The Eye of Zoltar (23 page)

The Princess chuckled.

‘You won’t have to. Let me explain: since handmaidens are quite valuable out here Gripper didn’t have the cash to pay Curtis outright, and Curtis didn’t trust that Gripper would send him the money he owed, so I suggested I float myself on the Llangurig Stock Exchange.’

‘You did
what
?’ asked Perkins.

‘Floated myself. It’s very simple. If you consider that I have a value doing handmaideny things, then I could incorporate myself as a company named “Laura Scrubb (Handmaiden) Ltd”. I could then sell – or
float
– myself to buyers with the value split into one hundred shares. If you bought ten shares in Laura Scrubb (Handmaiden) Ltd, I would give ten per cent of my sixty-hour working week to you, or six hours.’

‘Wouldn’t just selling your time on an hourly basis work better?’ I asked.

‘This is much better,’ said the Princess with a grin, ‘because those Laura Scrubb (Handmaiden) Ltd shares are
tradable
. Gripper had a sixty per cent share but Curtis retained thirty per cent, which he immediately sold for seventy plotniks a share. Not a great price, but for an unknown commodity – me – it was the best price he could get.’

‘So then what happened?’

‘Okay, so to raise the value of Laura Scrubb (Handmaiden) stock I spent two hours being useful – making beds, walking dogs, washing up, polishing shoes, that sort of thing – and pretty soon everyone wanted a piece of Laura Scrubb to do their menial tasks for them and I was trading at two hundred plotniks a share. So the value of Laura Scrub (Handmaiden) Ltd went from seventy plotniks at flotation to two hundred a share in just two hours. Are you following me so far?’

‘Kind of. So … Gripper’s shareholding is now worth almost three times what he paid for it?’

‘That’s pretty much it. Okay, now this is where it gets good. See that woman behind the bar?’

We turned to see a kindly-looking woman with long black hair and a red face. She was chatting with another customer.

‘Yes?’

‘That’s Madge Ryerson. She’s a lovely lady but the worst gossip imaginable. Whisper something to her and it’s all around town in a matter of minutes. I
suggested
to her that I do ironing as part of my handmaiden duties.’

‘No one likes ironing,’ said Wilson. ‘Out here, a well-ironed shirt is hugely prestigious.’

‘
Exactly
,’ said the Princess. ‘Within twenty minutes Laura Scrubb (Handmaiden) Ltd was trading at almost a thousand plotniks a share. In fact, shares in the Cambrian Railway Company
fell
as people sold those shares to buy into Laura Scrubb. And those that couldn’t buy shares bought options to buy shares if they became available. I had Madge put it about that I can make a cracking apple and blackberry crumble and an hour later, shares in Laura Scrubb had peaked at three and a half thousand plotniks a share – the highest climb ever recorded on the Llangurig Stock Exchange.’

‘But listen,’ I said as the sandwiches arrived, ‘you don’t know the first thing about ironing. Hardly anyone does. The Guild of Master Ironers keep that secret arcane knowledge well guarded.’

‘I know, so this is the clever bit, and you have to pay attention. I kept ten per cent of myself as payment for setting up Laura Scrubb (Handmaiden) Ltd, and at that peak value, my ten shares were worth
thirty-five thousand plotniks
, and I then sold them.’

‘Wouldn’t people get worried you were selling all your own shares?’ asked Wilson. ‘I mean, it’s a bit suspicious, don’t you think?’

‘Good point,’ said the Princess, ‘so I set up a series of bogus companies so no one would know. I had the butcher’s boy and the blacksmith’s apprentice sell my shares for me a few minutes before trading ended. Then, the next morning – this morning, in fact – I denied I knew anything about ironing or apple and blackberry crumble, then put it about that I was going down with the mumps and would be unable to work for a month.’

‘In order to lower the value of your shares?’ I asked.

‘Bingo. By ten o’clock, the share price at Laura Scrubb (Handmaiden) Ltd had bottomed out at one plotnik a share, and I then used the profit I gained last night to buy back all the shares. Once everyone had been paid off – Madge, the butcher’s boy, a few dodgy accountants and several ratings agencies I omitted to tell you about for simplicity – I was twenty thousand better off and Laura Scrubb is a free woman. Admittedly,’ she concluded, ‘I lost half the profit on my ill-conceived goat commodities speculation. But I’m still flush – the sandwiches are on me!’

We all fell silent for a moment, musing on how basic the stock market seemed, and how easily it could be manipulated for gain.

