“It sounds like you need someone to do the actual fighting,” the Bishop said, looking pained, a grimace on his face. “Perhaps it’s cannon fodder you want.”
Eve flared up, wanting to smash his teeth in. Let’s give him a reason for that pained look!
“Stop it, Eve,” Jillybean warned.
“And there’s the problem,” the Bishop said. “You think you are controlling this imbalance of yours, but it’s the other way around. You are dangerously insane, and in the moments you have your wits about you, you’re an insatiable megalomaniac. Your Highness, if you could look at things from my point of view, you’d see that you’re unstable. You speak to people who aren’t real and spend half your time in a fantasy world.”
Her fists were now like rocks, her fingernails digging tiny crescent moons into her palms. “So, because of my imbal…insanity, you think you’re in no danger from the Corsairs? Is that why you haven’t sent trading ships north of San Francisco in the last year?”
“The Corsairs are marauders, not conquerors.”
“They were marauders.” She stood and glared down on him. “I may be dangerously insane, but you are dangerously insulated. You do not live in a static world, Wojdan. Things change and if you don’t adapt, you’ll get swallowed up. May I suggest that before you rebuild your wall and hide yourselves away again, that you find out who it is you’re hiding from.”
By all rights, Jillybean should have been crowned Queen of the Guardians, only the Bishop wouldn’t kneel, not even with a thousand guns staring him in the face. No matter what she said, he would only smile placidly with that knowing look in his eyes. It was as if he were egging on the darkness inside of her so he’d have an excuse not to comply.
Her frustration mounted until he almost had his wish, which would have ended with his lifeless body nailed to the doors of his church.
In disgust, she left the town with her disgruntled and very confused army following slowly after. Although they hadn’t been promised a share of the town’s wealth in the form of weapons and slaves, it had been implied. What other reason was there to come all this way and work so hard?
The only thing they got out of the deal was The Star of David, which the Queen promptly renamed Queen’s Revenge. It was a paltry and disappointing revenge, which did little to quell the whispers that had sprung up. There was talk that the Queen was going soft; that she was losing “it.”
The moment they made it back to camp, she could feel the stares and hear the whispers that followed her. They were carried on a cold, corpse-stinking wind.
She was just wrapping her coat around her when Leney cleared his throat. “Your Highness, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but while you were out running around last night, we sorta lost three ships. From what Captain McCartt says they just ghosted out of formation without anyone seeing. Supposedly. McCartt says they’re not his and Steinmeyer’s saying the same thing. They could be some of the boats the Santas were driving.”
This was the last thing she needed. It was one thing to desert while on guard duty, to slink away when no one was watching, it was another thing altogether to take three boats. It was a public embarrassment that would further undermine her. “Find out who they are.”
I know who they are, Eve laughed. They are all spies. Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor! They are all spies. Or worse! Every one of them could be your assassin. You screwed up, Jilly. If you had just let me destroy the Guardians, we wouldn’t be in this situation. But nooooo, you wanted it all. You tried to rule as Queen of the Dead and Queen of the Corsairs and Queen of the Cross-groveling Guardians and look where it got you.
Jillybean kept her expression blank until Leney gave a stiff half-bow and left. Then she spun around and snarled, “I’m doing fine, thank you very much!” Except, it wasn’t close to being true. She was barely holding on and Eve knew it.
If you’re so fine, why are you talking to me? Or didn’t you notice? And if you’re so fine, why do you want to burn the Queen’s Revenge down to the waterline? I know that’s what you really want to do to her. Is it because she is a consolation prize? You always hated participation trophies, but there you are staring at the biggest one I’ve ever seen. The Queen’s Revenge: a great white loser’s trophy.
“I didn’t lose!”
Did you win, Jillybean?
“No,” she admitted. She hadn’t lost, but she hadn’t won either, which, in a very real way, was as good as a loss. Her momentum had been checked and her authority flagrantly dismissed by people with no ability to defend themselves. Her soldiers were deserting and the talk against her was heating up. She knew that soon the ex-Corsairs would realize that she didn’t have an army, she had a slapped-together force that was just one step up from a mob of criminals.
