by Frank Tuttle
Darla, close at my side, took in a sudden breath and covered her mouth with her hand. Gertriss beamed at Evis, who winked at her behind his tinted spectacles and clapped his hands once.
The lights blazed, bathing the vast chamber in a bright, ethereal glow. I peeked through my fingers at the lights, which shone like patches of sky torn from the heavens and folded and woven and then somehow suspended from the Queen’s curving ceiling.
The lights spun and twinkled and moved. The light they cast didn’t so much shine upon you as envelope you.
“Magic,” said Darla, playing her fingers through the light as though her hands were submerged in warm, flowing water. “It must be.”
“We call them starlights,” said Evis with a closed-lip smile. “They cost a small fortune. Each one took three years to build. And by Yule there’ll be half a dozen hanging in the High House, or I’m a badger.”
He clapped again, and the starlights faded, and the shadows returned.
“Sorry, but they’re expensive to keep lit. Unless you’d care to lose a few large sums at our brand new gaming tables?”
“Not a chance.” I looked out across the empty casino. “So, how many gaming tables have you got?”
“Two hundred and ninety, to start. Card games there, roulette wheels there, something new we call a slot machine over there. Something for everyone, including the ladies.”
I whistled. I couldn’t even estimate the earning the House expected to pull in, night after night, but I didn’t think it would take long to pay off the Queen’s lavish construction expenses.
“And all of it tax free,” said Evis in tones that suggested worship.
“You’re kidding.”
“I am not. The Regent himself signed off on it. Any gambling that takes place on a boat is exempt from Regency taxation. Oh, we agreed to fund certain civic projects out of our earnings, but not a cent goes to taxes.”
“How many of these boats are you building?”
Evis shrugged and pretended to inspect a talon. “Six or eight, I forget which.”
Gertriss smiled. She put her arm on Evis’s shoulder again.
“Tell them the rest, won’t you?”
“Later,” he said, tapping his ear. “In private.”
She laughed.
“We have three more decks to show you,” said Evis. “If you please?”
By the time we reached the top deck, which Evis called the promenade, my feet were aching in my fancy shoes and even Gertriss was beginning to pant.
We walked every hall. Climbed every stair. Inspected every stateroom. Poked in every closet. For one awful moment I was convinced we were going to flush every toilet and test every doorknob for quality of polish and ease of use.
Whatever else Evis might love, I whispered to Darla, he loved that damned boat more.
I got a kick in the shins for my insight.
Hours passed. Bunions were born. Mouths went dry.
But I did learn a few things.
The Queen’s layout was meant to channel guests toward the casino or the half-dozen plush bars located at strategic places around the top three decks. There were no clocks anywhere in sight. Evis said this was to ensure that passengers were relaxed and unhurried. I suspected it was an effort to keep gamblers unaware of the passage of time, which might in turn remind them of the passage of their money from their pockets to the Queen’s safes.
Darla and I had a stateroom on the second deck. All the rooms there were comfortable and well appointed.
The rooms—excuse me, suites—on the next deck up were twice the size of mine, and probably came with butlers and big-eyed, half-Elf maids. The beds? You could build my house on one of those beds and have room left over for a middling-large garden.
The next deck, the promenade, was even more lavish and ornate. There were only half a dozen suites, each featuring sitting rooms and smoking rooms and bathtubs I could paddle about in—if I was fond of paddling about with irate rich people.
The only suite we couldn’t enter was the one being prepared for the Regent. It was guarded by a full dozen of his personal bodyguards, with a pair of black-robed wand-wavers hovering nearby. Flashes beneath the doors and bangs from behind the thick walls hinted at sorcerous wards being laid inside.
Evis didn’t elaborate, and neither Darla nor I asked. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until we took a corner and were finally out of sight of the Regent’s expressionless personal guards.
“You get used to it,” said Evis in a whisper.
“I don’t plan to. She’s a lovely boat, Evis, every inch of her. I think you said something earlier about a meager meal of some sort? Cold biscuits and jerky, I think it was.”
