The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf (4 page)

Chief Adviser Bakmer nodded gravely. “Executing your hairdressers might not go well with the population, your majesty.”

“I don't see why not. Won't the population be outraged that they got my hair wrong?”

The Empress glanced in one of the many mirrors that adorned the walls and puckered her lips. “I mean, just look at it.”

Bakmer experienced the feeling of hopelessness that was rapidly becoming familiar while talking to the Empress. He swiftly concealed his thoughts. Like all the most powerful Elementals, Kabachetka was skilled in reading auras. It paid to be equally skilled in concealing them.

The Empress looked suspiciously at the papers in her chief adviser's hand. “Why are you holding that bundle of documents? You know I don't like documents.”

“The ratifying of your new officials in each district requires your signature, Great Empress.”

Kabachetka sighed. Since becoming Empress, she always seemed to be signing some document or other.

“Put them down somewhere. I'll sign them later. Meanwhile, kindly initiate a search for a new hairdresser. Someone who knows what ‘ash blonde' means.”

Chief Adviser Bakmer looked blank.

“It's a hair color,” snapped Kabachetka. “One that suits me well, and will go with this season's fashions. Approach stylists in the Earthly dimension if necessary. And don't look at me like that, Bakmer. I had enough trouble with Tarentia when I brought my shoe designers here from Milan.”

The unfortunate Tarentia had recently suffered disgrace and demotion after proving himself unable to satisfy Empress Kabachetka's requirements in matters of style. Her new adviser, Bakmer, knew he could easily suffer the same fate. As an ambitious Elemental he didn't intend to let that happen.

“The population would most certainly not like to see the Empress in inferior shoes,” he said, very convincingly. “Particularly with several important engagements on the horizon.”

The Empress smiled. She enjoyed thinking about her upcoming social engagements.

“Absolutely. When I venture out to that designers' reception in London, I'll need the very best shoes that can be obtained in any dimension. The place will be thick with glamorous women from the world of fashion. Malveria will also be there. It is time to put the rapidly aging Fire Queen in her place. Shoes and hair need to be perfect. So find me a competent hairdresser.”

“I will attend to it,” said her chief adviser.

“And send in Distikka.”

Chief Adviser Bakmer bowed, gathered his dark-red court robe about his tall figure and walked swiftly from the throne room. Moments later, Distikka appeared. The liveried guard saluted as she entered. Empress Kabachetka eyed her critically as she approached.

“Do you really have to wear that ancient piece of chain mail at my court?” demanded Empress Kabachetka. “It is quite unbecoming.”

“I like it,” said Distikka. “I grew up wearing it.”

“And it shows. One does not expect you to be fashionable, Distikka,
but there is no need to wander around like a refugee from the Western Desert.”

“I am a refugee from the Western Desert.”

Distikka was below average height, and her dark hair was cut very short by the standards of the women at court.

“I am considering executing my hairdressers,” said the Empress.

“That's foolish,” said Distikka.

“How dare you call me foolish!” cried Kabachetka, flaring up immediately. “Show some respect for the Empress!”

Distikka shrugged, something which no one else at court would have dared to do.

“It is foolish,” she repeated. “No one deserves to be executed over some trifling hairdressing error. And the citizens wouldn't like it. Do you want them to regard you as a tyrant?”

“No, but—”

“So just discharge your stylists and find some new ones. Then you won't have a problem. Is that the only reason you called me here?”

Empress Kabachetka tapped her fingers on the armrest of her ruby throne, which twinkled from the reflection of the burning torches on the walls.

“Distikka, you really must show me more respect. Had I not given you refuge after the failure of your coup against Malveria, you would now be a homeless refugee. Or dead, more probably.”

“You asked me to come to your court. You asked me to be your adviser. So I'm giving you advice. But I'm not going around bowing and scraping like your other advisers and ministers do. And I'm not giving you only the advice you want to hear either.”

The Empress glared at Distikka, then laughed. As a princess, Kabachetka had not successfully negotiated the hazards of life at court by being unable to adapt. In the few months that she'd been Empress, she'd come to appreciate Distikka's qualities.

“Would it really be a bad idea to execute my hairdressers?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I won't do it then,” said the Empress. “Though I'm sure they deserve it. Ash blonde is not that difficult to achieve, I'm certain.”

The Empress leaned forward. “That, however, is not the reason I called you here. Now that the realm is more or less in order, it's time I made progress with a few other matters. You are aware, of course, of my hatred for the Scottish werewolves on Earth, in particular Thrix MacRinnalch and her miserable sister Kalix?”

Distikka nodded. The Scottish werewolves were one of Empress Kabachetka's favorite topics.

“It's time for revenge. I'm going to destroy them with a plan of quite unparalleled cunning, a plan so intricate, devious and powerful that it will eradicate forever the dreadful werewolf sisters, and hopefully their annoying clan as well.”

The Empress sat back in her throne and smiled happily at the prospect.

“What is this plan?” asked Distikka.

“I've no idea,” admitted the Empress. “I want you to come up with it.”

“Ah.”

“My best attempts to defeat these werewolves have gone wrong,” said Kabachetka frankly. “I admit I may not be the best planner. But you are good at it, Distikka. Cunning plans are your forte.”

Distikka frowned. “My greatest plan was a failure.”

The Empress waved this away. “You almost succeeded. It was a glorious scheme to overthrow Malveria, and you got very close. Much closer than I was expecting. Had Thrix MacRinnalch not interfered yet again, you might well have killed Malveria and taken the throne for yourself.”

The Empress's eyes flashed with angry golden fire at the thought of Thrix's interference. She composed herself quickly. It was not the done thing to exhibit flames at court.

