Lord of Monsters

by John Claude Bemis

Mezmer ran to one side of the ship, Sop the other, each peering over. Cinnabar raised his crossbow, aiming it around at the dark. Pinocchio huddled closer to his father and Lazuli, standing back-to-back in the center of the deck.

  Mezmer moved along the railing, staring down. “I don’t see anything,” she whispered.

  “Maestro,” Sop said. “Fly down there and check it out.”

  “And get eaten?” the cricket chirped. “Absolutely not!”

  “I’ll go,” Lazuli said. “I can hold on to the sides.”

  Pinocchio had seen Lazuli walk down vertical faces before. One of her many sylph talents.

  “Your Majesty, darling,” Mezmer said. “As general of the Celestial Brigade, I am charged with protecting you. I have to insist that you—”

  A door slammed. They all looked at one another. Then Sop sprang toward the gangway. He grabbed the hatch. “It’s locked!”

  The others ran to help. Sop and Mezmer threw their shoulders against the wood, but it didn’t budge. Faint sounds of overturning furniture came from belowdecks.

  “Someone’s down there!” Cinnabar hissed.

  “Or something,” Sop said.

  “Break it down!” Mezmer ordered, slamming the blunt end of her spear against the hatch.

  Sop hacked with his sword until the wood splintered. Then with a kick, he had the hatch open. Mezmer charged down first, quickly followed by the others. Pinocchio didn’t relish the idea of combat in these cramped quarters. But the galley was empty, as were the hallways and cabins. It was only when they reached Pinocchio’s room that Mezmer raised a hand in warning.

  “The door’s locked,” she whispered. “It’s in there.”

  Sop was about to kick it open, when Lazuli pushed him aside. “Stand back,” she said. Then, sheathing her sword, she raised her hands, palms out. A blast of wind funneled down the hallway. Pinocchio staggered against the wall, as did everyone but Lazuli.

  The door flew off its hinges with a thunderous crack of wood and landed on Pinocchio’s bed. Mezmer raced in, followed by the others.

  Crowded together in the tight space, they found the room empty. But the porthole was open. Pinocchio pushed his head and shoulders through.

  A shadow with wide wings disappeared into the jungle mists below.

  Pinocchio felt arms grab him by the waist, pulling him back inside. Mezmer scowled at him as she put him down. “Let me do my job please, dear!”

  “She’s gone,” Pinocchio said.

  Mezmer checked anyway, poking her head out the porthole. “Why didn’t she attack us?” the fox said, sounding almost disappointed.

  “I don’t think she was here to attack us,” Lazuli said. “Look.”

  She waved a hand to the mess of Pinocchio’s room. His belongings were pulled out from his trunk, scattered across the floor, along with his sheets and pillows.

  “The manticore was looking for something,” Geppetto said, kneeling to touch the torn hole in the mattress.

  “But what would she want in my room?” Pinocchio asked.

  “What else?” Lazuli said, crossing her arms. “The Ancientmost Pearl.”

  After Cinnabar cast off the following morning, Lazuli found Pinocchio up at the bow, keeping watch with Mezmer. The fox had a tight grip on her spear, eyes straining as she scanned the jungle.

  “You’re worried the manticore will return?” Lazuli asked.

  “I doubt she’ll give up that easily,” Mezmer said, tapping a finger to the railing. “We have to be prepared. But I do find it strange, how this monster came for the Pearl last night. She was quiet, stealthy. Why didn’t she try to take it by force?”

  Lazuli had no answer, except that maybe they were lucky. And might not be next time.

  “Do you think the manticore wants the Pearl in order to release the other prisoners?” Pinocchio asked.

  “She obviously found a way to escape,” Mezmer said. “I don’t think that’s why she’s after the Pearl.”

  “Maybe she needs the Pearl to wake the others,” Pinocchio said. “Maybe to wake her leader. What was his name?”

  “Diamancer,” Lazuli said. Saying the name sent a shiver of fear up her spine. Images from the ancient books of history she’d read bubbled up from her memory. Visions of the hordes of terrifying monsters clashing with the knights of old.

  “It will be one thing to figure out how the manticore woke,” she said. “But it won’t do us much good unless we know how to get her back to sleep in the prison. Before she figures out how to waken them all.”

