by Ken Altabef
Being devoted soldiers, some of them fought on, stabbing at the vague green target or simply slashing blindly. One man accidentally wounded one of his companions in the shoulder. Theodora danced among them. Her principal objective was to blow a puff of white powder into each man’s face but it seemed she could not resist giving each of them a playful pat on the ass with the flat of her blade. The men gasped and moaned and fell to the ground. Soon they were all fast asleep.
The crowd reacted to this display with a rising panic. Their reaction was matched by that of King George. He had watched breathlessly at first, secure in his estimation of the skillful sword arms of the House Guard to handle the situation. But as the guardsmen fell one after another, a chorus of voices rose in dismay and alarm. The Prussian delegation shrank toward a far corner of the ballroom, seeking safety there. The Chancellor clumsily toppled one of the huge tapestries down from the wall. The other dignitaries and guests, none of whom were armed, sought shelter among themselves. Men flung protective arms around the women but were impeded in their efforts by the huge hoops. Others crouched low as if the ladies’ ribbed skirts might protect them from danger.
“We need more men,” said George. “We need more men.” He saw some old man barring the way to the main corridor. The man had secured an iron bar between the door handles, effectively preventing any more help from arriving on the scene. The old man turned and George saw that it was Jacob Schroeder. Traitor! Traitor’s among my own staff. Intolerable!
The Green Man once again advanced toward the Queen. As she moved, her appearance adjusted. She flung the large feathered hat in the air and it disappeared into green smoke. At a toss of her head, long tresses of fine, honey-hued hair fluttered free like strands of spun gold. Her large, almond-shaped eyes glittered bright green, and beneath high arched cheekbones, the sensuous lips parted in an impish scowl. Her slender figure was clad in a warrior’s togs. Tan leather pants clung tightly to long, athletic legs and a sleeveless bodice of some similar material, retaining the same emerald green of her former apparel, hugged her lithe torso. Delicate, membranous wings arched around from her back.
“This is me,” she shouted at the Queen. “Now show them who you are!”
Charlotte shrank back. Her face had gone pale as a sheet of fine vellum, her lips trembling. She turned to George for aid, muttering his name in a soft, fragile voice.
He stepped in front of Charlotte. He must not fail her! He must do something! The Green Man—that faery woman with the rapier—she… He?… She?… That individual was intent on murder and mayhem. Well, if she is going to kill me, so be it. If I must die for Charlotte’s love and protection I would gladly thrust myself into the very maw of the Devil himself, or herself, or—
A firm hand on his shoulder gave him pause.
Charlotte’s brother Adolphus eased him back a step. “Allow me,” he said.
George was amazed to see that as Adolphus advanced toward Theodora his body also changed. His shoulders broadened and enlarged. He grew at least half a foot taller, his arms and legs thickening to inhuman proportions. His courtly jacket and skirts transformed into a plated leather jerkin and black silk pants. It seemed impossible.
Adolphus turned at the last to throw George a mischievous smile. His skin was a dark purple, his features coarse and inhuman, and two spiraled black horns had sprouted from his forehead. My God, George thought in utter panic. Monsters in the ballroom! Monsters!
Beside him, the Queen’s handmaid Juliana revealed herself as well. Pulling off the little harlequin’s half-mask she had donned for the party, George saw that she was also one of them—a faery woman. Sallow yellow-green skin, pointed ears and were those… fangs?
“Ahhhh!” he screamed.
Spies! Spies everywhere!
He grabbed clumsily for Charlotte’s forearm, to ensure that she felt his protection even in this extreme circumstance. She shrank into his arms. “What’s happening?” she muttered, barely able to get the words out. He couldn’t say.
The transformation of the horned one included a long, heavy sabre that whistled as he swung it through the air. George realized he must have been armed the whole time. And standing right next to Charlotte. At any time he could’ve attacked her, killed her. At any time!
