Londo hated poetry. He hated Minbari. He really hated Minbari poetry. The only reason he was sitting through a recital of Minbari keela poetry was for the simple reason that it was the one place where none of his wives would be found. (Timov had no patience for this sort of thing, Mariel was too busy scheming and not even Daggair could find anything nice to say about the stuff.) Oh yes, Londo was here for another reason as well. The poet.

He’d never met Shaal Lennier before, but the personal, coded message he’d received the day before alerted him to the fact that coming here would be a good idea. There will be nine shadows over Lis House tomorrow. Londo hated codes, and he thought he’d given up this tedious plotting business years ago, but the word ‘shadow’ meant that he could not. This was important. This was connected to G’Kar.

Many times when performing duties for G’Kar, Londo wondered why he was doing this. If he were caught, then he would be in very big trouble. Political scheming was one thing – betraying highly confidential secrets and altering official government policy on the say-so of a Narn would lead to nothing less than his immediate and very painful execution.

But whenever he asked himself why, he remembered the big ship, the one that screamed in his mind, the one that had nearly killed him, the one that he dreamed about every night of his life, flying over Centauri Prime. And he remembered G’Kar, the Narn who had saved him, the Narn who had attacked his ship in the first place. The two had been trapped alone on a barren world, both their ships destroyed. At first G’Kar had been spitting words of hatred, and Londo had been afraid, remembering the vision of his death and recognising G’Kar from it. But then they had seen the ship, and G’Kar had sworn in the name of G’Quan. He had sat down, and he had spoken to Londo, he had spoken of an Ancient Enemy and a dead world called Z’ha’dum, he had spoken of the Book of G’Quan and of a darkness sweeping over the land. Londo had, more out of fear than interest, listened to G’Kar and he had slowly understood, caught up in the Narn’s fear and determination. The two had parted as each was rescued by his own people, but as the war ended, Londo began tracking the Narn’s movements, more out of interest than revenge. And when a Minbari had come to his quarters in the middle of the night and spoken about G’Kar and asked for a favour, Londo had listened, and agreed.

Now he was a part of G’Kar’s little conspiracy. Londo was not sure that he believed in the Ancient Enemy or in Narn prophecy, but he remembered that ship, and his dreams, and his death vision. Perhaps he could prevent that death vision – of him and G’Kar strangling each other on the steps of the Imperial Throne – by working with G’Kar. Perhaps, but he didn’t know.

And so he was waiting here, listening to poetry he could barely stand, drinking lukewarm brivare and looking at the poet’s small brooch, fashioned in the shape of a circle of light, with a black sword in the centre. Londo wore a similar design – a clasp at the neck of his jacket. Thus did the followers of G’Kar know each other.

The poem finished, for which Londo was eternally grateful, and several Centauri went up to congratulate Shaal Lennier. Minbari things were becoming fashionable in the Imperial Court these days – Minbari fashions, Minbari customs and especially Minbari poetry. Londo overheard several Centauri ladies propose assignations to the poet which would make anyone else blush profusely and back away. The poet merely smiled and nodded.

Afterwards, Londo made a personal request for Shaal Lennier to entertain him and his wives in private. Lennier had considered the matter and agreed, out of a desire for politeness and improving relations, of course. Londo felt a brief surge of glee at forcing Timov, Mariel and Daggair to sit through some of this appalling rubbish. Besides, it would at least set their minds working as to what he was up to, and they were bound to look in the wrong direction. And so, Shaal Lennier had accepted a journey to Minister Londo Mollari’s personal palace for a private audience.

No sooner were they in Londo’s personal transport – designed for status, show, soundproofing and not at all for little things like comfort or speed – than Londo spoke up.

“Well, then? What news from G’Kar?”

“None recently, I am afraid,” Lennier replied, after a slow and steady look around. “I do have news from Ambassador Refa, however, or more correctly news from his aide.”

“Mr. Cotto, yes. I have had some dealings with him.”

“Ambassador Refa is apparently going on a mission to the humans’ power centre at Proxima Three. A mission of… diplomacy… to discuss the human / Centauri alliance.”

“What?!” Londo bellowed. He then stopped and looked around. Of course, there were no windows, and the transport was completely soundproof. Not even the driver could hear them, but still… when he continued, he kept his voice down. “That was my treaty. I arranged everything at G’Kar’s behest. And now you are telling me that that… that… imbecile is on a diplomatic mission. How… no, do not tell me. Lord Jarno. He would arrange everything for his good and dear friend, Refa – to whom he owes a substantial fortune in gambling debts. And Lord Jarno’s beloved wife – I thank the Great Maker that it was Lord Jarno who married her and not me – is a close friend of our dear Lady Elrisia – the only lady on the planet who is even worse – and who has her claws wrapped around our little Emperor. Yes, I see where this has gone. Thank you for this information. Things are slipping away from me too fast here. I think a word with my good friend Urza might be in order. Is that all you have to tell me, or should I just hack my head off now?”

“No, there is more, but…” Lennier seemed distracted. “Is that smell common to this mode of transport?”

“What smell? I smell nothing unusual.”

“It is a gas,” he said. “In the paromide range, I believe. I can only just smell it.”

Londo’s eyes widened. “What? Paromide garadine. Oh, Great Maker.” He banged on the commpanel. “Driver, stop now!” There was no reply. “Driver! Oh, Great Maker, why hast thou abandoned me?”

“It is poisonous?”

“Very.” Londo began battering at the doors but they refused to open. “Fortunately I provided an escape route,” he muttered. Fumbling beneath his chair with his left hand, his right arm covering his mouth and nose, he pulled a lever and the top of the transport opened. Scrambling up on to the chair, he hauled his way up. The transport was not going very fast, but it was still fast enough to provide some serious injuries if he jumped off.

Lennier also scrambled out from the top of the transport. “We can escape from here?”

“Oh well,” Londo muttered. “I wasn’t using all my limbs anyway.”

He jumped off and closed his eyes. The impact with the ground, when it came, was less jarring than he had been expecting, but his leg twisted badly as he landed, and he was reduced to leaning against the side of a tree. Whose idea was it to build his palace so far out in the country? Oh yes, his. Lennier landed fine, without any discomfort at all.

Londo muttered something under his breath about Minbari as he watched the transport fade away into the night. That transport had cost him a fortune, and he doubted he’d see it again.

“The driver has been suborned, it seems.”

“Something like that. Paromide garadine gas. Odourless, tasteless and a slow acting poison. And very expensive, too. I sense the hand of my dear Lady Elrisia in all this. I think that word with Urza had better come soon. The sooner the better. This has gone far enough, I think.”

“I’m inclined to agree.”

“Ah!” Londo swore. “I will have to call Timov for transportation to my house. Bah! She will love this.”

“Your wife?”

“One of them. Take my advice, and never get married. No good will ever come of it, you’ll see. Bah! Why did I ever get involved in this whole thing? I should have become an insurance salesman.”