"Once he was a Brute! But now no more! Gentle Ethrang will tell you how to pull your life out of the gutter and find happiness in the worship of love and beauty!"
"Ralama was mistress to three Corporate Council heads! Hear her tell all!"
"He's a retired master thief with a dark past, she's a !Quatl spy turned temple prostitute. They fight crime!"
Her father spoke the name. "And what did this Freetrick Feend think of you?"
All right, Zathara though, so all that about me not getting enough sex was just my parents trying to arrive at this subject. "I believe," she said, "that his opinion of me is high."
"Of course it is." Nashtang said. "So would you tell us about this boy, Zathara? Is he a good friend?"
"You mean," said Zathara, "have I slept with him?"
"Have you not?"
"I have not, father."
"Not because he refused you, I trust?"
"No. He never asked." Beneath her bland expression, Zathara permitted herself to grind her molars together. Because she knew, she knew, what Mother would say next.
"Is this Freetrick a homosexual? "
"No, Mother," Zathara gritted her teeth. "Freetrick isn't gay."
"Then why?" pushed Nashtang.
"Because things don't work like that in The Rationalist Union." If I could just strangle both of you!
Irritatingly, Nashtang made a pass with his hand. He waved the matter away as if it was nothing. "Well. But you could have this Freetrick if you," he raised an eyebrow, "exerted yourself?"
I will concentrate on the depth of the air in my lungs until I no longer want to slap my father. "Yes."
Neeshthura reached across the palanquin and placed a hand on Zathara's knee.
"Daughter, are you certain?"
"Yes!" Zathara snapped. Then cursed herself. Damn! Damn! I lost control. She hadn't let herself take that tone with her parents since she was old enough to leave the family compound. They would empty her of esteem now. She almost wept.
But neither her father nor her mother even seemed to notice.
Nashtang's face was serious as stone.
"That is good," he said.
They were silent for a few moments as the crowd streamed past below them.
"Daddy," said Zathara, "You can count on me to help. I'm home now."
Nashtang's head abruptly dropped. His hand went in front of his eyes. He stayed that way, head almost between his knees, almost as if…no. Love-wielder men do not cry.
"I'm sorry, Zathara," said Nashtang. "Luck has not favored our faction in the government." With shock, Zathara realized esteem was streaming out of him. And into her. "So we must move quickly. And in secret."
***
The Soon-to-be-Ultimate Fiend threw his pen at the wall. It nearly hit the goblin servant, carrying in the evil kitchens' third attempt at breakfast.
"Okay" Freetrick slapped his hands on his bone desk. "I'm not thinking about this the right way."
The servant navigated between the wings of Mr. Skree and placed the tray he carried on the Soon-to-be-Ultimate Fiend's desk. He carefully avoided the pages of notes that lay scattered there. If the unfortunate monster had been able to, he would have read:
A. Poison.
Aa. In the food
Ab. In the water
Ac. In the air
Ad. Spread on my possessions
Ae. On Bloodbyrn's —there was a wiggly, considering line, which resolved into— anywhere
Af. In a dart shot into me—followed by a large X mark and a frowny face.
Too strkng PARANOID! Read his next notes. Then cannot allow enemies to see. There followed some examples of mirror writing, followed by more X's, more frowny faces, and a series of depressed-looking word-magic runes that would have turned the black stone walls of the office a cheery pale blue if they could have been made to work in Skrea.
Freetrick looked focused on the more helpful notes. "Don't get killed," he said. "Well, how can I avoid getting killed? Okay."
"Listen to me?" Bloodbyrn said.
Each of Freetrick's attempts at breakfast had come with a small live animal, like the prize in a box of cereal. This particular meal, the kitchens' the third attempt to find something Freetrick could eat, came with a rat. Bloodbyrn was playing with it.
"Find...allies," Freetrick said as he wrote. "Okay, so who has an interest in seeing me stay alive? And who has an interest in seeing me dead? Why do they...want...me...dead?" He made some more notes, then looked up at the goblin servitor.
"What is it this time?" He lifted the silver dome and looked down suspiciously. Two black pottery bowls stood upon the tray. White powder filled the smaller bowl, and in the larger was what looked like red snot. "Okay," he said, "I'm listening."
