle of Benwick. A dark and stormy night, with the rain las.h.i.+ng down and lightning playing about the battlements. A young and innocent knight, hopelessly lost on his quest to pay the month's takings from the family dye works into the bank in Rhydychen. The knight sees the castle, murmurs "Thank G.o.d!" and craves the right of hospitality. The chatelaine of the castle invites him in, makes him welcome. There is light, and warmth, and food. And then. . .'

A brief spasm of pain shot across Bedevere's face and then his jaw set, as firm as a join in a superglue advertis.e.m.e.nt.

'In the morning,' he said, 'the castle has gone. So has the money. The knight awakes on the cold fell, with nothing but his armour and a share certificate for twenty thousand Lyonesse Goldfields plc three-mark ordinary shares. He returns home. He explains as best he can. Stunned silence; then the reproaches, the recriminations, how could you do such a thing . . .?'

Bedevere shook his head and sighed. There were tears in the corners of his eyes, but his face remained as grim as death.

'The young knight was me, of course,' he said. 'Of course, you don't remember, how could you? Another day, another sucker. But we were different. We couldn't afford it. Dammit, it was hard enough being in trade as it was. G.o.d, when I think how they scrimped and saved just so that I could go to the Ecole des Chevaliers! It ruined us, you realise, completely ruined. My father had to get a job as a fencing master. My mother had to go out posing for illuminated ma.n.u.scripts. And kindly have the courtesy not to powder your nose when I'm talking to you!'

The Queen closed her compact with a firm click and looked up. 'Sorry,' she said, 'I was miles away. Did you say something about wanting some money back?'

Unable to trust himself to speak, Bedevere reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded paper, which he tossed contemptuously on the ground. The Queen leant forward and picked it up.

'Gosh,' she said, 'haven't seen one of these for years. Twenty thousand shares!' She giggled, then composed herself rapidly. 'At the time,' she said, 'a greatly fancied investment. I believe they tried to put together a rescue package.'

'Be that as it may,' Bedevere growled. 'My money back, please. now.'

The Queen raised an eyebrow. 'Terribly sorry,' she said, 'no can do. It's this thing - terrible bore, but a fact of life nevertheless - called limited liability. It means that-'

'I know what it means, thank you very much,' said Bedevere, his voice ominously soft. 'It means you can do something and get away with it scot free.'

The Queen nodded brightly. 'Exactly,' she said. 'Keystone of the enterprise economy, that is.'

'Because the company has ceased to exist.'

'That's right.'

'Fine.' Bedevere stood up. 'Now then,' he said quietly, 'on the same principle, how would it be if this company of yours ceased to exist? For the sake of argument,' he added, picking up the ledgers he'd been sitting on. 'Unlikely, but possible. If, for example, all the statutory books went missing? No, that wouldn't work. How about if the company secretary and majority shareholder took it into her head to wind the whole thing up, just like that?'

The Queen laughed shrilly. 'Now, then,' she said, 'why an earth would I want to-'

'And if she did,' Bedevere went on, 'I wonder what would happen to all this?' He made a sweeping gesture with his free hand. 'This . . . this remarkable set-up you've got here? The registered office that n.o.body can find, and which keeps dodging about, so that it's never in any one jurisdiction long enough for the courts to dissolve the company. Or the strong magical field that keeps the whole enterprise hidden, so that the only way to get into it is by fax? All it would take is one special resolution of the shareholders, with a straight seventyfive per cent majority vote.' He held the register of shareholders open. 'I notice,' he said, 'that you hold ninety-nine per cent of the shares, so all you need to do is vote yes, and that's that.'

'Quite true,' said the Queen, very calmly. 'I hold ninety-nine per cent.'

Bedevere reached inside his jacket again. 'And I,' he said, 'hold this very sharp knife.' He grinned. 'Ready?'

The Queen started to back away towards the jar of pickled onions that had appeared out of nowhere in the corner of the room, but Bedevere simply laughed and threw the register at it. It smashed into a thousand pieces, and no door came.

'Ready?' he repeated. 'In the Articles of a.s.sociation, which I've just been reading, it says that only a director can move a special resolution.' He advanced slowly, holding the knife very steady in his right hand. 'I think,' he said, 'there's just been a vacancy on the board.'

The Queen's eyes were glued to the knife. 'Surely not,' she said. 'I'd have been the first to know.'

'Not in this case,' Bedevere replied. 'Your friend there,' and he nodded at the rec.u.mbent PA, 'resigned just before he pa.s.sed out. I heard him. You believe me, don't you?'

The Queen nodded. The knife caught the light and glittered.

'In which case,' said Bedevere, 'you've just proposed me for the post of-' he chuckled '- director in charge of takeovers and mergers. b.l.o.o.d.y, foul and unnatural mergers. All those in favour say yes. Say yes.'

'Yyy~ 'Great. Now then, I vote that Lyonesse (Holdings) plc be wound up forthwith. All those in favour. . .'

The Queen started to scream, but Bedevere curled his lip. It was a long time since he'd last had occasion to do anything so melodramatic - not, in fact, since he'd been the Second Roman Soldier in the sixth-form mystery play - and as a result, parts of his moustache went up his nose. He sneezed.

'Save your breath, please,' he said. 'n.o.body can hear you, and even if they could, what good would it do? n.o.body can get in here, remember? n.o.body can even find it. It moves about. Unless you know the trick with the jar, the only way in here is by fax, and I've cut the b.l.o.o.d.y thing's flex. And once you're in here,' he added, 'magic, even Gold 337, doesn't work, because of your extremely clever insulation system. I'm sorry,' he continued, moving the knife, 'but this is a cut-throat business. All those in favour.'

The Queen's tongue darted round the circuit of her lips but could do little to moisten them. She tried to speak, but nothing came out except a small, creased whimper.

'Ready?'

'No!' The Queen could feel her shoulder-blades against the wall. 'You can't. You're a knight, remember; knights can't kill damsels in distress. It's . . .'

'Unethical?' Bedevere smiled. 'Three points, briefly. One, you're not a damsel, you're a sorceress, and they're fair game, all year round, with or without a permit. Two, we're inside the registered office of the Lyonesse Group, which is outside all recognised jurisdictions, so n.o.body will ever know. Three . . .' He grinned. 'Three is, what the h.e.l.l, rules were made to be broken.' He grinned savagely, and the Queen instinctively raised her arm in front of her face.

'There is, of course, an alternative . . .'

'Excuse me,' said the a.s.sistant cas.h.i.+er, 'but you can't go in there.'

Von Weinacht turned and stared at him. 'Sorry?' he said.

There was a brief moment when their eyes met; and the cas.h.i.+er remembered that he had a son, and the son wanted a mountain-bike and a Teenage Mutant Accountants Playset more than anything in the world, and that if he didn't get one...

'No problem,' the cas.h.i.+er mumbled hoa.r.s.ely. 'Where to?'

'The Forbidden City, I think it's called.'

'Third on the left,' the cas.h.i.+er said. 'Follow your nose, you can't miss it.'

'Is there?'

Bedevere nodded. 'Absolutely,' he said. 'Just give me my money back and,' he added, as nonchalantly as he could, 'the Personal Organiser of Wisdom, and we'll say no more about it. All right?'

Don't you just know, immediately and instinctively, when you've said the wrong thing? Like asking someone how his girlfriend is, just as you notice out of the corner of your eye that half the furniture is missing, and the picture of a dog burying a bone which he'd always told you he hated has vanished from the wall? And all the magic of the Great Pentagram won't drag the words back into your mouth, or do anything to mitigate the joint-cracking embarra.s.sment of it all.