Deathstalker 05 - Deathstalker Destiny

There were a few who muttered about the cost of all these celebrations, or insisted on spoiling the general good mood with cries of doom and imminent destruction, but no one listened, or at least no one who mattered. The people wanted this wedding, this distraction. In fact, they wanted it so much that the ceremony had practically taken on a life and impetus of its own, irrespective of those involved, and would not be denied.
    The marriage and investiture of the two Royals was to be held on the floor of the House of Parliament. It was the only suitably important, prestigious, and historically august site that everyone could agree on.
    It was ten o'clock in the morning, a good four hours before the ceremony was due to begin, but already the great antechamber leading onto the floor of the House was packed and swarming with people. The huge double doors giving onto the House were still securely locked, but the antechamber was fast filling with invited guests, determined to seize the most advantageous positions. There was no arranged seating or even standing; first through the doors got the best spots from which to watch the wedding. (This had become necessary when the first negotiations over seating precedence had led to open rioting.) Jostling for position was rife, and only a heavy presence of armed security guards kept the constant arguments and name-calling from degenerating into pushing matches and fistfights. None of the guests were allowed to bring weapons in, of course. So far, the worst incidents had been limited to cutting remarks about who had done
    what during the rebellion, and the occasional head-butting, but the guards had strict orders to eject anyone who even looked like getting out of hand, and no one wanted to risk that. The words high-spirited were used a lot as relatives quickly hustled bloody noses out of the sight of approaching guards.
    Of course, the moment any of the many holo news cameras passed through, everyone was immediately all sweetness and light. No one wanted to be seen to be souring the mood. Everyone who was anyone, or at least those left after all the many crises of recent times, had come to see and be seen, and if at all possible to be noticed, by the new King and Queen. From such small beginnings, whole careers and futures could be forged.
    On the other side of the locked double doors, on the floor of the House, the chaos was if anything even worse. Bringing everything forward a week had thrown everyone's plans out of joint, and they were all scrabbling heroically to be ready on time. No one wanted to go down in the history books as the one who'd let down the Royal couple. Reputations were on the line here. So the caterers were going crazy in the adjoining kitchens, screaming abuse into their comm units over undelivered goods, the chefs were screaming at the cooks over last-minute changes to the menus, and everyone was shouting at the flustered kitchen staff, who did all the real work, and were taking it in turns to throw hissy fits and slope off to the toilets for a quiet sit down and a smoke.
    Cartloads of food arrived every ten minutes, and then had to wait ages while they were checked inside and out by security. Chefs wept and cooks pleaded for essential items held up in the queue, but Security refused to be hurried. One of the official tasters caused near panic by suddenly complaining of chest pains, but it turned out to be just wind.
    Meanwhile, entire animal carcasses were turning slowly on spits, whole rain
    forests of vegetation were being sliced and diced and carved into interesting shapes, and serious deserts of appalling sweetness and stickiness were being plotted by serious-looking men in silly hats. Clear soup and cloudy wines stood by in barrels, while hundreds of fish in great tanks looked on nervously. The heat in the kitchens was unbearable, the noise was appalling, and the mingled scents were powerful enough to intoxicate lesser mortals. Alone in the depths of the great freezer, isolated in his pressure suit, the ice sculptor was furiously turning out a series of delicate ice creations, and cursing his apprentice for going down with the flu.
    On the floor of the House, political and social advisors were screaming at each other over points of tradition, precedence, and etiquette, and regularly having to be forcibly separated by the amused security guards. And they hadn't even got to the order of presentation of the more important guests to the newly crowned Royal