The Python of Caspia

by Michael Green

  “It’s true, but shut your mouth,” Caston whispered.

  Poll nodded.

  “I heard you have your own project, Caston,” Andy said.

  “Well—” he fidgeted. “For defense—not a project in the strict sense. Just some chimes I strung up in a few ribs here and there, hardly worth mentioning.”

  Poll chuckled.

  “It’s defensive—it kills the slithers and maddens the brutes, but we haven’t tested it on a proper ryle yet.” He looked over his shoulder. “Have the urge though, now that we’ve got one in town.”

  “What do you mean it kills slithers and maddens the brutes?”

  “Just that,” Caston said. “Slithers raced up from the shore, not too far back. They mounted the walls and the chimes went off. They melted at the sound. Brutes came another time, by way of the stairs. The chimes went off, and they threw down their arms and ran off. Who could have expected it? I built them with communication in mind—sound the bell for dinner, for alarms, that kind of thing.”

  “Hmm.” Maybe there’s something I can do with this.

  “Don’t do it!” Poll knocked Andy’s hand away from his chin. “Don’t you try it—I can see him thinking, Cas. He’ll try anything. Look at him!”

  Andy raised his hands in surrender, “All right, I’ll be good.” He looked at Caston. “I think it might work though—could we get their Master, the ryle—”

  “No!” Poll interrupted loudly. “We’re not having this talk.”

  Caston looked at Andy with knowing but sad eyes.

  Caston wants the glory, but Poll is more loyal.

  “Tell me about the ryle. I want to know more, in case it comes down to it. I don’t expect you guys to fight, but if he tries to take me prisoner.”

  Caston coughed and then spoke, “Yes, the ryle, or a red eye, depending on who you ask. This one is called Zyzqe Ziesqe. It looked like he knew you.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen him before. He pretends to be something else above,” Andy said.

  “But how’s that for a name,” Poll interjected. “Just don’t call him Zeezee; that nearly started the last war.”

  Andy chuckled. “Willing to kill over a nickname? He is proud.”

  “He and our Mistress have deals going way back, back to before either of us were born.” Caston tapped his fingers against his chest piece as he spoke. “She does buy us off him. It’s like you said.”

  Andy stared at Caston’s hard, yet downcast face. His violet eyes were misty. Andy felt his stomach clench.

  “Buys us off him. But she keeps us well. We’re free to do as we will—mostly. We’re encouraged to find a trade, something artistic, and give our gifts to Caspia. We must share with the creators in the world around—or so it goes—” Caston trailed off and took a long drink from his cup. “Fine view though.”

  Andy gawked, “Wait, to be absolutely clear, no mistakes. Pythia—” Caston and Poll tensed at hearing her name, “—she purchases you from Zesq—Zy—Zeezee, the ryle?”

  Poll nodded.

  “What does she pay?”

  There was a long silence. Andy wondered if they knew.

  “She sees. She knows,” Poll said.

  “What, like prophecy?”

  They both gave him a serious look.

  Poll continued, “This ryle in particular has made arrangements with her, and he has profited. His banners sprout in the lands beyond our borders, overtaking many others. The ryle have no loyalty to each other, you see. Each warlord fights the others. Only rarely do they come together,” Poll finished, looking to Caston for agreement.

  Caston nodded, “Right, it’s as he says. Those were tough times, Caspia surrounded by dozens of them. They would strike with their brutox—sometimes war against each other on our land. We got good at telling their warriors apart; it’s the fine markings on their carapaces, you see.”

  Poll interrupted, “But Ziesqe, he was smarter than the rest; he allied with our Mistress. Somehow, he found us above—or so we’re told—and she secured our freedom for the knowledge he’d use to defeat the others.”

  Caston sighed. “It’s been quiet, quieter anyway. Hardly any chance for a fighter to earn favor recently.”

  So, you do want to earn favor? Perhaps that’s why you built the chimes. Andy wanted to ask, but felt it was too personal.

  “I know Ziesqe, but above he goes by a different name. He pretends to be an eye doctor. I was just on the other side of this.” Andy shivered, remembering the red eyes, the burning symbols, and Letty disappearing. “Did Ziesqe bring Letty here?” Andy asked, knowing he had.

