The Architect King

by Christopher Schmitz

  Jackie faked a smile at her humor and gave her a little more space.

  Gita’s eyes searched for someone at every turn they took through the hallways. They looked around expectantly right up until they exited the building. They finally locked on Wulftone with disappointment.

  Wulftone hurried closer, carrying a box of the glazed donuts that Gita had come to love as much as his fiance. She shook her head when he offered her a pastry. “No appetite? You can’t be the Gita I knew,” he joked. Wulftone caught Jackie’s eyes, and he realized that Jackie hadn’t told her about Jenner’s arrest yet.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she climbed into the skiff that would ferry her back to the Guardian Corps’ barracks. “I was hoping you’d be… someone else.”

  Gita’s friends followed her into the vehicle. Wultone sighed, “You were hoping for Jenner?”

  Her eyes twinkled slightly at his mention. “Yeah. I know you said that he survived the final battle, Jackie, and I really thought that he’d have come to see me by now—especially now.” She grew silent for a moment. “Especially since he’s the one who put me here,” she mumbled. Gita continued, “I dunno. Maybe I was reading too much into things; I could’ve been wrong about him.”

  “We all could have been wrong,” said Jackie. “But it’s got nothing to do with you.”

  Gita looked from Jackie to Wulftone. “What do you mean?”

  Wulftone grimaced. “Did you ever feel like Basilisk was always one step ahead of us? The upper-level leadership didn’t talk much about it with the Corpsmen,” he screwed up his face and then leveled with her, taking on his superior officer voice, “What I’m telling you is confidential. We have been searching for a mole within our ranks for a long time, now… since before Akko Soggathoth. Evidence came to us indicating that it was Jenner.”

  “No,” Gita said, surprised. “No, that can’t be—I know it for a fact.”

  “He’s currently in prison and awaiting a trial,” Jackie said.

  “I refuse to believe that. Jenner is no spy—you can believe me,” Gita exclaimed. “I can guarantee it; you guys have got to look again. I just know he’s innocent.”

  “I wish we could,” said Wulftone, “but a tribunal will handle it, now. It’s out of our control. He will most likely be executed,” his somber tone emphasized finality.

  “What? For spying? And on what so-called evidence?” Gita practically exploded in the back seat.

  Wulftone and Jackie traded reluctant glances. Finally Wulftone took up the duty of explaining the grisly details. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Jenner murdered someone in cold blood. Right in front of Zabe and Shjikara… in front of almost all the leadership team.”

  Gita stared at him, incredulous. It was simply not the Jenner that she knew. Tears reddened the rims around her eyes. She sat for a few sullen moments as the skiff jostled along towards the barracks. Finally, she asked, “Who was it?” Last-ditch optimism hung at the frayed edges of her voice; maybe it was someone who had it coming? Maybe it’s a misunderstanding and was self-defense?

  Wulftone exhaled a hot puff through his nose. “Zabe’s father. My uncle. General Zahaben.”

  “I thought he was dead?”

  “We all did, but he came back… he’s definitely dead, now.” The words tasted bad in Wulftone’s mouth and he frowned.

  Gita chewed her cheek for a bit and spoke softly, like a widow. She shed a few tears and stared out the window. “I loved him, you know?”

  Jackie reached back and grasped her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know you did. I think he knew it, too, for what it’s worth.”

  With a pending tribunal and the severity of his crimes, only high-ranking officials would be granted access to the prisoner. Gita would likely never be allowed to tell him in person.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  ***

  Earth

  Vikrum Wiltshire felt the weight of his pistol against his left pectoral muscle. It provided some comfort at least as he followed the strange fellow through the spacious mansion to which he’d been summoned. He asked, “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Mister Theera,” he stated, leading the way through a polished granite corridor and deeper into the heart of the mansion.

  Wiltshire chuckled. “What is that, some sort of family name?” He didn’t try to mask the disbelief in his voice.