He laughed. “All right. I can show you the rest tomorrow. Think you can find your rooms without falling overboard?”
“Probably. In any case, I can swim.”
“Well, don’t drip all over the carpet if you do. Be at the casino, near the stage, in two hours. We’ll put the chef to the test.”
I knew damned well Evis would sit behind an empty plate and sip something thick and dark from a fine crystal glass.
“Sounds good.”
A groan and a rumble rose up from somewhere deep inside the Queen. Evis bit back a cuss word and whirled to face Gertriss.
“They’re starting the engine test early,” he said. “Are you sure you want to watch?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. See you, boss, Mrs. Boss!”
Darla laughed. Evis hurried off, Gertriss on his arm, leaving us standing in an empty hall while the late afternoon sun slanted down through the ranks of windows.
“Your friend Evis seems a bit preoccupied,” said Darla. I’d started walking down the hall so that the sun was on my left. I hoped my air of confidence lent the impression I had any idea where I was going.
“He’s a vampire turned gambling magnate about to launch an untested steam-boat in a bid for political immortality. That’s enough to distract anyone.”
“Ha. You saw it too, and don’t pretend you didn’t. They’re a couple, and for some reason he’s not comfortable acknowledging it. I wonder why?”
“That I can answer. She’s four feet tall and handy with a meat cleaver. You’ll be able to hear the howls of anguish all the way downtown when Mama figures out who Gertriss is walking out with.”
“Mama’s not here, though.”
“True. But if anybody can jinx this, it’s Mama and her mouth.”
“She’s going to find out eventually.”
“Which is why friend Evis is trying to make eventually as far in the future as he can. I don’t blame him.”
“Mama’s not that bad. All she can do is bluster.”
I shook my head. We rounded a corner, came to a wide staircase, began to wind our way down it. I was glad I’d somehow missed another stroll in front of the Regent’s killing crew.
“It’s not the bluster Evis is afraid of, wife of mine. It’s the questions she’ll ask. The ones you and I and for all I know, Evis and Gertriss are avoiding.”
She was quiet for a moment, and then she took my hand.
“Oh.” We walked down in silence for a bit. “Mama would do that?”
“Hell yes, she would. I can hear her now. She’d ask Gertriss if she meant to risk getting turned, or she’d ask Evis if he planned to watch Gertriss grow old and die. She’d do it without blinking.”
“So which do you think it will be?”
“Not a clue. Not my business. Maybe they don’t know either. But the where and the when that question gets asked, if it ever does, ought to be up to them. Not Mama. But that’s not the way it will play out if Mama gets wind of this.”
We reached the next-to-the-last landing and counted room numbers until we found ours. Darla didn’t speak of Evis and Gertriss again, and neither did I.
Ever the intrepid investigator, I put my mental skills to good use by flopping down on the bed and going immediately to sleep. I felt Darla drop down beside me just
before I dozed.
“I hope they’re happy, whatever they decide,” she murmured, close by my ear. “As happy as us for as long as they can be.”
“Amen,” I said, and then I slept.
We were awakened by a gentle knock at the door. A steward reminded us dinner was in three quarters of an hour, and left a silver tray and a silver coffee urn behind.
Darla bathed and applied makeup and dressed. I slumped against the headboard and drank coffee and only rose when Darla threatened to cut off my hair unless I washed it.
Somehow, we made it to the casino deck right on time. Darla was wearing a dark blue gown with ruffles at the shoulders. I’d thrown my Army dress jacket over my rumpled white shirt and put a loose knot in my best black tie.
We were greeted at the casino landing by a pair of nervous waiters.
“Right this way, sir, madam,” managed one. The other forged ahead, making a big show of moving chairs and any other potential obstacles out of our way. Darla shook her head and hid a grin.
Evis and Gertriss were already seated at a big round table near the empty stage. Mr. Lavit, the wine steward, and a dapper older gentleman in old-fashioned black tails hovered over them, fussing with glasses and exchanging hushed conversations about, I suppose, silverware and salt shakers. A trio of magelamps on head-high stands bathed the table in a pool of gentle light.
