The Kingdoms of Evil (73 page)

The Grimp snorted steam and his translator squeaked. The Kaimeera's killing jaws closed to muffle a scream while Skystarke's upper lip snapped up over his face with a sound like wet cloth tearing. Even Mr. Skree lifted his desiccated eyelids a slight fraction of an inch higher than usual.

"Far be it for you to question my motivations," grinned Freetrick, "right? Well, you all know my opinion of how things work here, or fail to work." He clasped his hands behind his back as he paced between his desk and the far wall of his office. "The current system of government is unsustainable on every level." He looked at them. "So I want to overturn it."

Mr. Skree was the first to recover. "Fiend," he said, voice so dry it could have been used to embalm corpses, "Gladly will the servants of the Ultimate Fiend march in his dreadful wake," Mr. Skree hurried to add, "as many have done before, casting aside all thoughts of self-preservation and historical precedent, forgetting with an act of will, for example, the Rebellion of Othswug, in which the Despot of Skrea's attempt to reform his kingdom resulted in the annihilation of his million-strong force of monsters and Terror Lords."

"And the loss of Itlix to the !Quatl," added the Kaimeera.

Mr. Skree fixed the other monster with an ice-colored stare "Insolent cur. To speak so disparagingly of the rebellion the current Monarch of Mayhem seeks to duplicate. Such words may discourage the black heart of the Ultimate Fiend."

"I was thinking…" Freetrick said, "more along the lines of
successful
rebellions. Any of those?"

The five faces before him were so different they stretched the definition of the word, but each bore the expression of an underling trying to formulate the answer to their boss's impossible question.

"None, Fiend."

"Two words, Mr. Skree? I see I've disturbed you." Freetrick raked his assembled minions with his most menacing glare, then snapped on a smile. "The Revolution of the Independent Press. The secret of movable type escaped the control of the Librarian Priests. And then the renegade publishers allied themselves with the Collegiums to form the modern Academic Government?"

Freetrick strode to his desk and picked up a sheet of parchment. He handed it to Grimp, who took the sheet in a hand like an mechanical excavator and rolled an eye down at the lines and boxes of his monarch's Fiendish flowchart. The little translator scrambled up onto Grimp's shoulders for a better view.

"So the peasants taught themselves to read," Freetrick explained, "formed these crazy subversive underground
libraries
, and, uh…well they tore the old Librarian Priests apart." The Ultimate Fiend looked at his advisors. "You see how this could be applied to Skrea."

The monsters looked at each other.

"Fiend," said the kaimeera with obvious care, "literacy will not help the monsters. Word magic doesn't work in Skrea."

"It will if we pray to the God of Words," said Freetrick. "So what do you say, gentlemen?" He twirled a pen between his fingers, eyes sparking, "how about a spelling lesson?"

***

"That idiot Bleeryarr!"

"What is it? What happened?" Zathara stared up at Tinesmurk as the queen let herself down from the top of the barricade. The hairy paw of the second goblin seized one of the stakes and began to pull itself up.

"Take care in how you address your queen," Tinesmurk let herself drop to the ground. "Oh," she said, "but I am not the age for this ridiculousness. You," she straightened, glaring at Zathara, "have caused more damage tonight than you can know."

I have caused more damage? It was not my idea to declare myself Kendrick's enemy by imprisoning him. The only way to ensure Kendrick will not attack would have been to make ourselves entirely helpless before him---which I suppose I neglected to mention to you.
Zathara schooled her expression. This attack could mean an advantage for her, but only if she survived the night. "I apologize, Malevolence."

"Bleeryarr was my best supporter here. The son of the Despot of this province," Tinesmurk muttered. "And worse, under this blasted naked sky," she jabbed a hand at the blackness above them, "I have no way of absorbing his death." The queen closed her eyes and let out her breath. "When the sword is once again is once again in my hands…well."

With a chill, Zathara realized that the queen did not know what to do next.
You were never very good at this, were you girl? They nearly ate you alive at Clouds-Gather, then they took advantage of you in The Rationalist Union, and now a Betweener is slaughtering what support you've managed to scrape together. You just aren't a very good tactician. Your only real talent is retreat.

"Malevolence," Zathara said, "we can flee."

"Do not think to advise me, girl," the queen's lips drew back over her teeth. Zathara wasn't afraid.
If she had intended to kill me, boys and girls, she would have done so already. My suggestion that she use me as a hostage against Kendrick continues to drive her.

"We follow a Truth that is higher than masters," Kendrick's voice called as if in response, "higher than queens! Join us in obedience to Covenant!"

Tinesmurk's head twitched back as if from tentacles of a jellyfish. "And thence to Skrea. And Clouds-Gather. Let us be gone!"

From beyond the barricade came a voice Zathara recognized as Maulrag's. It screamed as bright white light flared.
So the seeds I planted in that monster's head bore fruit, after all, boys and girls.
Too bad Kendrick's ironclad sense of honor extended only to humans.

Zathara forced herself to relax as the huge hairy hands of the second goblin closed around her waist. The beast hoisted her over its too-small head, and Zathara clasped her arms and legs around its back.

Enormous muscles shifted under her and the monster began a long, loping run. Into Skrea. Zathara wasn't certain whether she feared her destination more, or her company, or the person she knew would soon come after them.

***

"Will they do what I told them?" The Ultimate Fiend leaned back in his newly comfortable chair. "Will they teach the other monsters to read the True Words?"

