subject, it was better to take a small defeat than risk losing the confidence of the queen. Two people entered the throne room and bowed very low before the monarch. She acknowledged their presence and waved them away as if she were wafting cool air on her hot brow. The two went off into one corner to speak quietly with each other. They were rich and powerful personages, these two. One was short and muscular, with a broad face and high forehead. Her name was Qintara and she was the Lady of the Ladders. The other was tall and thin, with a narrow nose, a small mouth and a generally pinched look about him. His eyes were piercing and glinted like flints. He surveyed the room as the other talked in a low voice. This was Maldrake, Lord of the Locks. Both Qintara and Maldrake belonged to Chancellor Humbold, of course. They were his creatures. There were many taxes on the citizens of Zamerkand, which kept its residents safe from raiders and other warring states, and gave them their secure trading canal to the sea. They paid dearly for their protection. There was a tax on steps and stairs, collected by the Lady of the Ladders. It was she who assessed how many steps went to a citizens room, or trading place, or house. If you lived above the stench of the dung-covered streets, in a high tower, then you had to be able to afford it. There was a tax on locks, collected by the Lord of the Locks. The larger and more complex the lock, the more a person had to protect, and therefore the more tax he could afford to pay. There were in turn, a Keeper of the Chimneys; the Lady of the Sewers; the Lady of the Doors; Keeper of all Gates; and so on. The same principles of tax applied to all: those who could afford conveniences could afford to pay tax. Controlling much of this wealth was the devious Humbold, who had over the years managed to fill most of the posts in the city with sycophants, and so took a percentage of all taxes paid to the queen. There were not many who resisted Humbold now. Frinstin had been one of them, but he was the least powerful, the least important of them all. Marshal Crushkite, Warlord of the Guthrum Army, was one who hated and opposed Chancellor Humbold whenever he got the chance. The standing army of Guthrum the Carthagan mercenaries aside - was not large, but it was well-armed and very loyal to its officers. Humbold had to fawn in front of its senior officers, especially Crushkite, and he loathed them all. The marshal strode into the throne room now, tall and aristocratic, a thoroughly military bearing, his head a shock of lion-mane hair, his expression disdainful, his manner arrogant. He crossed to the queen and gave her a sharp bow. The queen smiled. Crushkite, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted and handsome in his fiftieth year, was one of her favourites. The fact that he had the brain of an ass had always escaped the queens notice. Not so that of Humbold. It was his one source of comfort. Marshal Crushkite, murmured Humbold, as the warlord passed him by, you have heard of this stranger we have in our midst. He calls himself Soldier. Dont you think thats rather impertinent, since he belongs to no army? Crushkite turned his baleful eyes on the man he considered to be lower than worms. A man whos been a soldier is always a soldier, Humbug, dontcha know that? Training, discipline, loyalty to a regiment they never leave a man. Ive seen im. Might have to execute him, but thats neither here nor there, hes got a fine, straight figure. Spine like a spear. Not like you limp daffodils whove never marched anywhere except to your wardrobes. Got a battle-look in his eye, too. Officer material if ever I saw it. Captain Kaff doesnt seem to think so, Humbold offered, craftily, attempting to drive in wedges. Captain Kaff doesnt have to agree with my opinion in private matters: he simply has to obey orders in military matters. Good day to you, Humbug. Humbug! The chancellor bristled as he smiled. Humbug! Crushkite was not Humbolds only
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