Beautiful Beasts

by Nicholas Knight

  He was as well equipped to deal with whatever the Vizcondesa wanted as he was ever likely to be and changing that was beyond him now even if he weren’t. Instead, he focused and schooled his face. There could be no sign of the weakness he’d allowed himself to indulge in a moment ago, or Velazquez would sense it and strike. He could ill afford her further disfavor, not if he intended to fulfil his obligation to Rodriquez.

  He arrived at the tea room and was escorted in by a servant, who bowed and ducked in to announce him before admitting him into the room proper. The whole affair took at least two minutes, and made Sigmund want to kick the servant, manners be damned. It would not do, and not only because the servant did not deserve it. The vizcondesa had said to come at once, and he had come at once. It was not his fault that she would still demand propriety, no matter the haste she had also demanded.

  Again, Sigmund had to ask himself how she had known to telegraph him up in Jacquemin’s study. Was she having him watched? Those eyes of hers bore into him as he entered, just as predatory as her granddaughter’s, if decidedly human.

  The tea room was a clockwork affair with walls covered in gilded pipes and gears. The gilded pipes fed into the back of the armchairs positioned in a circle around the room, each lined with velvet and kept warm by the hot spring. Around these chairs ran a track not unlike the one positioned upon the ramparts for the vizcondesa’s Gatling gun, though more delicate and ornate. A portion of the track vanished into the wall, where Sigmund was able to discern the pattern of a concealed door by the shadows it cast upon the floor and the small break at the ceiling.

  “Sir Moreau,” Velazquez said by way of greeting.

  He offered a bow in return. “My lady.”

  She gestured to the seat beside hers. None of the chairs were so close that one would feel crowded yet not so far as to prevent casual discussion. Sigmund had not paid any mind to the portraits hung on the wall, distracted as he was by the track and hidden door.

  As he took his seat, he found that he was no longer able to ignore them, not when the one directly across from him so accurately depicted the former Empress, Desideria Integritas, glaring down on him from on high. It was never a comfortable sensation to be the focus of a diamond souled’s glare.

  His position across from the former ruler could not have been a coincidence. Sigmund had been called to sit and be judged. The only question was, for what? Unfortunately, he suspected he already knew the answer, never mind how she found out. If Vizcondesa Velazquez knew, then she knew, and he was dead.

  Several contraptions with levers and buttons were positioned to either side of the Vizcondesa’s chair, and her fingers caressed them like talons longing to sink into flesh. The machines put Sigmund in mind of Jacquemin’s study. The Vizcondesa was a woman of science. Interesting.

  “How may I be of service, my lady?”

  “You can entertain me for a few moments by answering some questions,” Velazquez said. “I’ve had a several rattling around my brain for some time, and more that have only recently occurred to me. I hope you don’t object to satisfying an old woman’s curiosity.”

  It would not have mattered if he did and they both knew it. The old grandmother trick might have worked on a younger man, or a more oblivious one such as Sir Dupont. This was a test of some kind. The question was, was this a test he was meant to pass, or the kind where he was simply observed, and his character measured? Sigmund could not tell. He’d never been good at the political games noblewomen played.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Excellent.” She brought her hands together in a single clap. “I’ll have the tea put on then.” Her fingers darted to a series of buttons, which, from the way the vizcondesa’s fingers flew over them, was most likely a sort of keyboard. This must have been how she had sent her telegraph for him.

  “It will be along presently,” she said, taking her willowy hand away from the keys. Her eyes had never left his face while she had typed, fingers flying much too fast for that matronly visage. “A shame that famed beast of yours could not accompany you here. What was its name again?”

  Sigmund had expected a question, but the change in subject was so abrupt that it caught him completely off-guard. His heart seized as the memories assaulted him. He tightened his grip and focused on his breathing. There was only one she could be referring to.

  “Krake,” he replied, gripping the arm of his chair, fingers pressing through the velvet to squeeze the piping underneath.

