by Plague Jack
The Queen left her visit with Eldred more distraught than when she had arrived. After the long walk back to her chambers, she spent much of her night pacing. Eventually she calmed and slipped out of her clothes and into her soft but cold bed. She tossed and turned before reading a few dozen pages of Harold Thule’s Archipelago and its Conjoined Past. The book was dull and dry enough that the Queen soon drifted into slumber.
Minerva awoke to the sound of the emergency bell ringing loudly by her bedroom door. This is going to be a long day, she thought as she arose from the bed. Figuring it must be close to morning, she dressed in her best as always and put on just enough makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes. No time for anything else, she thought, dreading whatever the ringing signified. Sir Richard was waiting outside the gallery doors.
“Your Majesty!” he said, his three-plumed helmet under one arm. “Late last night, a Vaetorian fishing vessel was spotted off the shattered coast. It anchored in the city docks and…” Sir Richard’s voice trailed off.
“And what?” asked the Queen.
“And Bridget Van Cann is on board.”
“My mother? Here in the city?” said the Queen in disbelief. Minerva had been fourteen when she was forced to marry King Gabriel. The early years of Minerva’s life had been spent living in the royal palaces of Vaetor. I haven’t seen Mother since she denied me aid at the beginning of the Green War, thought the Queen. I told her never to speak to me again unless she had something to offer. “Did she say why she was here?” asked Minerva.
“No, Your Majesty,” replied the guard. “She demanded that you come to her personally and refuses to leave the boat.”
“And why hasn’t she been dragged out by her hair?” asked the Queen.
Sir Richard seemed to ponder his words carefully. “She has a handful of bodyguards with her who have made accessing the boat…difficult.”
“Does the city know she’s here?” asked the Queen. The last thing I need is a dead Vaetorian royal.
“No, my Queen, the issue is being handled quietly, but we don’t know for how long that’s going to be possible.”
The sentinels will draw too much attention, and they cannot stop arrows. If I have to go out into the city I’ll need a disguise, thought the Queen. Of course, Mother would pick the worst possible time to arrive unannounced. “Get me Shrike,” the Queen ordered, “and have him meet me in the west tunnel along with three of your best in civilian garb.”
Minerva returned to her room and scrubbed her makeup clean, wrapped her hair in a scarf, and donned the modest brown commoner’s dress and apron she kept for occasions such as this. A handful of Queensguard waited outside her door and escorted her in a hurried pack. Harper O’Connor, as Shrike was formally known, was a dwarf who had served in the loyalist Amernian special forces, famous for infiltrating the rebels during the Green War and killing Darius Roselock with an axe to the forehead. It was a clean kill, cleaner than Darius had deserved, so Harper had impaled Darius upon his favorite spear. Shoving the serrated spearhead up Darius’s ass had been easy, but hoisting him up had proved more difficult. Wedging the spear between the Prince’s mattress and the bed frame, Harper had pulled downward upon Darius’s legs until the spear-point had jutted red from the Prince’s mouth. It was no wonder, then, that Harper had been nicknamed Shrike for his deed. Shrikes were a common breed of little bird found throughout Amernia, famous for killing their prey by impaling them upon thorns. And as a reward, Shrike had been appointed as the Queen’s spymaster, a position he guarded fiercely. Shrike was frequently spoken of but rarely seen. Most Amernians thought him a myth, and only an elite few knew his true identity. “No, no, no—that’s simply not going to do,” said Shrike, running a hand through his short red mohawk. “Those swords just scream to the world that you are more than you seem. I won’t have you blowing your cover out there.” The Queensguard were dressed as civilians, though they still wore their fine swords.
“But I don’t understand,” said Sir Ballister, a portly but strong knight. “Plenty of people carry swords—why can’t we keep ours?”
“Because not very many people carry swords with golden hilts and sheaths that bear the Queen’s colors, you idiot,” said Shrike before kneeling down to a child-sized coffin at his feet. “Besides, I brought you weapons,” he added, pulling out a hatchet from his black leather coat and prying open the coffin. Inside were five swords and a dagger padded with straw. “One for each of you and a dagger for the lady,” said Shrike as the guards all armed themselves.
