The Kingdoms of Evil (59 page)

"Then allow me to point out that as we are not currently
in
the happy nation of The Rationalist Union—"

"No kidding, Bloodbyrn." Freetrick let his voice fall as the realization clicked into place, "we're in Skrea."

Aha. From the look on her face, Bloodbyrn realized the point too, but Freetrick continued anyway. "I'm king here. And as far as I've been able to find out, the king doesn't have to do what
anyone
says, least of all his concubine." Bloodbyrn's furious snarl had been replaced with something a little more hesitant, a little more afraid, and Freetrick found he liked the change. "In fact, officially, we aren't married at all. The concept doesn't legally exist in the Kingdoms of Evil. The title of First Concubine traditionally respected, but that's just custom." Custom forged, he was sure, by generations of brutal and power-mad queens, but that was beside the point. "Officially,
I'm
in charge."

For a second, Bloodbyrn's eyes widened in surprise, but then narrowed back into their habitual shape of sardonic contempt. "Are you? So what does my lord require of me? State a need," she stepped closer to him, "and see if I cannot satisfy it."

"All right then," said Freetrick, "go away."

Her eyelid twitched. Then, with an expression like badly-set concrete, she turned and stalked away down the corridor.

Freetrick leaned against the wall, gasping, his naked chest smeared with blood. Another piece of armor dropped off him with a clang.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wall until gasps slowed down and became breathy, desperate laughter. "Hah! Hah!"

There was a noise that might have been a tiny sharp heel striking the stone and a stifled scream of frustration. Either that or she had stepped on an imp.

"She went away. Hah!" gasped Freetrick. "If I'd known it was that easy…oh strike me out."

He collapsed against the wall.

***

"Mr. Skree. Do not ask me about the armor."

Mr. Skree's gaze, so bland it would have made boiled white rice seem decadent, slid across the Ultimate Fiend as he sank into his chair-of-bone.

"Or about the blood," Freetrick continued. "Or about my striking wedding night. And especially not about my striking…wife?" His gauntlets clattered against his desk. "Oh strike me out."

Mr. Skree was silent for a few moments, then cleared his throat with a noise like a dead scarab rattling in a pyramid's cistern. Freetrick was obscurely comforted. "Horrendous morrow, Your Vile Maliciousness."

Freetrick clamped down on the hysterical giggle that tried to bubble out of this throat, "Hello yourself, Mr. Skree, good to see you." He coughed, pulled his mind back into order. "Did you schedule the interviews with the dark lords?"

"This pitiful suppuration has done so, Malevolence."

"Excellent." Freetrick looked brightly up at his chamberlain. "Cancel them."

"The itinerary shall be cast into the most molten cracks of Mount Death, Malevolence," Mr. Skree responded immediately, "where they shall be expunged from all mortal memory and rest forever as ashes in the igneous spaces of the Earth."

"Oh. Uh, good." Freetrick supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Mr. Skree had decades of experience with serving masters who gripped sanity less firmly than, say, the throats of any servants who displeased them. The laconic monster would probably have reacted the same way if Freetrick had told him to eat the itinerary, or for that matter the people on it. Freetrick hoped that Mr. Skree would obey his new orders with equal aplomb.

"Mr. Skree, I have a question for you," Freetrick leaned forward and rested his elbows on the calcareous surface of his desk. "Who
actually
runs Skrea?"

Mr. Skree blinked. Freetrick almost missed it. "This ragged and leprous wastrel cannot fathom the black questions that issue from the toothed maw---"

"Yes you can," interrupted Freetrick, "you can understand me perfectly. All the time. And you do everything I ask you to do. And everything I
should
ask you to do, which is way more useful. You
work
." He steepled his fingers before him on his bone desk, "and I'm guessing that your colleagues do too." All behind the scenes, never exactly
disobeying
a stupid or counter-productive order, but still making sure that, every day, in a hundred tiny ways, the nation functioned. "So!" He thumped his hands down on his desk. "Change of plans! I want you to tell me how I can talk to the chamberlains."

Mr. Skree blinked again. Freetrick could almost hear the eyelids peeling off his corneas. "May the Unmerciful Punisher cleave the ears from the insufficient skull of this despairing cretin, for they have obviously ceased their functioning, and may the head may then be likewise riven asunder, for this basest of creations has no choice but to beg the Mighty Mountain of Magisterial Morbidity to repeat his most recent debased proclamation."

Alliteration. True words. He must have
really
unsettled the old guy. "You heard me," Freetrick sat back in his chair, "Secretaries. Chamberlains. Seconds-in-command. The guys who don't rank high enough to be invited to parties like the Villainous Council. People like
you
."

Another silence. "By which, if this pathetic excrescence may dare to presume to interpret the rumblings of the Mouth of Wickedness, the Ultimate Fiend refers to the monsters of the Castle?"

"Well," said Freetrick, "no, actually. I meant… really? You mean those people are all monsters?"

"May the light of truth do nothing to alleviate the darkness of the soul of the Ultimate Fiend."

"Monsters! No kidding." Freetrick sat back, thinking. Come to think of it, hadn't DeMacabre and Bloodbyrn been careful to steer him from one human to the next? Not to mention the fact that of the four people at Clouds-Gather Freetrick was fairly certain were not actively planning to kill him, three were monsters. "So, do the monsters have any sort of governing body?"

"Only in whispered and unconfirmed rumor, Fiend, which name the monsters-above-monsters as: the Cabinet of Horrors."

"The Cabinet of Horrors," Freetrick repeated to himself. "All right then, Mr. Skree. I want to talk to them."

