Necropolis: The Order of the Four Sons, Book V

BOOK V

Coyote Kishpaugh

Lauren Scharhag

Necropolis

The Order of the Four Sons, Book V

© Coyote Kishpaugh, Lauren Scharhag, 2018

Cover design by Rebecca Kenney

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the authors.

This book is dedicated to Lauren’s husband, Patrick. Thank you for everything you’ve done to help us pull this off. Thank you, especially, for being such a good sport about us taking over the living room every Friday night for ten years, and Coyote always eating all the peanut butter. You are the best of people, and we love you.

Content Warning

This book has adult content, including violence, sex, strong language, occult imagery, etc. Please note that some scenes depict dark and sensitive themes that some readers may find disturbing.

PROLOGUE

Sheriff Aaron Vickers opened the bat-winged saloon doors and bellied up to the bar, his deputies behind him. In the corner, a dust-covered player piano plunked out a Scott Joplin tune, the paper circling its punched-out patterns in an endless loop.

Bill Welsh was tending bar. He didn’t seem surprised to see the three of them, even as Spencer and Barnes fanned out, moving to strategic positions on either side of the room.

Vickers looked around. No sign of Hayes. At least, not yet. That wasn’t good. One of the reasons Vickers had chosen her was for her record as a sniper.

Resting both hands on the bar, Welsh leaned forward. He was wearing sleeve garters. What’ll it be?

Fine. If he wanted to play it coy, Vickers was willing to match him. You got any good sarsaparilla?

Yeah, we got Blue Lotus and Old Avery.

I’ll take an Avery.

Welsh took a red bottle down from the shelf, poured the dark liquid into a glass and served it. A leggy redhead lounged by the bar in a Miss Kitty outfit, watching as Vickers took a sip. It was fruity and sweet at first but left a bitter aftertaste.

She isn’t here, Welsh said as he picked up a rag and busied himself wiping down the bar.

Vickers peered at him over the top of his glass. You wanna tell me what’s really going on here?

Welsh shrugged. Nothin’. This town’s dead.

Is that why Hayes isn’t here?

Emily? Welsh smiled a bit. She went off and became a pirate.

She went rogue, you mean?

No, I mean she’s a pirate now.

Vickers shook his head. Okay, enough of that. Glancing over his shoulder, he gave the nod. Barnes and Spencer moved around the bar in a flanking maneuver. Turning back to Welsh, Vickers started to say, Don’t make this hard on yourself-- But he broke off as a hand shot out and pinned his wrist to the bar.

Around them, the music stopped. The people disappeared. It was just Vickers and the thing behind the bar. It was tall and slim, with skin as smooth and black as polished stone.

I’m out, It rasped. I have freedom. I have power. Leaning forward, It thrust Its face very close to his, like a snake about to strike. Its blue eyes glowed faintly. "And I am never going back."

Vickers awoke. Nellie lay against him in the old brass bed, her head on his arm. No matter how carefully he shifted, the mattress springs always groaned when he sat up. Nellie murmured and turned over, laying a six-fingered hand on the spot where he’d been. Almost absently, he placed his hand over hers for a moment before he got up and pulled his pants on. As he crossed the room to the double doors, the silver amulet he always wore caught the bit of light coming in through the slats, gleaming against his bare chest.

Even without the dream, Vickers had known for some time -- practically from the moment he got here – that something was coming.

Just look at the state this place had been in. The people of the three remaining towns had all told him it had been bad for years, with creatures coming in through the old gates and nexus points. It used to only happen a few times a year (or whatever passed for a year in this godforsaken place). Then, just before his arrival, things had taken an abrupt turn for the worse. Now it was constant, entities appearing from out of nowhere-- in the mountains, in the wastes, near the towns themselves. Apparently, the dimensional walls had gone completely porous, allowing things to just slither through at will.

Vickers had made it his first order of business to implement an emergency plan. These people had been ruled by chaos for so long, the idea of actually building something had been almost beyond them. That Horace kid had been a godsend, though. Bringing him in as XO had given Vickers the credibility he’d needed. The locals hadn’t understood why he’d wanted things done, but as far as Vickers was concerned, they didn’t need to know why. They just need to do whatever the fuck he told them to do, whenever he fucking told them to do it, without fucking question. Between him, Horace, and a few well-worded threats, the townspeople had fallen in line pretty quickly.

In no time, they got beacons up, standing at regular intervals between Elysium and the fifth town beyond the mountains. Vickers had the rancher, Luna, working on improving the livestock. Pack animals were all well and good, but what this place needed was something fast. Once they had a mount that could hit forty miles an hour, they might stand a chance of gaining something that resembled an actual communication system. The goddamn Mek Express.