‘You like economics, don’t you?’ I asked.

‘Everyone should know the basics,’ said the Princess. ‘Lasting peace will only be brought about through economic means – we should be trading with the Trolls rather than fighting them.’

‘Good luck with that one,’ I said, knowing how humans and Trolls like to fight to the death at every opportunity. ‘But listen, Laura, wasn’t any of that trading a teensy-weensy bit illegal? I mean, Gripper O’Rourke lost almost everything he put in, and all those people who bought shares in you are now out of pocket.’

‘That’s the stock market, buster,’ she replied cheerfully, ‘win some, lose some. Yes, maybe it was technically a
bit
illegal, but who’s going to find out? By the time they realise they’ve been ripped off I’ll be long gone. The Llanguriganeans are all a bunch of unsophisticated dullards who wouldn’t know an illegal stock market manipulation if it fell on them.’

‘Laura Scrubb?’ said a man in a tweed suit who had just approached our table.

‘Yes?’

‘My name is Brian Lloyd. I work for the Llangurig Financial Services Commission. I have to inform you that all trading in Laura Scrubb (Handmaiden) Ltd has been suspended, and we are arresting you for eighteen counts of illegal manipulation of the stock market, nine counts of fraudulent accounting and six of misrepresentation and corporate fraud.’

‘That’s an
outrageous
suggestion,’ said the Princess haughtily, ‘but since I have neither the time nor the inclination to defend your clearly bogus charges, I’ll be more than happy to deal with this here and now – shall we say two thousand, cash?’

‘And one count of attempting to bribe a public official.’

‘Whoops,’ said the Princess as a constable snapped some handcuffs on her.

‘Dear oh dear,’ said Mr Lloyd, shaking his head sadly, ‘you must think we’re all a bunch of unsophisticated dullards who wouldn’t know an illegal stock market manipulation if it fell on them.’

The Princess put on a good show of looking shocked and surprised.

‘The thought … never crossed my mind.’

‘Sure it didn’t,’ said Mr Lloyd. ‘You rogue traders are all the same. You think it’s just business and not stealing. It is. Constables? Take her away.’

‘Here, Jennifer,’ said the Princess, handing me the remains of her ill-gotten gains and an envelope stuffed with share certificates, ‘better try and get me a good lawyer, a bent lawyer, or failing that, any lawyer. Oh, and buy Trans-Wales stock when it drops below one-twenty plotniks a share; if goats go above half a plotnik a head, sell the lot.’

The two constables took the Princess by the elbows and marched her swiftly to the door. I jumped to my feet and followed them outside.

‘What’s going to happen to her?’ I asked as we crossed the street to the law courts, which also doubled up as the bakery, named, appropriately enough, All Rise.

‘This is a railway town, so she’ll be tried using the fast-track method,’ replied Mr Lloyd. ‘The trial will begin after the 18.24 ceasefire but before the railway militia night raiding parties begin at 20.15. She’ll be found guilty, of course, and will receive the penalty demanded by the law.’

‘Which is?’

Mr Lloyd turned and stared at me.

‘For a first offence, execution.’

‘Execution?’ I echoed. ‘Isn’t that a
little
severe?’

‘If we didn’t execute bankers and rogue traders found guilty of financial mischief, it might give them a clear signal that it’s actually okay, and then where would we be?’

‘The judge may show mercy,’ I said.

‘I doubt it,’ said Mr Lloyd with something of a cruel smile. ‘Judge “Gripper” O’Rourke has taken a
special
interest in this case.’

‘Oh dear,’ I said, then added: ‘Sir, I wonder if you could direct me to the best lawyer in the town?’

‘We only have one lawyer in the town, miss, and it’s me. I will also be prosecuting this case. You may engage me if you wish to conduct the defence as well – I will make every endeavour to be just and fair.’

‘I’m not sure that’s allowed,’ I replied.

‘Me neither,’ said Mr Lloyd, ‘but it saves a lot of time. Oh, and in case you’re thinking of bringing in a lawyer from elsewhere, only Llangurig lawyers can speak at Llangurig trials. Good day, miss.’

And with a tip of his hat, he was gone. I returned to where the others were sitting.

‘She’s going to be executed,’ I said gloomily, ‘tonight, and there’s not a lawyer to be found in town. We must rescue her.’

‘She did break the law,’ said Addie. ‘What do you think they should have done? Given her a bonus for her daring and ingenuity?’

I took a deep breath. It was time to tell them who she was.

