Chapter 1
Crisis Management
Ten of the most influential witches and wizards in the Chester area stood in the baronial hall of a recently restored manor house. It was comfortably warm - which cannot always be said of baronial halls. An oak table dragged its slow length along the centre of the space. It was very old and highly polished. There were thirteen chairs round it.
The house was just a few miles into Flint. Aleric - Petronilla's proud father and the current head of the Aquitaine family - had found it on the Cadw 'Buildings at Risk' register. There was something about it that appealed: broken down and dishevelled, its nose was still in the air; it had in-your-face delusions of grandeur. The house and the Aquitaines were made for each other.
Faithful service to the Mortlakes had brought the Aquitaines the necessary funds. Influence and standing had been restored to their ancient, inbred bloodline. Aleric and Adallina had restored the manor house to its former glory. The working classes had been called upon to rebuild and refurbish it, and were now required to assist in the running of it. Once again the Aquitaines had servants...
"RIGHT..." Aleric said, loudly enough to command everyone's attention. "I think we're all here, those of us who..." He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to convey conviviality and personal warmth. "Dally and I are delighted to welcome you all to our humble home..."
His wife Adallina inclined her head in agreement. Her self-satisfaction was barely contained. The "humble home" provoked a number of tight smiles...
"May I just make one thing perfectly clear?" he went on. "Our offer of a meeting place in these difficult times in no way reflects any desire on either of our parts to..." He paused, delicately. "That is, we make no claim to any... position that may recently have been... vacated..."
Ado (Adolfo) Aragon snorted derisively. His wife Randy (Admiranda) confined herself to raising a pair of incredulous eyebrows. "Of course not, Rick," Ado boomed. "Who could entertain such a preposterous notion...?"
"A typically generous gesture... Dally," added his wife. "We've come to expect it of you..."
"Please don't mention it... Randy," Adallina responded sweetly. "It's little enough; and we have all this... room."
"Might I propose...," Belladonna Bourbon suggested delicately, "that the meeting be chaired by the extremely competent Dick Cromwell, and that the minutes be taken by the no less efficient Dia...?" Richard Cromwell indicated his willingness by nodding his head. His wife Dorothea rummaged in her handbag for her pad and pen.
"Seconded," Bernadotte Brunswick-Bevern barked. She raked the room with the penetrating, slightly unhinged stare she normally wore on these occasions. Most of the time, if truth be told...
"Thank you, Dotty," Bella said. There was an underlying message... No-one could possibly think the Cromwells had any pretension to the Mortlake power base. Throughout history, they had provided extremely competent service to noble families such as the ones to which every other person in the room claimed to be connected. Dick and Dia, it was acknowledged, posed no threat, and were therefore enormously useful. They were also privy to much confidential information...
"That's it then," Bertie (Berthold) Braganza said. He was keen that his voice should be heard.
"All those in favour...?" Dally piped up. She held her hand prominently in the air.
Seb (Sebastian) Saxe-Coburg threw himself carelessly into the nearest chair. "Let's just get on with it, shall we?" he grunted. He was not known for observing the niceties of any situation. "Tikki-Tavi'd be turning in his grave by now - if he had one."
