Athel dropped her hands down in disappointment. “Alder?”
Alder stepped forward without missing a beat. “Two hundred and thirty-two ships, with an average crew of ninety, that comes out to over three hundred thousand taries per person.”
The Guild Masters smiled and nodded approvingly. A couple of them whistled greedily. The lust for money was thick in the air.
Geto raised his tentacled hand. “I have a question.”
“Go for it.”
“Say we get past the blockade, and through the inner door we can’t open, and through the field we can’t pass through, and down the shaft with all the guards with the cannons we can’t force our way past, and get to the vault we can’t open...”
“...Unseen by observers,” Dr. Griffin added, holding up a small marble.
“Oh, sorry, I forgot to mention that,” Athel said. “The whole place is lined with special glass orbs that send images to the command room here.” Athel tapped her pointer at a room buried within the complex.
Dr. Griffin tossed the marble, which rolled along the floor amidst the pirates.
“They are also quite useful for looking up skirts,” Dr. Griffin added, holding a strange device up to his face.
Setsuna stomped her heel down, smashing the glass orb. The device in Dr. Griffin’s hand shattered in a puff of black smoke, and he fell to the ground, writhing in agony.
Several of the pirates laughed.
Geto raised his hand up again. “Okay, so say we do all that, we're just supposed to walk out of there with seven trillion taries without getting shot?”
Athel shrugged. “Yeah, it'll be just like the fourth Migration novel.”
“Oh. Okay. Fine,” Geto said, looking nervous. “No problem.”
Athel began pacing dramatically, tapping the pointer against her leg as if it were a riding crop. “Now, most of the blockade ships have been stripped away for the war, but even so we're going to have to assume that news of our attack will be broadcast the second we start. That gives us two days before reinforcements can be expected to arrive from Kirdish. One of our biggest obstacles will be the time it takes to load the gold onto our ships. To facilitate that, our esteemed colleagues from the Egress Guild will be creating a gate that will allow us to fly our airships, one at a time, directly into the vault itself.”
“That’s impossible,” Bazult appraised.
Athel motioned to Setsuna for an explanation.
Setsuna shrugged and clucked her tongue against her green painted lips. “It’s impossible for a single Gatemaster, but the more of us that work together, the larger the gate, the greater the range. My crew can make one large enough to swallow a ship without breaking a sweat.”
“That’s how you do it, isn’t it?” Namtia hissed. “That’s why your Guild is so wealthy. You just gate whole ships away from the shipping lanes to rob them at your leisure, away from the patrols.”
Setsuna tugged absentmindedly on a green pigtail. “Normally I don’t like to brag, but yes, that is how we do it.”
“Then you are cowards,” Namtia accused.
“Hardly,” Anuk praised. “It is effective, what else matters?”
The comment was so out of character for Anuk that the other Guild Masters could only stare at him.
Her hands in her pockets, Setsuna stepped forward into a tear and reappeared, standing on top of the model. “The problem is that the whole facility is protected by these barriers, and we can’t gate through those,” she appraised, bending down to look it over.
“So, the barriers have to come down,” Athel explained, “which is where our special strike team comes in.”
Athel took out a model of a tithe ship and placed it before the great doors.
“Strike team reveal,” she said into the command crystal. When she did, the tiny crates on the deck popped open, revealing miniature golems made up to look like the crew of the Dreadnaught.
“Oh my gosh, that is so cute,” Mina gushed as she bent over the table. “It’s a tiny me.”
“Okay, strike team take your positions,” Athel said into the crystal. The little golems scrambled about on the ship, climbing up the shrouds and crawling across the yardarms.
“Ohh, sweetie, sorry to interrupt, but could you make mine jump?” Mina begged.
Athel rolled her eyes. “Mina, jump,” she said into the crystal. The tiny Mina golem hopped up and down, her long white fox tail whipping behind her.
“That is adorable!” Mina purred.
Alder stepped up and looked at his golem. “I assume I'll be contributing in my usual capacity as decoy?”
