The Scarlet Star Trilogy

by Ben Galley

  ‘I believe we have no need nor desire for small talk, as I know many of you have important luncheon appointments.’

  Belittlement. The first splash of paint.

  ‘And so I will begin with the first item on the agenda. Our new arrival, Lady Calidae Serped.’

  There was a round of polite nods and muttered welcomes as everyone turned to her. She met the attention as confidently as ever. They did not shy from looking at her scars.

  Admiral Caven spoke up. ‘Welcome, Lady Serped. I knew your father well.’

  ‘Thank you, Admiral Caven. It’s a pleasure to see you again. And Lord Darbish. Lady Sargen.’

  ‘Is she to carry Castor’s vote?’ asked Neritis, not wasting any time.

  Dizali kept a smile affixed to his face as he took his seat. He nodded to Calidae. ‘In time, she will. For now she is here to learn, and listen, and play her part.’

  A broader brushstroke to remind them of Calidae’s purpose.

  He saw several ears prick up. Neritis relaxed a little more in her chair.

  ‘I believe Lady Serped has some excellent news for us, have you not, Calidae? News that could help us win the war.’

  Calidae gave him a flat stare. He noticed the pinch of white in her knuckles, calmly folded across her lap.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Lord Protector.’ Dizali caught the flash of anger in her bright blue eyes. He looked around the table, still playing nice.

  ‘Three days ago, Calidae and I went to review Castor’s deeds. She is indeed entitled to inherit, but as we are all aware, these are harsh and expensive times. The war may drone on for months to come and at great cost to the Empire. To the Order, no less! However, Lady Serped has expressed to me her kind wish to place the Serped estate into the Order’s hands for safekeeping. For guarding against interference from the rabble that occupies the Emerald Benches.’

  ‘I don’t believe I put it quite like that, Lord Dizali,’ said Calidae, voice slightly raised. She spent a moment looking around the room for help. The expressions around the table indicated the Order knew perfectly well what was happening. Not a single face twitched with the urge to stop it. They knew the rules; joining the Order meant sacrifice. Or to put it nicely: sharing.

  Dizali continued, dabbing a smidgeon of flattery onto the canvas for good measure.

  ‘Every one of us has played their part in order to claim their seat. We play our parts still. Your father did, and we expect you to do the same. That means following the goals of this Order, upholding our ideals, supporting your fellow lampreys.’

  And lining their pockets, of course. The Order was a club, and like every prestigious club it had its joining fee. This club’s just happened to be a familial estate or two.

  Calidae was chewing her tongue now, holding back whatever words she was composing. She spat out just two.

  ‘I see.’

  The picture was clear now: pay up or play outside.

  ‘Of course, if this is a gesture of trust that you feel you cannot make, I can have Captain Rolick show you back to your rooms, and we shall continue without you.’ Dizali drummed his nails on the tabletop.

  Calidae remained where she was, clearly torn and embarrassed at being forced into a corner so easily. She looked around the table, before nodding her head.

  ‘I may have mentioned such an inclination.’

  ‘So, you are ready to take your father’s place at our table?’

  Calidae spoke from between her teeth. ‘I am.’

  Dizali clapped his hands. ‘It is settled, then.’ An officious-looking man swept into the room with a sheaf of papers. Taking a breath, Calidae took the offered quill. The table collectively leaned forward to watch, leather chairs creaking, fingers inching across the marble as if their coins were being counted out right there and then. What the Order claimed, the Order benefitted from; each and every member.

  An inkwell was shoved under Calidae’s nose, and with great deliberation she dipped the quill and began to sign her sweeping signature, right where the man’s finger was jabbing. Twice more, she was shown a line to fill, and fill it she did, albeit slowly, taking her time. He would grant her that at least.

  Once the ink had dried on the deeds, Dizali held them up for the Order to witness. There was a breakout of smug smiles and a chorus of hearty congratulations for Calidae. She nodded, trying a wrinkled smile, letting her disappointment boil behind her eyes.