Another pause, then "Pleas for the immediate death of this miserable reprobate would of course fall withered before the uncaring ears and sadistic pleasure of the Ultimate Fiend, but nevertheless must be made on the shallow hope that the Vile Master's torture of his disobedient servant might be shortened to something less than infinite."

Disobedient? "Because you can't do what I want?" asked Freetrick, "why not?"

"Oh, woe falls like volcanic ash from the eruption of sorrow from the rifts of—"

"Why?" Freetrick repeated, "not?"

Mr. Skree wheezed. "For low as this humble minion might be when compared to the colossus of towering unholy magnificence that is the Ultimate Fiend, there are those even lower---"

"Do you mean I'm too high-ranking to meet directly with servants?"

"The relative societal stations of the Ultimate Fiend and the lowly monstrosities that squirm in the mires of his realm does present social obstacles that are rarely transgressed," hissed Mr. Skree.

Freetrick narrowed his eyes. He had studied the histories of The RU, and more to the point The Nation of Love, and even more to the point Virgin Soil. "You're talking about an oppressed people. You mean I'm the ultimate symbol of the Human Overlord, and I shouldn't present the hand of friendship to the downtrodden servant races." Especially when the servant races in question might possess three-inch fangs.

"Afraid of a people's rebellion, Mr. Skree?" The thought occurred:
or plotting
one? Freetrick squinted up at his chamberlain. How much could he trust the old bat? Not much, but his trust of everyone else he had met in Clouds-Gather ranged from 'less than not at all' to 'burning libraries he's rushing at you with a knife
right now!
'

Compared to DeMacabre or the Undying Priest what-was-his-name, Mr. Skree and the hypothetical huddled masses of the monstrous proletariat looked pretty good. Although perhaps 'look good' wasn't exactly the right phrase. "That's exactly why I need to meet these people. Demonstrate respect."

Another blink, another pause. Freetrick was probably setting some kind of record for shocking the staff. "But I appreciate the need for secrecy." Freetrick leaned back into his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "Let's say that I want to meet all of the most important monsters in the castle. Secretaries to the dark lords and ladies, aids and chamberlains, captains of guard. Why would I need to meet these people?"

Mr. Skree opened his mouth. "Oh Supreme Master of---"

"A review of the troops," Freetrick interrupted. "Or an inspection. Monster audit. Make sure all the…tusks are polished and the tentacles are up to code, I guess."

Mr. Skree paused, mouth still open. "The pulsating egg-sack that is the mind of the Ultimate Fiend has vomited forth a stream dark progeny that it falls to this lowly worm to identify: a Slaughter Viewing."

"Maybe…" Freetrick said, trying to ignore the images that the words 'vomit' and 'egg sack' had called up, "what's a Slaughter Viewing?"

"Oh Terrible Curser of Beauty and Love, Your weeping servant implores You to twist your Ear in the direction of this historical lamentation."

"You get one more sentence, Skree, and then I'm going to stop listening."

Mr. Skree took a deep breath. "In the Years of Nadir, when clutching talons of the mighty Skrean Empire had attained their greatest reach, it was the vile and malicious habit of those who gleefully rained torment upon the masses of conquered peoples, to rejoice in this torment, which they administered---"

"One more clause, Mr. Skree, and I will throw you out of my office."

Eyelids like parchment flickered. "…to observe the monsters they had made devouring their slaves, to bathe in the blood that rained down, and generally enjoy themselves, Malevolence."

"Okay…" Freetrick said, thinking. "Let's say we schedule a Slaughter Viewing." He stood up. "As soon as possible. Say this afternoon. Everyone thinks I'm going to watch these monsters rip up prisoners, but I'll
actually
be talking to them. I like it. Okay." He placed his hands palm down on the desk. "Make it so, Mr. Skree

The chamberlain bobbed in a dangling bow. "If this lurching horror thought the Ultimate Fiend capable of the emotion, assurances of trust would now be forthcoming."

That sounded like 'Leave it to me.' Freetrick smiled, feeling better than he had in days. "That would be so great, Mr. Skree." He sighed, winced as he plucked off his pince nez, and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Ugh. You do that. I'm gonna…have something to eat."

The cook had managed a very nice soup yesterday, made of what they assured Freetrick was mushrooms. "Then I need to take a nap. So just wake me up an hour before the meeting, okay?" He began to rise.

Mr. Skree coughed.

Freetrick stopped, his butt half-way out of the chair. "
What
, Mr. Skree."

"This…abject and utterly miserable servant," said Mr. Skree. "Would never dare to presume to advise the Reviler of Softer Emotions."

Freetrick sat back down. "What, Mr. Skree."

"Surely the Nameless Darkness that lurks in the Shadows of all Human Souls has simply forgotten, the orders lost in the crowded and necrotic labyrinth of his fiendish brain, to summon the wardrobe goblins to prepare him."

Freetrick felt cold. "Prepare me for what?"

"And likewise," Mr. Skree rasped, "the Core of the Volcano, pondering as He does the great and everlasting evils that would rend asunder the mentalities of mortal men, has temporarily mislaid the news from the spies that line the very corridors of His lair and abode, this, the Castle Clouds-Gather."

Freetrick pinched the bridge of his nose again. "God of words I am too tired for this. You're telling me I should have installed spies in the walls of the castle?"

"Surely this is a test, and regardless of the answer, this sack of spoiled cartilage shall be ripped in twain," said Mr. Skree. "Of course, the spies are already installed."

"Uh huh," said Freetrick. "And what is it they told you I should prepare for?"

"Ah, the fiendish test continues, for of course the Constructor of Malicious Engines of Doom is already fully cognizant of the fact that the Dark Lord his Vileness the Duke DeMacabre, accompanied by his daughter,
the Dark Lady her Vileness Bloodbyrn DeMacabre currently approach, black of purpose and wrathful of expression."