But wait! The devil was not in league with the faeries; he stood opposed! The devil went at Theodora, swinging his heavy sabre in short chopping blows. Theodora parried these first few basic attacks, but it was clear she was outmatched. Every clash of steel sent her staggering back a half-step. The crowd parted behind her. Soon she would be up against the wall.
Sensing the difficulty of her position, she took an opportunity at the devil’s next stroke. She parried the blow from above, leaping in the air at the same instant. In a spectacularly fluid movement she used the downstroke of her slender rapier as a fulcrum, turning a somersault in the air to land behind the demon. She thrust at him, perfectly content to stab him in the back.
But the devil was too quick. He spun round, slashing with his sword. The stroke knocked the rapier from Theodora’s hand, but she reacted instantly again. She launched herself in an arcing leap through the air that chased her sword’s hilt as it flew across the dance floor. She caught it just in time, coming down to land on her shoulder in a front roll and come back up in a renewed fighting stance.
The devil laughed, a deep sulfurous rumble. “It’s no use, little faery.”
He stalked across the floor with slow deliberate steps, his sabre whistling. George felt a renewed panic just to see this foul creature coming back their way. We can’t stay up here, he thought. They’ll come after us next. We should get down from this damned dais.
He took Charlotte’s arm again but couldn’t conceive of which direction to turn. She shrugged him off.
The devil approached Theodora again. Hs initial testing over, he adopted a more serious fighting posture. Knees slightly bent, broad shoulders loose, a grim smile on his hideous face. To her credit Theodora attacked first, charging with a feint to the left that changed immediately to a feint on the right and resolved itself finally into a low attack at the devil’s groin. He blocked the attack easily and it was followed by a slash to his shoulder, which he also blocked, and another at the opposite side of his neck. He blocked that one as well and returned with a closed fist strike at the woman’s face. He punched her in the jaw with enough force perhaps to snap a man’s neck. She mitigated the force of the blow by kicking off the ground as it struck, but nonetheless she was knocked helplessly to the floor. The devil stomped his huge feet at her, making her skitter and crawl away like a bug. The villainous laughter rang out again.
And again the woman righted herself and charged. Her sword flashed, her arms flailed. Colored lights popped and fizzled between them. At last she saw her opportunity, an unguarded patch of the devil’s barrel chest. She thrust with all her might and made contact just above the level of his heart.
But her sword tip merely bounced aside. The devil’s skin was hard as iron. The unexpected resistance turned her wrist and she lost the sword, once again falling backward to the parquet dance floor. Her time had come.
Chapter 59
George didn’t know whether to cheer or cry out in terror. His enemy, the Green Man, lay on the verge of defeat but the victor was an abomination even worse. He turned toward Charlotte. They had to get out of here!
Just then the Queen’s other handmaid, Johanna Hagerdorn, pushed between them, rudely shoving George to the side. Still wearing her yellow party dress, the girl leapt forward and rushed into the fray. She grabbed the huge sword of state as she passed its trencher at the foot of the royal dais.
Johanna Hagerdorn’s face changed. George couldn’t believe it. Yet another faery in his court. This was just altogether too much. He felt woozy, faint. He swooned, nearly toppling from the dais. A pair of stringy arms kept him from hitting the floor.
One of the stewards had caught him. George gazed groggily at his savior, Jacob Schroeder. He wa
s relieved to see the man’s gentle face, even an old man like him, anyone to help. Wait! Schroeder. The traitor?
Schroeder thrust a moist handkerchief over George’s mouth. As he grinned down at the King, the old man’s face warped and elongated. His skin greened, his eyebrows grew thorny, the nose sharpened almost to a pencil point. This change lasted only a moment and then the steward resembled old man Schroeder again, but the brief transformation created enough of a shock to cause George to gasp and inhale the ether that laced the handkerchief. Everything grew hazy.
The old man pulled him back and away and they were soon lost in the pandemonium of the crowd. The people were not surprised the King had passed out. They allowed some room for his man to help him.
