They were much more terrifying than what Pinocchio had seen in the painting in his father’s book. Great hulking beasts with blackened claws and fangs that could rip arms out of sockets. Skeletal things that looked rotten and yet somehow alive, with festering yellow eyes blinking from mangled faces. A manticore—there she was, just as Pinocchio remembered her from the attack at the banquet—lay defeated on the ground among the others.
But at the front of the horde, a man with crimson skin sat on his knees, looking down at his bound hands.
“Diamancer,” Prester John said. “Let me ask again, do you repent for your crimes?”
The crimson man looked up. Pinocchio drew back in horror and heard Lazuli gasp. Diamancer had no eyes. The skin ran smooth and unblemished where his lids should have been.
Diamancer smiled, a cruel and hateful smile, before whispering, “I do not.”
Prester John turned. Behind him stood a fox chimera wearing a full suit of shining armor. He held a tall lance and a battered shield. General Mezmercurian was larger than Mezmer, broader of shoulder, and with scars and patches of missing fur on his snout.
Other soldiers were lined up behind their general. Regiments of sylphs, gnomes, djinn, undines, chimera, and other creatures. Most were soldiers in the prester’s army. But the ones in the front, with their gleaming armor and brave faces, were clearly the elite knights of the Celestial Brigade. Mezmer would have given anything to command knights like these.
Prester John faced the monsters once more. He raised his voice. “Do any of you ask for your prester’s forgiveness?”
Some of the monsters growled. A few squeaked, although Pinocchio couldn’t tell if it was in fear or defiance. None answered.
“So be it,” Prester John said, an unmistakable note of sadness in his voice. “Then until the day when you repent for your crimes, you will no longer be free to endanger Abaton.”
He took several steps back and raised a hand. From out of the ground, tendrils of leafless vines erupted. They whipped around, snaking together and enclosing the huge army in wooden walls that rose into the steely overcast sky. The wood swelled, fusing together until the walls sealed into the shape of a great pyramid. Prester John waved a hand, and the prison lifted into the sky.
The eye blinked. For an instant, Pinocchio thought the memory was over. He began to shout at Regolith that he hadn’t answered his question. But when the eye opened once more, a new scene appeared.
Pinocchio felt the tingling in his arms, creeping ever higher. Lazuli cast him a worried glance. But Pinocchio gritted his teeth and watched what was unfolding in the great eye.
Prester John was surrounded by darkness. Beside him stood Mezmercurian holding a lamp swirling with pixies that cast a bubble of light. The general no longer wore armor, simply a suit of forest green. He carried no weapons.
“You have served Abaton well, General,” Prester John said. “You have done so much already for our people—”
“Then allow me to do a little more, Your Majesty,” Mezmercurian rasped.
Prester John nodded somberly. “Very well.” He handed a stone jar to the fox. “I make you the warden of the Sleeping Thousand.”
As Mezmercurian lifted his lamp, Pinocchio saw what lay on the floor. Spreading out into the darkness in every direction were Diamancer’s monsters—eyes closed and partially covered in drifts of what looked like snow or even ancient layers of dust.
Prester John said, “And so the Sleeping Thousand will remain until the day of their repentance or until Abaton falls. Be careful when you check on your charges. Do not uncover them or they will awaken.”
Pinocchio frowned. Uncover them from what?
Regolith blinked.
A new scene formed. This time Mezmercurian lay in a bed. He was clearly aged. His coppery fur was frosted with white. His once bright eyes were ever so clouded. The room was modest, the furnishing spare. The rumble of distant ocean came from the open window.
Prester John approached the fox’s bedside.
Pinocchio tried to focus on the scene, but the tingling of his arms was rising nearly to his shoulders.
“Pinocchio?” Lazuli said, worry thick in her voice.
He desperately wanted to stop, but Pinocchio reminded himself that it was now more than just this lone manticore who had escaped. The village of Sunder had been destroyed by dozens of monsters. Who knew how many others were being attacked! He had to do this. They had to understand what was going on in the prison.
“I’ve called for you, My Immortal Lordship, because it is time.” Mezmercurian’s voice was thin as tissue, dry and fading. “Another must be chosen to take over as the warden.”