“No, thank you,” said Minerva, lifting her apron over her dress to reveal a short volcanite steel mace.
Shrike cracked a smile. “Should have known you’d be prepared,” he said before his eyes fell upon the ruby choker that was tight around the Queen’s neck. “That has to go.”
“I think not,” said the Queen, stroking the rubies with her fingertips.
Shrike shrugged. “You’re the boss,” he said before facing the Queensguard. “This way, people,” he commanded as he directed them along the western tunnel that led out of the dungeons. “All right, gentlemen, the plan is to surround the Queen in a diamond formation while maintaining enough distance so as to not arouse suspicion. I’ll be walking beside her in case anything happens. There are going to be elfkin everywhere. I advise you all not to panic—it is the city docks, after all. But don’t worry; most of us aren’t in the habit of hunting wildly.” The dwarf smiled as they approached a heavy iron door. “On the other side of this door is a warehouse of mine on the city docks. I’ve sent one of my men to the boat to make it appear as if my company is conducting a transaction with the Vaetorians. Any questions?” asked Shrike with a raised eyebrow and spread arms.
“Wouldn’t it be better if I walked with Sir Richard?” asked the Queen. “A human and a dwarf walking together would attract more attention than a human couple.”
Shrike shook his head. “It would be better if I walked with you. I’m frequently seen with business associates, so we shouldn’t draw much attention,” said Shrike, running his hand over a hatchet at his waist.
“I think not,” said the Queen. “I will walk with Sir Richard and you will lead the way to Queen Van Cann’s boat.” He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, thought the Queen. He’s considering questioning me. Let’s see if he has the nerve.
“Very well, Your Majesty,” said Shrike before knocking on the door four times with exactly two seconds between each knock. The rusty hinges squeaked as the door was pulled open by a gilnoid in a dapper cap. It fit him poorly and his long ears stuck out from beneath its brim. Gilnoids had no lips or eyelids, and he clenched a pipe between broad teeth and exhaled smoke from his long nose.
“Thanks again, chum,” said Shrike, handing a satchel of gold to the gilnoid, who took it greedily and tucked it into his coat. One by one they exited the back of the warehouse and filed onto the busy streets.
The docks were positioned outside Voskeer’s west wall along a gradual slope melded into the Bay of Spice. Although filthy and filled with shady characters, the docks were where the wealth and wonders of the world were brought out for display. Even winter’s cold would not deter citizens of all shapes and sizes from bustling in droves through winding markets. “This way,” said Shrike as he led them through the crowd.
Sir Richard walked close beside the Queen, and she quickly lost sight of the other guards. Who would ever notice me in a crowd this thick? The docks seem much more rundown than I remember. I suppose that must be my fault, thought Minerva as she passed a vagrant in a green robe drawing in the sand with his walking stick. The air soon filled with the smell of salt and fish as they approached the water.
The morning sun rose over the harbor and the boat’s sails glowed like paper lanterns. The Bay of Spice was home to Amernia’s second largest harbor. Its largest was located at the Talon, a large claw-shaped island off Amernia’s southwestern coast. Many of the ships operated by Amernia had actually been stolen from Vaetor duri
ng the Rose Rebellion. They had, of course, been refurbished and now flew Amernian colors.
If it swam or crawled in the ocean, you could buy it at the fish market. The Queen passed an elf selling rows of whale blubber cut into squares and dipped in honey. Behind him hung a large porpoise on hooks awaiting a gutting. Pity to see such a pretty thing strung up like that, thought Minerva as she watched a fisherman cut off a fin and wrap it in paper. Beyond the elf fisherman were stacks of caged marine iguanas that hissed and thrashed their tails as their eggs were sold to hungry customers. The fish were so dense in some stalls they seemed to form a multicolored tent of scale and fin. I’ve missed this, the Queen realized as she took in the sights and sounds of the market. I need to get out of the palace more often.