Second order of business had been to take that so-called posse DePriest had been running and train them up. That had required some serious housekeeping. How anyone could’ve thought that bringing that particular band of degenerates together and giving them firearms was a good idea, he’d never know. Still, with the remaining men, he had something resembling an actual militia now. Most of them could shoot at least, and they had more field experience than he’d dared hope for in dealing with the creatures that came in through the gates. Add in a distribution of weapons from the posse’s old hideout and things were starting to look defensible.

Now, as Vickers stepped out onto the balcony overlooking Elysium’s main drag, his frown deepened. The town wasn’t quite as bleached out from the overabundance of light as it normally was. This hellhole was inconstant in a lot of ways, but it had its rules. Everything did. And Vickers had learned long ago that changes in the status quo had to be acted on fast.

One of his sentries looked up at him, startled, squinting in the morning sun. Mr. Aaron?

Vickers, too, was looking up. He pointed. Deke, have the suns ever done that before?

The man’s brow furrowed. Wellnow, that’s kinda hard to say— he began, then stopped. The boss man’s eyes had narrowed, and while he weren’t no Nathan, Aaron Vickers was still a dangerous son of a bitch. Even unarmed.

Vickers took a tone one might take with an exasperating child. "Look at what I’m talking about. Then speak."

Deke glanced up. His mouth dropped open and he just stared.

In the sky overhead, the two suns were making their drunken ascent. The larger one had gone red in the center and bluish along the outer rim. It looked unsettlingly like an enormous eye.

Vickers sighed. I guess that answers my question. Deke, spread the word-- I’m calling for a meeting as soon as everyone can get here. I want representatives from every town, from every family that can make it, here in Elysium, tonight. Anyone, anywhere, who might know anything about this, I want them. Also spread the word, Vickers added, speaking very clearly and emphatically, "that this is probably a good thing. If I’m right, things are looking up. There is no reason to panic."

Deke blinked at him, uncertain. Sir?

Vickers’ jaw tightened. Where’s Horace?

Uh—

He in town?

Yessir.

Get him here.

The man sped off.

Shitkicker. Shaking his head, Vickers went back inside. He gathered up the rest of his clothes and got dressed. Nellie had done the laundry last night, so they’d have time to dry. (Not that he would have minded wet clothes against the Carcosan heat.) But people were the same throughout the universe: look the part, and the sheep stay focused.

The suns. The suns were one of the reasons life on this planet was doomed, of course. And while the suns might be partially to blame for the blights these people suffered, he’d seen the broken-down bits of machinery, the unexploded warheads. Who knew what radiation levels they’d been living with for however many generations?

Vickers paused. A button had fallen off his shirt. He crouched down to pick it up. It wasn’t an old shirt, at least not for this place, and everything had been newly mended and checked before purchase. But the button’s thread was thin now. Vickers checked the rest of the shirt. Everything held fast. He stressed the button between his fingers. It snapped. There were flakes between the pieces.

The button halves went into his shirt pocket. Vest and bola tie went on, then his gunbelt. He checked the revolver and his automatic. Everything fine there. One of the seams of his vest looked a bit more frayed than it had yesterday, but that might’ve been his imagination. The guns, his knife-- everything that was a weapon was fine.

No, it wasn’t just the presence of two suns, though that was certainly part of the problem. Hard materials, like wood, horn, or plastic-- they might break after a time, but they certainly didn’t crumble. Not without reason. Objects didn’t just decide to wear out and become brittle, while others of their kind, identical in every way, went merrily on. Just like months and weeks didn’t blend and distort, making any attempt to keep a calendar completely pointless.

But here, they did.

The greater sun was growing darker and changing color. Vickers was no astrophysicist, but he didn’t have to be to know what a sun changing color meant. Or, in this fucking place, what it probably meant.

It was burning out.

It was entirely possible that he hadn’t lied to Deke about there being no cause for alarm. After all, if Carcosa was going to recover from whatever the hell had happened here in the first place, getting rid of a spare sun would be a damn good start. Of course, the odds on that were about slim and none. In Vickers’ experience, things didn’t just get better on their own, and he didn’t know of anybody in the planet repair business. Which meant, all pipe dreams aside, the sun wasn’t simply burning out. It was crumbling. Like a shirt button, way ahead of its peers. Because the great law that ruled Carcosa was Entropy Above All.

So. Things would get better for a little while with one sun gone, assuming the fucking thing didn’t go nova and kill everyone in a heartbeat. And then, after a while, the other would go out as well.

Either way, he thought as he adjusted his tie, no sense in getting the locals in a panic.

