Where Flap the Tatters of the King: The Order of the Four Sons, Book III

PROLOGUE

Lord Hercule Haides lounged in his study, sipping brandy from a crystal snifter. He was wearing his smoking jacket though, this evening, he’d decided it was best to forbear. He needed to be clearheaded—he had business to attend to, ghastly though the prospect was. What a bunch of lummoxes these Starry Wisdom types were. He’d had such a beautiful thing going here, and they’d mucked it up.

Corbenic was a wondrous place, like something out of a fairytale—a dark fairytale, but then, those had always been his favorite kind. The authorities were easily played, the women ravishing, the society so delightfully, decadently, of by and for the masculine sex. And there was magic to be learned-- more than he could ever hope to learn, even with his considerable lifespan. But then, Starry Wisdom just had to come along and upset the whole bloody applecart.

He went to the liquor cabinet for a refill and caught sight of his reflection in the glass doors. Wrinkles, small but noticeable, around the eyes. Strands of gray at the temples. He looked down at his hands to find that they had lost much of their smoothness. Looks like it’s getting to be that time again, he thought. Just as well. This can’t last much longer anyway.

There was a knock at the door. Is that you, Rémy? Haides called.

His butler cracked the door and stuck his head in. Forgive me, my lord. There’s a lady and her servants here to see you.

Haides turned quickly. A lady, at this hour?

She says she knows you, my lord. She was quite insistent that you’d want to receive her.

Really? Well, then, don’t keep her waiting. Bring her up.

Rémy bowed. Very good, my lord.

Haides had reached a point in his life where very little surprised him anymore. But when Rémy returned a few minutes later with his visitors, his jaw actually dropped. "Eliza?"

Elizabeth Bathory smiled. Jack.

"And Kat. Dear girl, how I’ve missed you!"

Katarina dipped him a polite curtsey. Sir.

And… he turned to the gentleman with them. Who have we here?

Bathory put her hand on the man’s arm. This is Mr. Nathan DePriest, the newest addition to my household. Nathan, this is my husband, Jack.

Nathan touched the brim of his hat.

The two men sized each other up. Jack’s eyebrows shot up. He managed to contain himself just long enough to say, "Oh, Eliza... really?" before erupting into gales of laughter. Then he looked at Nathan again and doubled over, roaring.

Katarina almost smiled at that. Nathan smiled as well-- at least, his teeth were showing. Behind his shielded eyes, his thoughts coiled and grew hard. Oh, Mister. I have known cans a preserves more alive than you are right now.

Jack stifled his amusement. Forgive me. This is all just so unexpected. Pausing, he gazed at his Eliza. His eyes grew warm for her and her alone. Darling. Where to begin?

You left, she said.

"Not by choice, my darling, surely you realized. I was shunted."

You didn’t come back.

Just as you once left me. I never held it against you. And I was very fortunate—I found myself here, in a place that could offer me status, comfort, security, not to mention the ability to accumulate greater power and knowledge. But I could have just as easily been unlucky and ended up somewhere far less hospitable. Come now, we both know what you would have done in my situation, whether or not you thought there was anything left to go back to.

She sighed. I always did appreciate your honesty.

I would never lie to you, my love. You will always know exactly where I stand.

And where exactly do you stand now?

His eyes gleamed. On the very threshold, my dear. My good fortune can be yours, too, if you wish it. You have but to say the word.

For an answer, she rushed into his arms. Their embrace lingered. Then wandered.

Nathan and Katarina, who they had quite forgotten, exchanged a look. Nathan said, I think they’re gonna be awhile.

Katarina’s eyes flicked from him to Jack and back again, clearly trying to decide which one of them she hated more.

I’m gonna head downstairs and get me some feed. You comin’?

Reluctantly, Katarina followed Nathan out, knowing that Mistress wanted to be alone with him.

PART ONE

CORBENIC

Chapter One

It was daybreak, and the countryside was barren and still. In a clearing, the dry grass glittered, crystalline and white. The trees, too, were coated in frost, their trunks very stark and black against the winter sky. A snowshoe rabbit paused and sat up on its hind legs, ears erect, nose quivering.

