Pinocchio didn’t feel he was a savage or a lout—whatever a lout was. But he didn’t feel much like an Abatonian yet either. Certainly not the prester of Abaton.
When Pinocchio came panting to the bottom of the staircase, Lazuli was already waiting in the foyer. She looked like a real prester in her pearl-emblazoned gown and her crown shining from atop her blue hair. Even with his own golden crown, Pinocchio couldn’t help but think he must look like someone merely dressed up as one.
“Are you ready?” she asked. “You look a bit jittery. Is everything—”
But before she could finish, the front doors opened. An owl chimera in a billowy green caftan suit entered, making a quick bow. “Your Majesties! Very good. You’re both here.”
Dr. Nundrum was the highest-ranking palace official and oversaw the daily affairs of the Moonlit Court. Short and squat with mottled brown feathers, Dr. Nundrum had a perpetually surprised, wide-eyed look, which Pinocchio decided must be the result of being part owl.
Dr. Nundrum adjusted his glasses on his beak, before gesturing to the door. “The guests are all seated. If you’ll follow me.”
Pinocchio took a steadying breath. Then he exited with Lazuli.
Outside, the sun threw its last radiant shards across the grounds. The gardens were organized in lush, manicured beds of spectacular soaring flowers, ornamental palms, tamarind trees, and topiaries shaped like dancing animals, which actually danced. Funny little naiad faces peered up from the gurgling fountains. The towering palace behind them glowed with otherworldly hues of twilight pinks and purples.
It was an extraordinary sight. Pinocchio could still hardly fathom this was his home.
Three months ago, he’d never have believed he’d be here in Abaton—certainly not as its ruler. It was Wiq who had inspired Pinocchio to dream of escaping from the Venetian Empire to Abaton. Wiq: his first true friend. Wiq: a slave back in Al Mi’raj’s theater in the empire. Wiq: who he’d left behind.
Pinocchio hadn’t forgotten the look on Wiq’s face as he spoke of Abaton back then, braiding jasmine vines up on the theater’s terrace in the starlight, just the two of them alone with their secret plans and emphatic promises.
“It’s going to be more wonderful than you can possibly imagine,” Wiq had said, his big brown eyes growing bigger. Wiq was a chimera—called a “half beast” in the empire—but his features were more human than most of his kind, except for the soft tawny fur covering his skin and the long, flopping ears. His boxy black nose would twitch when he got excited. It always twitched when he spoke of Abaton.
“But how do you know?” Pinocchio had asked. “You’ve never been there.”
“It has to be!” Wiq had said firmly. “There are no slaves, no conniving alchemists…”—Pinocchio had winced at this—“…no imperial airmen or soldiers of any kind. Abaton is perfect because there are no humans. Only my chimera people and the elementals and, well…more variety of creatures than anyone here in the humanlands could even dream of, all living together as equals under His Immortal Lordship Prester John’s just rule. Wait until you see it all!”
Wiq had been right about most of that. Pinocchio had seen creatures here that looked like hybrids of different animals. Creatures that looked like ordinary animals, but spoke. Creatures that didn’t look animal at all, but like living snowflakes or walking shrubbery or humanoid gemstones. And they all lived together in such harmony.
If only Wiq could see them and all of the other wonders Abaton held. Pinocchio slid a hand to the jasmine bracelet around his wrist. One day…One day soon.
Dr. Nundrum led Pinocchio and Lazuli down the winding path into the garden. They reached a central lawn ringed with hedges, where a long banquet table was already surrounded by chattering guests. Tiny pixies served as the illumination, hovering over the scene, their twinkling lights glinting off the gold and glass table settings.
Maestro stood on a small raised platform at the table’s center. Seeing his presters approaching, he flexed his antennae and began conducting a miniature orchestra of birds, insects, and baritone frogs. The topiaries nearest to the table swayed to the chirping, croaking chorus.
Pinocchio’s heart beat a little faster as the guests rose in unison from their seats.
