He Drank, and Saw the Spider

by Alex Bledsoe

  “Eddie,” Liz whispered warningly.

  “Other than my wife?” Gerald snapped back.

  “Yeah, other than her.”

  “No, thank goodness.”

  “I have. I’ve done it, and I’ve seen it done. It might not kill you right away, but not too many people would have the strength, or the presence of mind, to stab themselves in the heart afterwards.”

  Gerald was thoroughly puzzled. “Why are you telling me this?”

  I looked at Opulora, but she nodded for me to continue. I think she was grateful not to have to expend the energy.

  I said, “You’ve got things backwards, Your Majesty. Your wife killed herself with that knife to her heart. The other injuries came after.”

  I let that settle. “Someone cut open my dead wife?” he cried.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “But she was locked up alone in a secure tower. There was no one with her when she was found.”

  “That’s all true,” I said.

  He looked genuinely distraught. “But . . . but who? Why?”

  “The ‘who’ should be obvious. Who could get past your security?”

  It took him a moment. Then, softly, he turned and looked at his sorceress. “You,” he breathed.

  The room fell silent.

  “Don’t try to blame her,” I said, my own anger starting to get the better of me. “You brought in Opulora based on her reputation. And she did what you paid her to do: She discovered the truth. Which was that you were in the throes of a jealous hissy fit. And you were the one who didn’t believe her.”

  “Stop it,” Ellis said. “This is cruel.”

  “Cruel?” I almost shouted. “Is it as cruel as making a tenyear-old boy think he has to rescue his mother from his father? Is it as cruel as his mother having to watch him fall to his death? Tell me about cruel again, King Ellis, I’m not sure I get it.”

  “Stop it!” Gerald cried, and sank to his knees.

  I wasn’t about to stop. “When your son died, the whole jealousy thing didn’t matter anymore, did it? Your whole imaginary wounded pride meant nothing. There was no spider in your cup, was there?”

  Gerald looked blasted. “No,” he whispered, “there wasn’t.”

  There was nothing for it now, but to drop the big sword, and to be honest, at that moment, I relished it. “Did you know your wife was pregnant when she died?”

  Now Gerald just stared, speechless. So did everyone else, for that matter.

  “Yes,” I continued. “Not very far along, but definitely with child. She hadn’t had a chance to tell you before all the trouble started. And then she died.”

  He began to truly cry. No one spoke or moved. I let the moment settle. Opulora nodded at me, tears on her own cheeks. I needed my next statement to have all the impact it could, because it was the bit that no one in their right mind would believe: “Would you like to meet your daughter, Gerald?”

  Several moments passed before that got through to everyone. The first to react, surprisingly, was Clancy. He said, “No way.”

  “Yes, way,” I assured him.

  Beatrice stepped in front of me and actually shoved me a little. “So what are you saying? You drop all these little hints; just come out and say what you mean.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “Isadora Glendower is also Princess Isidore of Mahnoma.”

  I’d never faced so many open mouths and wide eyes in my life. It left even Harry Lockett speechless, and that was something.

  “Wait, wait,wait a minute,” Beatrice said at last. “That’s . . . I mean, that’s impossible. You can cut a baby out of its mother if it’s close to term, but—”

  “It is possible,” Opulora said. “I did it for Sylvia.”

  “You!” Gerald said, and lurched to his feet. He would’ve grabbed Opulora by the throat if both Ellis and Hector hadn’t grabbed him. “You mutilated my wife’s body, and let me spend years thinking she’d done it to herself!”

  “I did what was necessary based on your actions, Your Majesty,” Opulora said, chin high. “Had Sylvia told you, you would have probably accused your friend Ellis of being the father.” Then to the group she said, “Your Majesty—Majesties—I assure you, Isidore is your daughter, Gerald. If you will come with me, I can explain how this is possible.” She gestured at the others. “All of you, please. You all deserve to hear this.”

  “Why should we go anywhere with you?” Gerald said. “Why should we trust you?”