“No Alder,” Athel smiled. “You get to be bait this time.”
“Make mine dance!” Margaret begged.
Athel sighed. “Margaret, dance.” The tiny golem put up its little arms and spun around like a ballerina.
“Yay!” Margaret cheered.
“Okay, back on task,” Athel said. “So, the strike force will...”
“Ohh, make mine do a cartwheel!” Mina insisted.
“We don’t have time for this,” Athel groaned.
Mina grabbed the crystal from Athel’s hand.
“Hey!” Athel said, “Give that back.”
“Mina, do a cartwheel,” Mina shouted into the crystal. The tiny Mina golem cartwheeled along the yardarm as if it were a balance beam.
“Will you knock it off?” Athel demanded, grabbing back the crystal. “Now, the next thing...”
Dr. Griffin leaned over Athel’s shoulder and shouted into the crystal. “Mina, punch Athel!”
The Mina golem walked up and punched the Athel golem right in the face, knocking her to the ground.
“Oh, that is too much fun,” Dr. Griffin gushed. “Now, swordfight!”
The tiny golems drew their swords and began banging away at one another.
“Get offa’ me!” Athel shouted, pushing Dr. Griffin away.
“Make mine do something,” Ryin yelled from the back of the room.
“Fine, Ryin, hit your head against the wall,” Athel yelled into the crystal.
Ryin’s golem walked over and began repeatedly slamming its tiny head against the wall.
“Hey, that’s not funny!”
“Dr. Griffin, go jump in the well,” Athel hollered into the crystal.
Dr. Griffin’s golem leapt down to the ground and ran across the courtyard, throwing itself into the little well, making a little splish and gurgle noises as it landed in the water and drowned.
“Oh, how dare you!” Dr. Griffin yelled as he came to his feet.
Athel placed her hand on her saber’s grip, threatening to draw it, the command crystal in her other hand. “Back off, old man. I am trying to make a good impression here and you are ruining my presentation!”
Thiric slowly raised his hand. “Um, could we get back on the subject?”
“You stay out of this!” Athel yelled
Dr. Griffin pounced on Athel, knocking her to the ground. The two of them rolled around on the floor, yanking and fighting for the command crystal. Mina and Margaret jumped into the fray as well, pawing for the crystal.
Captain Evere and Alder could only stand and watch, their faces planted into the palms of their hands, as they watched their wives squabble like schoolyard children in front of the leaders of the largest pirate Guilds in the world.
There was a sharp snapping noise, and a puff of red smoke. From within the pile of struggling people, two broken halves of the command crystal fell to the floor.
There was a flash of light, and then every golem on the miniature went haywire. Golem guards jumped down from their watchtowers and began running in all directions. Golem Stonemasters pushed over the ship model and threw the strike team off the edge of the table. Pirates backed up as tiny golems spilled over the edges of the table and onto the floor, screaming in their tiny voices. Several of the pirates began hopping on one leg to avoid them as the tiny dolls scampered around and between them. Tim flew around in the air, hootin
g and whistiling wildly. His loose feathers rained down on the panic below.
“Quick, everyone catch them, grab, them!” Hanner called out. “If they get into the floorboards we'll never find them again.”
Everyone dropped down on all fours, attempting to snatch up as many of the screaming miniatures as they could.
Athel struggled to her feet. The sleeve of her uniform was torn off, and her red hair was tangled from being yanked. “Nobody panic,” Athel yelled, putting her arms out. “I’m in charge here.”
“That is why we are panicking!” Reimay yelled back, holding a screaming golem in each hand.
Chapter Sixteen
Balen took a moment to straighten the collar of his teal-colored dress suit. The past few weeks had been incredibly busy for him, but now that the defenses around the capital were complete, he finally had time to attend to important matters again, like his wedding.
Behind him was the base of the Queen’s massive Ma’iltri’ia, Lyonia, who towered over the nearby trees, her branches tenderly held out over the procession, shielding them from the midday sun.
