Death of the Immortal King

by Sarah McCarthy

  Elaine looked at her hands, then straightened. “I really don’t think I can help you. I… I barely remember that day now. But I’m willing to do what you ask. If you don’t mind, I would like something in return, if possible.”

  “Are you always this polite?”

  “I try.”

  “Weird. Well, what is it you want?”

  “A job. Some way to earn money.”

  “I guess you can’t get that legally, can you?”

  “No.”

  “You said you built your boat. Was that the truth?”

  “Of course.”

  “You handy with other things?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK. I have things that need fixing. I’ll pay you a numen a month. And you can go out, as long as you agree to be here by nightfall every evening, and don’t go getting yourself arrested again or anything.”

  Elaine smiled. It felt very strange on her face. “Done. Thank you.”

  “Tired of your dirty clothes? Gotta replenish the wardrobe?”

  Elaine looked down at her filthy, tattered dress. It was closer to rags now than an actual article of clothing. “Oh. I hadn’t thought about that. No.”

  “Then what do you want the money for?”

  Elaine blushed. “I’m not sure yet. I’d… I’d like to get as many people out of prison as I can.” She looked down at her filthy, bony hands. “I want to… help… somehow.” Because I’m not broken.

  Jole’s eyebrows shot up. “You… you want to fix Mimros. With a numen a month?”

  “Of course not. Obviously, I can’t do that. I just want to try to make things a little better. As much as I can.” I’ll keep my half of the bargain, Dem, even if you broke yours.

  “Well, you’re in the right place, then,” Jole said. Elaine looked up.

  “Nothing’s going to change unless we make it change. One crazy do-gooder isn’t going to make any difference.”

  Elaine frowned, but waited for her to elaborate.

  “You’re still thinking like a noble.” Elaine cringed. I’m not. Jole went on. “You think that your actions matter.” Of course they matter. They have to. “You think you’re special. That’s a godsdamned lie. Laughable, even. You know how many people there are in Kreiss alone? You think you’re going to help them? How arrogant of you is it to think you can? Are you any better off than any of them right now? No. Except you’ve got me. To tell you you’re being an idiot.”

  Every part of Elaine’s body ached. “What do you care if I try to help some people?”

  “I care because people like you are the problem.” The injustice of this made Elaine dizzy, and the heat that burned up through her surprised her with its intensity, but she’d had years of suppressing her reactions, years of holding that anger inside. So she only watched calmly as Jole went on. “People who think,” her voice raised an octave, “oh we’ll just change some things. These people just need to work harder. We’re all here for a reason.” She grimaced. “We’re not here for a reason. We can’t change things. We’re in a system. And if we don’t change that system, nothing will change.” I am not part of the problem. Not anymore. And you’re wrong. I can fix this. Or I can help at least.

  “So… what’s your solution?” Elaine asked.

  “Revolution. Take the power back. Kill every last one of the reincarnates and keep reincarnation from ever happening again.”

  Elaine opened her dry, cracked mouth and looked at her. Jole’s jaw was set, her hands in fists on her hips. It wasn’t a terrible idea, and Elaine would be lying if she said part of her didn’t want to burn to the ground everything built by the people responsible for that prison.

  “But reincarnation exists,” Elaine said, finding her first objection. “You can’t just stop it.”

  “I’ll make it illegal. Reincarnation is the rotting core of this country. People who reincarnate are stuck, living the same life over and over again, holding onto a stupid past because they’re too afraid to live a new life. That’s the real problem here. Our king is a reincarnate who won’t let anything change.”

  “You’ve got a lot of… ideas …” Elaine said. She could feel some long-dormant part of herself, the part with opinions, coming back.

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  “You could seize power and make reincarnation illegal without killing all the reincarnates.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  Jole sighed and waved a hand. “The reincarnates are the ones who’d push the hardest to keep it. No one else would care.”

  “That… makes sense.”

  “Well, thank you very much,” Jole said. “You going to run away as soon as I leave now?”

  “No. I think you’d be better off with a less bloody approach, though.”

  “And why is that?”

  “The less instability, the better. The fewer deaths, the easier it will be for you to hold power.”

  Jole considered this. “That’s not a terrible point.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jole eyed her, then ducked her head and rested a hand on the doorjamb. “I’ve got things to do. I can’t stand around arguing politics with you all day. Food’s in the kitchen downstairs. Be here tomorrow morning and I’ll send someone to show you what you can work on.”

  Elaine stood, her eyes travelling over the small, windowless room. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Jole rolled her eyes and strode out.

  72

  Elaine

  For the next few weeks, Elaine repaired chairs and tables, reset windows, cleaned the moss off the roof and the leaves out of the gutters. She built several oak trunks and a few barrels. Working with her hands brought back more parts of herself. Things she’d thought were gone forever.

  She was sanding down a table leg when Jole came to see how her work was going and ask if she needed any more tools.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Elaine said, wiping grease from her hands with a dirty cloth.

  “You hear the news?” Jole asked, lounging on the battered green couch.

  Elaine paused. “No, what?”

  “The Mandrevecchian’s back.”