Figures faded in seemingly from the wind and snow, shattering the silence with their voices and movements. The rabbit leapt into the air, spun, and fled back into the tangle of frozen briars.

Christophe looked reproachfully up at the sky. He donned a pair of gloves and turned up his collar. Behind him, Alyssa was clinging to Clayton, her eyes squeezed shut. When the dizziness passed, she raised her head, blinking as snowflakes caught in her lashes. Christophe had warned them that it would be cold, but they didn’t have winter coats or clothing with them. Clayton wore one of his lighter-weight spring suits. Alyssa had only the jacket she’d picked up at the airport in Edinburgh, anticipating rain-- not tundra.

Christophe had offered her his cloak before they departed, and she’d refused. Now, he removed it and draped it over her shoulders. Forgive me, but what sort of host would I be if I allowed my guests to freeze to death, practically on my doorstep?

Alyssa knew there was no point in arguing with him, so she simply gave him a nod of thanks. Pulling the cloak more tightly around herself, she raised the hood. Immediately, the snow ceased falling on her. She looked up—it was still falling. Just not on her. She examined the cloak’s heavy wool fabric, rubbing it between her fingers. Clearly, there was some magic involved here, but she would have felt an enchantment—wouldn’t she?

Come, it isn’t far to the house, Christophe gestured to some hills in the distance, where they could see gables and turrets. He set off, calling back over his shoulder, Make haste! I cannot be missed.

There did not appear to be a trail, but it was evident from the pace he set through the dead undergrowth that he could navigate these woods blindfolded. They passed a frozen pond ringed in evergreens, its dove-gray ice smooth and absolutely pristine. A hawk glided by overhead, russet and black. Again, Alyssa turned her face up, taking in the branches overhead, the translucent sky. A silver circle marked where the sun was almost hidden behind a pearl-colored veil. She said, It’s pretty here.

Clayton smiled. It was spring when I was here last.

Surprised, Christophe asked, You’ve been to Corbenic before?

I’ve had the privilege of seeing Four Mothers in springtime, monsieur.

Ah, splendid, my friend, splendid. With any luck, you shall again.

They reached an opening in the trees, where the forest was bisected by a road—a road of smooth black flagstones, blown over with snow. They followed it until they reached the bottom of the hill where the stone manor house stood. It had a red shale roof and tall windows that looked like playing cards. They all had stained-glass panes with floral and geometric designs, and elaborate, wrought-iron framing with gilded fleur-de-lis, egg-and-darts, ivy, hearts, and doves. As they got closer, they saw a carriage house, stables, and some other outbuildings on the property.

The trek up the hill seemed to take longer than traversing the woods, the wind blowing in from the open fields to either side of them. All three of them were shivering by the time they reached the heavy front door. Even the knockers and the doorknobs were ornamental, gold, carved with a stylized symbol that could have either been a slender crescent moon or a bull’s horns.

Christophe took out a key, also gold. As the door opened, a rush of warm air greeted them. They all sighed appreciatively as they stepped over the threshold, into the foyer. Clayton and Alyssa looked around. The walls were papered in ivory with gilded moldings. The marble floor was veined with gold, the slabs fitted together with interlocking diamonds of blood-red carnelian. There was a grand marble staircase with delicate gold railings. Gold wall sconces lined the walls—interestingly, they were neither electric nor gas but held some sort of glowing crystal.

To the right of the stairway was a door. It opened and an elderly man appeared, dressed in simple homespun clothing. He frowned. Master Christophe—is that you? He took a few steps forward for a better look and froze, eyes widening as he took in his master’s appearance.

Of course it’s me, Christophe replied. Who else would you be expecting at this hour, in this godforsaken weather? With a house key, no less! He took off his hat and gloves and handed them to the old man. Come, take the lady’s cloak, and tell Idelle to bring us something to eat.

As the old man spoke again, Clayton and Alyssa noticed his accent and his diction were very different from Christophe’s. "Bless me, lad, you ‘bout scared me out my own skin. For a minute there, thought I was seein’ a ghost, for true. Thought you was your papa standin’ there. What happened? Was you taken ill or—?"