  Caston nodded. “He sends the pre-born, tied up, and carried by the brutes. He leaves us with her for some time, before they discuss prices—tries to get her attached to the new ones—to up the price, you see. She just has to have them. He’d left Sol—your friend—and that trouble at the border caused him to return early. Of course, he wants to take payment.” Caston filled Andy’s cup. “Problem is, you’ve arrived.”

  Andy nodded, staring down into his cup. “I’m walking out of here, free, with Letty.” He remembered talking to her at dinner. “She doesn’t want to be here. I hope it won’t come to blows again.”

  Caston and Poll were quiet for a while, before Poll spoke, “Never say never; another fight could be a laugh, just don’t take any heads off and I’ll leave you your teeth.” He held out his heavy armored hand.

  Andy grasped it, with a relieved smile, realizing Poll could deprive him of his teeth in a single strike.

  “You shouldn’t though,” Poll said. “Our Mistress kills like nothing else. I’ve only seen it once, and I don’t care to see it again.”

  As Caston was preparing to pour another round, four swift reports sounded from the chimes. The Brutox at the base of the wall groaned at the noise.

  Andy looked over the edge and saw them drop their weapons and disappear around the corner.

  “Ha! Look at them go,” he laughed, holding the wall for balance.

  “I wish I could, but that’s the signal,” Poll said as he stood and folded the chair. “We’ve got to take you to your room.”

  Andy helped them clear up. It was only a five-minute walk to what they called the palace.

  “Titasticus,” Poll said grandly, as he gestured.

  Even in Caspia, an unceasing wonder to Andy’s eyes, Titasticus was a stand-out. He remembered seeing it from the stairs, and, from above, it looked like the shell of a giant lobster. Approaching the building convinced Andy that this was what a lobster might look like to an ant. They neared the left claw, and the flagstones beneath and nearby were crushed and almost lost beneath moist ground.

  Its plated shell was glossy black, mixed with red, and covered in patches of vines and mosses of bright colors. Andy saw evidence that people had been growing the plants in patterns on the massive shell. He saw bands of purple and white lichens striping across the thick plates, though in other areas the plants grew wild.

  “Got to get around the claws. The mouth is behind them, in the gardens,” Caston said, almost proud of the monstrosity.

  “Right,” Andy answered. His neck craned upwards as they rounded the left claw and came upon the right. Andy felt the ground under his feet change texture. The flagstones here were thoroughly crushed and ground into the loamy earth that now cushioned his steps.

  “Guys?” Andy felt an uncertain anxiety, staring up at the massive limbs.

  “He’s a little closed up today—” Poll said, nearly tripping in a puddle.

  “He hates the brutes, and the ryle most of all,” Caston answered.

  “The giant lobster doesn’t like the ryle. Well, it’s in good company,” Andy said, intending to sound humorous, but coming off nervous.

  They walked over a wide, churned path. The trunks of green and orange trees were rent and split apart, clearly crushed under the colossal arms.

  “How quickly do these arms move?”

  Caston and Poll both looked back at him.

&n
bsp; “Just don’t fall in the bog and nothing will go wrong. You’d have to be a tree to get crushed,” Caston said.

  Andy glanced at the dozens of upturned trees that littered their path. “Like those.”

  “Right, but they’ll be fresh regrown in a few weeks,” Caston said plainly.

  They rounded the right claw and saw the face of the palace. Andy felt his feet stop.

  It really is a giant lobster.

  Silver and pink vines fell down the side of the dark shell in elaborate foliate patterns. It looked to Andy as if someone had painted the vines on the shell.

  Falling water splashed into lily filled ponds in the few acres hidden behind the claws. Giant gemstones festooned the carapace between the brush strokes of the vines. The eyes above the doorway glittered like diamonds and looked to be the size of the largest beach-ball Andy had ever seen.

  “I don’t think Arke or Musi did any of this.”

  “No, of course not,” Caston said. He had politely stopped when Andy did, “Not their style, is it? No. There are no names on the works here; people say Titasticus is older than anything in Caspia.”

