Cobweb Empire (13 page)

“You!” Beltain turned to the nearest stopped
equipage driver a few steps away. “Do you know which way to Burdon
Street?”

“Burdon?” The man creased his brow. “Not
sure, Lordship. I think it was back there.” And he pointed toward
the heart of the city. And then he added, “But I wouldn’t bother if
I were you. It ain’t there now.”

“What?”

The driver shrugged, wiped his red-nosed
weathered face with the back of his gloved hand. “Streets ’ave been
disappearing lately.”

“What do you mean?” Percy asked, stunned,
and thus forgetting her place and not bothering to let Lord Beltain
Chidair handle the discussion.

But the other driver did not seem to notice
or care whom he was talking with. Apparently things such as rank
were much more mixed up in a big city such as Letheburg. “Just as I
said, Missy,” he replied, nodding to her. “Streets are going
missing. As in, gone completely. No longer where they have
been.”

“But how?” Percy continued, while the knight
looked on, equally puzzled.

The carriage driver let out a long breath,
rubbed his chin and then the bridge of his nose, while his bushy
brows went up and down, as if assisting in his thought process.

“Well, speak on, man, explain. Because it
makes no sense, what you say.” Beltain’s voice cut in.

“Aye, it makes no Godly sense, agreed,
Lordship,” said the man at last, this time raising his hat a bit in
apologetic courtesy. “But it started about the same time as the
other ungodly thing, which is, as you know, death stopping. Folks
around town couldn’t find their own home streets, an’ at first it
was assumed, what with all the woe and despair, the poor
bastards—beggin’ all pardon—had downed a few cups too many. Well,
when other decent folk, including fine teetotaler women who
wouldn’t touch a drop, came running in tears, after looking for
their homes for hours, you can be sure we all took notice.”

“I still don’t understand what exactly you
mean,” Beltain said. “Streets disappearing?”

“Aye, at first disappearing an’ then coming
back, usually late in the day.”

“You’re sure you haven’t had a few cups too
many yourself?”

“Oh, no, Your Lordship! I don’t touch the
stuff, haven’t had a drop of spirits since three winters ago, not
even on holidays! Got to drive this carriage
properly. . . . No, what happens is—it goes like
this: you gets yourself out of your house in the morning and take a
walk somewhere, minding your own business. You comes back,
sometimes after a long day’s work, tired, and just wanting to get a
bite to eat and your own bed to fall into and, well, your whole
neighborhood looks
different
. Whole blocks missing! Not just
houses, but whole sections of streets, even entire streets
themselves. Sometimes as much as a mile disappears! So you run
around looking for it, and you call the constables an’ the night
watch, and ask the neighbors, and usually no one can remember
anything about when it happened, when things disappeared, that
exact moment. It’s like pouf, some kind of unholy magic!”

“This is madness.”

“Well, sure it is! Imagine, Lordship, if it
were you that just lost your whole residence! Now, the good news
for a while was, if folks wandered around for a bit, and came back,
sometimes—mind you, only
sometimes
—things returned back the
way they had been, as if nothing happened. And the people who’d
been in those missing places, those missing houses and blocks,
claimed that they were there all along and nothing had been amiss
all day. Unfortunately, in a day or so, those same places and
people inside ’em, disappeared again, and this time, for the most
part, they didn’t come back.”

“So you’re saying that this Burdon Street
has disappeared?”

“Aye, Lordship, just two nights ago.
Together with two adjacent alleys and a portion of Bailey
Square.”

“What about Marriage Street?” Percy
said.

“Marriage Street, Marriage
Street . . . let me think now. Ah, yes, it’s gone
too. Same block as Admiralty and Harlows. All gone.”

Percy felt a cold creeping sense of dread.
“What about Rollins Way?” she tried.

But the carriage driver perked up. “Rollins
Way, if I recall, was still there this morning, and even at least a
couple of hours ago. You’re in luck, in fact, because now with all
those missing streets, it’s much closer to this square than it had
been before! See that red brick house?” he pointed with his driving
stick. “Just make a turn into the side street behind it, and
another right, then a left, and there you have it, Rollins
Way.”