Nothing to concern you, Eric. Now, please, see to our guests.

Another servant appeared, an old woman in a faded gray dress, her white hair tucked up in a kerchief. Her lined face had been alight with joy but promptly fell at the sight of Christophe, the hearty greeting she had been about to utter vanishing from her lips. She gasped and reeled backwards, her hand at her heart.

Quickly, Christophe went to her. Please don’t fret—I’m fine. No harm done. Just fetch me my dyes, will you?

Obviously still in shock, she managed a curtsey. Yes, Master Christophe. She turned and scurried back through the door. Clayton and Alyssa glimpsed the space beyond before it swung shut-- a servants’ hall.

Alyssa’s attire seemed to give Eric pause—a T-shirt, fatigue pants, and boots. He didn’t say a word, but he looked Clayton up and down with frank curiosity as well as he took their things and put them away. Christophe showed them to the dining room. The table, long enough to seat two dozen people, was set with linens, gold cutlery, and crystal.

Christophe pulled a chair out. Alyssa, missing the cue completely, walked around the table and seated herself. Christophe peered at her for a moment, shrugged, then pushed the chair back in. He did not sit.

Idelle returned with a tray with a glass of water and a small silver box, as well as a lap robe over her arm. Christophe opened the box and removed a pill. He downed it quickly, head back. Still holding the glass, he pointed at Clayton and Alyssa. Serve them. Wrap something up for me. I shan’t stay.

But you only just got here! Idelle protested. You got to rest! And you got to get something on your stomach or else--

My meal will sit just as well if I eat here or on the road.

Idelle clearly disagreed, but, before she did anything else, she went over to Alyssa and draped the lap robe around her shoulders. She adjusted it, taking particular care to make sure it covered Alyssa’s front, then patted her arm maternally. "There you are, mon petite." On the back of Idelle’s hand was some sort of tattoo. Alyssa wasn’t able to get a good look at it before Idelle bustled off. She didn’t know what mystified her more—the tattoo or the lap robe.

A servant girl assisted Idelle in bringing the food, rolling in covered dishes on carts. There was a whole slab of ham, sausages, pies, kippers, and steaks. There were egg dishes, porridge, tomatoes, biscuits, pastries, fruit, currants, syrups, tea, milk. It was enough food to feed a major league sports team, including coaches, referees, and commentators.

Christophe raised an eyebrow. "Idelle? Not that I am at all angry, but did you not get my message? I thought I requested a simple meal, did I not?"

Well, it’s been so long since you been here last. When Cook found out you was coming, we couldn’t stop her.

He shook his head. Very well. I surrender myself to the inevitable. Sitting down, he unfolded his napkin with a snap. Now leave us, please. We have much to discuss.

The door closed. Christophe waited, listening to make sure they weren’t lingering outside the door before he spoke. Still, he shifted forward in his seat, keeping his voice low. Again, the original plan was to raise an army—by which I mean more than seven. I’m afraid we’ll need to reassess. But first, I have to make sure all is arranged for your fellows to arrive safely and unnoticed. You may stay the night here, but no more than a night, or word might get out that I have foreign guests. In the meantime, my staff has been instructed to outfit you with whatever you require. Then you must make your way to Four Mothers. Starry Wisdom patrols even this far out, so stay off the main roads until you’re closer to the Capital. Then you’ll find many other travelers. There’s bound to be foreigners among them, so you’ll be able to blend in. He hesitated as a new thought occurred to him. "Pardon my asking, monsieur, but you can ride, can you not?"

We can.

Good. You and your retinue will need papers. I will make arrangements for that as well. But papers mean that you’ll need a Corbenese identity, monsieur. I suggest you become a lord.

When I was here before, I was known as Clayton Hornbeam. So, I can be Lord Hornbeam of… shall we say Gachelen?

Christophe thought it over. I think that will suffice… Yes, that will suit our needs perfectly, in fact. Are the rest of your compatriots so well acquainted with Corbenic as you?

I’m afraid not.

Pity. Then might I further suggest you pass them off as your servants?

