by A. E. Moorat
'I'm afraid, I fell asleep...' said Victoria, all at once feeling a little unnerved. It was the storm, she told herself. That was all it was. Waking so suddenly. Knocking over the inkpot.
Even so, she could not help but wish the lady-in-waiting would move forward a little and out of the shadows, so that she could see her better.
'That's quite all right,' said the woman, a different tone to her voice, deeper and darker than Victoria had noticed on their previous encounter. And there was something about the way she said it...
'Quite,' said Victoria, bringing a regality to bear, or trying to. 'Well, I shall need your help.'
The lady said, 'How can I serve you-Your Majesty?'
Victoria felt herself go cold.
'I beg your pardon?' she said. 'What did you just call me?'
A flash of lightning lit the room and for a second she saw the lady-in-waiting in full. Yes, it was the same one; what struck her again was the woman's beauty, so beautiful, she was, it was almost hypnotic, it was as if she cast a spell...
The second thing that struck Victoria was the woman's posture, her expression. She no longer carried herself like a lady-in-waiting. She stood with her arms spread, her palms forward, almost as though attempting to channel something...
(A crack of thunder.)
And she was smiling.
Victoria scrambled to her feet. Her nightdress became snagged on the back of the chair and she snatched it free.
'Come forward,' she commanded.
Once again the woman was in darkness. All Victoria could see of her was the outline. The skirts, the arms. Then she spoke.
'The King is dead, your Majesty,' came the voice from the deep and dark shadows. 'Long live the Queen.'
The King is dead?
There was another crack of lightning, this one more prolonged than the last and once again the woman was illuminated. Victoria grabbed the edge of the desk for support. As she watched, the woman's hands seemed to grow, her fingernails became elongated, evolving from human fingers into something approaching claws or talons; her stature increased so that she seemed to rise above the fireplace next to which she stood. Then, candles, long since burnt to stubs suddenly burst into life; the fire, dormant some two months now, roared into flame. She began to move forward, her eyes red and gleaming; her mouth, still beautiful, tilted back and open wide to reveal rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth.
'Come, Your Majesty,' she hissed. 'Come to me.'
There was a low grumble of thunder.
The woman glided towards her; one clawed hand reached out.
And Victoria knew what to do.
(Later she would have time to ask herself: how? How did she know what to do? Was it intuition or conditioning? And how did she know what it was, the thing in her bedchamber; that it was a succubus?
But that was later, not then. Then she did not stop to think.
She acted.)
From her writing desk, she snatched a letter opener with her right hand, tossing it across to her left, then taking up a stance, the knife held forward, her right arm behind her for balance.
The succubus hissed, taking a step back. A rustle of skirts. Her eyes, red and gleaming, dimmed somewhat. Her mouth closed. Her face became wary and she crouched in response to the Princess, slowly bringing one hand behind her, taking up a position that most resembled the fighting stance of a scorpion, so it seemed to Victoria. Her other hand came forward, talons upwards; bending her knees, she brought her centre of gravity low.
The two women faced one another.
Neither blinked.
From the other side of the room, the Duchess stirred a little in her chair. She let out a great breath and she smacked her lips like an obese monarch enjoying his evening banquet. She said something incomprehensible that might have been 'her-be-kum' but was probably not.
The succubus smiled.
Victoria smiled in return.
The Duchess slumbered on.
Then, from behind the succubus, the door to the bedchamber opened and into the room came a figure that Victoria did not recognise.
The eyes of the succubus flickered, but she did not turn. With her balancing hand she raised a finger as though to acknowledge the new arrival.
'You have taught her well, Protektor,' she said.
'Well, here's the thing,' said Maggie Brown, striding into the room. She had three bloodstained boneswords tucked into her belt and her brigandine armour was stained black with blood. 'I've taught her nothing. In matter of fact, we've not had the pleasure, have we, lassie?'
Victoria, somewhat bewildered, shook her head no.
