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Majesty.”
    “What? Out on another of his mishap adventures?”
    The Chancellor averted his eyes.
    “No I mean he’s ... gone. Tendered his resignation and left.”
    “Tendered his resignation to whom?” I pressed. “On whose authority has he quit his post during this, my darkest hour?”
    “Ahh ... mine, Your Majesty.”
    “What was that, Grimble? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
    “Mine. I told him he could go.”
    Grimble was sweating visibly now, which was fine by me. In fact, an idea was beginning to form in my mind.
    “Hmm ... knowing you, Lord Chancellor, I would suspect money is behind the Great Skeeve’s sudden departure.”
    “In a way,” Grimble evaded, “you might say that.”
    “Well, it won’t do,” I said firmly. “I want him back ... and before this accursed marriage. What’s more, since you approved his departure, I’m holding you personally responsible for his return.”
    “B ... But Your Majesty! I wouldn’t know where to start looking. He could be anywhere by now.”
    “He can’t have gone far,” Badaxe volunteered casually. “His dragon and unicorn are still in the Royal Stables.”
    “They are?” the Chancellor blinked.
    “Yes,” the General smiled, “as you might know if you ever set foot outside your counting house.”
    “See, Grimble,” I said. “The task I set before you should be easy for a man of your resources. Now off with you. The longer you tarry here, the longer it will be before you find our wayward magician.”
    The Chancellor started to say something, then shrugged and started for the door.
    “Oh, Grimble,” I called. “Something you might keep in mind. I heard a rumor that the Great Skeeve has recently been disguising himself as me for an occasional prank. Like as not the scamp is parading around somewhere with the royal features on his face. That tidbit alone should help you locate him.”
    “Thank you, Your Majesty,” the Chancellor responded glumly, reminded now of the shape-changing abilities of his supposed quarry.
    I wasn’t sure, but I thought General Badaxe was stifling a laugh somewhere in the depths of his beard as his rival trudged out.
    “How about you, General? Do you think your men could assist in passing word of my royal summons to the Great Skeeve?”
    “That won’t be necessary, Your Majesty.”
    With sudden seriousness he approached me, laid a hand on my shoulder, and stared into my eyes.
    “Lord Magician,” he said, “the King would like to see you.”

“YOU’VE KNOWN FOR some time that I’m a fighting man. What you don’t seem to realize is what that implies.”
    We were sitting over wine now, in a much more relaxed conversation than when I had been pretending to be King Rodrick.
    “Fighting men recognize people as much by movement and mannerism as they do by facial feature. It’s a professional habit. Now, you had the appearance and voice of the King, but your carriage and gestures were that: of the Great Skeeve, not Rodrick the Fifth.”
    “But if you knew I was an imposter, why didn’t you say something?”
    The General drew himself up stiffly.
    “The King had not taken me into his confidence in this matter, nor had you. I felt it would have been rude to intrude on your affairs uninvited.”
    “Weren’t you afraid that I might be a part of some plot to murder the King and take his place?”
    “Lord Magician, though we met as rivals, prolonged exposure to you has caused my respect for you to grow to no small matter. Both in your convincing Big Julie and his army to defect from the Mob and join Possiltum as honest citizens, and in fighting at your side in the Big Game when you risked life and limb to rescue a comrade in peril, you have shown ingenuity, courage, and honor.
    While I may still speak of you from time to time in less than glowing terms, my lowest opinion of you does not include the possibility of your having a hand in murdering your employer.”
    “Thank you, General.”
    … And besides, only a