by Tim Paulson
“Yes and?”
“I expect he'll be coming for you tonight. If he can muster the courage.”
The squealing, holy hell. Giselle and Celia shrieked and jumped together, slapping palms and hugging like giddy children. Mia felt embarrassed for them, surreptitiously checking the hall for anyone who might witness the spectacle.
“It might be my title, but she's been the real lady in waiting!” Celia gushed at Mia with a titter of laughter that ended in a snort.
Mia rolled her eyes. “I'd heard.”
Giselle's hand gripped her arm. “One more question, if you'll indulge me.”
Mia sighed. “Yes?”
“Did he say why?” Long lashes batted up and down.
“He said he wasn't sure you wanted him.”
Celia snorted again. Giselle looked shocked.
“I don't for the life of me see how! I've flashed him everything but my chalice! Men!” Giselle said with a frustrated frown. It only lasted a moment however before her expression exploded in blissful excitement. Her eyes smiled conspiratorially as she pointed down the hall. “I suppose I ought to continue on to the garden to take inspiration from the birds and the bees!” She chuckled. “Sure you won't join us?”
“Sorry, no. I've prior commitments.”
With that the two younger girls made their way toward the garden gate. As the distraction had now concluded, Mia could continue on. The baron had ordered her to speak with Partham and she would, but first there was an errand to attend to. From the position of the hands on the tall clock ahead, she'd have to hurry.
Mia exited the castle by taking a stairwell down, crossing a smaller back courtyard and taking the stairs up into one of the wall towers. It wasn't long before she emerged into the wind of the high wall. Morning sun illuminated the foothills with their forested tops, now sprinkled with splashes of autumnal reds and golds. Behind the hills, to the North and East the Aeyrd mountains formed a bulwark against the wilder regions of the far North.
Jogging now, worried about time, she rushed along the wall. Nine of the massive high wall cannons had to be passed. She counted them as she went, each had its own pyramid of black cannon balls stacked beside it, awaiting the opportunity to be rained upon a besieging army.
Soon, she thought, with some zeal.
Even if the delaying action were to succeed they would still need to set up their final defense around the castle, using the guns as cover, trying to hold the Ganex goliaths and cannons at bay long enough for the king's reinforcements to arrive. The situation would be desperate.
Mia couldn't help but love it.
When she reached the knell where the high wall connected to the castle barracks she skipped the stairwell door opting instead for the slide pole. Designed to move knights as quickly as possible down to the outer stable, it was also quite a bit of fun. She wrapped her leather clad arms around the pole and slid down to the bright opening below that glowed with a hint of blue.
Mia stepped through the arched doorway and into an enormous vaulted structure, one of the two great goliath stables of castle Aeyrdfeld. The deliciously acrid smell of veil immediately entered her nostrils. She loved that aroma. To Mia it meant power and freedom. The sensation of entering the stable, even this one, the smaller of the two, was such that she often felt transformed. As if her body had been changed into a tiny mouse who now scurried at the feet of the gargantuan beings above.
A loud crack drew her gaze upward. Two more cracks followed the first and she smiled. He knew she was here. He always knew.
Arrayed along the walls of the cathedral like structure were rows of gargantuan alcoves with grand steel doors, each the size of a four story city building. These were the stables and inside them were the goliaths.
Above each stall a single head could just be glimpsed peeking over the top, pairs of glowing blue eyes pointed down in her direction, regarding her. Each watched for its human companion, its knight, hoping to be taken out to the fields to run or train.
Zeus, her very own goliath, was currently tapping his colossal hands of stone with their steel reinforced knuckles against the wall of his enclosure. He was attempting, quite effectively, to communicate his knowledge of her presence and his desire to have breakfast.
That was why she'd come. It was feeding time.
Mia waved to him and the fingers of stone splayed and waved back, the blue eyes of his blade shaped head following her as she turned left and disappeared into the corridor behind the stalls where the stable hands kept and distributed the food. The Veil company, who provided the powder at great cost, referred to it as “fuel” for they preferred to think of the goliaths as complex machines but Mia had gotten to know quite a lot about Zeus, his quirks and his moods. It was impossible now to see him as merely some mechanical thing.
“Morning lady Mia!” Chris said, one of the many stable hands who worked tirelessly to shuttle food and spare parts in and out of the stables like a legion of ants. “I knew you'd make it.”
“Morning Chris,” she said. The many fresh stains on the young man's coveralls and the dirt on his face and hands made it plain he'd been up and working hard for a long time already. “How are they today?”
“Feisty M'lady. Nervous maybe. Never seen them this way. And hungry, oh boy they hungry!”
“Is Zeus's cart ready?”
“It sure is!”
“Thank you.” She walked on toward the stall Zeus called home.
“Miss?”
She paused. “Yes?”
“Is something happening?”
“Why?”
“They told us to feed them all big, real big and I never seen them this... jumpy,” the young man said as his eyes drifted to his feet and his calloused fingers rubbed the lobe of his right ear.
“Just do as you've been told,” she said.
Oh something was going to happen alright. Something was finally happening. Mia couldn't wait.
