Hardacre
was tidying away the shoes in the hall when the letters came. It had been an
unusually wet February and there had been a succession of visitors with muddy
boots that had traipsed in and out of the house. There had been many meetings in the house and
far too many people to cater for and accommodate. At the end of it, though, they had finally
been able to say goodbye to Owen, who had patched everything up as best he
could, and was eager to get home. Celia
had gone to recuperate in Neman; she had been very quiet after her confrontation
with Kratos. She was physically and emotionally exhausted.
The sharp rap at the door had been very
formal and the messenger was clearly a member of the (extremely small)
Amanskian consulate. The official insisted that he would only give the letter
that he carried personally to Mr Ismay and so there had been a long wait while
he was found. Hardacre found a chair for the messenger to sit on, but placed it
in the hall as close to the front door as possible, just on a point of
principle. He did, however, make him several cups of tea.
Eventually his master was found, Hardacre
tipped the messenger generously for his trouble and then John took the letter
into the study. Hardacre followed him.
John dropped the letter down onto his desk
and then sat down in his arm chair.
‘I wonder why the Praefectus is writing to me,
again?’ he asked. Hardacre said
nothing. .
He signalled to Hardacre that he should open
the letter and read it out to him.
‘It’s not from Lord Arnon, sir’ said
Hardacre, warily, ‘it’s from Princess Lily’
‘Really’ said John, grinning, ‘that’s a lot
more interesting’
Hardacre sighed softly and began to read out
the letter.
Dear
Councillor Ismay,
My
father wanted me to write you a letter to apologise for the trouble that I have
given to you and all your colleagues (particularly Mr Hardacre). I fully
realise the extraordinary danger that I have put myself in. In addition, I
apologise unreservedly for any inappropriate or unladylike behaviour during the
time in your company and in the company of your esteemed colleagues,
particularly Mr Hardacre, who saved my life on several occasions.
I
cannot conceive of what might have made me behave in the way that I did and of
course no explanation can in any way defend my extraordinary actions.
‘I
don’t think Lily actually wrote this…’ laughed John, ‘I think that’s more Victoria’s
style’
‘Sir…’ exclaimed Hardacre, sternly, ‘may I
continue? The day is dragging on…’
He didn’t wait for his master to answer.
In
addition, I know that I put the lives of others at risk and imperilled many
deep stratagems. I can only state again that I am truly sorry for my actions
and hope that you find some room in your heart to discover some forgiveness for
me.
Yours
most sincerely and humbly,
Princess
Lily of Amansk
Hardacre read the letter out and then
turned the envelope upside down and shook it. A slip of paper fell out on to
the table.
Hardacre read out this second message, with
an ostentatious display of reluctance.
Hello
John,
I
was able to slip this in at the last moment when my father wasn’t looking. I
want more than anything else to be a witch, like you and Celia and Laurence and
Kathleen. I’m sixteen now and so old enough to be an apprentice (as a plumber
or a builder or something like that) so why can’t I be an apprentice witch, like
we pretended that I was when we fought the sky monsters? Of course, my father
wouldn’t approve so I’d have to run away and so on, but I’m willing to do that
if someone would teach me. I was thinking that I wanted to be a mage, but being
a witch seems a lot more exciting.
Can
you send me a secret letter back telling me what to do? Please!
Lots
of Love,
Lil
John
smiled broadly as Hardacre put down the letter.
‘You’ve got to admire her spirit, eh,
Laurence?’
Hardacre frowned slightly. He remembered all
of the trouble that the young woman had caused him.
‘She’s wonderful, sir, I’m sure, but, if I
may venture an opinion, I think that perhaps she is a little bit unpredictable’
John
looked disappointed.
‘Well, I suppose so, if you’re being entirely
logical…’
‘And we can’t possibly countenance advising a
princess of a sovereign state to abscond…’
John’s face had turned sour. He shook his
head, mildly aggrieved.
‘Did I say that we should?’ he snapped, ‘I
was just saying that she had spirit’
‘Good, sir. I’m sorry if momentarily I
worried that you might be about to do something questionably sensible…’
Hardacre began to tidy the envelope away,
along with some other discarded correspondence. John half-heartedly moved
forward to help him.
‘But’ said John, ‘you can’t deny that she
would probably make a better witch than a princess’
Hardacre held the papers in his hand and
looked towards the door, nodding to indicate that he would like to leave the
room, not that he agreed with John’s last remark.
‘I don’t think that question is a very
helpful one, sir. I think it is entirely hypothetical and I hope that its
potentiation will never occur’
John said nothing more. A slow smile was returning to his face.
‘Umm, shall I destroy the letters now, sir,
or would you like me to archive them?’
‘You
can destroy them, but perhaps make a note of their contents for the record’
‘Of course, sir, as always’
Hardacre bundled up the letters with the
envelopes and prepared to take them to the boiler room, where he could
incinerate them. He waited for a second, though, looking thoughtfully at his
master.
‘Thank you, Laurence, I appreciate your help’
Hardacre nodded.
‘And the note from Princess Lily that you
have put in your pocket, sir, can I assume that that is to be archived?’
John’s smile disappeared again.
‘I think that counts as a private letter,
Laurence, and I think that I’ll keep it. I am very fond of Lily, and I’d very
much like to see her happy’
Hardacre’s look hardened. He shook his head.
‘That’s not our business, sir, and any
attempt to make a wilful princess of an alien power happy is likely to end
badly, I would say...’
John stomped out of the room muttering, ‘I
know, I know…’
That seemed to be the end of the
conversation, but Hardacre hoped that common sense would prevail. Everyone had
to do some jobs that they didn’t like and, as importantly, what on earth did Mr
Ismay know about what might make a sixteen year old girl happy? Hardacre was
fairly sure that Lily was the only young adult, of either sex, that John knew.
Hardacre waited for a moment, to give John
enough time to get away from where he would be walking, and then he made his
way to the side door next to the kitchen. He opened the door and stepped
outside. The sun was watery but it was surprisingly balmy – it seemed that
spring was just around the corner. He must make time to attend to the garden;
it was looking rather neglected. Maybe
there would be a period of quiet now? It seemed unlikely, but who could tell?
Two weeks in the garden would transform it.
The boiler room stood in a little hut just
outside the kitchen. An impressive array of pipes grew from it to provide hot
water to all parts of the house. He unlatched the wooden door and stepped
inside. He never liked to stay here too long – it was uncomfortably hot. He put on a pair of sturdy gloves and then
slid back the plate that gave access to the furnace. He dropped the letters and envelopes into the
fire.
He watched until the letters burnt up into
ash and then he finally returned to the kitchen. Supper was going to be very late.
He took off his gloves, lifted a saucepan from its shelf, filled it with water,
and put it on the stove.
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