Cobweb Empire (29 page)

“With your permission,” continued Rovait,
“We will alert Morphaea.”

“Yes, yes. . . .”

“One bird to His Majesty at Duorma,
immediately,” said the Duke of Plaimes—for it was within his
Dukedom that the capital city lay, and his prime responsibility was
for the defense of the Morphaea-Balmue border.

“Another to my own Dukedom,” Rovait
said.

“One to Styx, to alert the young Augustus,”
said the Emperor thoughtfully.

“Styx has very few resources at the moment,
Your Majesty,” Plaimes mused. “If I recall, a single battalion is
all he can manage at such short notice. It will have to remain as
part of his own garrison, to counter Solemnis, and none to lend to
the Imperial army.”

“Poor boy.” The Emperor continued to stare
at the rooftops, the distant haze of the outlying edifices, swept
with snow. “He will have to manage on his own for quite a while. I
have no expectations on his part. Now, what of Lethe?”

“Lethe,” Rovait said, “might be problematic.
They are dealing with the civil uprising—”

“Ah, yes,” the Emperor mused. “The eternal
cesspit of discord that is Lethe.”

“The Red and Blue Dukes have made things
very difficult indeed, and now the alliances along the lines of the
living and the dead are stretching things
further. . . . There has been no word yet as to the
developments in the north, but I do expect something shortly.”

“Well then, wait on Lethe until more is
known.”

“Your Imperial Majesty, one more suggestion,
if I might make it,” spoke Claude Rovait, in his rational, calming
manner. “It might be prudent to send something beyond the Domain.
The Sun King of France is not likely to respond, but it would be
worth trying to fortify a solid rear front against the Domain
there. The House of Bourbon has fickle and complex loyalties,
especially on the side of Marie-Thérèse, the Infanta of Spain. As
for Spain itself, feeble and starving, especially at such times as
these, Carlos the Second is of little use to us.”

“Then send a bird to France, and tell them
of our plight.”

“It shall be done, Your Imperial Majesty.”
Rovait’s wise, comfortable gaze offered the Emperor a soothing
moment of emotional balm.

“What a mess. . . .”
Josephuste Liguon II muttered. “How long? How long do you think we
have until the Sovereign reaches the Balmue border?”

“Even is she arrives tomorrow morning, we
will be ready, Your Imperial Majesty,” the Duke of Plaimes spoke
with utter confidence.

“And what if—what if she
comes . . . tonight?” The fears arose, starting to
gnaw at him full force, and the Emperor looked away from the false
serenity of the panorama and focused at last upon his two
advisors.

“Highly unlikely,” Rovait’s expression was
mild, and a steady smile of reassurance played on his lips,
partially obscured by his well-trimmed beard.

“Regardless, our battalions will stand
ready.” Plaimes spoke reassuringly to his Imperial liege.

“Then go! Make it happen! Call the generals
to war!”

They bowed, and hurried away, two of his
favorite, most reliable men.

It was time to send the birds.

Chapter
14

P
ercy sat before
him in the saddle and listened to the black knight’s steady
breathing as he guided the warhorse forward on the roadway.

There was no one else on the road this
morning. The road itself was almost invisible, an abstraction
barely defined by the subtle hedge growth on both sides. After such
a heavy snowfall, few bothered to make a trip of even a mile. And
thus, the way was pristine, untouched by ruts of cart or wagon
wheels or footfalls of man or beast.

Only a few birds sped overhead, and the
occasional roadside trees shook off the crystalline burden from
their branches.

Another half an hour of steady walking on
the part of Jack, and they had ridden close to the outlying
settlements of the town ahead. Here, the first cross-traffic of the
day greeted them, as a few carts and warmly-dressed working class
pedestrians approached and passed them.

“There it is,” said Percy in curiosity,
turning her head from one side of the road to another, to stare at
roadside establishments, as they grew thicker and thicker together.
“I didn’t think it would be so big. . . . Not
compared to Letheburg of course, but Fioren is a big place!”