“I have confidence in you, Distikka. I want you to think up some plan for revenge. I now control the Eternal Volcano, and my power is much greater than it was. In London, I have access to the guild of werewolf hunters. That ought to be enough to deal a deadly blow against the poorly dressed Thrix and the scrawny Kalix.” The Empress paused. “Scrawny is perhaps a little unfair. I rather admire Kalix's slender physique. Remind me I have to step up my exercise program. I want Kalix punished. Can you do this?”

“I'm sure I can,” said Distikka.

“Excellent. Now leave me, Distikka. I have a nail appointment, and I have little confidence in my nail attendants. I foresee another very unsatisfactory session.”

CHAPTER 4

The Fire Queen was noticeably maudlin when she arrived at her friend Thrix's apartment. Never one to hide her emotions, she sighed loudly as she settled down on the couch.

“Are you all right?” asked Thrix.

“I am perfectly fine, my dearest friend. I have arrived here to watch the Japanese fashion show in excellent spirits.”

Malveria sipped from a glass of red wine and sighed loudly again. The Enchantress smiled.

“Tell me what's wrong, Malveria.”

“Really, nothing is wrong. Apart from the most trifling matter. But not a matter the Queen of the Hiyasta would trouble herself over.”

Thrix gave a little shrug and settled down to watch the program. The first model was no more than halfway down the runway when the Fire Queen uttered another sigh.

The Enchantress raised an eyebrow. “Malveria, stop sighing like a love-struck teenager and tell me what's on your mind.”

“Well, really, Thrix, I would not dream of mentioning it had you not dragged it out of me in such a brutal manner, but the truth is I'm feeling old.”

“Old?” Thrix was very surprised. Though Malveria was many hundreds of years old—the Enchantress wasn't quite sure how many—she was still far from elderly in terms of the Hiyasta, the most vigorous of whom could carry on brightly for thousands of years. Fire Elementals took a very long time to grow dim. “What brought this on?”

“My appalling niece. Kalix has an eighteenth birthday party approaching. The foul Agrivex has plunged headlong into the affair, declaring herself to be eighteen too, which is accurate, more or less. She will now share the party.”

The Fire Queen looked downcast. “Hearing them planning their eighteenth birthday made me feel very old. No doubt the party will involve much foolish behavior, and Agrivex will drink too much and make herself ill. But really, I cannot help feeling jealous.”

“Jealous? Why?”

“On my eighteenth birthday, I was hiding in a cave with a price on my head. Only good fortune and the assistance of Xakthan allowed me to escape.”

“But you like these memories,” said Thrix. “You were facing hopeless odds and you defeated them. You became Queen.”

“Eventually, yes,” agreed Malveria. “But it was a long, weary process and it took up my youth. I never had an eighteenth birthday party, or any sort of party. I was always running, hiding or fighting. And now, observing Agrivex, I suddenly wished that I had had some parties when I was a young girl.”

The Fire Queen sighed again. “And now I feel old.”

Malveria sank further into her armchair. “Look at that young model in her beautiful dress. I could not wear that. It is too young a style.”

“You could wear it perfectly, Malveria,” said Thrix sincerely.

“And now the model is pouting!” cried Malveria. “It is annoying!”

“What's wrong with pouting?”

“Only young people can do it gracefully. Agrivex pouts furiously. Many days she does little else. But on me it would be unbecoming.”

Thrix was quite certain she'd seen Malveria pouting many times, quite becomingly, and didn't understand her friend's gloom. Though the Fire Queen was prone to excesses of emotion, it was unusual for her to exhibit depression. She lapsed into silence in front of the television. Thrix caused the wine bottle on the table next to her to levitate, filling both their glasses, and they sat mostly in silence, only occasionally commenting on the fashions on display. From the kitchen came the faint hum of the air conditioning. Though it had been an indifferent summer in London, the clouds had cleared in the past week, ushering in an unexpected wave of heat that now hung over the capital.

“There is much talk in the elemental lands of the new young Empress of the Hainusta,” said Malveria, suddenly.

“Ah . . .” said Thrix and nodded. “Kabachetka.”

“Everyone is talking about her!” exclaimed the Fire Queen. “The young Empress with her blonde hair and beautiful outfits. Ha! It is the same vile Kabachetka. Just because she has ascended to the throne—no doubt after poisoning the old Empress—does not mean that people should be making a fuss over her. I cannot tell you how it irritates me!”

The Fire Queen, Thrix realized, had been considerably younger than the previous Empress. Now the younger Kabachetka had taken power and it had obviously upset her.

“You know the bards on the borders are singing songs about her youthful beauty? Youthful beauty! The only beauty Kabachetka has came out of a clinic in Los Angeles. Her mother was bad enough with her visits to the cosmetic surgeon, but at her age, one could find some excuse.
Kabachetka has been hopping through the dimensions since she was a girl, getting this tucked and that altered. I swear she'll fall apart one day, hopefully in a most painful manner.”

The Fire Queen drained her glass and snapped her fingers, tilting the wine bottle over her glass. Nothing emerged.

“Is there something the matter with this bottle?” said Malveria. “It seems to have emptied far too quickly.”

“I'll get another,” said Thrix, and headed for the kitchen. The Fire Queen followed her.

“So between the new young Empress and my foolish young niece, I am now feeling old. A relic from a past age, like one of these pieces in the museum that Dominil is so keen on visiting. Please tell me that my outfits for new season are ready?”

“They're ready,” said Thrix.

As well as a good friend, Malveria was also a very important client. Her money and patronage had kept Thrix's business going when times were hard.

“Good.” The Fire Queen was partly mollified. “Perhaps there may be one last flowering of my fashionable glory before I retire into my dotage.”