The Apocalypse Script

by Samuel Fort

  Chapter 12 - The Return of Fiela

  “Bitch,” Moros repeated, spittle bubbling at one corner of his mouth.

  Fiela reached out and playfully pinched his chin, making the man recoil. “Lord Moros, I hear that Mr. Fetch has been replaced,” she said sweetly. “It’s good to see you are moving on with your life.”

  She turned to Ben, adding, “The Nisirtu are old-fashioned. Very old fashioned. The Code says an eye shall be exchanged for an eye. Moros scripted the murder of my fetch, so I killed his.”

  Ben did a double take. Killed? That didn’t sound metaphorical. Had what Lilian had told him the truth? Were these people actually killing each other over a policy dispute? He remembered the incident the previous night and thought, maybe…

  “You have killed three of my fetches!” seethed Moros. “Three, for your one.”

  “Mmmm,” the girl hummed guiltily. “Actually, four. I planned on stopping at three but then you sent the police after me. So now, four.”

  “Miss Fetch…” the man whispered.

  Fiela pulled a pair of spectacles with little orange lenses from a sweater pocket, put them on, and pulled the lenses to the tip of her nose. She went comically cross-eyed and stuck her tongue out to one side of her mouth, the living caricature of a corpse dangling from a noose.

  She recovered and threw the glasses to the table in front of him. “Yeah, Miss Fetch. But truly, I saved that woman a lifetime of hell, milord.”

  “I just got her!” yelled Moros.

  “You’ve got others. For now.”

  Lilian, beaming, said, “Fiela, I’m so happy to see you.” She rose and kissed the other woman on both cheeks. “Sit down.”

  “Thanks!”

  Ben moved further into the booth and returned to his seat, his anger dissipated. Fiela plopped down unceremoniously at his side and the two stared at each other for several seconds. At last, nodding at the stitches on his cheek, she said, “I really am sorry about that.”

  “Forget it.”

  She said to Lilian. “I was listening - you’re wed at last?”

  Lilian nodded toward the ring on Ben’s finger. “With my father’s permission.”

  Fiela glowed. “Brilliant! I thought Ben was the one when I met him last night. Eventually, anyway.”

  Moros sniffled. “How did you get in here? I have banned you from all Ziggurats. The guard should have stopped you.”

  “I disarmed him,” replied Fiela, still fixated on the ring.

  “How?” asked Ben, uncomfortable with the girl’s newfound reverence.

  She whispered, “I reached into his skirt and took away his gun.”

  Ben swallowed hard. “Ah…”

  “But there are snipers,” protested Moros.

  “Yep,” the girl said distractedly. “There were.” She reached toward Ben’s hand, floated a finger above the signet ring. “So, you are a prince!”

  Moros gasped. “A prince? A prince! You cannot give a member of the underclass the ring of a disgraced madman and call him a prince!”

  “He is no longer of the underclass. It is a king’s ring and the ring gives Ben the king’s authority and he is wed to a king’s daughter. How is he not a prince?”

  “He is wed to a bastardess and the ring belongs to a corpse in a pit. It gives Ben no more authority than would a plastic ring from a box of cereal. It seals his marriage and that is all. The Fifth Kingdom has no prince, only a king, and even he…”

  Moros applied the brakes to his run-away tongue.

  “What of the king?” asked Lilian with obvious interest.

  “Never mind,” replied Moros. Looking suddenly weary, he rose. “I have business to attend to.”

  “But I just got here,” whined Fiela theatrically.

  “Exactly.” He straightened his coat. “Benzira - Ben - a pleasure meeting you.” Moros executed a curt bow. “Lilian. My apologies if my words earlier this evening were indelicate. I’m sure we’ll meet again. Soon.”

  He began to walk way.

  “Fetch you later,” said Fiela, waving lazily at her retreating enemy.

  Moros having departed, the remaining Peth slumped and cozied up to Ben, putting a hand on his chest. “Prince Charming,” she said. She slid two fingers between the buttons of the man’s shirt, stroked the flesh underneath and said in a low, husky voice, “I need to make amends for last night. Don’t I, Ben?”

  Lilian sighed, “Fiela, you must be more diplomatic when dealing Lord Moros. He is your superior.”

  “Ha! Only on paper. Besides, if it wasn’t for me he’d never meet his quota of rebel kills. He needs me. In more ways than one, unfortunately.” She sat back. “Is the contract completed?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “And my name shall be included as protector?”