  Jole’s eyes were sharp, as if carefully gauging Elaine’s reaction.

  “Back from where?”

  “The monastery.”

  Elaine dropped the cloth altogether and leaned back. “Already?”

  “Apparently the rumors are true. The festival will be next week.”

  “There’s usually a parade, right?”

  Jole glanced at her. “Yes.”

  Elaine closed her eyes, hearing the thrumming lutes of street musicians, feeling the drumbeats pulse through her body, seeing the dancers whirling arm-in-arm in the street, smelling roasted meat and seeing the colorful arrays of sweets on vendors’ carts. When she’d been in prison she had believed she would never hear music or even see sunshine again. She opened her eyes.

  “Are you going to go?”

  “No.” Jole picked something from under one of her nails and flicked it away.

  “Oh. Well, I don’t want to make you go if you don’t want to. But… I was wondering if you would want to go with me? I’d like to go but I don’t—”

  “Know how to avoid being arrested again? Yeah, all right, I’ll go with you.”

  Elaine grinned. Jole looked taken aback by the sudden excitement. “I’ll give you your salary early, too, if you want.”

  Elaine gave a small hop and resisted the urge to hug her.

  Throngs of people filled the streets, food vendors lined up on every corner, musicians played rollicking tunes in every square. Elaine took in huge deep breaths of fantastic smells. A single gold numen hung heavy in the pocket of her new—still tattered, but clean—dress.

  The crowd packed in more and more tightly the closer they got to the main thoroughfare. Jole elbowed her way forward and Elaine followed, skirting people and ducking through the spaces Jole created before they closed back up again. The center of the street was cle
ar of people and lined with soldiers in black and gold standing shoulder to shoulder, keeping the crowd back.

  Jole leaned against a pole and looked on, her arms crossed and her eyes half-lidded, as the trumpets rang out. A cheer went through the crowd, starting at the high end of the street, and the trumpets blared again. Three covered litters appeared, making their way down the street, their roofs and walls thick and windowless. In one of those three was the Mandrevecchian.

  She glanced at Jole and caught a strange expression on the girl’s face. There was anger, but underneath that was sadness, pain, or maybe hurt. Jole caught her gaze and turned away, pretending to be interested in something else.

  Red, yellow, and blue petals carpeted the street; more rained down over the heads of the soldiers, thrown by cheering onlookers and trampled under the feet of the hundred palace guard members who accompanied the caravan.

  Behind the third litter was a short man with swarthy skin, swaying slightly as he drank out of a flask and examined the crowd with narrowed eyes. A tremor went through her. It was the man who had arrested her. Captain of the palace guard, he’d said. His eyes passed over her, unrecognizing, but fell on Jole. They locked eyes, and Jole tensed, her jaw jutting aggressively. He started towards them, giving a shout and gesturing with the flask. Jole grabbed Elaine’s hand and slipped backwards, pulling her through the crowd who hadn’t yet had time to react.

  “Come on,” Jole said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They dodged in and out of spectators until they’d put a few streets between them and the caravan.

  “What was that?” Elaine asked.

  “Captain of the guard,” Jole said. “Doesn’t like me.”

  “Should we leave?” Elaine asked, not wanting to get anyone arrested. “Head home?”

  “No. He’s busy.”.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Elaine glanced back at the captain, then shrugged. Jole know what she was doing. The music and smells returned to her awareness, and the numen was still there in her pocket, waiting to be spent.

  She and Jole wandered the streets for a while, ambling down towards the quay. There, Elaine saw what she was looking for. A young child, maybe five or six, barefoot and wearing a threadbare cotton shift. She was sitting on the edge of a curb, staring longingly at a food vendor opposite.

  “Just a sec,” Elaine said, making her away over towards the girl. She bent down, her hand closing over the gold in her pocket.

  She held it out to the girl, who stared at her with wide eyes, her gaze travelling to the gold in her outstretched hand.

  “Here, would you like this?” Elaine asked. It wasn’t going to fix things, or even do much good, maybe, but the first thing she was going to do was bring a tiny amount of happiness to a single person.

  The girl glanced around, rubbing her hands on her upper arms, then took the coin, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger. She nearly dropped it, as if surprised by its weight. With one last, furtive glance at Elaine, she ran off.

  Elaine stood smiling, hands on her lower back as she watched the girl go.

  “Let’s follow her and see what happens,” Jole suggested, appearing at Elaine’s side, her voice deadpan.

  Elaine shrugged, and they followed the girl up the street at a safe distance. She had slowed to a walk, clutching the gold coin and looking at the shop windows on either side. A soldier grabbed her arm as she went by.

  “Where did you get this?” he demanded.

  Shaking, the girl muttered something they were too far away to hear.

  “More like you stole it, didn’t you,” the man said, plucking the coin from her grasp and pocketing it.

  Elaine’s fists clenched. The old her, the one who had belonged to a clan, would have marched straight up to him, taken that coin back, given it to the girl, and reported the man to his superiors. But now she shook, knowing that would only get her arrested. She gritted her teeth.

