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It was unusual for this sort of person to be presented to him; usually his courtiers kept them out. He always got suspicious of his courtiers when they did something out of character. He knew that-naturally-they feared and respected him, but sometimes he thought they wouldn’t be beyond talking behind his back or having little plans of their own.
Anyway, he didn’t like the monk’s face. There was something too narrow and sharp and penetrating about it, and there was a look of amused contempt about his expression that suggested he found the King or his Kingdom ridiculous. He distrusted the monk instantly. People had died for less. A lot less.
One of his courtiers mumbled into his ear about the monk’s mission. The King was mildly surprised by what he was told, but still suspicious.
“So,” he said to the monk, “you are of an Order which also despises the Great Infernal Wizard.”
“Indeed, your gracious Majesty,” the monk said, looking down modestly at the carpet. His voice sounded respectful. “Our Belief-perhaps not so dissimilar from your own, more venerable and more widely followed creed-is that God is a Mad Scientist and we His experimental subjects, doomed forever to run the Maze of Life through apparently random and unjust punishments for meaningless and paltry rewards and no discernible good reason save His evil pleasure.”
The King stared at the ski
“D’you hate God too?” he said, wrinkling his nose and frowning.
The ski
“Good,” the King said. He sat back and studied the ski
The King prided himself on being something of a statesman; he knew the value of having allies, even though the Kingdom itself was quite self-sufficient and under no immediate external threat. There were bandits and rebels in the deep country, as ever, and the usual closet reformers in the Kingdom and even the court, but the King knew how to deal with them; you asked a courtier and got them to check how they’d been dealt with in the past. Still, times changed on the outside even if they didn’t change here, and it never did any harm to have people in the world beyond who sympathised with Pharpech, and it had always a
He’d quiz this monk. “How many of there are you?”
“Here in your realm, your Majesty? Only myself, of our Order-”
He shook his head. “No, everywhere. How many of you altogether?”
The ski
“Hmm,” said the King. “Who’s your leader?”
“Majesty,” the monk said, looking troubled, “we have no leader. We have a parliament, a gathering of equals in which each man is his own high priest, and in that lies our problem.” The ski
Petitions petitions petitions. The King was heartily sick of petitions. But at least this one was from outside the Kingdom, from people who didn’t owe him everything anyway and so had a damn cheek petitioning him for anything… No, this came from people who were doing it because of their respect for him and what he represented. He rather liked the idea.
“Spiritual leader?” he said, trying not to sound too taken with the title.
“Yes, your Majesty,” said the ski
The King looked confused. He didn’t want to give his blessing to people who were undeserving wretches. He had enough of those already.
“What?” he said. “You’re saying you’re undeserving wretches?”
The ski
The King didn’t quite understand that last remark-probably due to the ski
“Good monk,” he said, sitting back in the Stom Throne and adjusting his day-robe around him as the great throne swung gently, “I am minded to accept your humble request.” The King smiled. “We shall talk further, I think.” He put on his wise expression, and the ski
How touching! the King thought.
He waved one hand graciously to the side, making a curl in the thick incense smoke. He indicated a couple of clerks standing to one side, holding cushions on which sat large flattish objects: ornate metal boxes. “Now, I understand you have brought Us some presents…”
“Indeed, your Majesty,” the ski
“A book?” the King said. He sat forward in the throne, gripping the edges of the Stom’s wings. He hated books. “A book?” he roared. His courtiers knew he hated books! How could they let this simpering cur come before him if they knew he’d come bearing books? He looked furiously at the nearest courtiers. Their expressions changed instantly from smirking satisfaction to shocked outrage.
“But it is God’s book, your Majesty!” the ski
“God’s book?” the King bellowed, standing up in the Stom Throne. This was… what was it called? Sacrilege! The great throne swung to and fro while the King glared down at the hapless monk. “Did you say God’s book?” he shouted. He raised his hand, to order the heretical… heretic be taken away.
“Yes, your Majesty,” the monk said, suddenly pulling the book apart, pages riffling. “Because it is blank!”
He held the book up before him like a shield, face turned away from the King’s wrath, while the flittering white pages fell fa