“Hm-m-m,” the knight retorted. His steel
eyes were on the road and he did not look at her, but she noted a
slight tensing in his brows. “There is something—I cannot place
what it is, but something is off,” he said. “For one thing, Fioren
has no walls that I know off.” And he pointed with one gauntleted
finger at the distant rising short walls of stone, directly in
their path. They were nothing in comparison with the great parapets
of Letheburg, but there was a definite enclosure, and a gate up
ahead.

“What in Heaven’s name?” Beltain muttered.
“This is not Fioren! This is Duarden!”

Percy stared in confusion. “What do you
mean?”

“I mean, this is
not
the town of
Fioren.”

“How can that be? Did we somehow miss it on
the way back there?”

Beltain did not reply, but hailed the next
passerby. “What town is this?”

“Duarden, My Lord,” the bearded peasant
replied.

“What of Fioren? Is it not supposed to be
here?”

“Aye, My Lord, it is. I am from Fioren, but
a miracle has come, and it’s gone!” The peasant spoke,
gesticulating with his mittened hands for emphasis. “I just spent
the night here, out of noplace else to go! My horse an’ I here, we
were out deliverin’ and now I got nowhere to return to. What with
the snow an’ all, had to stay overnight.”

“So you say that Fioren has
disappeared. . . . You’re sure of it?” Beltain
persisted.

“Not sure of nuthin’ much these days,
Lordship,” the man replied. “But if it is there, I’ll be looking
for it, since my wife and the boys are there, and my home. Maybe
it’ll come back? They say some places that disappear like that come
back—”

“So this is not the only place that’s
disappeared?” Percy asked.

The peasant looked up at her, rubbed the
bridge of his nose with the back of his mitten. “Oh, no, girlie.
They say, a few miles off, a whole field and forest are all gone.
People woke up a day ago, and there was just nothing there. And up
in the tavern back there in Duarden, they tell me half the streets
are missing. And worse!”

“What’s worse?”

“It’s the dead, girlie. They’re everywhere.
Not afraid of the cold they are. Hardly any place left for an
honest livin’ man. Not much food left, either.”

He shook his head wearily, raised his hat up
to the knight in politeness, and then was on his way.

“Will that be a problem for you?” Beltain
asked. “The dead?”

“Not any more so than
usual. . . .”

“Good. Then we proceed onward.”

But Percy’s mind was reeling. “My Uncle Guel
is in Fioren. . . .
Was
in Fioren!” she
marveled, as the knight again directed the charger to walk
forward.

“Wherever your Uncle and his family are now,
say a prayer for them,” Beltain replied grimly.

They approached and passed the gates into
Duarden, a mid-sized affluent town just a stone’s throw away from
the Silver Court. The streets were snowed-over, with light traffic,
and the buildings stood close to each other, with many overhangs
and quite a few expensive shingles indicating various high-end
establishments.

A few odd looking figures were indeed seen
about, some sitting calmly right in the snow before buildings,
others standing upright, like statues. A mother and child of no
more than five, both deceased, lay dejectedly in a bundle before
the wall of a bakery storefront, looking with apathetic glassy eyes
at the passerby. Their faces were greyish-blue from the cold, and
white powder covered the tops of their bare heads. Each one had a
billowing death-shadow at their side, noted Percy. None were
particularly threatening, and were left well enough alone by the
living. But their presence was a strange psychic burden upon the
place. . . .

As the knight and Percy rode by, she could
see the dead slowly sensing her, turning their fixed stares upon
her, and following all her movements with their eyes. None of them
made any move to approach, and she took a deep breath and steadily
looked away from them.

The sun rose higher, signaling near
mid-morning, and Percy’s stomach was rumbling. She flushed again,
knowing Beltain could hear it, while the knight simply said, “Time
to get a meal. Lord knows, I could use a tankard of a real brew
about now.”

They found a tavern and eatery within a few
minutes, and right next to it, a bakery with a tantalizing
storefront displaying apple tarts and great round loafs of
golden-browned bread and long braided baguettes. The mouthwatering
aroma of rising yeast and flour was devastating.

While Percy stood staring at the breads,
Beltain took Jack around the back where quite a few empty stalls
were available in a small stable structure adjacent to the tavern.
He spent some time there taking care of the great warhorse himself
without allowing either of the two tavern stable boys to come near.
And so, by the time he came around to the front, Percy was ready to
start gnawing her own knuckles in hunger.

