Theatre of the Gods

by M. Suddain

  ‘That’s bad.’

  ‘Isn’t it, though?’

  ‘Things can change. You know I can change things.’

  ‘Oh, Lenore. You are in for some real surprises. Remember what I taught you. It’s not always wise to run from a beast. Sometimes to kill a beast you must let him get close. So close you want to scream with terror.’

  The whole palace woke to the sound of the girl’s scream. A few minutes later the door opened and she appeared, looking more than ever like a terrible young monster, and said, ‘The time has come to face our enemies. And bring me a glass of milk.’

  DEARLY DEPARTED

  There had been another death. That night at the Domus, the city’s largest temple. A socialite well known for his flamboyant sense of dress had been compelled to kill his wife, then himself, but not before he’d scrawled six words across the side of the temple in his wife’s blood:

  ‘TODAY IS THE DAY, LITTLE GIRL’.

  There wasn’t a person in the city who didn’t know which little girl he was referring to. People painted their own banners. ‘GIVE HIM WHAT HE WANTS!’ and ‘ONE GIRL FOR OUR LIVES SEEMS A FAIR PRICE’.

  The little girl was not anxious. ‘He is right. Today is the day. Let him come. I am ready.’ She sipped her lemon tea.

  The Emperor arrived and told them that he was putting them in protective custody. He wore a particularly elegant purple hunting jacket with gold stitching, white gloves, white boots and an ornamental bronze ‘crotch-piece’. He had prepared a cave annexe high on the mountain where they would be safe. He appeared unusually upbeat about it all. He took them quickly through the corridors, his shoes clacking on the hardwood floor. ‘I have prepared a great breakfast for you. You will want for nothing.’ Miss Fritzacopple couldn’t help noticing that he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘Ah yes,’ Lenore said. ‘Breakfast in the caves. Cannot see anything wrong with this.’ The Emperor glanced quickly at her. ‘Where’s that other girl? Kimmy?’ He scanned the group.

  ‘Kimmy will not be here for breakfast,’ said Miss Fritzacopple. ‘She’s gone to see your son.’

  The Emperor showed a brief expression of panic that neither Fabrigas nor Fritzacopple could fail to notice. Then he sped on again, saying, ‘Can’t be helped, can’t be helped.’

  ‘What do you mean it can’t be helped?’ said Miss Fritzacopple. She nudged Fabrigas firmly in the arm. The old man was squinting at the Emperor.

  *

  Soon they were riding up the mountain in one of the antique cable carriages. The carriage rocked and cried above the crags. Lenore was conspicuously quiet. The Emperor said, ‘You are quiet this morning, Miss Lenore. Did you sleep badly?’

  ‘Not at all. I slept like a baby log. Everything is just as it should be.’

  ‘I will stay for a quick breakfast,’ said Fabrigas. ‘I have a coffee date with Dray, and then antique shopping.’

  ‘So you keep saying,’ said Fritzacopple.

  But the old man continued. ‘I was going to sketch the birds as they hatch outside my window this morning. They are ripe any day now.’

  ‘It would really be wise if you stayed in the annexe I’ve prepared. It is much safer there.’

  ‘Nonsense. Coffee, shopping, sketching birds. This is my day.’

  Their host said nothing more as they docked and left their car. The annexe was even more impressive than Fabrigas imagined. A web of tunnels and arcades had been drilled through the dormant volcano. Some of the tunnels were wide enough to drive a carriage down, others were hardly big enough for a single person to squeeze through, and all were carved with mysterious cyphers. Some led to ancient digs, others to dead ends, others to lonesome mystics, others to cascading waterfalls and lush mountain-top grottos. It was a work in progress. As they walked the ancient stone tunnel towards the hall where they would hide from their pursuer they found they almost had to run to keep up with the Emperor, ordinarily a rambler. A pair of robed monks, headlamps lit, leaped to get out of his path.

  Carrofax, who had been spending most of his time lately vainly searching for the Necronaut, appeared and said, ‘I don’t like this. This is all bad. Turn back,’ just as the hall doors flung themselves open to reveal the long table set with coffee, pastries, soup.

  Sitting at one end of the table was a pudgy, smiling man in a white leisure suit and a white, pointed cap. ‘Good morning, friends!’ beamed the Pope. ‘Do you know me? I am the Pope!’