The little servant cleared his throat, "This is a dish from the desert south of Castle Clouds-Gather, Fiend. The chef distilled the sap of the death vine—" Freetrick wondered about that, but decided that if he vetoed every ingredient with the word 'death' in its name he would starve. "—and his Malevolence will notice that the acids barely corrode the bowl."
"Strike it out!" said Freetrick "Acids? That corrode ceramic? What the striking hell is going to happen to me if I eat that stuff?"
The waiter quailed.
"If the Bringer of Destruction will direct his attention to the condiments bowl," Mr. Skree intoned.
"What, the white powder?"
"Powdered coral from the southern sea, oh Forge of Malignity, it is to be added to the mash of the death vine."
"Oh?" The waiter nodded. Freetrick spooned the baking soda into the mash, which began to bubble and fizz like a science fair volcano. He looked down at the rising pink foam. "So now I just eat it?"
The waiter bowed, "Yes, Malevolence." But as Freetrick lowered the spoon into the bowl, the little scaly creature's eyes popped with horror. "Ma-Malevolence! The rat!"
Freetrick stopped with the spoon halfway down, "What now?"
"The rat...Malevolence...breakfast," the waiter looked pleadingly up at Mr. Skree and Bloodbyrn, who dropped the little rodent back into its cage, then stood back with hands clenched behind her back.
"My lord must kill the small creature before he breaks fast," she said.
"What? No!" said Freetrick. "Can't I just eat in peace?"
"May this servant be disemboweled slowly for daring to answer the Tempest Lord with anything but immediate and absolute obedience," Mr. Skree said, "but the sacrifice of the creature is an ancient ceremony vital to the health and well-being of the Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend."
That stopped Freetrick long enough for his memory to kick in, and he finally made the connection between the live animals, the dangerous and poisonous things the waiter had tried to feed him, and the lizard thing that Bloodbyrn had killed in front of him on the balcony. Freetrick looked down at the rat in its cage. Well, that solved the poisoning problem. All he had to do was kill something before he ate, and necromancy would take care of the rest.
Which meant that…oh. Freetrick put his spoon down and slowly turned to look at the servitor quailing by his desk."I could have poisoned myself if you hadn't stopped me."
"Pride at service swells within the organs of the wretched being who stands before the yawning cavern of villainy that is the Ultimate Fiend," Mr. Skree answered. The little goblin nodded miserably.
Freetrick looked back at the rat, twitching its nose in its cage. "So…" he said, "what do I…"
Bloodbyrn flourished a pale hand and flicked her athame onto the bone surface of his desk. Freetrick looked at the knife, looked at his fiancée, and then looked at the rat. His stomach rumbled.
Several minutes later, the food and the rat were gone. But Freetrick was gloomily certain the stains on his white desk would never go away. "Mr. Skree, I'm going to have to kill something at the beginning of every meal forever, aren't I?" He had not done a good job with the rat, but the servant had cheerfully eaten the remains anyway.
"If the Soon-to-be Ultimate Fi
end wishes to denature the poisons that have been added to his food, certainly," replied his chamberlain.
Freetrick waved a hand at his notes. "I don't suppose I can make people stop poisoning my food, could I?"
Bloodbyrn stifled a snort of laughter with a handkerchief of black lace.
"I see." Freetrick peered at his list. "I've been thinking about this wrong," he said eventually. "What I need to do is prevent people from wanting to kill me. How can I do that?"
"I have several, extremely specific directions," said Bloodbyrn brightly.
"Ha ha, but I don't suppose you feel at all like being useful?" Freetrick stared at her. "For example, what can you tell me about the Skrean government?"
There was silence, punctuated by a glottal clicking from Mr. Skree, which Freetrick interpreted as the vampire equivalent of a "well…um…" It sounded like a skeleton rapping its knuckles on damp leather.
Finally, Bloodbyrn sighed. "I must admit I am unsure what my lord means."
"How does the government work?" asked Freetrick. "Who makes the decisions?"
"You, my lord," said Bloodbyrn, "obviously."
"And how do I enforce them?"