Floating towards Voskeer was a dreadnought, a veritable island of wood and metal. A gold wooden unicorn charged majestically from the ship’s bow as the three-masted boat sprayed sea foam in its wake. Harnessed in an H-frame above the ship’s deck was a sea serpent, its gargantuan blue serpentine body strung up on hooks as fishermen slit its belly and let the blood drain off the sides of the ship in waves. Its whiskers, fins, and crest were a bright orange, as were the sharp spines that ran down its back. That thing could swallow four men in a gulp, thought Minerva as she watched the ship from afar. Its sails were a deep navy, and sewn upon them in a bright teal was a sea serpent very much like the one that lay dead on the deck. One of Quintero’s ships, then, thought the Queen. So he butchers the very symbol of his house? How appropriate.
“Some anemone for the pretty lady?” asked a fat merchant, waving a smelly boiled sea anemone in front of the Queen’s face. “Also try some of Fat Peter’s stuffed and spiced trilobites, only three copper each!”
“No, thank—” started the Queen before Sir Richard cut her off.
“She doesn’t want any! Now, step away,” ordered Sir Richard, his hand on his sword.
Fat Peter slammed the fork into the table. “You think your whore is too good for Fat Peter’s food?” shouted Fat Peter before spitting at Sir Richard’s feet. “You and your whore get away from Fat Peter before Fat Peter teaches you manners!”
Minerva grabbed Sir Richard and led him away from the booth. “What part of not drawing attention to ourselves do you not understand?” she asked in a hushed but harsh tone.
“I’m sorry, my Queen, but he was getting… close,” Sir Richard apologized.
“He wasn’t about to kill me with shellfish,” Minerva scolded. “Which one of these is my mother’s?” asked the Queen, gesturing towards the docks.
“It’s that one to the far left,” said Sir Richard, pointing to a dilapidated sailboat. The mermaid carved into the bow was missing half her face, and the rest of the ship had hardly fared better.
My mother’s in that thing? thought the Queen with disbelief as she walked along the dock. They passed a group of seven or so children who laughed gleefully as a boy in a red hat reeled in his line. Shrike was already at the boat and was talking to several Queensguard and a merchant dressed in patchwork red and green.
“Where is she?” Minerva asked Shrike.
The dwarf cuffed his pipe against his palm before lighting it with a match. “Below deck with her bodyguards. She’s requested that you enter alone.”
“I think not. Sir Richard, Sir Ballister—come with me. The rest of you, wait here for my return,” the Queen ordered, pushing open the iron-bound plank door and walking down squeaky steps into the hold. Beams of light shone through the cracks in the deck and through the holes in the starboard side of the hull. There were four Vaetorian guards in total, two lining each side of the ship. Hardly the proud things I remember, thought Minerva as she walked between them. They were dressed in leather armor and furs and wore no emblem or herald.
At the end of the hold Bridget Van Cann sat atop a ragged crate as if it were her throne. Unlike her guards, the Vaetorian queen showed no signs of being disheveled. Upon her head sat the Vaetorian crown, a gold ring ornamented with steel spikes that gripped her white hair like a kitten’s claws on a ball of yarn. Tied around her chest was a purple cloak sealed with a silver unicorn-shaped clasp. It would be unfair to say that Bridget Van Cann looked her age. It would also be untrue to say that she looked youthful. Though an eighty-year-old woman, she hardly looked a day over sixty.
“You were ordered to come alone,” said one of Van Cann’s more daring guards.
Minerva ignored him. “Why are you in my city?” she asked, staring at her mother with an icy gaze.
The old woman paused, taken aback by her daughter’s harshness, before smiling. “It’s good to see you again, Minerva. It’s been ten years, hasn’t it?”
“Ten years too few,” said the Blood Queen. “I thought I made it clear that diplomatic relations between Amernia and Vaetor were through when you and your King left Amernia at the mercy of the subhumans.”
Bridget’s mouth twitched. “I am sorry for that, Minerva.” Her eyes were soft and glassy.
“Sorry?” Minerva laughed. “You weren’t sorry when you left me to die. What was it King Van Cann said? I believe it was that Vaetor couldn’t afford to be on the losing side of any more wars.”
Queen Van Cann’s face twitched again. “That was not my decision to make.”
“Inaction is action, Bridget. You know I could light this boat on fire and watch it sink into the bay. I’ve done it before—don’t you remember?” Minerva stared unblinking at her mother. She seems so much frailer than I remember. So much more beaten down than I had expected. Perhaps life is fair?