Down below, he heard Horace’s voice. Vickers opened the door quietly, so as to not disturb Nellie, and headed downstairs to start damage control.

* * *

In the Great House on the Field of St. Matthew, the Oracles were in their day room, with only a single handler left to look after them. Most of them were gathered around the craft table, spinning their endless dreams out of yarn, oil pastel, and crayon.

One of them, an old woman named Lin, shivered. Then we’ll both die free.

Beside her, another Oracle named Abena nodded, as if in agreement. Death before dishonor.

A third Oracle said, Oh, what? So you can play mummy now?

You know, I had a little girl once, a long time ago. I had to let her go. You must have had a mother once...

The vision passed through all of them, wending its way through the room like a ribbon, encircling them all. One by one, they stiffened and cried out. Their heads fell back, eyes wide and tormented. Mother, they gasped. Madam. Mistress. Matriarch. Their voices rose, moaning and shrieking. She’s not there! She’s not there!

At last, the vision came to Hani.

He said, The taste is dust. It always is.

PART ONE

THE KEEPERS OF STARRY WISDOM

Chapter One

Millie

When Millicent Kincaid awoke, it was already nine o’clock. Had she really slept so late? She’d missed morning sanctuary. Her husband, Donald, had no doubt been up for hours, making breakfast and seeing the girls off to school. At the moment, she could hear him in his studio, singing along to music only he could hear.

Under the blankets, she rolled over to his side of the bed, and nestled her cheek against his pillow. It was deliciously cool and smelled of him, potter’s clay and nutmeg. Yet the scent didn’t soothe her as it usually did. She felt fitful. Her dreams had been unpleasant, riddled with anxiety. Something about the General, something he’d wanted her to do. She couldn’t remember now, lost in the fog of reluctant wakefulness. In the dream, she’d been racing around, trying to accomplish some task. If she didn’t complete it, he was going to be so disappointed in her.

Well, that was just silly. The result of all this time off, she supposed. Over four months now, in fact. And no word from him in weeks, no idea as to when he’d be coming back.

At last, Millie sat up and threw off the covers. She’d already slept all she was going to, and a great deal more than she should. She went to the lavatory and splashed her face with cool water. Pausing, she examined her face in the mirror. Looking back at her was an extremely youthful-looking thirty-eight-year-old, slim, with a cloud of tightly curled black hair. Straightening up, she cocked her head, tuning in to her husband’s playlist. He had a weakness for syrupy love ballads. Sure enough, the refrain of Our Last Sunrise filled her mind. Smiling, she shook her head.

Pulling on her robe, she wandered out to the kitchen. Albert had already washed the breakfast dishes and was probably tidying up the girls’ rooms. He’d left a plate in the oven for her: kippers, eggs, buttered toast. She moved her dish to the table, then put on the kettle.

Just as it began to whistle, Donald sent, Look in the fridge.

She opened the refrigerator door to find a bowl filled with fresh pomegranate seeds. Her favorite. Grinning, she took the bowl and a carton of yogurt back to the table. As she ate, Donald appeared in the doorway, already up to his elbows in wet clay. Good morning, sleepyhead.

"It’s not that late."

It’s just a nice change of pace, darling, for me to be the go-getter and you to be the layabout. Let me enjoy it.

Laughing, she threw a crust of toast at him. Go on, then. Revel in the fact that I have absolutely nothing to do.

Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough. In the meantime, I have that commission to finish.

Oh. All right. Millie tried not to look too disappointed.

Donald peered at her, then sighed. Well, I was thinking of cooking dinner this evening. Would you like to go to the market with me this afternoon? Then you can come with me to pick up the kids.

Millie stirred her tea, trying not to pout. A pity trip to the market? Has it really come to this?

He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. Best I can do, love, unless you’ve reconsidered taking a holiday? A proper holiday, I mean, not whatever you call this.

I can’t. He could come back at any time. When he does, he’ll need me.

I know.

She did her best to smile. The market, then?

He smiled back. It’s a date. Are you going to visit Dad, as well?

She nodded.

Hug him for me. Tell him I’ll come around for a visit as soon as I can. With that, he turned and disappeared back into the studio.

After Millie had finished eating, she showered and dressed. Off I go. Be back in a bit, she sent to Donald as she left.

All right. Do try to have a good day.

The halls of their building were quieter than most. The individual flats were larger, for one thing. Aside from her family, there were only five other units on the whole floor. There were the Joneses, the Days, the Winchesters, the Martins, and the Harringtons. Oliver Jones and Marcy Harrington both worked on the TAV system—something terribly technical that always made Millie’s eyes glaze over when they talked about it, but then, she supposed her work was probably just as riveting to them. The Days were both doctors, Marietta Winchester was a top civil engineer, and Neil Martin was in research.