"With fear," said Bloodbyrn, "and blood, and death."
"Nicely put, Dark Lady" wheezed Mr. Skree.
"So…I terrify people into doing what I say." Freetrick said. "And if they disagree with me they…"
"Attempt to kill you, my lord."
"…attempt to kill me, of course." Freetrick drummed his fingers on his desk. "So who can I trust to advise me?"
He waited. " …Guys?"
Mr. Skree stared blankly into space, while Bloodbyrn peered at him as if searching for dents in his skull, drool, and other indications of idiocy.
"Fine. Thank you. I get it. So I'm the king of the kingdoms of evil, ruling the entire populace personally? So what do the other people in the castle do? I mean, aside from plot my assassination."
"Oh, the court of Castle Clouds-Gather do a great deal." Bloodbyrn sounded slightly affronted. As well she should be, Freetrick thought, since she could probably plan his assassination over breakfast and carry it out before lunch. More likely as lunch. "Those of lower rank, of course, plot to eliminate their superiors, while those above seek to destroy any too-ambitious underlings…" she waved a hand vaguely, "and so forth. Let me see. Then there are those who foster false hope among the slaves, those who cut apart living creatures, those who cut apart themselves…Yes, lord, we keep ourselves quite busy."
Freetrick swallowed. "What I…meant to ask is: do any of the courtiers govern anything? For example," he said, when Bloodbyrn made no response, "who makes sure food gets to the castle? Who commands the army? Who collects taxes, or makes sure the castle doesn't fall apart? Who runs the country?"
"Ah…The Shaper of Cruelties refers, perhaps, to the Cabinet of Horrors?" Mr. Skree ventured in a voice like nails scraped across the floor of the tomb.
"Okay?" Freetrick snatched up his pen and brought it to the parchment. "The what again?"
"The Cabinet of Horrors performs many of those tasks the Malevolence mentioned." Mr. Skree's face was even less expressive than usual, which shouldn't have been physically possible.
"So I should talk to them?" asked Freetrick.
"Oh no, my lord," Bloodbyrn said, aghast, "What respect does the Cabinet of Horrors command? None, my lord; The Dark Synod, the Council of Villainy, even the Homicidiary spit upon them as they pass in the Vile Halls." Her little mouth drew into an even tighter bow with disgust. "They are nothing but Higher Monstrosities."
Freetrick, his mind grappling with what sounded like four evil governing bodies, said "Huh?"
Mr. Skree coughed, "Render not this pitiful bag of offal into homogenized syrup for daring to suggest the black attentions of the Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend are not entirely appropriately placed, but the Dark Lady DeMacabre is essentially correct in her distain, as she is in all things."
Bloodbyrn sniffed.
"The Cabinet of Horrors is indeed unworthy and spat upon from all directions," said Mr. Skree, "but the Higher Monstrosities perform those tasks his Malevolence mentioned, scurrying under the spiked boots of the human court like foul insects."
"Monsters? Just how many of them are there?"
Mr. Skree cleared his throat with the sound of a manatee sucking mud out of a coconut. Freetrick knew he was about to hear another frightening bit of Skrean trivia. "If this worthless pustule may, Malevolence. Many Dark Lords have attempted to twist the working of nature to their nefarious wills. A few have succeeded, and have proved crafty and fierce indeed. Those creations that survived have bred, and few breeds have proved…fecund, Malevolence."
"Maybe it would be easier to ask what percentage of the population of my country is actually…um…human," said Freetrick.
Mr. Skree thought for a moment. "There is the royal family, inner and outer, Malevolence. That is twice thirteen. And of course the courtiers and hostages from the various ruling houses and tribes of sSt'tdrakh and Sangboire pay their homage to the skull throne by dint of their never-ending cruelty…"
"There are Sangboise merchants and slave-drivers, as well," supplied Bloodbyrn.
"And various miscellaneous prisoners from other lands," finished Mr. Skree. "Although this shambling heap of filth should mention that this population is transient."
"And all this would make, what, two hundred people?" said Freetrick. "What about in the country-side? The peasants."