  POPE

  ‘So, you are the people causing all the troubles!’ The Pope had greasy pastry freckles on his face. With every word he said flecks fell like snow upon the table. He wore a white leisure suit with gold stripes and a gold monogram on the right breast. The year was embroidered in gold on the left breast. The limited-edition leisure suit had been designed to commemorate the Great Crusade. ‘His fleet arrived some days ago,’ said the Emperor. ‘They have the planet surrounded on all sides. They said they would destroy my city if I didn’t cooperate. I had no choice.’ They all sat, solemn and silent, as the Pope sent morsels in after the morsels already in his horrid purple mouth. The Pope’s guardsmen, great hulking men dressed in black, had barred the room’s only exit.

  ‘Do you say your prayers every morning?’ said the Pope. ‘Do you recite the Plasms? Do you read stories from the Holy Neon Bible? Are you good children?’

  ‘Do you plan to keep us against our will?’ Fabrigas spoke and the Pope froze, mouth in mid-chew on a load of snowy-white moosh, and stared at the old man with an expression of a child who has just seen a stranger pull a pencil from his ear. He put his pastry down directly on the shiny surface of the table and smoothed the crumbs from his leisure suit with his two fat hands.

  ‘I have declared a crusade. I have come to find the people who ran off from our universe in defiance of the laws.’

  ‘Which laws?’

  ‘The laws of nature!’ The Pope slammed his open palm upon the table, leaving a greasy print. ‘This group of rebels has something that belongs to the Queen.’ And while his head remained perfectly still, his eyes, squinting, made a slow, slow journey to Lenore. ‘Hello, little girl.’

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘I hear that you have a nose much like a dog, more or less.’

  ‘Better.’

  ‘Better?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The most feared and powerful man in the universe, in any universe, drew a love heart with his finger in a sheet of icing sugar.

  ‘Your devil-nose can tell what I had for breakfast this morning?’

  ‘It can tell you what you were having for breakfast yesterday morning. Half of a dead chicken and a bowl of sausages. With a jug of wine.’

  The most powerful man in the universe, in any universe, was still looking at her sideways, and now his squint was so profound that his eyes became two gleaming slits.

  ‘I am allowed to eat what I would like for breakfast. I am the Pope.’

  ‘So you are.’

  The girl could not see the Pope begin to turn, by minute shades, to a kind of purple found only in the berry kingdom, and she could not see the perfectly manicured fingers of his left hand draw back, slowly, into a fist, leaving long claw-marks through the icing-sugar heart. Then the Emperor spoke calmly.

  ‘Holiness. Please forgive the girl for her impertinence. They have had a long and difficult journey. I hope that we can remain civil, and that any business we need to conduct can be done in a –’

  ‘You are a king?’

  ‘I … no, an emperor. We met yesterd—’

  ‘What do you eat for breakfast?’ The Pope looked towards the Emperor.

  ‘… Toast.’

  ‘Pphht. What on it?’

  ‘… Honey.’

  ‘Pah. That is no breakfast. Honey is devil juice. Little buzzy devils with their busy, buzzy devil-dancing,’ as he made a pair of tiny wings with his hands and rocked from side to side. ‘I am the Pope!’ He stood – though it was hard to tell, he was so short. ‘And you had better al
l start showing me respect! Because let me tell you one thing: people who don’t show me respect, they vanish! Poof!’ And he rose to full height. ‘The people who cross meeeeee, who think they can take advantage of myyyyyy generos—’

  ‘Pope! Enough!’

  The voice seemed to come from the very air. The Pope froze, one finger pointing to the heavens, and the others, looking around the room for, it seemed, the first time, found a man in the corner. The man was sitting, one leg across the other, in a plush leather chair and reading from a small, leather-bound book. He was exceptionally well dressed, and immaculately groomed, but for some fading bruises on his face. He did not look up as he said, ‘Please forgive our Pope. With great power comes a great lack of manners. I think it is time we got to know each other.’ The Well Dressed Man stood now, placed the book carefully inside his jacket pocket, turned towards the group and touched a finger to his cuffs.