  Poll inclined his head. “I believe it.” And then in a lighter tone, “Most of us just assume that it crawled out of the sea and became entranced by our Mistress’s loveliness.”

  “She made a house out of it,” Caston laughed.

  The curving stairs, leading to the toothed doorway, were guarded by Staza and a white plated brutox, which flexed its giant mandibles as Andy approached. It held a fantastic weapon, which appeared an amalgam of two swords tied together, handle to handle. The weapon stood at least six feet tall, but to Andy’s eyes it looked fitting in the clawed grasp of the towering brutox that bore it.

  Staza looks like a child standing next to a giant. What kind of insect is it?

  Caston and Poll shouldered their way past the brutox and offered friendly nods to Staza, who reached out and grabbed Andy’s shoulder as he passed. “Behave.”

  Andy gave her a sad smile. Looking back, he saw his personal pair of brutox trailing a dozen paces behind.

  The foyer was an alarming amalgam of razor-sharp teeth that hummed, as if ready to crash down. An ornate coat check desk sat around a row of teeth. The brutox were asked by the guards inside to check their weapons, which they did, reluctantly. Caston and Poll were allowed theirs. Andy endured the inspection, but palmed the marble from pocket to pocket, avoiding any questions.

  It would just jolt them anyway, he thought, as they passed into the entrance hall.

  Stairwells to the left, right, and ahead filled the entryway, along with a few fine tables, chairs, and a well-trimmed, red grass carpet. The entrance reminded Andy of a hotel lobby.

  “You’re in the abdomen, top tier,” Caston said, as they mounted the central set of stairs.

  Andy tried not to grimace as he saw clear, fluid filled, veins that traveled the length of the hall. Giant crystalline shrimps and crabs swam this way and that through the veins, some laden with cutlery and dishes, while others walked along the hall in teams, carrying bedding. He noticed that each sported distinct coloration and markings.

  Andy had just started to feel a bare sense of familiarity with the Netherscape, only to be confronted with crystalline arthropods. He forced himself to laugh at the sight, if only to keep from screaming.

  The hallway down the abdomen was long and it curved into a small hill every dozen rooms. Andy found this even more disconcerting, as hills were universally an outdoor feature.

  “We are under the plates of the lobster. The halls conform to the shape of the body,” Caston said, noting Andy’s distraction.

  Andy felt the floor and walls moving slightly, reminding him that Titasticus was alive.

  “Here we are,” Poll said, reading the plaque on a door, “Malachite.” He opened the door.

  Andy realized his time was up. He’d have to sleep in a giant lobster, full of smaller, but still massively oversized crustaceans. “Guys—stay for a drink, maybe?”

  A large crystalline crab interrupted Andy. It was the size of a St. Bernard, and had skittered into the hall from his room. Malachite toned, as advertised, it gestured him in with a wave of its claw.

  “Guys—” Andy pleaded.

  “I would, but I’ve got to be on the wall. One of mine will be on your door, Niclo, I think. Just drop my name and he’ll get you anything you want—except out of here.” Poll looked to Caston for a laugh.

  “S’not funny, Poll.”

  “Hmm—well, enjoy the sleep anyway. Maybe we can get some sparring in sometime.” Poll made an awkward goodbye.

  Caston gave Andy a reluctant clap on the shoulder before turning to leave.

  Damn.

  Andy followed the crab into the room.

  He looked up at the emerald grass, growing downward from the ceiling.

  Sure.

  He sat on the plush, yet oddly ovular bed, and looked down at his feet. His tennis shoes were filthy and torn. They stood out against the pristine orange and black swirls of smooth stone on the floor.

  The crab started tugging at his shoelaces.

  A crab butler—what could make more sense? Andy kicked off his shoes, and lay back on the bed. It was comfort itself. He felt himself falling asleep almost immediately, but a strange clicking noise picked up a few feet away.

  Do I care anymore?

  The clicking went faster.

  Drowsily, Andy sat up and saw the crab. It was busy at work, pulling burrs and pebbles out of his shoes with its left claw, as its right clicked up a storm, carefully tweezing the small orange foxtails from his shoelaces.

  “Thanks, Crabby!”

  Andy’s head hit the pillow, and he slept.