  Theera curled a lip in a kind of snarl. His teeth didn’t look convincingly human, but Wiltshire had already suspected as much based on the waxy makeup that seemed to terminate at the majordomo’s brow-line; Theera’s makeup was good, but not perfect.

  “Let us not make the mistake of trying to deceive each other, Mister Wiltshire. We both know that I am no mere human, and we both know who I work for.”

  “Yeah,” Wiltshire sniffed, “You’re a Heptobscurantum toady. I’ve dealt with your kind before, or at least the human version of whatever you are. I really only answered your invitation because I was curious as to what Percival Wainsmith’s house looked like on the inside. Look at that woodwork, and those sconces. Beautiful.” His voice dripped with derision.

  Theera frowned. “I thought we agreed not to speak falsely? I know of your feud with the Hidden Seven, the Heptobscurantum council. You have foiled many of their individual plans, plans which my master is not typically a part of. Actually, he appreciates the dose of chaos that you have introduced to the system; it has provided him with much entertainment.”

  “Speaking of Mister Moneybags, where is Wainsmith?”

  “He is… away on business at the moment. Legitimate business takes up much of his time. More than he cares to sacrifice. He will be back, though I know not when.”

  “Alright,” Wiltshire said. “I’ll bite. Why did you call me all the way out here, then? I’ve got very important things I am working on right now.”

  Theera grinned mischievously. “Yes. I am aware. You seek to solve the murder of your partner, and we both know who is responsible. I sought you out because you are the foremost detective and have proved a repeat foil in our world. When my master left, he placed me in charge of his affairs until his return. Only recently, someone stole from me.”

  “So call the police.”

  “I am not concerned about the money or lost gold and gems. I want returned what was taken from my vault. One of the missing pages from the Codex Gigas was taken from the collection.” He held up a hand to forestall any questions about the missing pages. The Codex was an ancient work said to have been penned by the Devil as an agreement between the Benedictine monk, Herman the Recluse, and Lucifer. It contained many scripts, including an early version of the Christian Bible, several historical works, and a number of magic formulas and rites. “I am aware that you recently went to Sweden and secured a sample from the binding of the Codex… it would seem you buy into the belief that the missing pages might contain otherworldly rites, spells, and prophecy? If so, you would be correct.

  Theera paused for a breath and examined Wiltshire’s posture, he had him hooked. “We follow some of the same sources online. There has been much discussion about images recently posted that claim to be a missing page from the Codex. It is certainly authentic. I was a part of the conversation.”

  “Sounds like you know a lot,” Wiltshire quipped.

  “Of course I do. I was the one who posted the images and blurred out the references to everything save the Scholomance.”

  Wiltshire set his jaw at the mention of the name. His nostrils flared and his heart pounded. As an enemy of the Heptobscurantum, he hated that they kept talking him into taking jobs from them.

  “Do you have that page? That is my fee. I want it.” Wiltshire stopped walking, firmly in negotiation mode.

  Theera laughed at him and kept walking. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Hey. Get back here; I’m talking to you!”

  He kept moving onward until Wiltshire yanked his pistol from its holster and racked it once for dramatic effect.
The distinct sound of a nine millimeter’s slide action had a profound way of getting answers, even if direct threats were not normally Wiltshire’s style.

  Theera turned and grinned at him. “My, my. You really are riled up by this case. I assure you I will give you the information you seek if you return my missing page.”

  “A page for a page,” Wiltshire insisted. “That’s the deal.”

  “Or what? You’ll kill me?” Theera said with a chuckle. He walked towards the occult detective. “I thought we agreed to speak honestly? If I am dead, you cannot open the vault and you won’t get any of your precious information. You will never find the Scholomance without me.” He stepped closer until the gun barrel rested against his head. “You cannot kill me, Mister Wiltshire. I promised to speak the truth, and I have.”

  “You think I won’t pull the trigger…”

  Theera interrupted, “I did not say you would not. I said you can not.” He reached inside Wiltshire’s jacket and snatched his backup handgun hanging on the right side; in one smooth action he stepped back and leveled the gun at the detective. After looking him squarely in the eye, he called Wiltshire’s bluff. “You neither could nor would fire. I will show you that I mean what I say when I claim you cannot kill me.” Theera pressed the barrel against his own temple and fired.