* * *
Steam vents hissed and fire pits full of molten metals crackled as machine hammers rang out in the distance shaping metal in time to their own frenetic rhythms. It was a symphony of creation and power. Buckley breathed in deeply through his nostrils, taking in the air and its delicious concoction of hot oils, acrid soot and salts. It was the smell of wealth, the taste of success and soon, power beyond imagining.
He took his hands from the railing overlooking the Veil company's largest foundry production line, taking one last look at the lines of goliaths in various stages of assembly. The colossal forms of hewn stone clad in metal stretched off into the distant steam, into the future. He brushed a hand though his impeccably oiled and trimmed hair, making sure by feel that every hair on his head and every whisker of his perfectly pointed mustache and goatee was where it ought to be, before he turned and regarded Gerard.
“Yes?”
“The report sir,” Gerard said. He used the fingers of his left hand to peel back the edge of his high collar, presumably to allow the steam boiling underneath his technician's uniform to escape. Gerard was a small man with a thick mustache and a tiny pair of spectacles that he wore perched upon his too small nose in the center of an alarmingly large head, like a great white moon, which was glistening with sweat.
Why so worried Gerard? Bad news? I don't like bad news but what I really don't like are lies. If you lie to me, if you hide anything little man, I'll have you put in the cages with the rest of the filth.
“Tell me,” Buckley said.
“We're meeting production targets for the goliaths, only...” He trailed off into a squeak as his throat closed.
“Spit it out man!”
Gerard cleared his throat aggressively. “Yes, yes. Ah, there is a problem. We're having trouble with enough iron, as you know, in three months we'll be forced to slow production,” he said, closing his eyes as if expecting to be shot.
If shooting his chief technician would have helped, Buckley would have done it long ago.
“Is that it?”
> “N... N... No, sir.”
“Well?”
“Veil output dropped another two percent this morning.”
Buckley grimaced and slammed a fist against the railing causing a loud clang to ring out and echo. Gerard winced as if he'd been struck.
“Thank you,” he said, standing tall, smoothing his expensive filigreed doublet and clasping his hands behind his back. The project would address the output problem and soon, or heads would roll. “Finish the first run of the new goliaths on schedule. It is critical.”
“We will sir.”
Chester R. Buckley, Veil company chief executive officer, nodded to his man and stalked past him through the double metal doors to exit the foundry floor. He strode down the hallway within as paneled metal gave way to opulent marble and wood. The gilded gate of the elevator opened as he approached. The operator closed it as soon as Buckley had taken his place at the center, hands clasped behind his back. Without a word the operator turned the crank and the lift began to ascend.
“How's the family Ed?”
“Well sir.”
“Good to hear it.”
“Thank you sir.”
The cranking slowed and stopped just as the operator engaged the clamps. The man then reached to his right and released the spring loaded door mechanism. The gate slid open.
Already waiting was a petite middle aged woman with dark eyes framed by spectacles. She wore a tight business like gown in the traditional style with hair up in a bun, wound even tighter than the bands on her corset. Her expression, sharp, finely honed, could cut a steel bar. In her small hands she held a log book pressed to her breast and a pen, poised for action.
Buckley stepped off the elevator and nodded to her.
“They're ready for you sir.”
“Good.”
“Also, she is upstairs.”
“Excellent.” He grinned, an exceptionally crocodilian expression on his wide thin lips. “She's early, that is a wonderful sign. I knew this would be a good day. Let's go.”
He strode forward and to the left, entering the inner hall lined with the portraits of the founders and each previous executive. The long line of men and women ended at his own likeness just before the great mahogany double doors. He paused there, using his fingers to smooth his hair and pull at his mustache one last time, collecting his thoughts. Then he pulled the doors by both handles to enter the lion's den.
The chamber was a large roughly circular room with a vaulted ceiling framed by marble columns and dark stained walls of carved wood. Exquisite paintings covered the walls, each depicting some dramatic scene of discovery or war. Curls of smoke twisted around a veil chandelier that cast a ghoulish pale blue glow across the faces and features of the men and women seated at the large oval table that dominated the center of the room.
As Buckley entered all heads turned from sidebar conversations to regard him. He strode to the open end of the table and stood, waiting.
The large man at the other end, resplendent in his gilded doublet and high ornamental collar of the finest lace, took a puff from his jeweled pipe and exhaled two thick rings before speaking.
“Now that we have our final member, this meeting of the ascension society shall come to order. Buckley, you may begin.”
“Thank you chairman.” He extended a hand out to gesture at every person at the table, one by one. “Ladies and Gentlemen of this esteemed society. Long have we toiled, tirelessly loading our ships, selling our goods, mining, trading, manufacturing, building empires of wealth and organizational perfection. Yet for all we've done for our fellow men and women, everything we've wrested from the earth and the oceans, we have precious little control over the taxes we pay, what the laws are, or who we're allowed to trade with and how.”
Many heads nodded solemnly around the table.