  “Rest assured, Fiela. Ben has already agreed to that.”

  Ben was confused. “Contract? I don’t remember agreeing to a contract. We discussed a sponsorship.”

  “The marriage contract accomplishes that, Ben. It documents that Fiela and I are, in a way, responsible for you, so long as you are part of our society. It also dictates the parameters of the marriage. It governs what is allowed during the marriage. Who has authority over what, who is in charge of what fetches, whether the marriage will be monogamous-”

  “Monogamous?” interrupted Ben, baffled.

  “No one does that anymore,” replied Fiela helpfully.

  “Yes, and if it is not monogamous, who the other partners are.”

  “Like me,” offered Fiela. “I will protect you, too, of course.”

  “Thank you Fiela, but I can protect myself.”

  Fiela shook her head. “Against the Ardoon, I’m sure. Not against the Maqtu, Ben, not yet. Right now, your enemies are invisible to you.”

  Lilian nodded. “She’s right. You do find her attractive?”

  Ben looked back and forth between the two women, waiting for one of them to burst out laughing. It didn’t happen. Both were perfectly, honestly, expectant.

  “Well, yes, she’s - I mean, you are - very attractive. And I’m sure you would make a great sponsor.”

  Fiela’s face went blank. “Sponsor? What’s-”

  “Yes,” Lilian said hurriedly. “Your uncle has agreed to it, as has Ben.”

  “No,” Ben said, “I said it was weird and I wanted Fiela to tell me that she was okay with her uncle’s decision.”

  The girl looked at Ben and said, “Of course I’m okay with it! We would be together all the time. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  He gaped at her. “If by fun you mean extraordinarily dangerous, yes. Fiela, give us a moment,” he said. Turning his back to her, he whispered to Lilian, “This seems unnecessarily complicated. What does she mean when she says ‘live together?’”

  “She means,” said Lilian, “that she would stay at Steepleguard until your studies are complete.”

  “What are you guys talking about?” asked Fiela, peering around Ben.

  He held up a finger. “Give us a minute, Nancy Drew.”

  “Who’s that?” the girl asked, perplexed.

  “Mutu,” said Lilian, “Fiela can be a little erratic, but-”

  “You guys know what you’re doing is rude, right?” came the girl’s voice. “Anyway, I can hear everything you’re saying. I’ve got really, really good hearing.”

  Ben let out a breath and sat back. Fiela nudged closer to him, ending up almost in his lap.

  “Ben, please?” she pleaded, the killer turned maiden in distress. “Let me be your protector. I am offering myself to you. To refuse would be very rude. Surely you would not treat me that way.”

  The man barked a laugh. “Treat you that way? Fiela, we met twenty-four hours ago and our relationship so far consists of you maiming me with a mop handle. Now I’m supposed to…what? Live with you?”

  “Did I not apologize and cook you breakfast? Besides, Lilian and I grew up together. We are like sisters. I think she wou
ld like for us to live together again.”

  “I would,” agreed Lilian. “We were inseparable after our parents died.”

  Ben raised his eyes to the ceiling. “You’re going to use the orphan angle? Really?”

  “But we are orphans,” said Fiela, exchanging a look with Lilian. Her face was abruptly filled with melancholy. “We had only each other for the longest time.”

  “We cried a lot,” added Lilian in a suddenly somber voice.

  “I don’t know what I should have done without Lilian,” added Fiela, looking down at her wringing hands before rolling her violet eyes up to meet the man’s. “It would be so very nice to have a bed again. And food. And-”

  “Okay!” The man dropped his head and said, “Okay already. This Nisirtu ‘contract’ is only a piece of paper anyway.” He turned to Lilian. “I don’t care what you want to call Fiela, ‘sponsor,’ ‘protector,’ or ‘prime suspect.’ It won’t matter when I’m done with the tablets and make my exit from your little group here.”

  Fiela said, “It’s settled, then?”

  Lilian nodded. “Yes,” she said, pulling out her phone and beginning to punch buttons. “I will have Ridley issue the proclamation within the hour.”

  Fiela hugged the man next to her. “Thank you, Ben.”

  He sighed and said, “Sure,” though in truth he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d agreed to. He pinched his nose and tried fill his mind with dollar signs.

  From the back of the room Lord Moros glared at him, and at the beautiful girl who wrapped her arms around him, and at the signet ring that glowed brightly under the flickering luminescence of the Lamassu’s scowls.