by Ren Garcia
Lady Jubilee had taken a great liking to Lady Lillian. She personally visited her at her home in Gamboa, had stood in her gallery and marveled at the fabulous works of art she had created, and was generally taken with the lovely young lady. This woman was perfect, so grounded and pretty, so mundane. Lady Jubilee wanted a mundane woman for her son, to keep him properly balanced. When dealing with the arcane, it was a simple matter to become lost in it. Having a decidedly non-arcane companion, specifically a spouse, would provide him with the grounding he needed.
And Lillian of Gamboa seemed perfect. Stately and prim, talented and artistic, but rather dry and humorless, she would do well for her son. Lady Jubilee happily showed her pictures and holo-vids of her son Stenstrom and was pleased that Lillian found him handsome.
So, with a hopeful spirit and an open mind, Lillian boarded her House transport and made the trip across the marshes of Esther to Tyrol to meet Stenstrom the Younger. She certainly didn’t quite know what to expect, but she was apparently game to give it a try.
The afternoon came and went. Stenstrom never showed up. Lillian sat in the huge, empty Chalk House all afternoon alone.
Lady Jubilee’s rage was memorable. “How could you let that woman sit there unattended?”
“I did not wish to see her.”
“I do not care about your wishes in this matter! You’ve your House and your name to consider!”
After a vigorous set of apologies from Lady Jubilee, Lady Lillian agreed to give it another go. She said there had been a scheduling error, and that it had been her fault. She begged Lady Lillian to forgive her and please grace them with her presence a second time. Lady Jubilee, with her short head of Pewterlock Tyrol hair swooped in the front, was, above all things, quite ingratiating when she wanted to be, and Lady Lillian forgave the first incident. Not being one to hold a grudge or allow an honest mistake to go unforgiven, Lady Lillian agreed, and again made the trip to Tyrol to meet Lord Stenstrom.
Again, he was a no show. Sitting there alone in the Chalk House a second time, the table full of elegant treats, she sat there in her teal gown and felt humiliated.
Again, she returned to Gamboa—this time in quite a huff.
Again there was a dreadful row that evening in Belmont Manor.
“I am considering making you a guest of our dungeon, boy, or worse!”
“Mother—you yourself have insisted that I confound your various machinations with wit and stratagem. Be relentless, you stated. What think you of it?”
“So I did. Very well, such a position shall force me to take drastic measures! Be at your guard and do not forget that you’ve only yourself to blame for the consequences!”
Again Lady Jubilee contacted Lillian of Gamboa full of apologies and, this time, said that Lord Stenstrom had been called away at the last moment on urgent business in Tyrol.
Via correspondence, Lillian informed Lady Jubilee that she wished nothing further to do with the House of Belmont and that was that. She then went on a rather scathing letter-writing campaign letting any who would listen how she was treated at the House of Belmont-South Tyrol.
But, apparently, time heals all, and eventually Lady Lillian sent Lady Jubilee a correspondence stating she would forgive the first two incidents and, for a third time, agreed to meet Lord Stenstrom. She wrote it was becoming a matter of pride for her—she would make this foolish Belmont Lord see her, by Creation. She was determined. Full of thanks and promises, Lady Jubilee made the required preparations.
Sitting there in the Chalk House a third time, Lady Lillian waited.
This time Lord Stenstrom showed.
* * * * *
Stenstrom ran for his soul—the demon in hot pursuit. For being, quite literally, a fish out of water, the demon covered the ground rather well, pulling itself along on its fins and grabbing passing trees and other large objects for leverage with its whiskers, leaving a definite trail of slime as it went. The beast was clearly steering him toward the Chalk House and the lovely lady waiting within.
Not having his NTHs, and seeing no other choice, Stenstrom made a break for it. He flew into the Chalk House and slammed the door shut, rattling it in its frame. Outside he could hear the maelstrom of wind and angry smoke. He thought he could vaguely hear the demon tittering about, waiting for him. If he came out of that ballroom alone, the demon would have its prize.
