The Apocalypse Script (19 page)

“
We are, as always, in your debt,”
Lilian said, her earlier consternation with the man utterly
forgotten. She dabbed at her eyes with a cloth. “My father would be
pleased to find me returned to my family home.”

The scribe nodded. “I know,
Lilian. You see, making Fiela serretu was the only way I could
justify granting this gift to Ben, and thus, indirectly, to
you.”

Sniffling, the woman said, “I am
sorry for doubting you, Scriptus.” She seemed on the verge of
sobbing and acting on instinct Ben put his arm around her. Without
hesitation she leaned into his shoulder.

The scribe said to Lilian, “I must
request one thing of you and my niece. Your perfumes. Please bring
them to me before nightfall.”

“
Perfumes?” asked Ben.

“
Yes, I don’t suppose you’d know
about that. Nisirtu females can concoct a potent perfume that, when
inhaled by Ardoon males, has the effect of making its subjects
rather malleable, which is to say, stupid and passive. It’s
intended for self-defense but has been used quite effectively in
other ways.”

Ben chuckled, amused at the
concept, but noticed that Lilian had gone oddly silent. “Wait. Has
this been used on me?”

“
I doubt it,” Ridley lied. “The
important thing is that you will become immune to its effects after
prolonged exposure. Mind you, it is unique to each woman, so while
you will grow immune to both Fiela’s and Lilian’s, you will be
susceptible to that of other Nisirtu women.”

“
What do you
mean when you say
unique?
”

“
I mean that if Lilian were to
wear Fiela’s mix, there would be no effect, and vice versa.
Apparently the woman’s chemistry interacts with the potion, or
whatever you’d like to call it, and without that interaction, the
perfume remains dormant.”

“
What’s in it?” asked
Ben.

Fiela said, “It’s a secret. Even uncle doesn’t know,
do you?”

“
No,” the old man admitted, “it is
a recipe that has been passed down from woman to woman for
thousands of years. There appears to be no male equivalent. I do
know the name of a few of the herbal components but not in what
quantities they are used. As to why the perfume is unique to each
woman-”

“
Use your imagination.” Fiela said
suggestively.

“
That is enough, Sister,” said
Lilian, finally rousing herself from Ben’s shoulder.

The scribe faced Ben. “You’ll want
to take a whiff or two several times a day for the next week or so
but never when driving or operating heavy machinery. That’s what
the label would say, if there was one.”

“
I will collect Fiela’s perfume
and bring both of ours to you, Scriptus,” said Lilian.

“
Very good. Now,” rasped the
scribe, “I understand you have a picnic to go to?”

Lilian employed Mr. Fetch to drive
the three of them to the park for the picnic. Not surprisingly,
Fiela insisted on sitting in the front seat, next to Mr. Fetch, in
order to monitor the road for “suspicious activity.” Ben had
watched as she slid a pistol of some kind of pistol - a Beretta
9mm, he thought - into a small handbag. The girl also put on a pair
of designer sunglasses with black lenses, though the skies were
overcast. Ben and Lilian sat in the backseat.

It was not the short ride the
newcomer had anticipated, taking nearly an hour, and there were few
things that could be said in front of Mr. Fetch that Ben wanted to
talk about. He and Lilian tried to busy themselves with small talk,
but that went nowhere since their relationship was founded on
secret things and they came from two disparate worlds. Filling the
void, the Peth kept the driver occupied with incessant demands that
he speed up, slow down, or watch the road.

“
Fiela,” said Lilian finally, “I
believe Mr. Fetch can drive without your mentoring.”

“
But he drives like an old
woman.”

Feeling bad for the driver, who’d kept his upper lip
nicely starched despite the perpetual nagging, Ben said, “Fiela,
that’s enough. I think you should apologize.”

The girl appeared stunned as she looked over her
shoulder. “To an…to Mr. Fetch?”

“
Yes,
that would be the civil
thing to do.
”

The Peth flinched as if she had
been slapped. She faced forward and said, the words like syrup,
“I’m sorry I said you drive like an old woman, Mr.
Fetch.”

“
Not at all, miss,” said the
driver.

They continued along a twisting
road and reached a heavily forested plateau that was surrounded by
a brown mesh fence. A mile further down Mr. Fetch turned onto a
gravel drive and the car passed between two thick, vertical wooden
posts the size of telephone poles. Hanging between was a rustic
sign that read, “Skyline Park Est. 1932.”

About fifty yards past the main
entrance was a small parking lot adjacent to a bluff from which Ben
could see for many miles. There was a hip-high concrete wall
separating the parking lot from the edge, in front of which was a
battery of shiny coin-operated telescopic viewers. Beyond the
parking lot were trails that led to green areas with picnic tables
and rusting grills shaded by interspersed cedars.

The driver brought the car to a halt in middle of
the lot.

“
Here we are,” said
Lilian.

“
It appears we’re the only
visitors today,” said Ben, stepping out of the car and offering her
his hand.

“
That’s because the park is
closed.”

“
Ah.” He
understood her to mean, “The park is closed to everyone
except
us.
”

Mr. Fetch popped the trunk and pulled out two
baskets with plaid napkins peeking out from beneath their wicker
lids. Holding them up for display, the servant said, “Champagne,
chilled shrimp, crackers, caviar, sandwiches, and beer.”

“
What kind of beer?” asked Ben,
offering to take one of the baskets. Mr. Fetch politely shook his
head, saying, “The kind you like, sir.”

As the driver walked toward one of
the picnic tables less favored by birds, Fiela opened her door and
marched toward Ben and Lilian.

“
May I speak?” she asked, barely
controlling her temper.

“
Go ahead,” said Ben, taking a
step toward her.

“
I had to apologize to an Ardoon?”
she seethed, keeping her voice low as she glanced angrily over her
shoulder at Mr. Fetch.

