Heraclix and Pomp: A Novel of the Fabricated and the Fey (34 page)

Pomp doesn’t know whether to be pleased or embarrassed.

“But I’m sure you couldn’t help yourself. You’re not to blame, not for acting according to your nature. You are a fairy, after all.”

Pomp smiles. He is a good man, after all.

“And I know a little bit about your kind. I learned it from my nanny when I was a child. She was a gypsy, a good woman who taught me tales of the Fey, their ways and inclinations. She taught me what evidence to look for whenever I suspected one of the fairy folk were nearby.”

His smile broadens.

“Mother didn’t approve.”

Pomp folds her arms, sulking.

“More than anything, Nanny taught me about the carefree nature of the Fey. You are mischievous at heart. And good for you!”

The smile fades from his face.

“As for me, mischief seems to find me wherever I go lately. I think it all started when a giant of a man killed one of the guard and escaped the city. Graf Von Helmutter would have demoted me for having let him get away, were it not for the illness that suddenly overtook him after the incident. Von Helmutter was too occupied with his bad health to worry about discipline. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t have blamed the graf for punishing me. He wasn’t an inherently evil man, after all.”

Pomp, disapproving, puts her fists to her waist and glowers.

“But he did have a bit of a mean streak. He did seem a touch . . . ‘ambitious’ is the word I would use.”

Pomp rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“Still, he wasn’t nearly as demanding as his replacement. No, Graf Von Edelweir is a harsh taskmaster. The first thing he did was to forbid me and my men from wearing silver jewelry of any type. ‘The wearing of silver by a member of the imperial guard is strictly forbidden,’ his orders said. ‘It is unbecoming and effeminate for a servant so close to the emperor to wear anything less than gold in his royal presence.’”

Pomp’s face contorts in confusion.

“I had never heard such a ridiculous thing. And the emperor never once mentioned a dislike of silver, at least not around me. It was all very strange. Though I suppose it’s really immaterial.”

“What is material, however, is the changes made to our uniforms. ‘We will fill our enemies with fear,’ he told us, though he didn’t tell us which enemies he had in mind. ‘They will see their fate even before they are met by it. Blackness! Death! Annihilation!’ Oh, the guard cheered aloud for the defeat of their unknown foes. I would like to think that they had no choice but to cheer for their new commanding officer. But this was no forced appeal. These men were, are, more than merely compliant. They have allowed themselves to be seduced by the lure of the sword and of blood lust. Graf Von Edelweir has planted the seed of hatred in their veins, and they, feeling the first stirrings of growth, want to water it with their enemies’ blood. They submit themselves to the harsh disciplines implemented by the graf, thinking they are patriotic. But that harsh discipline that, unchecked, becomes abject punishment doesn’t make soldiers into good servants of the nation. It makes them slaves to hatred itself.” He shakes his fist. “Such hatred might be directed, at first, at an enemy. But it soon spills over and contaminates a soldier’s natural desire for recognition and glory, infecting him with such a desire for fame that he will step over the bodies of his comrades to get it. And the more bodies, the higher he climbs.”

He sighs, and a look of disappointment crosses his face.

Pomp is confused. How can a good man like Von Graeb struggle with disillusionment? Must things go badly for even the best people?

“Of course, those who issue orders know this. They spend much of their time fearful that one of their men, one possessing intelligence and ambition in equal measure, might climb right up the ranks to threaten their position. Up and over the top! So, in order to be forewarned of such a gambit, the commanding officer sends out spies to watch over any would-be usurpers.”

“Lescher is my spy, the one assigned to ‘serve’ me by Von Edelweir. I know the type, ambitious and greedy enough to whore himself as a spy, but enough of a self-loathing toady to remain loyal to his boss.”

“I sometimes wonder how Von Edelweir can share even half of Lady Adelaide’s traits. They are so unlike one another as to appear
to be from completely different families. Not in their physical appearance. You can clearly see that they share grandparents. But their dispositions couldn’t be further apart. The graf is brooding, the lady bubbly; the man dark, the woman bright; he driven, she carefree. He is clearly warlike, and she is just as surely an advocate for peace. I fear their marriage will be tumultuous, at best.

“And here I am, a soldier that would go to war in order to ensure a world at peace to share with the good Lady Adelaide. We have been friends since we were children. Oh, that I could give her the love and security she deserves.

“I have had enough of conflict,” he says, then sighs heavily, weary from his thoughts. “I’ve seen war and bloodshed, have taken the life out of another man’s heart with my own sword, and have directed hundreds of men to do the same—to kill or die for love of king and country. But in my own heart, I am no hater of men. I just happen to be a good soldier. My vocation vexes my soul. How I wish for one final conflict to ensure everlasting peace.”

Pomp is surprised when he begins to chuckle to himself. She doesn’t see what is so funny.

“Ah,” he catches himself, “I do sound ridiculous. My dreams are no more real than you are, my imaginary friend.”

He pauses, thoughtfully holding his chin between forefinger and thumb.

“I suppose that maybe I am losing my mind through all these difficulties. Perhaps all this internal stress has driven me to the point of hallucination.”

Pomp clears her throat, loudly!

“Ahem!”

He smiles, turns to her and says, simply, “Thank you.”