“Come out here, Lord Belmont! I have been promised your flesh!”
This time his mother’s sorcery had gone too far.
He turned and looked into the interior. The Chalk House was a large, gilded ballroom used for select occasions: Nether Day, Valentine’s Day, and other special events. It had been made especially for Lord Stenstrom and Lady Jubilee, being built on the site of an old Merian altar. It was rather modest in size as far as grand League ballrooms went, but it could still hold several hundred people rather comfortably. The floor was made of rare woods from Hoban, and the walls were covered in fine pink and yellow silk paper—his mother had designed the print herself. When she wasn’t busy summoning demons and plunging knives into his chest, his mother had a delicate touch for decorating. The four massive chandeliers hanging over the ballroom floor were priceless.
Lady Jubilee had good taste.
Sitting erect on a padded couch at the far end of the hall was a slender young woman wearing a festive pink gown. She had golden blonde hair that was done up in a partial bun, with long, slightly curled tendrils hanging down past the nape of her neck. Her face was nicely painted, her bare back was provocatively curved and her blue eyes sparkled. She looked at him quietly.
Stenstrom was wearing a dark green Belmont coat with a pair of gold knee britches and a pair of shined Tyrol-style boots.
So, what to pick—the lady or the demon? He could go back outside and fight the demon, and he would probably figure out a way to win, or, he could stay and speak with the young lady, offer his apologies, and escort her back to the manor house, where the demon would be dispelled. But then, he would be caving into his mother’s wishes, and that prospect galled him.
After a few seconds of introspection, he chose the lady—seemed the more sensible of the two—this whole situation was, in fact, not her fault. He removed his hat and approached. Her eyes were locked on him; he could feel them all the way across the room.
“My Lady,” he said in a cheerful voice, still somewhat out of breath. “I am sorry that my mother has wasted your time today, and on other occasions previously. She is determined to locate me a bride, and I have repeatedly informed her that I shall discover one on my own. I am sorry you have been inconvenienced today. Please, allow me to escort you back to the manor.”
Lady Lillian said nothing, and slowly stood.
“Good sir,” she said after a lengthy pause. “This is my third visit to House Belmont. This is the third time I have journeyed across the marshes of Esther to come and make your acquaintance. I have been told, by the Great Lady Jubilee, that there was a scheduling misadventure upon my first visit, and an urgent matter that required your immediate attention on my second.”
She paused. “I am to infer that the Great Lady misspoke herself? There was no scheduling issue, was there? You were not called away on urgent business the second time, were you? I would appreciate an honest answer.”
Stenstrom looked down at the fine, wood floor. Perhaps he should have selected the demon after all. “You are correct, my lady.”
“You simply did not wish to come in and see me, is that it?”
Stenstrom blushed. “Yes, my lady. I am sorry. Again, it has nothing to do with you. It’s an issue I have with my mother. I would like to offer my apologies.”
Lady Lillian seemed to tense up. “I am not interested in an apology, sir.” She reached down behind the couch and drew a long, slim rapier. “Have you a weapon?”
Stenstrom was shocked. “I do not. You wish to have a duel, my lady?”
“I do. I have been repeatedly insulted. I came here in good faith, to mee
t a promising young gentleman, whom I found rather handsome. Now, sir, I will have satisfaction.”
She began walking forward, her blue eyes flashing.
“I do not have a weapon.”
“Then I shall simply deal you a minor wound and take my leave. I shall not be back, as you have proved yourself a lout and a bore.”
Stenstrom was stung. “I am neither a lout or a bore. I am offended.”
Lillian raised her rapier and thrust, rather skillfully.
Stenstrom side-stepped her thrust and attempted to grab her by the shoulders.
She moved away with considerable skill, creating space to use her weapon—Stenstrom was impressed. “I have been thoroughly trained by my brothers and my father,” she called out, her voice echoing across the ballroom. “I am your match and more. I suggest you simply take my satisfaction the way that a man does, then I shall depart. Fall on the floor and bleed, sir, and I shall be appeased.”
