The fountain was of less interest to Tab than what was in front of them, however. Tall and imposing, the aft-side wall of the newest part of the palace was nearing completion. Some of the scaffolding was still in place, and was dotted with various workmen, who were busily adding gaudy gargoyles and decorations to the palace in time for Florian’s birthday. Over the last year the palace had gone from a grand but austere building to a huge, obscene monument to the huge, obscene ego of Florian. There was no end in sight.

‘Tab,’ Philmon said.

‘Shh,’ Tab replied. ‘I’m thinking.’

‘That guard over there is watching us.’

‘Let him watch. We’re not doing anything… yet.’

‘He doesn’t look Quentaran.’

‘He’s probably not. He’ll be one of those new guards that came aboard a couple of months ago.’

‘Oh yes, I remember. Was that -’

‘Shush! I’m thinking,’ Tab said. ‘Now, the new Great Hall is in there, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Yes, behind that wall with all the windows.’

‘Excellent.’ She smiled at Philmon. ‘I think I have a plan.’

Tab sat at the base of the fountain and leaned against it. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the statue. Besides, she wasn’t taking in the sights.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, as Philmon sat nearby to keep watch, and a pigeon on the other side of the square stopped pecking at the cracks in the pavement and stared into space with a glazed expression.

›››Don’t be alarmed

›››Good››Now, there’s something I need you to do

A moment later the pigeon rose into the air with a whirring coo, and flew up and up, past the scaffolding to one of the open panes at the top of the ornate window that provided so much natural light into the throne room of Florian the Great.

The thin-faced man in the velvet skullcap stopped in front of Fontagu and gave a very small, very unconvincing bow. ‘The Emperor will see you now.’

‘I should think so, too,’ Fontagu replied, slipping his long fingers under the gold-braid edge of his cape and giving it a flick. ‘Do you know how long I’ve been waiting here?’

‘You’d best show a little less of the superior attitude, if you know what’s good for you,’ the man in the skullcap advised. ‘The Emperor prefers to be the most important person in any room.’

‘Indeed.’ Fontagu’s throat was dry as he tried to swallow. ‘Of course. Thank you.’

The man nodded to one of the palace guards, who swung open the huge carved doors that led into Florian’s great chamber.

Fontagu gasped. It was a large room, full of shiny, ornate things, and people in expensive looking clothes, with shiny, ornate things hanging from them.

At the far end of the room, under the huge window, and flanked by a couple of statue-still guards, was Florian. His throne was made of marble, with a high carved back and a velvet seat-cushion. He lolled against one of the arms, his beady little eyes even more lost in his face than ever. The life of an emperor was a good one, especially the food he could ask for at any time, day or night. Evidently he asked for it day and night.

The man in the skullcap cleared his throat and announced the entry of Fontagu in his streaky voice. ‘Fontagu Wizroth, my lord.’

‘The Third,’ Fontagu muttered.

The man ignored Fontagu’s correction, choosing instead to bow low and back away to the side of the room.

Rather than speaking to Fontagu, Florian turned his head to address the tall young man who stood, hands clasped, beside the throne. ‘Janus, who’s this again?’ he murmured.

‘This is Fontagu, the actor.’ Janus said the word ‘actor’ with all the distaste of a contagious disease.

‘Oh yes, I remember.’ Florian sat up a little higher. ‘Come a little nearer, Actor,’ he said, in a louder voice.

Fontagu took another step closer, then dropped to one knee and bowed his head, just as he’d been instructed to do. ‘My lord, it is my truly great, great honour.’

‘Yes, yes, get up,’ Florian said, waving his hand lazily. ‘So, presumably you received Our missive?’

‘Your what? I mean, I don’t understand, my lord.’

‘Our missive. Our message. Our letter. Oh, never mind. You must have got it – you’re here now, aren’t you? So, what did you make of it?’

‘Your letter? Oh, I thought it was very good.’

Florian raised one eyebrow. ‘Good?’

‘Well worded. And the calligraphy was quite exquisite – did you do it yourself?’

‘What?’ Florian blustered. ‘Of course I didn’t do it myself! I’ve got… I mean, We have scribes to do that kind of thing!’

‘Of course you do,’ Fontagu replied quickly. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest -’

‘Oh, do shut up,’ Florian sighed. ‘So, are you going to do it or not?’

‘The play? Yes, of course – it would be a great honour.’

‘Yes, indeed it would. And you’re to spare no expense, do you hear?’

Fontagu bowed his head. ‘None shall be spared, my lord. Is there someone I should talk to about the production budget?’

Florian frowned. ‘I fear you misunderstand Us, Actor. You are to spare no expense.’

‘Um… Oh!’ Fontagu suddenly burst out laughing. ‘Oh, you mean my money! Of course, how silly of me!’

Janus put his hand to his mouth and disguised a laugh with a cough. ‘You didn’t think the Emperor was going to spend his own money on a birthday gift for himself, did you?’

‘No! No, definitely not,’ stammered Fontagu.

Tiredly, Florian raised one hand, and Fontagu fell silent. ‘All right, you’re wasting Our time. Tell me, Actor, what play have you chosen to perform for Us?’

Fontagu reached under his cloak and took out his manuscript. ‘If it please my lord, I would be honoured to present for your edification my original production of The Gimlet Eye.’

‘ The Gimlet Eye, indeed?’ Florian replied. ‘We’ve seen that once before.’

‘All respect, my lord, but you’ve never seen it done like Fontagu Wizroth the Third shall do it.’

‘We’ll see,’ Florian grunted.

‘Is that the script there?’ Janus asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Bring it to me,’ Janus said, reaching out his hand, and the man in the skullcap hurried over, took the script from Fontagu and carried it to Janus.

‘Um… that’s my only copy,’ Fontagu protested.

Janus flicked through a couple of the pages. ‘Very well,’ he said after a moment, handing the script back to the servant, who returned it to Fontagu.

‘We’re done with this one,’ Florian said with a tired wave of his hand.

‘All right, Actor, go back to where you lodge,’ Janus said. ‘You’ll hear from us in due course.’

‘Thank you,’ Fontagu said, bowing low. ‘Thank you, my lord. Thank you everyone.’

Florian said nothing. He was somewhat distracted by the pigeon that had flown from its perch at the top of the large window behind him, swooped down into the throne room and, with perfect accuracy, dropped a small, runny spatter of white onto his shoulder.

With a quiet little thought of thanks, Tab extracted her mind from that of the pigeon. ‘He’s all right,’ she told Philmon. Then she laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ Philmon asked.

‘The pigeon – it left a little present for Florian. Right here,’ she added, patting her shoulder.

‘You made it do that?’

She smiled. ‘I might have.’

‘You’re terrible, Tab,’ Philmon said, breaking into a grin as well. ‘So what happened? Did your trick with the pigeon work? Did you get a good look? Could you hear anything?’

‘I saw everything, and I heard everything. He’s doing a play, like he said. He’s doing The Gimlet Eye.’

‘ The Gimlet Eye?’

‘Yes. I remember Stelka used to talk about it from time to time. It’s famous. In fact, I think I might have seen it once, with some of the other magicians. It was very long,’ she added. ‘I quite possibly fell asleep in the middle of Act Five.’