Early the next morning, the star cluster's parliament was packed.
The main chamber was a large, oval-shaped room. Wood panelled walls reached up to a high ceiling. Long rows of blue leather seats curved around the small floor in the centre. The ceiling was painted dark blue and decorated with a star map of the Pleiades, showing the seven main suns of the star cluster, with their seven solar systems and twenty six inhabited planets. The speaker's podium stood at one end of the floor and a tall statue of Justitia; the ancient Roman goddess of justice from Earth, with her sword, scales and blindfold, stood on a tall plinth at the other. In front of the statue, a carved wooden armchair which had been used by King Stephen whenever he had attended the Kingdom's early parliamentary sessions, stood on a small dais. The armchair was the highest seat in the room, but the back of it was still lower than the statue's feet, to remind everyone there that nobody in the Pleiades, including the king or queen, was above the law.
Jessamine sat in King Stephen's chair, smartly and elegantly dressed, with her children beside her. Captain Zachary, who acted as Jessamine's personal bodyguard on state occasions, stood at her other side. None of them had slept last night and Alex was hoping it did not show. He also hoped that nobody could tell how worried they were all feeling.
The chamber was full. Every single seat was occupied as all of the seven hundred members of the Pleiadean parliament had turned up. The public galleries crammed with journalists holding computer pads and cameras. It was not unusual for MPs in the star cluster to sleep in or have long breakfasts or early lunches at some of the expensive restaurants across the street from the parliament and only come in when it was time to vote on something, but this morning – after the news had inevitably spread – everyone had arrived early.
In the middle of the hall, the prime minister stood up. He walked forward and stepped up onto the speaker's podium, took a deep breath and moved closer to the built-in microphones.
"Good morning," he said. "I must begin by making the formal announcement. As has already been reported, King Geoffrey II, the monarch of our nation for the last fifty years, passed away at 9.30pm last night."
Sad murmuring rippled across the chamber. The MPs had been expecting this news for a while, but many of them still sighed and nodded sadly. The journalists were all making notes, filming or taking pictures, but some of them did the same.
"The arrangements for the funeral have already begun," said the prime minister. "Invitations to the service and the Planting Ceremony will be sent out later today. The palace sends their thanks to everyone who has sent messages of condolence already and asks that any flowers be sent directly to the royal greenhouses."
The prime minister paused. He took another deep breath and wished for a moment that he had lost the last election so that one of his political rivals would have to do this, and continued.
"Unfortunately," he said, "I must also announce that the latest move in King Stephen's Last Game has not yet been completed."
There was complete silence in the chamber. None of the MPs said anything. They all sat still in their seats, watching the prime minister. A few cameras clicked in the galleries, but the journalists waited too. The prime minister gritted his teeth as he realised that they all knew exactly what had happened already, and they were waiting to hear what he was going to do about it.
"Therefore," he said, "the arrangements for the coronation of the Crown Princess will unfortunately have to wait until..."
"Excuse me, prime minister!" called Lord Blackstar, standing up. "Might I ask one small technical question?"
Urgent whispering rushed across the chamber. All the cameras in the public galleries started clicking. Alex, Alice and Ellen all sat up. Jessamine's brow furrowed. Captain Zachary started to move and then stopped himself. Lord Blackstar ignored all of this, standing patiently with a relaxed, calm and casual smile on his face, waiting for the prime minister's reply.
"...Certainly, Lord Chancellor," said the prime minister, who had flinched as if he had been bitten by a particularly large mosquito as soon as he had heard Lord Blackstar's voice. He had just run through every piece of parliamentary procedure he could think of in his head and, to his annoyance, there was nothing he could use to stop Lord Blackstar from speaking.
"Thank you," said Lord Blackstar. "It's just that you said the coronation arrangements of the crown princess. For the last four hundred years – for all of our nation's history, in fact – the Kingdom of the Pleiades has followed the rule of absolute primogeniture. The eldest child of the previous king or queen has always inherited the throne. Is it really your intention that we should be the first generation of parliamentarians to break that tradition, prime minister? Are we really going to pass over Prince Max in this fashion?"
There was a loud stirring. MPs whispered to each other. People frowned, asked questions, shrugged or shook their heads. Lord Blackstar waited patiently. The prime minister stared at him.
"Lord Chancellor," he said, at last. "Do you know something I don't? I was under the impression that it has been – and still is – widely accepted that Prince Max's health problems make him unable to ascend to the throne."