  “Yes, a rarity, wasn’t it?” Velazquez said, eyes flitting to his white knuckles before returning to his face. “Titanium giant squid. Quite powerful. Excellent for a scout and spotter such as yourself. Reach, weaponry, durability, camouflage. You understand my disappointment when I learned it had perished. It would have been a welcome asset to The Company.”

  “Krake would have been at that,” he said with a nod.

  Krake had been spectacular. Stealthy and lethal. More than her seeds had made her dangerous. She had possessed a cunning mind to temper that aggressive spirit of hers and had a natural charisma that had made her a natural lead for his menagerie. His other beasts had all respected her, especially Triomphe.

  “Even before you acquired that one, though, your record was impressive,” the Vizcondesa continued. “Though I have to ask, how does a harbor master find himself in a pitched battle with Nihsian pirates?”

  To his credit, Sigmund managed not to flinch. “I grew arrogant,” he admitted. “I had disrupted many smuggling operations and come to think of myself as something of a pirate hunter. Captain Hikawa had little trouble drawing me out onto the water on the offensive.”

  Where he had proceeded to ambush Sigmund’s small collection of ships with a modestly sized and well-positioned armada, led by Hikawa’s personal vessel, Mad Gambit. The battle had been fierce and had left Sigmund’s men and menagerie slaughtered and Sigmund himself bleeding out on a sinking deck while Captain Bahadur Hikawa and Mad Gambit sailed out to sea. That he had taken down a third of the Nihsian pirate lord’s vessels was a hollow consolation compared to what it had cost him.

  The island queendom of Nihsia was mysterious, cut off from the three great queendoms, though closest to Freutsche. Isolationist and xenophobic, very little was known or understood about them. They had trouble manufacturing quality firearms, which, in large part was how Sigmund had managed to do as well as he had. They also did not follow the church, instead believing that only their diamond souled were the truly pure ones.

  “The fallout was quite spectacular, as I understand it,” Velazquez said, more than a touch probingly.

  “I suppose it was, at that,” he admitted. The sea itself had seemed to be aflame. Most of his memories beyond the fighting were hazy due to blood loss. A photographer had managed to capture the scene from shore, and had it included alongside an article in the local newspaper that he had later seen.

  The hidden door on the wall hissed open and a tray with a small steam engine attached clacked out along the track, a pot of tea with saucers, biscuits, and honey set atop it. The door slid back into place as the tray circled around behind the chairs, coming to a halt beside the vizcondesa’s own chair. She took a saucer and poured herself some tea, adding a generous dollop of honey.

  “Do you take your tea with honey, Sir Moreau?”

  “I’ve never had much of a sweet tooth,” he said.

  She filled the second saucer, and, with a flip of a lever upon the side of her chair, sent the tray clicking along to his chair. He hesitated to accept the tea when he realized that he had no place to set down his cup and saucer. Hesitantly, he accepted, and at once the slight rattle of his porcelain filled the room as his hands trembled. He did his best to keep them still and managed for a few seconds. Then the rattling started up again.

  “Does recounting the incident trouble you so?” the vizcondesa asked.

  This time Sigmund did flinch. “Not at all. This…a souvenir from the Winter War,
I’m afraid.”

  “Indeed,” said Velazquez, not sounding like she believed him. A deliberate and subtle slap. He wondered if she had already known about his tremor. It would be like a diamond souled to wield it against him.

  “You appear to have a fascination with tracks,” he said to fill the silence that had begun to stretch between them, and to cover up the rattling of his steaming cup.

  Velazquez took a slow sip of her tea. If the heat bothered her, she did not show it.

  “I do,” she said, lowering her teacup.

  More fascinated with them than with me, I’d wager, Sigmund thought. She had not actually asked him anything she could not have already known.

  “Tracks are the future,” she said amicably. “Motor carriages are all well and good, but thanks to the Rampant beasts, we lack the infrastructure to truly make the most out of them. Unless accompanied by a knight keeper and his menagerie, the only way to ensure safe travel is by caravan.” She shook her head. “So many, many problems. Not the least of which is coordinating the caravans.”