  Chapter 12

  Deals in the Darkness

  “Andy! Wake up!” A sharp pinch forced Andy’s eyes open. He sat up in bed.

  “It’s—weekend.” He mumbled at Titus, who grabbed him by the ear.

  “The week has certainly not come to an end! We are at an impasse! You need to be on your feet, now!”

  “Not in my ear, please.” Andy batted the mouse away and slumped back onto the pillow.

  Titus waved to Taptalles, who was busy hogtying the malachite crab. “He’s not waking up!”

  Taptalles heaved as he tied off the last knot. “Stab the slugabed!”

  Titus took a deep breath and drew his rapier. “This hurts me more than you know, lad.” He poked Andy’s nose.

  “Ahh!” Andy shot up, forcing Titus to slide down the tumbling blankets to the floor.

  Andy realized, with a fright, that he was sleeping in his boxers. “Where are my clothes? I didn’t take them off, did I?” Andy recalled drowsily removing his dirty clothes sometime in the night. Burrs embedded in his pants and shirt had been prodding him as he rolled over. Though they should have been on the floor nearby.

  “Listen, Andy! It is imperative!” Titus called up to him.

  Impervious to Titus’s begging, Andy raced around the room, accidentally kicking the crab in the process and causing it to spin wildly on its back. “There!” Andy spotted his shirt and pants. But they were significantly altered. “My clothes!”

  The shirt had been patched in many places with green cloth and the entirety was crisscrossed with applied red sea-shells. His pants had fared far worse, with barely any denim visible behind white and moss colored plaid patches. Hanging chainmail covered everything, barring the knees, which were armored with shining chitin plates, molded to fit above the kneecap.

  “I can’t wear that! It’ll look like I crawled out of a post-apocalyptic cartoon.”

  “Imagine the noise of all that chain,” Taptalles scoffed, pulling his cloak tight around his face.

  Andy looked further and found his socks on the floor. One had been unraveled and the other was being mended with a mesh of seaweed. The finished sock would be more like a stocking, at nearly three feet long.

  Andy looked over at the crab, who was still spinning softly on
the floor. “Did you do this?” Andy asked, ignoring Titus’s pleas to pay attention.

  The crab only spun, its tiny glowing eyes fixed on him as it finally tipped over and halted.

  Titus climbed up onto Andy’s shoulder and tugged on his ear. “We have a plan.”

  “Why are you here? Isn’t this against your orders?” Andy chided.

  “It is, but my good sense caught up with me on the road.” Taptalles nodded. “Now, we’re going to save that girl!”

  Andy sighed. “I tried. There are brutox everywhere, and half the time she doesn’t remember me. If the brutox left, that would be one thing, but I don’t want to fight the Caspian guards, we know each other now.”

  Andy’s brow tightened as he wondered if Pythia might have ordered the guards to be friendly, to earn his cooperation. They knew about his weapon and never tried to confiscate it.

  Titus leaned in and spoke directly into his ear, breaking his train of thought, “I’m going to get Letty out of here, with or without your cooperation.” Andy balked. “We distract the guards and the viper, you extract Letty. We believe she is with Pythia. Altogether, we’ll meet at the wooden circle with the portals—you remember the one, we heard you tore down the watchtower there.” Titus leaped off Andy and onto the bed before heading to the door. “Be quick extracting Letty from Pythia’s chambers, or she’ll swallow me up.”

  Andy stared mutely as Titus and Taptalles bounded out into the hall. What did he just say—eat him up?

  “Really!” Andy fell backward onto the bed as he pulled the jangling, patchwork jeans on. “I’m not rescuing anyone in my boxers.” He put on the shirt, and then the shoes, which the crab hadn’t had time to alter. Everything had a snug, tailored fit, everything but the shoes. He had to leave the socks out of the equation; they were just bundles of string and seaweed on the floor.

  “I hate shoes without socks,” He complained, and leaped to his feet after popping the second shoe on.

  Andy burst into the hall. “Pythia’s chambers—Pythia’s chambers?” He looked left, then right, down the long abdominal hall. “They didn’t tell me how to find her chambers! He’s off to get devoured, and I don’t know which way to go!”