The Kingdoms of Evil (18 page)

Zathara did not wince. But she really wanted to.
Don
'
t be deceived boys and girls. They aren
'
t asking about school. We
'
ve had this conversation before.
"It's all in the reports I sent to you," she said evenly.

"Is that the case?" Nashtang raised an eyebrow. "Then I think your mother and I have reason to be concerned."

Esteem flowed out of her.

"Control your expression, Zathara," Neeshthura said. "We are only worried about you. After your performance at here in the Nation of Love after your Coming Out, I expected you would have suborned the Rationalist Dean by this time."

Zathara exercised control as her mother continued "and your letters tell us you have not yet seduced a professor, let alone a member of the administration. Why have you not found any useful lovers at school? "

"Zathara," said Nashtang, "This is not only about politics. It's not healthy to be so devoid of human contact."

"Sex is not the only kind of human contact, Daddy," Zathara spoke calmly but inside she wanted the shriek.
Haven
'
t I explained this to you in my letters? Why do we have to have this conversation every time we talk to each other?
The problem with Love-Magic was that esteem-worthiness depended entirely on the opinions of the audience.
I'm losing esteem in The Nation of Love for doing the things that collect esteem in the RU.

"Daddy," said Zathara, "I have in the past two years sent you five designs for Universal Science devices that will revolutionize communication, transportation, cryptography, agriculture, war. You know I'm doing my job."

Zathara had spoken to her father. But it was her mother who answered, "Your job as first female child of our union is to strengthen House Suyamuga. Merchant schemes are all well and good," Neeshthura sliced off a sliver of her husband's esteem, "But your father and I are concerned you might be neglecting other areas. Areas that are of utmost importance to your future."

Those would be the areas between my knees and my collar?
Zathara thought bitterly.
No, this is not the place for sarcasm.

Zathara looked out the palanquin's curtains. They were making their way down Glory Boulevard. So below her were crowds of jostling pedestrians. Couriers, ships-boys, apprentices, salesmen, streetwalking priestesses, Austerist senators. All living their lives away from their meddling ignorant parents. "I haven't been neglecting my social skills, Mother."

"Truly?" said Neeshthura, "then why no seductions, Zathara? A seSuyamuan who cannot turn sex to her advantage—"

Nashtang raised a hand, "Let the girl speak, Neeshthura."
Don't mistake that for tenderness, boys and girls. That was a point against his wife, not a point for his daughter.
He looked at Zathara, "I'm sure she has a good explanation."

As a matter of fact, father, I do,
Zathara thought with venom.
And I have given it in every correspondence and conversation we have had in the past two years.
"Mother, Daddy" she said, "believe me when I say that things are different in The Rationalist Union. Too much sex with too many people will
lose
one respect."
I lost too many friends to that misunderstanding.
She gritted her teeth again.
And I will not let my parents remonstrate me for it.

Zathara let her eyes focus out the opposite window. She could see one of the big posters for the new charismatarchal campaign. The doughy, pious face of Sapo the Austerist was as large the palanquin moving past it. And even that sight was preferable to the memory that wanted to tie her bowels into knots.
It
'
s one thing to accumulate disdain. But it
'
s another thing entirely to make a fool of yourself for months without even being aware of it. Thank Love that Love-Magic doesn
'
t work in The RU.
But her parents still didn't understand.

Outside, the buildings rolled past. Modern buildings were giving way to gew-gawed Renaissance and monolithic Temple Authority styles. The boulevard widened and branched into wide plazas. There, government spokesmen leaned out of public address towers, preaching the virtues of one charismatarchial candidate or another. "Come! Come! Kneel at the feet of Daro! He is mighty, Daro! He is wise! He will solve all your problems!"

"Mistress Mirava knows your troubles. Come to her for the balm to relieve your heart."

"Once he was a Brute! But now no more! Gentle Ethrang will tell you how to pull your life out of the gutter and find happiness in the worship of love and beauty!"

All right,
Zathara though,
so all that about me not getting enough sex was just my parents trying to arrive at this subject. "
I believe," she said, "that his opinion of me is high."

"No. He never asked." Beneath her bland expression, Zathara permitted herself to grind her molars together. Because she knew, she knew, what Mother would say next.

"Because things don't work like that in The Rationalist Union."
If I could just strangle both of you!

Irritatingly, Nashtang made a pass with his hand. He waved the matter away as if it was nothing. "Well. But you could have this Freetrick if you," he raised an eyebrow, "exerted yourself?"

I will concentrate on the depth of the air in my lungs until I no longer want to slap my father.
"Yes."

Neeshthura reached across the palanquin and placed a hand on Zathara's knee.

"Daughter, are you certain?"

"Yes!" Zathara snapped. Then cursed herself.
Damn! Damn! I lost control.
She hadn't let herself take that tone with her parents since she was old enough to leave the family compound. They would
empty
her of esteem now. She almost wept.

Nashtang's head abruptly dropped. His hand went in front of his eyes. He stayed that way, head almost between his knees, almost as if…no. Love-wielder men do not cry.

