SAMPLE CHAPTERS:
THE GULLWING ODYSSEY
Chapter Two
Emperor Rao Ordan sat in his office, hard at work yet accomplishing nothing. One at a time, he leafed through dossiers and moved them from one side of the desk to the other. War loomed, and with it came the responsibility of having to make decisions. He bristled at the notion. Was it not enough that he held supreme executive authority over the Itudaeian empire? However could he be expected also to make difficult choices?
Each week brought a new stock of fat dossiers, documenting every aspect of the empire that could be reduced to a number and percentage change from the prior week. His duty as emperor demanded his timely perusal of each report, although lately this had become a futile chore. No matter how hard he worked, never could he read them faster than they were brought in.
He thumbed through the reports, but his mind was not on them. Work and worry occupied his thoughts to the exclusion of everything else. He stretched in his desk chair, gave a mighty yawn. Most nights he would lie awake in his hammock, and when he grew tired of lying down he would crawl out and stare at it. War was difficult business, and life was difficult enough having to sleep alone in a hammock made for two.
The doorknob clattered and he nearly sprang out of his chair.
Each week brought a new stock of fat dossiers, documenting every aspect of the empire that could be reduced to a number and percentage change from the prior week. His duty as emperor demanded his timely perusal of each report, although lately this had become a futile chore. No matter how hard he worked, never could he read them faster than they were brought in.
He thumbed through the reports, but his mind was not on them. Work and worry occupied his thoughts to the exclusion of everything else. He stretched in his desk chair, gave a mighty yawn. Most nights he would lie awake in his hammock, and when he grew tired of lying down he would crawl out and stare at it. War was difficult business, and life was difficult enough having to sleep alone in a hammock made for two.
The doorknob clattered and he nearly sprang out of his chair.
Dria Ordan
“Father?”
Hearing that voice brought a tired smile to his face. “Come in, dear.”
Dria entered. There was a heavy note of concern in her face.
“What troubles you?” Rao asked.
“You, father. You’ve been in here all morning. A break would do you good.”
He sighed. Much as he wanted to take a break, he could not allow himself to be sidetracked now, especially since he was making such headway.
“I can’t, dear. I’m far too busy.” He corralled a stack of dossiers, gathering them into a pile at the center of the desk. One at a time he drew them out of the stack as though looking for one in particular, murmuring and nodding occasionally for effect. Before long, two smaller piles of paperwork had begun to stack up on either side of the desk.
Dria pulled a dossier out of one of the corner piles and glanced it over.
“You’re always too busy,” she said, handing it back.
“These troubled times demand my full attention,” he said, dropping it into a pile without looking at it.
“Father?”
Rao stiffened.
“You need rest.”
He raised his eyes just slightly, not enough to meet her gaze, but enough to notice that her arms were crossed.
“It shows that much?” he asked.
“That one I handed you came from the other stack.”
Rao shrank into his chair. He owed it to his people to serve as their protector, and he owed it to Dria to be her father. Both duties were equally weighty, but if the scales tipped in one direction just this once, no one would be the wiser.
“You’re right,” he said, pushing away from the desk. “Would you like to join me for lunch?”
She grinned and took his arm.
“You came at a fine time too,” said Rao. “I’d almost forgotten that I have a lunchtime appointment with the chancellor.”
She groaned. “Must he join us?”
Hearing that voice brought a tired smile to his face. “Come in, dear.”
Dria entered. There was a heavy note of concern in her face.
“What troubles you?” Rao asked.
“You, father. You’ve been in here all morning. A break would do you good.”
He sighed. Much as he wanted to take a break, he could not allow himself to be sidetracked now, especially since he was making such headway.
“I can’t, dear. I’m far too busy.” He corralled a stack of dossiers, gathering them into a pile at the center of the desk. One at a time he drew them out of the stack as though looking for one in particular, murmuring and nodding occasionally for effect. Before long, two smaller piles of paperwork had begun to stack up on either side of the desk.
Dria pulled a dossier out of one of the corner piles and glanced it over.
“You’re always too busy,” she said, handing it back.
“These troubled times demand my full attention,” he said, dropping it into a pile without looking at it.
“Father?”
Rao stiffened.
“You need rest.”
He raised his eyes just slightly, not enough to meet her gaze, but enough to notice that her arms were crossed.
“It shows that much?” he asked.
“That one I handed you came from the other stack.”
Rao shrank into his chair. He owed it to his people to serve as their protector, and he owed it to Dria to be her father. Both duties were equally weighty, but if the scales tipped in one direction just this once, no one would be the wiser.
“You’re right,” he said, pushing away from the desk. “Would you like to join me for lunch?”
She grinned and took his arm.
