Queen of Mars - Book III in the Masters of Mars Trilogy

by Al Sarrantonio

Needless to say we found our spot and began to interact with the populace of this, the real heart of Opportunity. For an indoor city it was. While Darwin set up our wares and pretended to be a peddler, I leashed Hector and we walked through this indoor wonderland which, now that we were within it, was three times as huge as I had thought. The ceiling was lost in the glare of lamps and electric lights strung from poles, and I saw birds swooping and turning as if they were under any other sky. There were thirty aisles, and I found a directory, a huge flat chalk board, set up like an un-permanent grid, with markings for the day in each lot, which was represented by a small square. The grid itself was well organized into sections by type of wares – foodstuffs along the back of the building, weaponry clustered together, as well as clothing, trinkets (our own section), soaps, and entertainment such as jugglers, mimes, magicians and the like.

  Overtaken with the marvelousness of the place, I found myself rattling the coins in my tunic and observing wares closely. I found a hat I had to have, and a folding pocket knife with eight different tools that Darwin would love. There was even a shop that sold sweetmeats for dogs, and I indulged Hector.

  I was so taken with the loud, carnival atmosphere of the place that I barely noticed two cloaked figures who passed close by and then walked on. I was admiring the talents of a conjurer, who was producing Jakra cards out of thin air, one after the other from his empty paw.

  But then I heard a hissed whisper in my ear: “You’ve found me, wretch. But you won’t live out the hour.”

  I turned, adrenaline coursing through me like an electric charge, and there before me, her death’s head face, now completely naked of fur, not inches from my own and grinning with madness, was Frane.

  She moved even closer, sniffing, her eyes impossibly wide.

  “You are not with kit. I can tell. Which means when you die there will be no heir.”

  I drew back – I could smell the mocra on her breath, a sour, sickly smell.

  Behind Frane was my mother, standing staring through the two of us as if we were not there.

  Even as I reached for my own sword, her cloak parted and in her left hand was a long, evil looking blade, tipped with crimson.

  “I killed your father with this, and now you!” she screamed, and raised the blade high.

  My own sword was out, and there were shouts around us as patrons realized what was happening and shrank away from us.

  I saw my mother melt into the crowd, which pulled her with its momentum.

  Screeching like a carrion bird in its dive, Frane leaped at me, hacking downward.

  I parried her thrust, feeling the strength in her, and then gave her a blow of my own, which she blocked.

  She pushed my sword back with her own, her skeletal face suffused with glee. Her two front teeth, the gums receded from mocra, looked like fangs in her mouth. Her white parchment skin, now devoid of fur, looked alien, too thin, monstrous.

  “Let’s see if the kit can fight!” Frane cried, and now the battle was joined in earnest, with blow and thrust and parry in increasing number. She drove me back toward the crowd, which parted for us. The conjurer was transfixed, a card in his hand, and when we were forced into his lot he dropped what looked to be a hundred cards and ran. Beside him was a table holding his wares, cheap magic tricks for kits, and I was forced up onto it, spilling his goods. Frane below me chopped and heaved at me, screaming obscenities all the while.

  The table collapsed and for a moment I was on the ground. I saw Frane’s blade thrust down at me and rolled aside, jumping to my feet.

  We continued, down the length of one aisle and then over into another. Tables and wagons were damaged, goods flew into the air as Frane and I traded blows and positions. At first she had the advantage, then I did, then she did again. I thought I had her but my sword cut through only the front of her tunic and then she was at me again. Back and forth we traded blows, the crowd parting in chaos before our progress.

  Suddenly I found the tip of her blade locked not an inch from my throat, and her strength was driving it toward me – I knew that it was poisoned, and if pricked I would meet my end.

  With all of my strength I pushed back, and now the blade was forced toward her own skinny neck. Her eyes widened in a moment with fear, and then she snarled.

  Darwin appeared, thrusting his way through the crowd, and now his blade was advancing on her too.