After two hours of spelling practice, Skystarke and Grimp had gone back to their duties and Mr. Skree had gone to lie down. Only the Kaimeera had stayed. It shook its head. "I…don't know, Fiend. I think so."

"Will
you
?"

"Of course, Fiend. I will teach everyone I can how to write prayers to the God of Words."

"Good," said Freetrick, tapping his fingers on his desk, "and I've got Skystarke on blindsiding the…what do I call it? The law enforcement in Clouds-Gather? The monsters who would kill you if they saw you reading or writing the True Words. And I'll do what I can to make sure none of the humans know what's going on until you monsters have enough magic to defend yourselves."

The catlike body of the Kaimeera was crouched, ears flattened, but the voice from its mouth was confident. "Monsters learn quickly to never to question our masters, but…well, I have memories of not being a monster. And," it chuckled, "based on what I know about you, Fiend, I think you need someone to talk to."

Freetrick raised an eyebrow. "How many Rationalists did you have to eat to get that bit of insight?"

"One was enough." The Kaimeera grinned. "You're a dialogue-loving people."

The Despot of Skrea nodded, closed his eyes, massaged his temples. "Well, because I want to survive. I'm not willing to play games until someone assassinates me."

The Kaimeera slunk forward, "But why not just hide in your rooms and let your servants arrange things for you?"

Freetrick snorted. "That might work for a whole afternoon before someone bribes one of my guards to kill me." He looked down at his empty desk, then back up to the monster, suddenly unsure what to do next.

"Fiend?" The Kaimeera straightened from its bow. "I wonder if might make a suggestion?"

Freetrick smiled. "It's very refreshing to talk to someone who isn't afraid of giving me advice. Go ahead."

"Malevolence..." the Kaimeera paused, "I am very glad you told me I shouldn't be afraid, to give you advice you don't want to hear, Fiend."

Deep in an unused corner of Castle Clouds-Gather, a single black candle flickered and dribbled on a table in a dark room. It cast a trembling circle of light onto a slickly-shining diagram drawn on the table's surface in what was probably blood, and illuminated heaps what seemed to be a lot of old junk—suits of armor, broken bits of statuary, furniture under sheets, a few disarticulated skeletons and moth-eaten stuffed monsters. Freetrick could not see Bloodbyrn at all.

Fear began to rise again in Freetrick's chest. His eyes drifted to the blood diagram. What could Bloodbyrn have been
doing
in here?

"Bloodbyrn?" He murmured, "Bloodbyrn, are you—" Freetrick's foot connected with something metallic and lacy. He looked down, and saw a cage like the ones his morning rats came in.

In the darkness on the far side of the table, lace rustled.

Freetrick squinted through his pince-nez into the darkness. Was that the glint of candlelight on barbed silver jewelry?

"I was looking for you," Freetrick said into the darkness. "The Kaimeera---I mean I thought I should talk with you about…" about what? Freetrick wondered if telling the daughter of the most powerful man in Skrea about the rebellion he was fomenting. "…Last night," he finished. Thank the God of Words for a life full of insanity; he would always have an alternate topic of conversation. "I wanted to make sure you were all right."

For a moment, Freetrick wondered if he was talking to an empty room, but then her voice spoke from the darkness. "I am."

"Oh," said Freetrick. "Good." He stared in what he thought was her general direction. "What are you, uh—"

"I must fulfill certain hungers," Bloodbyrn interrupted him. "Rituals. Female rites of the Sangboise. You would find them distasteful in the extreme." She took a breath, "So my lord might recognize the benefits of his withdrawal to another place at this time. I shall complete my rites forthwith, and then join my lord in his chambers, where I should, with pleasure, submit to any plans my lord has in store for me."

"Uh," Freetrick shook his head, "okay. Maybe I should
…"

"Go? Yes!" Bloodbyrn half leaned out of the shadow, then retreated again, "Yes, I am glad our minds are of one accord on this…that is to say…"

Freetrick took a step forward, around the side of the table so the glare from the candle was no longer in his eyes. "Bloodbyrn, are you holding a
cat
?"

"No!" There was a rustle of lace and thump as Bloodbyrn's retreat into the shadows was blocked by a huge glass jar with a skeleton in it. "Yes. That is to say, I have a cat in my hands, but…of course, it is a subject of my ritual."

"Oh yes!" She grinned at him crazily. "So…you must go now—ooh!" the cat batted at her throat. "No! You naughty…" her eyes darted up to his, "…repulsive symbol of virtue! With your soft, tiny paws, each a padded pink
mockery
of all that is villainous." She lifted the cat away from her chest, "yes, I will destroy it, my lord!" Her eyes focused on the cat again. "I
must
destroy it! The insidious temptation of it! Yes!" She let go of the cat with one hand and fumbled in the folds of cloth around her waist. "I am getting my athame. My lord, look, I am beginning the Dark Ritual!"

At one time, Freetrick might have turned around and fled. But too much had happened since his arrival at Clouds-Gather. Freetrick knew something more about the people of the Kingdoms of Evil now, and he had a supposition he thought he ought to test.

"Okay, Bloodbyrn," he said, "go ahead."

"What?" Bloodbyrn's eyes widened.

"You heard me." Freetrick settled himself against a stuffed ogre and raised his chin. "I want to see whatever horrible thing you have planned for that cat."

"My…my lord," her voice was an agonized whisper, "you do not want to see this."

"I disagree," he said.

Bloodbyrn looked down at the cat. Her pierced brows drew together, and her maroon-painted upper lip curled. Her fingers clenched around the cat's body.