Standing Between Earth and Heaven

by Douglas Milewski

  Svero sank a little at that. “Thank you.”

  Arany bowed, then left.

  Maran felt sad for Lord Protector Gamstadt. Without two good arms, he could not be a protector. At least, she had never heard of a protector with only one arm.

  “Altyn,” said Svero, “look at this. Stone ball. Malachites don’t use stone balls. Those attackers were Flintlanders. Seems that I was correct. Lies. Everything about the Red Sybil is lies. You forgot that, Miss. I think that you better get out and talk to your mysterious sources some more. They need to get their information correct. I think that you will find everything else is a lie as well.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Altyn, clearly humbled. She turned and left the room. If her feelings were hurt, she hid them well.

  Strikke sat back in her chair, casually tapping the Iron Cane. The cane looked like a snake in her hands. It looked like a mechanical snake. Somehow, that cane looked more alive than ever before.

  “How are we going to pay Siberhaus’s family?” Strikke asked.

  Svero tapped out his cigar onto the floor. “Pay them from the armory. Five full suits of armor, five guns, and five axes should do it. Start by offering two full sets and let them talk you upward a bit.”

  “What about Gammy’s arm? I don’t have the heart to send him to the farms.”

  “I say we use family money. This is Gammy.”

  “He was wounded in service. We should use guild money.”

  Svero motioned emphatically with his cigar. “We don’t have any guild money, either, and I won’t have him go unpaid. The Protector keeps you, and you keep the Protector. That’s the rule. We use family money.”

  “Dig into your own purse. He was your Protector.”

  “You are Kurfurstin. This falls to you. If I pay in your stead, it will be a stain on our family. The meisters will say that you avoid your responsibilities. If the Saargis won’t back a Lord Protector, they will ask, how can they back us?”

  “I’m a seamstress. I don’t have anything except cloth. The family is broke. Mother ran us into debt. Opium. Coffee. Flintlander vodies. She spent everything and then some. I just gave all her possessions away to cover your damned steam gun fiasco. Except the bed of course. Damned bed. We have nothing. I have nothing but this dress on my back, and a safe full of cloth. I had to borrow all the damned jewelry from Quema and our cousins. The only person who can cover this is you.”

  Svero threw up his hand. “I’ll get the money, then. Lend me the regiment. I’ll go west and find somebody to fight.”

  “What about the temple?”

  “I already gave my drawings to the draftsmen. Have Quema handle it from here. She’s not going anywhere. You can work the rest out yourself.”

  Strikke suddenly looked suspicious. “You didn’t just come up with this regiment idea. I know you. What exactly is your plan?”

  Svero smiled. “Strik, you know me too well. I’ve been building to this for twenty years. Seems to me that the folks out west need something to fight for. They need something worth spending for. They need a prize and I’m going to offer them one worth parting with every penny they’ve hoarded away. I’m going to retake Fera Nea. In short, my plan is to start a war, then make money.”

  “What about the Chairman?”

  “Demand a no confidence vote. That’ll tie up the Slagsmal for a month. By the time they’re willing to stop me, I’ll have my own private kingdom.”

  The vision faded at that point as a dancing bar of soap sang itself across the screen. Maran descended back into slumber.

  Your Own Madness

  On waking, Maran found herself locked in the wardrobe again. Her dreams moved faster than her memory, fragmenting even as she strove to remember them.

  The dream slipped away.

  Maran felt dull despite all her sleep. She had lacked sleep for so long. Waking should be a pleasure. It was not.

  Kepi slept across her feet.

  “I have got to get out of here,” Maran said to herself.

  How would she get out? That was the challenge. She could just have Kepi kill everyone, but she would not do that. No killing.

  This was the exact time that Zebra should show up. Where was Zebra? He was late. If Zebra showed up, he would have a plan, most likely involving killing everyone involved. On second thought, Zebra would not be helpful. He only existed to make her life miserable.

  After thinking for a while, Maran came up with a plan. She would use the Sybil’s own powder against her. Even a small amount had made Maran fall into a deep torpor. More powder should easily incapacitate a room. The Sybil might be immune to such doses, but her servants would not be. Given the opportunity, Maran would put it into the food.