  “It wouldn’t have done much good, anyway,” Jole said as they walked away. “She would have bought, what? Food for a few months?”

  “I should have realized it would look suspicious. Next time I’ll use silvers. Will you pay me in silvers?”

  Jole glanced at her. “Yes, but… look you should see what you’re dealing with here.”

  She led Elaine further into the warrens of the cheap district. In the alleys lay dreamers and drunks; a few cried out to them as they passed, begging for money. Packs of children, barefoot, many with bruises and most only partially clothed, begged on street corners.

  “These people, they can’t even go into the wealthier districts. Those nice streets? The soldiers will run them out of there. Trying to keep crime down.”

  They continued through seemingly endless streets. Thousands of people.

  “You’re not going to fix this,” Jole said. “That’s why I need your help.”

  “I am going to fix this,” Elaine said. “But you can still have my help.”

  Jole shook her head, but said nothing.

  73

  Elaine

  The next time Elaine went out, she gave away silvers instead, and only one at a time. Kids began following her wherever she went, asking her for money. She gave it to them if she had it, but it was so little, barely enough to feed ten or twenty children.

  Months passed this way, with Elaine earning her silvers and giving them away. One night, Jole returned to her hideout with a deep gash on one arm. Elaine was sitting in the kitchen, eating a bowl of potato soup, when she clattered in.

  “What happened?” Elaine asked as Amy, the heavily armed girl with the pixie face, bandaged Jole’s arm.

  “That stupid guard captain has it out for me,” Jole said. “I’ve been following him. There’s something weird about him. He has apartments in the palace, I know, but I think he also has a place in the city, and not in a good part of town, either.”

  “Maybe he likes to get away from work,” Elaine suggested, adding some salt to her soup.

  “Thanks, Amy,” Jole said as the girl finished up the bandage and left. “Eh, maybe, but something tells me the Mandrevecchian doesn’t know about it.”

  Elaine told Jole about her own encounter with him, when he had arrested her. “You’re right, there is something weird about him. Why don’t you just go talk to him?”

  Jole stared at her, then gestured to her arm. “I’m not sure he’s open to that.”

  “What about me?”

  “So he can arrest you? I’m not breaking you out of prison again.” Jole grabbed a ladle and slopped some soup into a bowl of her own. “No, I’m just going to try following him again. Stay further back this time.”

  Two nights later, Jole failed to return home. She didn’t show up the next day, or the day after that. Elaine asked Amy if she’d seen her, but the girl just shrugged and said Jole often left for days without telling anyone. None of the other revolutionaries seemed worried either, but Elaine felt like something was off.

  The next day, when Jole still hadn’t returned, Elaine got up and went out walking, looking for the captain. She asked around, and the kids who knew her sent the word out, and eventually they led her to him. He was standing on a street corner, looking bored and despondent, drinking from his usual flask. She sat at a table at a nearby tea shop and waited, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

  He stood there for a long time, eventually wandering off towards the wealthier part of town. She followed him, keeping as far away as she could while still keeping him in sight. She followed him for most of the day, and in the evening, he returned to the palace.

  The next day, she did the same thing, but was unable to find him until later in the afternoon. This time, when evening came, she was rewarded. He left the palace, heading towards the docks. There, he pulled a key from his pocket and slipped inside a dingy, boarded-up warehouse.

  Elaine made her way around the building, peering between the boards, through the dirty windows, unable to see anything i
nside. This did not add up. What would the captain of the guard want with a broken-down warehouse near the wharf?

  She perched on a barrel near one of the windows and thought for several minutes. She could try to sneak in, maybe during the day when he wasn’t there. Search the place, see if she could find any sign of Jole. She remembered the night the captain had arrested her. He’d offered to let her go, had mentioned he knew her father. He hadn’t seemed evil or ill-meaning, just sad and cynical and drunk. He’s a good person. He can be reasoned with. Elaine made up her mind, hopping off the barrel. She knew what her father would say in this situation. She just hoped she could find a bakery that was still open.

  Half an hour later, Elaine approached the front door of the warehouse with a basket of cookies. She rapped her knuckles on the door and waited. When there was no response, she rapped again. She gripped the handle of the basket more tightly, her hands twisting nervously. Finally, she heard someone coming, and the door slid open a crack.

  A face peeked through the gap; a middle-aged blonde woman with jet-black eyes.

  “Can I… help you?”

  “Er, hello, I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Elaine, and I believe… well, I met the captain of the guard a few years ago, and… I wanted to bring him some cookies.” She lifted the basket. “Could I come in?”

  The woman’s eyes went to the basket.

  “Very well.” She stood back, opening the door slightly wider and, unsmiling, watched as Elaine entered.

  The door opened onto the warehouse floor, which was dark and filled with looming shapes; the bones of half-repaired ships draped in canvas.

  “This way,” the woman said, leading her to the back wall where another door opened into another dark room. Through that, they went down a set of stairs and into a basement. This room was warm and bright, with a fire crackling in a hearth and two armchairs set in front of it. A mess of papers and broken bits of machinery cluttered the rest of the room, heavily coated in dust.