They entered the eatery, a dark parlor with
a wooden beam ceiling, furnished simply with a long, narrow table
with benches. Two or three men in plain or dingy clothes were
eating, hunched over soup bowls. A plump country-faced woman
greeted them with a curtsy and a slightly nervous smile, and told
the knight to sit anywhere he liked. “We don’t have much today,
Your Lordship, but there is fresh barley and turnip soup and a
whole lot of good bread from next door. For you, I might be able to
also cut up a bit of pepper liverwurst sausage that’s blessedly old
and decidedly edible. None of that horrible newly butchered stuff
that’s indigestible, as you know—”

“Yes, I know,” said Beltain, seating himself
at the table and removing his gauntlets. “Bring it out. And have
you any decent beer or ale in the house, good woman?”

“By all means, Your Lordship, we have a
wonderful brew that my husband made himself a while ago, and it’s
aged well, and will refresh you!”

Percy paused before sitting down,
considering, then took a spot for herself across the bench from
him, so that they faced each other across the short width of table.
She took off her mittens and placed them in her lap. It was all so
strange—well, just a little strange, or maybe a whole lot of
strange—to be sitting thus in a distant tavern, directly across the
table from the black knight, facing him, as though they were
equals, having an ordinary mid-day meal. What a notion indeed, it
suddenly struck Percy. How impossibly strange this whole thing
was!

“And what would you have, dear?” the
proprietress asked Percy gently, seeing that the girl was with the
knight—in whatever capacity, was unclear.

How in Heaven’s name did a person ask for a
meal at a public tavern? Percy had never been at an eatery before,
not with Pa and Ma, not with anyone.

“Whatever’s not too much trouble, Ma’am,”
Percy replied, wondering suddenly if it was right for her to go and
help with the dishes in the back. “Maybe some soup and bread would
be all right?” And she looked up at Beltain with a questioning
expression.

He was looking at her very closely, and did
not say a word. Oh, but his eyes! Up close like this, they were so
clear, so rational, so impossible to look
at. . . .

Percy again felt the familiar flush-heat
rising in her cheeks that seemed to come at her out of nowhere. And
so, she looked down instead of looking directly across at him. And
she considered her present situation.

A few minutes later, the plump woman brought
out a pitcher of warm water and a small copper basin with a towel
for the knight to wash his hands. Then she returned with a tray
with two large bowls of steaming soup and a tall tankard of
frothing beer. Next to her came a small boy, of no more than seven,
with sweet light curls and a pale serious face, and he carried a
large basket of fresh bread loaves and a trestle cutting board.

“Right here, André, put the bread right
there before His Lordship, and set out the basket near the board.
That’s right!” The woman directed him while unloading the contents
of her tray. The boy nodded and set down his burden, then bowed
lightly and very properly before the knight.

Beltain’s mouth started to turn up in a
smile at the sight of the boy’s diligence.

“Good, now run along and bring the rest of
it, and be careful not to spill!” the woman instructed him.

“A smart boy,” the knight commented, taking
a loaf of bread and cutting into it with the knife.

The proprietress, apparently the boy’s
mother, broke out into another proud but nervous smile, and
curtsied. “Why, thank you, Your Lordship, yes he is, my André!”

Percy watched the boy walk very carefully to
the back, and with a sorrowful pull at her gut she eventually saw
the slight little billowing sentinel shadow follow the child
closely.

Little André was dead. And it was unclear
whether his mother knew it or not.

The chunk of bread that Percy had started
hungrily chewing a few seconds ago suddenly lost its flavor,
replaced by a lump in the throat.

Soon the boy came back out, carefully
carrying a plate of liverwurst sausages. His little white hands
held the sides of the plate precisely right, and when he came back
up to their table, he again bowed, moving so effortlessly for a
dead one that it was no wonder he was not immediately apparent as
such. Even his face, Percy noticed, seemed to have a residual glow
around his cheeks, and there was not a sign of blemish or lifeless
fixation in his limbs.