I think that would be for the best.

"In the meantime, try to draw as little attention to yourselves as possible. By the time you arrive, I hope – I pray – that we will have come up with a new strategy. Present yourself to His Grace as any visiting lord should. I will see to your accommodations then as well, Christophe sat back. The sooner I can get word to my friends the better, so tell me, when do you expect your people to reach us, and where?"

Without looking up from her plate, Alyssa responded, Dusk.

Dusk? Christophe echoed. Can you be more specific, mademoiselle?

Got a watch?

Bemused, he pulled a ruby watch out of his vest pocket and passed it to her. It was gold, and square instead of round. When she pressed the catch, it sprang open to reveal a face that had not twelve numbers but sixteen—four to a side. At least, she assumed they were numbers. Which one is one?

He pointed to the numeral in the upper right corner. This is one. He ran his finger clockwise around the rim. It runs this way. An hour is sixty-four minutes.

She studied it for a moment. They’ll be here at 8:28 in the evening. Closing the watch, she passed it back to him. He repocketed it, eyeing her with new interest.

Clayton set his glass down. So, we know what time. Where?

Not far from here. Alyssa tilted her head, gazing at Christophe distractedly. Your hair’s darker.

Ah, then the dyes are taking their effect. Christophe glanced at Clayton. I’m sorry, do you prefer older men?

Clayton turned red. We’re getting off the subject.

About four miles west of here, Alyssa said.

There’s a clearing there, Christophe nodded. And good conditions for a temporary gate.

Having done her part, Alyssa dug out her pack of cigarettes and shook one out. No sooner had she touched the filter to her lips than a flame appeared. Christophe had produced a lighter, and, like the rest of his possessions, it was gold and fancy. She leaned forward and cupped her hand around his to light up. Taking a few puffs, she settled back. Gave him a little half-smile.

He smiled, too. As much as it pains me, I must depart. You’re in excellent hands with Eric and Idelle. They’ll see that you get some proper clothes. And-- he took a large purse from an inner pocket and set it in front of Clayton. Permit me, monsieur, but I’m sure you don’t have local currency.

Clayton accepted it. Thank you.

Christophe started for the door, then paused. Oh, and one more thing, he pointed his finger at them for emphasis. Do not know me. When we meet at court, it will be as for the first time. Please understand, I am regarded as somewhat infamous. A libertine, in fact. It is a reputation I have worked very hard to cultivate, and I trust you will do nothing to dispel it. Until then, he bowed, adieu.

Chapter Two

Bill tried desperately not to turn the fishtail into a full spin as the van careened from bright sunlight and dust into winter twilight and snow. No power steering, no power brakes, no power. He was dimly aware of the screaming and shouting around him, but he couldn’t think about that at the moment. He was too busy focusing on trying to stop the van without wrecking it, without rolling it, without crashing into that figure who had just appeared from out of nowhere, stepping right in front of—

Oh, shit!

Reflexively, he slammed both feet down on the brake and stood on it, adding his voice to the others, screaming and shouting.

Snow piled in front of the bumper with a crumpling sound. It helped to slow the van’s nightmarish slide until at last, it lurched to a halt. The loss of momentum gently, almost sheepishly, threw everyone back into their seats, where they landed with a soft thump. They all sat for a moment, dazed.

The figure in front of them had not moved. The glow of a cigarette floated up and brightened, illuminating the Oracle’s mouth and nose as she took a drag. You’re late.

Bill flicked on the headlights. She stood just in front of the heaped-up snow, a small gold pocket watch in hand. Oh, like you knew it to the second! he turned the door handle and gave the door a good shove, trying to clear some of the snow out of the way.

She pointed to the bumper. I knew it to the inch. Then her gaze fell on his companions. "Why do you have MJ-12 with you? Wait."

JD already had both guns to the back of Emily’s head, barrels cocked back. At the Oracle’s word he froze, triggers pulled partway back.

Kate had opened the passenger door and stood, half-in and half-out of the van, also frozen. The Oracle came around the passenger side and peered at Emily. Don’t shoot. We need her.

The fuck for? JD growled.

