Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (17 page)

As each of the Guild Masters sat, the seat of living wood regrew and reshaped itself to perfectly conform to their bodies.

“I can’t believe I’m sitting in the same room as a seed-munchin’ Chidd,” Thiric said spitefully as he sat down and struck a match to light his cigar.

Urbar caught the insult and turned to face Thiric, the shell on his back knocking over the goblet of wine placed there. “How dare you insult my people, you black-haired bag of teeth,” he said in his people’s slow tones. “I will not stand for this!”

“That’s why you are sitting,” Thiric mused as he puffed out a smoke-ring.

“So, are these candles supposed to set the mood, or are we having a seance?” came a voice from an empty stool. Suddenly, his magical camouflage was withdrawn. Scales rippled, light refracted, and a stout man with shifting skin could now be seen seated there. The tentacles on his face writhed disapprovingly.

Queen Forsythia nodded politely. “Candlelight calms the nerves, and this particular scent was specially selected for these proceedings.”

“Yeah, well, this place smells like my grandma,” Sundgen grunted, his long tongue sliding along the length of one of his tusks.

“I wouldn’t know. My people are anosmic,” Geto commented, his tentacles worming about.

“What’s that mean? Sundgen asked.

“No sense of smell.”

“There is not a person alive who would find that interesting,” Bolflel assured him before he took another long drought from his mostly empty bottle of rum.

“It is quite cold in here,” Hildok complained, rubbing his scaly hands over the thick, bony plates on his neck. The Queen tapped her staff and some of the branches above them parted, allowing sunlight to shine down directly on Hildok’s table. He breathed in thankfully, drawing the sunlight into his body.

Anak looked to his left and his long, sharp beak opened in offense. “I will not be seated next to a Ronesian,” he stated firmly, the feathers on his neck puffing up in anger. “My God, Vestum and his simpering deity have been enemies for centuries.”

Bazult rolled his feline eyes and ran his paws through the black-spotted mane that ran down his neck. “The Fifty Years’ War was called off by my god, Chert, forever ago. I wish your Old-Trapper would just let it go.”

“Vestum, The God of Might does not just let things go,” Anak persisted.

“I'll say,” Bazult asserted, pulling out a satchel full of hand-written cards. “You see this? Over the years, Anak here has sent my family over 300 death threats. All by carrier pigeon.”

“Really?” Thiric asked, looking over the tip of his cigar.

“Yeah, they just swoop right in and leave them in the breakfast nook. It really takes the fun out of eating.”

Queen Forsythia raised her anemic hand. “Please accept my apologies. The seating was assigned very carefully to avoid this kind of situation, but we were unaware that the feud between the islands of Ronesia and Maliao was still ongoing.”

The Queen twisted her staff painfully and the living wood reformed itself. The section for Anak was now detached from Bazult on its own separate platform.

“This is not enough,” Anak insisted, his taloned feet digging deeply into the living wood. “Vestum says this man is my enemy and so I must treat him as such!”

“That’s it! I've had enough of this!” Bazult bellowed. Steepling his paws, Bazult began chanting in his native language. The black spots on his fur began to glow with a pale blue light, his mane floating upwards around him.

“Please, gentlemen, we cannot have any curses cast here,” Queen Forsythia implored between coughs. “We all agreed as much beforehand.”

“Don’t worry, Ronesian magic has no teeth,” Anak boasted. “It only shows visions of things to come.”

The light around Bazult faded and he opened his eyes. “The fifth day,” he said ominously.

“What?”

“I looked into your future just now and saw the day of your death. It will be the fifth day of the month.”

Anuk clicked his beak. “Which month?”

Bazult smiled, revealing sharp fangs. “The vision did not say.”

“Pin scraps,” Anuk cursed. “You made that up, grass-sucker.”

“A visionary never lies about his vision. And now, the rest of your life will be plagued with worrying, agonizing, and fearing. Every day you will ask yourself, ‘Is this month the fifth day when I am to die?’”

Anuk’s eyes darted around as he realized the truth of the words.

“Do you still think my people’s magic has no teeth?” Bazult taunted.