  She saw him and suddenly all the tension was loosed in our joined battle, and she pulled her blade back and ran off into the crowd.

  “Darwin, don’t let her get away!”

  Darwin was after her, but she was like a wraith, jumping over tables and pushing screaming patrons aside, until she was out a side door.

  We raced after, pushing through the strips of plastic.

  “Soon we will all die!” she screamed at us, her voice swallowed by the wind.

  Suddenly we found ourselves in a whirling dust storm, the air filled with a keening wail. We could not see two feet in front of us.

  We pushed our way through this but it was hopeless.

  Frane had disappeared.

  With a sudden thought I turned and ran back into the mall. Pandemonium had given way to the aftermath of battle, with patrons milling and shopkeepers taking stock and checking damage. Into this swirl I flung myself, searching desperately, looking at faces, moving on.

  I slowly traced my way back to where the melee had started, and there she was, standing just where she had been left, the lost look painted onto her face.

  “Mother!” I shouted, but there was no recollection, only the blank, lost stare of the addict suddenly without drug or purpose.

  I pulled her to me and hugged her, but again there was no response. I might have been anyone.

  “I’ll take care of you, mother,” I whispered fiercely into her ear.

  There was no response, and then a single word, uttered with a kind of awe and need, as if a god had been summoned, escaped her lips.

  “Mocra,” she said.

  Thirty-Seven

  “I know who you are,” a kind woman in the crowd said, and before I could answer she said, “Come with me.”

  Darwin rejoined me, after finding Hector crouched in fear underneath our wagon, and we followed the woman out of the mall into the dusty streets of Opportunity. “Stay close!” she advised, which was good because the storm had not abated. But she seemed to know the way, and brought us to a small building with many floors.

  Inside, the sound of the dust storm was muffled, but still we heard silt washing against the side of the building like water waves. She brought us up a rickety staircase which swayed under our weight, and past one floor and then on to the third. There were three doors and she put a key into the lock of the middle one and drew us in. It was a small, spare room with a bed and sink and s single chair.

  “It’s not a rich man’s place but it’s all I have and you’re welcome to it, your majesty.” She bowed, and was gone, pushing the key into Darwin’s hand and keeping her eyes down.

  “I won’t forget this kindness,” I vowed, and Darwin said, “But where will you go?”

  “I will stay with friends. If you need anything, ask for Anna in the shop next door.”

  “No matter.” She shook her head and then she was gone, closing the door after her.

  And then our vigil began.

  After a day, my mother began to sweat profusely, and see things that weren’t there. She squirmed on the bed like a sick kit, her paws thrashing. Hector, sorely frightened of this activity, stayed in the far corner of the room, cowering.

  At one point my mother spoke to me by name but it was only a phantom that she saw, another daughter Clara, perhaps when I was little. “Good girl!” she cooed, and clasped herself as if embracing someone. “So good at your lessons, and I love the way you play the tambon!”

  At this point I began to cry, because she did not know me.

  The second day she began to scream, an almost constant keening wail that left her hoar
se. Her body was racked with intermittent trembling which degenerated into shaking fits and which required both Darwin and I to hold her down, lest she hurt herself. Her legs kicked madly and her arms flailed, and she screamed at demons only she could see.

  “Mocra! Mocra!” she screeched, as if beseeching a lover. The skin had retreated around her eyes, and her lips were pulled back over her teeth, making her look grotesque.

  By the third day Darwin and I were exhausted, spelling one another to short naps which were inevitably broken by my mother’s hoarse wails. The good woman Anna appeared with food and drink, which we snatched at like fugitives. Though my mother had lost her voice she had not lost her energy – until, finally, thankfully, she fell into a rough slumber at the end of the day.

  “If it follows, the worst of it is over,” Darwin said, then announced, “I will leave you now and go after Frane.”

  “Don’t!” I protested. “When my mother is well we will go together.”

