Lord of Monsters

by John Claude Bemis

  “Why?”

  “There might be consequences. Not good consequences.”

  Her aunt tilted her head. “For him or for Abaton?”

  Lazuli considered this question. Part of her wanted to simply tell everything, so Sapphira could understand the full scope of their dilemma. Maybe her aunt would even know something they didn’t about the Pearl, some explanation for why he was changing back and, better still, a way to stop it from happening.

  But this felt like a betrayal of Pinocchio. Besides, Lazuli couldn’t help but fear that if Lady Sapphira knew what Pinocchio really had been—what he was becoming once again—she and all the people of Abaton would be horrified. They might demand that Pinocchio give up the throne, that he give up the Pearl. And giving up the Pearl…No, she couldn’t tell.

  Lazuli shook her head, not answering the question. “I don’t mean for you to doubt his abilities. Pinocchio will make a great prester. I am certain. But until he understands how the Pearl is to be mastered, I have to help him.”

  Her aunt opened her mouth, but Lazuli plunged forward. “You said yourself, I need to focus on the best interests of my people. And now more than ever—with the manticore’s attack, with the threat of more monsters escaping—I must go with him. I have to be certain that he will be successful. For all our people.”

  “But we don’t even know where the manticore came from,” Aunt Sapphira said. “How long will it take to locate this hidden prison?”

  “All the more reason for me to help,” Lazuli said. “I will show my people and the high nobles that we can do what no regency council ever would. I can work with Pinocchio to stop monsters from returning to Abaton.”

  Aunt Sapphira held her gaze for a long moment. She then gave a sigh before gesturing to one of her attendants nearby. “Bring me the parcel stored at the top of my trunk.”

  The sylph hurried to the griffins. He returned a moment later with something thin wrapped in a square of velvet.

  Her aunt opened it and handed Lazuli a small gilded mirror of black glass. “With this, you’ll be able to speak with me, no matter where you are. Will you promise to seek my counsel on any matter you need? I am here for you.”

  Relief flooded through Lazuli. Her aunt was allowing her to go! But then she turned this thought over in her mind. She didn’t need anyone’s permission. Still, she was glad Sapphira wasn’t upset with her, glad that this could be settled before they parted ways.

  “Yes, of course, Aunt.”

  “Good girl,” she said, patting Lazuli’s cheek affectionately. “Be safe. Remember that you are the prester and not some foolhardy knight. If there is danger, let Mezmer and Sop deal with it. Your people need you to return safely to the throne.”

  Lazuli nodded briskly, a small bubble of guilt rising. This was not a promise she intended to keep. If there was danger, Lazuli would never stand aside to let others handle it.

  Sapphira gave her a hug before following the other sylphs onto the backs of the griffins. Once they were seated, the griffins charged in formation down the lawn, building speed with their powerful lion hindquarters. They threw out their wide wings and sailed above the jungle and into the dawn sky.

  Lazuli watched until they were mere specks. A little hollow feeling formed in her chest at her aunt’s departure. She cupped the mirror in her hands, tempted to test it, to hear her aunt’s reassuring voice just once more. The weight of all there was to do pressed heavily on her.

  “What’s that?”

  Lazuli turned to find Pinocchio coming up the stairs.

  “Oh,” Lazuli said, showing him the mirror before wrapping it back in the velvet. “In case we need to reach my aunt.”

  Mezmer burst from the palace doors. “He’s found it, darlings! Dr. Nundrum found the location of the Upended Forest. We depart as soon as you’re ready.”

  Pinocchio grew alight with nervous energy. “I need to get my sword. And my seven-league boots. Don’t you think I should bring them?”

  “Bring it all,” Mezmer said, a dreamy smile slipping up the sides of her snout. “Finally a glorious mission fit for a knight of the Celestial Brigade. Hurry, my darling presters. Hurry!”

  Lazuli followed them back into the palace. “Wait,” she said as Mezmer veered off toward the library. “How are we getting there?”

  The fox flung out her arms. “With royal flair, of course! Better than any griffin or flying carpet. You won’t believe how he’s cleaned the old gal up.”

  “Who’s cleaned up what?” Lazuli asked.

