“I’ve been meaning to ask, does anyone know the current whereabouts of our Court Magician?”
Grimble’s smile disappeared like water on a hot skillet.
“He’s … gone, your Majesty.”
“What? Out on another of his madcap adventures?”
The Chancellor averted his eyes.
“No, I mean, he’s . . . gone. Tendered his resignation and left.”
“Tendered his resignation to whom?” I pressed. “On whose authority has he quit his post during this, my darkest hour?”
“Ahh … mine, your Majesty.”
“What was that, Grimble? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
“Mine. I told him he could go.”
Grimble was sweating visibly now, which was fine by me. In fact, an idea was beginning to form in my mind.
“Hmm . . . knowing you, Lord Chancellor, I would suspect money is behind the Great Skeeve’s sudden departure.”
“In a way,” Grimble evaded, “you might say that.”
“Well, it won’t do,” I said firmly. “I want him back . . . and before this accursed marriage. What’s more, since you approved his departure, I’m holding you personally responsible for his return.”
“But your Majesty! I wouldn’t know where to start looking. He could be anywhere by now.”
“He can’t have gone far,” Badaxe volunteered casually. “His dragon and unicorn are still in the Royal Stables.”
“They are?” the Chancellor blinked.
“Yes,” the General smiled, “as you might know if you ever set foot outside your counting house.”
“See, Grimble,” I said. “The task I set before you should be easy for a man of your resources. Now off with you. The longer you tarry here, the longer it will be before you find our wayward magician.”