Naturally, they were all out at this time of day. Their children, like Millie’s, were in school. In the past four months, Millie had acquainted herself with their comings and goings. They were all lovely people. Each family, in its turn, hosted a weekly get-together. But they were all so busy—just as she preferred to be.

Now, she took the elevator up to the top floor, which held a single residence for a single occupant. The elevators opened onto an entrance hall with a door at the end, a great, weathered antique mounted on heavy iron hinges. Carved in its surface was a winged man holding a sword in one hand and a set of scales in the other. In the weighing pans of the scale were tiny people. Over his head was some funny writing, Quis ut Deus.

How many times had Millie walked up to this door? For generations, the women in her family had served the General. Her mother had been his assistant for nearly forty years, Millie for over thirteen. She had lived her whole life in this building. As a girl, her mother used to bring her here. In those days, the door had frightened Millie. It was too dark, the winged man’s expression too somber. And all those poor little people huddled in his scales, their palms together, eyes rolled up beseechingly.

Now, as she let herself in with the big iron key, the sight of him filled her with sadness. There was no other door in all of Cerulean like this one, she was sure, and few that locked. To Millie’s mind, the lock was just another sign of the General’s loneliness. In order to serve Cerulean, he had to be removed from its society. He was not even linked to the TAV system. Such isolation was unimaginable to her. It was a tragic and noble sacrifice he made for the people.

The door swung shut behind her and Millie paused, breathing in the familiar scent of the place, leather and old books.

Four months ago, the General had left for Corbenic. (Just thinking the name of that terrible place sent a shudder through Millie and she crossed herself reflexively). Every day, the people of Cerulean prayed for his safe return. No one prayed as hard as Millie.

In the meantime, she still had her duties to perform, such as they were. For the first few weeks after the General’s departure, correspondence had continued to come in. Millie had either answered on the General’s behalf or re-routed the documents to the proper person. But even that had tapered off.

In the General’s absence, the Matriarch had appointed one of her high priests to serve in his place, a man named Terenzio Scevola. Like the General, the high priests and priestesses held themselves aloof from Cerulean society. Because of this, Scevola had requested his own assistant attend him.

Which left Millie with only the minimum to do. Check on the General’s flat to make sure his domestic apparatus was keeping everything dust-free and sanitized. (Most people named their apparatuses; the General did not.) Monitor his mail, though by now, everything was being addressed to Scevola, while the General was merely being copied. Keep everything neatly sorted. Water the plants. Feed the fish.

Technically, Millie only needed to come up here twice a week, at most. But she still found herself checking in every day. There was something—some feeling she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Distrust was not in the average Cerulean citizen’s vocabulary, nor was unease. Yet something about Scevola made Millie uneasy. The other high priests and priestesses did as well. Sometimes, she told herself, she was just imagining things, or that she was misinterpreting her own feelings. It was awe. That’s what it was, she was in awe of them, and rightly so. They served at the will of the Matriarch.

But she couldn’t help but feel, on many occasions, that they looked at her the way that snakes might look at a mouse.

As for this Scevola fellow, taking over the General’s duties? Millie found herself logging onto the General’s tablet (he trusted her with all of his keys and passwords) and checking his files. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Everything seemed to be in order, nothing altered that shouldn’t be, nothing moved or erased. But she checked all the same. She checked them now.

When she’d finished and the tablet was powered down, she sat for a time in one of the sitting room armchairs. She’d watered the plants and fed the fish the day before. The General would have preferred a dog or a cat, something he could interact with. But there were so many demands on his time, he would not keep a creature he could not pay adequate attention to. The fish lived in enormous tanks built into the walls. The constant murmur of the water and the blue-filtered light made the room feel insulated, amniotic. Settling back, Millie let the feel of the place wash over her. It was all right to sit here—she’d sat in this chair a thousand times. (In fact, it was her preferred spot when they worked late into the night.) Likewise, it was all right to linger in the General’s office.

But the rest of the flat always gave her a feeling of, of… sanctuary, if it was all right to use that word? Slowly, she rose and walked the empty rooms, always careful not to touch anything. When the General was there, he was so warm, so approachable, she could almost forget he was the son of the Matriarch. Going into his rooms when he wasn’t there, she always felt as if a hush had fallen over everything, a sense of reverence. Millie was privileged to see things others didn’t see.

He had so many old things. People still kept books these days, but it was always just a few, beloved volumes passed down through families, or else lovingly crafted pieces, written, illustrated and bound by hand. The General had over seven thousand titles in his private library.