  “Ah, yes.” Mezmer lifted a furry finger. “There is just one little catch.” Her eyes darted apologetically to Pinocchio. “You’re not going to like this, darling.”

  “No,” Pinocchio said. “Please tell me Cinnabar’s not coming.”

  “Sorry, dear, but it’s his special project.”

  Down from the Moonlit Court, hugging the great green lagoon that served as Abaton’s harbor, was the town of Crescent Port. Compared to the grand elemental cities, it was small. But the capital’s neighboring town was bustling with activity—chimera traders exchanging goods in great open markets, spice vendors filling barrels with delicious powders and herbs bound for the best kitchens in Abaton, so many shops and apothecaries and teahouses crowded together that they seemed about to spill over into the narrow streets.

  But today the whole town was down at the docks, where, hovering over the glassy waters of the lagoon, there was a flying ship. Pinocchio stood beside Lazuli and the others staring up at it in amazement.

  The former Venetian war galley no longer looked like the near wreck it had been when they’d arrived in Abaton. Venice’s crests and colors had been stripped, and the ship’s prow had been replaced with the painted figurehead of a snarling sea monster, eyes rolled back and swirls of decorative froth extending from its teeth across the sides of the ship. Pinocchio assumed this impressively terrifying vision was meant to be the Deep One, the guardian of Abaton. After all, this ship had flown from the Deep One’s mouth after it had swallowed them. The sails were dropped, but Pinocchio could see that even they were new, as was every rope, rigging, and tackle.

  “Cinnabar’s certainly been busy,” Lazuli said.

  Pinocchio had wondered what the ill-tempered djinni had been doing since arriving in Abaton. He supposed this was a better project than what he’d imagined Cinnabar had been up to. Namely, plotting to have Pinocchio overthrown.

  “The ship looks great,” Pinocchio grumbled. “But why does he have to come with us?”

  “We’ll need all the help we can get dealing with this prison,” Lazuli said. “Cinnabar proved he handles himself well in the face of danger.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Pinocchio said. “He shot you with a crossbow.”

  “An accident,” Lazuli reminded him.

  It had been an accident, but that was because Cinnabar had been trying to shoot Geppetto in a misguided scheme to return the Pearl to Prester John. Who needed enemies like the manticore when you had an ally like Cinnabar around?

  The last of the palace servants were climbing down the rope ladder dangling from the ship to the docks.

  “Everything seems to be in order, Your Majesties,” Dr. Nundrum said, checking off a list. “Stocked and supplied. Everything’s taken care of.” The owl tucked his pen behind an ear tuft and rolled up the parchment, his hands slightly shaking.

  “Are you all right?” Lazuli asked.

  “It’s just…well, with you both away, I’ll be managing the affairs of the palace until your return…and if there’s another attack…” His eyes widened with concern. “Please hurry, Your Majesties!”

  “We will, Dr. Nundrum,” Lazuli said calmly.

  He fluttered his feathers anxiously. “Waste not a moment in locating the Upended Forest—”

  “Thank you, Dr. Nundrum,” Lazuli said. “We understand the urgency of the situation.”

  “Of course,” the owl said. “Yes, of course you do.” He gave a bow. “Your Majesties
.”

  Pinocchio caught Lazuli’s glance. He hoped the poor owl was going to be able to manage his duties, and not simply hide under his bed until they came back.

  “Anytime you’re ready, Your Majesties.” Cinnabar’s yellow-and-black mottled face peered down from the ship. Unlike the other djinn and elemental nobles of Abaton, who wore robes of garish colors decorated with ridiculously complex stitchwork designs, Cinnabar dressed much as he had as a slave in the Venetian Empire: somber, simple, and a uniform soot black.

  The djinni attempted a smile, but as usual it looked more like he’d just eaten something revolting.

  There was no denying the fact that Cinnabar loathed Pinocchio. Maybe it was that Pinocchio had been an automa, and since Cinnabar had been a slave to one of the empire’s alchemists, he despised all alchemical creations. Or maybe Cinnabar was just naturally hateful. Back in Venice, the djinni had made no attempt to hide his feelings, but now that Pinocchio was the prester, he had no choice but to mask his dislike, however poorly.