“You came at a fine time too,” said Rao. “I’d almost forgotten that I have a lunchtime appointment with the chancellor.”
She groaned. “Must he join us?”
Maldronigan Ebizpo
“Oh come now, Chancellor Maldronigan is a fine man as far as humans go.”
“Chancellor Maldronigan...”
The door to the office swung wide, but no one stood nearby to hold it open.
“Is right on time,” Rao finished his daughter’s sentence.
Maldronigan strode toward them, the ends of his flowing red robe whipping at his ankles. He stopped to greet them at the doorframe.
“My liege,” he said with a bow of his head. “And, my lady.”
“Hello chancellor,” said Rao. “I hope you don’t mind if my daughter joins us for lunch.”
“Not at all, lordship,” said Maldronigan. “As a point of fact, I think it to be an excellent idea. The young princess can do with learning all she can on statecraft.”
He offered his arm to Dria. Dria’s arm tightened around Rao’s.
Maldronigan’s eyes shifted. “Lordship, might you indulge me?”
“By all means,” said Rao, stepping back.
Rao felt Dria shudder as the chancellor took her arm. “Are you cold, my dear?”
“Indeed, it is a bit drafty,” Maldronigan answered for her. With a sweep of his hand, the shutters hanging in the hall windows drew closed in sequence.
“You never cease to amaze,” Rao said.
Maldronigan repaid this comment with a meager smile and nod. “I remain your ever complaisant servant, my liege.”
The three exited to the palace courtyard, where a winding trail of pebbles led them to the crescent garden. Here, a shady copse of palm trees grew in a semi-circle around a white marble table.
Maldronigan took his seat on a backless stool. “My liege, you must appreciate how flattered I am, that Your Excellencies have permitted me, your lowly servant, to share this meal with you. Ah, and while it pains me to have to sour our enjoyment of this wonderful luncheon, it is my duty to report that the mail has arrived. I took the liberty of opening, condensing, and then disposing of it all for you.”
“What of it?” Rao asked.
“Tsk-tsk. All bad news from Hazaranth, I am afraid.”
Rao clenched his jaw. “I see.”
The courtyard door opened and three servants came forth. The first brought a silver bowl piled high with steaming fish buns and set it down at the center of the table. Another placed a pair of eating sticks before Rao and Dria. The third unfolded a serving table beside the diners and laid a spread of twenty each of spoons, forks, knives, and plates. As the first two servants left to retrieve drinks, the third laid a napkin across Maldronigan’s lap and remained at his side.
Maldronigan snapped up the fork closest to him and thrust it into a fish bun, then set the bun onto his plate. “I needn’t adumbrate much, as I am certain Your Lordship is aware that the imminent conflict with the Hazaranthi nation is on the verge of becoming something of an imbroglio.”
“Y-yes,” Rao said. It was wishful thinking to believe that Rao understood even half of what Maldronigan said at times. Still, Maldronigan was a learnéd man. Rao felt it was better simply to agree with him than ask what he meant. It saved face, too.
Maldronigan plucked a knife off the tray and cut the bite-sized morsel in half. “Nonetheless, as per my most recent communiqué, we apprehend that this pestiferous situation may promptly be allayed somewhat with the arrival of the Hazaranthi emissary.”
Dria pinched a fish bun between her eating sticks and popped it into her mouth. “It never fails to amaze me how well you Manocombians must perform on elementary school vocabulary exams.”
“Chancellor, you say an emissary is coming here?” Rao asked.
Maldronigan ate half the fish bun and wiped his lips. “Indeed. I took the liberty of chartering a vessel to transport him here. Now, this act by the Hazaranthis of sending their emissary is a pellucid sign of their intent to terminate belligerent activities.” He ate the other half of the fish bun and dabbed the napkin to his lips again.
The servant beside Maldronigan removed the chancellor’s used napkin, plate, and silverware, then set a fresh plate and napkin on the table.
With a clean fork and knife, Maldronigan pinched another fish bun and cut it in half. “Now, while I abhor conflict as much as anyone else, I implore Your Lordship not to perfunctorily defenestrate the notion of employing reasoned caution.”
“You should perfunctorily defenestrate yourself,” Dria muttered.
“Um, yes,” Rao said, with no idea of what was meant by either of them.
Dria smirked. “You heard him, chancellor. You know where the windows are.”
“Windows, dear?” Rao asked.
“Such a charming sense of humor,” Maldronigan said with a rare, tooth-baring smile. Sinews tensed, corded tight in Maldronigan’s neck, running taut down his frame as his face turned pink.
Rao’s eyes shifted between Maldronigan and his daughter.
“I don’t get it.”
“Defenestrate,” Maldronigan said, “is a verb for the act of throwing something or someone out of a window.”
