Read The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf Online
Authors: Martin Millar
“And the other one you mentioned . . . what was her name again?”
“Thrix,” said Distikka. It was frustrating that Thrix's sorcery was so effective in blocking all knowledge of her. Mr. Carmichael could never remember anything about her, no matter how often Distikka explained who she was. “She's the most powerful werewolf in London. I hope Minerva's death will madden her and bring her into the open.”
Mr. Carmichael looked at his watch. “I'm due back at the Red House.”
“The Red House?”
“It's our code name for the Guild's headquarters. No one could ever find it anyway, but you can't be too careful.”
Mr. Carmichael left, with an arrangement to meet Distikka again in a
week's time. Distikka was not sorry to see him go. She was enjoying the gallery and he had been a poor companion.
“How is the head of the Guild?” asked Empress Kabachetka, stepping out unexpectedly from behind a display cabinet.
“Empress? I didn't expect to see you here.”
“I have business in London. My dress is not yet perfect.”
For the past week the Empress had been obsessed by the dress she was wearing to the fashion designers' reception.
“It is of the utmost importance,” said Kabachetka, not for the first time. “Malveria will be in attendance, and if she eclipses me again I may declare war. Or have harsh words, at the very least.” The Empress found herself staring at the back of Distikka's head. “Distikka, are you ignoring me?”
“I was looking at this sculpture.”
The Empress frowned. “How did it go with Mr. Carmichael?”
“Quite well,” replied Distikka. “He's pleased to have killed an important werewolf.”
“I'm glad Minerva is dead,” said the Empress. “She was a nuisance, like all these MacRinnalchs. But she wasn't that important. You told me she'd retired from clan affairs.”
Distikka nodded. “True. She had retired. But she was very important to Thrix. It's the perfect start to my plan.”
They walked on. Distikka studied the sculptures while Empress Kabachetka looked at her own reflection in the glass cases. She too was finding her new extra-high heels a challenge, and was obliged to walk slowly. She frowned as they reached the end of the room and she saw that the next room also contained sculptures.
“Are these horrid statues everywhere?”
“There are paintings upstairs.”
“I have no wish to see paintings,” said Kabachetka. “I don't like this gallery. One can tell that the people who visit do not care for clothes. You should not spend too long here, Distikka. You don't have the sorcery to survive for long in this dimension.”
The Empress left, eager to see her London fashion adviser. Distikka remained behind, calculating that she had enough time left to see some of the works by Matisse and Henry Moore before she had to leave. Distikka liked the gallery. Before departing she picked up a leaflet giving details of their future exhibitions. She was disappointed to find that the leaflet didn't survive the journey back to her own dimension. It took a lot of sorcery to carry any item undamaged from one dimension to another.
However, she'd already memorized most of it, and resolved to visit more exhibitions in the coming weeks.
The Fire Queen knocked politely on Moonglow's bedroom door. Moonglow answered it hesitantly and looked relieved to find Malveria there. The Queen slipped inside.
“I take it you are hiding from Daniel?”
“Sort of,” admitted Moonglow. “Everything has become very difficult.”
The Fire Queen nodded. “Vex informed me that you had crushed his aspirations, dealing him a savage blow.”
“I'm hoping it's not that bad.”
The Fire Queen waved her arm dismissively. “It cannot be helped. If he is damaged by his passion, so be it. My realm is full of elementals whose hearts have been sundered by their hopeless passion for me. One does not like to brag, of course.” The Fire Queen smiled, but it quickly faded. “These days I seem to have little time for breaking hearts. I'm busy with government all the time, with hardly a moment to attend to my wardrobe. I wouldn't be here had I not sneaked away from my advisory council.”
“But you're the Queen. Doesn't everyone have to obey you?”
“One would think so.” The Queen lowered her voice. “But I do not mind telling you, Moonglow, that the recent ructions in my country, involving an attempted coup by the dreadful Distikka, were, in a very small measure, encouraged by some distractions I may have suffered.”
“Like your shoes and dresses?”
“Exactly. And while I am ruler, it does make life tedious if my government is always angry at me. I have assured them that I will spend less time on fashion and more on government, at least till things settle down.”
The Queen sat on the edge of Moonglow's bed. She always felt comfortable in Moonglow's room. It was small and rather dark, with the walls painted black and hung with Gothic posters and some of Moonglow's favorite dark dresses. It reminded the Fire Queen of the caves she'd hidden in so often in her youth, as a fugitive.
“If I do get a spare moment, there is always some trouble with Agrivex.
Really, Moonglow, I sometimes become tired of looking after a whole nation, and Agrivex as well.”
“I know what you mean,” said Moonglow. “Sometimes I feel that way too.”
“How can you feel this?” asked the Queen.
“Well, I don't have a country to look after, but I have got Daniel, Kalix and Vex. None of them are exactly competent. You know, at paying bills. Or washing up, or buying food, or tidying the house. I have to keep making these schedules for everyone and then they get annoyed with me. But if I don't do it, everything just gets in a mess. I really get tired of acting like their mother.”
“I know just what you mean!” exclaimed the Fire Queen. “Ministers of state ask me the most ridiculous questions, and I am continually thinking,
Can you not work it out for yourself?
And as for Agrivex . . .”
Moonglow nodded. Agrivex could be a burden.
“I presume this so-called boyfriend will never call her again?” said the Queen.
“That's what I'm guessing. She'll probably be upset.”
“She will get over it.” The Fire Queen fished in her handbag and produced a small, glossy leaflet. “This is what I wished to consult you about. You will be aware that for a very long time I have been dissatisfied with my lip coloring?”