‘No, it’s just that, to be honest, she’s not Laura Scrubb at all. She’s actually Princess Shazine, the heir apparent to the Kingdom of Snodd, and I swore to her mother the Queen I’d look after her.’

There was a shocked silence from Addie and Wilson. Wilson said that he doubted this very much as Laura’s teeth, nails and skin complaints were hardly princessy, so I told him all about the King and the Queen wanting me to educate the Princess, and how Queen Mimosa used the Sister Organza mind switcheroo to do it.

‘Any more surprises?’ asked Addie sullenly. ‘Another two dozen rubber Dragons or a few wizards or spells or you’re actually Princess Tharvina in disguise or something?’

‘No,’ I said after thinking hard, ‘you’ve got the lot.’

‘We’ll just tell the judge she’s a princess,’ said Wilson. ‘They’re not going to execute royalty. Not even Tharv does that, and he’s as mad as a barrel of skunks.’

‘Who will believe us?’ said Perkins. ‘She’s in Laura Scrubb’s body right now so we can’t prove it’s
not
Laura – and she did
say
she was Laura.’

‘We could contact King Snodd,’ suggested Wilson.

‘With what?’ I said. ‘There are no public cross-border phone lines and my conch and last homing snail are in the half-track.’

We lapsed into silence, our appetites lost owing to recent events.

‘Okay,’ I said, taking out the cash that the Princess had handed me, ‘I don’t know how we’re going to rescue her, but rescue her we will. I need ideas. Here.’

I divided the money equally between Wilson, charged to see whether there was anyone to bribe to postpone the trial, and Addie, charged with finding some transport.

‘Transport to where?’ she asked, since there was still some doubt as to whether our search was continuing, or whether we were going to head into Cambrianopolis to bargain for Boo’s return.

‘I’m not sure,’ I said, realising that I first needed to find Able Quizzler. ‘Just get me some wheels and I’ll let you know.’

Wilson and Addie left the pub, leaving Perkins and myself at the table. I beckoned the barmaid over and asked whether she knew where I could find Able Quizzler.

‘Able?’ she said. ‘Are you friends of his?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you can pay his unpaid bar bill.’

‘More colleagues actually,’ I added quickly. ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘That I do,’ she said. ‘In fact, I can tell you
precisely
where he is right now.’

‘A man of habit?’ asked Perkins.

‘
Very
fixed in his ways,’ said the barmaid. ‘You’ll find him in the cemetery.’

‘A gravedigger, is he?’

‘No, he’s dead – and has been these past six years.’

Llangurig’s cemetery was on the north side of the town. It was a dismal place, the grass patchy and the stones streak-stained by the rain. Even the fresh flowers on the graves looked tired, the clouds dark, the wind chill. Row upon row of headstones charted the history of Llangurig’s railway conflict from the very first death in 1862 to the most recent, only forty-seven minutes previously. That latest addition was already buried owing to a hyper-efficient funeral service that could have someone in the ground before they were even cold. Ten graves had been dug in readiness for the inevitable casualties that evening, and with eight thousand inhabitants, the occupants of the cemetery outnumbered the Llangurig living five to one, and it was twice the size of the town itself.

‘This is grim,’ said Perkins as we walked past the headstones, each commemorating a young man or woman’s life not lived.

‘The loss seems more when you see them laid out like this,’ I said.

‘It doesn’t make much sense,’ added Perkins as we walked along. ‘If Quizzler had died, wouldn’t Kevin have foreseen it?’

‘Kevin doesn’t see
everything
,’ I replied, ‘but I agree it’s annoying. We’ll find out what we can, grab the Princess and get out of town. Without any evidence about the Eye of Zoltar, we’re not going any farther.’

Perkins hailed a passing gravedigger. His clothes were worn but respectable, his hands looked as though they were made of leather, and his shovel had been worn shiny by constant use. The gravedigger introduced himself as something that sounded like ‘Dirk’, and Perkins explained who we were looking for.

‘Kin?’ asked Dirk, staring at the pair of us suspiciously.

‘A distant cousin,’ I said, ‘on my mother’s side.’

‘Ar,’ said the gravedigger, ‘follow I.’

The gravedigger led us past hundreds of headstones carved with a name, the date and a short epitaph in a typically railwayese style. They ranged from the direct ‘Ran out of steam’ or ‘Hit the buffers’ to the more poetic ‘Shunted to a quiet corner of the yard’ and ‘Withdrawn from service’.