Wiq might have been surprised to know that everything wasn’t perfectly equal for Abaton’s citizens. In fact, if Wiq had been here now, he wouldn’t have been allowed at the banquet. Even Mezmer and Sop had been told they couldn’t come. It was probably for the best that the crass cat Sop remained in the palace, where he wouldn’t offend any of these dignified guests. Mezmer, however, should have been there, in Pinocchio’s opinion. She was the general of the Celestial Brigade and a descendant of one of Abaton’s most revered heroes, the warrior-fox Mezmercurian. But she wasn’t a noble or an elemental.
The servants carrying trays and crystal decanters were chimera, but the guests at the table were exclusively elementals: Fiery djinn with their horns and mottled yellow skin. Tiny, earthen brown gnomes who could split apart into multiple smaller versions of themselves. Green, reedy undines—who were never out of water back in the Venetian Empire—but here were walking about, covered in sloshing shrouds that were somewhere between an oblong bubble and a wearable bathtub. And there were sylphs, who were the most similar to humans, except for their bright blue hair and their complete disregard for the laws of gravity.
A beaming sylph came from the table to greet them. “Your Majesties!” She was graceful and lovely and so similar to Lazuli that she could have been her mother.
“Aunt Sapphira,” Lazuli said, taking her hands. “The journey from the Mist Cities is so far. Thank you for coming.”
“My dearest, I’m here anytime you need me,” Lady Sapphira said. She kissed Lazuli’s cheek. Then she turned to Pinocchio and curtsied. “Prester Pinocchio, I trust you are adjusting well to life at the Moonlit Court…and the heat.”
Pinocchio realized he was dripping sweat. How was he expected to wear these royal vestments in a sweltering jungle and not sweat?
“I’m sorry,” Pinocchio said, wiping his sleeve across his forehead. “Yes, fine…finely. Adjusting finely.” Did his speech always have to get so garbled when he was expected to act like a prester?
Dr. Nundrum directed him toward the table. The nobles were bowing, eyes fixed on him as Pinocchio took his seat beside Lazuli’s at the head of the table. Geppetto, midway down the table, gave him a wink. A lump caught in Pinocchio’s throat. He’d hoped his father would be seated closer, rather than down with the lesser nobles. But the nearest seats were reserved for the four high lords and ladies.
The closest one to Pinocchio was the little gnome lord with his bushy white beard and face like smashed granite. “Prester Pinocchio, the people of Grootslang Hole send their warmest wishes, Your Majesty!”
Pinocchio felt his heart thundering. “Ah, yes, th-thank you, Chief Muckamire. How…uh, are things in your hole?”
The gnome lord blinked his tiny black eyes. “Grootslang Hole is no mere hole, Your Majesty. It’s the ancient city of the earth elementals, a center of knowledge and ingenuity. Grootslang Hole might not be as grand as the Moonlit Court, but no place in Abaton has more libraries or workshops.”
“Oh, yes,” he mumbled, wondering if it might be best if he just stopped talking. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
A small smile formed beneath Chief Muckamire’s beard. “You’ll just have to visit us soon, Prester.” Pinocchio hoped the gnome wasn’t too offended by his blunder.
Dr. Nundrum began to direct chimera servants carrying platters with the first course to the tables. Pinocchio watched Lazuli from the corner of his eyes, trying to follow her lead about proper banquet manners. She had unfolded her napkin as she spoke to her aunt.
Pinocchio took his napkin as Raya Piscus, the lady of the undines, leaned over, long seaweed strands of hair swirling around the watery interior of her shroud. Her eyes were like great glowing lamps.
“Life here in Abato
n must be quite different from what you were used to in the Venetian Empire, Your Majesty.” Bubbles filled her sloshing shroud as she spoke. “I hope you don’t feel…out of place. Without your own kind.”
“I don’t think so.” Pinocchio had truthfully not felt odd at all that he and his father looked so different from rest of these people. To his mind, these were just Abatonians—lovely and wonderful and endlessly fascinating.
The hulking djinni Lord Smoldrin took a sip from a goblet of flaming liquid. Pinocchio was grateful the servants had only served whatever that was to the djinn, and not to the rest of them. He eyed his own glass. It looked like some sort of frothy juice.
“Have you found interesting things to do, Your Majesty?” Lord Smoldrin had great ramlike horns spiraling from the sides of his head. Pinocchio couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated by him.
