Chapter 8: A Prince, A Vizier, And Two Students Walk Into A Bar...

It was about noon. In a tavern by the docks, Prince Cornelius was drinking with a group of sailors who’d just come ashore while their ship was being loaded with cargo.

“Where’s it going?” he asked.

“Some dinky little place called Nilya. Way I see it, they don’t like our people, they shouldn’t get our stuff, but that’s just me.”

“I met a Nilyan once. Slew a dragon. Wanted a reward off it.”

“Did he get it?”

“No. He didn’t. And I would thank you, Cornelius, to not share intimate details of the running of this province with this riffraff,” said an attention-grabbing voice from the door. Haroun swept in, asked for a glass of wine, and looked at Cornelius as if the prince were a schoolboy who had just turned in abysmal homework.

“I wasn’t! I was telling a story! Did you know, everyone here really believes in us? They think we’re doing a great job! See, nobody thinks you’re evil! The barmaid even fancies you a little!”

“Probably saw me in that horrific rendition of The Tragedy of Vizier Achmet then. I’ll buy her a drink if she doesn’t want to hear the damned city wall line.”

“You’re Haroun Cerendra! Can you say the city wall line?” asked the barmaid as she brought the glass of wine.

“It’s as if nobody hears what I’m saying, isn’t it?”

“Sorry, he’s not in the best mood and he’s not up for any acting,” Cornelius said to the barmaid. “I can say the city wall line if you like.”

“It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Haroun, is that your daughter?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, although it’s a bit late for that. My daughter is in school.”

“Um, actually, your daughter is walking down the street right now, with a tall skinny girl.”

“What? When I sent her the letter I never thought she’d come here, I thought she just wanted to hear the story!” He ran to the door and waved at Cerisa, who immediately noticed and dragged Jaffar over to the tavern.

“Father, this is my friend Jaffar Qarida. Jaffar, this is my father, the provincial vizier of Kalispa, Haroun Cerendra.”

“I noticed,” said Jaffar. “My question is, what is he doing in this miserable excuse for an establishment of hospitality?”

“The sailors like it. I wanted honest peasant folks’ opinion on my rule,” said Cornelius from the bar.

“It’s all wrong. Fire hazards mostly. You wouldn’t want a safety inspector to condemn this place, would you?”

“What do you know about fire hazards, little girl?” asked the innkeeper. Jaffar practically shoved Haroun and Cerisa out of the way to march up to the bar.

“I grew up in an inn. A real one. That obeyed rules, and gave its customers something better than horse piss in grimy glasses. And wasn’t so cramped that nobody could get out of it in a hurry unless they were a bloody sorcerer. And didn’t have a roof that looked about to collapse. And had an innkeeper who was smart enough to not call people ‘little girls’ when they clearly aren’t.” She stepped back and stood next to Haroun, who was only slightly taller than she was.

“Well, I’m sorry, I’ve wanted to get things fixed, but I don’t have the time or the money.”

“The prince clearly likes it here. I’m sure he wants to endow you with a small sum. You know. For safety’s sake.”

“That’s a very good idea, Miss Qarida,” the prince said. “I shall tell the treasurer to have some money sent here right away.” After a short conference and picking up their drinks, Haroun and Cornelius moved from the bar  to a small table on the side of the inn, followed by the girls.

“Tell me. Has Joseph Lancelot come here again yet, your Highness?”

“Not that I know of. I’ve been out of the palace all day, and if he did come back that’s where he would have gone.”

“Well, watch out for him. He’s just the type of person a Zemetian nuisance I’ve been keeping my eye on would manipulate. Of course, if he comes back alone we’ll all be fine, but if he comes back with Zab Szerza you may be in danger.”

“Who’s Zab Szerza?”

“A Zemetian who wants to weaken the Karralandrian government so that Zemetia can take over, even though Zemetia has no interest in doing so. If he has to start by ruining a province he will.”

“So…do you think that the two of us can’t handle it and need to be rescued by students?” asked Cornelius.

“I cast no aspersions on Haroun’s capabilities. Yours, possibly. What I came here to do was warn you,” said Jaffar.

“It looks to me that Cerisa was so worried about me that she had to fly out here on tenuous cause. Why Jaffar is here, I have no idea,” Haroun said.

“There’s a rule that if you leave the city on a pass, you have to be accompanied by another student. My roommate fell sick, and none of my other friends were available.”

“Oh, yes, that rule. Well, you can stay here for a week, and I’m sure there’s work you can help me with to justify those fieldwork passes. When Joseph Lancelot and this Szerza fellow show up, we’ll make a plan as to how to deal with them.”

“Wait, what work needs doing?” asked Cornelius.

“Your birthday celebration needs to be planned, for starters. The whole palace staff, servants and clerks, teamed up to give you something, but it’s a surprise. I’ll put Cerisa in charge of the event.”

“Haroun…I hope you don’t mind if I say this, but the other one is making me a little uneasy. Can you do something about her?” asked Cornelius.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Just then, a waitress came to their table and said, “Oh! Luminaries! I see it’s our noted prince, and…are you Jaffar Qarida? All the way from Zyrim? We’re all heard incredible stories about you!”