  The plan depended on Kepi. She was quite good at fetching, especially since she could walk through walls.

  “Kepi, the Sybil has a little brass bottle. Go and get me the brass bottle. Get it right now.”

  Kepi slowly stood, stretched, then walked through the wardrobe door. She soon returned with the little brass bottle. Maran opened the bottle and smelled it, and the recollection of her pleasure returned to her. It was like feeling first love again, only better and more intense.

  Maran wetting her finger, letting herself taste a little dab. Even a little was enough. Her brain coursed with pleasure. It was not the pleasure of the previous day or night or whenever that had been, but it still felt good.

  Maran emptied some of the powder into a slip of paper that she had in her apron. “A little of this in their food should do the trick. Let’s see how they like getting visions. If everything works well, we’re leaving after breakfast, or whenever.”

  Her preparations done, Maran lay down and thought, not knowing how long it would be before it was morning. She still ached all over from the fall and the bullet. No matter how she arranged herself, something hurt more than it should have.

  Something about this situation did not quite make sense. What was wrong? What did not fit in? Were there real clues, or was this just intuition, or was this something half-remembered from a dream?

  Maran mulled over all the details in her head, trying to sort that out. Somewhere in there, she slipped back into ordinary sleep.

  Maran woke again when the wardrobe door banged open, blinding her.

  “Time for breakfast,” ordered Berk.

  Maran rolled over stiffly, her bruises complaining painfully.

  “How were your nightmares?” asked Berk.

  Maran tried focusing, but the low light was just too bright. All light hurt. She covered her eyes.

  Berk laughed. “No spiders eating your eyes? No worms eating your intestines? No needles through your heads?”

  “No, sir, just a vivid dream. I … I’m not sure.”

  “You were lucky you didn’t claw your own eyes out. Well, time for you to work. There’s your job. Go to it.”

  The Malachite pointed to the table. The pile of food looked meager. “We don’t have much today. You Ironmongers have some sort of hidden network of allies that we had not detected. Most of our distributors paid in food, and now most of them are dead. That leaves our supplies somewhat diminished. Until we find more food, you go hungry. Give the Sybil and myself full portions. Water it down for everyone else. Give me any trouble, and I’ll take my favorite rope to you.”

  Anger welled up inside Maran. She did her best to control those feelings, but she felt herself seething inside and she liked it. She liked thinking that she could put mushrooms in his soup, then watch as they slowly poisoned him. Death Caps or Destroying Angels? That was too tough to decide. Or she could let the eggs go bad, then mix them in with his food, and watch him retch.

  As she worked, Maran casually looked over her shoulder only to find Berk watching her with knowing suspicion. Now Maran doubted that she could ever get the drug packet into the soup. He suspected that she was up to something.

  Maybe Kepi could do the job?

  “Kepi,” Maran whispered, “get the paper out of my apr
on.”

  Kepi bit the packet and pulled it out of her pocket.

  “Put that into the soup.”

  Kepi gently dropped the paper into the thin soup.

  Maran stirred the soup quickly, before Berk could see. He did not react. The idiot had missed the transaction. Maran breathed a sigh of relief. Now she had to hope that her plan might actually work.

  The Malachites gathered at the table and ate the brothy soup quickly. Berk took his and the Sybil’s into the next room.

  One by one, the Malachites began muttering. Some picked invisible nits. Some twitched at invisible things in their clothes. One rocked back and forth. They all spoke confusedly.

  No one paid attention to Maran. This was her chance. She had to take it.

  As she slowly opened the front door, Maran hoped that there was no guard outside. None was there, so she walked outside into the dim street. Even shaded as it was, Maran thought the light blindingly bright. She closed her eyes and grabbed Kepi’s collar. “Kepi, take me to Altyn.”

  Kepi walked, and Maran quickly realized that she had no idea where she was. She just had to trust her dog while her eyes adjusted. Even with eyes closed, the light seemed bright. To get the light down more, Maran untied her kerchief and draped it over her head like a veil. That made things better.