The mob was staring again. She ducked inside her tent and pulled the flap closed behind her; she did not step in, however. Paranoia reared up inside her and she gazed around trying to see if any of her belongings had been touched. Quickly, she went through her books, her notes, her surgical equipment, her meds…
It was only then she saw that her Zyprexa had been changed to a lower dose. “That doesn’t make any sense. Who would…Eve!” Eve tittered, laughing in Jillybean’s head. “No wonder they weren’t working. You could have killed us, Eve. You know our liver problems. And now I have to take six of these damned pills.”
She grabbed a canteen and was about to swallow the hated pills when the diffused light coming through the thin tent showed a slight oily sheen on the lip of the canteen. A shock of fear raised fields of goosebumps on her arms. She took a hesitant sniff. As it always did, the canteen smelled mostly of old plastic. There was also a strange hint of something beneath it.
“Tobacco,” she whispered. She knew her poisons and either someone had tried to dose her with concentrated nicotine or they had cooked down insecticide—neither of which was something most of her ex-Corsairs could figure out on their own.
There were actual assassins in the camp.
They know you’re weak, Eve whispered softly in her ear, and you know better than anyone they despise the weak. You should’ve let them rape and pillage. You should’ve let them feast on the Guardians. That’s the only way this would’ve worked.
“And let them worship you as their new Black Queen?” Jillybean was feeling guilty enough over the hundred and fifty Guardians who had died in the last few days. She kept telling herself that it was for the greater good and yet, Eve’s growing presence was an indicator of her immense guilt. If she had let the ex-Corsairs raze the town, the guilt would have sunk her—and Eve knew it. “Go back into your dank little hole, Eve. I don’t need your help to figure this out.”
There was very little to figure out. She had to limit her exposure to any would-be assassins and the easiest way to do that was to get aboard a ship, something she needed to do regardless. The longer they sat lurking over the Guardians, the more the resentment would build up and the more problems would develop.
Besides, she knew the Black Captain was certainly preparing his defenses for her arrival and the less time she gave him the better.
She knew that she could not spare a second and yet she hesitated, held in check by uncharacteristic doubt. The canteen beckoned. The poison would be a quick death, but would the next attempt on her life be so easy? She wasn’t one to dwell on negative thinking. It did little for the individual except make every decision that much more difficult.
In this case, she had to concede there was a better than even chance that an assassin would take her down. If that happened, she knew things would be much worse than before. Her ex-Corsairs would revert back to being actual Corsairs and once the Black Captain had gathered his “lost children” he would head south to wreak vengeance. She had to take precautions to prevent that from happening.
Jillybean hopped up and went to the flap of her tent. Peering out, she saw William Trafny. “William,” she called. He knelt as he entered the tent. For once, she didn’t ask him to stand righ
t away. “You’ve always been loyal. Even back on the Hilltop.”
“I owe you my life, your Highness. Without you, I’d be dead right now.”
This was exactly what she had thought he would say. “Are you willing to lay down your life for me?” she asked. He didn’t hesitate and nodded right away. “What about for your people?”
Now there was hesitation. He thought he’d been dealing in the rhetorical. “Yeah, I guess I would. Why? What’s going on?”
“Perhaps nothing.” She went to a chest that she not only kept double locked, she also sealed with a tiny amount of wax so she’d know if anyone had opened it. Inside were all manner of odd things: her own poisons, weapons, her most secret documents, and a few small radio-controlled bombs. She handed one to William.
“You will be traveling with Captain Steinmeyer. If anything happens to me, kill him. I would suggest hiding it in his cabin. Can you do that?” His voice deserted him and he nodded. “Good, can you find Lexi May for me?” Another nod. He left, white-faced and sweating, and Jillybean picked up another bomb. There were five more in the chest and she figured she would need them all.
Chapter 49
Neil’s diseased teeth bit through the fur of Gunner’s strange leather and crow-feather coat but were turned aside by the metal cap he wore over the stump of his left hand.
