Yep, you meet some of the people now.
Slightly daft intangible floating people?
No, solid, tangible, stuck to the ground, but still slightly daft people.
Chapter 1
May, 16, 1949, the palace in Kelia Brilsion.
Third Minister Jarro thumped his ballpoint pen against his oak desk, then checked to see if the ink was coming out yet. It was not; he swore, then hurled the pen across the room to land in some dim corner with its unfortunate companions. Jarro folded his arms and leaned back and glared sullenly at the door opposite his desk. He was a man of about six feet, with coffee coloured hair that stuck straight up at the front, and down at the back. The small office settled into silence, but for the fireplace's crackling. Around the walls bookcases filled unevenly with a pantheon of worn books, some left of the carpet where they had fallen. Around his desk piles of paperwork he had deemed to dull too deal with littered the floor, dishes of half eaten food sat precariously in the overflowing in-tray, forgotten and mouldy.
Jarro started to tap his foot rapidly, then to shift restlessly, light brown eyes flicking over the mess of paper. He groaned and cursed the person who had decided to make Minister a hereditary title, this was not what he wanted to do with his life. Paper pushing had suited his father but dad had not taken over the position until he was forty-two. No such luck for him. He felt a pang of sorrow; his father had died in the nineteen forty-seven plagues that had also carried off his two elder brothers. Jarro firmly pushed the memory away, even now it still hurt to think of them.
Well, he was stuck here at least for now, and the chaos in his room was beginning to get to him. Plus he couldn't do anything without a pen. Gingerly he picked his way across the office, careful not step something that could crack under his shoes.
Peeking around his door he glanced up and down the shrouded corridor, once again wondering who had put curtains on all the walls. He shot across the clearly deserted hall and burst into the orderly office of his secretary, Retinda Berila, an assassin originally hired to kill him. She had grown to like him and warned him about the plot. In return he had offered her a job as secretary. It may not have been as exciting as what she was used to, but it was a lot safer, and it paid more regularly too. He just wished Retin didn't treat him like a annoying younger brother.
“Hullo! And how are you doing today?” He gave his best smile, and perched on the edge of her pristine desk.
Miss. Berila did not even look up from her typewriter,”Lost your desk again have we? How many feet under is it this time?” She shoved the carriage return over and kept going. As per the usual she wore a cream blouse with lace around the collar and a navy floor length skirt.
Jarro coughed, embarrassed. ”It wasn't that bad, just a little messy; anyway that wasn't why I came all the way here. I need a pen.” He endeavoured to look down his nose at Retin.
The ex-assassin paused in her typing and gave him a pained look, “You have lost it already? Please tell me you didn't break it.”
The tips of Jarro's ears went crimson, and he started to tap his teeth together nervously.
“You did.” Retin put a hand over her eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh before pulling a pen out of a drawer. “Let this one last a little longer please, they do not grow on trees.”
The Young Minister gave her a wide grin, “No problem, and thanks for the pen!” He ducked, out quickly out before she could give him a lecture on funds and how he needed to pay attention to leaped across the hall and back into his own mess, brandishing his new pen happily, straight into King Emgran and Ambassador Wilth waiting impatiently for him, the king seated on the only clean chair in the room, he wore a blue jacket with gold edging, and Wilth standing behind him, a black suit and tie. Jarro stopped dead, then yelped as he found his feet sliding out from under him. Thinking back he shouldn't have left that plate on the floor, but hindsight is 20/20 vision. After ten intense seconds the world stopped crashing on top of him, and King Emgran with the reluctant ambassador's help, dug him out.
When he was sufficiently uncovered Jarro sat up rubbing the back of his head, wincing slightly as he did so “Ahh, thanks, um, sire, and Ambassador urrm... what are you doing down,” his eyes flickered about the chaos of his office,”here?”
He had known Emgran since they were kids, he had often joined the group of Noble's children that gathered whenever they could get away from nurses, governesses and tutors. Emgran naturally led in most of the games, not because of parentage, but because he could coordinate any group no matter how unruly so all were satisfied. He was a year or two older then Jarro, but looked younger; he took over the throne after his father retired to look after his horses, he said that since Emgran knew more about the nations affairs then he did he could run the country himself.
All he knew about the Ambassador was that he was from one of the changer clans up north, Bear he thought. He looked like he would be a bear, he towered like one. The Changers could morph between their clan animal and human form at will,
Some of the clans had aligned themselves with Brilsion, the major players were Bear, Wolf, Panther and Snake. A couple of minor clans had also dived into the protection of Brilsion so they wouldn't go under in one of the numerous inter-clan wars. That was about all he had absorbed in the lengthy history lessons he sat though as a child, the rest was forgotten along with algebra and how to write neatly.
The youthful king gave a friendly smile as he helped Jarro up but within moments let it return to a serious expression again, “How much do you know of the Ignatumlands?”
Add geography to the list of forgotten classes. ”It's not a place you would want to go on holiday, sire?”
The old ambassador gave an indignant snort,”Are we are sending this ignorant cub on such an important mission?” then turning to Jarro,”And you would do well not to treat this as a joke.”
Emgran gave Wilth a narrow eyed look before turning back to the minister,”I meant for you to tell me all you know about the Grycites government.”
Well, he knew all about this, the Grycites were something he had found fascinating, their political system was understood well by only a few and with the effort he had exerted he knew he was one of those few. “Um,” Jarro paused, glancing at the towering Changer, then took a deep breath. ”The Chillda rules the Grycites in name only, he has little power, just a figure head really. The Erected are like a high counsel, they make most of the real decisions. Below them are Seljars, military leaders, and they have complete power over the army. On the same level as them are the Icarti; they monitor the resources of the nation. They are the main powers, but by no means the only ones. The idea is if no one controls everything and everyone has something then the nation won't go bad as per se. People will want to look after their bit so nothing gets left out. Oh yes, then of course you have the Derite and his mages, more or less above the law and forbidden from politics. Well, I say forbidden but it's more just a code to stop them taking over the country. As it is they spend most of their time meddling with politics, they just don't use magic and they don't rule anything.” He finished the last bit in a rush, then, panting slightly, tried to gauge whether or not this sufficed.
The grizzled haired man nodded to himself and turned to the expectantly waiting king. ”Ahh, I see now, he knows the politics, yes? Just make sure he knows a little more than that Sire. Very well. I shall check on our representative we are to send with him while you explain.” He left the room without another word.
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