“Y-yes, many interesting things.” He could tell from the intent way Lord Smoldrin, Chief Muckamire, and Raya Piscus were staring at him that they expected more. “Lazuli has shown me all around the gardens and orchards. And we went down to the harbor yesterday. And of course, the palace is so big. I could probably spend a lifetime exploring all the rooms.”
The three nodded to one another, and Pinocchio gave a little exhale of relief.
“Yes.” Lord Smoldrin chuckled, issuing a puff of smoke. “Activities that befit your youth. Leisurely pursuits.” He tapped a claw to his yellow chin. “I wonder whether you and Prester Lazuli might not prefer to spend more time at such pursuits, and not have to be burdened with all the more complicated aspects of overseeing—”
“Lord Smoldrin,” Lady Sapphira said sharply, startling Pinocchio. It seemed to startle the others as well, and Lady Sapphira took a breath, her expression changing from steely storm to regal calm in an instant. So her aunt was where Lazuli had learned to do that.
“I’m quite certain,” Lady Sapphira said, “that my niece and Prester Pinocchio are interested in more than childish pursuits.”
Pinocchio was still trying to understand facial expressions. When he’d been an automa, he’d never had any need to make them, much less read them. If he had to guess, he’d say that the other three elemental nobles looked annoyed by Lady Sapphira’s comment. But why would that be?
“My aunt is right,” Lazuli said. “While I’ve made time to show Prester Pinocchio around, we’ve also begun reviewing petitions from the Southern Townships regarding their plans to add floating irrigation canals into their farmlands. As well as starting repairs to the road linking Caldera Keep with the port at Nolandia.”
If Lazuli had been doing that, she hadn’t told Pinocchio. But then, he was quite certain there were lots of presterly duties she was handling that he wasn’t. They both knew he wouldn’t have a clue about any of them.
From the way Lord Smoldrin, Raya Piscus, and Chief Muckamire were frowning at one another, he worried that Lazuli had failed to reassure them about what they were doing as presters.
“And,” Pinocchio said, feeling he should do his part to help Lazuli, “we’ve been working on plans for a rescue mission back to Venice.”
Maestro made a discordant squeak, and his animal orchestra fell silent.
Raya Piscus released a fountain of bubbles. Lord Smoldrin spat a flame into his goblet, and Chief Muckamire wobbled in his seat. Even Lady Sapphira looked surprised by this news.
“What is this?” She turned to Lazuli. “You’re planning what?”
Lazuli’s face went pale.
Maestro hurriedly struck up the orchestra again.
Pinocchio supposed he’d better explain. “A rescue mission to free the slaves. Don’t you know? Venice has chimera and elementals enslaved in their empire.”
Lord Smoldrin growled, “We are quite aware, Your Majesty. Raya Piscus’s undine spies keep us abreast of the goings-on in the Venetian Empire. But why would Abaton get involved?”
That seemed a strange question. “Because they are your people,” Pinocchio replied.
“Our people?” Raya Piscus bubbled. “These slaves are not our people. Their ancestors left Abaton for the humanlands centuries ago. The elementals and chimera living in Venice today have only ever known the humanlands.”
“And we all know what vile acts the Venetian humans are capable of committing,” Lord Smoldrin said. “Twisting our Abatonian magic in order to build machines of war and destruction. Their alchemists are even known to have built mechanical humans to use as servants. What are those abominations called? Automa?”
If Pinocchio had still been an automa, he might have belched up a gasket. As it was, he simply swallowed hard and hoped the conversation headed in a new direction.
Geppetto rose to his feet. The other noble guests down the table looked at him in alarm. Maestro swung his antennae wildly, raising the volume of his orchestra as if he hoped to drown out whatever Geppetto was planning to say. It didn’t work.
“I’ll remind you, Lord Smoldrin,” Geppetto said, glowering at the djinni, “that I was one of those alchemists! And your prester is a Venetian human. Would you accuse us of being vile?”
Pinocchio blinked. This was not the new direction he’d been hoping. He should have known if an argument was going to break out, his father would join in.