"Prime Minister, since when do we discriminate against people on the grounds of ill health?" said Lord Blackstar, spreading his hands. "This is the 43rd century, for heaven's sake. And while it may be widely accepted, since when do we allow the wills and whims of public opinion to determine government policy?"
"We do not do any such thing!" said the prime minister. He was instantly furious with himself for denying it too quickly. "Either one. The reason, for the first one, is that it is quite clear that Prince Max – even though he is the eldest child of King Geoffrey – is not capable of taking on the duties and responsibilities of the monarch of the Pleiades. King Geoffrey knew this and accepted it. It's why he appointed Princess Jessamine as regent when he first fell ill five years ago."
"Exactly," said Lord Blackstar.
"I beg your pardon?" said the prime minister.
"You said it, prime minister," said Lord Blackstar. "Five years ago. At the time, you and his majesty were correct. Prince Max was not then capable of taking on his father's duties should he succeed to the throne. Technically, he still isn't. However, the medical treatments available for his condition have advanced a great deal in the past five years."
There was an even louder stirring. The muttering and whispering and the hushed questions intensified all over the chamber. Even the journalists who worked for rival news networks were whispering to each other. Alex gripped the arms of his chair, badly wanting to stand up and do something and wishing he knew what.
"I... was not aware of that, Lord Chancellor," said the prime minister. "However, the quality of the treatment available is not the issue here. The security risks posed by it are too great."
"Forgive me for contradicting you, prime minister, but they're not," said Lord Blackstar. "Anti-tampering technologies for neurological implants have also advanced a great deal in the past five years." He held out his hand and Will stood up next to him to hand him a computer pad. "If you will all look at file seven in the morning's documents, you will find eighteen different reports that I have collected from doctors, computer scientists, security specialists, intelligence experts and hacking-prevention consultants. These reports all state – separately and together – that the security risks of neurological implants, while a legitimate concern five years ago, have been reduced almost to zero today."
Everyone in the chamber who had a computer pad pulled it out. They quickly started scrolling through the list of files Lord Blackstar had uploaded. Everyone who had not brought one were reading over the shoulders of someone who had.
"All of the authors of these reports are here today and they have all assured me that they are quite willing to testify to this before the Royal Succession Committee if need be," said Lord Blackstar. "Step forward please, ladies and gentlemen."
There was shuffling in the public galleries. Alex looked up as eighteen different people, mostly doctors and scientists – all of them looking tight-lipped, nervous and unhappy to be there – came to the front of the galleries, squeezing around the journalists who were trying to photograph them. There was more whispering and muttering among the MPs. But this time, it sounded anxious.
"All I am asking, prime minister, is for permission to at least attempt the new treatments on Prince Max," said Lord Blackstar. "Before we deprive him of his birth right forever. I cannot, in good conscience, be a party to that."
"He wouldn't know good conscience if it bit him in the..." said Ellen, just before Alice shushed her.
"l... see," said the prime minister. He tried to think of a good way to respond to this and failed. "Well, I can understand your... feelings, Lord Blackstar, but I'm not sure why you are asking me about this. Major medical treatments on a member of the royal family, who is incapable of giving their own consent, can only be done with the consent of the monarch."
"Ah, yes. The monarch," said Lord Blackstar. "Her royal highness Princess Jessamine – as the regent or as the crown princess – does not have that authority under the constitution. The problem is, as you said, that the latest move in King Stephen's Last Game has not been completed yet. We are currently between monarchs. If the move hasn't been played by the end of the week, under the Emergency Royal Succession Act of 4229, that authority will revert to the head of government. That is your honorable self, prime minister. And, in the unlikely, but possible event of that happening, I'm afraid I must insist – on my authority as Lord Chancellor of the star cluster – that we hold a vote on the issue."
There was frantic murmuring in the chamber. MPs craned their necks or ducked down in their seats, trying to talk to the people beside or behind them. People looked things up on their computer pads or sent their assistants running to find copies of the constitution.
"That is... within your rights as chancellor, Lord Blackstar," said the prime minister, wishing very hard that a large meteorite would suddenly drop through the ceiling and crush Lord Blackstar flat. "Though I must say I find it hard to imagine you will find many members of this assembly who will be willing to vote for non-consensual invasive surgery on a member of the royal family."
"I'm fully aware of that, Prime Minister," said Lord Blackstar. "But my conscience demands that I try. And you never know. I might find some other members of this assembly who share at least some of my concerns."