  Maran walked again, never knowing where she was or when her captors would respond. That journey seemed forever long.

  The smell of rotting corpses crossed Maran’s nose, telling her that was near a graveyard. She was in Shuffle Dog. She could feel the corpses rotting in the ground. With her eyes covered, she could almost see the worms eating their way through the corpses, greedily consuming the organs.

  Maran heard Altyn shouting orders. She tried opening her eyes, but barely saw anything against the blazing light. In her brief glimpse, she had seen the Ammelite’s stable and all the troops surrounding it.

  “Soldier,” Maran shouted, “summon Altyn.”

  That soldier shouted and Altyn came.

  “Maran!” Altyn said. “You are free! Are you all right?”

  “I’m good. What happened here?”

  “The Malachites attacked here last night. They beat the ostiary. She’s hurt, but shel’ll pull through. Unfortunately, they took the idol away.”

  Maran’s brain tried to react, but she found everything fuzzy. “Ma’am, the Malachites are where the Demmarians used to be. Same place. They have a Red Sybil. I drugged them all so that I could escape.”

  Altyn whipped about. “Sergeant! Follow me. If we move quickly, you can get some Malachites. Maran, stay here. I’ll fill you in later.”

  People moved quickly about Maran. She heard the iron-nailed boots pound down the dirt street.

  Finding herself very tired from her walk, Maran walked into the stable and found herself a bench in the court. She drifted into sleep again, dreaming of stewed poppy, mixed with alcohol and cut with lime.

  A hand woke her. “Maran.” It was Altyn.

  Maran sat up. The world seemed overwhelming. She moved her hand in front of her face. “Did you get them?”

  “We found some Malachites wandering the streets, but the Red Sybil had already moved on. We captured every Malachite that we could find. The Ironmongers will try them, then nail them to the wall. I did not find the idol.”

  Maran was curious. “What do they want with it?”

  “We can’t have a temple without that idol. Somehow, I don’t think that this whole escapade was ever about steel. I think it was about flushing out this idol. The Red Lady seeks to block Justice. Steel has been a ruse.”

  “So what will we do?”

  “Be clever, my friend. We will be clever.”

  Altyn pulled up a chair, examining Maran’s eyes. “Your pupils are very dilated. You must have been exposed to Red Snake. That is an indescribable experience. It will never be like that again, ever again. No matter how much you seek it, you will not find it. From now on, stay away from the vapors. If you do, your eyes will return to normal. They should be good by this evening.

  “Now, tell me about the Sybil.”

  “I think it’s Imeni. She definitely an Astrean.”

  “You’ve been digging into my affairs. I do not approve. Describe her to me.”

  “She had no face. She was burned. No eyes. No nose. She’s very addicted to Red Snake.”

  Altyn put a hand under her chin. “She must have tried making more of the drug. We never quite solved that problem. Those batches always exploded. My guess is that she still can’t make it.”

  “I have her bottle.” Maran dug into her apron, finding the brass bottle. “You should take this. I don’t want it.”

  Altyn stood, waving the bottle gently away. “I know that bottle. I don’t want it. You hold onto it. In the meantime, let me go talk to others. Keep sleeping if you want. Get something to eat and drink.

  “Thanks to you, the Sybil will be in withdrawal soon. I’m betting that she has a few emergency doses to keep going, but those won’t last long. By tomorrow evening, she will be blind and vulnerable. That’s when we meet with her and make a trade. We have her drug. She has our idol. We’ll make it a simple exchange. We’ll both expect betrayal, so it will be quite fair.

  “You keep resting. That is your body reacting to the drugs. Just drag yourself around until you feel normal again. I’ll be back.”

  Altyn strode outside to speak with Protector Flint. Maran wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but she knew that they spoke about her. They did not trust her anymore. They were conspiring against her. They were keeping secrets now. What were those secrets? Maran was the Eighth Rod. All secrets were open to her. She would have those secrets. She would have all of them.

