The Eye of Zoltar

‘That’s a trumped-up charge,’ said Tiger. ‘The Cambrian Empire has herds and herds of the things – people pay good money to hunt them, for goodness’ sake.’

‘There’s a reason,’ I added. ‘She’s been transferred to Emperor Tharv’s State-Owned Ransom Clearance House, ready for negotiations.’

‘The Cambrian Empire are still kidnapping people?’ said Tiger. ‘When are they going to enter the twenty-first century?’

‘I think they have to consider entering the fifteenth century first,’ said Kevin.

Traditionally, it was princes and kings and knights and stuff that were ransomed as you could get a lot for them, but pretty much anyone was fair game in the Cambrian Empire. If you weren’t royal, the release fees could actually be fairly modest – some people cost less to release than a parking clamp, which is kind of depressing and very welcome, both at the same time. But the long and short of it was that if we wanted Boo back, we would have to pay. And that would mean going over there with a letter of credit and doing a deal of some sort.

‘I spoke to Moobin and he’s writing you out a note that will be good for twenty thousand. I think he wants you to nip over there and negotiate.’

Cambrianopolis was less than a couple of hours’ driving from here, but I didn’t relish the idea, even with a ‘Safe Conduct’ voucher attached to the letter.

‘Why me?’ I asked.

‘Because you’re about the most sensible person in the building. Who’s that?’

He had noticed the Princess for the first time.

‘This is Laura Scrubb. She’ll be with us for a week or two.’

I nodded to the Princess, who reluctantly shook hands with Kevin, then made a point of smelling her hand with obvious distaste before wiping it on her uniform.

‘She’s the Princess, isn’t she?’ said Kevin with interest, peering more closely at what might appear, at first glance, to be an undernourished handmaiden.

‘I’m afraid so,’ I replied, ‘but keep it under your hat. If she’s kidnapped by agents of a foreign power we’ll have to waste a lot of time and energy getting her back.’

‘Probably do her the power of good,’ said Kevin, ‘and knock some sense into her thick overprivileged head.’

‘You are so disrespectful,’ announced the Princess haughtily, getting out her list and pencil again. ‘Name?’

‘Kevin Spartacus.’

‘Related to this nitwit here?’ she said, pointing at Tiger. ‘That figures, and I don’t know who to pity more.’

She scribbled the name he’d given her on the piece of paper while Kevin peered at her as one might gaze at a particularly intriguing variety of beetle. I was suddenly worried – I’d seen that look before. He was seeing something, or he had seen something. Something in the future, and something about the Princess.

‘This is very interesting,’ he said at length. ‘Yes, very interesting indeed. Definitely keep her identity a secret.’

And so saying, he prodded the Princess with a bony finger and said: ‘Fascinating.’

‘I’m not here to be studied,’ said the Princess. ‘I am here to study you.’

‘You will almost die several times in the next week,’ said Kevin Zipp thoughtfully, ‘but will be saved by people who do not like you, nor are like you, nor that you like.’

‘That’ll be you lot, then,’ said the Princess, looking at Tiger and me.

‘It might help if you were to invest in a bit of warmth,’ said Kevin.

‘If you have foreseen I am to be saved then it doesn’t much matter what I do, now, does it?’

‘I only foresee a version of the future,’ said Kevin, ‘how it unfolds is up to you. Despite what I can see, we are all of us, in some way or another, responsible for our own destinies.’

The Princess didn’t make any retort to this, and instead asked where the lavatory was. I told her and she stomped off.

‘Was that true?’ asked Tiger. ‘The near-death thing, I mean?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Kevin with a shrug, ‘she’ll come within a hair’s breadth of death – may even meet it. It’s all a bit fuzzy, to be honest. But I’ll tell you this: the Princess will be involved in the next Troll War, which will be when least expected. It will be bloody, short – and the aggressors will be victorious.’

‘We will?’ I asked in surprise, for in the past the Troll Wars had been noted only for the swift manner in which humans had been utterly defeated.

‘Yes. Strange, isn’t it? Then again,’ he added cheerfully, ‘I’ve been wrong before. And don’t forget that what I see is only a possible version of events – and sometimes a knotted jumble of potential futures all seen as one.’

This, unfortunately, was true. Fate is never precisely determined. The strange thing is that all of us are clairvoyant. Any future you can dream up, no matter how bizarre, still retains the faint possibility of coming true. Kevin’s skill was of dreaming up future events that were not just possible but likely. As he once said: ‘Being a clairvoyant is ten per cent guesswork and ninety per cent probability mathematics.’

‘So,’ said Kevin, ‘aside from princesses looking like handmaidens, what news?’

‘Lots. I’m looking for something called the Eye of Zoltar. Heard of it?’