by Samuel Fort
Chapter 29 - The Devil in the Details
“You’ve got a sound system!” Fiela said excitedly. She had been slowly circling the study with her hands behind her back while Ben tried to reconstruct on paper some of the lines he saw on Tablet 3. The red lines behaved in a curious way on that tablet.
“Huh?” he said, holding a magnification glass to the inscriptions.
Fiela didn’t answer. She was standing in front of a cabinet of audio equipment playing with the buttons. Eventually she found the right combination and invisible speakers throughout the room began to pump out music.
“Oh this is so great!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me you had this?”
Ben sighed and looked up. “I didn’t know I had it.”
“Do you like music?”
“Some,” he said, looking back down at the tablet.
The girl turned up the music slowly, watching him to see how far she could push it. It didn’t take long for her to find the ‘scowl’ threshold, at which point she stopped playing with the dials and began to sway left and right, her arms above her. “Do you like to dance?”
“Nope.”
“I love to dance,” the Peth said. “No matter where I was fighting, I always found a place to dance.”
“Mm-hmmm.”
“Do you like this kind of music?”
“I don’t know what that kind of music is,” he replied.
“You know, dubstep, electronic, that kind of thing?”
“I’m a linguist and I still don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t suppose you like Robert Johnson?”
The girl dropped her hands to her sides. “Mutu! You’re not ancient. You’re only like thirty years old. How can you be so behind the times?”
Ben placed his hands on his desk and looked up. “It’s my job to be behind the times. A few millennia, normally. Anyway, you’re one to talk, Miss Babylon.”
The girl’s eyes lit up. “I know how to dance the veils! You’d like that, I bet. It’s really, really old. I don’t have the veils, though…”
“Some other time then. Anyway, I don’t have anyone available to behead at the moment.”
“Ha!” laughed the girl. “Now you’re thinking of your other wife.”
Fiela began to dance again, her hands above her, her hips moving slowly left and right, up and down, as she worked her way around the room.
While still dancing, she said, “Once when I was in Prague, I got involved in this running skirmish with some rebels that lasted like three hours. At first we were chasing them, then they were chasing us, and then it was just them chasing me, but they were tired by then and I never get tired, so I got behind them and finished it, and then I went to dance. It was this little place with a name I don’t remember, but I was covered in blood, you know, what? They didn’t even care.”
Placing the magnifying glass down and leaning back, the researcher said, “Do you always dance after a fight?”
“Uh-huh,” she said as she danced towards him. “It’s a perk of being a night fighter. There’s always a bar or club open when you’re done. It helps, you know, get rid of the tension.”
Her eyes lost some of their focus. “I remember that night I had to kill this other girl. She was my age and she kept begging me to let her go but, you know…I couldn’t.” The girl frowned and shook her head. “Anyway, the music was great that night. I really love music, Mutu. It makes the whole world disappear.”
The man wanted to look away, to show Fiela that he was uninterested in this kind of thing. Dancing? He hadn’t danced since high school and had no plans to start now. Fiela didn’t seem to care. She seemed to take a great deal of satisfaction in dancing for him and he found himself unable to stop watching. It was a form of hypnosis, the way she rolled her hands up and down, left and right, the motions effortless, smooth and perfect.
She moved closer and closer to him, her violet eyes set on his, as she mouthed the words to the song she was dancing to. Lifting up her skirt a few inches, she pushed her long hair to the top of her head and began to corkscrew her body up and down, from floor to ceiling, smiling at the man as she slowly spun on her bare feet. Did the girl ever wear shoes? But this was a fleeting thought, as she pivoted to face him again and regained the eye-lock she coveted.
The tempo of the song hinted to Ben that whatever the song was, it was close to ending. He found himself oddly disappointed. What had started as another of the girl’s annoyances had become something much better. He wasn’t sure exactly what but it sure as hell beat staring at the slab of rock on his desk.
