The Chancellor started to say something, then shrugged and started for the door.
“Oh, Grimble,” I called. “Something you might keep in mind. I heard a rumor that the Great Skeeve has recently been disguising himself as me for an occasional prank. Like as not the scamp is parading around somewhere with the royal features on his face. That tidbit alone should help you locate him.”
“Thank you, your Majesty,” the Chancellor responded glumly, reminded now of the shape-changing abilities of his supposed quarry.
I wasn’t sure, but I thought General Badaxe was stifling a laugh somewhere in the depths of his beard as his rival trudged out.
“How about you, General? Do you think your men could assist in passing word of my royal summons to the Great Skeeve?”
“That won’t be necessary, your Majesty.”
With sudden seriousness he approached me, laid a hand on my shoulder, and stared into my eyes.
“Lord Magician,” he said, “the King would like to see you.”
Chapter Seven:
“There is no counter for a spirited woman except spirited drink.”
– R. BUTLER
“YOU’VE known for some time that I’m a fighting man. What you don’t seem to realize is what that implies.”
We were sitting over wine now, in a much more relaxed conversation than when I had been pretending to be King Rodrick.
“Fighting men recognize people as much by movement and mannerism as they do by facial feature. It’s a professional habit. Now, you had the appearance and voice of the King, but your carriage and gestures were that of the Great Skeeve, not Rodrick the Fifth.”