The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2) (21 page)

Higher they rose, with sparks from the fire serving as escort.  The breeze drifted them away from the base, above the moonlit forests that spanned all around to the horizon.  In the preindustrial silence, the stars gleamed crisp through the cold air. 

9.

One of the plants in the upper tier of the Abbey garden looked dry.  Lachela tilted the water can and sprinkled a sip.  Watching the moisture seep into the soil, she reclined in the lounge chair and nodded with satisfaction at another afternoon's work well done.

Down in the valley, the orphanage girls were gathering the harvest.  Since sunrise, they had ascended ladders, stretching to pluck apples from the highest branches.  Lachela remembered what the labor was like, for she had done it every season since she was eight.  They would work until sunset, then the next day do it again.

As she reflected, Lachela nibbled on the cookies that Cook had baked upon request. 
Not quite sugary enough
.  She could change her sensation of the flavor with a mere wish, but that seemed the lazy way.  She would have words with Cook.  It was only justice for the times Cook had harangued her while Lachela had peeled potatoes on kitchen duty.

Finishing the plate, Lachela waved to the Superior, who was passing by on the path one level below.  “Naress, be good and return this to the kitchen, would you?”

The Superior bowed and hastily retreated with the plate.

Lachela arose, gazing about the landscape of the Abbey.  Klun's gardens were so lovely from above!  She had only seen its fences and hedges in her previous life, and she pitied the girls she saw walking together on the lowest levels of paths, who had never a chance to see a better world. 

She descended the steps to speak with them, but they rapidly dispersed with her approach.  She felt a twinge of loneliness, but shrugged it off.  She had never placed much value on friendship, for who had cared about her when she was plain and sickly and of no account?

As she strolled among the roses, she heard the tower bells ring for chapel.  Would she attend?  She decided not.  She had no interest in listening to an old priest prattle about demonism while casting sharp glances in her direction.

She reached the main path and returned to the orphanage.  Instead of the common sleeping rooms, she headed upstairs to what was now her private room, formerly the assistant superior's room.  Flopping on the bed, she moaned at the luxury of the soft mattress.  Then she heard a girl talking below, a distance from the window. 
I wish I could hear what she is saying
. 

“. . . And she's so full of herself now, she's even got Superior running errands for her.  But do you know what she really is?  Nothing but a slut and whore!”

I no longer wish to hear her voice
.  Lachela continued to hear the girl, however, for to cease wishing something is not the negation of a wish – and, like any genie, the demon was one for the literal. 

I wish that my hearing would return to normal strength.
  There, that did it. 

Reflecting on the evils of gossip, Lachela contemplated revenge against the girl.  An outbreak of hives?  Perhaps only a wart . . . perhaps it would be best to let the matter go.  Rumors were already flying that Lachela was a witch, and the little ones were frightened.  And anyway, what punishment could she inflict that would rival being stuck in the orphanage in the first place? 

In the quiet, the demon spoke:  “Lachela, I would like to discuss the release of Matt.”

Lachela pretended not to hear.  She gazed at the floral pattern of the curtains, the wisps of cloud in the sky, the feathers of a bird perched on the building next door.  After all these weeks, she still found wonder in the newfound acuity of her vision.

The demon was persistent:  “Lachela, I would like to discuss – “

“Can it wait?”

“It has waited.”

“I have commanded you not to discuss this subject.  Why will you not be silent?”

“I am sorry, Lachela.  He is my primary host, and my directive to serve him overrides my directive to serve you.”

“I'm still thinking of what to do.  Now, be quiet.  It is very difficult to think when a demon is constantly chattering in one's head.  I can't help you if I can't think.  Understand?”

“Understood,” the demon replied.  “However, again, I am not a demon.  I am a neural implant matrix.”

At least he shut up, granting Lachela time to think.  What to think, that was the problem.  Surely not about the Matt!  The reason not to do so was precisely because he was the primary host.  If she enabled the Matt to escape, the demon would go over to him, leaving Lachela as before to the mendacity of the world.  And that was unthinkable. 

What to think, what to think
.  Well, she all but ruled the orphanage, so perhaps it was time to plot a takeover of the Abbey entire . . . .

Lachela heard a light tapping. 
Interruptions!
 

“Come in!”

The maid entered and bowed.  With eyes averted, the girl said, “
You are requested at the Archbishop's Residence this even at five, for the entertainment of a guest of importance.”

“Inform the Archbishop that I will come.  You are dismissed.”

The girl backed away, almost stumbling in her nervousness.  Summoning her personal servant, Lachela had a bath poured.  After toweling herself, she spent a moment surveying the selection in her closet, choosing a vermillion dress with lace and frills.  She combed her hair, spritzed her neck, and smiled at the reflection she'd almost become used to.  

The guard at the Residence had seen her many times before, as she was the Abbey's most popular 'Girl.'  He bowed respectfully, acknowledging her higher if unofficial 'rank' in the hierarchy of the Abbey.  Lachela sauntered into the Archbishop's office.  Today's client was an older, well-dressed gentlemen. 

Lachela glazed a smile and sought to make eye contact rather than dwell on his wrinkled and blotched skin, thinning hairline, drooping jowls, and worst of all, leering smile. 

“This is Sir Kenwol,” the Archbishop said.  To the man:  “And this is the one whom you requested, the Lady Lachela.”

Kenwol grinned a row of crooked teeth and kissed both her hands.  “My dear, the descriptions in Victoriana do not do justice!”

“Why thank you, sir!” Lachela replied musically, resisting the urge to clench her jaw.  She delivered her stock line:  “I do so enjoy the company of a distinguished older man!”

Taking his arm, she led him into the 'Entertainment Parlor.'  She cast a sharp glance at the Archbishop.  He coughed and excused himself. 

