Read Online The Coldstone Conflict by David Lee Stone - Free Book Online Page B

thought on it for several minutes. Eventually, he opened them again.
    “I … that is … does she say anything else?” he demanded.
    “No, milord. Only that she loves you and that you mustn’t do anything foolish until she arrives.”
    The earl seemed to be rather resentful of the last bit, but he rose from his chair and, grasping hold of wall-mounted braziers and table edges, began to negotiate his way across the floor.
    “Very well: summon the High Council.”
    “Yes, Highness.”
    “Not all of them, mind: invite Viceroy Funk of Shinbone, Baron Muttknuckles of Sneeze and, of course, Prince Blood. I don’t want that witch from Beanstalk nosing around and you can forget calling on the shifty pair who run Crust and Chudderford these days. Have I left anybody else out?”
    “Er … the Steward of Fogrise, Highness?”
    “Um … no, don’t bother. Pegrand Marshall is ill, I believe.”
    “And what of Phlegm?”
    “Phlegm? Oh, you can ignore them as well. Groan Teethgrit never bothers to come to HC meetings, and he’s seldom in the city, anyway. Leads a life of reckless adventure, that one. They should never have given him the throne …”
    “Er, sorry, Highness, but I was actually talking about the Steward of Phlegm.”
    “Oh, I see. No, then. N-O. Absolutely not.”
    “Yes, but Lord Lambontroff—”
    “… is a decapitated head on a stick. I don’t care if it talks, I’m not discussing matters of national urgency with something I have to hold like a lollipop—when it’s not rolling all over the cushions.”
    “Very well, Highness … I just thought that his lordship might be a powerful ally …”
    “In what sense? As a cannonball, perhaps?”
    “No, Highness. Rumor has it that Phlegm has built up a large contingent of—”
    “Yes, yes! All right, invite him—but make sure he brings his own cushions this time. It took us weeks to get the last lot clean …”
    The page bowed low, almost falling over in the attempt, and departed.
    Diek Wustapha trudged on through the damp and murky jungle.
    The conversation between him and Groan had been limited, but he soon came to realize that conversations between anyone and Groan were limited. The man had only two topics on which he would openly comment: money and hand-to-hand combat. Since Diek was interested in neither, he’d decided to remain quiet and hope that his companion would do the same. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t with him for long.
    “ ’Ere,” said Groan. “Where’d you come from?”
    “Originally? A place called Little Irkesome.”
    “Bin there. I beat up some bloke what owed me ten crowns.”
    “Oh … good.”
    “Yeah, was.”
    “I … er … didn’t come from there today, though.”
    “Eh?”
    “When we met, back there in the jungle, I had just come from Dullitch. Some guards tried to arrest me, but I found a magic broom and escaped from the palace.”
    “Good on ya. I ’ad a magic broom once.”
    “You? Really?”
    “Yeah, got twenny crowns for it off some bloke up in Sneeze. I ended up kickin’ his bruvver fru a door ’cause he didn’ pay up.”
    Diek rolled his eyes.
    “Right. Of course you did—back when you were a bit more than a disembodied voice. So what’s the last thing you remember from those times, then?”
    There was a definite pause, before Groan’s monotonous voice rolled on.
    “I ’member this ’ammer that turned out to be a key an’ the wizard what made himself look like Viscount Curfew an’ put hisself on the throne, he tells me ’bout the secret treasure an’ so I go up to unlock it an’ Gordo—s’me mate—says I shouldn’ do it, but I does it anyway an’ then … er … I dunno what happened ’fter that.”
    “It all sounds very complicated,” said Diek, doubtfully. “But I’m guessing something happened to you when you unlocked the thing your friend told you not to unlock …”
    “Yeah, must’ve done.”
    “I hope your friend is OK.”
    “Don’ worry ’bout him,” Groan’s