Fiela knew the song was over, too. In a stunning display of her strength and flexibility, she fell forward with one hand outstretched and used the arm to support her body as it went vertical, her feet above her. She supported her weight and balanced herself on just her thumb and index finger, yet didn’t sway. It was as if someone above her was holding on to her legs.
As the final notes of the song registered, she pushed forward and did a somersault directly into Ben’s lap, her knees gently coming to rest on either side of his legs. The landing was perfect, as if wires had eased her down and into position.
Her face only inches from his, she said, “I do love you, truly.”
She parted her lips and moved her face toward the man’s.
There was a knock at the door.
“No!” cried Fiela in frustration. “Not now!” She buried her head in the man’s shoulder and groaned.
A head popped into the room. It was Mr. Fetch.
“Sorry, sir…er…”
“What?” asked Ben, his throat constricted.
“Miss Lilian is calling for you, sir. She says the attorney is ready for you and Miss Fiela.”
Without warning, Fiela spun around and leaned forward on Ben’s desk, craning her neck toward the interloper. To Ben’s shock she actually hissed at the elderly man. The motion was so violent and the sound so alien and laden with menace that the servant stumbled backwards in horror.
“I’m sorry, Miss Fiela, but Miss Lilian said-”
“You did the right thing,” said Ben, finding his voice. “Thank you, Mr. Fetch.”
Shaken, Mr. Fetch rushed back down the hall.
“Serretu,” said Ben. “Calm down.”
Fiela, her face pink, continued to stare at the door.
“Fiela!”
“What?” she said yelled angrily, finally turning to face him. Catching herself, she softened and said, “I’m sorry, Mutu. What did you say?”
“Calm yourself. You will not hurt Mr. Fetch. Do you understand?”
She nodded and buried her face in his shoulder again. “As you say. But…we were so close. I could feel it. Couldn’t you?”
He thought maybe he had, but what he had just witnessed had rattled him to the core. For the briefest moment, Fiela seemed to have become something other than human. God, she might have killed the man if I hadn’t been here, he thought.
“Yes,” he said soothingly, running a hand over her exposed cheek. When her breathing had returned to normal, he said, “Let’s go.”
The two went to Ridley’s study, where Lilian was waiting, as was Wilfred Barnum. The two men shook hands and swapped a few niceties before everyone sat down and got to business.
“I wanted to discuss with the three of you the implications of this marriage,” opened the attorney. “The circumstances are rather unusual and I’m not sure you fully appreciate all of them.”
Lilian said, “We understood them well enough to produce a dowry.”
Barnum nodded. “Ay, and I applaud your ingenuity. No one saw that coming. But Lilian, there are still other implications you must be mindful of now that you have crossed the Rubicon.”
Ben said, “Such as?”
The man rested his chin on his right palm. “King Sargon, Lilian’s father, is presumed deceased. He left behind no legitimate heirs. Thus every right or authority he would have bequeathed to a legitimate child
has been in a state of suspension. It was fortunate that Ridley managed to convince the victorious Houses to allow Lilian a generous allotment of rights. However, as soon as you put the king’s ring on your finger and married his daughter, you became his true - and legitimate - son. You are as much his son as if the queen herself had borne you.”
Ben shrugged. “I’m honored, I guess. But that doesn’t really mean much, does it?”
“It means you are a prince!” said Fiela pointedly.
“Ah. I’m a prince. Well, that’s something,” said Ben. He had a sudden vision of himself in silk tights wearing a cap with a feather stuck in it. He shivered.
The attorney said, “It also means that King Sargon’s authorities now fall out of suspension to you. A decades-old void has been filled. The ring is like a last will and testament. A will remains in effect long after the author passes away. It is called the ‘authority of the dead hand.’ The authorities vested in that ring are equally valid.”
“Yes, but Lilian and I discussed this. Aside from the right to approve my own marriage, the ring is powerless. Any other rights that King Sargon could have bequeathed to a real son or daughter were lost when he was overthrown. There is someone else in charge of the Fifth Kingdom and that person now has those rights.”
