Queen of Mars - Book III in the Masters of Mars Trilogy

Book III in the Masters of Mars
Trilogy

By Al Sarrantonio

Smashwords Edition published at Smashwords by
Crossroad Press

Copyright 2011 Al Sarrantonio

Cover design by David Dodd / Copy-Edited by
Patricia Lee Macomber

Cover art courtesy of:
http://dandzialf.deviantart.com/

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Novels:

Moonbane

Skeletons

October

West Texas

Kitt Peak

The Boy With Penny Eyes

House Haunted

Collections:

Toybox

Halloween & Other
Seasons

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To Nancy Gregory

I
went to see Father
and Grandmother today.

It had been a long time, but Newton insisted.
I spent the morning practicing music (tambon), and the early
afternoon reading (The Runaway Kit, fiction, which I did not like,
and A Short History of the First Republic of Mars, which I greatly
enjoyed – I must ask Rebecca, my lady-in-waiting, to bring me a
meatier volume on that period), and then I was taken by airship and
motorcar to the Arsia Mons Science Guild facilities. It was dusty,
and old scarred Xarr was there, turning his head to look at me with
his rheumy eyes. He always wears his military uniform, which is
somehow endearing and annoying at the same time, but he gave me a
wink and a slight sour smile and made an elaborate bow as I
passed.

“Your majesty!” he effused, with sarcasm.

I sniffed and walked on, leaving him to
chuckle behind me.

“He is insubordinate,” I said out loud, to no
one in particular, but to my surprise Rebecca, at my side, answered
me.

“He only seeks to bring you down to size,
Princess,” she said, with warm humor in her own voice.

I turned to glare at her, but her warm smile
remained. “You are a wonderful young feline, Clara, but you are far
too serious and far too young to be so. Your father was too young
to assume the crown when he was forced to do so, and he was two
years older than you. In many ways, you are still a kit—”

“Don’t use that word!” I shouted, stamping my
foot. I stopped in the corridor, and those behind us, old Newton
and Thomas and a few others, halted also. I was infuriated by the
smug look of tolerance on all their faces.

Filled with sudden rage, I turned on them.
Even as Rebecca reached out to prevent me, I swatted her paw
away.

“I will soon be your Queen, and you will obey
me!” I shouted. I was pleased to see the smiles melt from their
faces – though Newton’s ancient visage was inscrutable, and his
eyes, as always, troubled me. They had seen much, more than I ever
would, and sometimes I got the feeling that he saw straight through
me, and knew more about me than I ever would myself.

I turned in the corridor and began to march
once again toward the far door which led to what terrified me more
than anything in the world. My fear was abated somewhat by the
pleasure I drew from the sound of those following me in step, as if
on command. I turned to Rebecca, but was surprised to see Newton in
her place, staring down at me balefully.

“The Princess and I will proceed alone,” he
said, and while it sounded like a suggestion its result was a
command, and the others, including my maidservant, withdrew
immediately.

I wondered if their haste was leavened with
relief.

I felt Newton’s withered paw, which felt like
a claw, descent lightly on my shoulder. Briefly he drew me toward
him.

“Do not be afraid,” he whispered.

I looked up at him, trying to put cold fire
into my eyes, but instead burst into tears.

“I cannot go in there, Newton!” I sobbed,
turning my face into his tunic. His claw patted my back. “I cannot
face those...ghosts!”

“They are more than ghosts, princess. You
know that.”

“But less than real! They haunt my dreams,
every night! They frighten me!”

“Is it their images that frighten you, or
what they represent?”

No adult had ever spoken to me so
forthrightly, and at that instant my respect for Newton magnified.
I pulled my tearful face from his tunic and looked up at him.

“Please explain,” I requested.

A smiled touched his lips. “Always so
serious!”

“What is there not to be serious about?” I
replied. “I have a republic to rule, great shoes to fill—”

“Ah!” he interrupted me. “Could this be the
problem? Could it be that you fear that you will not measure up to
your predecessors?”

Without my bidding, anger returned. “I have
no fear of this!”

He bent down to gaze at me levelly. His face
in old age was almost devoid of fur, now, his cheeks pink and
wrinkled. His eyes looked even more enigmatic.

“Would it help,” he whispered, “if I told you
that you have it in you to be greater than either your father or
grandmother?”

