The Madness of Kings

by Gene Doucette

  Once she stopped looking up the wall, she looked down to the other end of the room instead and realized she couldn’t see the other end of the room.

  How big is this? Battine wondered.

  There was some kind of console about thirty paces down, breaking up the counter. Damid headed straight for that.

  “And you won’t tell me what this room is for,” Porra said, in a frustrated voice that was only one notch below pure fury. Battine had never seen her sister truly explode in anger, thankfully, but had heard it was not something one strove to witness.

  “I will not,” Alva said calmly. “You can choose to execute me for this if you feel like; it won’t change anything.”

  “How about if we started breaking stuff?” Orean asked. “Lots of pretty glass.”

  “Girl, what’s in here is beyond priceless. The harm you would do is literally incalculable. And no, I still will not tell you.”

  “Batt, come look at this,” Damid said.

  She walked over. He was standing at some kind of control panel attached to a console that did…something. If he’d told her one of the buttons could rocket the entire room into space, she wouldn’t have dismissed it out of hand.

  Five of the glass tubes had been taken from wherever their homes were on the wall (it would have taken her an hour to find the spot, probably) and inserted into outlets in the top of the panel. Another chamber sat in the middle of the console. It was empty at the moment, but looked like something was meant to rest there.

  A big wand was stuck of the middle of the thing. It was perhaps the most curious aspect, because everything else was made of metal, glass and rubber but this looked to be made of a different material altogether. It was tinted light blue and was semitransparent. She’d never seen anything like it before.

  “Orno sent me an image of something like this,” Damid said quietly, referring to the wand.

  Batt grabbed the end of it.

  “Don’t touch that,” Alva said from across the room.

  “Why not?” Battine asked. “What is it?”

  “Every machine starts with the turn of a key. That is the key.”

  “Every machine in this room?” Magly asked. “Or every machine on this level?”

  Alva looked like she’d perhaps already said too much. “I’m telling you to leave that alone. It won’t give you the answers you seek, and removing it could do irreparable harm.”

  Battine knew they were talking about removing it from the console, but got the sense that Alva meant something bigger.

  “How about if you just tell us what this machine here does,” Magly said.

  Alva didn’t answer.

  “My husband saw this room,” Porra said, “and was so upset that he captured images of it and swore to share those images with the outside world. This is nothing but glass jars and liquid in tubes and yet you had him killed for it.”

  “I didn’t,” Alva said. “Of course I didn’t. He died because of it, but don’t place the blame for his end at my feet.”

  Porra took the dagger from Orean and pointed it at the High Hat’s face. “What did he learn here?” she asked. “Tell me.”

  “I will not.”

  “Wait,” Damid said with a gasp. He’d been studying the panel, but now he was stumbling backwards. He looked…frightened. “I think I understand. Why are there five tubes?”

  “Outsider…” Alva began.

  “Tell me why there are five of them?” he repeated. “That’s important, isn’t it? Five tubes, because the machine is ready to…”

  He started running along the wall, checking the symbols on the chambers and looking on, under and around the counter.

  “There must be…there’s a manual somewhere,” he said. “There must be. Something old but in Eglinat so they could read it. They’d have to be able to read it.”

  “Damid, what have you figured out?” Battine asked.

  “I think you’re standing in front of an incubation chamber.”

  “A what?”

  “Five vials, five gods. Five royal families, everyone looking exactly the same generation after generation.” He looked at Alva. “They come to the island after they’re impregnated.”

  “We do,” Porra said. “Explain what this means to you.”

  “You’re clones. You’re all clones. Gods, I can’t…I mean, it had been theorized but since nobody’s figured out that technology yet, it wasn’t taken seriously, but…”

  “Shut up,” Alva said. “Stop speaking.”

  “This is why you all look alike, don’t you understand?” Damid said. He was addressing Porra, the only Alcon in the room. “It’s not the blessing of the gods that does that! It’s her! In this room! With that machine!”

  “That machine is the work of the gods!” Alva said.

  “It’s just a machine. You’ve been genetically altering thousands of generations to prop up the illusion of divinity. The whole culture…it’s monstrous. No wonder Kenson was upset.”

  “No wonder you killed him,” Battine said. “This would destroy the nine kingdoms, if known.”

  “At least the Alconnot understands!” Alva said. “I say to you that the will of the gods is expressed by way of that machine, which is an extension of the vast engine itself. This is the way of the world, and none of you have the right to challenge that.”

  Battine wanted to scream, but at the same time she could barely breathe. Damid was right: Monstrous was the only word that fit.

  It’s all been a lie.

  “Tell me something,” Porra said quietly. “If Professor Magly is correct, what does it mean when this machine of yours produces an Alconnot?”

  “It’s just as you were taught,” Alva said. “They’re unblessed by the gods.”

  “No,” Magly said. “It means the genetic manipulation failed and the child is born with their actual inherited traits. That’s all it means. But the House wouldn’t know that until after the baby was carried to term. Battine, you were born an ordinary person just like the rest of us. It’s your sister that’s the mutation.”

  “That’s a gross misrepresentation,” Alva said.