Barnum meditated on his next words before saying, “Has Lilian not told you that the current king, King Arker, has neither offspring nor living wife? He has also lost control of his mental faculties, though his House has been trying to conceal that truth. He claims his dead wife haunts him. His kingdom is largely run by his scribes, and not very well. I have heard from reputable sources that he has no will or similar device, and given his state of mind, anything he might put on paper would be very dubious in the eyes of the citizenry. Neither will his deteriorated physical state allow for…prodigy.”
“Okay,” Ben said slowly, in a tone that said, “Get to the point.”
Lilian spoke. “That means if King Arker should die, you, Mutu, are the only legal living heir. The Fifth Kingdom will be yours. You would not be prince. You would be king.”
It took a minute for the woman’s words to register. When they did, he looked at her. “Did you know about the current king’s troubles?”
Lilian put out her lower lip. “Nothing definitive. But this is not an unwelcome development, is it?”
“You should have told me,” Ben said, raising his voice.
The woman shrugged. “Until this moment, I had heard only rumors of the king’s mental state. The court of the Fifth Kingdom has been unusually subdued as of late. I do not make plans based on rumors, Mutu.”
“But you did position yourself to take advantage of them if they were true. That’s why you wanted a husband - any husband that could squeeze a digit into your father’s ring.”
“No, not any husband,” objected Lilian. “I sat very specific parameters for Ridley. Please don’t be cross, Mutu. It is an arranged marriage of sorts but consider the good that can come of it. Instead of dying with the Ardoon masses you can use your power to save them. Perhaps millions of them. You will have far more compassion for them than any king born of the Nisirtu.”
“That is beside the point. You should have been straight with me from the beginning, Lilian,” the man seethed.
Before the quarrel could escalate, Barnum said, “There is more.”
“What?” asked Ben, agitated.
“This is in regard to Lilian’s new status.”
Lilian turned from Ben to Barnum. “Is there an issue?”
“Not an issue, exactly, but there are ramifications to this development.”
“What?” she asked.
“Divorce is highly undesirable, lass.”
“Why? I mean,” she said apologetically, touching Ben’s arm, “not that I would want to ever divorce my husband.”
The attorney’s eyes flashed on Ben for the briefest of seconds. Returning his gaze to Lilian, he said, “It’s complicated, but the terms Scriptus Ridley negotiated for your protection when your father was arrested are only valid so long as you remain unwed. The enemies of your father were determined that you be the end of his bloodline.”
“Yes,” said Lilian. “But I have married the rightful heir of my father and thus enjoy the immunity granted any spouse of a regent.”
“Correct,” said Barnum. “However…”
Lilian narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”
Tapping a pen on his knee, the lawyer said, “Should you ever leave the sanctuary of the marriage, you would be…well, you have already forfeited the protections offered by Scriptus Ridley’s settlement. Thus, you would be immediately marked.”
“Marked?” Fiela exclaimed, looking at Lilian, whose eyes were equally wide.
It took a moment for Lilian to find her voice. “I do not understand! I am either married and protected by my status as spouse to a de facto regent or unmarried and protected by Ridley’s settlement.”
Barnum shook his head. “No, Lilian. You voluntarily gave up the protections that Ridley negotiated for you. They cannot be restored.”
The man turned to Ben. “Ben, you must understand that if Lilian were ever to leave the marriage, of her volition or by command, the mark placed on her by the Families upon King Sargon’s ouster would be reinstated.”
“You mean,” said Ben weakly, “she would be killed.”
“Not just her. Her, her friends, her associates, her children, and her family, save you and Fiela. You, being of higher rank, would be immune, and because Fiela is your wife and your relationship with her trumps Lilian’s, she, too, would be immune. But everyone else would die.”
“Even our children?” gasped Lilian.
“Such children would be tainted by your father’s blood. Yes, they would be killed.” He turned toward Ben. “Your demise will have the same effect as a divorce. Put simply, Lilian and any children you have by her will be marked if you die or divorce her.”
Ben turned to face Lilian, who was white as a ghost.
In a defeated voice he said, “This play never ends, does it?”