“Incredible implies not to be believed, which most of them are. Carry on, or rather, don’t.”

“And you’re Haroun Cerendra! I remember you! You were in that play a while ago!”

“I’m also Provincial Vizier, but clearly that’s far less important than my short-lived theatrical career.”

“Someone told me Haroun Cerendra was here and I didn’t believe it but here you are! So can you say the city wall line?” He looked flustered and was about to say it when Jaffar Qarida put down her menu and glared at the waitress.

“We have no interest in being in your establishment any longer than we have to. Kindly bring us two glasses of wine, seeing as Cornelius and Haroun already have theirs. I don’t trust your cooking equipment, we’ll eat when we get back,  but even you people can’t screw up wine.”

“Can he please say the city wall line? Just once?”

“You can go to the theater and hear someone else say it any night of the week, that play’s performed often enough.”

“But it’s not him. I’ll give you your food for free if you say the city wall line.”

“It’s a good offer. You should take it,” said Cornelius.

“We should get our food for free anyway because this is the prince,” said Jaffar.

“I hadn’t thought of that. All right, you get your food for free.” She bustled away.

“Why did you torture that poor waitress over a line?” asked Cerisa.

“Did you see the look on Haroun’s face? He was clearly put out by the request! He should be known for all the wonderful things he’s done as Vizier, not for playing a famously sarcastic character.”

“I can see your new friend admires me,” Haroun said to his daughter.

“Oh, yes. You were all she would talk about on the way here.” Wisely, Cerisa didn’t mention what Jaffar had said.

In a few minutes, two things happened simultaneously: the drinks arriving, and a Watchman bursting in the front door.

“Your Highness!” he said. “Men are standing in the road! Like statues! They refuse to move!”

“That’d be because they can’t,” said Jaffar, smirking. “Immobility spell. Won’t harm them, they just can’t move for three days.”

“But…they can’t eat, surely that will kill them?”

“No,” said Haroun. “It suspends all their processes, not just moving. They won’t need to eat. I must ask, Jaffar, why have you immobilized these men?”

“They were bandits, and were about to steal our possessions and sell us into slavery.”

“In that case, I commend you. To you, Constable, I recommend doing something to move the men off the road until they wake up.”

“Moving them? Why not just have Jaffar take the spell off?”

“I see no reason why marauding bandits should be coddled. I do however see a reason why obstacles should be removed from the King’s Road.” The King’s Road was the name for the road that connected all the provinces with Zyrim and with each other.

“But these are people. We don’t want a reputation for treating them inhumanely,” said Cornelius.

“I’m Jaffar effing Qarida. My reputation can’t get any worse. All you have to do is disclaim me, and nothing happens to your own precious image.”

“She does have a point there,” said Cerisa.

“Your reputation precedes you, Miss Qarida, and perhaps not as negatively as you think. There was an article about you in the Viziers’ Academy alumni newsletter.”

“People read that thing? Listen, I couldn’t respect Headmaster Zabandrasi more as a teacher, but his writing skills do tend towards the unattractively prosaic.”

“He tells you what you need to know, and then stops. That’s admirable. It’s what a simple document about school goings-on needs.”

“I want to agree with you, but I have Khadrasi poets in my ancestry.”

“Wait, wait, wait, you’re Khadrasi?” asked Cerisa. Eastern Karralandria was mainly taken up by the Khadras Desert, and its nomads, the Khadrasi. You could ask three Karralandrian city-dwellers what they thought of the Khadrasi and get five different answers. As much respect as some city-dwellers had for the maintenance of tradition and the people who helped found the country, there was an undercurrent of thinking they weren’t quite civilized. Not that anyone would say that to a Khadrasi’s face.

“I’m Zyrimi, Cerendra. You can’t be Khadrasi unless you’ve actually lived out there. I’ve hardly even ridden camels. But yes, the Qarida family, decades ago, settled down in the city. Didn’t take us long to become successful.”

“Do your people really have the law that says anyone has to be given hospitality for three days, even if you don’t know who they are and they could be your enemy?”

“My people give hospitality to anyone who pays, Cornelius. The Khadrasi believe in the three days, but the Qaridas? If you have enough gold pieces, you’re welcome to stay a month, and if you don’t, you get tossed out on your arse.”

“I was only asking because my ancestors took inspiration from that. Anyone who asks can stay in the palace for three days.”

“Anyone? So we don’t have a reason to turn Zab Szerza out?”

“No. And, um, have you ever heard of Haroun’s vow to not remarry unless he finds a woman who has done Kalispa a great service?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“And how it was sworn in the presence of the king of the jinni?”

“Yes.”

“Apparently, one of my ancestors swore the three days’ hospitality the same way.”

“That means we don’t screw with it,” said Haroun. “Zehnab Ascenzi did. You don’t want to know what happened to Zehnab Ascenzi.”

“He means it,” said Cornelius, nodding.

“Odds are, Jaffar does,” said Cerisa. “You can tell her later, Father. I want no part of it.”

