Eleven of the Grand Viziers failed. That is, they got away (most improbably!) with all the treasure they, and in some cases some of the guards, and in one really INTERESTING case one of the Golems, could carry, and three now lived in an uneasy perpetual death-squabble for power in a wealthy Kingdom next to Alice’s domain, wherein they enjoyed their wealth by living in abject fear of her.
The rest all ‘escaped’ to the various lands of human Pirates. You didn’t know there were Pirates here? Neither did the Pirates until some wild-eyed lunatic waving a very sharp magical sword made out of an improbable metal ran towards your ship spewing gold and gemstones and saying he was now in charge. (There were no Sea Captains who would have argued with him; the Sea, still ruled in many places by the 9-headed tidal wave that is Tiamat, was pitiless and realistic. So were most of these Captains; an idiot and his money are parted at approximately the right speed by anyone who recognizes their single-mindedness, which describes most idiots with money; and of the Pirates, there is another tale.
One of them just looked at Rognath for a very very long minute..
“And these are the most minor of magical artifacts”?, he asked Rognath*. “Basically, yeah,” Rognath said. “I mean, there are definitely a lot of people who would sort this more carefully, but…”
“Say no more,” she responded. “I’ve worked in treasuries before, myself.”
“So, there’s a lot of gold, gems, art, a few artifacts…mostly gold. Lots and lots of gold coins.”
“Well, yeah; there’s a lot more use for coins than bars.”
“Says you,” said Alice, who had, as usual, not particularly stepped out of the corner.
The ex-Grand Vizier looked at her and said, “If you take this and start releasing it through trade, everyone will have it and it’ll be worthless. If you start releasing it in any other noticeable way, the ones who come to take it by force will…”
“…be determined in ways they aren’t about, say, fighting Evil?” asked Alice.
She handed the ex-ex-Grand Vizier a piece of paper.
“Where do we start?” asked Alice.
“That’s the bad part,” Alice said. “The pay is great—”
“—obviously—”
“…but where we start, I have no idea. She looked at Rognath, pointed at the piece of paper, and said, “Don’t do anything exceptionally stupid exceptionally fast,” and walked out.
The Grand Ambassador Plenipotentiary From Alice, Dark Lord, Ruler of All, to the Elves, the Shining Ones, the Bright, the Beautiful, the Comestible, Durk, was not what you would call an optimist.
He was a cynic AND a pessimist—like bread and peanut butter, the two often, but do not always, go together.
The last six Ambassadors had not returned. So Durk, who had a certain draw on the Imperial funds, arranged the following.
First, a full-body tattoo. He’d always wanted one. Why have call on Imperial funds of an evil empire if you’re not going to use some of them for yourself>
Second, he was pulled by eleven dray horses, majestic, slow, who carried not only his limousine, but it’s Hollywood-style hot tub right in the back. He stayed in the bath tub all day. It was filled with marinade.
When he arrived, to the dismay of the Elven Lords, all Princes and stalwart Men at Arms, who were hoping past hope that he might be a wandering eccentric, one of his basters pulled into his pocked and reached out a crumbled scroll which proclaimed the marinated Man to be Durk, Great Ambassador to the Mighty United Clans of the Elves.
This infuriated the Elves. Then again, every Ambassador so far had manage to infuriate the Elves within minutes of arrival. This was no difference, although the steam beginning to generate within each ear of his audience might have been new. They were, perhaps, angrier at him than at the time Alice sent the Mime.
They were destined to good fortune today; they’d reach a new height of fury, and is that not a blessing? For Durk through off his unseasonably heavy coat and revealed what was beneath.
He was inked from head to toe, presumbably even under the tiny breachcloth he wore for the sake of modestly, with butchers’ charts. The indicated the ribs, pointed out the heart, suggested avoiding the feet, and, upon his back, there were a series of very concise but quite helpful instructions for different ways of preparing the different kinds of meat, carefully apportioned by master butchers and drawn by Allison the Inksmith, into a butcher-shopper’s fondest dream and newest fantasy.
The volcanic response of the Elves might have spilled over and torn him messily limb from limb, except, except…
…this was so thoughtful.
When he produced his own special, homemade, handmade moonshine barbecues sauce, and asked to speak to their chefs…they simply nodded, and began gathering in an ever-larger circle of discussion.
In the Kitchen, the Chefs had knives which could slice Kraken, and sometimes had. Cutting u a human was no problem…
…but they could not help but feel a certain kinship. Here was someone who loved food so much that he clearly devoted the entire rest of his life, short though it would be, to the culinary pleasure of others…now that’s not something they say during their days of wrestling cobras and trying to stuff partridges with whole breast of wild goose, upon command.
It might be thought that his story would end quickly but (perhaps ) happily. But as they were talking about the benefits of various rubs, saltings, and spices, in walked a very Noble Elf indeed. “Come with me,” he said; and no-one in the room had any doubt whom He was.
The Prince said,
“My Father, the King, has heard of your consideration. It is”—he paused, struggling to put High Elven words in the proper tongue—“an appropriate gift to the community of your betters,” he said, as Durk struggled into his breeches and cap.
“We should like you to have dinner with us.”
* * *
Three hours later, in artful raiment which showed off his many positive attributes without revealing that which might cause harm to the female Elves, he was led to the banquet room.
There, prepared GORGEOUSLY, was one of the Elves which had jeered him as he came in, a high one. In convenient and savory pieces. Durk was led to a place of honor by the King’s left hand; the Prince Himself sat to the right.
“Perhaps you indigenes are capable of a certain true, if primitive, Art after all,” said the Kingdom philosopher.
Said the King, “Indeed. This is the first Ambassador sent who is not horribly rude.” He turned briefly to the lesser being to the one side. “You may stay, and even speak, for a while.”
Said Durk nothing at all. He was too busy connecting the hip bone to the thigh bone, and making liberal use of the sauce on both.
______________
Sure, you know that I just finished “A Goblincore Guide To Life”, but did you know that I finished The Dark Lord trilogy today? You did?? GET OUT OF MY SKULL, YOU BRAIN-SUCKING-MONSTER! …er, I mean…news travels fast.
Anyway, you might want to try George Orwell: Three Treacheries — Jeff Mach Writes.
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