Five chairs sat about the table, and I wondered who the extra seat was for.
Evis looked up and waved at us. Gertriss did the same. They both popped out of their seats when we stepped into the magelight.
“Glad you could join us,” said Evis. He sounded like he meant it.
A somber gentleman joined us and made a small bow. “Sir, madam. I am Dutson. It will be my pleasure to serve you this evening. Madam, welcome to the Queen’s finest table.”
He pulled out Darla’s chair, and she took her place at the Queen’s finest table. I seated myself, which was apparently the signal Evis and Gertriss were waiting for because they both took their places and settled down for some serious not-smiling.
Dutson snapped his fingers and a pair of gilt-edged menus appeared. And by appeared I mean just that—they popped into existence like a stage magician’s fat white rabbit.
Being the sophisticated and urbane diner, I acknowledged this bit of sorcerous whimsy with a nod and focused on the menu.
The lettering glowed. The little drawing of the Queen at the bottom puffed real smoke and paddled its way slowly across the paper as I read. There wasn’t a price anywhere in sight lest, I supposed, diners of meager means throw themselves overboard by the dozen.
Dutson extolled the virtues of the evening’s specials, describing each in rapt tones priests strive for but rarely achieve. Darla nodded and smiled and even asked a few questions. I fought back the urge to demand a ham sandwich on plain white bread and studied the beer offerings instead.
Evis wound up ordering for everyone, which was probably best because I couldn’t pronounce half the dishes. I made a silent vow to order a sandwich and vampire dining propriety be damned if Dutson returned with anything that moved or still had its eyes.
Wine glasses were placed before us, and were filled by a nervous young man who could use more sunlight. Evis swirled his drink around in his glass and frowned at it, as though the beverage had somehow given insult. Gertriss guffawed and lifted her glass and took a long sip.
“It’s good,” she said to Darla. “Ignore Evis. He thinks he has an educated nose.”
Evis was about to defend the discernment of his nostrils when all hell broke loose.
Red lamps hidden away in the Queen’s ceiling trim began to flash. Horns blew. Men shouted and other men answered, and by the time Darla set her wine glass down we were ringed by a dozen black-clad Avalante soldiers who put their backs to our table and kept their long guns pointed out into the dark.
Evis rose, all business, speaking into a smooth black box he held to his ear.
Gertriss took another sip of wine before casually brandishing a twin to the silver gun she’d given Darla.
I filled my own hand with the latest in projectile weaponry, and was pleased to see that Darla had done the same, making the Queen’s finest dining table also its most heavily armed, and all before the salads were served.
Evis went pale. That’s no small feat for a man with skin the color of a white onion.
Gertriss clutched at his elbow. “What is it?”
And then I heard over the sounding of the horns and the shouts of Avalante’s dark army, the sound of Mama Hog’s voice, lifted in a snit.
“I tell ye I was invited!”
Evis lowered his talking box. “You didn’t,” he said to me.
“No. I didn’t.” Then I thought back to the previous day when I’d asked Mama to come around for supper. “Oh no. Evis. I think maybe I did.”
The glare Gertriss turned on me would have felled a full-grown goat.
“I invited her to join us for supper,” I said. “I had no idea I’d be here on the Queen tonight.”
“That apparently hasn’t stopped her.” Evis took in a long deep breath, perhaps out of habit or perhaps out of a rare need to breathe. “I’ll send word to let her aboard. Gertriss, I’ll see you later.”
She didn’t let go. “This is your boat. Your house. Your table. If you go, I go.”
Mama’s raucous shouting grew closer.
“Now? Are you sure?”
Give the woman credit. She managed a smile, and sat back down, and left her hand right where it was.
“Let her in,” said Evis, to no one I could see. “Tell Dutson to set another place.”
Darla’s gun vanished. I put mine back in my pocket. Evis pulled his out and idly checked the cylinder, presumably to make sure it was loaded. Gertriss frowned and he put it away.