He collected other items, as well. There was scarcely an inch of wall space that was not occupied by a drawing or painting, most of which had been done by citizens of Cerulean. He was not particular about who had made them either—if a five-year-old child happened to send him a drawing, he would have it framed and displayed. And this was not his only residence; he had a flat in each city. People sent him art so often, he regularly charged Millie with rotating the older pieces out and distributing them amongst Cerulean’s many galleries and museums.

His shelves were similarly cluttered with artifacts and sculptures. Some of his possessions came from other worlds. Here were his tea sets, his cases of old coins, his weapons room, his strange furniture with their elaborately carved arms and legs and brocaded fabrics. No, it was safe to say, no other residence in Cerulean was quite like this one.

She maintained his other residences as well. They’d been shut up, the furniture hung with drop cloths. But they were all much smaller, simpler flats. None of them housed his wondrous relics, none of them had the door with the winged man.

When Millie had finished, she made sure to lock up, then checked the time. It was scarcely past eleven.

The longer the General stayed gone, the more pressing the question became, how to fill her days? She couldn’t very well stay home all the time. It made her feel rather like her own ghost. And Donald had started to complain that she was always underfoot. He couldn’t concentrate with her hanging about.

She had tried to do things on her own. Really, she did. She installed a series of entertainment plug-ins, she watched films, she read books, she took long walks in the park. In the evenings, she played games with the girls and helped them with their schoolwork. Her only real hobby was racquetball. Donald had been good enough to come play with her a few days a week, even though he didn’t really like it.

Otherwise, she was at a bit of a loss. She wasn’t artistic like Donald. She wasn’t musical. She wasn’t much of a homemaker. She wasn’t much good at anything, except for being the General’s assistant.

Well, today at least, there was a solution. She was going to visit Roger.

* * *

Millie took the elevator to the ground floor, where she summoned a car. It took her west outside the city. Settling back in her seat, she enjoyed the scenery as it rolled by. First the ranches and farms with cattle, goats, chicken, and sheep, then open country. It was early autumn, and while the mornings were cool, the afternoons were warm and bright. The car drove past windswept meadows, past wild groves and little ravines. She saw eagles and pheasants, hawks and butterflies. At one point, she glimpsed a hare as it sat up in the long grass. She would have stopped the car to get a better look, but she wanted to make sure she’d arrive on time to make sanctuary with Roger.

After an hour, the car turned off the main road, onto a winding drive. The way was much narrower here as it snaked into the hills, lined with walnut, ash and birch trees.

At last, the car passed beneath a stone and metal archway:

THE TEMPLE OF COMPLETION

And glided to a stop. Millie got out with ten minutes to spare. Walking quickly up the footpath, she noted that the grounds were empty. Everyone must have already gathered inside for noon worship. She dashed up the temple steps and through the wooden doors. Inside, a priest and priestess in blue vestments nodded to her, and she nodded back. Slowing to a walk, Millie crossed the narthex to the second pair of wooden doors and entered the congregation hall.

She’d only been here once before, when Roger had first moved out of his flat in the city. This temple was small compared to the ones in the urban centers, but it still seated five hundred, with rows of pews on the ground floor and on a second story balcony. At the moment, the place was quite full. Many of the faithful were like Millie, here to visit relatives. There were the priests and priestesses, their groupings like clusters of bluebells.

And then there were the people like Roger, who were in transition. They had come to stay at the temple and wore loose garments of pale yellow. After a moment of scanning, Millie spotted him seated near the front. He was stocky and barrel-chested like his son. Hurrying to his side, she rested her hand lightly on his shoulder.

He looked up. Breaking into a wide grin, he stood up and hugged her. Millie!

They didn’t have time to say anything else though, as the clocks were striking thirteen. Sanctuary was about to begin. Roger made room for her on the pew, and, as she sat down, the Matriarch appeared at the altar before them.

Their Mother, their Savior, the Living Goddess. Smiling, she opened her hands to them.

I am the light of the world. In the time before time began, I saw the darkness that had covered the land. I descended from the stars and the darkness fled from me. Wickedness cowered before me. You cried out in bondage; I heard and set you free. You cried out at the hands of the evil ones; I sent my son to strike them down. From the stars I bring you wisdom, from my heart I bring you love.

O Mother, our Mother, the congregation responded.

I am the light that guides your way. Not to humble you, but to show you what you might yet be. I was with you in the beginning, in the darkest hour of your ancestors. I will be with you always, you and all your descendants, that none of you will ever face such darkness again.

O Mother, our Mother.

Give thanks, therefore, for this glorious day. Be grateful for the comfort you find in one another. Rejoice in peace and plenty. My blessings upon you, that you may serve me faithfully in life and even unto death.