  “Sounds about right to me,” Orean said. “I know I didn’t come out of a jar.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m missing something,” Battine said. She walked back to the end of the room, to where Porra, Orean and Alva all were. “If Damid’s right…Vilto, normal people can have children. Orean can have children. But I can’t. Why is that?”

  “Because you’re unblessed,” Alva said. “You are not normal. The outsider is wrong.”

  “We didn’t know I was an Alconnot until my fourth birthday. Do you remember that, Porra?”

  “I do,” Porra said.

  “But it wasn’t really confirmed until after my examination. I believe you were there for that, Highness. I don’t remember what happened because I was unconscious.”

  “For two days,” Porra said.

  “Right. For two days. Did the gods make me infertile then?”

  Alva looked a little nervous, possibly because Battine was pointing the tip of her sword at the High Hat’s chest.

  “The unblessed are the spawn of the Outcast, Battine Alconnot. You know this.”

  “I know that’s what you taught me. I know it’s what I’ve believed for my entire life. But I’m no longer prepared to believe it.”

  “A spawn of the Outcast can never bear children; it would be an affront in the eyes of the Five.”

  “And did you make sure of that personally?” Batt asked.

  “The…will of the gods was expressed through us,” Alva said quietly. “As it has been for generations upon generations.”

  Porra gasped. “It was all about you, sister. All along.”

  “Not now, Porra,” Battine growled.

  “No, don’t you understand? This is what broke Kenson. It wasn’t the horror of learning how much we’ve been lied to, or the hypocrisy, or the institutional oppression of Damid Magly’s imaginings. It was none
of that. All his life it was you he wanted, and standing in this room he learned that it wasn’t the gods that made that impossible, but the same system that elevated him to the throne.”

  Battine looked at her sister. “You’re right,” she said. “And it has to end. It’s what he wanted.”

  “Then end it,” Porra said.

  “Battine,” Alva said, “whatever you’re thinking…”

  “What, Highness?” Batt said. “I’ll damn my soul to the Depths? I’m already going there. You’ve made that clear enough. I’m fulfilling the destiny you promised me.”

  Batt looked at Porra, who nodded. Then Battine drove her sword through Vilto Alva’s heart.

  The High Hat gasped, her last protest dying on her lips, unspoken. She sagged into Battine’s chest. Then Alva’s knees gave out and she collapsed to the ground, sliding free of the blade.

  Nobody said anything for a little while. Batt watched the blood drain out of the High Hat’s chest wound and onto the stone floor, waiting to feel something more than utter sadness. It never happened.

  “Well that was a surprise,” Orean said, breaking the mood. “Glad I don’t have to clean this.”

  “He wanted to tear it all down,” Battine said. “Those were Ken’s words weren’t they, Damid?”

  “They were,” he said. He looked a little stunned at having just witnessed a murder. Having committed that murder, Batt just felt numb.

  “Do you intend to kill the other eight sovereigns?” Porra asked.

  “It’s crossed my mind,” Batt said. “But no. I have a better idea.”

  She marched back to the panel and pulled the key out of it. The lights on the device blinked out.

  “Without that key, every child going forward will be born unblessed,” Porra said.

  “Do you have an objection, sister?” Battine asked.

  “I don’t. I just find it interesting that, in your own way, you really are fulfilling the destiny Vilto promised. I think it’s marvelous. Bring it all down; I no longer care.”

  “Glad you feel that way.”

  The key felt light in her hands, much lighter than it would be if it was made of what it looked like, which was colored glass. She tried to break it anyway, by slamming it on the counter.

  It didn’t have any effect. If anything, the counter seemed to be at greater risk from the impact than the key. She next put it on the flat surface and raised her sword, meaning the chop the key into pieces.

  Damid put his hand on her wrist.

  “I don’t think that will work either,” he said. “If it’s survived undamaged for this long, it’s not going to be destroyed so easily.”

  “Then I’ll keep it,” she said, shoving the key in her robes. “Now, I think it’s time we left this island.”

  Damid used his voicer to command the aero-car to activate and fly to their location. Surprisingly, it responded affirmatively to the command.

  “I shouldn’t have a signal this far underground,” he said. “Not without a subterranean signal-booster around here somewhere.”

  “I’m not sure what that means,” Batt said. “But it sounds like good news.”

  “It is. But we only have about an hour before the car gets here. That’s barely enough time.”

  “We’re ten minutes from the surface,” Porra said. “There is surely no rush. I don’t think anyone will be looking for Alva before morning, if that’s your concern.”

  That wasn’t what he was worried about. He wanted to get as many images of the Engine of the World as he could before they ran out of time. He began immediately.

  It wasn’t long before he found something interesting.

  “Battine, come have a look.”

  She walked halfway around, to where he was standing on a small platform in front a panel with a horizontal slot.

  “I think the key might fit in here,” he said. “Do you want to try it?”

  “To do what?” she asked.

  “Turn it off? Just to see what happens.”

  “That sounds like a crap idea, mister,” Orean said.

  “I actually agree,” Porra said.

  Battine stepped up onto the platform and inserted the key into the slot. It fit.

  “Princess, what if she was right?” Orean asked. “Ending the world’s a rough way to find out.”

