by J. Naomi Ay
By the time Petya and Kell arrived at the Palace gates, a raging fire had entirely consumed the Seven Nags Pub.
"Sorry, I can't let anyone in unless you're with a fire brigade.” The guard at the gate house said, blocking their entrance.
This really pissed Kell off. Actually, a lot of things were doing that to him lately. His patience was thin, which may or may not have had to do with his newly acquired powers.
"We didn't come all the way here to be turned away," he shouted, imagining the Palace Guard choking on his own tongue. A moment later, the guard was on the ground, his face blue from lack of air. "Do you know the way, Duke?" Kell turned to Petya, who was busy blowing his nose.
"Between the fog, the rain and now the smoke, I can barely breathe," Petya complained. "Poor fellow, it appears the same thing has happened to him. Perhaps, we should summon some help."
"No!" Kell snapped. “I did that, you idiot! Rosso gave me all these cool, supernatural powers, and if we don’t get him the information, I’m going to use them on you.”
Rent had just been seated at the enormous conference table in what had been the private meeting room adjacent to his father’s office. The Palace alarms had just begun to clang and despite the deafening noise resonating in and outside the marble walls, His Imperial Brother didn’t cease to pontificate.
“The Imperial Debt,” Shika was saying, followed by, “Negative growth, unemployment, trade deficit, and taxes.” He tossed out a few more economic terms, coupled with horrific forecasts of further decline, before launching into the state of the military’s non-readiness.
“This is terrible,” someone grumbled, apparently paying more attention to Shika than had Rent.
“A tragedy,” another replied.
“It was never like this in the Emperor’s time.”
Of course, that remark sent Shika over the edge, whereupon he turned to His Imperial Brother for support.
“Tell them, Rent. We’re doing everything we can. It’s not our fault. It’s due to circumstances beyond our control, too much greed, too much spending, too much lust for material goods. Our people have become lazy and too dependent on the welfare state.”
Shika launched into another speech, not yielding the floor for even half a minute. Rent was happy to keep his mouth shut and mind occupied, despite the incessant, clanging noise that reverberated throughout the building. He had his own list of problems which now included the grounding of SdK’s latest plane by the Imperial Aerospace Authority.
On top of that, the hospital division was bleeding red as the Imperial Government had cut reimbursement payments.
“Rent!” Shika paused again and waited for his brother to defend the ineptitude that was inherent in the Imperial Governance.
“Uh…what?” Rent tried to refocus his attention on the discussion from which he had purposely zoned out. Unfortunately, the alarms were still sounding as loudly as before. “What the hell is going on out there?”
“We haven’t a clue,” a minister replied. “We never had these issues in your father’s time.”
“Alas, poor Senya,” someone else decried.
“Alas, poor us!” Another wept.
“Guys! Guys! Guys!” Shika shouted as the door opened. Kinar had arrived, to everyone’s relief.
“There’s a fire consuming the Seven Nags Pub, and it appears to have spread to Building 19-C,” the secretary announced. “The Guard is requesting everyone evacuate forthwith.”
This caused a mad scramble as the ministers bolted from their seats despite Shika’s cries to sit back down. Building 19-C was more than a half of a mile away and undoubtedly, the fire would be contained long before this meeting ever ended.
However, due to the wind and the insulation in the ancient palace walls, the fire did not hesitate in its advancement. Building 19-B was soon inflamed, followed by 19-A and 17-D, while the rest of the odd number buildings began to smoke.
A short time later, the courtyard was engulfed, the magnificent lawns and elegant gardens turning to a wet and smelly gray ash that grew soggy as it merged with the falling rain. Only the Rainbow Fountain and Katie’s rose garden had survived the fire’s assault, which was surprising, as the flames were forced to circle around them.
By the time the inferno was extinguished, nearly all the buildings of the Palace were destroyed. Even the Big House was scarred with superficial damage. Giant black etchings climbed up the walls like hideous claws reaching up from the dungeons of Hell to deface what had been the symbol of Imperial Pride.