All over the chamber, a large number of MPs shifted in their seats. They tried to sink down as low as possible into their chairs, avoiding meeting anyone's eyes. Alex saw they belonged to all the main political parties and were well spread out on both sides of the chamber. He realised, with fast growing horror, that Lord Blackstar had already lined up all the votes he was going to need.
"That is all I wish to say for now, Prime Minister," said Lord Blackstar. "Though I do ask that before we break for lunch, we hold a minute's silence in honour of King Geoffrey."
* * * * * * *
"How by all the black holes in Sagittarius does Lord Blackstar have that many friends?" said Ellen, an hour later, as they walked back into the palace.
The entrance hall was filled with flower baskets and bouquets. They covered all the tables and were spread over most of the floor, blooming in a dozen shades of every colour. They had been arriving all morning from all over Magenta, the other planets in the star cluster and from all of the Pleiades nearest neighbours in space, with messages of condolences on King Geoffrey's death. Most of them had been sent before the prime minister had asked that they be sent to the royal greenhouses and the palace servants were coming in and out, taking them away.
"He doesn't really. He's the Lord Chancellor," said Alice. "He just has people who are terrified he'll find a reason to investigate them."
Alex nodded. As well as his skill at chess and fencing, Lord Blackstar was also famous for how many politicians he had managed to catch red-handed taking bribes, paying bribes, with their hands in the treasury, cheating in elections or doing other things they should not be; often only after they had thought they had outsmarted him and that he was suspicious of someone else. He was already considered to have surpassed his father as the best Lord Chancellor the Pleiades had had for several generations. But Alex had never stopped to wonder what would happen if Lord Blackstar decided to use his talents against the star cluster rather than for it.
"Well, at least we know what his plan is now, your highness," said Captain Zachary.
"Indeed," said the royal steward, stepping over two of the flower baskets as he came to meet them. "He's managed to find a completely legal way to stage a palace coup."
"But he can't have!" said Alex. "How can this possibly be legal? And he's obviously blackmailing people. We should..."
"Yes," said Ellen. "And he can't just force us to let Uncle Max have brain surgery. It's against... something. Or it should be."
"I completely agree, your highness," said the steward, who had watched the morning's parliamentary session on the news networks. "Unfortunately, he was telling the truth about the Emergency Royal Succession Act. If the prime minister can't find a way to overrule that, we will have no legal way to refuse him. If her majesty hasn't made her move in King Stephen's Last Game by the end of the week, he will be perfectly entitled to call a vote."
"But how can she?" said Alex. The rules of chess were clear. If your king was in check and in danger of being captured, you could not make another move until you had gotten your king out of danger. You could do it by moving your king out of reach, blocking the threat with another piece or by capturing the piece that was threatening your king. Checkmate was when you could not do any of those. If Lord Blackstar really had checkmated Jessamine, his mother would not be able to make any moves at all, and Lord Blackstar would be able to call a vote because his move had stopped her from making one.
"I know, darling. We're going to have to hope the prime minister can find a constitutional way of stopping this," said Jessamine. "Or that we can find a way out of check."
"We need to do it quickly then," said Ellen.
"I know, sweetheart. But it can wait until later," said Jessamine, handing her coat to Captain Zachary.
"Mum?" said Alex, looking at her. He had been so worried about the situation that he was finding it almost impossible to think about anything else. But a part of him had also been amazed at how calmly his mother was taking it.
"It has to, darling," said Jessamine. "Right now, we need to go and see Max."
* * * * * * *
Prince Max Tarquin's rooms were in the south wing of the palace.
The drawing room was on the ground floor, with window doors that opened out straight into the Rose Gardens. Alex's uncle like having them open in the summer and the palace staff were constantly watching to make sure he did not forget which season it was and open them during the coldest months of Magenta's winter. Two of the palace guards were standing on either side of the interior doors and one of the live-in medical staff was working at a desk when they arrived.
"Good morning, your majesty. Your highnesses," said the nurse, as they arrived.
"Hello, Jessica," said Jessamine. "How is he?"
"Very good this morning, your majesty," said the nurse. "No nightmares last night and no panic attacks at all so far this week. He's in a good mood. He's painting."
"Oh, good," said Jessamine. "That might help." She nodded to the two guards and they stepped aside and opened the doors for them.
The large drawing room had a sunken floor. The sofas and armchairs were arranged with most facing in towards the middle of the room, but some facing the walls and corners. The waste paper basket was overflowing with balls of scrunched up paper. Books were lying open on the tables, armchairs and the floor, some of them with paint footprints on them. A small trolley loaded with art supplies was parked in the middle of the room, as spotted and splattered as ever, but all the paint bottles on it were arranged in meticulous rainbow order.