“Oh,” Rao said with a nod. “Dreadful.”
“Quite.” Maldronigan snorted, performing his most indelicate act in a week, and composed himself. “My liege, we should not dismiss the notion that the Hazaranthis’ act of sending an emissary under the guise of negotiating peace may very well be a supposititious offer at compromise. We must not let them catch us with our proverbial pants at our ankles.”
Rao, with a fish bun pinched between his eating sticks, stopped halfway from the bowl to his mouth. He was certain that if Maldronigan had spoken that last line in any other language he understood, it still would have made no sense.
Dria chewed a fish bun and swallowed. “He means that the Hazaranthis will tell us they wish to end this war, when they really only want to catch us off guard when they invade.”
“Is this true?” Rao asked.
“I would not put it beneath them,” said Maldronigan. “And as an aside, I dare say that Your Majesty’s daughter is both smart and beautiful.”
“Thank you, chancellor,” said Dria, “but I’ve had enough compliments for today.”
“As you wish.” He finished the fish bun and wiped his lips.
The attendant refreshed his plate and napkin.
The courtyard doors swung open and the pair of servants reentered the garden. The two worked in diligent silence, pouring tea and setting down assorted dessert pastries.
Rao scooped up an apricot tart and ate it. “So if we are unsure as to the Hazaranthis’ true intentions, what do you propose we do?”
Maldronigan pinched his cup between his thumb and forefinger, raised his pinky and took a dainty sip. As soon as he had set his glass down, his servant wiped the rim of his cup clean with the corner of a napkin, then readied a fresh napkin in case the chancellor cared to drink some more.
“In my humble opinion,” Maldronigan said, “we should impress him with a feast of multiple courses and as much wine as he cares to imbibe. Food, drink, comfort, entertainment – quite simply the most vulgar and ostentatious display of sumptuousness as Your Majesty’s people can muster.”
“Surely such a reasoned suggestion has an equally weighty justification,” said Dria.
“Why, of course. If our reservations about the Hazaranthis’ presumed ulterior motives prove to be incorrect, then such a gesture as the one I propose would only have salutary effects. The envoy will go home full, happy, and with nothing but wonderful things to report.”
He carved a tiny piece out of a marmalade tart with his dessert spoon.
“But,” he went on, “if the Hazaranthis do have a hidden agenda, then with enough wine and an extravagant meal, the emissary will certainly let something slip.”
“And in that case?” asked Rao.
Maldronigan patted his lips clean. “We kill him.”
“Chancellor Maldronigan...”
The door to the office swung wide, but no one stood nearby to hold it open.
“Is right on time,” Rao finished his daughter’s sentence.
Maldronigan strode toward them, the ends of his flowing red robe whipping at his ankles. He stopped to greet them at the doorframe.
“My liege,” he said with a bow of his head. “And, my lady.”
“Hello chancellor,” said Rao. “I hope you don’t mind if my daughter joins us for lunch.”
“Not at all, lordship,” said Maldronigan. “As a point of fact, I think it to be an excellent idea. The young princess can do with learning all she can on statecraft.”
He offered his arm to Dria. Dria’s arm tightened around Rao’s.
Maldronigan’s eyes shifted. “Lordship, might you indulge me?”
“By all means,” said Rao, stepping back.
Rao felt Dria shudder as the chancellor took her arm. “Are you cold, my dear?”
“Indeed, it is a bit drafty,” Maldronigan answered for her. With a sweep of his hand, the shutters hanging in the hall windows drew closed in sequence.
“You never cease to amaze,” Rao said.
Maldronigan repaid this comment with a meager smile and nod. “I remain your ever complaisant servant, my liege.”
The three exited to the palace courtyard, where a winding trail of pebbles led them to the crescent garden. Here, a shady copse of palm trees grew in a semi-circle around a white marble table.
Maldronigan took his seat on a backless stool. “My liege, you must appreciate how flattered I am, that Your Excellencies have permitted me, your lowly servant, to share this meal with you. Ah, and while it pains me to have to sour our enjoyment of this wonderful luncheon, it is my duty to report that the mail has arrived. I took the liberty of opening, condensing, and then disposing of it all for you.”
“What of it?” Rao asked.
“Tsk-tsk. All bad news from Hazaranth, I am afraid.”
Rao clenched his jaw. “I see.”
The courtyard door opened and three servants came forth. The first brought a silver bowl piled high with steaming fish buns and set it down at the center of the table. Another placed a pair of eating sticks before Rao and Dria. The third unfolded a serving table beside the diners and laid a spread of twenty each of spoons, forks, knives, and plates. As the first two servants left to retrieve drinks, the third laid a napkin across Maldronigan’s lap and remained at his side.