With a hiss the succubus whirled to meet Brown, who in one movement drew two of the boneswords.
'Time to die, succubus,' she said, 'time to die.'
Then there was a knock at the door, and all three women froze, their attention going from the Duchess to the door and back to the Duchess as she stirred, her eyelids fluttering.
With no immediate reply from inside the room, there came a second knock.
'Your Grace,' came a voice in a state of excitement, 'the Lord Chamberlain and the Archbishop of Canterbury wish to see her Royal Highness Princess Victoria. They wish to see her at once.'
The Duchess's eyes sprang open.
VI
Earlier
A carriage, west of Kensington Palace
While sitting in a carriage in the main forecourt at Windsor Castle awaiting a driver, Lord Conyngham the Lord Chamberlain and the Archbishop of Canterbury had each availed themselves of a glass of sherry offered to them on a silver tray by a footman, who wore a white wig tied with a black bow.
As was the custom, they had thanked the man, swiftly drained their glasses and replaced them to the tray, at which point the footman had made a short bow and turned on his heel and departed, the gravel crunching beneath his black, polished shoes.
The two men waited, hands folded across their laps. Every now and then one would glance at the other and receive a smile in reply. At one point the Archbishop of Canterbury coughed rather heavily and the Lord Chamberlain offered him his handkerchief, though it was politely rejected, and once again silence was their uneasy companion.
In truth, the Lord Chamberlain thought the Archbishop of Canterbury rather tiresome company, finding he was always pressed into discussing matters ecclesiastical, and thus tended to avoid encounters with the man whenever possible. There was no avoiding such an engagement tonight, however. They were on a mission of the utmost importance to the monarchy: to Kensington Palace, to meet with the Princess Alexandrina Victoria and inform her Royal Highness of her accession to the throne, they were to leave at once and don't spare the horses.
They waited.
The driver did not appear.
Shortly, the footman appeared with his silver tray bearing two more glasses of sherry, and the Lord Chamberlain and the Archbishop of Canterbury had each availed themselves of one.
As was the custom, they had thanked the man, drained their glasses and replaced them to the tray, at which point the footman had made a short bow, turned on his heel, and departed.
Not long later, they had a third sherry, which at least heralded the arrival of the driver who walked unsteadily to his mount, paying no mind to the loud berating delivered by the two gentlemen in the carriage who wished to be delivered with paramount urgency to Kensington Palace, and good Lord, what on earth was the hold-up?
But first, they agreed, another sherry before they embarked on their vital mission.
Duly, a further fortification was brought by the footman and the two men drained their glasses with a loud smacking of lips, placing them firmly back on the silver tray and thanking the footman more effusively than was necessary.
Now they were on the road the Lord Chamberlain found that the Archbishop of Canterbury's company wasn't quite so vexatious after all; indeed, the man seemed most jovial, and as they shuddered past hedgerows the two men traded news of the Royal household, being most candid, so
me might say indiscreet, in their views, and doing little to hide their glee that it would be they who broke the news to Victoria, which was a state of affairs sure to infuriate the Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, until talk, naturally, turned to the young Princess.
'A child,' said the Lord Chamberlain, breaking wind and trusting that his companion would either forgive the exclamation or hold accountable the rugged surface of the road.
'A child,' echoed the Archbishop, who, it seemed, was too busy holding onto his mitre to even notice Lord Conyngham's transgression (for which, later, reviewing events with a heavy head, Lord Conyngham would be most grateful).
'She is the captive of her mother,' declaimed the Lord Chamberlain at great volume. 'She and that man Conroy. Tell me, Archbishop, what possible good can come of that? England is set on a course to ruin, you mark my words.'
