“Reports of my death were not premature, but they were irrelevant.”
Valarion would have laughed at the expression on the poor man's face, if not for the carnage he'd just seen.
Inoldia gazed about the room. Soldiers stared back. Ignoring them, she walked over to a vase, inspecting the withered petals. Instead of smashing the vase as Valarion anticipated, she simply said, “In need of watering, I see.” She smiled with her unearthly calm at the Emperor and general. “Is there something to eat? I'm quite famished.”
Maldus mumbled, “There's bread in the pantry.”
“No meat?”
“No.”
“Ah well. I'll have shopping done tomorrow so we can all enjoy. For now, if you don't mind – “
Valarion watched her go outside, descend the steps, pass through the gate, and stoop over the body of the former ringleader of the mob. She swiped with fingers transformed into spikes.
6.
Athena Spencer examined herself in the mirror of her boudoir with a frown. Not that there was anything wrong with her skin, hair, eyes, or body. She was, of course, eternally flawless.
No, it was the ridiculous outfit. The bustle, the corset, the hat with a bouquet of fake flowers and a rim to dwarf a sombrero. To think that people actually dressed this way a thousand years ago! Or, she thought darkly, were made to dress this way if they had the misfortune to be born female.
It is a man's world, she thought with resignation.
She plucked her parasol (one aspect of her ensemble that she did adore) and walked (or, more or less, given the constraints of the dress, shuffled) into the hallway of her mansion's second floor. She descended the grand staircase to the marble-walled foyer. Beneath the chandelier was an overstuffed sofa, and upon it resided a tall young man in an immaculate white uniform. He arose and bowed.
“How do I look?” Sir Kwinsi Asterdon asked.
You're supposed to compliment me.
Well, that was Kwinsi, his self-absorption shining through as always. She glanced dismissively at his uniform's chest adorned with rows of ribbons and medals. From afar they hinted at valor and self-sacrifice, but had in reality been 'earned' for 'participations in battle' that seldom came within sound of gunfire.
“You are acceptable,” she replied.
His satisfied expression indicated that he swallowed the lie.
“Nims, bring the coach around.”
“That I shall, madam,” Nims replied. The towering servant had been standing rigidly at one side, dapper in his morning coat and white gloves. He bowed so that the chandelier's light gleamed off his polished bald head, upon which he placed his top hat, and then he was loping swiftly down the hall to the side exit by the kitchen.
Once the servant was out of earshot, Asterdon leaned toward Athena and whispered, “That cold smile of his!”
“What about it?”
“Could we speak sometime of replacing him with someone more . . . human?”
“I find Nims to be efficient and loyal. I assure you, his references are in order.”
“The way he looks at me, it's as if he plots to murder me in my sleep!”
She cracked a smile. Oh, you'll be awake.
Glancing at Asterdon's decorated chest, she thought of how well Captain Dathar concealed his disdain toward her husband. Dathar, she thought as she often did, would make a fine replacement.
Asterdon stroked his muttonchops. “By the way, where are we going?”
“Parliament. Don't you ever look at the calendar? It's Imperial Day.”
He slumped. “Oh, that. Stuffy politicians and generals and admirals and the like.”
“They're important contacts for your career, dearest.”
“Before I met a single one, I already had a career.”
“An actor who had only minor parts.”
Asterdon sulked. Athena marveled at his ingratitude. As an actor he should be proud that she had selected him for the greatest role on the planet!
Outside and below came the clatter of hooves. Nims entered through the front door and held it open, bowing and touching the brim of his top hat as he did so. Asterdon mechanically hooked Athena's arm and they descended the steps to the coach waiting upon the driveway. Behind them, Nims bolted the front door, then hurried ahead and held open the coach door. Asterdon assisted Athena into the compartment. Nims shut the door and climbed into the driver's seat.
“Another thing,” Asterdon muttered. “Couldn't we have a few more servants? A doorman and a driver for a start?”
“Nims is adequate for our needs,” Athena replied.