  “And in the meantime, the trail will grow cold. Stay. I’ll be back within the week.”

  I could not hold him, and his words rang true, so he went. The dust storm had retreated, leaving only the normal choking conditions outside. At the door to the room I embraced my husband, and bade him well.

  “I’ll be careful,” Darwin said, and then he was gone.

  For another two days my mother’s condition alternated between stretches of unsettled sleep and bouts of madness. She flailed at me when I tried to give her food or water, and only when she was asleep was I able to steal close and pat her fevered brow with a cool cloth.

  And then, after five days, she suddenly opened her eyes and knew me.

  “Clara?” she rasped tentatively, and held my paw in her own.

  “Yes, mother.”

  “Are you real? Is it really you, or am I dreaming?”

  And then she fell into a sound and restful sleep, which lasted into the middle of the next day.

  When she awoke she took food, which did not stay down but it was a good sign. Her thirst returned, and she drank glass after glass of water, always needing more. Her sleep pattern became more measured, which meant that I was now able to sleep myself. I began to worry about Darwin, and my worry became alarm when a report reached the town, and therefore Anna, who was a great gossip, that a caravan had been attacked not three days out of Opportunity. I met her in the shop next door she had mentioned, which turned out to be a saloon.

  “Killed ‘em all, they did – whoever did it, that is. Slit their throats. Two old gents and a younger one.”

  She looked at me and soothed, “There, there, don’t you worry. That husband of yours can take care of himself, he can. He’ll be just fine, your majesty.”

  “He should have been back by now.”

  Anna motioned the bartender, a great friend of hers, who drew two fresh ales and put them before us. It was a modest establishment, a makeshift bar lined with plain stools and a mirror behind it, a floor covered in red dust let in when the two huge swinging doors were opened and closed, which they often were. It was the middle of the day and the bar sparsely attended.

  “He’ll be back before you know it. And anyway, your Darwin was heading east, weren’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this caravan it was heading south it was, toward Spirit.”

  “What’s in Spirit?” I asked.

  She laughed. “Less than here, your majesty. They ain’t even got a trading mall, and nary a saloon to be seen. It’s a way stop, a crossroads of sorts. There ain’t nothing else for a hundred miles in any direction.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  She shook her head, and then emptied her glass. “Not unless you count the Old Ruins, as we calls ‘em.”

  “What are they?”

  She shrugged. “Not much. Things left by the Old Ones. Covered with more dust than this town. Not even worth charging money to see, they is. The only thing of any value is the station there, like the ones everybody’s been talking about.”

  “An oxygenation station?”

  “Right! And the biggest one of them all. There’s been talk about the Science Guild coming in here soon to get it up to speed again. Makin’ air, as they say. But for now it’s just dust and sand and broken machines, and a couple of soldiers guarding it.”

  She motioned the bartender but I stayed her hand, and pushed my own untouched ale over to her.

  “I must get back to my mother,” I said.

  She grinned, and took the offered potable. “Thank you, your majesty! And cheers to you and your husband’s safe return!”

  She drank half of her ale down, and I took my leave of her, thoughts roiling in my head.

  I thought of Frane’s last words to Darwin and I, as she ran off into the dust storm.

  Soon we will all die.

  It was the next day when the remains of the unfortunate caravan were returned to Opportunity and brought into the mall for display. With relief I saw that Darwin had not been among the victims, who were both older and younger than my husband. One of them had, indeed met his fate with a cut throat, but the other two were strangely unmarked. It was only upon closer examination that it was discovered that each had been pricked with a single, non-life-threatening thrust.

  “Poison?” the doctor theorized, and then I knew it was Frane who had killed them.

  There were two wagons returned, and one missing. The toll taker in the mall, who kept track of everything, reported that there had been three wagons in all. After examining the two remaining wagons, which contained surveying equipment and engineering supplies, he looked at his manifest and said, “The missing wagon was filled with explosives. They were heading out to the Planitia Oxygenation Station, in advance of a Science Guild team.”