  “Because if you don’t, I will be gone in a blink, and none of you will ever see Isidore again.”

  “Then we have no choice, do we?” Gerald said.

  “Not in this,” Opulora agreed. “Not today.”

  Chapter

  TWENTY-SIX

  Servants and courtiers stepped quickly aside as we strode through the hallways. I tried to map our progress, but the castle’s geography seemed to change and alter behind us. I assumed it was something Opulora had done to keep people from straying into her chambers. Then I berated myself for accepting magic so easily. It was probably just basic strategy, using lots of turns and double-backs to disorient us.

  Of course, the big magic was to come. If, that is, Opulora told the truth.

  “My head hurts from all this twisting around,” Harry said. “Hard to keep track of where we are.”

  I nodded at his ever-present stylus and vellum. “Are you making a map?”

  “Of course. Second nature by now.”

  I hoped he was right, and that it would work if we needed it.

  At last we came to a large double door. Below the handles, instead of a typical lock, was a flat crystal in a metal frame. Opulora put her right palm against it. It glowed, the same way the weapon-detecting crystal had done. When she removed her hand, something heavy and solid moved within the door, and she easily pulled it open.

  She turned to face us. “No mortal but me has passed this threshold. Not king, nor beggar, not sprite nor troll. What lies within are singularities the likes of which you can scarce imagine.”

  “Drama much?” Jack muttered.

  “I know it sounds ridiculous,” Opulora said with a patient smile, “especially to a young man unfamiliar with magic and sorcery. Those skills are rare, and kept in the shadows for good reason. That’s why I felt I should warn you.”

  “You said Isadora was here,” Beatrice said.

  “I did. And she is.”

  “Then at least one other mortal has passed this threshold.”

  Opulora said nothing. She pulled open one half of the big double door, and we entered.

  The room seemed impossibly huge, the ceiling almost out of sight above, and the stone walls formed an vast circle big enough for an army to stand ready within. Only the room wasn’t empty: far from it. It was filled with tables, cabinets, hanging platforms, and bookshelves. Glass bottles and other containers lined the shelves, and residue dripped from them had caked on the floor. There were cages, too, filled with some animals I recognized, but many I did not. Some hissed and snapped, while others simply stared, working claws or pincers as they decided whether or not we were edible. Oddly, there was no smell of rancid chemicals or animal dung; if anything, the place smelled faintly of vanilla.

  “This is my sacred circle,” Opulora said, gesturing around her. “Here, working on my own, I have discovered the secrets of life and death that nature and the gods try to keep to themselves. I apply my training and knowledge to the problems that afflict mankind, in the hope of finding solutions that may free us from our mortal shackles.”

  No one moved very far into the room, preferring to stay near the door. Liz took my hand and said quietly, “Those mortal shackles look perfect for stringing people up.”

  I followed her gaze to the row of chains hanging from a beam, an open wrist-sized manacle at the end of each. I couldn’t be certain if the stains were rust, or blood. I did note that there were enough for all of us.

  “That’s a fine speech,” Beatrice said, half angry and h
alf astounded, “but what exactly do you do in here?”

  “I look for answers,” Opulora said.

  Suddenly Clancy gasped and put his hands over his mouth. He pointed like a child confronted with something awful.

  On a table, half-covered with a sheet, was man’s corpse. The skin was cut open and peeled back, and the white ribs pointed up. The removed organs were in clear containers, floating in some preservative liquid. The expression on the dead man’s face was almost beatific.

  “By all the gods in the sky,” Gerald said, appalled. “How many men have you killed in here?”

  “Your Majesty, you do me a dishonor. No one has died in here. I do not trade in experiments on living men. This was a criminal who died in prison. He’s been more use to the world here than he ever was in life. Through him, and others like him, I’ve learned techniques to save men. A fair trade, I’d think, for the life of a man who sowed only misery and destruction when he walked the earth.”

  “It’s an obscenity!” Glendower said. “A man’s body should be treated with respect.”

