 but if you have what it takes to return to where all the world knows your name,
then que sera, let's go sailing on
As he pushed open the door and stood back, allowing Morgana to go through first, Mallos expanded his mind outwards. The art of telepathy, when mastered, was so much more than a dip into a single psyche: with a little mental extension, he could sit back and simply absorb the surface thoughts and feelings of everyone in the immediate environment. The hopes, dreams and fears of the court rolled over him the moment he stepped through the door, some spiteful, some genuine. Almost as soon as he entered, he and Morgana had to step to one side to allow the flock of guards past. Mallos barely glimpsed the man in the middle, but the little he saw and the flash of mental feeling he got coupled to one conclusion which left him with a ray of hope.
Following his daughter’s lead, he made his way directly towards the throne through the throng of people, eying them with a rare expression of feeling: distaste. Mallos usually adopted a neutral expression when among courtiers, but he found their presence here today so offensive that he didn’t even try to hide it. Who the hell did these whisperers think they were, converging on this meeting as if they were any kind of important? And - the thought revived the surging fire from earlier - why were they here before he was? Most of the courtiers avoided his gaze, but a few of them held it and stared back unashamedly, some with little smirks or disapproving frowns. Within Shaman, Mallos had never quite shrugged off the reputation Gwythr had earned him even now his name had long since been cleared, and there were certainly a few in the court who would find his being here horrifying.
He didn’t look properly at the king until they reached the dais, which was unfortunate: one look was enough to burn the fire low. Arthur looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept in days - which he probably hadn’t. Finding it difficult to look his friend in the face, Mallos glanced very briefly at Nimueh before transferring his attention to Mordred, who had come to a stop next to his sister. The royal family had closed ranks around the throne, but Mallos could still feel the enquiring minds of the leaning forward, as though hoping to catch every word. The muscles around his mouth tightened very slightly.
Arthur’s words lit up the tentative hope which had formed when he’d seen the pirate, sparking it into a bright and warm glow. Tristan was alive. Nothing else mattered. Tristan was alive.
Except… a wave of darkness tempered the flame, dulling his mood back down again. They’d only asked for one ransom. Arthur was either hopelessly optimistic or putting on a positive face for his family, because that could only really mean two things. The pirates wouldn’t keep a spare who wasn’t worth anything, and the most likely scenario was that they’d killed him if he hadn’t already been dead. The best case scenario was that he was alive but had already been sold - either into slavery, or to the Aurans.
‘Let’s get Tristan home safe,’ Sperantia murmured into his mind, ‘then we can worry about Thoth.’
Mallos glanced down at her curling around his ankles, then lifted his gaze in time to make eye contact with the king. The anger he had felt with Arthur didn’t ebb away with the simple request for help and the small display of gratitude, but it was redirected somewhat. It glinted in his eye.
“I advise,” he said after a moment in a calm, thoughtful voice which carried across the room, “that everybody present who isn’t useful in any way vacates the room before I make them useful.”
A small, delighted smile curled at the corners of Sperantia’s lips as her fairy half-turned to stare at the court, none of whom budged an inch. Mallos gave Morgana, who was standing next to him, a sideways look.
“Last time I checked, I had one of those faces that people listen to,” he told her in the same, unnaturally calm voice, with a touch of emphasis on the word ‘listen’. Several of the men and women present shifted uncomfortably, but one of them - a robust man Mallos recognised as Humphrey’s father - planted his hands firmly on his hips and glared across the room at him.
“I do not take orders from you, sir,” he drawled, his mouth closing around the last syllable with unconcealed distaste.
The temperature in the room quite literally lifted a few degrees, which should have been a warning enough. Unfortunately for him, the lord did not immediately drop to his knees and grovel for an apology. Humphrey’s dad didn’t even have time to exchange his glare for a look of surprise before his body morphed and shrank, reforming into a sturdy wooden dining chair. A brief silence filled the room, before a woman somewhere at the back screamed and they all stampeded out. Nobody paused to try and help the unfortunate man, who remained as a lonely seat in the centre of the room. Mallos slowly turned back to the only people who had had the courage to hold their ground: the guards lined up behind the throne, and studied them with something akin to curiosity.
“Do you honestly, honestly believe that if I wanted to put a knife in your king’s ribs, you could do anything to stop me?” He asked them with a touch of incredulity. One of them shuffled his feet, and they all looked nervous. “Bye,” Mallos said pointedly, and followed their progress with his eyes as they all abandoned their posts and headed quickly out of the nearest door. In moments, the silence in the chamber was heard only by the little family and their familiars.
One problem fixed.
As he turned back to the throne, Mallos held out his hand expectantly and the ransom paper flew telekinetically out of Arthur’s hand and into his. Arthur was annoyingly stingy with the information he gave out at times. The Spaniard scrutinised the paper with a faintly disgusted expression, but drew nothing more from it than the king had: the writer was probably male, educated and had excellent English skills, so his IQ was probably higher than your average pirate’s. Neither Morgana nor Mordred seemed to have anything to offer, so Mallos made eye contact with Arthur again.
“Now that I know the general vicinity, I can pinpoint a location quickly… but I can’t teleport directly there.” He didn’t bother going into a detailed explanation of how teleportation worked, and continued, “I can teleport to the surface of the island or to a cave I’ve been in before, then go from there. It will be easier to get to him if he hasn’t been moved to the drop-point already, so... you might need a few days to gather funds.”
His use of the singular pronoun made it clear that he’d already written Thoth off as dead or otherwise lost. He scanned the paper again thoughtfully for a moment before handing it back over to Arthur.
“And I’m going to have to give you a shot of energy if you’re coming with me,” he added, raising one eyebrow a little. “You look like you were hit by a bus and had to get a face transplant from a pensioner.”
mallos
there's a wise man in every fool
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