“Can’t you just wear an overcoat or something?” I muttered to Kat, from where she perched on my shoulder.

  I was dressed in my finest clothes, specially picked out by Esme for the occasion. Her taste in colour and fabric was impeccable. The deep blues complemented my dark hair, faintly purple eyes and pale complexion. Silver embroidery was worked into the midnight blue across the shoulders and sleeves. It caught the light whenever I got worked up and shat golden sprinkles out from my skin.

  Kat was currently a teeny-tiny Playboy bunny: stockings, suspenders, brassiere, and bunny ears.

  “This is The Palace. Capital T, capital P.”

  “You’re the capital P that chose the costume roulette evolution,” she replied sweetly. “Besides, you’ve seen the effect it has.” Kat nodded at a passing servant as he walked into a doorframe, not looking where he was going.

  The doorframe was a light wood, pale and creamy. Buffed to a shine that I thoroughly approved of.

  “You think it’s a bit much?” I asked, nodding at the decor.

  “This is a waiting room for dignitaries, nobles and the crazy-wealthy. You kind of go all out on this kind of thing.”

  “It’s peak-Versailles. All gilt and mahogany and… Why does that statue have two heads?”

  “Madson is a bit like the British Monarchy. Technically, he has a lot of power, but ever since his dad, nobody will let him use it,” she said with a shrug.

  “He isn’t crazy. He’s sharp.”

  “One dose of the clap is enough to teach most men to avoid brothels.”

  “Your metaphors are as delightful as ever. I’m going to be a diplomat, maybe take it down a notch?” I whispered.

  We weren’t alone. A man with a ludicrous moustache in simple workers' clothes was sitting a few chairs down and kept glaring at Kat.

  “You aren’t going to be a diplomat, you idiot. God damn shinies for brains. You’re a threat. He wants you to scare them off, not set up a trade deal.”

  “You don’t know that. These Skeldrak dudes sound like an interesting bunch.” By interesting, I meant they made the Orlics seem rational and well-balanced. “How is Geeku’s tribe doing?”

  “They’re up to twenty thousand now. You really can’t use them in another battle for a while. They breed like unibunnies after a fight.”

  “But their chicks have—”

  “What do they have?” asked Jemima as she appeared in the chair next to me as though by magic. I’d forgotten she was also a filthy ninja.

  “Ovipositors. Bob thinks they look like wangs. Hi, Lady Artington,” Kat said cheerfully.

  “How does it even work? Ovipositors are for remote egg-laying, but the dudes have the—bits for remote swimmer delivery,” I grumbled.

  “Do you spend a lot of time pondering the genitals of other species?” Jemima asked pleasantly as she waved for us to get up and follow her towards the cream-coloured door.

  “That makes it sound weird,” I complained, trailing after her.

  “Perhaps it’s the good kind of weird, especially given the nature of your new role.”

  “Nah, Bob’s just a perv. Look what he did to me?” Kat fluttered into the air and pirouetted in front of the courtesan.

  “Why are you flossing your buttocks?” Jemima asked politely.

  “Humans have weird preferences in underwear where Bob’s from.”

  “Is it a sanitary thing? I can appreciate the desire to show off one's buttocks, but you would need to be blessed with a figure such as yours for it to appeal. I imagine the average woman would look like a pillow being garroted.”

  I did not glance down at Lady Artington’s rear to gauge the effectiveness of a thong on her. I was a married dragon now. I suspected the effect would be… effective. Her dress was elegant and not particularly tight-fitting, but everything you needed to know about was there.

  Someone punched me in the ear. I glowered at Kat as we passed through the door and found an empty room. There was stuff in it, don’t get me wrong. Big desk, throne-like chair behind it. Tapestries and paintings of now-dead dudes dying on the walls in an historical fashion, and deep green curtains hung to either side of the window behind what I could only describe as the desk of someone who almost certainly worshipped she who must be blessed in triplicate.

  “That’s a lot of paperwork,” Kat muttered as she fluttered over and began pokling at the stacks.

  “Jealous?” She flipped me the bird.

  “I’d appreciate some help, if you’re willing to spare your minion.”

  I spun to find the plainly dressed, walrus-stached fellow from the waiting room shuffling in behind us. He swung the door shut behind him, and his moustache wrinkled as he smiled at us.

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  “Doris. I wondered if that was you,” Jemima said with a deep curtsey.

  “Funny name for a bloke,” I muttered.

  “The thing about magic is it’s easy to spot if you know what you’re looking for. But prosthetics and make-up… If they’re done well, no one ever notices.” The hair came off and was tossed to one side. Then the cheekbones and finally the impressive face fungus were plucked away and chucked in a pile in the corner of the room.

  “Don’t I know you?” I asked suspiciously. The real face, once revealed, was hitting a note in my memory that I couldn’t quite pin down.

  Sharp features, angular cheekbones. She plucked some rubbery stuff from her nose to reveal that it was small, almost snub. Wide nostrils, medium-sized mouth. Pretty, but unremarkable.

  “We haven’t had the pleasure. Doris De Laney, spy master to His Imperial Majesty Lozenge Madson, titles, titles, titles. So you’re the one he wants to send off to deal with the monsters. Set a thief to catch a thief, I suppose.” She pulled the tunic over her head to reveal a slim figure. The clothing was padded. Beneath it, she wore a tight-fitting jumpsuit of some sort. It looked almost futuristic to my earth sensibilities. A handful of gems glowed faintly at the shoulders and elbows.

  Her hair was straw-yellow and pulled back into a bun behind her head. It was like talking to a schoolmarm who was just a kid.

  “How old are you?” I blurted, earning a faint slap from Kat and a disappointed look from Jemima. “No offence.”