  Spirit Box

  Maran walked back into her kitchen, and found that her kitchen meant nothing. She found no happiness there. No comfort. No pleasure. It was just a place, in a big building, and there she was in it.

  Annalise beamed at Maran.

  “Oh, Meister, I am so happy to have you back.” She knelt down quickly, giving Maran a big hug.

  “Thank you, Annalise. You have kept the kitchen well.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Of course.”

  “What are you making? I should take over.”

  “I can fry this, ma’am. Really, ma’am. It’s just for the hard hats. I feed them lunch all the time. You made their mess my job, remember?”

  “I should really help.”

  “The Seamstress says you should chat up the Freifrau. Schnell.”

  The news annoyed Maran. She had just gotten home and had to walk on out again and do something else. Slamming the door in disgust, Maran walked down to the downstairs kitchen and let herself in. On the way, in one of the little stairwells, she stopped and tasted a little more powder from the brass bottle. The world brightened a bit.

  On entering Quema’s office, Maran found Gamstadt sitting in a chair holding a pottery urn. He had been napping. His other arm held an empty sleeve.

  Maran knew of his missing arm, but had to pretend so that no one would suspect her of knowing. “Uncle. Oh, graces, your arm is missing!”

  Gamstadt nodded. “Yes, it is. I miss it, too, but I’m not the first and I won’t be the last. Go on in. She wants the company.”

  “But your arm!”

  “Ignore my arm. Go in. I’ll still be missing an arm when you come out.”

  That argument lost, Maran gave up. Slowly, she opened the door to Quema’s room, and found herself in dim light, which felt like silk across her ragged eyes.

  Next to Quema’s bed was a chair. Maran sat. Quema roused and looked at Maran.

  “How do you feel?” asked Maran, not at all curious but needing to say something.

  “I’m feeling better.” Quema almost whispered out. Her voice barely held any volume. Underneath that whisper echoed pain. Arany had taken a bullet out of her the hard way.

  “How long will you be down?”

  “Arany says that I’ll be a
long time mending. I get those strange stones of hers twice a day. She can fix bones in no time, and horses, too. People are harder. Who knows why? Maybe I’ll bow out of public life for a while. Maybe I’ll go up to Loam territory. They’ll give me a nice little guardhouse somewhere and the neighbors will bring me food. I should like that.”

  Maran stroked Quema’s hair. “I can have you taken up there by boat. You can stay with my in-laws in Sureh. They are good folk and they will love you like family.”

  “I would like that. Make it happen soon.” Quema closed her eyes.

  Even that little interchange seemed to have been too much for Quema, yet she opened her eyes again and stayed engaged. “I had a dream about you, Maran. You seemed so real there. You took good care of me.”

  “I really was there, ma’am. I took you into the cafe and made you open your hand.”

  Quema broke a small smile. “I remember the same thing. You are wondrous. How powerful you are. Now I know why the Iron Duke chose you to be our next Eighth Rod. He chose well. Our guild is in your good hands.”

  “This guild can never have enough good hands. It needs you as well. Miss Altyn won’t stay forever. We will need another Burggraf. When you feel better, return and be the Burggraf.”

  Quema shook her head. “I have no will for that. Let me go away.”

  “Well, I have no will for arguing with Kurfurstins. I want to be a cook. I want to run a kitchen. Do I get that? No. I’m standing between earth and heaven hoping for the best and fearing the worst. The least that you can do is stand with me.”

  “Is this our Duke’s will?”

  “No, this is my will. I can make it the Duke’s will. Should I go talk to him and have him appoint you?”

  “No. You’ve made your argument. As soon as I am well enough, I will become Burggraf. You can tell the Kurfurstin. You can also tell Ro. He’ll be furious, but he’ll just have to live with it.”

  Maran patted Quema on the head. Her skin felt quite hot. “You rest now. Listen to Arany. She can get your body back together.”

  In that moment, Quema had slipped back into sleep. Maran smoothed out Quema’s blanket, then quietly slipped out of the room to the sound of snores. Gamstadt had fallen asleep as well.