The Archbishop leaned forward, all the better to make his point, which he was about to commence with a great exaggeration of the ecclesiastical finger, when the carriage traversed a particularly uneven section of road and he was pitched from his seat, crumpling to the floor of the carriage. For a moment the Archbishop lay in the well in a most undignified manner, his mitre at right angles, and both men were silent, each of them considering the protocol of such a situation. Then they were both laughing, Lord Conyngham offering his hand to the Archbishop of Canterbury, the two of them guffawing so hard they were not aware of the felt-shod horse that overtook the carriage at that very moment, the rider's jet-black hair flowing behind her, her broadsword at her hip.
No, the occupants of the carriage did not see her; instead, they were telling each other jokes.
'I have one,' said the Lord Chamberlain, 'are you ready, sir?'
'Indeed, I am, sir,' replied the Archbishop.
'Then I shall commence and tell you the tale of a new servant who was told by the mistress that a maid prior to her employ was let go owing to the revelation of a follower in the kitchen...'
At this, the Archbishop's cheeks puffed in anticipation of great hilarity.
'Well,' continued the Lord Chamberlain, 'the new maid stated that she never had followers, and so was employed. Well, a few short nights later, the mistress of the house, having scented tobacco smoke, arrived below stairs and found a soldier in the coal cellar. Now, the maid...' he laughed in anticipation of the punchline, 'the maid denied all knowledge of the soldier...and said that it must be one left by the last maid.'
For some time, the two men laughed uproariously at that joke, then told others and were reduced to such a state of hilarity that they were actually clinging on to one another for support, until, upon hearing a discreet cough from the platform above where they sat, they realised they had passed through the gates at Kensington Palace, (the driver had acknowledged the porter and jerked a thumb back at the two men, and the porter had recognised the import of their vestments and waved them through), and they each sat formally upright, arranging their clothes, before the door to the carriage was opened and they were led across the forecourt and into the Palace.
There in the great hall, which was decidedly shabby in comparison to Windsor, noted the Lord Chamberlain with a sniff, they were met.
'Please acquaint the Princess Victoria that we are here to see her,' said Lord Conyngham, whose voice boomed within the great architecture of the Palace.
'My lords,' said the servant, dismayed, 'but she is sleeping.'
Lord Conyngham drew himself up to his full height and said, 'Will you please do me the service of telling the Princess that the Lord Chamberlain and the Archbishop of Canterbury are here to see her, and it is a matter of great import,' and with that he looked across at the Archbishop, who nodded agreement.
The maidservant was dispatched upstairs, wondering why none of the ladies were present (a mystery that would, tragically, be solved the next morning upon discovery of a body on the scullery steps), and the Lord Chamberlain and Archbishop paced the black and white tiles of the vast, wood-panelled hall as they waited.
And waited.
'Good Lord,' exclaimed the Lord Chamberlain. 'How long are we expected to--'
But he was cut off by the appearance of the Duchess, who came down the stairs towards them, her nightgown flowing.
They each took a bow.
'Pardon, your Grace,' said the Archbishop, 'but it is her Royal Highness we need to see.'
The Duchess raised her chin and told the two visitors in no uncertain terms that her daughter-lest they forget-was asleep and not to be disturbed.
'Your Grace,' said the Lord Chamberlain, coming to his colleague's aid, 'we come on business of state, and wish to see the Queen.'
The Duchess pursed her lips, motioned to the maidservant and the two of them ascended the stairs. The Lord Chamberlain and the Archbishop looked at one another.
'A captive of her mother, you see,' said Conyngham, and the two men burst into a most inappropriate fit of the giggles.
VII
The same time
The Queen's bedchamber
As the door closed behind the Duchess, Maggie Brown emerged from beneath the writing table and the succubus from behind a dressing screen, while Victoria threw back her covers and leapt out of bed.
'A wise decision, succubus,' said Brown. 'It would not do to have your Regent babbling of having seen demons now, would it?'
The succubus scoffed, throwing back her head and exposing her teeth. 'You flatter yourself, Protektor, to think you know anything of my motives or those of my masters. Why, even the lowliest acquiescents and acolytes operate outside the sphere of your knowledge.'
