The Dark Lord of Derkholm. Diana Wynne Jones

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      “Don’t be foolish,” Querida snapped. “Demons are immortal.”

      “But Mr Chesney isn’t,” argued the young Emperor.

      “Possibly he isn’t, but I’ve heard he has children being groomed to take over after him,” Barnabas said sadly.

      Querida’s eyes darted to the Emperor in venomous warning. “Don’t speak like that outside this room. Mr Chesney does not like to hear anyone being less than enthusiastic about his Pilgrims, and we do not mention the demon. Have I made myself plain?” The young Emperor swallowed and sat back. “Good,” said Querida. “Now, to business. The tour agents have been in this world for over a month and the arrangements for this year’s tours are almost complete. Mr Chesney is due here himself tomorrow to give the Dark Lord and the Wizard Guides their final briefings. The purpose of this meeting is supposed to be to appoint this year’s Dark Lord.”

      Heavy sighs ran round the table. “All right,” said one of the wizards, out of the general dejection. “Who is it to be? Not me. I did it last year.”

      Querida gave her sour little smile, folded her hands and sat back. “I have no idea,” she said blandly. “I have no more idea who is to be Dark Lord than I have about how to stop the tours. I propose that we consult the Oracles.”

      There was a long, thoughtful silence. Relieved shiftings began around the table as even the slowest of the people there realised that Querida was, after all, trying to find a way out. At last, the High Priest said dubiously, “Madam Chancellor, I understood that the Oracles were set up for Mr Chesney by wizards of the University—”

      “And by a former High Priest, who asked the gods to speak through the Oracles,” Querida agreed. “Is that any reason why they shouldn’t work, Reverend Umru?”

      “Well,” said the High Priest. “Er. Mightn’t the Oracles, in that case, be – well – biased?”

      “Probably,” said Querida. “For that reason, I propose to ask both the White Oracle and the Black Oracle. They will say two different things and we will do them both.”

      “Er,” said High Priest Umru. “Two Dark Lords?”

      “If necessary,” said Querida. “Anything it takes.” She pushed back her chair and stood up. Because she was so small, this kept her head at exactly the same height. Her small lizard-like chin jutted as she looked round the table. “We can’t all go to the Oracles,” she said, “and some of you look far too tired. I shall take a representative body. King Luther, I think, and Barnabas, you come. And you, High Priest Umru—”

      Umru stood up and bowed, with his hands clasped across his large belly. “Madam Chancellor, I would hate to be selected on false pretences. I am probably one of the few people here who does not object to the Pilgrim Parties. My temple has prospered exceedingly out of them over the years.”

      “I know,” said Querida. “You people keep taking me for a fool. I want you as a representative of the other point of view, of course. And I’ll take you too, for the same reason.” Her hand darted out like a snake’s tongue to point at the delegate from the Thieves’ Guild.

      He was a young man, thin and fair and clever-looking. He was extremely surprised. “Me?” he said. “Are you sure?”

      “What a silly question,” Querida said. “Your Guild must have made a mint from the Pilgrims, one way and another.”

      A strange expression crossed the face of the thief, but he got up without a word. His clothing was as rich as that of the High Priest. His long silk sleeves swirled as he walked gracefully round the table. “Aren’t the Oracles in the Distant Desert?” he asked. “How do we go?”

      “By a translocation spell I have already set up,” Querida said. “Come over here, the four of you.” She led the way to the empty part of the room, where one of the large flagstones in the floor could be seen to have faint marks round its edges. “The rest of you can start reading those letters while we’re away,” she said. “And I’ll need a name for you,” she told the young thief.

      “Oh – Regin,” he said.

      “Stand here,” Querida said, pushing him to one corner of the flagstone. She pushed King Luther, Barnabas and High Priest Umru to each of the other corners and slithered between Umru and King Luther to stand in the centre of the stone herself. From the point of view of the people still sitting at the table, she disappeared entirely behind Umru’s belly. Then, quietly and without warning, all five of them vanished and the flagstone was bare.

      From the point of view of the four people with Querida, it was like suddenly stepping into an oven – an oven that was probably on fire, King Luther thought, shielding his eyes with his stout woollen sleeve. Sweat ran out from under Barnabas’s curls. Umru gasped and staggered and then tried wretchedly to get sand out of his embroidered slippers and loosen his vestments at the same time.

      Only Querida was perfectly happy. She said “Ah!” and stretched, turning her face up to the raging sun with a blissful smile. Her eyes, the young thief noticed, were wide open and looking straight into the sun. Wizards! he thought. He was as uncomfortable as the other three, but he had been trained to seem cool and keep his wits about him. He looked around. The Oracles were only a few yards away. They were two small domed buildings, the one on the left so black that it looked like a hole in the universe, and the one on the right so dazzlingly white that sweat ran stinging into his eyes and he had to look away from it.

      While they waited for the other three to recover, Querida took Regin’s arm and pulled him across the sand, towards the white building. “Why did you look so oddly when I said your guild must have made a mint from the tours?” she hissed up at him. “Does that mean you want the tours stopped too?”

      Trust her to notice! the thief thought ruefully. “Not exactly, Madam Chancellor. But if you think about it, you’ll see that after forty years we haven’t got much else to steal. We’re debating stealing from one another – and even if we did, there’s nothing much left to spend what we steal on. Actually, I was sent to ask whether it was permissible to steal from the Pilgrims.”

      “Don’t you steal from tourists?” Querida asked. When he shook his head, another blissful grin spread over Querida’s little lizard face. “Do you know, I believe that must be one thing that Mr Chesney forgot to put in his rules. By all means start stealing from tourists.” Her face darted round towards Umru, who was now mopping his head with his embroidered cape. “Come along, man! Don’t just stand there! Come along, all of you, before you fry. We’ll begin with the White Oracle.”

      She led the way to the white building. Regin followed, stepping lightly in his soft boots, although sweat trickled past his ears. King Luther and Barnabas trudged glumly after them. Umru floundered behind and had some trouble fitting through the narrow white doorway.

      Inside, it was dark and beautifully cool. They stood in a row looking into a complete darkness that seemed to take up much more space than such a small building could hold.

      “What do we do?” King Luther asked.

      “Wait,” said Querida. “Watch.”

      They waited. After a while, as happens when you stare into total darkness, they all thought they could see dots, blobs and twirling patterns. Sun dazzle, King Luther thought. Trick of the eyeballs, Regin thought. Take no notice. Means nothing.

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