Don’t know yet. If nothing else, she’s cannon fodder, right?

Reluctantly, JD lowered the weapons from Emily’s head to her back, jabbing at her shoulder blades. "All right, sunshine. Move."

Raising her hands, Emily did as he said. JD followed, his guns still out, then walked carefully around her.

The Oracle had backed away. Clayton stepped from the edge of the clearing and JD joined them. The three of them regarded Emily with open hostility.

Bill watched from the driver’s side, his eyes darting from the Colonel to Emily and back again.

Murphy climbed down from the van’s rear doors and picked his way carefully through the snow to stand next to Kate, astonished at the sudden and unexpected change in JD’s demeanor. But if Murphy was astonished, Kate was shocked.

There was a tense silence.

Emily looked at her captors. Okay, I can see where this is going. Fine. She took off her gunbelt and tossed it forward, onto the ground. I surrender.

The three of them continued to eye her. Then, in a voice Kate didn’t recognize, JD said, Lie down and put your hands behind your back.

No, Bill cried. Colonel, wait--

No one responded. Emily clasped her hands behind her back and lay facedown in a snowdrift while the Oracle cuffed her. She wasn’t gentle about it either, her knee in Emily’s back. Emily turned her head to the side in order to breathe, her cheek against the wet snow. The Colonel retrieved her gunbelt.

No! Bill said again, more forcefully this time.

"Yes, Bill, the Colonel snapped. This little missy’s MJ-12 and the only reason I didn’t put two in the back a her head is ‘cause the Oracle said it was a bad idea. You got a report to give? Clayton’s right over there. I got a prisoner to handle."

Bill turned to Clayton. "She saved me!"

Before or after she turned you in? the Oracle asked.

Well, I— Bill stammered. After. But you don’t understand.

What don’t we understand? Clayton asked.

"She killed some of her own people to get me out of there—out of Leavenworth! She’s on our side!"

Did she? Clayton asked. Did you actually see the bodies? Or did you just see people fall down?

I know what I saw.

Clayton took in the bruises on his face, yellowed but still terrible. You’re not looking well, Bill. In fact, you look like you’ve been worked over.

"Well, I was-- they did. But she didn’t."

Of course she didn’t. She would have been held in reserve, someone to be sympathetic with you. Clayton glanced down at Emily. I’m sure she was very convincing.

"Look, guys, I know what you’re thinking, okay? I have training, I have experience-- I’ve been out in the field more than a day or two! This isn’t Stockholm syndrome. She had a change of heart. She saved me-- she saved the team."

"You saved the team, Clayton corrected. Although she might have helped."

She did—help, Kate piped up. Murphy nodded in agreement.

No doubt, Clayton said kindly. But were any of you there when she allegedly helped Bill escape from her colleagues?

Kate and Murphy shook their heads.

Clayton turned to Emily. What’s your name?

Her teeth were chattering from the cold. Emily Hayes.

Agent Hayes, I just want to make sure you understand the situation you’re in. We’re here because this world is allied with the Order. You won’t find anyone here who’s ever heard of the US Government. So don’t get any ideas about contacting your superiors. It’s simply not possible.

Emily nodded. I understand.

Clayton nodded, as well. Let her up.

Alyssa yanked Emily to her feet and Clayton said to the others, Now, we need to get the rest of you outfitted. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.

"Of course we do, Murphy burst out. Why wouldn’t we? It’s fucking cold here. We were just in a goddamn desert. What is wrong with you people?"

* * *

Back at the manor house, the servants had been waiting to see to see to Master Christophe’s additional guests. As the foreigners filed into the foyer, Idelle froze in horror, taking in the sight of Kate and Murphy, whose clothes were stiff with dried blood, and Kate wearing only a man’s jacket over a pair of boots and trousers.

Great gods! Idelle cried. Are you all right, madame? Are you injured?

Kate blinked. Not at the moment.

Forgive me, Clayton bowed slightly, but my associates are in need of baths, changes of clothing, and a good meal.