“I don't question his competency. I'm saying that for our societal status, it's unseemly to have only one servant. For example, what do the neighbors think, watching his scurrying about just now?”
“The neighbors know better than to spy on us.” Athena tapped the roof. The tiny trap door opened and Nims peered down inquisitively. “Government House, Nims.”
“As you wish, madam.”
With a snap of his whip, the coach lurched over the garden drive onto the residential street, past the other equally-secluded mansions. It descended the hill to the tree-lined, cobblestone boulevard that hugged the east bank of the River Gaerd. Above loomed an overcast with cloud cover too thin to threaten rain, too thick to allow color to the sky. It was a typical day for the crown city.
Gazing through the coach window, Athena surveyed what she called 'the lay of the day.' Victoriana was thriving with activity as always this late morning. Upon the river, steam-driven tugs hauled barges of provincial raw materials northward, factory-finished goods southward. Ironclads rested at anchor at the mouth of the bay. Far to the west, airships circled above the municipal airport, while its military counterpart to the southwest bristled with aerial dreadnaughts.
Across the river lay the city proper: Victoriana, capital of the Imperial Republic of Pavonia. Greatest of all cities in the World, Attainable or otherwise, its warehouses, factories, imposing mansions and ramshackle tenements stretched from horizon to horizon like a gray chunky gravy smeared upon a plate. A few structures rose above the general sprawl: domes of law and financial offices, spires of the Church of the Star Wizard (Reformed), and on every square a gargantuan statue, column, and/or arch, commemorating the battles, conquests, and heroes of the Republic.
That day, as usual, Athena's focus was upon the twin eight-story windowless monoliths arising above the skyline in the north. To her they evoked a saber tooth's tigers fangs about to devour the city. It was a metaphor that she had thought of often, from the first day she had visualized the plans of the Zeus Project.
Nims steered the coach onto the Dominion Bridge, entering downtown and merging onto the traffic clogging the Avenue of the Concordat. Athena amused herself with the expressions of passersby: the earnestness of the hawking vendors, the staidness of the professional men in their cravats and wide collars, the wobbling precariousness of the high-society women in their bustles, high heels, and visibility-obscuring hats.
At the intersection of Glory Street, Athena rapped Nims the code for a stop. She waved to the flower girl at the corner. As always she requested a single carnation, but tipped liberally.
“Thank you, ma'am!” the girl gushed. “Thank you! Most appreciated, ma'am!”
“Quite all right,” Athena replied, charmed as always by the girl's sincerity. “Have yourself a wonderful day, and see you soon!”
As they resumed travel, Athena slipped the carnation into Asterdon's buttonhole. He sniffed and said, “Filthy little beggar. You're conveying her fleas, you know.”
Outwardly, Athena projected only a hard smile. Inwardly, she thought of how the Asterdon of ten years ago had survived real flea infestations in the condemned garret that was all he could afford. Asterdon had forgotten his roots and would receive comeuppance soon enough.
Gazing at the street full of smug little barristers, bureaucrats, and businessmen off to do their petty paperwork battles with one another, Athena t
hought of how they would all receive their comeuppance. As for the flower girl, Athena would see that she, along with a few thousand of the more charming baselines, would be preserved in comfort from the coming evolutionary apocalypse in a well-protected Human Reservation.
The coach wheeled onto Hobbs Street. Ahead, at the heart of the city, the crystalline spires of Government House glinted. The density of the crowds filling the concourse reduced the coach's progress to a crawl. Nims halted at the compound gates before the great statue of Victoriana Personified that dominated Peacock Circle, and Asterdon and Athena disembarked. They made their way through the milling throng to the cordoned section of the bleachers.
While Athena delicately sat and twirled her parasol, Asterdon assumed his professional role and greeted a cluster of military officers in equally splendid uniforms. They all spoke in booming tones and belly-laughed at their own jokes. A couple of the more perceptive cast nervous glances in her direction.