  Wiltshire howled as the man crumpled into a heap. The detective’s gun lay under the collapsed body of Wainsmith’s assistant whose blood and brain was sprayed across the walls and floor. He panicked and paced back and forth. The dead man, or whatever he was, had just killed himself with Wiltshire’s gun—there’s no way that would look good on a police report.

  After a few seconds, the gaping hole in the side of his head began to close itself at a snail’s pace: slow for movement but rapid for healing. A couple minutes later, Theera stirred and began crawling to his feet. He turned the gun back to his guest and spoke ragged, as if he’d just ran a half mile. “Now that we understand each other… I have no need of this weapon.”

  Wiltshire couldn’t speak. He stood dumbfounded and rooted in place. He’d seen a lot of strangeness in his line of work, but this was a first.

  “You will be allowed to take a digital photograph of the missing page,” he offered. “It describes, in detail the Scholomance: the school of the thirteen strigoi, the Solomonari and their legendary Zmei. Whatever you might do when you catch up to them… that will be interesting to see.” He leveled a long gaze at the detective. “Will that suffice?”

  Wiltshire swallowed the dry lump in his throat and nodded. “I agree to your terms. Show me the vault.”

  Theera led the way further into the mansion.

  ***

  The Prime

  “I’ll see you in one hour,” said Wulftone as he kissed Jackie at the doorway to Claire’s apartment.

  She pulled away and winked. “One hour,” she confirmed, and then headed inside.

  Normally, she would jump at the chance to hang with her bestie, Claire, but real life seemed to intervene at every possible turn, derailing every plan made to simply enjoy each other’s company. From what Jackie had gathered from her older friends, those opportunities would not grow easier the further she got from her young twenties. Her upcoming marriage and new life would make it only more difficult, she assumed.

  Jackie dropped her jacket in the hall and noticed two suitcases packed and left by the door as she entered.

  Bithia and Jackie were supposed to hang out tonight, and Jackie had planned to bail early, but with good reason. She’d felt a little overwhelmed lately and wanted to be more than just a sounding board for emotional friends. With Zabe presumably brooding in some foreign dimension and Jenner sitting incarcerated, Jackie just couldn’t take letting her friends cry on her shoulders much longer; she had an escape plan.

  “Oh good,” Bithia said when she spotted her. Jackie was one of the few who knew that Claire Jones was no more: there was only Bithia, Princess of the Prime. Claire’s body had long possessed both personalities, separate persons each, until Bithia’s psychic powers drove out her long-time friend from Earth. Bithia confessed, “I’m something of a wreck lately, but especially today.”

  Jackie smiled, thin-lipped. She’d expected nothing less. “What’s with the suitcases?” Muffled sounds came from one of the bedrooms where her father packed and made last-minute preparations.

  “Professor Jecima died,” Bithia said flatly.

  Jackie sat next to her friend and squeezed her hand. “That’s too bad. He was such a nice old man, and a wise and good friend.”

  Bithia bobbed her head. She still had Claire’s memories to draw on and remembered him fondly. Jecima had helped Claire and Jackie in the early days when Nitthogr’s forces sought to capture her.

  “My father is taking Shandra to Earth for the funeral.”

  “That’s expected… hey? Do you remember the time Jecima slapped you?”

  Bithia rubbed her cheek. Even though he’d slapped Claire, and to prove a point, Bithia still felt it, as if the cheek had been her own. She smiled. “Yeah. He certainly had a way of making a point.”

  “He certainly did,” she laughed.

  Sam Jones left his bedroom with a suit coat on a hanger draped over his shoulder. Shandra argued with him, “I don’t care if it’s tradition. It’s a foolish tradition.”

  Jackie raised her eyebrows. “I see you folks have very strong opinions on funerals here in the Prime.”

  “I’m not against funerals,” Shandra said. “I think the required clothing is ridiculous.”