  Mezmer gripped her spear in a choke hold. “My ancestor Mezmercurian led the greatest army Abaton’s ever known against Diamancer. Where are our glorious knights?”

  “I think we’ve got a more pressing problem,” Pinocchio said, pointing off the stern.

  Lazuli spun around. A black mass of storm cloud was looming dead ahead.

  “All hands on deck!” Cinnabar shrieked. “Man the lines. Let out the sails!”

  “Don’t set your loincloth ablaze,” Sop said, running from one rigging to another. “I’ve got it.”

  Lazuli could scarcely believe how fast the swirling storm rose up. The sky darkened, and the temperature dropped. Ominous-looking purple-black clouds crackled with skeletons of lightning. Cinnabar tried to bank the ship around the storm, but the swelling mass just seemed to envelop them.

  “Should we drop sail and wait it out?” Geppetto cried over the rising wind.

  “After all I’ve done to get this ship fixed up?” Cinnabar snapped. “I’ll not have it burned to ashes by lightning. We’ve got to outrun it!” He turned to Lazuli. “Your Majesty, a little help?”

  Lazuli blinked, realizing an instant later what he meant. She held up her palms, summoning with all her might. The riggings creaked as the additional wind filled the sails. The ship accelerated so fast Lazuli had to adjust her stance.

  But when she glanced over her shoulder at the storm, she found it coming ever closer. The front of the squall line was ripping leaves and fronds from the treetops, seeming to devour the jungle in its rushing path.

  Lightning cracked, and thunder shook the boards beneath her feet. Heavy drops of rain began to hit the deck, landing like lead shot.

  Mezmer shouted, “Cinnabar, you’ve got to get belowdecks before your elemental heat is doused!”

  The djinni looked loath to leave his post. But water and djinn didn’t mix. Sop nudged him away from the wheel, adjusting his eye patch and putting on a determined face.

  “I can handle it.”

  Casting a look of utmost pleading at Sop, Cinnabar dashed for the gangway just as the squall hit the ship.

  Against the driving rain, Lazuli continued to direct the wind into the sails. She heard Pinocchio shout, “I can help you, Lazuli!”

  But Geppetto grabbed him by the arm, growling, “No! Your hands. We can’t risk any more!” He pulled Pinocchio reluctantly below as rain lashed in sheets across the deck.

  The ship rocked violently side to side. Sop yowled, holding fast to the wheel. Lazuli, light as she was, might have been swept away in the rising gale, except Mezmer grabbed her around the waist, holding her down.

  Lazuli gave up trying to add extra wind to the sails. They had plenty now. She focused her efforts instead on containing the gusts battering them from all sides. The mainsail’s boom swung wildly, stretching the canvas until it was about to shred.

  She wished she could simply use her powers to drive the storm back. There were sylphs, especially among the farmers along the Arable Flats, who learned to command the weather. But this skill had never been seen as something for a proper princess to learn. There were many things her father had neglected to do to prepare her for being prester. She supposed he never imagined his daughter’s responsibilities would include keeping a flying Venetian warship from being smashed to bits in a storm.

  The ship pitched dangerously to one side, and Lazuli fought to keep it upright. Disquieting groans were coming from deep in the belly of the vessel
, reverberating through the mast and shrieking down the overextended lines.

  “She won’t hold!” Sop yelled. “We’ve got to—”

  With a crack like a cannon blast, the boom snapped. The upper portion shot from the base into the billowing black. Sail and rigging ripped away, flying off in the storm. The ship was thrown into a dizzying spin, whirling around faster and faster.

  Lazuli found herself clinging to Mezmer, both of them screaming. Then a mountain peak appeared from the gloom. Lazuli wanted to close her eyes, but terror forced them open. And with each spin of the ship, the jagged fist of rock drew closer in her swirling field of vision until finally, with a colossal smash, they collided.

  Lazuli’s head smacked against the deck and all went black.

  “Your Majesty?”

  Lazuli just wanted her maid to let her sleep a little longer. But the light filtering through her eyelids told her it must be late. Why hadn’t they woken her earlier? And why was her bed so infernally hard?

  Then she realized she wasn’t in her chambers back in the Moonlit Court. The storm! The mountain peak!