“Oh dear,” Lizabette muttered, “I do hope
Grial will be there!”

“Grial, did you say?” A huge grin came to
the driver’s face, and he flashed his crooked teeth. “Why didn’t
you say you wanted Grial?”

“Jupiter’s balls! You know Grial?” Niosta
piped up from the back, rather impressed.

The driver snorted. “Know Grial? Why,
everybody
knows Grial! And if you’re looking for her house,
it’s indeed on Rollins Way, the little brown building with a
shingle up on top that says
‘Grial’s Health & Fortune
Chest’
in red and black big letters, you can’t miss it—”

“Thank you!” Percy said in relief.

“Don’t thank me, Missy, thank the Good Lord
that Rollins Way still stands, and Grial’s place along with
it!”

Beltain drew out a few coins and handed them
to the driver. “A thanks for your help.”

The man pocketed the money, smiling, and
raised his hat up. “Thank ye kindly, Your Lordship, and welcome to
Letheburg!”

Moments later they had ridden past the
landmark brick house, and after a few turns, were on Rollins Way.
The Chidair soldiers moved ahead, riding two abreast, and Percy
carefully maneuvered Betsy and the cart past a sharp turn into a
small street along slippery snowed-over cobblestones of the larger
street and onto rutted snow-sludge dirt. This was a row of many
houses whose upper floors were jutting outward and overhanging like
balconies, and whose narrow windows were mostly shuttered against
the winter cold.

In the shadow of one such overhang, Grial’s
shingle was prominent, and swung a bit crooked above a cheerful
storefront window with lacy curtains on the other side, and a
wooden door recently painted red.

The girls were all excited for some reason,
as though they were about to meet up with a long-time friend.

And indeed, they did.

Before Percy was done fiddling with Betsy’s
reins, the red door flew open and out came Grial herself, wearing
her usual dingy apron over a patchwork housedress, with a small
kerchief band to hold back her frizzy beehive of dark kinky hair.
Grial’s figure was buxom and shapely, her face was youthful and
handsome, and her black eyes sparkled with good cheer.

“Well, what have we here, my dears! A bunch
of girls, pretty as daisies, and my darling Betsy! And my cart! And
fine gentlemen too, goodness gracious!” she exclaimed, putting her
hands on her hips.

“Grial!” Percy exclaimed. An involuntary
grin bloomed on her face, lighting her up on the inside with
instant warmth.

It suddenly felt like they had come
home.

There were many echoes of “Grial! Grial!” as
other girls descended from the cart, and then Vlau Fiomarre nodded
politely, as he helped the Infanta down. Claere stood up like a
mannequin, unsteady on her feet, and clung to the wall railing of
the cart.

“And who might you be, Lordship?” Grial
looked up fearlessly at the black knight in his armor and chain
mail, seated atop the great black charger, and wearing ice-blue
colors of Chidair.

“I’m wondering the same thing about you,” he
replied with bemusement. “You appear to be quite famous. Am I right
to assume you are a witch woman?”

“Me? Goodness, I’m just an old bag,” the
frizzy-haired woman replied, and did not blink even once, meeting
his steely gaze. “But I see you are a fine knight! And as such, you
and your men are certainly welcome to my humble little dwelling,
and I dare say although it’s a very cozy little home, there will be
plenty of room for all of you. Well, not exactly all of you, since
I must draw the line at horses—no horses indoors, I say!—and Betsy
and your own handsome Jacques will just have to share stalls in the
back of the house—”

The knight visibly froze. “What did you say?
Jacques?
How did you know the original name of my horse?
Especially since I never use it and call him Jack?” He threw a
glance at his second-in-command Riquar at his side, and then back
at Grial.

The rest of the men-at-arms all around the
cart grew still also, all of them staring at Grial, and not a creak
of armor or clink of metal and leather harness came from them or
their own mounts, so quiet they became. . . .

And in that silence, Grial made a sound that
was somewhere between a snort and a barking laugh. “Why that’s not
a big secret! Jacques told Betsy, and Betsy of course tells me
everything. Seriously, if you want your boy to keep a better lid on
it, you need to let him know! Jack indeed! He is a bona fide
Frenchman, and rather proud of his roots.”