There was an immediate change in the servant’s demeanor. Of course, monsieur, she curtsied. Danielle, Ferrant, please take the guests up and see to their toilette. Eric, I believe Master Christophe’s old restraining couch is still downstairs. Please see that it is prepared for the young lady, Idelle nodded to Emily.

"A what?" Bill asked. Emily looked desperately from Bill to the servant and back again.

It is quite secure, monsieur, Idelle said to Clayton.

Clearly, Clayton didn’t know what a restraining couch was either. Perhaps if we could see it for ourselves?

Idelle inclined her head. Of course, my lord. Master Christophe has never used it, but it should still be in good condition.

Clayton followed the servant out of the room. As soon as the door had shut, the others exchanged baffled looks, except the Colonel, who seemed pleased at the prospect of something with the word restraining in the name.

A few minutes later, Clayton and the servant returned. I think it’s acceptable, he said to JD. When Agent Hayes is done with her bath, will you see to her accommodations? The Colonel nodded and Clayton turned to the others. It’s all right. The restraining couch is a cot down in the cellar with cuffs attached. It will allow her some freedom of movement, but she’ll be contained and secure. The door locks from the outside only.

That’s ‘all right’? Kate asked.

She’s an enemy soldier, Clayton said. I’m not about to risk the safety of anyone here.

That’s not my only concern.

Please, Clayton gestured to the stairs. Everyone, go get cleaned up, have some dinner, and for God’s sake, get some rest. We’ll brief in the morning.

Kate and Murphy did not look reassured as Idelle took Emily’s arm and led her away. Looking back over her shoulder, Emily and Bill’s eyes met one last time before she turned the corner. JD, on the other hand, seemed to feel that all was well in this particular world. Nodding to the servant to lead the way, he went upstairs.

Kate and Murphy followed. JD! Kate called. JD, wait!

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down.

Kate quickened her step with Murphy doing his best to keep up. When they reached the second floor, JD was already halfway down the hall. The servant opened a door for him.

"JD," Kate shouted furiously.

The door slammed shut.

Kate and Murphy shared a hurt, stunned look. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The servant came back down the hall and stood at a discreet distance. Gradually, Kate and Murphy became aware that the young female servant had come up the steps behind them as well.

Murphy cleared his throat. Well. It’s been a while since any of us has had any privacy. I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to a bath and a bed and a door that shuts. And best of all, I don’t have to listen to you and JD bicker about who gets to sleep on the floor.

Kate managed a weak smile at that. Yeah. Good night.

Good night.

* * *

Downstairs, Bill rounded on Clayton. Is this really necessary?

I’m afraid it is.

"A cot in the cellar?"

Would you prefer to let the Colonel handle the situation? At Bill’s look, Clayton added, She’ll be fine. It’s not a POW camp. She has a bed to sleep in, and she’ll get meals when we do.

Bill turned on his heel and strode upstairs. Frowning, Clayton watched him go, then turned to Alyssa. What do you think?

I think you know how I feel about MJ-12.

I meant about Bill.

Oh. Well, something’s definitely off.

Should we be worried?

Alyssa looked pointedly around. "Look where we are."

You know what I mean. Do you think he’s been compromised?

Maybe. But we need him. And we need her, too.

Clayton lowered his voice. What about the others?

She shrugged. I’ll let them tell you. Brushing past him, she rapped on the banister at the bottom of the staircase. Get a load of Kate?

She’s carrying a wand now.

That, too.

What else?

Casting him a meaningful look over her shoulder, she said again, I’ll let them tell you.

Of course. Why do I even ask?

Beats me.

You’re not going to bed?

Shaking her head, she set off in the direction of the rooms beyond the foyer. Not tired.

* * *

Kate was waiting for Bill when he reached the top of the staircase. Despite everything, she brightened as he approached. Hey.

Kate. As they embraced, he went dizzy with relief. Jesus, I was so scared. I’m so glad you’re all right, that everybody’s all right—

Kate squeezed him tightly. I missed you so much!

There’s so much I want to talk to you about—

I know! Me too.

Bill took a step back. The thing is... Emily’s locked up all by herself. In the cellar.

She nodded. Go.

