The Kingdoms of Evil (75 page)

Bloodbyrn's eyes flickered back and forth as she searched his face. "I shall help you. Feerborg."

Freetrick felt something go
clunk
inside his head. Toppling priorities? "Thank you, Bloodbyrn."

Her eyes were still on his. Her lip curled. "Oh, I would be a fool indeed to let this opportunity slip past unexploited."

"What do you mean—" Freetrick began, before there was suddenly a great deal of pressure around his hips. The two silver skulls dug into his chest, then slid upward as Bloodbyrn climbed atop Freetrick. Her face, now above his, was all soft curves and sharp metal points.

"It is my observation that our moment of mutual tenderness has lowered your defenses, it is my impression that we have just made alliance, and my objective to seal that alliance physically. You would do well not to interfere, my lord."

"Poor baby, perhaps we should adjourn to…" Bloodbyrn looked around them, then raised an eyebrow at him, "the floor? Or the top of this table in my blood sigils? There's even a candle up there for us to use."

"Candle?" Freetrick said, uncrossing his eyes.

"For the hot wax." She sighed at his expression. "Very well. Perhaps we are not ready for the more advanced lessons. The floor then."

Freetrick grinned, although he still wasn't sure he knew what she meant about the candle. "What…you mean…here?"

"Of course." Bloodbyrn maneuvered him until his back was on the floor and she was on her knees over him. She leaned down, and an aching amount of white cleavage appeared between the skulls.

Bloodbyrn looked down, and grinned, her voice lowered to a purr. "You would stare so at a lady?" She slid back, a hand coming to rest on, by now, the extremely uncomfortable protective plating between his legs. "My lord?"

She struck his cheek. Gently. "That is unbefitting," Bloodbyrn was smiling, her lips partly open as she stroked his face. "A great fault in a Despot of Evil." Her metal-coated nails scratched down a cheekbone. "But perhaps I have use for you despite your faults." She lowered herself until their faces were almost touching. "Does my lord feel…useful?"

Buckles clattered under Bloodbyrn's hands.

"Buh..Bloodbyrn, you're not going to…here?" Freetrick whimpered as her hand pressed down. "but, uh…" he thought, suddenly, of eyes behind the walls. Wasn't every room in Clouds-Gather watched by spies? Freetrick pushed himself up, suddenly wondering about everything they had just said to each other. "Wait, Bloodbyrn! Where's the blood mist thing?"

"The red noise, you mean?" Bloodbyrn's nimble little fingers were moving down the armor over his ribs, unbuckling. "Fear not, my lord. I have drawn blood sigils around this room."

"Blood sigils?" Freetrick squinted up at the ceiling. "What are blood sigils?"

"Must my lord know?" asked Bloodbyrn, "at this precise time?"

"Maybe I do." Freetrick pulled himself up and looked at Bloodbyrn with sudden suspicion. "We have been speaking pretty openly about things in here, Bloodbyrn."

"Does my lord distrust me?" Bloodbyrn raised an eyebrow, then bent back down to resume here work on his armor. "Good. He is learning."

He snorted. "I suppose you wouldn't have brought the cat here if you thought you could be seen."

"Indeed. And besides." Bloodbyrn's haughty lip-curl turned into something very much like a smirk. "Would you mind an audience, my lord, at this juncture?"

"Strike me out," Freetrick settled back onto the floor, "I'm the Ultimate Fiend, aren't I? I should invite the press in here and take comments mid-coitus."

"I am unsure as to my lord's exact meaning," came Bloodbyrn's voice from above him, "But in any case, worry not. As you have so astutely noted, it would not be in my interest to permit people to know where I am or what I am doing."

Bloodbyrn jumped back, and Freetrick yelped as his knees collapsed under her. "You were
led
here?"

"Of course," grumbled Freetrick as he sat up tugged his legs out from under his concubine. "How else would I get here?"

"Blood and ichor!" Bloodbyrn leaped to her feet. "Why did I not think of this? My lord, immediately we must apprehend the Kaimeera and destroy it. Who knows whom else that miserable monster has told!"