  “It won’t end the world,” Battine said.

  “You’re sure? I’m not.”

  Batt looked at Damid who shrugged. “Your decision,” he said.

  “Battine,” Porra said, “practically speaking, if you turn that key we may be unable to see our way to the exit, or open it once we’ve gotten there.”

  “How about if I turn it for just a second, and then turn it back on again?” Battine asked.

  “And if it doesn’t restart?” Porra asked.

  She put her hand on the end of the key.

  It’s not really the Engine of the World, she thought. It’s just a story.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to turn the key. She pulled it back out.

  Orean exhaled visibly. “Not that I’m believing what her hatness said, but just as well, right?”

  Nothing on the surface looked any different than it had when they left, which seemed extraordinary.

  Your High Hat lies dead beneath the temple, Battine thought, as she watched a few Septal monks milling around the courtyard. How long before you know this?

  There had been no Septals waiting for them at the top of the stairs, nor were there any at the side door through which they exited. Now they were standing in the shadows of the temple, awaiting the arrival of an aero-car dressed up to look like the basket of an airship.

  And again, it was difficult to believe nobody on the island was wise to any of it.

  “It’s coming down now,” Damid said.

  “I don’t hear it,” Battine said.

  “You won’t. And the car’s running lights are out, so you may not see it. We should run straight to it as soon we can either way. I know you’d love another swordfight, but I’d rather not.”

  “Where will you go?” Porra asked.

  “Away from the Middle Kingdoms,” Battine said. “If only to get the key as far from here as possible. After that…do you really want to know?”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “You could toss it in the gap,” Orean said. “The key, I’m saying.”

  “I think it might float, Orean,” Battine said. That wasn’t the only reason not to do it; just the first to spring to mind. But she was also thinking a one-of-a-kind key that activated pre-Collapse technology was going to be of value to somebody outside of the nine kingdoms.

  Maybe it will be worth finding out to whom, she thought.

  Battine turned back to her sister. “And you? What will you do?”

  “We’ll leave as soon as the suns rise. I would prefer to be gone before they find her.”

  “You’re the only non-Septals on the island. You may end up in trouble.”

  “Don’t concern yourself,” Porra said.

  “I mean that you can come with us if you want.”

  “Thank you, no. If pressed, I’ll simply explain that my Alconnot sister murdered the High Hat before escaping. Besides, if I go they’ll just try to hang Orean again.”

  “I’m against that,” Orean said. “If I get a vote.”

  “It’s here,” Damid said. “We need to run.”

  “Go, Battine,” Porra said. “Live out your life somewhere far from here.”

  Battine hugged her sister, and then they ran for the car.

  It only took ten seconds to close the distance, but it seemed an eternity. But if any of the monks in the vicinity even noticed, they didn’t indicate it.

  Damid took the car straight up until they were even with Porra’s dirigible, and then he accelerated westward, away from the sunrise.

  “Do you think she’ll be okay?” Damid asked, as the island fell away beneath them.

  “Porra? If she says she’ll be fine, she
will be. Now let’s get to Mursk.”

  Epilogue

  Erry Gisador pulled back on the old girl’s engines and coaxed her into a turn, round about where the pin on the map told him to settle. Then he cut the motor entirely and set to drifting.

  It had been five days of the same thing, which wasn’t so terrible; a glorious and beautiful five days they were. The kinds of days you call up when you’re in your old man rags and gumming your mash.

  Ah, but these were days when the suns shone bright on the grand stretch of the Midpoint and we was just off the shelf a’the Midgie and teasin’ the lip of the mother current with nary a cloud. And all better for the most beautiful wisp of a lady on the deck.

  Yah, they were the kinds of days that make the effort of getting to dying worth it, Erry figured. And all except for the lady it was all true. On her, he’d be lying to the grandets just a tickle.

  She was one of the most beautiful women he’d put eyes on, but not a quarter as friendly as he planned to tell when rising this particular memory in another twenty. Not to say she was rude as much as chilly, one-to-one. For show, she was a bright, smiling wonder, shinier than the Daughters. Outside of other eyes, it was none of that.

  The woman—the name she gave was Lymerie, which no question was a story—chartered Erry’s fisher boat a week past, after first settling two matters: Could he take her to a very particular spot in the ocean; and could he log a different location with the Midgie harbormasters. If the answer to both was yes, she’d pay him double in clean coin for a daily all-weather charter of two passengers for as many days as she wanted.

  Erry was collecting what came out as four times his cost, as it was only ever Miss Lymerie aboard. He had no complaining.

  It was the same each day. “My friend will join us later,” she’d say, which was of a madness, as she’d always say it after they’d left dock. If this friend could jump to the Marisinis from the shore, they likely didn’t need no boat at all.

  She didn’t fish none either. He had all the gear up and set to go, because it was how she wanted it, but she didn’t use it. “If you’re asked, I fished all day and didn’t catch anything,” she said at the start of the first day. When he pointed out it was all well to pretend to fishing to a different part of the Midpoint each day, but if they didn’t come back with an actual fish or two he’d look like a trash captain, she said, “then you fish. What I’m here for can’t be caught with a reel.”