“…Do you?” Haroun asked.

“It involves a dead princess? Why not?”

“Nobody else would have given that answer, Miss Qarida,” said Haroun. “Ah well. It gives me a reason to tell stories.”

“I thought you came from elsewhere. How do you know so much about Kalispa and the Ascenzi family?” asked Jaffar.

“I’ve been here for twenty years. It was enough. Enough to research, enough to see Zehnab Ascenzi die her horrible death…you know, Limizzia never cared for Zehnab, but I didn’t know it was because she was foolhardy and inhospitable.”

“Who was Limizzia?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Limizzia was my wife, Cerisa’s mother. We lived in the same small town. She was orphaned and taken in by a dragon. Many tried to rescue her, but she thought of the dragon as her mother and fought alongside the dragon to keep the knights away. She chose me because I respected the dragon. Sadly, soon after we were married, a dragon slayer who hadn’t heard the news slew the dragon. That’s why I was skeptical of Joseph Lancelot in the first place. I don’t particularly like dragon slayers.”

“So…dragon slayers killed your mother-in-law. Dragon slayers killed my dearest companion. And we’re letting a dragon slayer come back?”

“We have to,” said Cornelius dejectedly.

“Wait, wait, wait. There’s always ways around those things. Do guests have to respect each other?”

“Yes, Jaffar,” sighed Haroun. “Any trouble between guests has to be mediated by Ascenzi or other residents of the palace.”

“You know what my father used to do when a customer was being a horrible pain? He’d stick them in Room 13. It faced the privies. If you opened the window, the most awful smell would flood in. If you didn’t open the window, the room would be terribly stuffy. And nobody knew that my father didn’t give Room 13 to anyone unless he was angry. Because if there were simply no other rooms available, but someone was nice, he would turn them away rather than put them in Room 13. Do you have a Room 13?”

“Our room with that number is very nice, but we do have unpleasant rooms. And it wouldn’t violate the letter of the vow.”

“I need Haroun too much to let him risk one of the strictest punishments in the realm.”

“You don’t need me, your Highness,” said Jaffar.

“You’d put yourself in harm’s way?”

“They’re jinni. They can be reasoned with. It’s not like there’s some unthinking curse whose caster is long dead.”

“They didn’t see fit to personally visit Zehnab,” said Cornelius.

“Actually, they did. In very unpleasant ways. But she flat-out refused hospitality to someone who had not even proved to be an enemy. We can quibble the technicalities provided we give ourselves some technicalities to quibble in the first place.”

“I have an idea,” said Cerisa.

“What is it?”

“We organize a festival. We invite family, friends, notables of Kalispa…and we give them all rooms, until only one, very bad, room is left for Zab Szerza. Joseph Lancelot can get a decent room. Not a good one, but still a decent one.”

“Yes! A festival! For Cornelius’ birthday! And the servants and clerks can put on their play for a real audience,” said Haroun.

“Exactly! And then when Zab Szerza shows up, and we have to give him a bad room, nobody can fault us, because he’s still getting a room, for one, and for another we have no other place to put him!”

“Are you sure you sent her to Viziers' Academy, and not to finishing school by mistake?" Cornelius asked Haroun.

“Well, look how…unfinished…she is,” said Cerisa, pointing to Jaffar. “Trust me, he sent me to Viziers’ Academy. Which says that you have to do whatever you think will work to solve the problem. And if throwing a party will work, then we throw a party.”

“Do we even have good recipes? The cooks haven’t cooked for anyone but the staff and the two of us since Cerisa went off to school.”

“I’ll make Mother’s baklava,” said Cerisa.

“I completely forgot we still had her recipe.”

“Oh, speaking of pastry,” said Jaffar, while pulling the bag of pastry out of her tote bag, “I bought some cream puffs. Here.” She gave one to Haroun and took one herself.

“Oh, and something for you,” she said, giving a piece of baklava to Cornelius.

“It won’t be as good as Limizzia’s,” said Haroun.

“I haven’t had Limizzia’s in thirteen years,” said Cornelius. “I’m sure I won’t know.”

“Don’t tell me you made a vow to not eat baklava until you find some as good as Limizzia’s,” said Jaffar. “If I hear one more vow around this place, I’ll make a vow to kill the next person I see who has a damn vow!”

“But if you have to kill a person with a vow, and you have a vow, wouldn’t you have to kill yourself?”

“Shut up Cerisa.”

“For the record, I have no vows relating to pastry,” said Haroun. “But can you contribute any recipes?”

“I mostly make desserts. I mean, my fried eel is quite good, but other than that, I make desserts.”

“Our cooks can cook everything but desserts, so that works,” said Cornelius. “I have to say, I’ve never had a festival this big for my birthday. Especially not as an elaborate coverup to protect me from a spy.”

“He’s not a real spy. He’s loyal to the old Emperor. The nutter who wanted to take over Karralandria,” said Cerisa.

“By my calculations, Zab Szerza would have been five when that Emperor died,” said Jaffar. “He just wants a cause, and picked a stupid one.”