  Sam held up a black suit and matching tie.

  “I don’t see anything wrong with it,” Jackie said.

  Shandra was a member of the warrior class of the Veritas, the Order of the Merciful Hammer. She scowled and snatched the necktie. “This? Why would anyone wear a noose? And to a funeral? This thing serves no purpose.”

  Sam threw the tie across the room. “Fine. I’ll go without it, but we need to leave right away or the gates won’t align properly and we’ll miss our portal window.” He picked up a suitcase.

  Shandra followed after him, carrying luggage of her own.

  The door shut behind them and Jackie said sarcastically, “They’re such a cute couple.”

  Bithia shrugged and loaded nine spoonfuls of sugar into the freshly brewed cup of black coffee. She bit back a grimace after taking a sip and then added one more scoop. “You know, this stuff is starting to agree with me.”

  Jackie shot her an incredulous look. “Yeah… I’m not sure it does, really.” Jackie told Bithia about Gita’s reaction to the news about Jenner and Bithia’s own emotional floodgates opened. Jackie nodded a lot and repeated “I understand,” so many times she lost count.

  Someone knocked on the door and Bithia pulled herself up from her pity party. She wiped her eyes to make sure she was respectable and as regal as expected of royalty.

  Jackie glanced up at the clock. “Oh, look at the time. I should probably go.”

  “But it seems like you only just got here,” Bithia said. “And who knows who might be at the door.”

  “It’s Wulftone,” She leveled with her. “He promised to pick me early. We have a special thing planned tonight. Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

  “Well, what is it? What’s so special about tonight… maybe I can tag along?”

  “Ummmm… no. Sorry.” She lowered her voice. “We decided to avoid all the ceremony and drama of a wedding and elope. No offense—I’m sure you’ll need to have the big wedding with all the pomp and circumstance and what not. You’re the princess, after all, and the people need it maybe more than you do… but I just want to marry that man.”

  Bithia looked her friend full in the face with warm eyes and then grabbed her for a big hug. “Of course not. I just want you to be happy.” She squeezed tighter. “If you’re happy, I’m happier for it.”

  Jackie thought her friend might even mean it, despite her currently sad state. “I’ll be back soon,” she said, hurry
ing towards the door which knocked again. “Right after a little honeymoon. He’s showed me so many interesting things on the Prime, now it’s my turn to show him Earth.” She flashed a nervous smile, “and introduce him to my parents… they’re going to freak out.”

  The door opened and Wulftone stood there, tall and handsome. He wore a smile and carried two travel bags.

  “Before you go, Wulftone,” Bithia asked, suddenly aware of her growing isolation, “who will be in charge of security? With both Zabe and you gone, I should like to know…” she trailed off. Ever since her teen years, Bithia’s life had constantly been in peril; security was a constant need.

  Wulftone grinned as if he’d expected the question. “Chira will take lead,” he said. “He’s been the head of the Royal Military force for weeks now and he is up to speed on everything you will need and on your itinerary.”

  Jackie gave her a hug again before departing. “We plan to get to Earth by a roundabout way and visit my parents right after we get hitched, but we’ll be back before you know it. Take care. Be strong. Zabe will be back soon—I’m sure of it. But so what if he isn’t, right? You’re a strong independent princess. You got this.”

  The princess released her embrace. “Tell your mom and dad I said hi,” Bithia said, almost as if she had channeled Claire for a brief moment. She offered a melancholy smile and her friends slipped away.

  The door closed, and Bithia was alone once more. After a few moments of stark silence, the princess called out to the emptiness inside of her. After the princess had sacrificed herself for her friends long ago, she’d always been with company, dwelling alongside Claire’s consciousness. She hadn’t ever been truly alone… until now.

  “Claire? Claire, are you there?”

  Her words echoed through the hollowness inside of her. The loneliness threatened to consume her with one final trick played by the Darque and its nefarious trickster demi-god.

  She gave up calling after a few minutes and sat to sulk by the window when she thought she heard it: a faint sob in her subconscious.