Bill went down the hall to where one of the male servants was waiting. Bowing, the servant opened the door for him. The room was large and beautiful. Even more beautiful was the big, comfy-looking bed heaped with fat pillows. Bill just wanted to sink into it and go comatose.

There was a tap on his shoulder. Another servant held out an amulet. Bill took it gingerly. It was heavy, engraved silver. On Earth, it would’ve cost a fortune. The man gestured for Bill to put it on. Reluctantly, Bill complied. It didn’t match a thing in his closet.

A translator amulet, monsieur, the servant said. Now if you like, I will prepare your bath.

Oh, Bill examined the amulet more closely. It was very different from the Order’s translator charms. The lady servant, Idelle, had been wearing one—that explained why he’d been able to understand her earlier. These silver amulets were so good, he hadn’t even noticed she hadn’t been speaking English. Okay, thanks.

He followed the young man into a lavatory with marble basins and gold faucets. The bathtub itself was a large, curved, claw-footed affair that appeared to be made out of lapis lazuli. As the servant turned on the taps, Bill started to get undressed, then hesitated. Was the servant going to hang out while he was having his bath or what?

Please, monsieur, the servant said. Let me assist.

Uh, thanks. I’ve got it.

At least let me take them to be laundered, the young man insisted.

Deal. Bill peeled off his well lived-in jeans and T-shirt, which threatened to march themselves down to the laundry and spare the servant the trouble. Then he got in the tub.

* * *

Murphy wandered around a bit before his bath, checking out the new digs. Ritzy place. He picked up a little gold knickknack, testing its weight, and pinged the edge of it with his finger. It rang true. He whistled. Everything around here was the real deal. Of course, his reality had been redefined. Several times. From the doorway, a servant watched, uncertain as to whether or not he should interrupt whatever it was his master’s guest was doing.

Hey, bud, Murphy motioned him closer. C’mere.

Monsieur?

Name’s Murphy. What’s yours?

Caerus, monsieur.

Greek. Interesting. Hey, you wearing one of these things? Murphy held up his brand-spankin’ new translator amulet.

No, monsieur.

Perfect. Do me a favor, willya? Murphy raised his hands to the amulet’s chain.

Caerus looked at him, puzzled. Of course, monsieur. If I can.

Great. Say something. With that, Murphy whipped the amulet off over his head.

Caerus asked him a question then, probably some version of What do you want me to say? But it didn’t sound like French or Greek, or any other language Murphy was familiar with. It was quite possibly the most beautiful language he’d ever heard, like the gold filigree on the walls, elegant and precise and perfect.

Still, Murphy asked, "Parlez-vous français? He received the exact blank look he was expecting. Nodding, Murphy put the amulet back on. Thanks, Caerus. You are a gentleman and a scholar."

Looking more confused than ever, the servant bowed. Thank you, monsieur.

* * *

When they had finished with their baths, they found fresh nightclothes and undergarments waiting for them in their rooms, as well as tables set up with steaming bowls of chicken soup, bread, tea, and goblets of wine.

Bill wolfed down his dinner, then quickly gathered up all the blankets and pillows from his bed -- it all felt like pure down and the softest brushed cotton -- and trudged back downstairs.

Without warning, the Oracle stepped out of the shadows. It seemed she’d been waiting up for him—she was not dressed for bed. Leaning against a doorframe, cigarette in hand, she stared at him in that way of hers that made his blood freeze. He stared back at her, his heart in his mouth.

Hey, Bill, she said. You all right?

Something in him snapped. "No, I am not all right. My best friend is dead. Cecil-- you remember Cecil? Or I don’t know. Maybe you don’t. She flinched, and he went on, I almost lost the team, I was in fucking Leavenworth where I was tortured, then camped out for a week in a place called the Devil’s fucking Highway. Does any of that sound like a picnic to you? Oh, and for a bonus, the girl that risked her life for me, threw away everything she had to get me out of there and keep me alive? Is chained up downstairs. So forgive me for being a little upset. Some of us mere humans actually have feelings."

I’m sorry, she whispered. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. With that, she backed away and disappeared, as silent as ever.