We heard Mama long before we saw her squat silhouette appear in the grand doors between the staircases. Hell, half the Hill heard Mama coming and probably hid, thinking the Trolls had reconsidered the Truce and decided to attack Rannit after all.
“Mama,” I called, rising. “We’re in here. No need to shout. Come on in.”
Mama appeared, huffing and puffing, flanked by a pair of Ogres and a slight robed figure I couldn’t quite place.
“Well, you’d think I was tryin’ to push a chair under the Regent’s table for all the ruckus raised,” said Mama in a voice just below a screech. “What harm could one poor old woman do to a fancy barge like this?”
“Mama, would you prefer beer or wine?”
“Beer. Wine is for layabouts and ne’er-do-wells.” She stomped closer. The Ogres halted just outside the doors. The slight figure to her right glided wordlessly on, a full hood obscuring his or her face.
“Beer it is.” The ring of soldiers vanished with all the fuss and noise of a single falling feather. Dutson appeared, a waiter with a chair in tow.
“Will Madam care to peruse our beer menu?”
Mama hove into view, frowning and breathing hard.
“Just fetch me a damned beer,” she said before fixing her bright little Hog eyes on me. “Well, ain’t you hard to find these days?”
Unperturbed, Dutson motioned Mama into a chair while the silent figure at her side took the other seat.
“Sorry, Mama. We hadn’t planned to board so soon. Had some unforeseen business—”
“Oh, I knows all about your business, boy. They cleaned up your house right well, but I can see new blood in the moonlight, I can.” Mama eyed me up and down. “They cut you good?”
“Good enough. I’ll live. Thanks to Evis here.”
Mama didn’t glance his way, but she did aim a quick frown at Gertriss, who did a passable job of frowning defiantly right back.
“I come to tell you there’s people watching your house, watchin’ your office,” said Mama. “I say people, but I reckon strictly speakin’ they ain’t people at all.”
She is remarkably perceptive, said Stitches. She pulled back her hood
far enough that I could see a blank white mask covering her face. You have the most fascinating friends, Mr. Markhat.
“How many, Mama?”
“Two each place,” she replied. Dutson returned with a glass of beer and placed it at Mama’s hand. “Them there hollow women. They just walks back and forth, watchin’ and waitin’, I reckon.” She picked up the glass and drained it noisily before wiping foam off her chin with her sleeve. “That ain’t half bad, boy. Reckon I’ll have another, thank ye very much.”
Dutson nodded and went to fetch more.
“We can have them picked up,” said Evis. “Might even get these whole.”
I doubt they will allow themselves to be apprehended and studied, said Stitches. Still. They could perhaps be disabled before they are aware they are under attack.
“There’s other things watchin’ your house, too,” said Mama. “I ain’t seen it good yet. About the size of a house-cat. Climbs like a squirrel. Kind of reddish-like.”
“I told you I saw Mr. Simmons,” I said.
“Boy, are you listening? I said it was the size of a house-cat.”
“And red and it climbs like a squirrel. What did you call it, Miss Stitches? An elemental construct?”
Stitches nodded. Intriguing. I would estimate its intelligence at only slightly more than that of a dog. Perhaps it imprinted on you during our visit to the house, Mr. Markhat.
“That might explain why it’s hanging around. But it doesn’t explain how it knew to spit an antidote to poison in my eyes.”
No. That remains a mystery, if indeed it took place at all.
“Boy, who you talking to?”
“Never mind.”
Dutson brought a crystal pitcher of beer and placed it on the table. Mama snatched it up and poured before he had a chance to grasp the handle.
“Evis,” I said, “seen any of these woman hanging around the Queen?”
“No, and I’d have turned a brace of cannon on them if we had.” He frowned and put his fingertips together. “Stitches, any chance Markhat here could be located using sorcerous means?”
Anything is possible, Mr. Prestley. But locating Mr. Markhat is so close to being impossible I’m willing to assert that no sorcerer or group of sorcerers alive could come close. The Queen is well nigh impregnable from an arcane viewpoint.