Prester John looked down on him, his expression stony. But in his eyes, Pinocchio caught the faintest flicker of sadness.
“Pinocchio!” Lazuli said again.
Pinocchio ignored her, trying to find out as much as they could from the memory.
“The Sands of Sleep,” Mezmercurian said, lifting a paw toward the table by his bed.
“Yes,” Prester John whispered. He picked up the stone jar.
“I will give the wardenship to another,” Prester John said. “But what you have done will never be forgotten. Not by me. Not by Abaton. You do your ancestors a great credit.”
“Thank you.” Mezmercurian shifted, trying to sit up, but Prester John placed a hand on his shoulder.
The tingling rose into Pinocchio’s own shoulders. He trembled; the fear that the wood had reached that far seemed to make his body revolt. He had to stop before—
Pinocchio looked once more at the stone jar. It was the same one that Prester John had used when he’d poured the sands over Regolith. The sleeping monsters weren’t covered with snow or dust. They were covered with sand. The same sands that had kept Regolith asleep.
“The prison has long remained hidden in the Upended Forest, Your Majesty,” Mezmercurian said. “But it is growing inhabited.”
Prester John nodded. “Yes, it might be time to—”
Pinocchio shouted, “Enough! Enough, Regolith. Go back to sleep!”
The great rock lid slammed shut. Quickly, Lazuli pushed sand back over the lid, kicking it, brushing it until it was scattered once more over Regolith. Pinocchio dropped to his knees, clutching his hard wooden shoulders and shaking. The tingling subsided.
Lazuli put a hand on his shoulder. Her voice quivered. “Pinocchio? Are you all right?”
He nodded, even though he wasn’t. And she knew he wasn’t.
“The Sands of Sleep,” Pinocchio breathed.
Lazuli nodded. “Yes. If the monsters were uncovered from the Sands, they would awaken.”
Pinocchio slid his fingers into the soft sand piled beneath him. Why had it not caused him to fall asleep? Maybe the Pearl was protecting him. But it had not affected Lazuli either, which was perplexing.
“And we can use the Sands to put them back to sleep,” Pinocchio said, the realization jolting him upright.
He untied his cape and spread it on the ground. He piled sand into the center before drawing up the corners into a makeshift sack that he tied off with ribbon at the collar.
“How were they uncovered?” Pinocchio asked.
“I’m not sure,” Lazuli said. “From what the memory revealed, the prison is governed by a warden that my father selected. Maybe the current warden uncovered them accidentally.”
“But who’s the warden?”
“That, we’ll have to find out,” Lazuli said. “Maybe it’s recorded in the gnomes’ library. But for now at least, we know how to handle these monsters without you having to draw on the Pearl.”
She nodded at the sack in Pinocchio’s wooden hand.
Pinocchio looked up the shaft. The coin of sky was graying with dusk.
He approached the wall and grabbed one of the narrow clefts of rock. He’d have no trouble now climbing out. His transformed arms had automa strength.
But as he followed Lazuli up, climbing hand over hand out from
the shadows, Pinocchio knew he would have given anything to not have that sort of strength.
“I…well, I can scarcely believe it, Your Majesties,” Chief Muckamire said in a stunned squeak, from the edge of his chair. “It’s…You…Regolith? You actually woke Regolith!”
The others in the gnome lord’s cavernous parlor seemed to be in similar states of disbelief now that Lazuli had finished. She’d told the story in what had felt like one long, breathless sentence—leaving out only the parts that the gnome and Rion couldn’t know, about what was happening to Pinocchio.
The glow from the fireplace danced off Mezmer’s and Sop’s shocked faces. Geppetto leaned forward in his stone seat, nearly statue-still, with Maestro clinging to his shoulder. The only trace of movement came when his father’s eyes flickered to Pinocchio’s hands with equal parts suspicion and dread.
Only Rion, standing against the far wall behind Mezmer and Sop, didn’t look shocked. But then he’d learned what had happened on their race back to the palace. And besides, he was now clearly put out, since Mezmer had chastised him for allowing the presters to awaken Regolith without their general’s involvement.