As she spoke, she seemed to emit a soft light. It grew stronger and stronger, radiating outward. A collective sigh went up as it enveloped the congregation in its golden warmth, infusing them with the divine spirit. Millie’s eyes closed, her hand tightening on Roger’s.

In life and even unto death, they echoed.

Now lift up your voices in prayer.

The Matriarch led them through the usual noonday recitations. When it came time to sing, Millie’s voice soared along with all the others, a sound of pure joy that shook the rafters.

Sanctuary usually lasted only thirty minutes at most, though lately, it ran a little longer. The Matriarch now offered a special blessing for General Anglicus and his soldiers, beginning, Now I ask you to turn your thoughts to General Anglicus and his men.

Millie sat up a little straighter, feeling Roger’s sideways glance.

Ever has the General been your defender, your protector. His courage and strength are the courage and strength of our nation. Yet he needs your prayers. We still do not know when he might return to us. He needs your support, the support of his people. With your faith, surely he will be victorious in his dangerous and holy mission.

Though everyone around her prayed fervently, Millie took little comfort in it.

* * *

When sanctuary had concluded, the congregation filed out quietly. Talk was by no means forbidden, but the Temple of Completion was a solemn place. Conversation was hushed and minimal.

Dear Millie, Roger said as they made their way, arm-in-arm, to the doors. I’m so pleased to see you.

She gave his arm a squeeze. I’m pleased to see you, too. Donald sends his love.

And the girls?

They’re fine. Daisy’s at the top of her class, and Phoebe’s growing like a weed. I think she’s grown three inches since the term started.

You must bring them all with you next time you come.

They’d like that. They’ve been anxious to see you. But for now, it seems I’m the only one with time on my hands.

He smiled. Not the only one. Will you stay for lunch?

Oh, I was hoping you’d ask me. Yes, please!

The temple was part of a compound. In addition to the worship center, there was a gymnasium, a garage, outbuildings, and two blocks of living quarters—one for the clergy and one for those in transition. There were community gardens tended by the residents. There were landscaped meditation areas with benches and reflection pools. Forestland and hiking trails surrounded the compound for miles in every direction.

Together, they went to the cafeteria kitchen where Roger introduced Millie around. They located a tablecloth and a picnic basket. Filling the basket with food and bottles of water, Roger guided her out to a quiet spot near one of the pools. They spread the cloth out in the shade of a yellow poplar.

For a time, they sat in companionable silence, eating pear slices and goat cheese spread on fresh bread. This gave Millie the chance to study her father-in-law. How he’d changed over the past few months! He’d lost a great deal of weight. His once-round face now seemed narrow, shadowed. Yet he looked healthier than ever, whittled down to the bare essentials, unencumbered, serene.

At length, he said, You do miss him terribly, don’t you?

Millie nodded. I’m so worried. No one else seems to be.

The General has always been here, watching over us. I think it’s difficult for most people to imagine there’s anything that could change that.

What if he doesn’t come back?

Don’t even think it. He’ll be here before you know it. It’ll be just like old times—better, even, because we’ll have nothing to fear from Corbenic.

I can’t help but think it! It’s a very real possibility. And if he doesn’t come back, what then? What if something awful happens?

Millie, Millie, Roger shook his head. I have always felt that you were a very unusual person, an exceptional person. Your service to the General calls for a level of devotion that borders on priesthood, and your concerns are understandable. Considering every possible contingency is a part of what you do. But there are times when you simply need to let go.

She sighed. If only I knew whether he was all right…

You will. You just have to be patient. Leaning back on his elbows, he peered up into the branches of the tree. Normally, I’d say it was one of your strengths, maintaining this sense of urgency. But since the General isn’t here, you must find somewhere else to focus that incredible energy of yours.

Like what?

Well, he inhaled thoughtfully. You could always dance.

Dance?

Certainly. Come on. Standing up, he held his arms out to her. Dance with me.

Millie stared up at him. You must be joking.

It’s on my list to dance with a beautiful woman once more before I depart this world. Why not with my beautiful daughter-in-law?

Oh, all right. Millie stood up too and brushed crumbs off her lap. Then she allowed herself to be swept into his arms. He hummed a waltz as he spun her around in the grass. What a sight they must have made, he in his yellow pajama-like garments, she all elbows and knees. But in no time, she was laughing. She couldn’t help it.

At last, they collapsed back onto the tablecloth, still laughing.

Is your time very near? she asked.

Yes. I grow more ready with each passing day. At her look, he patted her hand. Don’t be sad, my dear. All of us must enter service in time.

I know. It’s just that we will miss you terribly.

It will be just for a short while, he assured her. Then we’ll be together again.