Chapter 20
While the magnificent Imperial Palace smoldered, and while Petya and Kell wandered surprisingly untouched among the ruins, the Imperial Princess Sara de Kudisha was in the middle of a PacMan tournament at the Chunk of Cheese. She was one of three remaining contenders in this last and final round, having already accumulated nearly one million, three hundred thousand points. It had taken only two hours, three minutes, and forty seconds from the moment in which she deposited a single coin. Sara's step-siblings, Carolie and Rory were vigilantly standing guard at her side, Rory deftly intercepting anyone who threatened the Princess's game play.
Sara was drenched in sweat, her long blonde curls laying limply down her back, her t-shirt emblazoned with New Mishnah Girl's Academy framed by large damp circles at the armpits. A tiny bead of perspiration trickled down the side of the Princess's face, occasionally wiped away by the dutiful Carolie, who kept a fine linen handkerchief at the ready solely for this purpose.
"She's beautiful," Ber murmured, gazing longingly at the girl over the extra-large bacon and pepperoni pie in front of him.
Upon discovering the Princess in their very midst, Ber found himself quite unable to eat, an occurrence that had never been documented before.
"She is," Kie agreed in a surprising vote of fraternal unity. His heart had been similarly tripped, which actually was redundant being that they shared a single cardiopulmonary system. Nevertheless, Kie found himself staring fixedly at the Princess.
“Should we talk to her?” Ber asked. “Do you think she’ll speak to us?”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Kie insisted. “We are third cousins, once removed.”
This was good, Ber considered, as the relationship wasn’t very close, but yet close enough to have something in common.
“I bet she’s very smart,” Kie continued, his chin propped in his hand, his love-struck gaze never wavering from the Princess’s face. “After all, she’s the granddaughter of the Great Emperor. She must have inherited some of his brains. Shall I quiz her on physics or challenge her to some geometric equations? I wonder if she would prefer linear algebra or trigonometry.”
“No, no, no,” Ber scoffed, growing concerned at his brother-head’s plans. “She likes music and art and…and drama games. Let’s invite her to a concert or to the opening of a new play.”
“You know I hate that kind of stuff!”
“Well, I hate math, especially geometry!”
“Dudes! Dudes!” Loran arrived just then, after an extended visit to the men’s facilities, or so he said. A cloud of pink haze seemed to be stuck in his hair, and he reeked of an odd but sweet smelling smoke. “Whatcha fighting about?” Loran asked, while swiping firstly at his dripping nose, followed by a couple of passes at his bleary eyes. “Hey, the pizza arrived already and I was only gone for a minute or two. Leave me a piece, bro, or we’re going to have to order another one.”
“You can have it.” Ber pushed it away. “I can’t eat with the Princess here.”
“I can’t either,” Kie said with a sigh. “I won’t swallow another bite until she’s mine.”
“She’s mine,” Ber insisted. “I had dibs on her first.”
“No way!” Kie cried, lifting up his hand.
The next thing Ber knew, he was punching Kie in the nose and Kie was socking him back in the jaw. Somehow, the table got into the mix causing the entire pizza to fall into Loran’s lap. The soda spilled as well, creating a huge and sti
cky puddle upon the floor. Down Ber-Kie went in the midst of their brawl with arms and legs swinging in an attempt to take the other one out. The problem with that scenario was each hit hurt doubly hard. A punch in the gut by Kie disabled both himself and Ber.
However, this two headed rumble was quite interesting entertainment for the kids in the Chunk of Cheese all gathered around. The PacMan Tourney was postponed as the entire audience had drifted over to watch the wrestling match between that enormous two-headed body and himself.
Loran realized this was an amazing opportunity to earn a little extra cash. His funds were running low, as all this good weed was costing him a fortune. His mother had cut off his allowance with no explanation, so for the last few months, Loran had been relying on gifts from Grandma Luci. Inflation had set in, and a few good tokes cost more than double what it had a few years ago, back in the good old days when the Emperor was still around.