  Sop scampered up the ladder first, eager to see the ship. Lazuli followed, hardly needing to hold on to the slats as she practically hovered up in typical sylph fashion. Pinocchio climbed after her. But as he came over the railing, he tripped and would have fallen on his face. Cinnabar caught him by the hand.

  The djinni was about to let go, as if holding Pinocchio’s hand might leave a stink. But then his eyes became slits. He gave Pinocchio’s glove a squeeze, pressing against the wood.

  Pinocchio tore his hand from Cinnabar’s grasp.

  The djinni gave a smarmy bow. “I merely meant to assist you, Your Majesty.”

  Pinocchio backed away, scowling, and went over to where Lazuli was admiring the ship.

  Sop came charging up from belowdecks, whiskers wild. “Do we get to pick our own bunks? I call the one up front.”

  Mezmer climbed over the railing. “Darling, this is a royal vessel. The presters get first pick.” She reached back to help Geppetto aboard.

  Maestro was chirping from Geppetto’s shoulder, “I swore I’d never again leave the Moonlit Court.”

  “No one forced you to come,” Geppetto said stepping onto the decks and smoothing his mustache.

  “Yes.” The cricket sighed. “But how would you manage without me and my vast understanding of Abatonian culture?”

  Pinocchio shook his head. For someone so small, Maestro had an awfully big sense of self-importance.

  Sop clapped Cinnabar on the shoulder. “You’ve had way too much time on your hands, old chum. I’m not complaining. This is amazing! But why haven’t you been enjoying palace life with the rest of us?”

  Cinnabar pushed his sleek hair over his horns. “I thought my time best spent repairing the ship for our return to Venice. Besides, I haven’t exactly been warmly welcomed by my brethren here.”

  “Those high-horned snobby djinn aren’t toasting you with fancy parties?” Sop asked. “I’m shocked.”

  Cinnabar curled a lip.

  “I’m sorry the elemental nobles haven’t treated you more kindly, Cinnabar,” Lazuli said with a frown. “They don’t seem to appreciate what you and the rest of our enslaved people have endured under the Venetian Empire. Once we figure out this issue with the prison, I promise Prester Pinocchio and I will work on changing the nobles’ minds.”

  Cinnabar made a bow, cutting a skeptical eye that Pinocchio didn’t miss.

  Mezmer pulled up the ladder and clapped her hands in satisfaction. “Well, Cinnabar, I hope she flies as well as she looks.”

  Sop bounded up to the ship’s wheel. “I get to steer first.”

  “No, you don’t,” Cinnabar snarled, chasing after him. “After all my work, I won’t have you damage anything with your reckless flying.”

  The crowd gathered along the lower streets of the capital city, watching their presters’ departure with excitement. As the sails unfurled and the ship set off, Pinocchio stood with Lazuli at the railing, waving to the well-wishers. The motley faces of the Abatonian citizenry peered up from the rapidly shrinking Crescent Port.

  Soon they were passing the Moonlit Court, the towering white palace tapering up into the sky like an ivory horn. The ship gave a gentle, side-to-side rock as it ascended above the jungle cliffs and caught the higher currents streaming off the ocean.

  While Cinnabar steered and Sop manned the lines, Mezmer spread an aged brown map on the deck, discussing their route with Geppetto and Maestro.

  But Pinocchio continued to watch the djinni. “I really don’t like Cinnabar coming along,” he whispered to Lazuli.

  “You’re being silly,” she said.

  “Am I? I think he realized my hand is wood. When he helped me on deck.”

  “He’d find out sooner or later,” she said. “Besides, he already knows your secret.”

  “Which I’m sure he’d love to share with all our subjects,” Pinocchio said.

  Lazuli rolled her eyes. “No, he wouldn’t. He’s on our side. You’re going to need to trust him if we’re to work together to stop this threat. Stop worrying about grumpy Cinnabar and start worrying about our mission.”

  He was worried about their mission. Plenty. But as he looked away from scowling Cinnabar and to the great vista of dark green jungle peaks spread out before their ship, he realized he was excited too. He couldn’t help it.

  The notion of going to a prison full of sleeping monsters should have completely terrified him. But this was exactly the sort of thing he was good at. He was terrible at court. Lazuli might not have loved it either, but at least she could gracefully manage etiquette and political maneuvering. But, for Pinocchio, strapping on a sword and facing the dark unknown…that was what made him feel alive. Truly and thrillingly alive.