Theodora scrabbled back along the floor, fleeing Aldebaran’s advance. She’d been hard-pressed fighting him and this was the second time she’d been brought low. She knew she could not hold out much longer, but perhaps she would not need to. This fight was, after all, merely a distraction intended for Dresdemona, hoping to buy enough time for the faeries to complete the plan.
Theodora shot a glance at the dais. The Dark Queen still stood at her place, maintaining her charade at all costs. She had been so intent on watching the fight, she hadn’t seen what happened to George; she didn’t care a whit for him in any case. A good distraction. Just as they planned. Theodora only hoped it wouldn’t wind up being a fatal distraction. At least not for her.
Aldebaran chopped down with his blade, slicing a bit of leather from the shoulder of Theodora’s vest and scoring the flesh beneath. She spun round across the floor, but with his continued slashes, she did not think she’d be able to regain her footing before the killing stroke came down.
She was amazed when Meadowlark intervened, calling out, “Wherefore art thou Romeo? Hahah ha! Wouldn’t you like to know!”
She had already realized that both handmaidens were faeries, but had not known their true identities. But as Johanna charged, hefting the jeweled sword of state, her features changed. Her long strawberry-blonde hair darkened to wild black curls. Her soft round face became that of the quirkily handsome Meadowlark. The yellow ball gown remained. It was apparently real.
Meadowlark swung the sword clumsily at Aldebaran’s shoulder. “For love! For LOVE!”
Theodora had long since ceased to be surprised by the wild and impulsive antics of Meadowlark. She had heard him declare his love for her numerous times before. But this time was different. He really sounded as if he meant it.
Meadowlark, energized by his crazed feelings of love and derring-do, stabbed at the startled Aldebaran with lightning ferocity, striking him a handful of times in the belly. But not even the jeweled sword of state could make a mark on him, though it did become a little bent in the process. One of the rubies flew loose from the base of the blade and struck Meadowlark on the temple.
With his bare hand, Aldebaran swatted Meadowlark away.
The lithe, dark-haired faery lost the sword but sprang back, exposing his breast by ripping the bodice of the yellow gown in a dramatic way. “Go ahead then! Stab me through Love’s heart. Relieve me of this burden. For love, I die!”
Aldebaran couldn’t be bothered with this lunatic enough even to even stab him and just slapped him out of the way again. He wanted to gut the Green Man and be done with it.
He turned back toward Theodora but Meadowlark’s distraction had enabled her not only to regain her footing but also to prepare a little surprise. She had stuck the holy relic—the withered index finger of Saint Alphonso Unitarius—on the end of her rapier as if it were a bob. She stepped into Aldebaran’s turn, thrusting the finger-tipped sword through the hollow of his neck.
Aldebaran exhaled sharply. His red-rimmed eyes bulged grotesquely and a wisp of smoke extruded from each flaring nostril. He drew his sabre back but the movement slowed to a crawl before his arm even reached his shoulder. The dark purple hue of his flesh dimmed to a dusky gray, taking on a grainy texture. Even his clothes transformed, turning to coarse gray stone along with all the rest of him.
Theodora withdrew the rapier tip, minus the saint’s finger. She took a step forward and shoved Aldebaran with both hands. He fell backwards and hit the parquet dancing floor with a hefty thump. His head snapped off and rolled a little way to the side, leaving the body, a petrified gray statue, lying on its back.
Dresdemona couldn’t believe what she had just seen. Those Summer Court fools had found a way to rid her of her Nephilim minder at last. She would suffer his indignities no more. What a perfect ‘birthday’ present!
Now if she could simply get rid of the rest of them, her plan could continue with even more success than before. By her count there were only three—Theodora Grayson, Threadneedle and the traitor Meadowlark. She would have to replace Meadowlark as her court jester, but that was no great loss. The plan could still work.
She turned to see King George standing beside her once more. Without skipping a beat she painted her face pale and terrified. “George… George, there are faeries all over the place!”
“I see that,” he replied. He seemed surprisingly calm, and there was a biting note to his tone Dresdemona did not like at all.
“Well, get rid of them. Bring in some more men. Do something!”