“Gentlemen, this is not the purpose of our assembly,” Queen Forsythia said icily, trying to focus everyone’s attention. She tapped her staff on the living wood, and some of the branches that formed the ceiling grew down, one over each table, and flowered dozens of ripe apples. Vines intertwined with the branches and sprouted plump bundles of grapes.

“That’s a neat trick,” Thiric puffed, snapping off a bundle of grapes.

“I trust your stay on the Northern Island was sufficiently comfortable,” The Queen said politely as male servants filed into the room, carrying stacks of parchment.

“That bonfire around your capital was fun to watch,” Bolflel mocked spitefully, taking a bite of apple.

Solanum burst into laughter, the sound embarrassingly loud as it reverberated through the hall. The Guild Masters watched her curiously. She had looked so refined, so elegant, but now, as she snickered and guffawed like a drunken barmaid, the illusion of her high-standing seemed completely shattered. She seemed counterfeit, like a street performer whose trick has been revealed.

The Queen, for her part, gave no reaction, except to calmly reach over and take her daughter’s hand. Slowly Solanum’s laughter died down, to a chuckle, then a snicker, and then finally she again stood quietly and gracefully behind her mother.

“I apologize for making you all wait so long,” Queen Forsythia said politely but coldly. “I had to wait for you all to arrive and for the timing to be right.”

“Timing for what?” Thiric asked.

Parchments and quills were placed on the desks of each of the Guild Masters.

“What is this?” Reimay asked, his long rodent tail swishing hesitantly.

“Contracts awaiting your signatures,” The Queen announced formally. “We are going to bring back one of the oldest traditions. In ages past, in times of war, island nations would hire pirates to legitimately attack their enemies, in return for compensation. I am offering to hire each of your Guilds as privateers.”

“Privateers?” Hildok scoffed, pushing the parchment away.

Urbar laughed listlessly, his long neck bobbing back and forth. “Look, it’s real impressive that you fought off the Navy bilge rats...um, no offense Reimay.”

“None taken,” Reimay assured, twitching his whiskers as he read the contract.

“...But the fact is, you can’t win this war. The Federal Navy just has too many ships, and they can build new ones faster than you can imagine.”

“I know,” the Queen assured him dispassionately. “We cannot defeat the Navy.”

This gave Urbar some pause, and he absentmindedly scratched the edge of his shell with his long, thick nails. “Oh...well. I suppose I can respect honesty like that, but it doesn’t change the reality of your situation. You see, we don’t believe in your cause or nothin.’ We aren’t going to lay our lives down to fight for you, no matter how much you pay us.”

“You won’t be fighting the Navy,” the Queen countered.

Sundgen flicked his tusk with his finger, then his head came up. “What did you say?

“No, you are not listening,” Namtia scolded, her shiny black shin flickering in the candlelight as she held up the contract. “It’s all spelled out right here.”

Now more of the Guild Masters began looking at the documents, much more closely this time around. Several squinted at the long difficult words, despite their having been crafted to be as monosyllabic as possible.

“Believe me, I am very aware of your dispositions,” Queen Forsythia reassured. “To reach its full potential, a tool must first be understood by she who wields it. As pirates, your needs are very simple.”

“I’m not sure I like your tone,” Anuk warned, his feathers ruffling.

“Then I will use a different word. Your needs are...uncomplicated.”

The Queen looked around to make sure no offense was taken before continuing. “You want high reward, and you want it quickly. Too little reward and your men will be unmotivated. Too long a mission and your men will get bored and take to drink and be of little use.”

“Speaking of which, I’m getting thirsty,” Bolflel complained tapping his empty bottle on the table in the hope of a new one being brought to him.

“You also do not wish to take unnecessary risk,” Queen Forsythia continued. “This is not a cause you believe in, so if the odds are stacked against you, your men will run rather than fight. Is my appraisal accurate so far?”

“I’d say so,” Bazult appraised, smoothing out his mane.

“So, my task then, is very straightforward. I simply need to design the contract around your needs, which I have done. You will be assaulting a single target for a single day. You will have overwhelming superiority in both numbers and firepower...”

“Can I get another bottle of wine? Bolflel insisted, “because I am having a really hard time caring about anything you are saying right now.”

The Queen raised her withered hand and one of her house-husbands brought Bolflel a new bottle. “Despite this I expect you to utilize non-lethal methods only.”