I must have blinked, and again, against my
will, tears filled my eyes. In a moment I had melted into his arms
and was sobbing more uncontrollably than before.

“You are right...” I said. “I know I have
great things in me. But I feel so young.”

He patted my back, and let my crying jag, the
first I had ever had, pass. “Poor, Princess Clara,” he said,
wistfully, “always so strong, never showing weakness. Even as a
little kit you were serious in play and in lessons. Hardly ever a
smile, never letting anything more than the task at hand rule you.
You never let yourself be a kit, Clara, and now that you are one no
more it is too late.

“But I tell you this, and listen to me. You
have in you qualities that are greater than either your grandmother
Haydn, who was impetuous and headstrong, or your father Sebastian,
who was, in the end, rash and too daring. You have a more solid
head on your shoulders than either of them – and they were great
felines.”

By now I had stood back from him, noting the
wet spot on his tunic, and stood staring at him.

“Do you mean these things?” I said.

He laughed shortly, which was not something
he often did – though his eyes were not laughing. “Yes, I do. But
can’t you smile once in a while, Clara? It is the one thing you
should work on.”

“Then I will work on it,” I said,
seriously.

He smiled and then faced the door before us.
“Shall we go in?”

My heart clenched, and I felt fear rise
up in me, but I swallowed hard and said, “Yes, let’s do so.”

D
arkness.

And then a silhouette of purple light, and
another. They were side by side, as they often were, and seemed to
be conversing, even though there was utter silence in the room. I
held Newton’s paw, and he drew me forward, to the foot of the dais
upon which two dark thrones stood, and the violet figures, vague
still, on them.

Behind my father’s throne stood, as always,
his ever-present manservant, Thomas, who bowed.

“My niece Rebecca serves you well as
lady-in-waiting, Princess?” he asked.

“Very well, thank you.”

Newton announced, facing the two blue
figures, “I have brought the Princess Clara.”

Both silhouettes quickened in brightness –
though the larger, that of my grandmother, flared more quickly. I
could see her face, now, in scant outline, the smiling eyes and
mouth. Now I heard an electrical hum from somewhere, and smelled
faintly the odor that wafted through my nightmares – a blue, cold
smell like that during a storm, a strange, unnatural odor that had
nothing to do with human flesh.

“It is good that you brought her now,
Newton,” Grandmother Haydn said, and held her paw out. “Come here,
Clara, and stand close so that I can see you.”

I did so, holding my fear at bay.

She bent forward, a purple ghost, and stared
at me with eyes that seemed to look through me.

“You have grown so!” she said, and something
like a laugh issued from her spectral mouth. She turned to regard
Newton, who had remained at the foot of the dais. “Do you know who
she resembles?”

“I had rather thought her father, around the
eyes.”

“Yes, but her face is that of her
grandfather, my husband, Sebastian’s father. Kerl...” For a moment
she stared at nothing, and seemed lost in memory.

I turned to regard my father, who had not
said a word. He sat staring at me as if I was a ghost.

“As I said,” Grandmother Haydn said, back
from the past, “it is good that you have brought her. We have had
messages from the far west, and they are not good.”

I turned to regard Newton, who seemed to
stiffen.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Apparently, Frane has been sighted.”

At the mention of that name my blood ran
cold. This was the monster who had caused not only my grandfather’s
death but my father’s also. The last we had heard, she had been
killed near Burroughs two years previously. A body had been
produced, authenticated, burned, and buried.

Grandmother Haydn continued, “It seems old
Frane took a page from my own book, and faked her own death,”

“But the Science Guild did tests on that
body—”

My grandmother held up a hand. “If you
remember, you had only an intact hand and arm to work on. The rest
was horribly mutilated.”

“She cut off her own limb?” Newton said
incredulously.

“Apparently. If you remember, the body was in
pieces – it was claimed she was drawn and quartered...”

Newton stood in disbelief.

“It is true,” grandmother continued. And she
is gathering an army. She has been seen in the Solis Planum
region.”

Newton’s nearly nude face went pale.

It was my turn to interrupt. “But
Grandmother, the F’rar have been loyal for more than five years! My
mother is F’rar, and I am half F’rar! She could not wrest them from
the Republic a third time!”