  “And tracks are the solution?” Sigmund asked.

  “Indeed.” She took another sip of tea that should have been too hot. “They’re faster, more coordinated, more sure-footed, if you will. Not subject to things like erosion and much easier to maintain if used regularly. Imagine a single motor carriage pulling a series of carts all designed specifically for the track—far more financially feasible than an entire caravan of motor carriages, wouldn’t you say? Far more defensible and swift.” She pointed at him with her steaming cup of tea, eyes flashing with passion. “You mark my words, within the next few years you’ll see heavy construction begin on the laying of tracks between towns. Perhaps even between the great nations of woman.”

  Not a woman of science, Sigmund corrected himself. A woman of industry. The vizcondesa was a futurist. “I think I believe you, my lady.” He took his first sip of tea and felt a shift occur throughout his body, subtle but so very present that he could hardly ignore it. Velazquez had used high-quality tea leaves. “My compliments. This is as fine a brew as I have ever tasted.”

  The passionate light that had burned within the vizcondesa shifted behind her eyes. “Thank you, young man. Might I say, you are remarkably well-mannered for one who got his start among uncouth seafarers.”

  “Conde Rodriquez would not suffer an uncouth squire,” he said with a small smile. He had not considered himself uncouth before. The conde had disagreed. It had been somewhat embarrassing to be corrected and scolded so often, especially when he’d been the eldest squire by more than a handful of years.

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Velazquez said with a hearty chuckle. “I was quite delighted to hear from him about you, you know. It was a pleasant surprise that he wished to put a veteran of the Siege of Breucehold in my employ.” The laughter faded. “Less pleasant when I learned of the state you had allowed yourself to fall into.”

  All traces of merriment melted away, leaving a face as stern as the painted empress across from him, and no less disconcerting. Sigmund held himself still, his face a stony mask. It was his only defense as Velazquez continued.

  “Still less so when I learned you had not a single beast to your name, though, to your credit, you were quick to correct this, however inauspicious your menagerie. Nearly Rampant, undisciplined.” She took a sip of her tea, glaring at him over the rim of her teacup. “Spoiled.”

  That was not an altogether unfair assessment of Sauvage. It had been his own until he learned of her story. That cast far too many doubts, and had already cost him a promise in a quest for answers he had no means of seeking on his own. Could a diamond souled be made to Fall? The idea was disturbing, especially sitting under the dual gazes of the former queen, and his new employer.

  He did not raise to Velazquez’s bait. He remained seated, still, and silent. There was no defense he could make that would not make him appear weak. So, he waited.

  The vizcondesa scowled at him. Apparently, she had hoped to test his mettle. She settled back into her seat. “Beasts are tools, weapons, I would go so far as to call them soldiers.”

  That earned a raised brow from Sigmund. Soldiers were exactly what the beasts of the knight keepers were, though no diamond souled or human soldier would ever admit it. Except for this one, apparently.

  “I know, I know,” Velazquez said, raising a hand as if to stave off a protest. “But they do serve many of the same functions from a purely logistical point of view. As raw as your menagerie is, I could still find some use for you, so even that disappointment is forgivable.”

  He was a disappointment, was he? Then why was he still there? Or were they finally about to reach her point. Judging from her quietly livid face, it seemed said point was close and was not one that he would enjoy learning.

  “What strikes me as unforgiveable is your questionable loyalty.”

  There it was.

  “A scout in her majesty’s army, a harbor master before that…you’ve lived a life making a habit of observation. Quite the useful skill to master.”

  He said nothing.

  “When does your sister expect your report?”

  Sigmund blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  The vizcondesa’s scowl shifted, becoming shrewd. “You come to join The Company of Golden Swords, and, within a week, I learn that Sigland Moreau, heiress to the Moreau Barony, has formed her own mercenary company. The Order of the Shining Shield. Quite the coincidence, no?”