In reply Maggie Brown smiled, intending her response to appear unknowable, though secretly she thought there was much truth to what the succubus said.
'She'll be back in a moment, the Duchess will be,' she said. 'Time has run out for you, succubus. He'll not be best pleased at you. What's the punishment for failure?'
With a frustrated scream, the succubus lunged forward, but was feinting and as Maggie Brown went to parry, she whirled, slashing outward with her talons and catching Maggie Brown across the cheek as she ducked.
Maggie shouted, in pain and frustration, swinging a little wildly with her sword but using it as a cover to dart nimbly out of range, cross the room and step onto Victoria's chair, then up to her desk.
She crouched, the two swords crossed, ready to meet the succubus should she strike. In turn, the succubus stayed at the rear of the room, pacing in front of the fireplace, regarding them, a low hiss escaping her lips, occasionally spitting, which was her habit.
Watching her carefully, Maggie wiped her bleeding cheek on her sleeve. She addressed Victoria. 'We haven't been properly introduced, Your Majesty, my name is Maggie Brown. I'm a Demon Hunter, the Royal Protektor.'
Victoria felt somewhat giddy. She had heard of such things as demons, of course, The Rev George Davys had often spoken of them. Mr Dante's Divine Comedy was full of vivid descriptions and Mr Milton had also spoken of demons in his poem, Paradise Lost, but she had to admit to wondering whether they were in fact a fantastic concoction and had never dreamed of meeting one. That there should be such a thing as a Royal Demon Hunter also came as a surprise, though not an outright shock; after all, there were many staff at Kensington, fulfilling many roles-the palace had a resident rat catcher, another whose job it was to sweep the chimneys. That there should be a Demon Hunter did not unduly surprise her.
Or, perhaps, any incredulity she may have felt about demons and their hunters was at a minimum, not because of the revelation, but because of the company it kept.
'Then it really is true, is it?' she said.
'Your Majesty?'
'That the King is dead, that I am Queen?'
'Aye, Your Majesty.'
'And this?' She indicated the pacing succubus, still hissing.
'This, Your Majesty, is your first assassination attempt.'
The succubus spat, then came at them. Victoria sidestepped, bringing the knife forward ready to defe
nd. Maggie Brown, an impressed expression crossing her face, also dodged the whirling claws of the succubus, her boneswords meeting the talons and drawing sparks. In one movement the succubus turned and kicked, her long skirts rustling, and Maggie Brown was somersaulting from the table to avoid the blow, landing on the floor in time to meet the succubus as she came head on, using her talons like swords. For a moment the two were locked in combat, and Victoria watched, crouching and ready should the succubus come her way, but fascinated also, transfixed by the noise and speed, the sparks, the grunts the two women made, neither willing to give headway.
Then, one sound cut through the noise of combat, and it was the voice of the Duchess from the corridor outside.
'Victoria.'
The room froze.
The succubus was the first to react. She spun round, bringing her claws up and across, dragging them across Maggie Brown's stomach, opening the armour and drawing blood. As Brown stepped back into a defensive stance, the succubus crossed the room, seeming almost to float, and with one hand she raised the sash window, using the other to point at Maggie Brown.
'Next time, Protektor,' she hissed.
'I'll be ready, bitch,' replied Brown, one arm across her stomach, already making her way across to the writing desk and slithering beneath it as the succubus cast one final glance at Victoria and was gone. How or to where, Victoria had no idea. All she knew was that she now stood alone in the middle of the room just as the door opened and in walked the Duchess.
'Ah, Victoria,' she said, 'you are awake, and already busy opening your correspondence I see. Well, there's no time for that now, we have visitors.'
So it was that in something of a daze she repaired to the reception hall, where the Lord Chamberlain and Archbishop of Canterbury, red of face and wreathed in smiles, greeted her as Queen and she offered them her ring to kiss, which they did, bending low.
'Your Majesty,' said the Lord Chamberlain, standing. 'I trust you are not hurt. You have what appears to be blood on your face.'