“Chief Muckamire,” she said. “We learned that my father gave the responsibility of watching over the prison to a warden. Do you know who it might be?”
“Your Majesty,” Chief Muckamire answered, “I was only remotely acquainted with the fact that there was a prison at all. I’ve always assumed the details were a secret only known to your father. No, I have no idea who the current warden is. If there even is still a warden! Who knows what decisions your father made regarding the prison in the centuries since the memories you witnessed occurred?”
Mezmer took a step toward them. “If General Mezmercurian was the warden, it could be that after the Celestial Brigade was disbanded, Prester John took over the responsibility of acting as warden.”
“In which case,” Geppetto said, pulling on his mustache, “the prison has been unattended since His Great Lordship’s death. This might explain why the prisoners are wakening.”
Pinocchio said, “But in the memory, Prester John said he would give the wardenship to another.”
“We’ll need to find out for sure,” Lazuli said. She faced Chief Muckamire. “Can you search the libraries?”
“Most certainly, Your Majesty,” the gnome said.
“And I’ll contact my aunt to see if she has any knowledge,” Lazuli said. “Dr. Nundrum also might know.”
“Whatever the answer, we now have the Sands of Sleep, which is no small success,” Mezmer said with a flick of her ears. “We leave in the morning, darlings.”
“Tomorrow morning?” Lazuli must have misheard her. “But what about the ship? It can’t be ready yet.”
“No, it’s not. However…” Mezmer rubbed a furry knuckle across her already spotless armor, looking pleased. “Sop and I are happy to report that we have arranged for another means of travel.”
“You have?” Lazuli asked.
Sop groaned and put a paw over his face.
“What? They’re perfect, darling,” Mezmer said to the cat. “Don’t complain.”
“What’s perfect?” Pinocchio burst out impatiently.
“Wini,” Mezmer replied. “And her sisters, Fini and…what was the other?”
“Rainbow Dew Drop,” Sop grumbled.
“No, it wasn’t.” Mezmer said. “It was something like Pini.” Her fox face brightened. “They’re kirins.”
“What are kirins?” Pincchio asked.
“They’re often called unicorns back in the humanlands,” Maestro chirped authoritatively.
“But don’t call them that,” Mezmer added. “Wini made it quite clear they don’t appreciate that term.”
“She also made it quite clear that she loved munching buttercups when she wasn’t reciting poetry to the solstice winds.” Sop shook his head. “We can’t take these unicorns…kirins, whatever, to a prison full of monsters! This is dangerous work!”
“I admit,” Mezmer said, drooping slightly, “they’re not exactly what I dreamed for the knights of the Celestial Brigade. But they’re quite keen to be of service to their presters. Besides, we couldn’t find anyone else who could fly and was capable of carrying all of us.”
“They fly?” Pinocchio asked.
Mezmer gave an enthusiastic nod. “Quite swiftly.”
“But three kirins,” Lazuli wondered. “How can they carry us all?”
“Ah, well…” Mezmer said hesitantly. “All of us won’t be going.”
“What?” Pinocchio said. “Who’s not going?”
Geppetto’s face was lined with concern. “We were just discussing before your return—”
“There’s no discussion!” Chief Muckamire barked. “I told you, Master Geppetto. We can’t. I won’t allow my gnomes. What you’re suggesting is…” He lowered his voice as if the word was cursed. “Alchemy.”
“Quite right,” Geppetto said, splaying his hands. “Yes, alchemy. But if we’re to keep the people of Abaton safe from the next attack, we can’t just shelter them in the cities. We’ve got no army. How would you defend Grootslang Hole? How would we protect the Moonlit Court?”
Lazuli shook her head. “I don’t understand. What’s this about?”
Chief Muckamire puffed up his beard. “Master Geppetto is suggesting that we build weapons of war using Venetian alchemy.”
“Cinnabar’s former master in Venice designed defenses for the Fortezza Ducale,” Geppetto said in a near growl. “He knows how to build alchemical weaponry.”
Chief Muckamire narrowed his eyes as if Cinnabar just dropped several notches in his measure.
“We can start with the flying ship,” Geppetto said. “Equip it like a real warship.”