  She sat up, nearly banging heads with Sop, who was crouched over her.

  “Are you all right, Your Majesty?” he asked.

  The back of Lazuli’s head was throbbing. She sat up, rubbing it, but didn’t feel anything worse than a painful lump.

  The storm had blown over, leaving blue skies and steaming jungle in its wake.

  Mezmer gave a groan from where she was sprawled next to Lazuli. “Are we dead?” the fox asked.

  “We will be when Cinnabar sees what’s happened to his ship,” Sop answered.

  Lazuli got to her feet and stared around at the damage. The mast and sails were gone. Tattered lines lay tangled across the decks. The side of the ship that had struck the mountain was a ruin of broken boards and railing, although the ship had now drifted away from the craggy peak, hovering lazily.

  “At least we’re still floating,” Lazuli said. The alchemied timbers would hover even if the ship had come completely apart. They’d witnessed that after the Deep One had devoured the rest of the imperial fleet on their journey from Venice.

  The hatch to the gangway creaked open, and Pinocchio, Geppetto, and Cinnabar spilled out onto the deck. They stared openmouthed around at the decimation.

  “My…ship,” Cinnabar gasped. “No! No!” His cries turned to wails as he rounded on Sop. “What did you do to her, you idiotic fleabag!”

  “Now, now,” Sop said, holding his paws up protectively. “Let’s keep a level head about this. It’s not so bad.”

  “Level head? Not so bad?” the djinni shrieked. “I’ll level your head! Look at this. How are we going to fly? We’re stuck, adrift over endless jungle!”

  “Can’t Lazuli just push us with a wind?” Pinocchio asked.

  “Push what?” Cinnabar growled. “We’ve got no sails. No mast even if we wanted to rig up a temporary sail. Sylph wind won’t get us anywhere.”

  “So what do we do?” Pinocchio asked.

  Mezmer was already coming up from belowdecks with the map. She unrolled it on the deck. Maestro landed on a corner and scuttled on his six legs, inspecting the drawing.

  “I think we’re somewhere around here,” the fox said, tapping the map. “In the southernmost reaches of the Farrago Jungle.”

  “Barely inhabited,” the cricket said. “A few chimera villages scattered about, but they won’t be able to help us. Not with us way up here.”

  “How far are we from Grootslang Hole?” Lazuli asked.

  Mezmer traced a finger. “It’s the closest city, but how would we get there? We’re too high to descend on ropes. Even if we could, with all this jungle, it might take weeks to walk anywhere inhabited.”

  “You should have equipped your ship with a flying carpet,” Sop suggested to Cinnabar.

  “I should have pushed you over the side in the storm,” the djinni growled.

  Geppetto waved his hands. “We just need to send word for help.”

  Pinocchio brightened. “Lazuli, the mirror from your aunt. You can contact her.”

  Lazuli bit her lip. What would her aunt think to learn that things had gone wrong so soon into their mission? She cringed at the thought.

  “The Mist Cities are too far,” Lazuli said. “We’ll be rescued faster if we contact Chief Muckamire at Grootslang. Maestro, you’ll have to fly there.”

  The cricket jerked and flattened his wings. “Fly? Me? But I…Oh, I knew I never should have left the Moonlit Court. I swore to myself—”

  “Stop griping and get flying,” Sop said. “You’re in Abaton. What bird is going to eat the royal musician to the presters?”

  “Fine,” Maestro grumbled. “But if I sprain a wing and can’t play music again, you’ll all be sorry.”

  The hazy red sun flared like an ember before extinguishing beyond the mountains. The still air was thick as syrup and dripping with heat. Pinocchio leaned on the railing wondering how long it would take for Maestro to reach the gnomes. He watched as dancing lights rose from the treetops of the jungle below. They swirled around in the dusky sky, chasing one another and emitting tinkling chimes.

  Lazuli came up beside Pinocchio, just as one of the lights flitted past the ship. It looked less like a living creature and more like a soap bubble.

  “They’re pretty,” he said. The bubble dipped below the railing, chiming lightly. “What are they?”

  “Aleyas,” Lazuli said. “Playful little things.”

  “Can you help out your presters?” Pinocchio called to the aleya. “How about bringing us a nice spiceberry cake from the Moonlit Court’s kitchens?”