Gunner swatted him aside as if he were swatting a gnat. As Neil stumbled away into the night shadows, Gunner dropped his knife and drew his gun before Stu could even move. “What’s going on, Stu? Where’s Eddie Sanders? He was supposed to be here an hour ago.”
“Eddie’s dead,” Stu said, as calmly as he could with a gun staring him in the face. “I-I, we, I mean, were coming to tell you.”
“We were not,” Neil snarled, scrambling awkwardly to his feet. He looked like an angry drunk who’d fallen off his barstool. “Who is this guy? What’s with the mask? Huh? Who wears a mask, huh? Felons, that’s who.”
Gunner threw back his head as far as his hump would allow, and roared laughter. “A felon? I’ve been called a lot of things but never a felon. Stu, who is this guy? And what’s with him? He looks messed up.” Gunner peered around his pistol; even in the dark he knew there was something wrong with Neil.
Stu was floundering, stuck between two creatures who were both nearer to being monsters than men. He would be more than happy if they would kill each other and let him go on. “He got bit by a zombie but hasn’t turned all the way into one. He’s kinda stuck in the middle. It’s why he’s so cranky.”
“I’m not cranky!” Neil snapped. “I’m, uh, I’m upset. I always get upset around Corsairs. And I wasn’t bitten, I was assassinated.” He said the word as if he were a carnival barker trying to rook a crowd into a tent where stitched together remains of pigs sat in glass jars and were being passed off as aliens.
“Stuck in the middle?” Gunner said in his usual growling rasp. He stepped closer to Neil and inspected him in the growing predawn light. Because of Gunner’s gnarled and twisted body, the two men were much of the same height. Their masses were far different; however, and Gunner looked as though he were three times Neil’s weight. “How the hell does someone get stuck in the middle?”
Neil folded his arms across his thin chest. “If you must know, I was given the vaccine a long time ago. Apparently, its effectiveness has diminished over time. What’s your excuse? You look as though you were stuck in the middle of a trash compactor. You smell like it, too.”
Gunner wrapped his hideous fur and feather cloak around him tighter. “My business is my own. And I’m the one asking the questions here and we’re going to start with Eddie. What happened to him?”
“Well, like I said, Eddie died,” Stu said, trying to stall as he tried to figure out how not to get killed by Gunner, who was clearly part of the conspiracy to kidnap Emily. Stu had to keep him calm and talking until he let his guard down. Then, three seconds was all he would need to get his M4 off his back.
Neil didn’t seem to understand the concept of stalling or even treading carefully. “He didn’t just die like he had a stroke or something. I ate him. Not all of him. I ate parts of him. His throat and, and, other parts. Some were not so good.”
“Some were not so good?” Gunner asked, incredulously. “Jeeeeze.”
“Jeeze yourself,” Neil spat. “Don’t sound so disgusted, Corsair. I can’t help the way I am. What’s your excuse? You’re filth. Kidnapping innocent girls and raping them, is that how you get off? Is it?” In his mounting fury, Neil stomped right up to Gunner, who kicked him in the chest and sent him flying back.
Stu jumped between them, his hands up, palms out. “Look, Gunner, it’s the virus. He doesn’t mean it.”
“Gunner?” Neil hissed. “Did you say, Gunner?”
“You know him?”
Neil got to his feet and advanced again, his head twisting back and forth, trying to see past the square of black cloth Gunner wore over his disfigured face. “Oh, I knew him from ages ago. The Piggly Wiggly back in Alabama, right Gunner? You were into kidnapping little girls even back then. You sick, sick bastard. What happened to you?” Neil reached up and plucked away the cloth.
Stu cringed at the sight. He had never seen Gunner’s face fully exposed. His nose had been torn away or cut off with a ragged instrument; only two wet black holes remained in its place. His lips were gone, as well, as was a good deal of flesh around his jaw. Stu could see right to the bone. His exposed gums were black. His ears were mere stumps of charred flesh.
While Neil stared, Gunner stuffed his pistol back into its holster before grabbing the mask back. “I ran into the wrong crowd. You could say it changed me.”
This caused Neil to snort. “That’s something of an understatement.”