Prince Max Tarquin was standing at an easel in the middle of the room, not wearing shoes and painting the view through one of the windows. Alex's uncle only ever painted the traditional way, using ancient materials. Today, he was mixing colours around, painting the trees and bushes in blue and white and the sky and clouds in different shades of green, while humming various different songs to himself as he worked, rapidly switching between them in mid verse or chorus.
"Hello, Max," said Jessamine.
"Hmm? Oh! Hi, Jess! Hi. Come on in," said Prince Max, turning around. Jessamine's brother was several years older and five inches taller than her. He was in his late thirties, handsome and looked very much like his father had at the same age, with the Tarquin blue eyes and dark brown hair. "Hi, Alex. Hi, Alice. Hi, Ellen. Hi, Alex. Malcolm, bring us some tea, please."
"Yes, your highness," said one of the servants, whose name was actually Martin, who was standing discreetly around the edges of the room.
"Hello, Uncle Max," said Alex. He shook his uncle's offered hand, then stepped aside so Alice and Ellen could do the same. Their uncle normally would let them hug him, but only if he initiated it. Trying to do it themselves usually startled him.
"Sit down. Sit down," said Uncle Max, ushering them towards the sofas. He realised he had paint on both his hands and casually wiped them on his trousers. "It's great to see you. It seems like only yesterday. I've got to show you this new clock I've found later. And please don't feel you have to sit down the whole time. Stand up if you want to."
"We're fine, Max," said Jessamine, gently taking her brother's hands and guiding him to sit down beside her. "I'm afraid I've got bad news."
"Oh, really? That's a pity," said Uncle Max. 'What is it? What a shame. Remind me later. I'll make sure to water the window boxes."
"It's Dad, Max," said Jessamine. "He passed away last night."
"What?" Her brother looked at her. He blinked. "Dad? Are you sure?"
"Yes," said Jessamine. "He went very peacefully."
"Oh, no," said Uncle Max. He turned away from her slightly and put his head in his hands. "Oh, no. No, no, no. No. I haven't shown him my new picture yet. And we were going to go fishing with Jack on Friday. And who's going to feed Quentin?"
Alex's heart sank. He tried to feel glad that at least his uncle was lucid enough today to remember his father properly. But Jack was his brother-in-law, Alex's own father, who had died six years ago. His grandfather had been too ill to go fishing with anyone for years and Quentin – his grandfather's favourite dog – had died nearly twenty years ago while his uncle was still a boy.
"Quentin will be fine and I'll look after Jack," said Jessamine, taking his hands again. "We're burying Dad tomorrow. Can you come to the funeral?"
"Oh, of course I can. I'll get April to reschedule the ambassador for Friday," said Uncle Max. He shook his head and Alex saw tears in the corners of his eyes. "Oh, Dad! No. We hadn't even finished reading Twelfth Night together yet. Or our latest chess game."
"We'll do that with you, Uncle Max," said Alice.
"Definitely," said Ellen. "I love reading Viola."
"Oh, good," said Uncle Max, smiling at them through his damp eyes. "Thanks, girls. How about it, Alec? Do you feel like fencing with this old dog one more time?"
"Always," said Alex. He was used to his uncle mixing his name up.
"Great!" said Uncle Max, sitting up and clapping his hands together. "That's that settled then. Now I'm sorry, but I can't sit around chatting all day. I've got to get back to work. Masterpieces don't paint themselves. And you know what Dad's like when you leave something unfinished."
He jumped up, marched back to his easel and resumed, painting details into one of the tree trunks in cobalt blue, while humming a mix of songs again. But Alex saw he still had the tears in the corners of his eyes.
"OK, Max," said Jessamine, standing up. Alex and his sisters did too. "Have a good afternoon. We'll see ourselves out."
"Great. See you tomorrow," said Uncle Max, leaning close to the canvas to paint a leaf. "And give Damon my best if you see him. He doesn't drop by often enough anymore."
* * * * * * *
"At least he was well enough to understand," said Ellen, as they walked back through the palace corridors. "And at least we didn't have to tell him what Lord Blackstar's doing. Yet."
"How is he, your majesty?" said Captain Zachary, who was waiting for them with the royal steward.
"Very well. A lot better than usual," said Jessamine. "And you really don't have to call me that yet, Captain."
"Forgive me, your majesty, but yes, we do," said the royal steward. "You are the crown princess and your father's chosen heir. You are the queen, no matter what dishonest, underhanded and borderline-treasonous game Lord Blackstar thinks he has the right to play."