* * *

Later, Roger walked her to the car. As it sped her away, he stood at the edge of the footpath, waving. She waved back until the car rounded a curve and she could no longer see him.

Feeling greatly cheered, she returned to the city and met Donald. Their afternoon proceeded as planned-- the trip to the market, where Donald fed her bits of fruit and cheese to sample. Then, still carrying their shopping bags, they collected Daisy and Phoebe from school. Over dinner, Millie told them all about how their grandfather was doing. The girls were delighted at the prospect of paying him a visit that weekend.

The four of them attended evening sanctuary together in the living room, watching as the Matriarch moved about their furniture, while in the kitchen, Albert glided about, tidying up the dinner dishes.

As bedtime drew near, they chose a story they liked from the TAV children’s library. They took turns reading aloud from it. Then Millie and Donald tucked the girls into their beds, kissed them good night, and turned out the lights.

* * *

It was one in the morning when the call came.

Millie and Donald were fast asleep. Rolling over, she picked up her mobile from the bedside table.

The General’s voice was urgent. Millie, I need you to come right away.

Instantly, she was awake. I’ll be right there.

Chapter Two

Bathory

When Countess Elizabeth Bathory opened a portal from Corbenic into the Cerulean city, it was night, but the brightest night she’d ever seen. All around them, glass and metal edifices gleamed with lights. Some blinked; others burned steadily against the onyx sky. The streets were lined with lamps, and on the road, vehicles passed, small lights blinking on the front and rear bumpers.

Once everyone was through, Bathory closed the gate and lowered the wand to her side. For a moment, she simply stood, staring up. General Anglicus was already speaking into some sort of communication device, arranging transportation for them, but she barely heard him. The city was unlike anything she had ever beheld. She had seen skyscrapers before in New York and Chicago but nothing like this. The buildings here would surely dwarf even their tallest structures. But she couldn’t be concerned with these things now.

Her eyes turned to the motionless bundle in Nathan’s arms. Slowly, she went to his side.

Not ten minutes later, three vehicles pulled up to the curb. One of them took the soldiers away, presumably to be debriefed somewhere. Bathory didn’t know and didn’t care. What she did care about was the fool who brought out a stretcher, intending to take her Katarina away.

Bathory stepped between him and Nathan, snarling, Don’t you touch her.

Countess, Anglicus said quietly. This man is a mortician. He’ll see to it that her body is properly prepared for the funeral.

Then he may come to wherever I am to be quartered. I intend to watch over my darling girl until she can be laid to rest.

Anglicus nodded. Of course.

So the mortician followed behind in the hearse. As for Bathory, she retreated into a place where she didn’t hear, didn’t see. On the drive, the city was a lighted streak in her peripheral vision. When they stopped, Nathan opened the door for her and mechanically she got out. She followed the General and his servant – at least, Bathory assumed the woman was a servant, since she was so plainly dressed – inside. They rode an elevator to the top floor, where her suite of rooms awaited. In fact, her rooms comprised the entire top floor. As the door opened, she barely glanced at the furnishings but strode directly into the master bedroom, where she ordered Nathan to lay Katarina’s body out. He did as she bade, then started to unwrap the white coat.

Leave it, Bathory said sharply.

Inclining his head, he drew back.

Anglicus stood respectfully in the doorway, his woman and that horrid little undertaker with him. Are the accommodations satisfactory?

Perfectly adequate, thank you, General. Bathory removed her gloves and began to unbutton her coat. Of course, I’m going to need a new staff. Who should I speak to about that?

Anglicus gestured to the woman beside him. This is my assistant, Millicent Kincaid. You may address any questions or requests to her. But I’m afraid you’ll find there are no servants in Cerulean.

Bathory paused in the act of shrugging out of her coat. I beg your pardon?

Cerulean is a society of equals. There are no servants here.

I thought you said this woman is in your employ--

Exactly. Millie is my personal assistant. She is not a servant. Now, I’m not going to waste my time and yours trying to impress upon you the difference, but suffice it to say, she is not staying here. She will take a list of your needs and see that you have everything you require as soon as possible. But don’t expect to ring a little bell and have someone appear to wait on you hand and foot, because that is not going to happen. If you find yourself in need of servants, Countess, I’m afraid you will have to import them.

I see.

The General went on, And while we’re on the subject of imports, please be aware that the people of Cerulean are off-limits when it comes to your personal recreation. If you feel the need to indulge, find them elsewhere.

Stiffly, Bathory nodded.

