Flight of the Gazebo

Chapter 12 - An Audience with the Emperor

Vester cast an eye over Zharvak's gaudy appearance, wondering, not for the first time, what sort of mind the emperor had that would make him think appearing before his nobles clad in full armour was a good idea. Rather than projecting the image he desired - aggressive and warlike - it made him look ridiculous. Especially seeing as the armour wasn't made of rare and hideously expensive steel, but cheap fibres and resin polished to look like metal. Zharvak believed this to be a state secret, but during his coronation, there had been a couple of nobles present who had made the mistake of openly sneering. Both had had time for only a swiftly passing regret before their lifeless bodies had been dragged from the court while their new emperor wiped their blood from his sword.

Finesse. That was what Zharvak lacked. Vester cursed inwardly, nodded to the Master of the Robes, then swivelled around and swung open the door to the throne room.

The loud reverberation of a gong stilled the hubbub of voices as Zharvak stepped through the door. Vester stayed close behind the emperor so he could observe the assembled court members getting to their feet and take note of those who rose disrespectfully slowly.

Pulling himself to his full height, Zharvak walked with a measured pace to the throne and seated himself. Vester took his place in the row of flunkeys standing behind the throne's dais, smarting once again at the loss of his coveted place at the emperor's right.

"Welcome, my loyal subjects," boomed the emperor.

"Hail! Zharvak!"

Vester thought the response sounded slightly less enthusiastic than was proper and, more to keep his hand in than a desire to do anything helpful, made a mental note to start a rumour that a purge of dissidents was imminent.

Zharvak waved a gauntleted hand, and the nobles sat down. Each species represented in the gathering was seated in its own section, with those nearest the throne being the most important.

Several paces before the dais, in the front row, were the skeeple nobility from whose ranks Zharvak had ascended. Next, on the left of the central aisle, were the sleamarians with Lord Lungwil sitting stiffly at their centre. To the right were the garflungs. Lord Ranthar sat on the aisle seat, his three eyes glaring at the floor. Behind them, in descending order of importance, were Glaskwall's other ruling species: ponnomies, muppins, dwinkles and dentharians.

Zharvak had seen to it that the seating in each section was uncomfortably hard and slightly too small for the species for which they were intended, a ploy of which Vester did not approve. It was too crude, too obvious.

When he had enjoyed a more powerful position than the one he currently held, he had been far more subtle in his approach. It was emotional manipulation that kept the ruling nobles - and the population at large - divided and unsettled.

He had named his methods of manipulation The Four Tiers.

Tier One had been to use his position in court, his closeness to the old emperor, Peskahr, to good effect. At social gatherings, at chance meetings in the corridors of power or at high level conclaves, his muted expression of disdain or dismay at the right moment would tip the balance in the direction he wanted.

Tier Two had involved the spreading of carefully targeted rumours. The various political factions could be kept nicely at one another's throats by feeding them contrary information.

At Tier Three, he brought the more serious tools of veiled threats and blackmail into play. This was often extremely effective, especially if followed by an unsettling tier two rumour.

Rarely had he needed to resort to the direct action of Tier Four.

But times had changed and now it would be dangerous to be seen taking any action at all, never mind direct action. Zharvak had reduced him from effective ruler to underling in a way which had left him reeling.