“We?” Pinocchio asked. “You mean you’d stay here.”
Geppetto’s eyes flickered to his son. He frowned. “Yes, I would need to assist Cinnabar.”
“With alchemy!” Chief Muckamire said. “What would my people think if I allowed it—much less if I assisted? His Great Lordship Prester John would never have allowed it!”
Lazuli sat up straighter in her seat. “Chief Muckamire,” she said, mustering as much presterly confidence as she could pack into her expression. “There were many things my father didn’t allow. But let me remind you that he gave the Ancientmost Pearl to Pinocchio. He allowed the son of a Venetian alchemist to become our prester.”
She drew a breath. “The people of Abaton were his children, and he loved them as deeply, as Master Geppetto loves Pinocchio. My father tried to give his children a peaceful world, a glorious one. But now my father is gone. And Abaton has been dealt a threat he could never have foreseen.”
Lazuli nodded to Pinocchio. “Abaton has changed. We must all change if we are to keep it safe.”
Chief Muckamire said nothing. He sat pensively in his stone seat, hands folded across his lap. “Change can be unsettling,” he said at last.
Lazuli nodded.
“His Great Lordship asked little of his high nobles,” Chief Muckamire said. “We represented our elemental houses. We were brought to court on occasion for ceremonies and banquets. But we were never asked to help share the burden of ruling.”
Lazuli hesitated, feeling her aunt would be furious with her for saying it. “I’m asking you to help, my lord. Our people need us.”
Chief Muckamire nodded. “Then we must protect them.” He glanced at Geppetto, worry still carved into his craggy face. “Very well, Master Geppetto. Will you teach my gnomes some alchemy?”
“It’s not fair,” Pinocchio said. His arms were folded atop the table in the windowless cavern of his chambers. He pressed his face against his arms, but at the feel of the hard wood, he reared back up. “I thought when we came to Abaton, I’d be human forever. I thought I’d never…”
Geppetto put his hand gently on Pinocchio’s head, smoothing his hair. “I know, son.”
Pinocchio didn’t like the way his father sounded. Resig
ned. Hopeless. “Is there nothing we can do? Didn’t you find anything at all in the libraries?”
Geppetto sighed, gesturing to a pile of books scattered across the table. “Some passages that provided promising insights, but no real answers.”
Maestro skittered across the binding of one of the books. “Read him the part about the palace!”
Geppetto sank into the chair next to Pinocchio. He opened a dusty slate-bound tome and flipped to a page marked with a tattered ribbon. “The text is not easy to follow. The gnomish scribes wrote it based on visions they claimed Regolith sent them. But this one passage we found speaks of the earliest days of Abaton and how the magic was wild and raw and untamed. How even Prester John didn’t seem sure how he was manipulating it.”
Pinocchio understood the feeling. “Go on,” he murmured.
“When Prester John first came ashore in Abaton—”
“Where did he come from?” Pinocchio interrupted. “How did he arrive?”
Geppetto shook his head. “The scribe doesn’t say. At least not in this book. But when he first arrived, the island was split into four kingdoms, each ruled by an elemental house. They were at war with one another. Keep in mind, in these early days, there were no chimera or griffins or kirins. Besides the elementals, only birds and ordinary beasts inhabited the island.”
Pinocchio blinked in surprise.
“But there were the primordials,” Maestro chirped.
“Yes, there were the primordials—however, Prester John had not yet learned to command them. The primordials spoke to him. In a dream.” His father pinched a corner of his mustache as he searched the page. “According to this passage, the primordials told him to unite the warring elementals, to dream of an Abaton at peace, in harmony. After he woke, he spent many days trying to figure out how to unite the elementals. Then one night, sleeping on the sands beside the lagoon—”
“Where Crescent Port lies now,” Maestro added.
“Prester John dreamed of a towering white palace. In the morning, he discovered that the Moonlit Court had risen overnight in the nearby jungle.”
“He dreamed the palace into existence?” Pinocchio gasped. Then he remembered something. “I saw a tapestry with something like that. In the throne room. But it showed creatures seeming to come out of Prester John’s head.”
Lord of Monsters Page 10