The woman, Millicent, stepped forward with a sympathetic smile. I’m so sorry for your loss, Lady Bathory. When you’re ready, Mr. Linwood will assist you with the final arrangements. In the meantime, here is your mobile. She handed Bathory a small, black, rectangular device. I’m already programmed in, so all you have to do is say, ‘Call Millie,’ and it’ll ring me. Is there anything I can do for you at the moment?

I’m going to need clothes. Funeral attire, I mean, as well as everyday wear. And what about meals?

Millicent was already nodding. I’ll arrange to have some tailors here first thing in the morning. For tonight, there are slippers and bathrobes in the closet. The refrigerator is fully stocked. I think you’ll find the lavatory should also have everything you need, as well. And there’s a tablet in the desk. I left a note on top with the password.

Bathory had no earthly idea what a tablet was, any more than she knew what a mobile was. In any case, her mind was still reeling at the prospect of having to prepare her own meals with whatever was in the icebox. That will be fine for now. Thank you.

The General and his woman departed. The mortician tactfully withdrew to the adjoining room to await Bathory’s summons.

Turning back to Katarina’s corpse, Bathory put her hand to her forehead for a moment. Mobile?

Of course, Nathan chose that moment to approach. I’m real sorry, ma’am, but—

Not now! she snapped.

Now, Miz Bathory, I don’t mean to impinge upon this moment or nothin’, but did he just say what I think he said, the General? No killin’ ‘round here? ‘Cause if so, that don’t suit me. No, ma’am, that don’t suit me at all.

Is this really the time or the place to have this discussion, Nathan?

"If not now, when? Seems to me you’re in the midst of a real bad run a luck, what with Haides runnin’ off, and Miss Kat getting herself perished, and I’m powerful sorry about all that. But I think you can understand why I’m inquirin’ about the state of our arrangement. I understand ain’t none of it’s been your fault. But just the same, we had us a deal. I know it was my hide you saved. I know that. I ain’t forgettin’ that. But givin’ somethin’ for nothin’ is called love, and... well, ma’am, we just ain’t that close. So if you ain’t got no intention of teachin’ me, then we’re through here. I would respectfully ask that you send me someplace else—not back to Corbenic, of course, but not to Carcosa neither. I’d want to go someplace I ain’t never been to before."

For a long time, Bathory did not speak. She did not even move.

Then: You’re quite right. Can you wait until tomorrow? I do want to see to Kat.

Tomorra, he echoed. If tomorra falls through—

It won’t.

Well, all right then. Touching the brim of his hat, Nathan started to take his leave.

As he did, Bathory unwound his coat to see the remains of Katarina’s head. Shot?

Yes, ma’am. Fired at least eight rounds into her, I reckon. Emptied the whole barrel. Which, if you ask me, means somebody had it in for her.

As the door shut behind him, Bathory frowned in thought. The only people in Corbenic with a personal vendetta against Katarina would’ve been members of the Order. And Bathory had taken Director Grabowski’s word. She’d taken him as a man of honor. So much for that.

The Order had never been of great import to her before—except when she’d needed them to bring her a staff segment. So long as their interests did not conflict with her own, she had been content to ignore them completely. But now, she was on the verge of attaining greater power than she had ever wielded before. And as she considered the betrayal that had cost Katarina her life, Countess Bathory knew the first thing she’d do with said power.

But that would have to wait. For now, she stripped Katarina of her soiled clothing. Then she went into the lavatory to get a washbasin so she could bathe her. After a few moments of rifling around under the sink, she called out, Kat! Kat, darling, will you bring me a bowl?

Then, realizing what she’d just done, Countess Elizabeth Bathory sank back against the tub and wept.

Chapter Three

Michael

From Bathory’s new flat, General Michael Anglicus went directly to Pergola Square. Bathory had not been terribly interested in geography when they’d arrived, otherwise he would have informed her that she was in Evangelium, Cerulean’s central city.

Pergola Square was where Cerulean’s Matriarch, Joan Metz, kept her primary residence, a great pyramid of glass and granite that she called the Tabernacle. Any member of Starry Wisdom who beheld it was not fooled, however; it was a palace. No matter how plain its furnishings, no matter how few Ceruleans were employed to maintain it, the Tabernacle was a grand residence, and the seat of Joan’s authority. Not just over the planet of Cerulean, but over Starry Wisdom as well.

Though it was nearly three in the morning, Michael went, knowing that Joan would still be awake—awake, and expecting an immediate report.

Millie was still with him as the car pulled up to the front of the building. She asked, Shall I wait?

He gave her a grateful smile. No, you’ve done quite enough already, coming out in the dead of night to deal with this mess.

She smiled back. It’s all right. If I wanted the sort of job that kept regular hours, I wouldn’t be working for you.

"I’m glad to hear that. I expect you’re going to have Lady Bathory pestering you at