  “Maybe you should hold off on the judgment,” I said, tired and annoyed by his sanctimonious tone. “I’ve seen how useful this kind of work is on the battlefield. More men live now than used to, even ten years ago, because of what women like this have learned and shared.”

  “Then the cost is too high,” he sniffed.

  “Tell that to their wives and children,” I fired back. “You’ve never fought anything more vicious than a sheep.”

  “A ram can be pretty ornery,” Clancy offered.

  “Shut up, son,” Glendower said. “Don’t help me.”

  Before I could snap off a reply, Liz warningly squeezed my hand. She was right: This was not the time. I said, “We’ll just have to agree to disagree, then.”

  “Where’s Isadora?” Jack said, getting us all back on topic.

  “Oh, yes,” Opulora said. “The young lady of the hour.” She nodded at his injured arm. “Is that broken?”

  “Probably,” he said. “It really hurt for a while. Now it’s numb.”

  “You need to have it set, then. Otherwise it won’t heal properly, and might never work right again.”

  “My arm can wait,” Jack said. “Just take us to Izzy.”

  “Very well. Follow me.”

  When we moved away from the door, it swung shut on its own and slammed with a finality that we all noticed. If this was an elaborate setup to get rid of all her enemies at once, then I carried the blame for walking us right into her clutches.

  “This is spooky,” Liz whispered as we moved through the huge room, past tables and devices whose purposes may have been wholly scientific, but that nonetheless seemed like they could do a lot of damage to a human being. And the strange fluids bubbling in some of the pots and cauldrons gave off odors that, while faint, were not reassuring. “Who lives like this, surrounded by death?”

  “You can’t understand life, Miss Dumont,” Opulora said, “until you know death. Would you appreciate the light without the dark?”

  We entered an open space in the middle of the room. A ten-foot-high cylinder, five feet in diameter, rested under a shroud. Pipes ran under the fabric, adding and draining fluid. Soft bubbling came from it.

  Opulora gazed reverently at it. “Your answer, my friends . . . is here.”

  She pulled a rope that dropped the shroud to the floor.

  Beatrice cried out. It wasn’t quite a scream, but it was close.

  Inside the clear-sided tank floated Isadora. She was still unconscious, and her face was serene and peaceful just like the dissected man. But that wasn’t the strangest part.

  She was clad, not in the tattered formal dress she’d worn as Eolomea at the banquet, but in an elaborate court gown that slowly billowed in the gently bubbling liquid. It was identical to the one worn by the late Queen Sylvia in the painting.

  “She’s dead,” Clancy said in his simple, flat way.

  “No, she’s not,” Opulora said. “The spell that once saved her life is being replaced with one that will allow her to go on living.”

  “Get her out,” Beatrice said in a small, trembling voice. Then it rose to a shriek. “Get her out! She’s drowning! Get her out!”

  “No,” Opulora repeated. “She has only a short time left. Then she will be returned to you. I swear on my own life.”

  I watched King Gerald. It hadn’t been so obvious in life, but with her face passive and immobile, and dressed as she was, the resemblance to Sylvia was unmistakable. Just as I’d hoped when I suggested something like this in the dungeon.

  Opulora smiled, the first true, wide smile I’d ever seen on her face. “I like your silence, Gerald. It shows off your wonder. But tell me, Your Majesty; why are you silent?”

  He breathed in little shallow gasps. “This . . . this girl looks like . . . like . . .”

  “Your late queen, and my best friend,” Opulora finished. “As she should, being her daughter, and yours.”

  Gerald acted as if he didn’t hear. “Her eyes, and her mouth . . . all as they were when we met, when we were so young.”

  “Okay, if nobody is going to ask, I will,” Harry Lockett said. “Exactly what are you doing to her? And what did you do back when her mother died?”

  Opulora took a moment to gather her thoughts. “What I did may seem like a miracle, but I assure you, it was simply applied science and magic, though very, very difficult. Sylvia died when Isidore was barely three months along. I removed her from Sylvia’s body before the effects of her mother’s death reached her. I had to do it quickly, and crudely, and for that I am sorry.”