“I’m well aware of what you’ve become,” said the old woman, her voice shaking slightly. “But I came here seeking sanctuary.” Van Cann turned around and spoke to the shadows behind her. “Joseline, my dear, stop hiding. Say hello to your aunt.” Van Cann pushed forward a crying little girl no older than seven. She was pale with short-cropped red hair and green eyes.
Minerva’s eyes widened with shock. She had been so focused on her mother that she hadn’t noticed the child hiding behind the crate. “Have you gone mad?” snapped Minerva. “What have you done?”
Van Cann sighed. “I did what I thought was right. Your father is pragmatic and ruthless, and your brother is sickly and frail. Vaetor has no gold, and the Firelands are becoming more and more aggressive by the week. In order to appease them he was going to marry Joseline to their Emperor.”
The Firelands treat their swine better than their women. No child deserves that fate, thought Minerva as she stared into the child’s eyes. She’s younger than I was when they married me to Gabriel, much younger, and the Gesskara is not likely to wait until she’s of age… “Nothing will appease the Gesskara,” said Minerva. “It’s not in his nature to be appeased. He only knows how to take. Look at how many he massacred to conqueror the Firelands. Has my brother rebelled against your husband?”
Bridget Van Cann shook her head. “No, but even if he did it wouldn’t make a difference. Your brother has become bedridden with sores, but it’s not plague. The royal apothecary thinks he’s going to be dead in a matter of months.”
Father’s doing, no doubt, thought Minerva, continuing to inspect Joseline. She’s so scared, no different than I was. “Don’t cry,” Minerva told the girl. “A queen must be strong and never cry. How will your subjects respect you?”
“I couldn’t let my granddaughter get married to that monster,” said the Queen Van Cann. “We left in the dead of night and escaped in this fishing boat. No one knows we’re here.”
“Doubtful,” said Minerva, eying the Vaetorian bodyguards. “Someone always knows.”
Van Cann shook her head. “This is not a favor I ask lightly.”
“I should hope not,” said the Blood Queen. The fact that there hasn’t been war between Vaetor and the Firelands means that my father’s kept his granddaughter’s disappearance a secret. When the Gesskara finally does find out, he will declare war on Vaetor. The Vaetorians’ alliance with the Glass Empire will bring
them into the conflict and there will be a world war. “Do you realize what’s going to happen when it comes time for the wedding?”
“Of course,” said Van Cann. “But I am old; death is no longer something to be feared, and that has an odd way of putting things into perspective.” Remorse flashed across the old woman’s face. “I made mistakes as a mother. There is nothing I regret more. I just want to do the right thing for Joseline.”
Minerva still stared at her mother, who seemed to be on the verge of tears. If word gets out that I’m sheltering the Van Canns, the Wild Hunt will be the least of Amernia’s worries. Minerva gazed into Joseline’s eyes. She’s no different than I was. Scared, confused, alone. I will not do to her what my father did to me. “I will grant you your sanctuary. You will live in the palace as a servant. No one will know who you are. You will not try to speak with me. If you are needed you will be contacted.” A pair of Vaetorian royals could be quite useful. I could ransom them back to the Gesskara and let father burn.
Bridget looked shocked at her daughter’s kindness. “Thank you, Minerva. We owe you everything.”
“Of course you do. Don’t forget it,” said the Blood Queen, eying her mother hair to toe. “Did you bring clothes that would make you less conspicuous?”
“Of course.”
“Then put them on,” said Minerva. “My country doesn’t give warm welcomes.”
It took forever for the old woman to get dressed. The aged do nothing swiftly, thought Minerva. She felt very alone as the guards exchanged glares and Joseline fretted without her grandmother. “Be quiet and be still,” the Blood Queen ordered the child.
“Are you my aunt?” asked Joseline.
“I am.”
“You’re pretty,” said Joseline nervously.
“I know.”
“I used to have hair like yours,” said Joseline, her eyes wide. “Grandma made me cut it so I would look like a boy. She said that it would help keep me safe.” The girl paused, running her fingers over her closely cropped head. “I miss my long hair.”