  I needed to hear no more.

  “But you can’t go alone, Clara!” my mother begged. She had regained some of her color, though she was still very weak. “Wait for Darwin at least!”

  Hector, who had taken to my mother after her condition improved, sat on her bed and made contented noises as my mother stroked his head.

  “If Darwin comes back, tell him where I went. He’ll know what to do.”

  “But daughter!” She began to weep and tremble, and I went to her and sat on the bed next to the dog and held her. No longer was she an automaton, staring into space. She was my mother again.

  “I have no choice,” I soothed. “Anna will take care of you, and you have Hector to keep you company. When I come back, Darwin and I will take you to Bradbury. You’ll never be in danger again, I promise.”

  “But I don’t want to lose you! I couldn’t bear it...”

  Her weeping turned to gentle snores, as in her weakened condition she still mostly slept. I lay her back against her pillows and rose, checking my weapons and hefting my saddle bag onto my shoulder. A good strong horse waited for me below on the street.

  I patted Hector and said, “Take care of her.”

  I looked down at my mother and smiled.

  “I have no choice,” I whispered to her sleeping form. “If I don’t stop Frane, she will kill everyone on Mars.”

  Thirty-Eight

  My horse proved sturdy and able. Soon we had left the dust bowl of Opportunity behind and climbed a series of hills into blessed fresh air. It was a relief to breathe freely again. Even my mount noticed this change, and snorted with pleasure.

  The highlands before me were nearly featureless, scant grasslands pocked with sand oasis and dunes. It was a bleak crossing we made. That night the stars rose in a black velvet sky, and I was glad for their company. I thought of Copernicus and also of my husband, and wished them well.

  The next day was much like the first. I passed the town of Spirit, skirting south of it, and it did indeed look as bleak as Anna had described. But on the morning of my third day something began to grow on the horizon that broke the static landscape. It was a jagged line that only grew above the horizon as I traveled toward it, and by noon I was sure that it was th
e Old Ruins, the oxygenation station.

  I knew I would not make it by nightfall, so I made camp as the sun set. I resolved to set off at dawn, but the buildings were beset by weird flickering lights and far off, faint noises, and something deep within me told me not to wait. With only the stars and the quick-passing moon Phobos to accompany me I rode towards my destination. The silhouette of the buildings was huge before me, and a mile out I tied my horse and patted his flanks and made off on foot.

  The gates here were as rusted and unused as the station I had visited. But this was on a monstrous scale. The main building loomed before me like a behemoth, and when I entered the yawning opening of its portal I felt as if I had been eaten. The flickering lights were gone, and I was assaulted by darkness within. Each footfall made an echo that might as well have been a thunderclap. If Frane was here she was aware of my entry.

  I passed an empty wagon, and two dead soldiers without a visible mark on their bodies.

  And then I saw Frane. High up on a catwalk she perched like a vulture, staring balefully down at me. A bolt of fear went through me. She had dyed her face and limbs deep crimson, and looked like a demon from the depths of the underworld. Sudden light flared, and she smiled viciously.

  A gust of wind flew off the desert and the huge doors behind me swung closed with a huge clang.

  “It ends here, Frane,” I shouted, my words echoing in the huge empty space.

  “Indeed,” she said. “It ends for all of us, Queen.” She spit the last word down at me with such spite that I winced.

  I edged my way toward the ladder leading to the catwalk, and she followed me eagerly with her eyes.

  She drew something from her tunic and threw it down at me. I jumped back but when it struck the floor nothing happened. I saw that it was a timepiece.

  “Look at it,” Frane ordered.

  With the toe of my boot I turned the face of the miniature clock toward me.

  “When the hands meet, this place, and eventually Mars, will be no more.”

  In less than ten minutes time these things would happen.

  I kicked the timepiece aside and began to climb the ladder leading up to her. Already she was drawing her sword from its scabbard.