Moonglow nodded, having heard this complaint before.
“Sometimes it seems as if the universe is conspiring to make my lipstick fade,” said the Queen. “No matter what I do, it will neither go on in a satisfactory glossy manner nor retain its luster through the evening. And this is becoming a matter of great importance because, at a fashion show next week, photographers from
Vogue
will be in attendance. And if I tell you that the evil Kabachetka will also be at this party, you will see how important it is that my makeup is flawless, and remains so all evening.”
Malveria handed the leaflet to Moonglow. It read “Six Steps to Perfect Lips,” and there were six pictures, each with a lengthy caption underneath.
“What do you think?” said the Fire Queen. “Is their six-step procedure worth implementing?”
“It's quite a long procedure,” said Moonglow. “I don't know if I'd want to do it every time I went out, but it does look good. Do you want to try it?”
“Yes! Unless you are busy with other important matters . . .”
“My only plans for today were avoiding Daniel,” said Moonglow.
She studied the leaflet:
Step oneâPrepare and prime the lips by applying a lip conditioner
.
The Fire Queen had come prepared, and produced her lip conditioner from her bag.
“Let's get to work,” said Moonglow.
Thrix MacRinnalch was generally regarded as a glamorous young woman. She appeared to be no more than thirty years old. But werewolves lived long and aged slowly. Really, she was much older. She'd first met Minerva MacRinnalch shortly after the end of the Second World War.
A few of the young werewolves at the castle had been planning to attend a dance in the nearest town. They were looking forward to the event. There had not been much in the way of enjoyment to be had during the war. In the two years since, life had been easier, but hardly more enjoyable. Britain was in debt and few people had money. Everything was rationed, including food and clothing. Thrix had become very adept at altering clothes, taking an old dress and making something new for a special occasion. It was satisfying when it worked out well, but she was weary of it. Thrix would have loved to buy a beautiful new dress but she couldn't. Even if the Mistress of the Werewolves had allowed her daughter to spend so much money, which she probably wouldn't have, there weren't any beautiful new dresses to be had in this part of Scotland. As far as Thrix could tell, there was not a fashionable frock to be had anywhere in the north of Scotland.
Thrix was walking down a dark stone corridor, deep in thought, and had almost bumped into her mother.
“My daughter Thrix,” announced Verasa to her companion. “Not looking where she's going.”
“These corridors are so dark,” said Thrix.
Her mother nodded. “I know. It's gloomy. But the Thane won't sanction any more lights. Have you met Minerva MacRinnalch?”
Thrix had been taken aback. Minerva was a famous, or infamous, figure in the clan, and not a werewolf she'd ever expected to meet in the castle. Minerva was a sorcerer, and that was a very odd thing for a
werewolf to be. It wasn't respectable. The MacRinnalchs were suspicious of the art. As far as Thrix knew, Minerva had never visited the castle before, and wouldn't be welcomed by the Thane. He set great store by respectability.
The MacRinnalch werewolves are a civilized clan
, he said on many occasions. The clan mostly agreed with him, though some of the younger members were coming to resent the Thane's rather harsh domestic discipline.
“Are you really Minerva the sorceress?” said Thrix.
“I am.” Minerva looked around fifty, in human terms, though she could have been any age. Verasa herself was several hundred years old. Minerva was a sorceress and might have lived for far longer than that. Thrix had never heard an exact account of her origins.
“You seem preoccupied,” said Minerva.
“Most probably she was wondering about a new dress,” said Verasa.
“Ah,” said Minerva. “The dance?”
Thrix nodded. “I'm so fed up with wearing old clothes.”
Minerva smiled. Thrix felt more uncomfortable. She had the feeling Minerva had quickly summed her up, and wasn't that impressed.
“Why don't you come with us?” said Minerva. “We're off for a small glass of whisky before the Thane returns. Perhaps I can give you some help.”
Even now, many years later, Thrix could still visualize the dress that Minerva had created for the dance. Casting a spell on an old garment, she'd produced the most beautiful dress Thrix had ever seen. She just conjured it out of a ragged old frock. Thrix had been staggered. Her mother had seemed puzzled that Minerva would waste her power on what seemed like a trivial matter. But Minerva had done it, and the dress was beautiful, and fashionable. Thrix wore it to the dance, where it caused a sensation. No one could imagine how Thrix had managed to appear wearing such a fine new garment.
Halfway up the mountainside, Thrix came to a halt. She laid Minerva's body at her feet. Thrix's face was anguished as she looked down at her old teacher.
“It was cunning of you to make me that dress. You knew I'd be interested in sorcery after that.”
What Minerva had seen in the Thane's daughter to make her select her as a pupil, Thrix had never really understood, but soon afterward she became her student. The MacRinnalchs had been shocked. Her father had raged against it. Her mother, while less angry, had not approved. Nor had
her brothers. Thrix had been obliged to ignore her family and the clan to become a pupil of Minerva MacRinnalch.
“You really sucked me in with that dress.”
Thrix began to cry. She wanted to take Minerva to the top of her mountain, but she couldn't go on. Horror and misery were engulfing her, freezing her body, making it impossible to act. Thrix knew she should have studied the area where Minerva had been slain. Her sorcerous powers might have picked up some hint as to the killer's identity. But Thrix couldn't go back down the mountain either. She was frozen in misery, halfway up, with her old teacher's body lying in the rain at her feet. Thrix wept bitterly, changing from her werewolf form to her human form and then back again, not knowing which was preferable, and not knowing what to do.
Kalix slept in the back of the car and didn't revive until they were almost at the airport. At first her memory was unclear.
“Where are we?”
“Near the airport,” said Dominil.