"He doesn't just think it. He is playing it," said Ellen.
Jessamine smiled.
"Thank you," she said. "That means a great deal. But it still won't become official unless we can stop Lord Damon."
"We're going to," said Alex. "We won't have to tell Uncle Max anything. We'll stop him."
He was surprised at how determined he sounded, but he quickly realised why. Visiting Uncle Max had reminded him of what was important. This was not just about the throne, it was about their family. Lord Blackstar seemed to have all the advantages, but whatever the law said, they were not going to just lie down and let him do this.
"We'll try, darling," said Jessamine, patting his arm.
"Would it work?" said Ellen, suddenly. "Was... Was he telling the truth? Could it help Uncle Max?"
Jessamine sighed.
"I'm afraid he was," she said. "Neurological implants – brain chips, as everyone insists on calling them – can completely cure all kinds of mental health problems. They do it for hundreds of patients every year. They could certainly cure Max's condition very easily."
Alex looked through the nearest set of doors into the palace's main sitting room. It had a fireplace at one end, which was made of alabaster and decorated with detailed carvings of the Seven Sisters. He remembered all the evenings when he was younger, when he had sat on the rug in front of it with Uncle Max – who had been the crown prince then, and Jessamine had been second in line to the throne, before his uncle's ability to focus on one train of thought at a time had begun to deteriorate – who had told him the stories of the Seven Sisters, the daughters of Atlas and Pleione, from the myths of ancient Greece on Earth. He also used to play chess with Alex during those evenings, so he could see how well his sister and brother-in-law were teaching his nephew to play. He had always beaten him and insisted afterwards that they were not up to the job and that Alex should sack them and hire a professional chess teacher instead. This had only made Alex more determined to learn to play properly and it had been one of the best days of his life when he had finally checkmated Uncle Max. His uncle had made ice cream for him and his parents afterwards as an apology for doubting them. Today though, Alex had not played chess properly with his uncle in years, because Uncle Max could never remember for more than two minutes which side of the board he was playing on.
"The problem is that the implants are computerised, your highness," said the royal steward. "Any computer can be hacked. Some are so well protected that it's almost impossible, but it can always be done. If a neurological implant gets accessed from the outside like that, the person who does it can not only control the implant. They can also control the person whose brain the implant is in. They can make them say or do literally anything they choose. It's why Prince Max refused to have one when he first became ill. He didn't want to take the risk of becoming king and then someone hacking it and being able to control his actions."
"Dad and I tried to talk him out of it," said Jessamine. "But he just wouldn't budge. He said it was too dangerous and that was all there was to it."
"So all those experts Lord Blackstar had...?" said Ellen.
"They're wrong," said the royal steward. "And quite probably they know it. You're right about that incidentally, Prince Alex. I'm certain Lord Blackstar is merely paying or threatening them. I read all eighteen of those reports before you returned from parliament. It's true that security measures for neurological implants have improved in the last five years, but they will never improve enough. Not to make it completely safe. Your uncle knew this years ago. It's why he decided to live with the condition and try to beat it the old fashioned way, rather than get an implant."
"So if Lord Blackstar can force Uncle Max to get an implant..." said Ellen.
"...He could illegally access it and then rule the kingdom by remote control," said the royal steward. "Prince Max – King Max – would be nothing more than his puppet."
"Lord Blackstar is a complete and total..." said Ellen. "I told you you should have challenged him to a duel."
"But he's not going to succeed, your highnesses. I promise you," said the royal steward. "We will find a way to stop him. If the prime minister can't find a legal or constitutional means, perhaps we can find a way out of check. I've already arranged for the experts to come in tomorrow. And if that fails, there are plenty of unfortunate things that could happen to Lord Blackstar before next Sunday. He could be run down by a reversing ground car, for instance. Get electrocuted by his own beard trimmer. Drop that meteorite his family are so proud of on his foot while..."
"What?" said Captain Zachary, staring at him.
"Don't worry. It doesn't have to be anything lethal," said the royal steward. "Just something that will put him in hospital in enough bandages that he can't make any chess moves."
"No, we will not be doing that," said Jessamine. "It wouldn't help anyway. Lord Blackstar has already made his move. I have to make one of my own. And the last thing we need is for him to be able to accuse us of sabotage."
"I assure you, your majesty, the secret service can get us someone discreet and well trained..." said the royal steward.
"No," said Jessamine. "We will find another way. But that's going to have to wait as well. First of all, we need to bury Dad."