The marching band struck up Rule Pavonia! The crowd stilled, silenced, and faced as one to the penthouse balcony jutting from the near end of Government House. Athena arose for the anthem.
Asterdon slipped alongside. “What's this I hear?” he stage-whispered. “You're sending me to Forjvis?”
“Briefly.”
“Have I offended you? If my relationship with Rolan is in any way scandalizing you . . . .”
“You have not offended me.” Tired me, yes. Bored me, oh yes. “It's only for a week. There will be a minor skirmish and you'll return a hero.”
He regarded her uneasily. “A skirmish, you say?”
“Don't worry. It's entirely staged. I've hired a few men to shoot rifles in the air, it will be blamed on the Forjvisians, your men will shoot back at nothing and the press will portray your valiant leadership under fire. As for the Forjvisians, they will not even be involved.”
“Why is this necessary at all?”
“I need a pretext to promote you to full Colonel.”
“Aren't I bit young for that?”
“That's not your concern. My concern is that the promotion brings greater social opportunities.”
“So that as my 'spouse,' you will gain greater social status.”
She patted him lightly. “So clever!” She nudged him sharply. “Mind your posture!”
His sigh was lost in the strains of Lords of Aereoth, Save the Queen that began when the glass doors of the balcony swung open.
As only a distant speck to most of the onlookers in the vast crowd, Queen Aruza II of the Pavonian Republic strode into view. With a break in the clouds, sunlight gleamed upon the jewels of Her Majesty's crown and scepter With regal calmness the Monarch of the Republic waved to the throng. The crowd responded with deafening cheers and the frenzied whipping of tiny national flags. Athena thought of a field of wheat rippling in a fierce breeze. How easily they are amused.
The Queen took the gilded throne sculpted as a giant peacock perched at the balcony's edge and sat in review above the parade grounds. Over the next hour, soldiers marched in dress, cavalry trotted in synchronization, and the band struck patriotic tunes that Athena had plagiarized from the musical repertoire of a long-defunct empire of another world.
Athena meticulously observed the dignitaries in the bleachers, watching for telltale expressions that might betray a lack of loyalty – or potentially worse, a surfeit of integrity. Her gaze wandered across the field, over the city once again to the dark teeth on the horizon.
Asterdon tracked her eyes and whispered, “Will you ever reveal what that monstrous enterprise is for?”
“Thinking,” Athena whispered back. “It's for thinking.”
Asterdon folded his arms. “Fine. Be cryptic.”
“Quiet. Show respect for the Queen.”
“That drunken old sow – “
“I didn't say have.”
With the parade's conclusion, the Queen waved farewell and exited the balcony to the crowd's near-hysterical acclaim. As the crowd dispersed, Asterdon and Athena joined the flow toward the massive building complex that retained the quaint and rustic name, 'Government House.' Asterdon's pass admitted them through security. While Asterdon continued onto the reception, Athena diverted alone into an unmarked side passage.
A soldier blocked her path. “Here now, young lady! You're not to be in this area!”
A sergeant-major rushed up breathlessly and clamped the guard's shoulder. “It's all right. Go attend to the crowd. That's an order.” The sergeant-major bowed. “My apologies, Lady Athena. He's new.”
“See that next time he understands to pretend I'm not here.”
The sergeant-major took that as a hint – which it was – to bow out himself.
Athena strolled around a corner to a heavy door. She inserted a large key into the lock. She stepped into a tiny elevator and ascended.
The room at the top of Government House was almost as tiny as the elevator, and dimly lit. Athena reclined upon the chair, opened the dumbwaiter and poured from the steaming teapot. While she sipped, Members of Parliament milled about on the floor below – debating, bickering, insulting, and threatening to come to blows. Their faces were tinted green and blue, for she was viewing them through the facade of the imperial peacock emblem mounted high upon the chamber wall. None of them looked up. She was well hidden and few knew of the room, and those who did knew better than to acknowledge her scrutiny.