  “But she was locked up alone in a secure cell,” Harry said. “There was no one with her when she was found.”

  “That’s all true,” she said.

  Gerald looked genuinely distraught. “But . . . but . . .”

  “There’s no way a baby could survive at that age,” Beatrice said. “Absolutely not.”

  “She’s right,” Gerald said in a mutter that might’ve been meant only for himself. “You’re a traitor, trying to drive me mad.”

  “Would you prefer to execute me without trial, then,” Opulora said, “or would you care to know how it was done?”

  “Oh, I think we’d all like to know that,” Liz said.

  Through all this, Gerald continued to stare at Isadora as she floated in the tank. Only Hector and I noticed. I couldn’t tell what the king was thinking, and that little glimpse of Crazy Jerry had me on edge. I wished I had more than my boot knife in case things got chaotic again.

  Opulora led us to another door set into the curved wall. Again she pressed her palm to a glowing crystal, and the bolt drew somewhere on the other side. The new room beyond was dark, and the air that came out was cool and stale, as if it had been closed off for a long time.

  Opulora snapped her fingers and lamps flared to life within.

  “Can you teach anyone to do that?” Jack asked.

  “Anyone who spends five years learning to speak the language of fire,” Opulora said, and led us inside.

  This room was also high-roofed, but much smaller. Far less sorcery-related stuff filled it, and what was here was neatly cleaned, dried and put away. Most odd were the walls, whitewashed to a semblance of almost cheeriness, with framed paintings of bright flowers and friendly animals, along with a wide window that, during the day, would fill the place with light.

  Before us stood a long table. Containers that once held liquids were all over it, either sitting alone or in metal racks and braces that held them at various angles. All were connected by tubes and funnels to a washboard-sized tank in the middle, raised on a platform so that braziers could be used under it. Whatever went in the tank, then, had to be kept warm, with many varied chemicals added at different times. And against the wall, neatly made up with pink blankets, pillows, and even a stuffed bear, was a baby’s cradle.

  I ran my finger along one table edge. Dust coated everything, not from neglec
t, but the light kind that only occurs over time in sealed chambers.

  “Is this where you brew your own ale?” Clancy asked. “I’ve seen a setup like this before.”

  “Not exactly,” Opulora said. She put a hand reverently on the central tank. “This is where I saved Isidore’s life.”

  No one had any response to that.

  “A mother’s body provides everything a growing child needs,” Opulora continued. “When Sylvia, in her despair at her son’s death, stabbed herself in the heart, it should have also killed Isidore. But I removed the tiny baby, no bigger than my palm, and brought her here. I sacrificed some of my life to help her survive until I was able to make all this ready. This . . . mechanical womb nurtured her, and allowed her to grow until she was ready to breathe our air and take her own nourishment.”

  I eased to one side of the group, ostensibly to get a better look at the table. In doing so, I caught Hector’s eye. I cut my own eyes toward Gerald; he nodded. He was as ready as anyone could be in the presence of someone who might be crazy, but then it occurred to me that he might not necessarily be on our side. After all, Gerald paid his salary.

  Jack was a wild card, too: if he perceived danger to his girlfriend, he might also do something stupid. Youth and insanity weren’t that far apart. I had a lot to keep my eyes on.

  And something, some tiny detail, didn’t add up. I struggled furiously to dredge it from my mind.

  Opulora ran her hand reverently along the edge of the tank. “But when she was born from this, she was still in great danger. You, Gerald, were mad with grief for both your wife and son. I could not risk how you might react if I told you of Isidore. So I determined to send her to safety. I chose Kyle Antigonus, your trusted horse-master. He was a very learned man under the straw and manure; it was the secret of his skill with your horses. I sent him off with no destination, only an instruction to find a home where she would be loved until it was safe for her to return home. When the time was right, I had a means to find her. But there were things I couldn’t anticipate. My dear Kyle vanished, killed by a bear, as I’ve only recently learned. And for years, I assumed Isidore had died as well.”