The black knight shook his head in
wonder.

“Now then,” Grial said, throwing her hands
up, then clapping them together industriously, “off yer horses,
everyone! And let’s get you to the back of the house, see this
little alley right here, and then we settle in! Come along,
pumpkin”—she turned to Percy—“and let’s get Betsy and this lovely
cart of ours turned around properly—”

For the next quarter of an hour, they led
and unsaddled horses, carried things, and made a sludgy mess of
what was left of the snow underfoot.

And then they entered Grial’s house.

W
hile the girls
hugged Grial, the half a dozen soldiers filled up the small
chintz-covered parlor with its brightly printed calico draperies,
fringed and tasseled pillows, and a pair of sofas on curving legs
that surely must have seen better days somewhere at Court.

“Gentlemen, do not sit down on
anything
, I pray!” Grial exclaimed. “I want no soggy rusty
stains on any of my furniture! Off to the back kitchen with you and
off with yer armor! If it jingles and jangles or clinks and clanks,
it does not belong in my parlor!”

She pointed her finger at the black knight
himself. “And you, sir, Lordship, you, most of all! Remove your
plates at once! And I beg you not to trail snow on that rug!”

Percy bit her lip in mild terror at what
Beltain’s reaction to such treatment might be. But apparently the
black knight too was under Grial’s peculiar spell, because he
smiled lightly and with a nod and a hand motion to his men, he and
his soldiers exited the room.

Only the girls and Vlau Fiomarre
remained.

“And you!” Grial said, looking sharply at
the dark-haired nobleman and his bruised but handsome face and his
impoverished servant’s attire. “I see no metal bits on you, so you
feel free to sit! Right there, here’s a nice chair for you, young
man.”

Vlau paused, briefly glancing at Claere who
stood shyly near the doorway, and was looking around her at all the
colorful fabric decor. She had seen and known immeasurable riches
and wonders at the Imperial Silver Court, but it was Grial’s
cheerful living room that seemed to have an effect on her, unlike
anything, and possibly for the first time in her existence.

“Sit!” Grial repeated to the marquis.

And it was no different than training a
hound. Fiomarre found himself in a deep chair as though his limbs
had moved of their own accord.

While Lizabette perched on the sofa next to
Marie and Percy, and Niosta climbed into a quilt-draped rocking
chair near the window, Grial approached Claere Liguon.

Percy held her breath . . .
because there came a natural moment of silence.

“Now, what and who have we here?” said Grial
intently, stopping before the Infanta. With both hands she gently
lowered the faded red woolen hood covering the girl’s listless
cobweb hair.

“I am Claere.” The Infanta’s soft creaking
voice filled the room with a mechanized echo. “I
am . . . dead,” she added. A shadow of movement
briefly surfaced on her lifeless doll countenance.

“And I am so truly
sorry . . .” Grial replied softly, and a
heart-breaking gentleness came to her eyes. “Your Imperial
Highness, Claere Liguon, it is my honor to have you in my
parlor.”

“How did you know. . . ?”

“To be honest, I’ve been expecting
you—
all
of you, in fact.” And Grial looked at all of them
with a single glance panning around the room. “All of you, my
Cobweb Brides. And you, Percy—or should I say, Death’s
Champion.”

“How did you—” Percy began to ask also, then
shook her head as if to clear it.

“First, I am going to brew some tea and see
what’s edible and fit to be consumed for supper by fine gentlemen
and ladies such as yourselves. Then we can chat and catch up.
Because, trust me, there is
plenty
to be catching up on, and
plenty that has already caught up with us, whether we like it or
not. Surely you must know, dearies, that
things are going
on!
”

“Grial, it is so very nice to meet you,” shy
little Marie spoke up all of a sudden, “but I am so confused. I am
sorry, my—my language is not very good. But—
what
is going
on?”

Grial took a deep breath, wiped her hands on
her apron and sat down on the sofa next to Lizabette. She then
leaned forward, resting elbows on her knees, and looked around at
all of them. “Well, besides the death thing, there’s the rest of
the world. It’s the blessed world itself, sweetlings. The world all
around us is
fading away
.”

Chapter
7