A roar of laughter filled the auditorium.

“Lady, I bet you could take the fun out of breathin’ if you could find a way,” Geto asserted.

“This contract demands a zero-body count,” Queen Forsythia stated firmly. “That is not negotiable.”

Another round of protests rose up, this time more like a great moan.

There was a quick slicing sound and the air in the middle of the room opened as if it were a zipper. A tall, lithe woman stepped through. Her bright green hair was gathered together into a pair of pigtails, which accented the long, pointed ears that stuck out from either side of her head. Fit as a blade, she held herself with a brandished pomposity that instantly irritated everyone who looked at her.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” Setsuna greeted them, adorably biting her lower lip that had been painted green to match her hair.

The tear closed behind her and she stepped down lightly to the floor.

“Hey Hildok, how was prison?” she asked, patting him on his thick bony head.

“It was cold,” he admitted.

“Please excuse me, Namtia said, standing up on her long black legs. “I’m going to leave, the smell of sleaze in here is too much to bear.”

“Yeah, you might want to take something for that,” Setsuna suggested.

Namtia drew her flintlock pistol and fired off a shot. Setsuna stepped backwards and disappeared into a fresh tear. The ball hit the far wall of the auditorium with a thud.

“You missed,” Setsuna taunted, now standing behind Namtia.

“Shut up, that was a warning shot,” Namtia threatened as she drew her cutlass.

“Warning for what? I already know you want to kill me,” Setsuna asked, placing a finger against her chin.

“I said, shut up!”

Namtia slashed with her weapon powerfully, but Setsuna vanished before she could touch her.

“Euwww, your breath smells like you ate a diaper,” Setsuna provoked, now alongside her.

Namtia struck again, but hit nothing but air.

“Ladies, I know your people have a...turbulent history,” Queen Forsythia said calmly, despite the gunfire going off. “You will find that we have placed her seat as far away from yours as possible.”

“She’s not the only one,” Anuk announced, grinding his beak. “The Egress Guild is filled with nothing but cowards. They don’t allow anyone to join who isn’t a Gatemaster.”

“And why would we do that?” Setsuna flouted, now standing behind Anuk. “A foreigner like you would only slow us down.”

Anuk turned around and stood up to his full height. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I called you a coward!”

“I heard what you said; I just don’t care what you think.”

Anuk slammed his fists together and the manacles he wore on his arms glowed with ancient energies. Within the span of a heartbeat, he grew to three times his normal size, the branches of the ceiling giving way to make room for him.

Anuk swung at Setsuna, but she disappeared just before he made contact.

“Stand still, will ya?” Anuk blathered as he swung wildly at her. “I’m trying to take your frikkin’ head off!”

Setsuna disappeared into another tear and appeared behind Geta. Anuk kicked his foot at her, but she had already disappeared. Geto, now in the pathway of an enormous taloned foot, shrieked in fear, black ink instinctively spraying from his tentacles. A glob of the ink hit Anuk in the face.

Anuk roared furiously, clawing at his eyes as he stepped back, tripping over a chair that Setsuna placed in his way. Anuk tumbled backwards, landing on top of a table just as Reimay managed to skitter away. Anuk’s huge skull hit the floor with a crack, and his eyes glazed over as he went unconscious. His manacles died down, and his body shrunk back down to its normal size.

“Setsuna, you unendurable ham...you insufferable fool!” Namtia lambasted her.

“Make up your mind,” Setsuna sneered as she sat down at her table and placed her hands underneath her chin. She smiled innocently at Queen Forsythia as if she were a model student waiting patiently for her instructor to begin the lecture.

The Queen, for her part, could only survey the damage in veiled wonderment. Gradually, she looked around at everyone else to make sure they agreed with the notion of proceeding.

“That brings us to the next point,” Queen Forsythia continued. “Upon completion of this contract and after receiving payment, you and all your people are to permanently retire.”

The auditorium went silent.

“Retire?” Thiric asked, taking the cigar out of his mouth.

“Yes. No theft, no piracy, and no selling ruper spice ever again. This point is also non-negotiable.”

“Lady, I gotta say you are doing a terrible job of selling this contract,” Reimay criticized.