Mr. Skree cleared his throat, "The terrible ancestors of his Malevolence have long held an interest in creatures that subsist only on human life. My own kind, for example, has been relatively successful, though most broods die out after a few generations." Freetrick detected a shimmer of pride there. "The bile-drinkers, for example, are surely extinct, despite reports of sightings in Sangboire"
Bile-drinkers? "Who…who thought that was a good idea?" asked Freetrick.
"The bile-drinkers were, I believe, a creation of his Malevolence's horrifically honored ancestor Tehrborg, father of Wrothborg, may the blood on his hands never dry, along with many other famous breeds." Mr. Skree clicked his toe-nails on the ceiling. "Some, such as the fat-worms, the Kaimeera, and the crabs-with-skin, of course, are still extant. In addition are the numberless Higher Monstrosities: ogres and lizard-men, goblins, ghasts, wendigos, war-things…"
"Enough," Bloodbyrn waved a hand at the wheezing secritary, " I am sure my lord can have a list made."
Freetrick fought for clarity. "And those monsters have…replaced the peasants?"
"A most novel way of phrasing the matter, Malevolence."
"And they live in a black desert," said Freetrick. "What do they eat?
"The Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend would find some cruel delight in knowing that most of those doomed to live under the shadow of the Ultimate Fiend depend upon raids of the sun-drenched Do-Gooder nations to the west."
Skrean raids were the stuff of history, and current news broadcasts. But he had never imagined that the monsters being slaughtered by Naobelites in the mountains were trying to save themselves from starvation. And why? All because of the Skrean patron god's abysmal taste in interior decorating? "True words, why?" Freetrick exploded. "Why are the Skreans doing this to their own population?"
"Oh, my lord is droll indeed," Bloodbyrn laughed. Then, when her eyes met his, "pardon? My lord is...no, my lord did not mean that question seriously."
"I striking well am!" Freetrick said, "how does it make sense to turn some of your peasants into monsters to eat the other peasants?"
"Of course it, as my lord puts it, 'makes sense.'" Bloodbyrn responded. "The policies we have discussed, and many others, are designed to extract the maximum suffering from the population. 'All your works we shall oppose.'"
"But---"
"My lord," she interrupted, "you are not in The Rationalist Union, ruled by the Good half of the Covenant, you are in Skrea, ruled by the Evil half. And it is the sacred responsibility of the rulers
of Skrea, of which you are one, my lord, to see that Evil continues to hold sway over this nation."
"But nobody in The RU cares about the struck-out Covenant!" Freetrick protested.
"That means only," Bloodbyrn grinned, "that we are winning."
Freetrick rested his forehead against his desk.
They expected him to rule a country of monsters. He would have to work constantly to keep both the general population and his own advisers so terrified that they wouldn't try to murder him in his sleep. And if Bloodbyrn and Mr. Skree were any indication, the inhabitants of the Kingdoms of Evil practiced terror and murder like people back in The RU practiced crossword puzzles. And it wasn't enough just to keep the aristocracy from killing him; Freetrick would be just as dead if the RU figured out how weak Skrea really was and sent an army to remove the annoyance. Or, hell if they just improved defenses along the eastern borders, Freetrick would just starve along with everyone else in Skrea.
Freetrick could still feel the tingle of necromancy in the air, and above him, past the walls and the bones of the volcano, the Eye of the Maelstrom waited for him to look into it again. There was no use trying to deny it now, he was the Despot of Skrea, and Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend of the Kingdoms of Evil, feared by his million minions, minus the two who had actually met him.
A lot depended on his ability to make a good impression to the rest of his people, Freetrick realized. Alright, a bad impression.
"Mr. Skree," Freetrick said, "I have tasks that need accomplishing."
"Fiend?"
Freetrick looked down at his notes. "I need someone to take me on a tour of the castle. I will also want to put together some kind of contingent of bodyguards."
"Fiend."
Freetrick took that for a 'yes' and made a check mark next to EXPLORE THE CASTLE on his list. "And while I'm walking, I want someone knowledgeable to accompany me to explain what I'm seeing, and someone to start telling me about necromancy. I will have to schedule lessons in necromancy, Mr. Skree."
The Kingdoms of Evil Page 12