  A WELL DRESSED GENTLEMAN

  ‘So you are the great Fabrigas, the magician who made the universe disappear?’ The Well Dressed Man had taken the Pope’s seat at the head of the table. He had taken a perfect white kerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the top clean of pastry crumbs.

  The Pope was sitting, upright, in the leather chair, looking for all the world like a young boy waiting for his mother. The Well Dressed Man held the kerchief in front of Fabrigas, snapped it firmly, and the thing disappeared. The old man shrugged.

  ‘I am Fabrigas, yes. And you are … a travelling entertainer?’

  The Well Dressed Man found a minute crumb on the sleeve of his perfect jacket. ‘Oh, but I thought you loved magic shows. I saw your prank with the trick knives. You almost had me fooled.’

  ‘There are no trick knives. I made that very clear.’

  ‘Really? Fascinating. Would you like to see one of my tricks? Pope! Kneel!’ The Pope fell from his chair into a kneeling position.

  ‘Pope! Pray!’ The most powerful man in the universe raised his eyes and hands and fell into a babble of silent murmurs.

  ‘Pope! Slap!’ The Pope struck himself hard across his face, immediately leaving a perfect pink handprint on his baby-smooth cheek. The sound was so loud they all jumped. All except the Well Dressed Man.

  ‘Again!’ Slap! This time on the other cheek. ‘Again!’ And now two huge black shapes passed by, and the murmuring Pope was joined by two of his hulking guards, in their high-necked black sweaters and silver ear studs, who waltzed merrily in each other’s arms.

  ‘This is the Pope, in case you didn’t know. He is the most feared and powerful person in the universe. His fleet can make whole cities vanish. And he works for me. You will soon learn that I am no entertainer.’ The Well Dressed Man frowned, sniffed the air twice and sneered. ‘Empathy gas? You are trying to disable me with an empathy gas? You can’t beat me with gases, or fake knives, or any tired parlour tricks.’ Now Fabrigas felt his right arm begin to move, slowly, from where it rested. He fought hard to stop it, but it was as if that arm no longer existed. His arm rose and floated to an inch from one of the heavy candles that sat along the table. Fabrigas felt the heat.

  ‘It is a queer sensation, isn’t it? You can feel the pain but not the arm, and you can’t do a thing about it. It’s almost as if you don’t want to do a thing about it.’ Fabrigas looked down at his hand. He saw the hand glowing orange. He felt the pain growing. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He tried to imagine a universe in which he really had no arm. Then he tried to imagine a universe where he had no mind. Then he tried to imagine a universe where there wasn’t a well-dressed man sitting across from him. Slowly, the universe vanished. When he opened his eyes he saw that he had been able to move his hand an inch away from the flame.

  ‘Very good!’ said the Well Dressed Man. ‘I’ve met stronger minds, but certainly I’ve met weaker.’ He let the old man’s hand flop back upon the tabletop. ‘Emperor. You may go. We thank you for your assistance. You can rest assured that the killings will stop …’ he turned his eyes back to his new prisoners, ‘… soon.’ He smiled. ‘And as we agreed I will compel the Pope to vanquish the armies from your wall.’

  The Emperor rose and left quickly.

  The Well Dressed Man rose and moved around the table towards Lenore. Fritzacopple stood to bar his way. ‘And what do we have here? If it isn’t the legendary assassin, Penny Dreadful. I was sure I’d killed you. Had I not? They said you fell from a bridge in a hail of poison darts.’

  Miss Maria Fritzacopple – botanist, beauty – seemed to shrink a foot. But she held the man’s eyes. Fabrigas turned towards his friend with a look of amusement, but when he saw her face he suddenly knew that it was true.

  ‘It was no great thing,’ said the botanist. ‘I spent years building up a resistance to the most common poisons. And I was never afraid of a little fall.’

  The Well Dressed Man smiled. ‘Well, then get ready, my dearest.’

  ‘An assassin?’ said Lenore. ‘What is this crazy man talking about now?’

  ‘You knew, surely, Master Fabrigas, that bad people would be hunting you. But for one to infiltrate your ship! My word. You must be stunned.’ He was. The old one stood and let his mouth fall open.

  ‘This is a ridiculous. My Lady would not be an assassin. She’s us!’ The little girl’s face was bright and urgent.

