IP: 82.14.67.140
Posted on June 13, 2013 at 09:39:08 PM by victoria bolton-zabala
Warning: this post contains language inappropriate for younger or more sensitive readers.
| “London,” she replied cheerfully to the prince. “Mum was a Londoner, dad was a Madrilene. I was raised by my mum in England, so I don’t have a Spanish accent at all. Not even when I speak Spanish, apparently.” To the disgust of her bosses.
How much of that he would actually understand, she quickly realised she didn’t know. King Arthur was from Earth originally (obviously), albeit Earth about a thousand years ago, but as far as the intel file knew his son had never set foot there. Came down to whether the king thought Earth geography was an important lesson for his heir, she supposed. She didn’t want to insult Tristan by providing explanations for simple words just in case he did know what they meant, so she left it at that. He could ask if he was confused, or his dad could tell him after the meeting was over. She laughed out loud at Arthur’s first comment. “I’m no ambassador, Your Majesty. I’m just a priestess who got shunted your way because of political manoeuvring on the part of higher powers.” Victoria reckoned he knew a thing or two about that. She smiled slyly, gave him a knowing look and sat back in her chair to listen to what he had to say. None of it came as any surprise. The Church hadn’t been able to attain the information about exactly what had gone down between Arthur and the Aurans, bar the fact that the Aurans hadn’t gotten their demigod, but this seemed like a pretty standard political proposal. Diplomatic, but pointless. They both knew that the Church could fudge the credentials all they liked, and with the limited technological resources of this planet Arthur would have little way of telling if a document had been faked. Surely he didn’t intend to put every document to Mallos to test, either. Unless he had a fairy in his service with some kind of power to detect untruths, that wasn’t going to do much except give him a fall-back in case something happened. The king had something else up his sleeve. “Hello, cynical,” she obliged when the king asked her to call him such, and mirrored his movements by leaning in and smiling. “Do you mean me or the Church? With me, on the selfish level, I’d really love not to lose my job. I’d really, really love not to lose my job. When they inevitably write to you and ask you how it went, it’d be nice for you to say we had amicable relations. And, I figured, the best chance of getting you to say that would be if we actually did have amicable relations.” She tapped her forehead with a finger lightly, as if to say, ha, see, logic! The smile remained in place, but took on a more sombre shape as she continued. “In all seriousness, Your Majesty, I am loyal to my God and not my Church, and I understand the difference between the two. Mallos didn’t tell me what he wanted me to do – he never does – but I figure that he put me in my job for a reason, and I don’t reckon that reason was to support some self-centred puffed-up aristocrat over his family.” She leant back slightly and took a sip of the wine, before realising belatedly what she’d said and to whom. The wine caught in her throat, and she was forced, coughing, to set the goblet down. “I mean my superior, who is… superior to me, and not remotely overweight.” Smooth. Victoria regained her composure and continued. “As for the Church, they honestly just want to stick one to the Aurans for many lengthy, political reasons I can go into if you require me to, or you can just take my word for it.” She shrugged. “Whatever else they might want, they’re not going to even try to get it while Mallos is around. So unless he gets ravaged by crocodiles any time soon, you’re pretty safe. Maybe try and keep Shaman crocodile-free.” Her eyes glinted with amusement and she lifted the goblet to her lips. “If the Church does anything which you don’t like, please, please do tell him. Work is so much more enjoyable when he’s around putting those pompous – putting my bosses in their place. “Auran Church, hmm. Off the top of my head – much more centralised than us, with the high controlling powers based in London. Similar sort of set-up to us, otherwise: four prophets at the top, and an inner circle of High Priests below them. The First and Second Prophets are married – Lord and Lady Dahshoor. You’re not likely to meet Lord Dahshoor, he doesn’t do much except sit in his estate counting his money. His wife is tricky, though, so you might want to watch her. The Third Prophet is Sir Buckley, and the Fourth Prophet is Sir Carter.” She swirled the wine and frowned at it. “Buckley is the most likeable, I guess, but I wouldn’t want to party with any of them. I’ll tell you what,” she set the goblet down and met the king’s eyes. “Instead of relying on my memory, how about I just forward you copies of our intelligence files, and whatever other reports we might have at the moment monitoring their activity?” |
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