He shook his head.
“Arrest them! Detain them! Kill them! If not, then let us be away from here. It’s not safe.”
George’s lip curled slowly upward at the side. Was that a smirk?
Dresdemona did not like this at all. This was a most inconvenient time for her milquetoast husband to develop a backbone. In all the confusion, she must have let her hold on him slip a bit too much. She licked her upper lip suggestively, exuded her own seductive perfume. “Come now, dear…” she drawled.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
This was too much. Dresdemona could almost believe that her real husband had been replaced by a changeling imposter, but that was not possible. She would know another faery from across the room, not to mention at such close range. There was no doubt about it. This was her husband.
“What then? That woman,” and here she threw an accusatory finger toward Theodora, “is going to harm me.”
“I hope so,” replied George, “for you, my dear are a liar and a spy.”
A shrill note of panic rang in Dresdemona’s mind. This, then, was a real problem. She tried to strengthen her power over him but couldn’t seem to connect. She knew the pregnancy had weakened her ability to influence men, but this was a total collapse. It shouldn’t be possible. “I don’t know who told you these dreadful lies but George, you are completely mistaken. I would never—”
“You can drop the charade, my dear. You are yourself a faery, in league with that devilish monster.”
He knew! There was no way around it. He knew! She sputtered helplessly. “This... this is... they’ve done something to your mind. Oh darling can’t you see—”
George was not moved. “Oh, don’t bother to deny it, Dresdemona.”
Her name. He knew her name. None of the others had mentioned it, not even the Green Man, she was certain. Well, that proves it. He knows. How he had found out is irrelevant. The plan can not succeed.
Dresdemona released herself from her glamour. Leathern wings sprouted from her back. Still wearing the great white ball gown, the pearl fan still in her hand, she levitated a few feet in the air above the dais. The crowd, who had witnessed several starling transformations this day, burst into a renewed uproar.
Dresdemona flung herself toward Theodora. She would have fought Theodora herself if she weren’t with child. As it was, she surprised her adversary mid-swoop, slashing across her cheek with the sharp edge of the fan. A thin line of violet blood trickled down.
Dresdemona rose upward, barely steadying herself with the wings. At this awkward angle half of the room had been treated to the sight of her royal underpants before she tore the hoop skirt away and let it fall. No more time to waste. She flung herself t
hrough the round rose window above the dais and flew out into the open air.
George had regained his senses just in time to witness the Queen’s dire transformation. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might burst. A dizzying haze lowered itself over his vision like a misty window blind.
His dear Charlotte a faery hag? Complete with demon’s wings?
It couldn’t be true. He must be suffering some type of fever, some encroaching madness. He could not take any more of this. He couldn’t breathe.
A cool rag dabbed at his forehead. A reassuring voice said, “You’ll be all right, Your Majesty.”
George gazed into the familiar face of his man Schroeder. “Don’t worry, my King, all will be well in just a minute.”
“What? What?” George was too stunned to protest any further. Wasn’t this man Schroeder a faery too? Was he seeing things? Charlotte. Charlotte…
Just then the bar at the door was released by Horace Wilde and a squad of redcoats came charging into the room.
“You see?” said Schroeder.
“Yes, yes. Some succor at last,” George mumbled.
The soldiers led a prisoner into the room, his hands bound before him. George recognized him as the outlaw Eric Grayson.
“Grayson,” George muttered. “The Graysons are responsible for this whole thing.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Schroeder, “but not in the way you think.”
An additional pair of armed men escorted a woman into the room as well. She was dressed rather plainly, but her features were unmistakable. Charlotte. It was his dear beloved Charlotte!
Charlotte, his grounding post. Charlotte, his rock. George suddenly felt elated. “Charlotte!” he cried, suddenly unaware that an entire mob of people were still in the room. He pulled himself to his feet, grabbing handfuls of Schroeder’s black jacket until he had made himself upright and then shoved the old man away. He would deal with Schroeder later. Faery. Blight.