Stenstrom looked to the door.
“Come out here, Belmont!” he thought he heard the demon yell. “Heheheheh . . . .”
He raised his left hand. With a vigorous bit of sleight-of-hand, four brightly colored stones appeared between his fingers.
“Do you know what these are?” he asked. “These are Holystones, and they may be cast for a variety of effects. Please lower your weapon.”
Lillian was undeterred. “I do not believe in Tyrol magic,” she said side-stepping to her right.
“Nor do I,” Stenstrom said. “However, here they are. I can blind you with them or make you sneeze, or ruin your gown. Please lower your weapon. I have wronged you, and wish to apologize.”
“Where’s my apology, Belmont, for my empty belly?” the demon roared.
Lillian feinted to her right then applied a thrust, getting him slightly in the coat. “I entreat you to use them, sir,” she said. “Use your stones. Do something with them!”
Stenstrom took a teal one and threw it to the floor where it burst in a noisy flash.
Lillian covered her eyes. “How dare you!” she cried, still covering her eyes.
There was a huge crash of stone and glass.
The demon had broken into the ballroom.
“Hahaha! I’m not going to have come all this way to return to my poisoned stream with an empty stomach!”
“You stated your pre-conditions. I have not violated them.”
“I care not! I want you in my rotten belly! And, I think I’ll eat her too!”
The demon, bounding on its fins and slashing with its catfish whiskers, pulled itself with a fuss into the ballroom.
Lillian stood there with her sword and was horrified. “What in the name of Creation?”
Stenstrom threw a gray Holystone at the demon where it burst into a grainy cloud around the demon’s catfish face. It got the stuff in its gills sneezed. It then cleared its gills with a blast of mucous dripping down the wallpaper. “So, a little pepper with my dinner. That’s fine!”
Lillian backed away from the creature into the ballroom. She was incensed. “So, you scoundrel, it took a summoned demon to get you in here with me today, did it?”
The demon lunged. Stenstrom backed into a corner and threw a sky blue Holy Stone and hit it in the head. The demon immediately was covered in polka-dots.
Roaring with anger, it shot out with its whiskers and got Lillian around the waist. She dropped her rapier with a wood and metal clatter/thud. It opened its huge mouth to swallow her.
Stenstrom shook his hand and threw six MARZABLE daggers at the fiend, getting it in its bony fish head.
It turned to Stenstrom with incredible speed, opened wide, and swallowed him whole.
As he slid down the smelly, rotten gullet, a flash of cold steel suddenly ripped in. Lillian, with her little rapier, sliced the demon in two separating its head from its body where it vanished back to wherever it came from with a cry of misery.
Stenstrom, covered in blood and slime, came climbing out of the remains.
Lillian, holding her gory rapier, raised it. “I am going to make you wish you’d selected the demon today, Lord of Pigs!” she said.
She charged forward and was met with a freezing cascade of iced punch that had been set out on the table. Stenstrom, still dripping with demon slime and stinking of innards, was holding the now empty punch bowl.
Lillian stood there open-mouthed. Her face and gown covered in red punch, bits of pink shaved ice trailing down the stainless blade of her rapier, mixing with the demon’s blood in a dripping pool at her feet. She was aghast. “V-villain …” she piped.
They stood there looking at each other, Stenstrom holding the punch bowl and Lillian, wide-eyed, her blue eyes standing out like two aqua-marine wheels on a snowy pink landscape, punch dripping off her.
“Quite a pity,” he said still holding the bowl, “I was hoping to have a refreshing glass of punch just now after such vigorous activity.”
Lillian smiled a little and gave a short laugh. “And I usually enjoy my fish lightly breaded and seasoned with a hint of lemon.”
Soon, they both laughed in earnest.