  “Some things can be deceptive without practical effects. I’m old enough. Now, this is the problem.” She produced a crystal from her pocket and put it in the centre of her desk, framed by piles of paperwork. A slender finger reached out to poke at it a couple of times, eliciting a burst of light, then she leaned back in her chair.

  The light resolved into an image. Three-dimensional and etched in glowing blue lines. After a second, it reverted to a true colour hologram. Troops. Definitely soldiers. The uniforms made up for the total lack of consistency in their physical forms. Snake-things, bird-things, mammal-monsters. They marched back and forth and manoeuvred, units breaking up into smaller forces that fought mock battles with each other.

  On closer inspection, I leaned forward and narrowed my eyes; they weren’t entirely mock. Plenty of bodies were left broken on the ground in the aftermath.

  It cut to ships in a harbour. Most were your classic multimasted sailing ships, the kind of thing to make a nostalgic Englishman proud. But mixed in amongst them were smaller, shinier vessels that poured out thick black smoke from stacks, or simply glowed weirdly as they moved against the wind.

  Troops marched onto fat galleons that were towed out of the harbour as soon as they were full.

  “It’s an army. How did you get this footage?”

  “Mages guild,” Doris said. “A scryer, an imbuer and a telepath. The imbuer imprints the image into the VDC, the crystal. The telepath links the scryer to the imbuer, so you get a perfect reproduction. Well, not perfect. People notice different things; their minds fill in the blanks of things they don’t understand. It’s generally fairly reliable.”

  “How old is it?”

  “What is it with you and age? The scry took place four days ago.”

  “The Brokebone Islands are a fortnight's sail south into the great sea. Some of their ships are slow, the troop carriers. But we are not a naval power. Fishermen, traders, and some customs ships. We would like you to have a word with them,” Jemima said.

  I glanced over at her as Kat fluttered down to the crystal and poked it to restart the show.

  “No sound?” I asked when the pixie looked up at me with a broad smile on her face.

  “Not on a government crystal. Those are expensive,” Doris complained.

  “If we gave you the budget for that, you’d bankrupt the crown!” Jemima snapped. “It is possible,” she continued, turning to me. “But for this kind of long-range scrying, audio isn’t worth it.

  “But you’re saying it’s possible?” I asked, carefully avoiding paying any attention to Greed rubbing his claws together in the back of my head.

  “Of course. Your interest in technical details speaks well of your character. Noticing the finer points is vital in a diplomat,” Doris said, nodding politely at me.

  “Have you met him?” Kat barked, and Jemima covered a smile with one hand. I ignored them both.

  “Thank you, Miss De Laney. I spend so much time around the alien and the weird; a little respect goes a long way.” I offered an equal-opportunity glare at the pixie and the beauty. “So what’s the gimmick with these Skullfucks?”

  “The Skeldrak are a polity composed of beastkin of various types. Centuries of predation for women with fox tails or raccoon ears has left a bad taste in their mouths.”

  “Oof. Pervy nobles?”

  “The arena, mostly, which I understand you are familiar with,” Doris said with a disapproving look.

  “I didn’t want to get caught up in that shit!”

  “Yeah, but you were dumb enough to try to jump in to save a dragon who belonged on the special bus. Who the hell tries to fly anywhere in Ankmapak?” Kat sneered.

  “I didn’t know she was a colony of ants short of a picnic!”

  “Why did you think they chained her wings down?” Jemima asked with what seemed like sincere confusion. The twinkle in her eyes put the lie to it.

  “Because how the hell else would you fight a dragon?” I snapped.

  “I’d just poison their prey. There are multi-phase poisons that won’t kill the game but that build up in a predator's system the more prey they eat. Hannop Leaf and Burnt Giggler can be mixed into a salt solution that, when reduced, produces an attractive salt-lick that will poison but not kill the herds and deliver a lethal dose to all the predatory species that hunt them.”

  I stared at Doris with my mouth open. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Alternatively, I might simply kill the prey species directly and force the predator into a desperate state. Then it might take a suitable bait and be ambushed by an overwhelming force while it was weak.” Doris shrugged nonchalantly.

  “You are aware I’m on your side?” I asked cautiously.

  “Of course. It’s the only reason you’re still alive. Now the idea is you and whatever allies you want to take will turn back the fleet, then go and explain politely to the furry ones that they should stay on their islands and not take revenge for hundreds of years of predation and slavery,” Doris said firmly.

  “Kat?”

  “Yep?”

  “Are we the baddies here?”

  “Of course not! Sure, there was some of what Doris says. It has never been Imperial policy, though, and anyone caught trading in intelligent species got the death penalty.”

  “Jemima, the pixie slave trade was one of the things that dragged me into this crap, and it was the thing that literally started the civil war. If I hadn’t eaten Hateskale when I took over Longbottom, it would probably still be roiling rather than boiling!”

  “That is another reason you aren’t dead yet.”

  “Threatening Bob is usually a bad idea.” Kat shrugged and poked the crystal again to restart the show.

  “Will you turn back the fleet and speak to the High Hirsute One?” Doris asked wearily.

  “Sure. I’ll get the kids to burn a few ships and send them home, then go pay them a visit myself.”

  “Take Alycia. She’s something of a legend among them and will earn you a lot of kudos,” Jemima added.

  Plans were discussed, stratagems contemplated. As I left the room, I was filled with a warm and fuzzy feeling.

  “You know what this means, Kat? Those crystals…”

  “Porn!”

  “What? Jesus, Kat. I was just going to remake Casablanca. Gonna be a movie mogul!” I cannot deny there was a spring in my step.