  The aleya paused a moment before streaking back to the others.

  “I think you scared her,” Lazuli said.

  Pinocchio gave a sigh.

  “How are your hands?” Lazuli turned, leaning back against the rail.

  Pinocchio checked to see if Cinnabar was around before he slipped off his gloves. The grains of wood were as pronounced as ever. He rapped his knuckles on the railing. Clunk-clunk.

  “They haven’t changed,” he said, tugging the gloves back on.

  “Strange,” Lazuli said with a frown. “I thought they’d turn back faster.”

  “Me too.” Pinocchio found his fingers fidgeting with the jasmine bracelet around his wrist. “What if they don’t? What if…?” He gave a frustrated scowl. “I don’t even know what to do. Dr. Nundrum expects me to use the Pearl to secure the prison, to keep these monsters from escaping, but I barely know how to summon flame, much less something really complicated.”

  “I’ll be there to help you,” Lazuli said. “We’ll figure it out. We always do. You doubt yourself too much.”

  He didn’t think his doubts unwarranted. After all, discovering what powers to use would be hard enough, but adding to that was the fear that he might also turn back into an automa. They were facing a serious dilemma.

  “Darlings,” Mezmer called from the stern. “Best get belowdecks and try to sleep. We’re keeping a better watch tonight. Right, Sop?”

  The cat held up two teapots. “Will be wide-awake. All night.” He drank straight from the steaming spout.

  Lazuli nodded back toward the gangway. Pinocchio followed her. When they were almost to the hatch, the aleya soared up in front of him, bobbing up and down.

  “Oh, you again,” Pinocchio said.

  The aleya sped down to bump against his hand. She felt like a sack of jelly. He drew back his gloved hand. “What are you doing?”

  She made an urgent chime and bumped his other hand. Maybe she wanted him to hold her? That seemed odd.

  “I think she wants to give you something,” Lazuli said.

  Pinocchio noticed now that something was dangling beneath the aleya. He stuck his hand out, palm up. The aleya dropped a cluster of yellow fruit.

  “Spiceberries,” Lazuli said, giving a laugh. “Your favorite! She must have found them in the jungle.”

  “Th
anks,” Pinocchio said, popping one into his mouth and relishing the sweet, fiery taste.

  The aleya made an excited tinkling before shooting back into the sky.

  “You certainly have a way of making friends in the funniest places,” Lazuli said.

  Pinocchio hadn’t always had friends. When he’d been an automa serving in the floating palace of the doge of Venice, Pinocchio had never thought or even been capable of making friends with the other mechanical servants. But then Prester John had hidden the Ancientmost Pearl inside him, and a whole new world opened before Pinocchio.

  Wiq had been his first true friend. It hadn’t been easy at first. Wiq had hated Pinocchio for being an automa. It seemed all Abatonians—whether here in their homeland or enslaved in the humanlands—shared this loathing for alchemy and its inventions.

  But Wiq had been able to look beyond what Pinocchio was.

  In his cabin, with night falling outside, Pinocchio cringed at the thought of what Wiq must think of their friendship now. He could almost imagine Wiq, up on the theater’s terrace looking out night after night across Siena’s cityscape and wondering what had become of Pinocchio and his promise.

  Pinocchio turned the bracelet around his wrist. The flowers and leaves had long dried and fallen off. The braided vine was beginning to fray.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Pinocchio whispered. “I swear I haven’t.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight back the images that formed: Wiq, lonely and friendless in the depths of Al Mi’raj’s dungeon. Al Mi’raj’s master, the lord mayor of Siena, selling Wiq from the theater to an alchemist’s workshop, where he’d work day after dreary day building war machines for the empire until, like Wiq’s parents, he was worked quite literally to death.

  Pinocchio tucked the bracelet protectively beneath his sleeve.

  The ship had grown silent, except for the occasional cackling laugh from Sop up on deck. Pinocchio rose from his bunk. He needed to see his father. He always had a way of cheering Pinocchio up. He’d last seen Geppetto in the ship’s galley, poring over Dr. Nundrum’s books, trying to find some overlooked clue about the enchantment keeping the monsters in their prison. Maybe he was still there.