The handful of guests bowed deeply as Queen Forsythia walked towards them. She was the very image of regal beauty, and Balen could not help but sigh inside.
While it was certainly an honor without equal to be chosen to be a house-husband to the Queen, Balen really cared very little about that. He would have been happy to have her no matter what her station. There were so many Matrons who were dismissive, even cruel, to the men in their families. The Bursage family, in particular, was well known for their preference for the lash for even minor offenses. But the Forsythians were the exception, and Balen counted himself lucky to marry into a family known for its light touch.
Solanum walked alongside her mother, looking in many ways like a younger version of her, except for the eyes. Balen would never say it out loud, since she would soon be his daughter-in-law, but Solanum’s eyes gave him the chills, though he couldn’t explain quite why that was so.
Queen Forsythia drew near and Balen could not help but give her a little wink. The Queen ignored this obvious breech of protocol, her face an icy mask of quiet dignity.
Observing her composure, Balen could almost hear in his mind the usual complaint that only a Forsythian would show no joy even at her own wedding, but Balen had become used to it. It was just her way; he even found it a little endearing. He had made a game of it as of late, trying to get her to betray some emotion through her mask while they were in public. Balen gave himself one point for a tremble in her eyes. A sigh was worth five points, and a raised eyebrow was worth ten.
Once Balen had gone too far and legitimately irritated her. She had actually rolled her eyes at him during an important minister’s council. She’d refused to see him for days after that. He decided that was worth fifty points, bringing his current total to seventy-three.
He knew he shouldn’t, but he just couldn’t help himself. Seeing her trying to hide her feelings in public when he teased her was just too much fun.
But this time, something was wrong. Queen Forsythia’s bare feet were not emerging as far from underneath her gown. Her steps were becoming smaller, her pace slowing. The Queen stumbled, then collapsed to the ground.
“Hazel!” Balen yelled as he ran to her side. He lifted up her head, but her body was already limp. Her breathing was very weak, her eyes nearly empty.
“Quick, someone get a healer in here,” Balen shouted. The flowers in The Queen’s braided hair withered. Sunlight hit his face, and Balen looked up. Lyonia’s branches had fallen limp. Her leaves were turning brown and raining down around them.
And then Solanum began to laugh. It began as a light chuckle, then quickly escalated into an embarrassingly loud, rolling laugh. As servants and guests scrambled about, Solanum dropped to her knees alongside Balen and her fallen mother, laughing uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face, her arms wrapped around her stomach.
Finally Solanum threw her head back, her mouth open in the most undignified way possible, and screamed towards the tree tops. While Madam Redfern rushed up with her daughters and attended to her mother, Solanum reached down and yanked her boots off. When her bare feet touched the living wood, the entire forest shivered.
Chapter Seventeen
The Dreadnaught rocked calmly from side to side as it sailed along towards its destination. Hundreds of pirate ships sailed around her, without pattern or formation, like a swarm of insects. In the hours before a big battle, Athel found it important and necessary to sooth her nerves with her books.
While she read, her feet kicking happily as she lay on her stomach, Alder came in carrying an impressive stack of scrolls, inkwells, and genealogy charts. Bunni Bubbles skipped in behind him, carrying a stack of quills in her little arms.
“Whacha’ doing Aldi?” Athel asked without looking up or removing the candy stick from her mouth.
“I’m glad you asked,” he said proudly as he set up a workstation on the table, meticulously flattening down the wrinkles in the scrolls. “Since we have some free time on our way to the depository, I thought this might be a good time to discuss names for the baby.”
Athel stopped kicking her feet and sat up. Somehow, it still didn’t seem real to her that they were having a daughter. She knew it was happening, but it just didn’t feel real to her yet. It was something she tried not to think about. She didn’t feel ready to be a mother. She didn’t know if she would ever be ready. She was still technically a newlywed, and had planned on enjoying that status for some time. There was so many things she still wanted to do, places she wanted to see. She felt like all of that was being taken away from her, just to forward someone else’s timetable.