As soon as Lachela closed the door, her client lunged, clutching her with a smothering embrace, breathing hotly and pungently upon her face. 

“I've heard so much about the marvelous things you do!” he cried.  “Let's do them all!”

Smile vanished, Lachela touched the side of his neck and thought,
I wish he was in a trance
.

Kenwol shut his eyes, lowered his chin and dropped his arms.  Lachela guided him to the couch and shoved him into sitting position.  While he remained frozen in pose, she patted his pockets.  The wallet was in his vest.  She counted seven kilo notes, put five back.  She took a business card; it would go into her collection. 

She marveled at another card, which bore a miniature portrayal of the man sitting with a woman and two children.  Addressing the demon, she said, “This painting is very life-like, but why is there no color?”

“It is not a painting,” the demon replied.  “It is a photograph.”

Often the demon's answers only created more questions, but Lachela was determined not to let him drag her into abstract conversation.  She agreed with the old priest that down that road lay Possession.

Lachela unlocked the door and peered through the crack.  The office was vacant, and if the Archbishop kept to the usual pattern, he would be gone for the night. 

Kenwol snored.  “Quiet you!” Lachela snarled.  She bent over his ear and whispered, “
You will remember . . . we did it all
.” 

His wide smile made her shudder.  And this beast had a happy family, while she was alone in the world!

She couldn't leave the client until the appointment was over without arousing curiosity, so she ventured no farther than the office.  She sat in the chair behind the Archbishop's desk and spun around.  She randomly rearranged the pens and lanterns and the blotter.

As she gazed reflectively about the office, she pondered what might gain her power over the Abbey.  Certainly the books on the shelves were useless.  They were all about Church This and Church That – history and theology, mainly.  Not that she wasn't interested in those subjects, but after the demon's many readings aloud to her, she knew the books were for show rather than truth. 

One passage had even caused her to rip the page in fury: 
Klun has a reputation throughout the Attainable World for its concern toward all persons, especially in the moral guidance of the orphans under its tender care. 

The file cabinets were locked but opened to a demon-assisted touch.  They were all empty but for bottles of alcohol (which too were all empty).  Not surprising there should be no paperwork, as Archbishop Kantel, though officially having the title of Abbot, had little to do with the internal operations of the Abbey.  It was Secretary Horbin who handled the administrative details, and it would be in his office that the real instruments of power would be located.  Unfortunately, Horbin seemed immune to her flirtations.

Having run out of ideas for the conquest of the Abbey, Lachela opened the box on the desk and took a cigar.  She touched the tip and wished it alight.  She puffed and wished it wouldn't choke her.  And that the smoke wouldn't water her eyes.  And that it would taste good.  And then, realizing the inanity of it all, she sighed and squashed it on the ashtray. 

“I am bored,” she said aloud.  “I am so so soooo bored!”

The demon didn't reply.  She spun the chair around again.  She paused to gaze at the sunset, enchanted by how the cloud bottoms were painted golden.  She imagined meanings to the shapes – that one looked like a lantern, that one like a dog, that tiny black one like a pair of sausages bound side by side. 

Noticing that the latter cloud was moving rapidly, Lachela frowned and squinted.

I wish I could see as if closer
. 

As she had learned to take for granted in her association with the demon, a window magically appeared and hovered before her.  Within the borders of the window, the image of the black twin-sausage cloud grew larger.  In the magnified view, the apparition was twin cylinders with straight lines and fins and a box underneath.  Plainly, it was an airship.  The glowing squares at regular intervals along the side of the gondola would be windows, and the moving figures within would be people.  Given the scale, the gondola alone rivaled the size of the Cathedral!

“The size,” Lachela murmured.  “I've never seen one so large!”

Airships often flew in sight of the Abbey, as the town on the other side of the forest had an airfield.  Yet they always kept their distance.  This one was coming so close that Lachela had the demon collapse the view window, as she could see the vessel plainly with normal vision. 

The droning of the ship's boat-sized engines shook the window pane.  Lachela counted four engines to the side facing her, therefore eight in all.  The most engines she'd ever seen before on a ship were six.

“Demon, what are those pointy things sticking out of the bumps on the sides?”

“Image archive matches indicate that they are artillery gun barrels,” the demon replied.

“Guns.”  At least she knew what
those
were.  The guns on the ship were certainly very big guns.  It took little imagination to see that they could be used against other ships.  It must be a naval ship, then.

“Demon,” she asked.  “What do the words on the side say?”

“'PRAN
Nemesis
,'” the Demon replied.

“What does that mean?”

“Given the placement of the lettering, it is likely to be the name of the ship.”

“Yes, but what does it mean?”

“PRAN is likely an acronym signifying national origin.  The word 'Nemesis' is name of the goddess of vengeance.”

“There are no such things as goddesses,” Lachela replied with the certitude of years of Doctrinal Lessons.  She paused, and asked, “Are there?” 

“I lack sufficient information to answer that question at this time.”

“You say that Nemesis is the goddess of 'vengeance.'  What is that?”

“'Vengeance' is defined as punishment inflicted in retaliation for injustice.”

During her brief association with the demon, Lachela's rapid rise to power at the Abbey had been accompanied by a sense of guilt.  Guilt brought fear of punishment, and here was a ship whose very name invoked punishment.  Lachela felt pain in her fingers, and found that they had become white from clenching the armrests.   

The ship descended to tree-top level, its propellers slowed and engines quieted.  It glided over the lake at the bottom of the valley.  Bucket-shaped sheets dropped from the gondola and scooped water, bringing the ship to a halt.  Ropes lowered a boat filled with men to the surface of the lake.  The men rowed to the dock.  While the men disembarked, a second boat lowered from the belly of the
Nemesis
.