  After handing the deeds to the man, who wandered back into the adjoining room, Dizali looked around, keeping his smile tight and a fraction from polite. He received the subtle nods and winks with no hint of humility. And why not? His masterpiece was taking shape. They say a heavy purse will always soften a blow. With the Order’s belts now practically straining, thanks to him, it was the perfect time to strike. He had always been one for shock and awe.

  ‘And on to our next item of business. Victorious.’

  Lord Kiefel spoke up. ‘Ah yes, now I have some conc—’

  Dizali cut across him. ‘No doubt you do, but I am pleased to announce that I have come up with a solution to our issues. Tomorrow, Lords and Ladies, I shall make an announcement to the Benches. I will sentence Queen Victorious, our traitorous monarch, to none other than death by public hanging.’

  Not a soul moved a muscle, not even an eye; they were all fixed firmly on Dizali’s face, desperately seeking proof that this was not some sort of joke. But Dizali’s face was set, his lips flat, eyes twinkling.

  ‘You can’t be serious.’ Lord Oswalk’s tongue betrayed him. Dizali shot him a cold look before answering to the whole Order.

  ‘Deadly serious, my dear Lords and Ladies. The Queen is a traitor. What do we do with traitors in this country?’

  Sargen answered. ‘We hang them, Lord Dizali. But Victorious is not your average turncoat. She is royalty. Blood-kin! It would be heresy!’

  ‘In whose eyes, exactly?’ Dizali parried. They had received all the charm they were allotted for one meeting. No smiles decorated his face now.

  ‘The rest of Europe!’ exclaimed Kiefel.

  Dizali sneered. ‘Then long may they enjoy their fates under the thumbs of their respective kings, queens, and princes. Your homeland included, Kiefel.’

  The Prussian ambassador was, for all intents and purposes, a turncoat himself, as he was originally from a Prussian Order. He looked as though he would stride out in disbelief. Dizali was surprised to see it was Calidae who stopped him, putting her hand on the ambassador’s arm.

  ‘Please, my Lord. Let us hear him out.’

  Kiefel did not look impressed; not by the girl’s sentiments, and nor by Dizali’s intentions.

  Dizali went on. ‘We must make an example of her. Deposing is not enough. Imprisoning is not enough!’

  ‘In that case, I ask you your own question,’ said Kiefel. ‘In whose eyes, Dizali? Your own? You give this the feel of a personal vendetta! Your ambition will destroy us.’

  Dizali slammed a palm down on the table. ‘Only if your lack of ambition does not kill us all first! I am tired of taking half a step when the full leap is needed. I would have the royalty know that their time is up! That their hold over us is no longer welcome. I would free Europe, and have its people see us as the leaders we were meant to be, not puppet-masters behind the scenes! If, like Lord Kiefel you do not want this Order to reach new heights, and would rather it dabble in half measures and pipe dreams, then you may as well use the door, Lords and Ladies. Captain Rolick will see you to your carriages. That is what he campaigns for. Inaction and ineptitude.’

  The ambassador had no answer. Dizali turned to look at the rest of them as they shuffled in their seats.

  Lady Sargen took her shot, bleating away. ‘You ask too much of the citizens.’

  Dizali scoffed. ‘They will believe what I put in the newspapers, Sargen. We will make the snap of a gallows rope seem like the start of a new dawn for the Empire. They will paint us as heroes for the lengths we went to free this great
country from tyranny.’

  Just murmuring now. No real defence.

  The final dab of the brush…

  ‘Just you wait until they see her true face, her warped form, as I have. They will be horrified to learn who has ruled them all this time. Now, all those in favour?’ Dizali raised his hand.

  A majority won it, but by a scrape. Oswalk remembered his place and did the right thing. Kiefel and a few of the older lords kept their hands down. Calidae swung it. Perhaps bringing her down into the darkness had helped her realise the light.

  ‘It is decided then,’ said Dizali, slapping the table once more, triumphantly. ‘A week from today, Her Majesty Queen Victorious will meet her end.’ As easily as that, they had sentenced an ancient monarch to her doom.