Freetrick blinked hard. "Well, I don't think—

"We must leave!" Bloodbyrn shouted. "Now!"

"Well…strike it" Freetrick winced as he rose. Once again, horrible things were happening in his pants. "What about your cat?"

"Oh…no!" Bloodbyrn shook her head, "this matter is of more importance than the safety of Princess Fluff. I have no choice but to let her fend for herself in these corridors."

"Princess Fluff?"

"There is no time for foolish questions. One moment." Bloodbyrn closed her eyes and spread her hands in front of her. There were was a crackling like burning paper and a smoke puffed up from the diagram on the table. "We shall search for her later." Bloodbyrn strode toward the door and grasped its handle. She pulled it open, saying "For now we must—"

For the second time in as many days, the Duke DeMacabre was waiting for Freetrick on the other side of a door. The Duke, who grinned,
constantly
, and certainly didn't have Freetrick's best interests at heart. The Duke, who dressed like the re-animated corpse of a particularly flamboyant gigolo. The Duke, Freetrick now knew, who had once loved a wife and lost her.

"Ah, my sweet
children
!" DeMacabre cried. Bloody lace tangled as he clasped his hands over his breast, "what
joy
it does me to see you young persons availing each other so splendidly of your respective fluids. And!" he said as Bloodbyrn rolled her eyes and Freetrick looked sick, "My joy is so boundless it nearly completely masks my, well, I would not say
unease
, my lord," the Duke's orange eyes snapped onto Freetrick's.

Freetrick looked at his more-or-less father-in-law, trying to reconcile what his eyes saw and what Bloodbyrn had told him. Was the corrupted, cunning, crazy old degenerate nothing but a mask? And underneath, what would Freetrick find but a father, desperately clutching for the power he needed to protect his tiny family? With an effort, Freetrick shook off the mental double-vision.

"Unease?" He repeated.

"Indeed," DeMacabre's voice deepened ominously. "I confess to the most microscopic
iota
of confusion," his fingers, pale as deep-sea eels, formed calipers to indicate the confusion's exact size, "as I wonder why my lord has taken my daughter to this forgotten corner of Clouds-Gather to, I hope, consummate their relationship. And why not the Royal Bed Chamber, or the Dark Temple, or the Audience Pit, or indeed
anywhere
where the act could be witnessed and verified," his teeth flashed razors of red light at Bloodbyrn, "and properly conducted."

Bloodbyrn responded without hesitation. "Why, father, the act to which you refer, while it may be anticipated with absolute certainty, is still yet to occur."

"We were sightseeing." Freetrick thought he would be helpful.

Bloodbyrn shot him a look, then turned calmly back to her father, "And whilst you may wonder as to the disheveled appearance of myself and my dread lord, be assured, my father, that our state of dishabille is but a result of our reciprocal erotic passions, which manifest in this way even when we are not engaged in the torrid act itself."

DeMacabre's grin did not change, but his eyes blazed brighter. "And of the time you spent in this room before the arrival of my lord the Ultimate Fiend? Hm? What were you doing then, my daughter, if not preparing for the ritual of Engenderation?"

"Changing my plans father," said Bloodbyrn, but Freetrick barely heard her.

As Bloodbyrn and her father continued their verbal gavotte, it suddenly occurred to Freetrick to wonder how DeMacabre had know to find them here. The answer to that question came like a cold metal spike to the base of the skull.

"DeMacabre," he said, "where is the Kaimeera?"

"Why…astute indeed is the brain of the Ultimate Fiend," DeMacabre's mad eyes flicked from his daughter to Freetrick, and the Duke drew himself up. "Of course, it was that monster who informed me…" He looked narrowly at Freetrick, though his mouth retained its rictus grin. "Well, it informed me of a great deal, my lord."

Freetrick felt as if someone had stabbed him in the kidneys with an icicle.

"What…" Freetrick fought to control the abject panic rising through his brain, "what can I expect your response will be?" Had the Kaimeera revealed the plan to teach word-magic to the monsters? How would the Duke react if he knew? Why would the monster tell him in the first place?

