The Apocalypse Script

by Samuel Fort

  Chapter 25 - Daybreak

  Ben awoke with a start and for a moment was unsure where he was. A pinkish light streamed through the room’s white curtains. Lilian lay next to him with an arm wrapped around his stomach but Fiela was gone. Carefully removing Lilian’s arm, he rose and put on his pants. He walked to the window, moved the curtain aside, and saw an approaching semitrailer straining to climb the steep incline that marked the final approach to the hotel. Behind it were four other trucks.

  The door to the bedroom flew open, startling Ben. Fiela rushed in wearing a sweaty black tee shirt and shorts. “Trucks!” she exclaimed excitedly, as if she’d never seen such vehicles before.

  “Yeah, I saw them. You’re up already?”

  “Already?” asked the girl. “Husband, the sun is already rising.”

  Only then did he see that she had towed her uncle to the room by the hand. The unkempt, disoriented man had clearly been dragged from his bed.

  Looking a little out of breath, he said, “My apologies for the interruption, nephew. Fiela insisted I come and explain. Some trucks are here carrying surprises for my two former charges. I thought it would be helpful if I brought some tailors, jewelers, and other vendors here so that they could prepare for the reception.”

  “The trucks drove here from Denver?”

  “No, the trucks are from Los Angeles. Lilian has particular tastes.”

  Los Angeles, Ben marveled. That must have been arranged days ago, or weeks. Yet again he felt like a cog in an invisible machine. Checking the clock next to the bed, he said, “Maybe it’s time I got up, anyway.”

  “Do as you like,” said the scribe. “I’m returning to my room, if my niece will allow it. I will tell the fetches to prepare breakfast.”

  At last Lilian stirred. She sat up, bleary eyed, and when she saw Ridley she pulled the sheets up to her neck. “What’s going on?” she asked in a throaty morning voice.

  “Gifts, Sister!” Fiela exclaimed. “Thank you, uncle!” She put her arms around the escaping man’s neck and kissed the back of his head. “You do not need to summon the fetches. I will prepare our breakfast. I know what Ben likes.”

  Ben couldn’t remember ever having been asked what he liked and knew that another plate of fried eggs and toast were in his future. He said, “Maybe you’d rather shower and let the cooks take care of that?”

  “No, it’s okay,” she said, heading toward the hallway. “I’ll shower later.”

  When she and Ridley were gone, Lilian looked at Ben and said, uncomprehendingly, “Trucks?”

  Ben updated the woozy woman. She smiled weakly when she at last understood. “That was nice of him.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she said, running her fingers through her hair. “A little bit of a hangover.”

  “From the drugs?”

  “Herbs,” she said, holding up a finger to correct him. “But yes.”

  Walking over to the bed he said, “How was your mystic voyage?”

  The woman searched his expression. She hadn’t exactly deceived him but she hadn’t been forthcoming either, and both knew it. Not sensing a confrontation, she said, “I really don’t remember anything.”

  He sat down on the bed. “Anything?”

  “Oh,” she said, “I remember everything before, if that’s what you’re asking.” She let the covers fall to her waist as she stretched.

  “Are those permanent?” Ben asked, nodding at the tattoos on her breasts.

  The woman dropped her hands into her lap. “They might be. Or they might wash away with water. I can’t recall. Must be the herbs impeding my memory. But I do need a bath and have no fetches to bathe me.”

  “You have others bathe you?”

  “Only young, beautiful women.”

  “Oh,” said Ben, his eyes wide. “Well, I guess that’s okay, then.”

  “Yes, but since my fetches are not here, that duty falls to Fiela. So your options, Mutu, are to summon your serretu to join me in the tub or to perform the required duties yourself.”

  “Huh,” Ben said, finding his voice and outlining one set of tattoos with a finger. After harsh deliberation he said, “Fiela is determined to make breakfast. I think I can handle you.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Perhaps as you bathe we can discuss education reform?”

  “It is a very important topic,” said the woman agreeably. “Or, it was.”

  “I admit I’ve got no experience in bathing women. I’ll need to hit a few areas two or three times, being the novice that I am.”

  The woman jerked away the sheets. “Then I shall lead you by the hand.”

  Nizrok was aghast. “The whore has orchestrated a wedding reception to celebrate her marriage to an Ardoon?”

  “It is true,” said Moros. “The marriage contract was distributed yesterday to all the Houses. She actually boasts of her pathetic marriage to a slave and formally invites others to witness her self-degradation at the keep of Scriptus Ridley.”

  The bald Peth with the evil eyebrows stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of Moros’s top floor suite. Denver bustled below and the Rocky Mountains glimmered serenely in the distance. “I agree it is outrageous,” he said, “but as we discussed, the marriage is of no real consequence given our timeline. Why should the reception bother you so?”

  Moros was tapping his fingers on the table that separated him from the other Peth. “It bothers me because I do not understand it.”

  “She is the daughter of a madman and disenfranchised. Her behavior has always been scandalous and erratic.”

  “No,” said the silver-eyed man, “it has always appeared erratic. Yet she managed to summon the ghost of her father to bless a marriage that should have never taken place. A womb that should be collecting dust is this morning sticky with the residue of Ardoon seed and someday that seed may become a child.”

  “Again,” said Nizrok, “we have discussed this. The whore bears a slave child - what is that to us? The Seven Houses control the world. She has no power whatsoever.”

  “She has Ridley.”

  “Granted, but he may only write Infraviters, scripts internal to his own House, and only out to, what, four degrees? The Seven have kept a tight leash on him, cognizant of his past associations. There is nothing that can be accomplished with so little latitude.”

  Lightly tapping the table with a fist, Moros grimaced. “Yes, but this reception smells too much like a coronation. Lilitu would not invite other Nisirtu if it did not serve her purposes. It is clear to me that she wants to show the Seven and any who would sympathize with her that she is now capable of legally renewing her father’s bloodline and has every intention of doing so. I would not be surprised if Ridley placed a crown on her head and asked the attendees bow down before her.”

  Nizrok studied the lord before saying, “She is a member of the Seven. You must not harm her, Moros. Do not damage your standing with the Houses or the citizenry. This is a precarious time.”

  “I know that,” the other man said dismissively.

  “Everyone at Ridley’s abode is Seven, as are presumably those invited to the reception.”

  “Yes, yes, I know that, also.”

  “They do not war against us. An attack against any of them would be-”

  “Yes, Nizrok, I know!” exclaimed Moros. Regaining control, he said, “Still, I shall petition my king and request that something be done. I despise this feeling of impotence.”

  “You, the destroyer of the Ardoon, impotent?”

  “I am but a tool. We both know that.”

  Nizrok opted not make the remark that first came to mind. “What shall you petition for?”

  “Action. Of any kind. Soon.”