Fighting Pax, Part 2 of 4 by Robin Jarvis

Author:Robin Jarvis [Robin Jarvis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2014-05-16T04:00:00+00:00

13

7.30am, 20th December, Toronto

THE WINDS BLUSTERING around the top of the CN Tower tore at the velvet tails of the Ismus’s short jacket and his mane of black hair streamed about his pale face. He was standing over the roof of the revolving 360 Restaurant, 356 metres above the ground – a sickening height with, quite literally, breathtaking views across the city and Lake Ontario. The tops of skyscrapers were far below and the sun was rising dim and watery and insignificant on the horizon. He appeared to be striding out of the dawn sky.

The tower’s EdgeWalk attraction, the highest full-circle, hands-free walk round a building, was a striking way to create an immediate impression when the satellites beamed these images to the watching world. Even with the safety harness tethering him to an overhead rail, it was still a feat of great daring at this time of year in those gusting winds, and a brilliant way for the broadcast to commence. The cameraman wouldn’t venture out on to the metal grating that was no wider than an average pavement. There was no safety barrier, just a sheer drop, so he leaned out of the main pod as far as he could stomach and, even though he too was attached to the rail and believed this to be only a dream, it was still terrifying.

“Your Royal Highnesses,” the Ismus began, shouting above the gale, “Under Kings and Under Queens, Jacks and Jills, lords and ladies, knights and pages, kitchen maids and cooks, honest salts of Mooncot, not forgetting the little boys and girls. Each one of my dear, devoted, loving and, dare I say, lickable subjects around this nonsensical dream world, congregate before your goggle-boxes and bend your ears my way, for I bring you gladsome tidings.”

The cameraman backed further inside and the Ismus followed, the familiar crooked smile broader than ever as he unclipped the harness.

This important broadcast had been trailed across every media format since the beginning of November. Social networks had gone into meltdown with frenzied speculation over what it might concern and the international press clamoured for interviews from the Holy Enchanter and hounded every prime member of his Court. But not even the sly Jill of Spades would reveal any details, although that was only because she didn’t know any. The Ismus had smirked at the frantic journalists and bid them a good day for when they next awakened back in Mooncaster. It was maddening. They were gasping for news.

The widespread rumour was that the announcement would pertain to the book he was writing. Just what was Fighting Pax?

The world was desperate for the smallest scrap of information. Even those politicians who still played out their pointless dream lives in government had abandoned the pretence of attending to state business. Instead they indulged in fanciful guesswork inside their parliaments and senate houses. Such was the level of hype about this mysterious broadcast. As the weeks dragged on, the anticipation became excruciatingly intense. Everyone on the

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