  Moreau blinked again. Sigland had created a mercenary company? Since when had war ever appealed to his sister? She was cunning and ruthless, not bloodthirsty. Last he had heard, she had been working with local merchants establishing a factory to harvest sea salt. Admittedly, that had been several years ago.

  Inwardly, he groaned. This had been what Rodriquez had been attempting to tell him. He should have known the conde wouldn’t just bring him idle gossip. Now he was paying for it.

  “I know nothing of my sister’s company, activities, or plans,” he said. “On my honor.”

  “On your honor,” she half-muttered the words into her teacup. “Knights are always keen on their honor, aren’t they? Where was your honor this last year?”

  “Wounded and recovering, my lady,” he said.

  That made her pause. “A remarkably honest answer.”

  “I believe myself to be an honest and, for the most part, straightforward man,” Sigmund said. “It has been years since I’ve corresponded with any of my family, let alone seen them.”

  Velazquez settled back into her chair, looking thoughtful. “And now that you are aware of your sister’s activities, do you wish to reunite?”

  “No, my lady, I do not.”

  “Why?”

  “My sister and I do not get along.” That was an understatement. She had been furious when he’d become harbor master and refused to allow her shipments through the port without paying Her Majesty’s tariff.

  Velzquez flipped a lever and summoned the tray back along the track, depositing her empty teacup upon it and selecting a biscuit from the plate. “You have an assignment.”

  “That surprises me, given the nature of this conversation.”

  She waved the biscuit at him. “Do not pretend you understand the nature of this conversation. Given what we just discussed, and the lack of discipline demonstrated by your menagerie, I would usually pass you over.”

  Sigmund said nothing.

  “Sir Dupont not only vouched for you, he requested you accompany him on this assignment.” She took a nibble of her biscuit. “The Baroness Alina Leloup’s twins, Ulrich and Una, were abducted from their motor carriage between Harpsford and the family estate. A group of brigand keepers have taken credit and are demanding a ransom the Leloup’s simply cannot afford.”

  “The Company of Golden Swords was the less expensive option?” He found that hard to believe.

  Velazquez waved her nibbled biscuit dismissively. “I o
we Leloup a favor.”

  He did not ask what that favor might have been. “I will need you to revoke Sauvage’s banishment from the hot spring.”

  “Has anyone ever told you before that you try their patience?”

  He offered a small smile. “It might have been mentioned.”

  That earned a bark of laughter. “No.”

  “She is my most dangerous and capable beast,” he said. “You would send me on assignment with a broken weapon? Aside from these brigands, that area is known to have a high concentration of Rampant beasts.”

  There was even a rumor that a scelus tree grew near that region. Scelus trees were thankfully rare. They were perverted corruptions of the original tree of creation. Sigmund knew little of them, but understood that they were in large part responsible for the continued existence of Rampant beasts in the wilderness.

  He said nothing, simply met the vizcondesa’s gaze and held it.

  “Very well. See her healed. Quickly.”

  Chapter Nine

  Faux Pas

  Sir Sigmund Moreau, the knight keeper who held her very sanity in check, did not strike Loretta as possessed of an abundance of humor. He was stony more often than not, with occasional bouts of downright dourness. Or, perhaps she simply did not understand his sense of humor. The whole debacle with the thieves in Saunet had seemed to tickle him. Therefore, it was possible that the strips of cloth and bangles, all in gaudy colors of yellow and blue, was intended as some manner of joke, and not something he actually intended for her to wear.

  She hooked a claw through the belt of coins that was situated around the tight waist of a voluminous set of gauzy pantaloons, too distracted by the shimmering material to even note how natural it felt to use her claw, and examined it. They would hang low on the hips, and the belt would draw the eye to that fact. Her eyes drifted over to the accompanying piece that was smaller than anything she had worn outside of her undergarments. It would only cover her upper torso, and a good portion of that would be left bare as well. She would be naked from her hips to her ribs.