  ‘It must be so difficult to learn you’ve been betrayed by someone you thought was your friend. Myself, I never keep friends. Sit, woman,’ said the Well Dressed Man, and Penny Dreadful did. ‘Good girl. Hello, little monster. So good to see you again, too.’

  ‘You have met?’ said Fabrigas.

  ‘Oh, we chatted briefly at the ball. Pope! Stop muttering!’ The Pope stopped muttering. ‘Now what tricks can you do, little monster?’

  ‘I’m not your puppy,’ replied Lenore.

  ‘Ah, the young. So impertinent. Why don’t you sing us all a song? Something … jaunty.’

  ‘Why don’t you fold it twice and sit upon it?’

  The faint and ever-present smile vanished from the Well Dressed Man’s face. He bent his tall frame towards the tiny girl.

  ‘Oh, but I’m sure you know a song you’d love to share with us. Something … jaunty? Perhaps a nice shanty.’ He stared hard into the girl’s tranquil face.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly know whatever you were talking about. What is “jaunty”?’

  ‘Hmmmm,’ said the Well Dressed Man. ‘You still won’t dance with me. Never mind!’ He broke away brightly from Lenore. ‘It’s clear someone has been teaching you tricks, but I have never met a nut I couldn’t crack.’

  ‘But there’s one more consciousness here. Yes. Not human. Not visible. Yes.’

  ‘Just try it,’ said Carrofax. ‘Just try to enter my mind and see what happens to you.’

  ‘A phantom friend! How extraordinary. This has been a day of surprises. Of course, you’re of no use when you’re forbidden from interfering in this universe, are you?’

  ‘Direct assaults are a different matter. Just try entering my mind. I beg you to. Just give me an excuse.’

  The Well Dressed Man laughed. ‘Oh, I can tell we’re going to have some fun here. The stage is set for a fantastic battle! But for now I think we all need some rest. I feel like this young girl is going to soak up a great deal of my … concentration.’

  ‘I’m the Pope!’ said the Pope.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said the Well Dressed Man. ‘Of course you are.’

  BLACK WIDOW

  Things began to move very fast. ‘At least let us say goodbye,’ said the botanist.

  ‘Oh, my dear Penny, you have gone sentimental. You have forty-five seconds to say goodbye,’ said the Well Dressed Man, and Miss Fritzacopple took Lenore in her arms. ‘I will come for you,’ she said. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Everything will turn out how it will,’ the girl replied.

  Fabrigas knelt before her and pressed a familiar object into her palm. ‘Be brave,’ he said. Then the girl was taken away by two towering guards.


  ‘Old fool,’ said the Well Dressed Man, ‘I sense no fight in you. You may return to your apartment. A guard will be placed outside, purely for your safety.’ He reached into his breast pocket, took out a straight-edge razor and unfolded it. ‘And what would you like me to do with your assassin? I am happy to dispose of her.’ He handed the blade to the botanist who raised it to her own throat. ‘The choice is yours.’

  The old man’s face betrayed nothing. ‘Tell me who you are.’

  ‘I am Maria Fritzacopple.’

  ‘Lies!’ said the Well Dressed Man. The blade left a thin mark on the side of her throat.

  ‘I have many names,’ she said. And this was true. ‘As you are the Queen’s star explorer, I was once her top spy. My code name was the Black Widow. I escaped the Queen’s service and became a private assassin. I assumed the name Penny Dreadful. Like this man, I was hired to track and kill you. As I became aware of the scale and brutality of the plot against you, I switched allegiances.’

  ‘Why should I believe you?’ said Fabrigas.

  ‘Because if it wasn’t true, you’d all be dead.’

  ‘To be fair, that’s probably fact,’ said the Well Dressed Man.

  ‘Since we made the crossing I have dedicated myself to protecting you and the children. You are not aware of the times that I have saved your lives.’

  ‘Like I said, she’s gone soft.’

  ‘You had a good side once, Daniel.’

  ‘That,’ said the Well Dressed Man, ‘is just a rumour spread by people I’ve killed. Well, old man? Shall we get this over with? Step off that antique carpet, will you, there’s a good girl.’ Penny Dreadful, aka the Black Widow, stepped off the carpet.

  Fabrigas turned to the Well Dressed Man. ‘Put her in a cell. A cold and dark one.’