Gunner let out a slow hissing breath before turning suddenly and clamping his huge hand on Stu’s shoulder. “Finish telling the story. What happened to the girl?”
As always, Stu was able to condense a long story into a few short sentences. When he got to the part that Joslyn Reynolds played, Gunner turned furious. “That two-timing bitch!” He stalked away. Quickly, Stu grabbed for his M4 and had it half off his back when Gunner spun. “Put the gun away, boy. I don’t want to have to kill you. Besides, you need me.”
“How on earth does he need a Corsair?” Neil cried in a high voice. He too was trying to get his gun off his back. Unfortunately, he had become tangled in the strap. The more he pulled, the more it choked him.
“It’s not just him, grey-meat. You both do, if you’re going to have any chance at even making it to The Wind Ripper, let alone getting her through the harbor.”
Neil looked confused, uncertain when anyone had told Gunner of their plans. Stu was equally confused, but twice as nervous. He was about to make a general denial when Gunner waved his stump of an arm in irritation. “Stop trying to think up a lie. I know your type, Stu. You’ll risk life and limb for your friends. And you, ‘Uncle’ Neil, were an idiot twelve years ago and not much has changed. So, instead of wasting everyone’s time, just say: ‘Thank you, Gunner,’ and let’s go.”
“No,” Stu answered and resumed pulling the rifle around.
“Don’t be an idiot, Stu. I told you I’m not a Corsair. Do you want proof? Come on, follow me.”
Stu had his gun ready as Gunner walked off, heading toward the same ramshackle docks Jillybean had used weeks before when they came that way. Stu and Neil glanced at each other; they both shrugged and then followed after. It wasn’t far and yet the sun was up over the horizon by the time they got to the docks. In the water beneath one was a dead body in black. It was a Corsair and one who’d been mutilated badly before death.
“It was our good friend here who told me what the plan was for taking Emily. I was all set to free her but you guys messed that up pretty damn good.”
“And what were you going to do with her?” Neil demanded, jabbing his rifle at Gunner as if it were a spear.
Gunner shook his head at him. Stu guessed that
he probably had a look of sad disgust on what features he had left. “You haven’t changed a bit, except for being a zombie and all. Do me a favor and get your booger hooker off the bang switch, will you? I wasn’t going to hurt the girl.”
“Were you going to sell her to the highest bidder?” Neil shot back. “Or were you going to keep her for yourself?”
The wrinkles around Gunner’s eyes deepened. “Zombie-Neil is much feistier than the old Neil. And that’s okay.”
“Answer the question, Gunner!”
“I don’t have need for a woman. No woman can stomach the sight of me and when one starts to gag or scream at the sight of me, well, it just kills the moment. And I don’t need money. I have all the bullets a man can use. I told Stu that I deal in knowledge, but I also deal in favors. If I had the Governor’s daughter, I could have anything from her, and you as well, if my informers are right.”
The fire died in Neil and now his head felt thick as though filled with wet wool. He glanced at Stu who was studying Gunner. “And we’re just supposed to trust you?” Stu asked.
“You don’t have a choice,” Gunner told him. “Between here and Grays Harbor are about a thousand bandits who’ve come down out of the mountains. They were just starting to trickle in the other day when we came through. Now they’re everywhere.” He pointed at the body in the water. “That guy told me war is coming. He said that the Queen has thrown down the Guardian’s wall and has her boot on their neck. She’s getting stronger, while the Black Captain is getting weaker. That’s why he’s been making big promises to the bandit chiefs.”
“Like what sort of promises?” Neil asked, hollow-voiced. “Will he give them Bainbridge?”
Gunner laughed. “Hell no. He intends to keep that plum for himself. My poor unfortunate informant didn’t know. He thought maybe it would be some of those southern lands; Alcatraz and that weird place the Santas have. Either way, the one thing the Black Captain fears is that Bainbridge will march overland as the Queen attacks by sea. To stop that, he’s using the bandits. If you don’t believe me, you can go on without me and find out the hard way.”
Generation Z (Book 4): The Queen Unthroned Page 48