While Ber-Kie bloodied noses, blackened eyes, and broke some ribs, Loran set up shop taking bets on which head would win. The victor would be decided by a count of remaining teeth, as well as a tally of bruises and other lacerations.
At one point, the favorite was Kie, while later on, the bets went heavily for Ber. In either case, Loran kept a large percentage off the top. By the time they left the restaurant, he was financially set for the next few months, despite the terrible condition of the current economy.
Ber-Kie, on the other hand, found themselves in quite a fix, in addition to all the physical ailments they had acquired. Their fight had been brought to an end by the same Imperial Princess Sara who unknowingly had caused it first to start. However, this time, she approached the Beckwad and ordered them to cease their blows.
“What are you guys doing?” Sara had screeched. “Knock this off right now! You ruined my tournament when I was almost to a new top score.” With fists firmly planted at her waist, her game-sweaty face shining an angry but lovely shade of pink, both Ber and Kie were completely struck dumb.
“She’s speaking to us,” Kie barely managed to gasp, while spitting out a large globule of blood.
“Sara!” Ber tried to cry, although his voice was faint and thickly hoarse. In fact, he would have said more if he could only have formed the words, for Ber was on the verge of declaring out loud his forever love. Fortunately, for him and his attached fraternal head, it was a struggle just to say her name.
“Watch it, weirdo.” A short Talasian waved his fist before either Ber or Kie could hoist their body to their feet. “You stay away from my sister or I’ll knock off both your heads.” For emphasis, he launched a foot at Kie’s already aching shin.
“Come on, Sara.” Carolie reached for the Princess’s arm. “Let’s get a pizza and head back to school. They’ll be another tournament just like this next week.”
“But wait,” Kie wanted to cry, as Ber, unfortunately, did.
“See ya, cuz.” Loran waved, escorting the girls to the restaurant door, whereupon he held it open and bowed in a courtly way. Then, he returned to the Beckwad’s side which was now once again firmly planted in a chair. “See, dudes,” Loran said. “I am true to my word. I got you an intro to the beautiful princess chick. Not only that, but you had a private, personal conversation her.”
“That didn’t go as well as we wanted,” Kie mumbled, holding a napkin to his swollen nose.
For sure, we’re going to have to split, Ber realized, but didn’t say it aloud.
Now, whether Grandma Luci would pay or not, they would have to go forward with the operation. There was no way they could spend their lives fighting over a woman or anything else. They’d sooner kill themselves than live in a constant state of discontent.
If they had been born to a two-headed mother and father who had loved them in the Beckwadian way, things might have been different, and they might have grown to accept who they were. Unfortunately, being half this and half that had set them on course for a lifetime of disenchantment. The only cure was a Dome-ectomy for one of them.
“What about both of us?” Kie asked quietly as if he had read Ber’s personal thoughts. “Neither of us will keep this body. We’ll let it die.”
“It’s only fair,” Ber conceded, glancing down at his hand, his leg, his shared waist and chest, as well as the single thing that hung loosely in their pants.
“We’ll do it,” Kie agreed, thinking each would have their own body, which meant, they’d be entirely independent of one another.
“We will,” Ber agreed, mentally making a list. He could specify the length of his arms and the width of his legs. His thing would be custom made to his exact requirements.
As the boys limped out of the Chunk of Cheese, Ber was considering what his specifications might be. He’d want it big, but not too much, and strong but not overly so. He’d want to please his future wife who would be none other than Princess Sara, which was exactly what Kie was thinking for himself.
He too was imagining his own future body. Deciding he would be tall, but not nearly so wide and broad, Kie would also require that he age considerably slower. There was no point in wooing Sara just to die a short time later. He would definitely request to live as long as she.
Actually, that might pose a problem for his head, which could end up elderly, while his body was still in the throes of youth. Kie reasoned he’d figure the logistics out by the time that came to pass. Frankly, it might not be so bad to have a wizened head on a youthful frame.