  What new heights, indeed!

  The Lord Protector leaned back, crossed a leg, and began to twirl his goatee as the next item of business was announced by Admiral Caven. The war, as expected. He listened, letting the drone of Caven’s report fade into a murmur, casting sideways glances at the Serped girl.

  Victory was born to be wallowed in.

  *

  It was late afternoon by the time the arguing abated and the Order reached agreement on the matters at hand. Dizali’s hopes for a swift and decisive meeting had been dashed the moment he had said, ‘Do we have anything else to discuss?’

  After his victory with the fate of the Queen, they had descended into petty squabbling. It had taken all his mental faculties not to strangle half of them. Kiefel had even managed to turn some minds to his side, and the man was quickly climbing Dizali’s list of people that needed to disappear. Maybe Kiefel should follow in Lord Felcher’s footsteps, and find his carriage tumbling into the Thames one dark night.

  At least Calidae had performed well. He had crushed her will like a boot to a snail, and yet she had backed him against the naysayers, going above and beyond listening and learning. Perhaps the girl had seen the error of her arrogance. Longweather had some competition on his tail.

  Most delightful of all, they had kept to their decision to hang Victorious. Once again, he had bent them to his whim. As he put his boots to the grand stairs, he toyed briefly with the idea of going to see the monarch before the next parliament, but he shook his head. All in due time.

  ‘I will take my tea late tonight, Falmer,’ Dizali ordered one of the passing head butlers. The man bowed and scurried away.

  ‘Of course, Lord Protector.’

  ‘And I am not to be disturbed!’

  Dizali wound his way once more to the northeast wing, eager to report to Avalin all that had transpired in the meeting. It was a day for celebration. They had sentenced a queen and soon Dizali would get to tell the world. What better news could she hope for?

  He unlocked the door and stepped inside the tower. A curious, not entirely pleasant, smell prickled his nose. He climbed the stairs, taking the steps faster and faster with every glance he took around him, eyeing the dust and dirt. The smell was getting worse.

  It was only when he heard the shallow breaths of his wife that Dizali knew what had transpired: neglect. The butler had not been doing his job of letting in the maids. His wife was gasping as though she was on the edge of death. Dizali grabbed a glass of water and helped her sip it. As soon as the last drop had met her cracked lips, he hurled the glass against the far wall and stormed back down the stairs.

  ‘Pontis!’ he bellowed to the corridors. ‘Find me Mr Pontis! I want him in front of me in the next minute!’

  A handful of maids at the far end of the hallway heard him, and disappeared down the stairs like mice down a hole when the lantern’s lit. They echoed his cries.

  ‘PONTIS!’ Dizali roared.

  Hanister came running up, hands already delving inside his jacket for a vial or two. ‘Lord Protector?’

  ‘I want that butler, Pontis, found. I’m going to skin him alive!’ Dizali strode past him and stood in the centre of the grand atrium, furious yet patient, waiting for his man to be delivered.

  ‘Here’s one that knows something, Milord,’ said Rolick, marching up with a startled-looking maid in tow. He held her firmly by the wrist but she knew better than to struggle.

  ‘You!’ Dizali levelled a finger at her. She reacted as if it were the barrel of a pistol, whimpering pitifully. ‘You tend to the tower in the northeast wing, do you not? I’ve seen you there.’

  ‘I do, Milord!’

  ‘Then explain to me why it is in such a sorry state of affairs!’ he yelled, inches from her face.

  ‘Mr Pontis, Milord, he ‘asn’t come to fetch us in a day or two now. Usually comes callin’ for us, but he ‘asn’t.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Nobody’s seen ‘im, Milord.’

  ‘He’s disappeared?’ With his key, no less.

  ‘I don’t know, Milord.’

  ‘And you did not think to come and advise me of this?’

  The maid whimpered.

  ‘Have the dogs chase this one from the estate,’ ordered Dizali. She struggled, squirming like an electrified cat. She was too shocked to scream, but that would come as soon as she heard the barking.