“
You were rude,” he
said.

“
He is Ardoon!”

“
He is a human being, same as you.
He is not your servant, he is Lilian’s, but Lilian treats him
civilly, as an adult should. You should treat him at least as well
as she does.”

The Peth crossed her arms and
pushed her sunglasses up higher on her nose. “Fine. But when I
get
my
fetches-”

“
I don’t think you should have a
fetch,” Ben said. “Servants are not pets, Fiela.”

“
No fetch?” gasped Lilian, as
shocked as the gaping Fiela. “Mutu, she must have at least one. She
cannot be your serretu and be unattended.”

Fiela appeared on the verge of
tears. She said in a subdued tone, “That is…
unfair
. Truly.”

Ben was confused by the women’s
reaction. He had merely stated an opinion, but Lilian and Fiela
behaved as if he had just issued an edit. Embarrassed, he said to
the girl, “Well, prove me wrong. Go help Mr. Fetch unload the
picnic baskets.”

Fiela moved away dejectedly. When
she was gone, Lilian said, “Now
you
are being too harsh. She must have a
fetch.”

“
I didn’t really mean…well,
anyway, I don’t understand why she needs a personal attendant.
There are a dozen or more servants at Steepleguard
already.”

“
Yet consider her new station as
your serretu.”

“
What does that
matter?”

“
Ben, you must understand that she
is this day the wife of man whose authorities come from a king. She
is just a degree removed from being a princess.”

“
A princess?”
Ben laughed, amused at the ongoing charade. “Is that
what
you
are?”

Lilian gave him a withering look.
“I
am
a princess.
I am the daughter of a king. That I am a bastard is
inconsequential, despite what Moros told you.”

Her words were as unbending as
steel. She meant what she said, the man realized. He sensed that he
had come to a fork in the road of their relationship. At this
moment he had the option of either dismissing her claim as
ludicrous and going home or playing along. Recalling how the man
named Moros had ridiculed Lilian’s father, and her, the night
before, Ben was suddenly ashamed of himself.

“
Yes, you are a princess,” he said
politically, “but it is unclear to me what Fiela is. Or what I
am.”

This response seemed acceptable.
Lilian’s expression softened and she put her arm beneath his,
leading him toward the picnic table.

“
Fiela, as my adopted sister, is a
duchess, though also a princess based on her marriage to
you.”

“
Then what am I?”

“
Ah, a good question. You are not
a king, yet you wear a king’s ring, and are married to a woman who
merits the title of princess but is not allowed to claim that title
in public. You, sir, are something of an oddity.”

“
Not the first time I’ve heard
that, actually.”

Lilian smiled. “At this point
your
kingdom
consists of Steepleguard and its grounds and your subjects
are your hotel staff, Fiela, and me. It is a rather smallish
kingdom but it is more than you had yesterday, is it not? Which
brings me back to the topic of Fiela. Do not be too hard on her.
She will take it very badly.”

“
Why? We hardly know each
other.”

“
Yes, but be
mindful of her status as serretu. Her primary function is to please
you. The fact that she is Peth-Allati will magnify this desire
because she will also want to protect you. You may find her
behavior intrusive and unnecessary. But this is
our
world. If you send
her away or refuse her help, she will blame herself. If you truly
wish to make her happy, indulge her as best you can. And you must
allow her a fetch to tend to her domestic needs. You don’t want her
to grow a unibrow and moustache do you?”

The researcher laughed. “I’d dare
anyone to say anything to her about it.”

“
Still...”

“
Okay, fine. But I’ve got a
question for you. It’s trivial but it interests me, as a linguist.
What do you and Fiela speak when I’m not around? English or
Agati?”

“
Why do you ask?”

“
It’s subtle, but when Fiela
speaks, and sometimes even you or Ridley, the English is…well, not
wrong, but a little different than normal. I’m talking about how
you structure your sentences and the words you use. Fiela uses
words like ‘truly’ and ‘shall’ that are rarely used by anyone else.
It’s as if she learned English from reading Jane Austen
novels.”

Lilian nodded. “Most Nisirtu speak
the lingua franca of their host region and passable but not expert
Agati. Only scribes and their students default to Agati, which is
to the Nisirtu what Latin was to an educated man in medieval
Europe. Fiela and I, though, were raised by Ridley, a scribe, and
so were compelled to speak in Agati during many of our formative
years. That is the language of our thoughts. Perhaps when we speak
English the words are unconventional. I hope it does not bother
you, this variation.”

“
I find it charming, really.” Ben
kicked a stone out of the path. “Don’t say anything to Fiela about
that.”

“
As you wish.” Giving him a
sideways glance, she said. “You know she has something of a crush
on you.”

“
Lilian, she is-”

“
Twenty-two years old. Ten years
younger than you. Is that so much?”

“
That’s not my point. When I’m
done studying the tablets and this façade is over, she’ll need to
move on. I don’t want her to get too worked up by the whole
‘serretu’ thing, because I’ll ultimately need to rejoin my ‘Ardoon’
peers and it’s pretty clear to me that she wouldn’t care to live
amongst us slaves.”

“
Ah,” said Lilian, looking at the
sky. It was clear she wanted to say more.

“
What now?”

“
Let’s walk to the overlook.
There’s something we need to discuss away from Mr.
Fetch.”

The two of them deviated from the
trail and walked over tall, whispering grasses to the terrace with
the concrete wall and chromed viewing machines.

“
This is a spectacular vista,” Ben
said.

Putting her arm around him, Lilian
said, “It has been my favorite since I was child.” A moment later:
“Ben, you do believe, I hope that the Nisirtu are capable of doing
things that are unimaginable to many. You’ve seen the scripts and
the results.”