“Years ago with the development of the veil, an unprecedented advance for our enlightened age, we realized that if we acted decisively, we had the chance to change all of that. I am here to tell you that victory is now within our reach. Our army is on schedule and our destabilization campaigns are already succeeding far beyond expectations, thank you Mr. Winston,” he said, nodding toward a black bearded man with a double feathered hat seated to the chairman's right, the man nodded in return.
“The time of kings and petty tyrants, of bishops and popes, has come to a close. The un-elected military oppressors shall be overthrown and the obscuring curtain of religious superstition shall be lifted for all time. The time for the ascendance of men and women of intellect and wealth is at hand.”
“No corner of the world shall elude our grasp, no markets remain unexplored and no resources unexploited. At long last, taxes on companies and those of wealth shall be forbidden, freeing us from the terrible burdens we have all felt so acutely. My dear colleagues the future... shall be very profitable.”
Applause erupted in the chamber. When it finally died the chairman clacked his rings against the surface of the table until the final jovial murmurs trailed off.
“When do we strike the first blow?” The chairman said.
“In less than a fort night. The Ganex emperor launched his assault even before he took delivery of his final units. I'm told his force has already crossed the Fife river and will reach castle Aeyrdfeld in less than two weeks.”
“That fast?” Asked another voice.
“Indeed,” Buckley continued. “My sources tell me the baron has sallied forth half of his forces in an effort to delay the advance with a limited engagement. However I've taken steps to make sure the two armies will meet fully and devastate both parties.”
“What of the baron himself? Will he be joining the attack as we suspected?” Asked Kiralia, the veiled female in flowing white, chief shareholder of the only company that traveled the overland spice routes from Parsa into the Arteslan regions of the far East.
“No. The baron has opted to remain at home to protect his castle. He will be dealt with, I assure you. We have a contingency already in place.”
“And King Casimir? He must be dealt with and soon,” said Jose Van Ghoul, a spindly Pyrolian with dark eyes seated near the front of the table, owner of the largest sugar concern in the world.
“Do not trouble yourself Jose, after the Halett barony is destroyed my printers will crucify the King. He'll be strung up by his own subjects before next summer is done,” said Mr. Winston, his jowls parting to form a wide smile.
“Marvelous! I've heard enough. Let us sally forth and bring about a new order ladies and gentlemen, ours!” The chairman said.
Mr. Buckley smiled politely, bowed to the board and left the secret meeting chamber. As the doors closed behind him his assistant was waiting.
“Well done sir,” she said as she nodded to the man to Buckley's left who handed him a glass of cool water with crushed mint. He took a swig of the liquid, swished and swallowed.
“Thank you,” he said. “Hold my appointments.”
“Done.”
He strode down the hall, this time in the opposite direction, she followed. “Regarding the matter up North?” he asked her as they walked.
“They await your word.”
“The word is given,” he said. “It's time.”
Chapter 3
“Oh they forgot the river in Magenberg, the emperor went and broke his word but now he's really sorry! Yeah so very sorry!”
-Refrain from a Faustland drinking song, 1600
The afternoon sun felt warm on her hair and back but still Giselle kept her shawl around her arms and shoulders. A chill West wind had begun earlier and only gotten worse as the day progressed. There had been clouds but no rain and when the sun came out again she'd decided it was possible to have the afternoon story after all. The children loved them and if they dressed suitably for the descending temperatures then who was she to argue?
Besides the wind was blowing some of the leaves from their boughs. They had finally begun to change into a rainbow of glorious colors for the season an
d as they fell they created a lovely dappled light that never failed to make her smile. Not quite as much as she'd smiled the previous evening when her husband had finally come to her, but smile none the less.
Aaron had been so awkward about it, so worried. It had been charming. Truth be told she was very much looking forward to the coming evening's frolicking as well. Were it not for her many previously arranged appointments, she might have tried to entice him to shirk his advisory duties and spend the day with her. It felt like they had an entire year of lost time to make up for.
“What happened then?” said Ionia, a tiny girl in a puffy woolen coat, hat and gloves. It was too much for the cool but not yet cold weather but that wasn't a surprise. Many of the castle mothers preferred to err on the side of prudence. Except for Neeria the mother of the leothan children. Their thick fur coats wouldn't need augmenting for several months and leothan mothers weren't typically known to fret about such things anyway. Though now that she thought about it, weren't there supposed to be two of them?
Giselle adjusted her seat on the garden stool as the semicircle of children around her leaned in, waiting. She ignored them for the time being, instead scanning the rest of the garden for the second little lion. The girl Meera was there, seated to her left, one paw-like hand in the air, clearly trying to be patient but also bouncing on her knees, tail flapping back and forth behind her, trying to be acknowledged. Meera's little brother Shon was nowhere to be seen.
“What happened then!?” said Meera, unable to contain herself any longer. Giselle reflected for a moment. What story had she been telling? The perilous wood? The well girl?
It was the well girl, she remembered. That was a perennial favorite among the children. It had a particularly happy ending when the well girl was finally reunited with her parents.
“I'll finish in a moment Meera, I promise.”
The little girl with the white lion muzzle nodded but was clearly still disgruntled at being forced to wait.
“Do you know where your brother went? Everyone's supposed to stay here during story time.”