Interesting Times - Terry Pratchett [27]
And he had been amazed, and then intrigued, and finally lost in admiration for what he saw…
I should have been born there, he thought as he watched the other members of the Serene Council. Oh, for a game of chess with someone like Lord Vetinari. No doubt he would carefully watch the board for three hours before he even made his first move…
Lord Hong turned to the Serene Council’s minutes eunuch.
“Can we get on?” he said.
The man licked his brush nervously. “Nearly finished, o lord,” he said.
Lord Hong sighed.
Damn calligraphy! There would be changes! A written language of seven thousand letters and it took all day to write a thirteen-syllable poem about a white pony trotting through wild hyacinths. And that was fine and beautiful, he had to concede, and no one did it better than Lord Hong. But Ankh-Morpork had an alphabet of twenty-six unexpressive, ugly, crude letters, suitable only for peasants and artisans…and had produced poems and plays that left white-hot trails across the soul. And you could also use it to write the bloody minutes of a five-minute meeting in less than a day.
“How far have you got?” he said.
The eunuch coughed politely.
“‘How softly the bloom of the apric—’” he began.
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Lord Hong. “Could we on this occasion dispense with the poetic framework, please.”
“Uh. ‘The minutes of the last meeting were duly signed.’”
“Is that all?”
“Uh…you see, I have to finish painting the petals on—”
“I wish this council to be concluded by this evening. Go away.”
The eunuch looked anxiously around the table, grabbed his scrolls and brushes and scuttled out.
“Good,” said Lord Hong. He nodded at the other warlords. He saved a special friendly nod for Lord Tang. Lord Hong had prodded the thought with some intrigued interest, but it really did seem that Lord Tang was a man of honor. It was a rather cowed and crabbed honor, but it was definitely in there somewhere, and would have to be dealt with.
“It would be better in any case, my lords, if we spoke in private,” he said. “On the matter of the rebels. Disturbing intelligence has reached me of their activities.”
Lord McSweeney nodded. “I have seen to it that thirty rebels in Sum Dim have been executed,” he said. “As an example.”
As an example of the mindlessness of Lord McSweeney, thought Lord Hong. To his certain knowledge, and none had better knowledge than he, there had not even been a cadre of the Red Army in Sum Dim. But, almost certainly, there was one now. It was really too easy.
The other warlords also made small but proud speeches about their efforts to turn barely noticeable unrest into bloody revolution, although they hadn’t managed to see it like that.
They were nervous, under the bravado, like sheepdogs who’d had a glimpse of a world where the sheep did not run.
Lord Hong cherished the nervousness. He intended to use it, by and by. He smiled and smiled.
Finally he said: “However, my lords, despite your sterling efforts the situation remains grave. I have information that a very senior wizard from Ankh-Morpork has arrived to assist the rebels here in Hunghung, and that there is a plot to overthrow the good organization of the celestial world and assassinate the Emperor, may he live for ten thousand years. I must naturally assume that the foreign devils are behind this.”
“I know nothing of this!” snapped Lord Tang.
“My dear Lord Tang, I was not suggesting that you should,” said Lord Hong.
“I meant—” Lord Tang began.
“Your devotion to the Emperor is unquestioned,” Lord Hong continued, as smoothly as a knife through warm butter. “It is true that there is almost certainly someone highly placed assisting these people, but not one shred of evidence points to you.”
“I should hope not!”
“Indeed.”
The Lords Fang and McSweeney moved very slightly away from Lord Tang.
“How can we have let this happen?” said Lord Fang. “Certainly it