Despite the disaster of the evening and their aches and pains, the boys returned home to Korelesk in a relatively good mood. Their minds were swarming with delightful plans of their singular lives ahead while conveniently ignoring the possible side effects of the procedure.
These were cranial rejection and tissue renunciation, incompatible blood types, as well as complete lymphatic system failure. In the worst case, the head would view the android body as a large and cancerous tumor, or alternatively, the body could treat the head as a massive virus. Both parts would then attempt to wipe each other out, which ultimately, would result in death for all concerned.
Chapter 21
When Tuman awoke the next morning, he could have sworn he had died and gone to Heaven except for the minor inconvenience of a blade pressed pointedly between two of his ribs. It had already punctured the skin, and a bit of the muscle tissue beneath. Frankly, his right side was hurting like hell.
However, on his left side, a beautiful woman was resting her head, her impossibly soft blonde curls brushing the bottom of his chin. Her silken skin rubbed against his chest, warming him in a way that only a woman could, the gentle weight of her flesh stoking a fire throughout his being.
While in this hazy state of half-consciousness, neither asleep nor entirely awake, Tuman wasn’t certain how to react. He could scream, and bolt upright, most likely causing more discomfort to his ribs, and ultimately, pushing the woman away.
Alternatively, he could shift his body around, away from the pain, and further into the woman’s embrace. In this lethargic and senseless time, that sounded like a reasonable plan. However, when he did so, someone began to scream.
At first, Tuman thought it was someone else who was yelling this blood curdling cry of agony. As his eyesight began to clear, he realized it was his own voice which was shouting. Actually, there was more than one voice. In fact, the screaming was getting louder and quite intense.
Tuman struggled to right himself, losing the woman at his side and ripping what felt like his entire chest cavity into shreds. Although the pain was immense and his eyes bleary with red heat, Tuman was certain he saw a boy leap at the woman.
“Marik!” Hannah screamed.
“I told you no more men!” The child screamed, as he now slashed at his mother with the blade.
“Stop it!” Tuman ordered, his voice weak and unable to project the fierce passion which he had felt for Hannah. He held out his hand and made an effort to rise, but he couldn’t even manage to his knees. “Don’t hurt her!”
�
�Please Marik.” Hannah held out her hands, trying to fend off the child’s attack.
Tuman tried again to stand, while noting the pool of blood at his side with a decidedly detached point of view. In fact, he was more concerned with the long gash the boy had just carved into Hannah’s face, leaving her with a scar from her hairline to her chin. It wept a rivulet of dark and warm, red blood which steamed into the cold morning air. Like tiny wisps of the fog, Hannah’s face bled in ghostly breaths, while the boy continued to slash about in a jealous tantrum.
“No! No!” Hannah begged.
Once again, Tuman tried to muster enough strength to stem the attack on Hannah before she died. His own blade was with his trousers, which were somewhere behind the tree, or so he thought. Without a weapon, his only recourse was to use the power of his voice, whereupon he called out to the Holy One and Anyone Else who might be listening.
“Please help us,” Tuman cried, “before the child kills us all.”
Indeed, it was as if someone heard. A moment later, Marik was on the ground having been tackled and rendered defenseless by another boy. As the two rolled in the leaves and dirt, Marik struggling to gain the top, Arsan clenched his hand around young Marik’s neck.
“Marik,” Hannah roared, pulling her own self upright. She scrambled to her son, who was bucking violently, trying to dislodge the smaller boy.
Still Arsan held fast, dominating Marik and pressing him deep into the dirt, until he ceased to fight and compliantly, lay sprawled upon his stomach.
“Get away.” Hannah slapped at Arsan, defending her son, who only moments before had been intent on killing her. “Marik, are you okay, baby?”
“No, Mama,” Marik wept. “Where’s my blade? I’m going to kill that kid.”
Arsan, in the meantime, was hurriedly making an exit with Marik’s blade, as well as his own tucked into his waistband.