She wants to show herself, to give definite proof that she’s there, to fully demonstrate her trust in him. But can she? Really? What if it’s all a ruse to bring her out into the open? That smile, is it truly friendly, or merely victorious? And what if he isn’t—dare she say it? she must!—under Mowler’s influence? What if Von Graeb is everything he seems to be? If she shows herself to him now, one more person will know, really know, that she is not only real, but here. That knowledge might draw the hidden Mowler out. Then again, it might endanger Von Graeb. If the sorcerer found out, he
would be merciless to Von Graeb, as he was to her and Heraclix. And if she caused Von Graeb’s suffering, she would simply come undone. Even if her appearance didn’t result in a bad situation for Von Graeb, it would definitely change their relationship. Maybe he would laugh at her smallness. Or, perhaps her looks, cute, by all means, but not Lady Adelaide beautiful, by any means. Seeing her would definitely lessen her mystique in his eyes.

But still, she feels she must. She is compelled by some inner need not only to know, but to be known. She had been good so far, hadn’t she, observing on Heraclix’s behalf, but not getting involved? That is, if one can excuse a very minor slip up, likely in Mowler’s presence, in front of the entire ruling class of the Holy Roman Empire? This could be forgotten, couldn’t it?

No, of course not.

Then what does she have to lose, showing herself to one of the few mortals who hadn’t fled or frenzied at her unanticipated appearance? How else can she prove that Von Graeb is a good man, as she thinks he is. And if he is Mowler in disguise, she could escape. She did it once before . . . with Heraclix’s help. But Heraclix is not here now. She must stand on her own, nudge fate like a dice-roll, and step out into the open.

She will do it.

Now.

A knock sounds at the door so swiftly that she isn’t even sure if she has appeared or not.

Either way, Von Graeb doesn’t seem to see her. He turns toward the knocking door.

“Enter!” he says in a firm voice.

The door opens, and Lescher enters, bowing as he walks.

“Milord, Milady Adelaide comes soon with news about the wedding arrangements.”

“What news?”

“Good news, Milord. She should be here within minutes.”

Von Graeb’s eyes light up.

“Excellent. I shall be ready for her arrival.”

As Lescher exits, Von Graeb stoops down to pick up the dice.

Pomp flies out through the closing door. She cannot wait for the Lady Adelaide to arrive, so she flies out to see her.

As soon as she clears the doorway, the moonlight and streetlamps are shut out. Darkness, in the form of a black sack, envelops her.

“I have you!” someone says in an old, familiar voice.

She struggles, but her captor flails the bag at the ground once, twice, battering her before she can react.

In an injured daze, she hears a jar lid open, feels herself being stuffed, still within the bag, into the glass cylinder. The jar lid slithers shut.

C
HAPTER
23

“B
rethren,” the Raven addressed the Shadow Divan atop their stronghold under the faint light of a moon sliver. “This man, this Heraclix, is in need of our help. Our friend and brother, Agha Al Mahdr has brought him and his young companion to us, seeking our aid. The youth is too young and inexperienced to counsel with us, so he sits below, awaiting word. Agha Al Mahdr has been called out on other business, which needs his attention. We are called upon by our covenants of brotherhood to come to the aid of Heraclix, our brother. Those who consent to give aid, say ‘aye.’”

“Aye!” they said in unison.

“My thanks,” Heraclix said, bowing.

“Your thanks is not needed, friend Heraclix,” the Raven said gravely, “for our aid does not come without a price.”

“Price?” Heraclix said.

“Nothing unreasonable,” said one of the Demon twins.

“Only a little information,” said the other.

“We promise not to harm you,” said Skull-face.

“Or your companion,” added the Veiled One.

“After we have helped you, we will ask a few questions of you is all,” Scaramouche said.

“Nothing that will compromise you,” the Hooded One said.

“We only require your honesty,” Raven said.

Heraclix thought carefully about how he should answer them, what he should be willing to reveal. He hardly knew these
people. He didn’t yet know whether or not to trust them. Yet he did feel a faint sense of camaraderie with these acolytes of life and death. It was a connection unexplainable by his short stay here or his hosts’ . . . “hospitality” was not the right word. Perhaps “interest”?

Still, he was hesitant to speak of the glimpses of what may or may not have been his life before rebirth. What if it was all false and his feelings betrayed themselves as only the side effect of some electrochemical reaction? Perhaps he had hallucinated those visions of Hell and before. What if everything he thought or felt regarding those dim shivers of memory were false? What if his memories were a lie?

Worse yet, what if they were true? Could he live not only with the monster he now was, but also with the monster he might have been before waking in Mowler’s cauldron? His greatest fear, he found, was himself.

Still, he felt (again, those untrustworthy feelings!) that he must push forward with some modicum of faith to break through the wall of fear in order to see for himself the unknown become the known. He had no choice but to trust the Shadow Divan and trust himself to them.

“Very well,” Heraclix said. “I shall tell you what I know, as I have seen it.”

“Excellent. But first, we have someone else to question. I think you will find . . . the subject’s comments of great interest.”

The necromancers produced chalk, incense, and candles from beneath their robes. Chanting as they worked, the six created a magic circle, very similar to the one Mowler had created not long before his ostensible demise. This circle was smaller than the one in Mowler’s apartment, however—not even large enough for a medium-sized man to stand in, at least not without being completely rigid and still.

“Please, sit,” the Raven said, pointing to the appropriate spot.

Heraclix sat down and pulled his cowl over his head against the cold night air. He looked at the ground on which he sat.

“Oh, there’s no need to worry,” Skull-face said. “This one is very minor. You won’t need any protection for this.”