Athena listened to the debate, let it run its course. She wrote upon a paper pad: 287 - 291. She rolled the sheet into a capsule and dropped the capsule into a slot. A few minutes later, the vote for the Poor Budget was held. It was narrowly defeated, 287 to 291.
Next was the debate for expanding the rights of the Rinthian Tribe, the indigenous people in one of Pavonia's colonial possessions upon the island of Amara. Athena jotted talking points for an impassioned speech, dropped it into the slot. A moment later the Prime Minister was mouthing the dulcet oratory.
Athena watched the faces in the People's Galleries. She decided: 302 - 275. When the Carried vote was announced, the galleries exploded with applause. Athena smiled.
With the conclusion of the session, the chamber-lord's gavel pounded and the members filed from the benches. Athena returned to the elevator, descending to the basement. When the doors opened, guards equipped with the latest automatic rifles snapped to attention. Athena twirled her parasol and shuffled past into the expansive, low-ceilinged, windowless room. Thought the furnishings were spare, it was illuminated with the most modern electric lighting system.
The men and women working at tables amid the charts and maps pretended to ignore her, but she sensed their unease by way of the drop in conversation, the slowing of the clacking of the mechanical calculating machines, the delay between when a pneumatic tube hissed and when the message container was extracted.
They know, she thought.
Athena could walk the streets of the city unrecognized and was known to high society merely as heir to a modest fortune and wife to a promising officer, but in this room were clerks who had been there since the days of Artemis and had spoken to clerks who had been there in the days of Astrid. Through muted gossip the rest all knew: that there was a power behind the Peacock Throne, and it was more than human.
In the center of the room, surrounded by scribes poised at writing podiums, stood a man with tightly trimmed hair and razor-creased clothes, blinking through rimless glasses. Isak Mavan, Senior Technocrat of the Imperial Republic, bowed to the one person in the realm to whom he would ever need bow.
Athena started to address him, but then noticed the far better dressed man at his side.
“What are you doing here?” Athena demanded.
“I, uh, was wondering about the Rinthian vote,” the Prime Minister mumbled. “I'm about to go to the reception and, uh, people will ask questions.”
“Say that it is a great victory for human rights.”
“But it's, uh, kind of a turnabout from the official position of the government,
is it not? I thought we weren't giving the Rinthians their rights. You know, Republic for us, Imperium for everyone else. That's always been the slogan, you know.”
“I've no time for rhetorical parsing. That's your job. Now go mingle at the Queen's reception and leave us to work.”
Seeing the cold stares, the PM muttered, “Sorry for the disruption.”
Athena shouted as he exited: “Mind your posture!” She eyed Mavan and scowled. “Why does everyone slouch these days?”
With a bemused smile, Mavan replied, “He was standing fine until you arrived. I assume he was adopting what he thought was a pose of submission.”
“You stand straight in my presence. Am I to interpret that as lack of submission?”
“No one fears you more than I. Yet I know that groveling irritates you, and you prefer results as a evocation of obedience.”
She'd heard people claim their dogs were as smart as they. Sometimes she felt that way around Mavan. Despite his relative youth – less than half a century in Earth years – he had manifested remarkable wisdom during his tenure as her right-hand man. He would make an excellent Governor for the Human Reservation.
“I'm curious about the Rinthian Situation myself,” Mavan said. “Have you become their champion?”
“I am no one's champion. Yet the idealists need their symbolic victories. If they become disillusioned, we risk rebellion. If we let them believe that social progress is being made, however slow, they will remain loyal to the imperial system.”
He looked relieved. “I have so much to learn from you.”
“Enough prattle about political theater. You spoke of results. Show me the deciyear figures.”
Mavan set out the binders packed with the most recent charts. Athena flipped through the pages, needing only a glance to memorize. She thought back to the monthly budget reviews during her days as a departmental head at the Star Seed Project. With the passing of centuries, the presentations had regressed from computer-generated graphics to hand-inked sheets of paper. She did not mind the transition. To her, numbers were the essence and the graphics had often gotten in the way of what the mind could conceive on its own.
The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2) Page 10