Stenstrom, slimy, took Lillian, dripping, by the hand and they went back to the manor on the hill to get her out of her wet, stained gown and he out of his ruined clothes. There, she changed into a robe, and her gown was taken away to be cleaned by the staff. They chatted for the rest of the afternoon on the terrace overlooking the sea and enjoyed a well-made lunch.
The air cleared and an experience shared, they warmed to each other. Despite himself and his desire to humble his mother, Stenstrom found this spirited woman from Gamboa to be well worth the adventure and the “I told you so” he was sure to hear. She had proven that she was fiery, skilled, had a back-bone, and had a sense of humor as well—all things Stenstrom found very admirable.
“I’m sorry I chose to avoid you on your first two trips—look what company I missed out on,” Stenstrom said eating his lunch.
Lilly sat there in her fluffy robe and smiled. “I’m glad I came again, and I’m glad I didn’t stab you in the heart with my sword.”
Stenstrom thought about her rapier. “That was quite a blow you struck to the demon.”
“It’s the MARTIN, the LosCapricos weapon of my family.”
“I’m not familiar with that one.”
“It works just like a rapier, except when you get really mad; then it always cuts the head off the victim.”
“Gods—”
“It’s all right. I wasn’t going to chop your head off, though I sort of wanted to at first.”
* * * * *
“I told you so!”
It was an amazing summer. Lillian of Gamboa was a grand hit around the Belmont Manor.
“And you liked her, my son, truly?” Lady Jubilee said, walking arm in arm through the garden paths with her son. For once they weren’t fighting about something—they talked about Lilly. Lady Jubilee was all smiles—something that didn’t happen often.
“I did, Mother. She was beautiful, and she had spirit to match.”
“Wonderful. You see, I have good taste. I would not have invited some awful bore or society fool to our home to dally with my son. I was certain you would find favor with her.”
Stenstrom looked down at his mother: silver-hair, sparkly eyes, a bright smile. “I wonder though, was it really necessary to summon a demon?”
“A demon? Why, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The big, scary catfish you summoned to tear my soul apart. He half destroyed the Chalk House.”
They stopped, and Jubilee put her hands on Stenstrom’s face. “I care not about the antics that went on in the Chalk House between the two of you—that can be fixed. My son, the last thing in the world I would want is for a demon to feast upon your soul. I have been guilty of subjecting you to bizarre things and putting you to steps I’m certain other young men have not had to face. The love of a Tyrolese mother can be severe.”
They reached t
he end of the path. Ahead, a coach came into view, floating down the lane.
“I have had the good fortune to have thirty wonderful children: twenty-nine daughters, and one fine son. I can’t imagine life without any of you. Perhaps I am over-protective. Perhaps I impose my will on you too much. There are times when I am in the wrong, and need to be told as much—your father is good for that. Of course, he’s out chasing the stars again.”
The coach stopped at the gate, and Lillian of Gamboa got out, lit-up in a fine teal gown and holding a small matching parasol to keep her out of the hot sun.
“But, sometimes, I am right.”
Lilly saw him and waved. He waved back.
“I told you so.”
* * * * *
Lilly’s skill as a painter was obvious. She stood by the large canvas holding the brush. She looked at her subject with a careful eye. She mixed her paints and smoothed them onto the canvas with easy, learned strokes.
She was painting a portrait of Stenstrom. She had been planning to give it to him as a future birthday present. She refused to let him see it. It was going to be a surprise.
Stenstrom was lying there in the garden, naked, watching her paint. “I hope you’re not planning on giving me a nude portrait, Lilly. I might have a hard time finding a place to hang it.”
Lilly was also naked. “It’s not a nude, silly.”
They’d been lovers for some time now. Their rocky start well past them, their relationship quickly had escalated into a passionate one.
Stenstrom lay back and looked at her naked body, partially obscured by the large canvas. “So, Lilly, would you really have stuck me with your sword upon our first meeting?”
“Oh, yes. I was hurt, and angry. I wanted you to acknowledge me, so, yes—I think I would have stabbed you—not to kill, if that means anything to you.”