"Why, what can any of us expect, in this cruel, dark world?" DeMacabre's grin ratcheted back another set of molars.

Well, if the Kaimeera had told DeMacabre that Freetrick was preparing a private army of magic-wielding monsters, would he be standing here talking?

"You can expect…" Freetrick fought for the control necessary to turn melodrama into reality, "You can expect, DeMacabre, to obey the orders given you."

DeMacabre cocked an eyebrow, "of course I shall, my lord."

"Do not second-guess me, DeMacabre." Freetrick said in what he hoped was a suitably menacing growl, "I shouldn't have to tell you about every piece of misinformation I spread. All
you
need to do is wait for me to tell you what to do."

Whatever changes might have rushed across the Duke face, he hid them in a deep and elaborate bow. "Of course, oh Greatest Evil. How could it be otherwise?"

"Indeed." Freetrick was beginning to see the use of the Skrean persona. He drew the role of supreme evil dictator around himself as his tried to recover his balance. "Now. Tell me where the Kaimeera is."

"That I can do with alacrity, my lord," said DeMacabre. "The monster is no doubt still with Prince Feerix in the dungeons, awaiting your presence."

"Feerix?" Freetrick clutched his persona tighter. "And what were you doing with Feerix, DeMacabre?"

"Why, discussing
you
, my lord," DeMacabre was still smiling, of course.

"Discussing what?"

DeMacabre's teeth gleamed redly in the crystal light, "I would inform you, my lord, but your dear half-brother expressed his wish to do so instead—to say his piece to, as it were, virgin ears."

"Okay?" Freetrick gritted his teeth, "Then tell me…I mean inform me as to where he is, that I can converse with him."

"My lord, it was with that very intent in mind that I came to this place." DeMacabre made a flourish with his hands, then pressed one against the bloody lace over his breast. "Forgive an old man his sentimental heart, my lord, for inquiring as to his daughter and his lord's state of mind before discharging this duty. Punish me as you would; it will not happen again." Now the old villain's smile actually looked real.

So did Freetrick's scowl. "Just tell me where Feerix and the Kaimeera are."

"Prince Feerix said, my lord, that he would await your displeasure in the dungeon which currently holds the female prisoner my lord collected yesterday. The one known as the Monster Killer."

That information was surprising enough to cut through the panic and playacting both, "The Monster Killer? What the hell is Feerix doing with
her
?"

"Why, whatever he likes, I assume, my lord."

Patience

One does not graduate from the Saint Ichor Young Ladies' Academy of Exquisite Punishment without a finely developed emotional sense, and it was with ease that Bloodbyrn could discern her father's desire to speak further with her.

"My lord," she said, turning to address the Ultimate Fiend, "as you have business to conduct with your consanguinate, I find I have as well, a matter to discuss with mine."

The Despot Feerborg, who had not attended the Ladies' Academy or, indeed, any reputable institution of higher evil, stared at her blankly.

"I am endeavoring to inform you of my plans to remain here and speak with my father," Bloodbyrn explained with great patience, "you may play with your brother without me. However, I swear I shall join you as shortly as may be arranged. Go now. Shoo."

Feerborg turned and left, muttering something in his barbaric dialect. Bloodbyrn watched his retreating back for a moment, then turned, a smile on her face.

That smile faded, however, as Bloodbyrn's senses focused more fully on her father's expression.

Milielan DeMacabre was firmly in persona, his grin as mad as ever, but to a woman of Bloodbyrn's sensitivity and intelligence, not to mention filial attachment to her last remaining kin, the signs of strain were clear. "My father," she said in Sangboise, "for what is this despondence I see upon your familiar face?"

The Duke DeMacabre rubbed a hand over his mouth, erasing the false expression that he habitually placed there. "I have something I would tell you, daughter." His athame flicked out, and with easy elegance of long practice, her father opened the skin along his inner arm. Only once the crimson noise had been established around them did her father speak again. "Bloodbyrn, my daughter, the Ultimate Fiend must be dealt with."