Maldronigan snapped up the fork closest to him and thrust it into a fish bun, then set the bun onto his plate. “I needn’t adumbrate much, as I am certain Your Lordship is aware that the imminent conflict with the Hazaranthi nation is on the verge of becoming something of an imbroglio.”
“Y-yes,” Rao said. It was wishful thinking to believe that Rao understood even half of what Maldronigan said at times. Still, Maldronigan was a learnéd man. Rao felt it was better simply to agree with him than ask what he meant. It saved face, too.
Maldronigan plucked a knife off the tray and cut the bite-sized morsel in half. “Nonetheless, as per my most recent communiqué, we apprehend that this pestiferous situation may promptly be allayed somewhat with the arrival of the Hazaranthi emissary.”
Dria pinched a fish bun between her eating sticks and popped it into her mouth. “It never fails to amaze me how well you Manocombians must perform on elementary school vocabulary exams.”
“Chancellor, you say an emissary is coming here?” Rao asked.
Maldronigan ate half the fish bun and wiped his lips. “Indeed. I took the liberty of chartering a vessel to transport him here. Now, this act by the Hazaranthis of sending their emissary is a pellucid sign of their intent to terminate belligerent activities.” He ate the other half of the fish bun and dabbed the napkin to his lips again.
The servant beside Maldronigan removed the chancellor’s used napkin, plate, and silverware, then set a fresh plate and napkin on the table.
With a clean fork and knife, Maldronigan pinched another fish bun and cut it in half. “Now, while I abhor conflict as much as anyone else, I implore Your Lordship not to perfunctorily defenestrate the notion of employing reasoned caution.”
“You should perfunctorily defenestrate yourself,” Dria muttered.
“Um, yes,” Rao said, with no idea of what was meant by either of them.
Dria smirked. “You heard him, chancellor. You know where the windows are.”
“Windows, dear?” Rao asked.
“Such a charming sense of humor,” Maldronigan said with a rare, tooth-baring smile. Sinews tensed, corded tight in Maldronigan’s neck, running taut down his frame as his face turned pink.
Rao’s eyes shifted between Maldronigan and his daughter.
“I don’t get it.”
“Defenestrate,” Maldronigan said, “is a verb for the act of throwing something or someone out of a window.”
“Oh,” Rao said with a nod. “Dreadful.”
“Quite.” Maldronigan snorted, performing his most indelicate act in a week, and composed himself. “My liege, we should not dismiss the notion that the Hazaranthis’ act of sending an emissary under the guise of negotiating peace may very well be a supposititious offer at compromise. We must not let them catch us with our proverbial pants at our ankles.”
Rao, with a fish bun pinched between his eating sticks, stopped halfway from the bowl to his mouth. He was certain that if Maldronigan had spoken that last line in any other language he understood, it still would have made no sense.
Dria chewed a fish bun and swallowed. “He means that the Hazaranthis will tell us they wish to end this war, when they really only want to catch us off guard when they invade.”
“Is this true?” Rao asked.
“I would not put it beneath them,” said Maldronigan. “And as an aside, I dare say that Your Majesty’s daughter is both smart and beautiful.”
“Thank you, chancellor,” said Dria, “but I’ve had enough compliments for today.”
“As you wish.” He finished the fish bun and wiped his lips.
The attendant refreshed his plate and napkin.
The courtyard doors swung open and the pair of servants reentered the garden. The two worked in diligent silence, pouring tea and setting down assorted dessert pastries.
Rao scooped up an apricot tart and ate it. “So if we are unsure as to the Hazaranthis’ true intentions, what do you propose we do?”
Maldronigan pinched his cup between his thumb and forefinger, raised his pinky and took a dainty sip. As soon as he had set his glass down, his servant wiped the rim of his cup clean with the corner of a napkin, then readied a fresh napkin in case the chancellor cared to drink some more.
“In my humble opinion,” Maldronigan said, “we should impress him with a feast of multiple courses and as much wine as he cares to imbibe. Food, drink, comfort, entertainment – quite simply the most vulgar and ostentatious display of sumptuousness as Your Majesty’s people can muster.”
“Surely such a reasoned suggestion has an equally weighty justification,” said Dria.
“Why, of course. If our reservations about the Hazaranthis’ presumed ulterior motives prove to be incorrect, then such a gesture as the one I propose would only have salutary effects. The envoy will go home full, happy, and with nothing but wonderful things to report.”
He carved a tiny piece out of a marmalade tart with his dessert spoon.
“But,” he went on, “if the Hazaranthis do have a hidden agenda, then with enough wine and an extravagant meal, the emissary will certainly let something slip.”
“And in that case?” asked Rao.
Maldronigan patted his lips clean. “We kill him.”
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