The djinni lord gave Geppetto a placating smile. “I do not mean to offend the prester or his alchemist father, Master Geppetto. You left the empire because of its dark ways. And we all know that Prester John trusted you above all other humans.” He waved for Geppetto to sit back down. “All I mean to say is that: when the ground is poisoned, the fruit grows bad. You of all people know Venice is corrupt. Its ways have surely corrupted the Abatonians living under human rule.”
“The elementals I knew in Venice were not,” Geppetto growled.
“A few, maybe,” Raya Piscus said. “But my undine spies often report how many Venetian elementals and chimera have escaped enslavement only to turn to villainry.”
Pinocchio knew what Raya Piscus was saying was partially true. Mezmer and Sop had once been bandits in the wilds of the empire. But they weren’t bad. They were two of the best people he knew.
Pinocchio was about to say this when his attention caught on something across the garden grounds. A puff of smoke had bloomed in the dusk sky, out past the orchards where the teeming edge of the jungle began. A flying creature emerged from the smoke.
“Prester Pinocchio, Prester Lazuli, I know you mean well,” the gnome Chief Muckamire said, bringing Pinocchio’s attention back to the table. “But if we rescue these foreign-born Abatonians and allow them to flood our peaceful kingdom, how will we know which are villainous and which aren’t? I don’t think we can take that sort of risk.”
“Agreed,” Raya Piscus said. “Our people are anxious enough after the shock of Prester John’s death. They don’t need their lives disrupted even more.” She looked at Lady Sapphira. “This is just what we warned you about. I told you they weren’t ready to be presters.”
Lazuli turned to her aunt. “What is this?”
Pinocchio didn’t wait for an answer. He’d had enough. “But we are the presters!” he said to Raya Piscus. “And we have decided to give these people the freedom they deserve. It’s…it’s the right thing to do.”
“But you have no army, Your Majesty,” Lord Smoldrin said. “I understand you’ve declared this fox Mezmer and her cat companion as knights of the Celestial Brigade.” He gave a smoky chortle. “Do you really expect the two of them to take on the military might of Venice?”
“I’ll go with them!” Pinocchio said. “Prester Lazuli too. We’ve faced Venetian airmen before. Right, Lazuli?”
Lazuli looked to Lady Sapphira. Pinocchio didn’t need to be an expert in facial expressions to know Lazuli was anxious about what her aunt thought. Lazuli admired her aunt so much. And Lady Sapphira didn’t appear pleased.
“Your Majesties!” Chief Muckamire squeaked. “Be reasonable. Surely you aren’t planning to go back yourselves?”
“
Of course they aren’t,” Lady Sapphira said, her voice barely audible over the blaring chirps and croaks of Maestro’s orchestra.
Lazuli whispered to Pinocchio, “Maybe this isn’t the best time to discuss our plans….”
Pinocchio scowled, but found his attention once again drawn to the creature that had appeared so strangely from the smoke.
It wasn’t uncommon for Abatonians to fly over the gardens or around the glowing white palace. Most looked docile, cute even—especially the wing-eared kits he’d seen only this morning frolicking above the mango groves.
But this one was glossy black and pounded massive leathery wings. Its body was feline—possibly a midnight-coated lion—although its face appeared human with overlarge eyes of jade green. He’d never seen anything like this in his months in Abaton.
“Are you listening?” Lazuli hissed, over the quarreling voices.
Pinocchio realized he hadn’t been. The creature flapped silently in the darkening sky. Rather than continuing on its way, it circled toward the banquet.
“No,” he admitted. “But Lazuli—”
“I know the rescue mission is important,” she said quickly, struggling to keep her voice low as the rest of the table argued with one another. “But we might have something more serious going on with my aunt and the other High Nobles—”
“Lazuli?” Pinocchio grabbed her arm.
The winged being was definitely coming their way. The guests at the banquet were all so engrossed in the argument, while Dr. Nundrum and the servants were trying to figure out what to do about the next course, and Lazuli was so busy trying to settle the matter that no one had seen it.
“…right now,” Lazuli continued, “we need to focus on assuring the nobles that we—”
“Lazuli?”
“What?” she snapped.
“Are there dangerous creatures in Abaton?”
“Of course not,” Lazuli said. “But that’s not the point. Our people are worried we can’t rule—”
“Lazuli!” Pinocchio pointed to the sky.
Lord of Monsters Page 2