"I'm sorry, Zathara," said Nashtang. "Luck has not favored our faction in the government." With shock, Zathara realized esteem was streaming out of him. And into her. "So we must move quickly. And in secret."

***

The Soon-to-be-Ultimate Fiend threw his pen at the wall. It nearly hit the goblin servant, carrying in the evil kitchens' third attempt at breakfast.

"Okay" Freetrick slapped his hands on his bone desk. "I'm not thinking about this the right way."

The servant navigated between the wings of Mr. Skree and placed the tray he carried on the Soon-to-be-Ultimate Fiend's desk. He carefully avoided the pages of notes that lay scattered there. If the unfortunate monster had been able to, he would have read:

A. Poison.

Aa. In the food

Ab. In the water

Ac. In the air

Ad. Spread on my possessions

Ae. On Bloodbyrn's —
there was a wiggly, considering line, which resolved into—
anywhere

Af. In a dart shot into me—
followed by a large X mark and a frowny face.

Too strkng PARANOID!
Read his next notes. Then
cannot allow enemies to see.
There followed some examples of mirror writing, followed by more X's, more frowny faces, and a series of depressed-looking word-magic runes that would have turned the black stone walls of the office a cheery pale blue if they could have been made to work in Skrea.

Freetrick looked focused on the more helpful notes. "Don't get killed," he said. "Well, how can I avoid getting killed? Okay."

"Listen to me?" Bloodbyrn said.

Each of Freetrick's attempts at breakfast had come with a small live animal, like the prize in a box of cereal. This particular meal, the kitchens' the third attempt to find something Freetrick could eat, came with a rat. Bloodbyrn was playing with it.

"Find...allies," Freetrick said as he wrote. "Okay, so who has an interest in seeing me stay alive? And who has an interest in seeing me dead? Why do they...want...me...dead?" He made some more notes, then looked up at the goblin servitor.

"What is it this time?" He lifted the silver dome and looked down suspiciously. Two black pottery bowls stood upon the tray. White powder filled the smaller bowl, and in the larger was what looked like red snot. "Okay," he said, "I'm listening."

The little servant cleared his throat, "This is a dish from the desert south of Castle Clouds-Gather, Fiend. The chef distilled the sap of the death vine—" Freetrick wondered about that, but decided that if he vetoed every ingredient with the word 'death' in its name he would starve. "—and his Malevolence will notice that the acids barely corrode the bowl."

"
Strike it out!" said Freetrick "
Acids?
That corrode
ceramic
? What the striking hell is going to happen to me if I eat that stuff?"

The waiter quailed.

"If the Bringer of Destruction will direct his attention to the condiments bowl," Mr. Skree intoned.

"What, the white powder?"

"Powdered coral from the southern sea, oh Forge of Malignity, it is to be added to the mash of the death vine."

"Oh?" The waiter nodded. Freetrick spooned the baking soda into the mash, which began to bubble and fizz like a science fair volcano. He looked down at the rising pink foam. "So now I just eat it?"

The waiter bowed, "Yes, Malevolence." But as Freetrick lowered the spoon into the bowl, the little scaly creature's eyes popped with horror. "Ma-Malevolence! The rat!"

Freetrick stopped with the spoon halfway down, "What now?"

"The rat...Malevolence...breakfast," the waiter looked pleadingly up at Mr. Skree and Bloodbyrn, who dropped the little rodent back into its cage, then stood back with hands clenched behind her back.

"My lord must kill the small creature before he breaks fast," she said.

"What? No!" said Freetrick. "Can't I just eat in peace?"

"May this servant be disemboweled slowly for daring to answer the Tempest Lord with anything but immediate and absolute obedience," Mr. Skree said, "but the sacrifice of the creature is an ancient ceremony vital to the health and well-being of the Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend."

That stopped Freetrick long enough for his memory to kick in, and he finally made the connection between the live animals, the dangerous and poisonous things the waiter had tried to feed him,
and
the lizard thing that Bloodbyrn had killed in front of him on the balcony. Freetrick looked down at the rat in its cage. Well, that solved the poisoning problem. All he had to do was kill something before he ate, and necromancy would take care of the rest.

Which meant that…oh. Freetrick put his spoon down and slowly turned to look at the servitor quailing by his desk."I could have poisoned myself if you hadn't stopped me."

"Pride at service swells within the organs of the wretched being who stands before the yawning cavern of villainy that is the Ultimate Fiend," Mr. Skree answered. The little goblin nodded miserably.

Freetrick looked back at the rat, twitching its nose in its cage. "So…" he said, "what do I…"

Bloodbyrn flourished a pale hand and flicked her athame onto the bone surface of his desk. Freetrick looked at the knife, looked at his fiancée, and then looked at the rat. His stomach rumbled.

Several minutes later, the food and the rat were gone. But Freetrick was gloomily certain the stains on his white desk would never go away. "Mr. Skree, I'm going to have to kill something at the beginning of every meal forever, aren't I?" He had not done a good job with the rat, but the servant had cheerfully eaten the remains anyway.

"If the Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend wishes to denature the poisons that have been added to his food, certainly," replied his chamberlain.

Freetrick waved a hand at his notes. "I don't suppose I can make people stop poisoning my food, could I?"