If none of these decisions are my own, then what is the point of giving me free will in the first place? Why give me the ability to decide for myself, then decide everything for me? I feel like a puppet on a string, spitefully manipulated for someone else’s amusement, all while being told that I’m responsible for my own faults and my own failures.
She also felt robbed of the time she wanted to spend with Alder. Once the baby was born, nothing would be the same. Everything would be about the baby, not about the couple. It made her angry. It made her want to yell at Deutzia, but she knew it wasn’t really her fault. It made her want to yell at the baby, but it wasn’t her fault either. It made her want to yell at the forest, but what would that accomplish? Sometimes she felt like she hated the baby, and that scared her, because a baby was the most innocent thing in the world, and if she hated something so pure, what a terrible person she must be. When Athel was honest with herself, she had to admit that what frightened her the most was that this was yet another step towards becoming her mother.
She glanced over at her silver dueling blade where it sat on the wall mount Alder had built for it.
Then again, I didn’t think I would ever fall in love either, and yet it had happened anyway, and my life is richer for it.
“I want to draw a pink unicorn!” Bunni stated excitedly as Alder set down a tiny desk that he had carved and placed a scrap of parchment and some colored chalk for her.
Athel absentmindedly scratched at the brand on her wrist.
Maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way. I don’t have to be the kind of parent my mother was. Yeah, I can be one of those leafy mothers that does lots of fun stuff with their kid. Instead of locking her up in a cage, I can show her the world. She'll tell me how lucky she is to have a mother like me. She'll love me because I'll be her hero.
This line of thinking brightened her attitude considerably, and she found herself revisiting the long-forgotten girlish fantasies she had in her youth about what her daughter would be like, and the things they would do together.
Alder finished his preparations and readied his quill. “Shall we begin, my Lady?”
“Oh, this will be easy, Aldi. I already got that figured out,” Athel said, putting the candy back in her mouth.
“You have?” Alder as
ked, deflated.
“Oh, yeah, I knew what I was going to name my first daughter years ago.”
Alder nodded politely. “May I ask what it is?”
Athel jumped up on her bunk and held out her hands before her. “Cherxie Diryl.”
For a moment, Alder said nothing. The only outward reaction he gave was a slight twisting of his nose. Then, his eyes grew wide in realization. “Wait, you don’t mean...”
“Yes! Athel gushed, clapping her hands. “From Enemy Therapies, I always thought Cherxie Diryl would be the perfect name.”
Alder could only stare at her.
Athel frowned. “I knew you'd hate it. You can be so boring sometimes.”
“My feelings are irrelevant, my Lady, but consider your daughter’s feelings. She will be next in line to the throne and you want to give her a foreign name, a name that is difficult to pronounce, the name of the main character from one of the most hated novels of all time.”
“I broke my chalk!” Bunni complained. Alder leaned over and gave her a fresh piece of chalk and patted her on the head.
“That book sold countless copies,” Athel defended. “The sequel, Enemies, the Prey spawned five stage plays.”
“Surely I do not have to point out the difference between fame and infamy. In literary circles, Cherxie Diryl is considered to be one of the worst heroines of all time.”
“Now you are just being unfair,” Athel defended. “I mean, sure she’s manic-depressive, selfish...”
“Clumsy.”
“Right, right. Clumsy...insecure...and manipulative, but that is not the point.”
Alder blinked. “It isn’t?”
“No, she’s supposed to be a blank slate, a stand-in so the reader can insert herself into the story.”
“But it is a story about a person who betrays her friends, family, and species just to get what she wants.”
Alder’s critique made Athel pause. Back on Wysteria, her hobby was considered highly unusual. Subsequently, Athel was wholly unaccustomed to arguing the literary merits of her adventure novels against someone who had actually read them. Alder had blindsided her yet again, and she couldn’t see a way out of it.
Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen Page 21