  Dizali walked briskly towards the wing where the workers slept, Brother in tow. ‘I want Pontis found. Query the maids and butlers, all of them except for the ones allowed in the tower. I want them put to work immediately. And check Mr Witchazel is still with us!’

  *

  Calidae had been hanging out of her window for an hour now, pretending to watch the bright fingernail of moon hover over the trees. In truth, she was cursing magpies, wishing death upon them all. Magpies and Lord Protectors, for that matter.

  She was still fuming from losing Slickharbour Spit. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t expected to sacrifice the estate; that was just a bitter side-effect of the plan. It had been expected, mulled over, talked about, and, furious though it made her, was a necessary move; like sacrificing a pawn to save a queen. Dizali needed something to gnaw on to keep her at his side.

  At the very least, Calidae had hoped to stall enough to keep Slickharbour. What stung was the trick he had pulled in the Order meeting, blindsiding her at the table. She had let her curiosity of the Order distract her, and she had stumbled. But hating oneself for tripping over a root is a waste of time. Better to learn, and grow wiser of the tree. She had seen Dizali’s ploys in action now, and she had made sure to etch them into her mind.

  There had been success today, overshadowed though it may have been. She was inside the Order now, and that alone kept her from strolling out of her room and sinking a knife into Dizali. She was at the rotten core of the apple, dressed up as one of the maggots; right where she belonged. It was why she had played so sweetly even after scrawling her name on her father’s deeds. Calidae let her angst die, to be replaced with something cool and calculated.

  A thin, shrill tail of a scream reached her ears and she squinted at the gloom outside her window. She saw nothing on the grounds besides the wriggling trees, their leaves shaking in the light breeze. She slipped to her side table and dimmed the lantern. Pressing her elbows into the windowsill, she thrust her head out into the night and listened hard.

  Another screech echoed across the rolling grounds, louder and closer this time. Calidae looked right, following the shadow of the wall, until she caught a flash of white dashing across the dewy grass.

  The woman was running at full pelt. Calidae could almost see it in her eyes, which strained to pop from her face. Her breath was a terrified pant. It may have been the wash of the moonlight, but there was not a hint of colour in her face. She was as white as a servant’s gown.

  A deep shout stretched across the grounds, followed sharply by a rising roar of dogs barking; a score of them, from the noise they made, baying and howling and yelping at the darkness. Even devoid of language, Calidae understand it well enough. It sounded like hungry.

  Dark shapes began to flow from the house beneath, a strip or patch of white here and there to betray th
eir numbers. When their mouths weren’t mid-bark they were slavering and bearing teeth. Calidae watched, morbidly fascinated, as the dogs gave chase to the white figure. She put up a good race, making it almost to the trees before the gap was closed. Her last scream was cut short and ragged, its echoes left to wander the grounds.

  Calidae wondered what the maid had done to deserve such treatment, She shuddered as her mind darted back to Pontis’ crumpled body in the cupboard. She wondered whether she could make it to the treeline.

  She began to pace. Should she stay put, or go downstairs and risk becoming embroiled, possibly even blamed, for whatever drama had unfolded below? Just as she concluded that staying holed up was more suspicious, there came a thudding on her door.

  ‘Yes, who is it?’

  The door was flung open by Rolick and two of his lordsguards. Rolick bobbed his head apologetically as he barged inwards.

  ‘Sorry, Milady. Lord Protector’s orders.’ As the men began to poke around her room, Calidae put her hands on her hips. ‘We’re looking for a missing person,’ added the captain.

  ‘I hardly think I would have failed to spot them in my own room!’

  ‘You never know,’ replied Rolick with a wry grin.

  ‘Then I shall take this intrusion up with the Lord Protector,’ she said, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks. Calidae strode from the room and marched the halls until she found His Lordship.

  ‘What ever is all this fuss?’ she demanded, after spying Dizali and Hanister standing together on the landing.

  ‘Lady Serped,’ Hanister said, bowing.

  ‘Calidae, this does not concern you,’ Dizali snapped.