  He felt a shiver run through him.

  He only hoped he’d return to the Moonlit Court alive. And not as a mindless, wooden automa.

  Pinocchio and Lazuli spent the first afternoon aboard the ship practicing their swordplay up on deck as the misty range of volcanic jungle rippled beneath them. Geppetto and Maestro were set up down in the galley poring over the books borrowed from the palace library, desperate to discover more about the prison. Cinnabar was hunched at the helm, snapping commands for Sop to recheck lines and double-check riggings.

  “Come on,” Sop begged. “I sailed us out of the Deep One, didn’t I? Just give me a turn.”

  “After all I’ve done to get her in shape,” Cinnabar said. “Not a chance. And if I see you using any part as a scratching post…”

  Sop rolled his eye.

  That evening, Cinnabar anchored the ship to a craggy peak for the night. After a supper around the galley’s long table, Pinocchio set off for bed.

  He had no idea how long he was asleep, but when he woke, something was scratching against the wall. For half a sleepy moment, he thought it was Sop. He opened his eyes.

  Thin moonlight gathered on the circular porthole window. Pinocchio tilted his head, listening, but the sound had stopped. Maybe it had just been in a dream. He still wasn’t used to dreaming. Automa never did. Such a funny part of being alive and having to sleep with these strange stories playing in your head.

  A shadow crossed the porthole. Pinocchio shot up. A thump sounded outside before the scratch-scratch-scratching returned. It was coming from the other side of the hull.

  Something was out there in the dark. And it wanted to get in.

  Pinocchio tore back the sheets and leaped from his bed. He pressed his face to the porthole’s glass. All he could see was the faint silvery mist hugging the jungle below. What was out there?

  He grabbed his sword and slipped into the narrow hallway. “Father!” he hissed.

  Geppetto opened his door, the pixie lamp in his hands illuminating his wide eyes. “I heard it.”

  Maestro poked his antennae out from the collar of Geppetto’s nightshirt. “M-m-monsters!” the cricket stammered.

  “Maybe not,” Geppetto whispered. “Stay calm.”

  The
y crept down the hallway. As they passed Cinnabar’s room, the djinni peered out. “Why are you stomping around?” he grumbled, still half-asleep.

  “Something’s outside,” Pinocchio said.

  Cinnabar’s eyes blazed with alarm, and he spun around, emerging an instant later with a crossbow. “I’ll wake Prester Lazuli,” he said, sliding a bolt into the crossbow and cranking back the string. “Where are Sop and Mezmer?”

  “Up on deck, keeping watch,” Geppetto said. “Meet us up there. And be quiet.”

  The djinni nodded, slipping down the hallway toward Lazuli’s room.

  The ship had been stocked with an assortment of ancient weapons that Dr. Nundrum had gotten the palace servants to round up from wall displays around the Moonlit Court. Geppetto took a slender sword from the rack in the galley as he followed Pinocchio toward the gangway stairs.

  Pinocchio opened the hatch onto the upper deck and emerged into the moonlight. He moved in a crouch, sword at the ready, peering around for signs of danger. The sky was empty except for the speckled sea of stars. But fog rose from the jungle below, stealing up the sides of the ship in serpentine ribbons.

  Pinocchio spied Sop, sprawled on the deck beside the mast. He ran to him and grabbed his shoulder, whispering, “Sop! Are you hurt?”

  The cat opened his eye. He sat up, scratching his whiskers. “Sorry. Must have dozed off.”

  Geppetto grumbled, “You’re supposed to be keeping watch. We heard something.”

  The cat sprang to his feet, much more lightly than seemed possible given how round he was. “Where’s Mez?”

  The fox was already coming down from the quarterdeck with her spear just as Cinnabar and Lazuli emerged from the gangway. Pinocchio was glad to see Lazuli had her sword.

  “I don’t see anything out here,” Cinnabar said, frowning at Pinocchio. “Are you sure Your Majesty wasn’t dreaming?”

  “I heard it too,” Geppetto said. “It was coming from the bottom of the hull. A scratching sound. Like claws on wood.”