For a moment, Bill slumped against the wall, his legs shaking. She hadn’t Seen the sign. Further proof, if he needed it, that it had all been a PTSD flareup. If she had Seen something, God knows what might have happened. As it was, he was just crazy. Big improvement. Also, she’d just spoken more than four words to him-- a minor miracle. But he’d had just about all the excitement he could take for one night.

* * *

Kate lay in bed, staring up at the tufted canopy, her mind a-whirl with the implications of all that had happened that day.

* * *

Down the hall, JD was stretched out rigid, lying on top of the blankets. So she’s in the cellar, so she’s restrained. She’s a goddamn MJ-12 agent. Ain’t a one of ‘em understand...

* * *

And in his own room, Murphy was asleep. He was very tired.

* * *

Bill found his way into the kitchen, which was empty and dark. Creeping across the stone floor, he found a door at the back wall, secured with a bolt. A set of wooden stairs led down to a cellar.

He found Emily curled up on a metal cot, her back to him. As far as cots went, he had to admit, it was top-of-the-line. The frame was enameled with pictures of birds. Prominently displayed among them was the horn-shaped moon Bill had seen elsewhere in the house, all worked in precious metals. But the built-in chains and shackles sort of killed the overall appeal.

As for Emily herself, she was freshly bathed and wearing a clean nightgown.

Earlier, Idelle had brought her a metal washtub filled with hot water, a towel, and a bar of milk-and-honey soap. Emily had looked at the old woman in surprise. You serious?

Idelle had set the washtub down next to the cot. Straightening up, she’d patted Emily’s arm. "Patience, cher. Your lord seems like a kind man. I’m sure you’ll be back in his good graces soon enough." With that, the old woman had gone back upstairs, leaving Emily speechless.

Now, Bill saw that the cot had a couple of wool blankets, scratchy but warm-looking, and a lumpy pillow. It even had a mattress. The manacles were attached to the cot by adjustable chains that could be tightened or loosened, depending on how much freedom the prisoner was allowed. At the moment, they were quite short.

He rested his hand lightly on Emily’s back. Hey.

She did not turn around. Go away.

I’m not leaving you down here by yourself.

It’s not your fault. I deserve this.

No, you don’t. Kneeling by the bed, he loosened the chains.

She sat up. What are you doing?

Trying to make you more comfortable. He spread the softer quilts over the cot and sat down beside her to unlace his shoes.

That cowboy’s gonna kill you. And me. Or maybe he’ll kill me first and then you. The point is, he’s gonna kill both of us when he finds you here and sees that you loosened my chains--

Bill did not reply. He just gathered her into his arms and held her. The two of them stretched out together, too tired to argue, and after a time, they fell asleep.

Chapter Three

Early the next morning, Alyssa awoke well before dawn—before the servants, even. She wasn’t sleeping much these days anyway, and it turned out Corbenic had thirty-two-hour days. Long days and even longer nights.

After she got dressed, she went down to the cellar to check on the prisoner. Bill was with her, of course. Alyssa shook him. Colonel’ll be down in less than five.

Bill sat up and rubbed his face, still bleary-eyed with sleep. Thanks, he said, but she was already gone. Bill rolled back over and woke Emily gently. Hey. I gotta go.

’Kay, she murmured sleepily.

Bill kissed her, then rose. When he came upstairs, he found the Oracle poking around in the cupboards. She did not spare him so much as a glance as he slunk across the kitchen and out the door that led to the servants’ corridors.

Upstairs, the Colonel had awakened to find a fresh change of clothes laid out for him: a homespun shirt, a wool vest and slacks, even underwear. His boots had been polished, his hat brushed and re-blocked, but his old clothes and duster were nowhere to be found—somewhere being cleaned, he presumed.

A few minutes later, he arrived in the kitchen to find the Oracle had set two cups and saucers out on the table. He noted with approval that she’d loaded up the stove and had a nice fire going. A copper kettle was boiling on top.

The Colonel went down into the cellar to check on the MJ-12 agent. She was still asleep. Her chains had been loosened. The Colonel shook his head. Bill, goddammit.

Returning to the kitchen, he found the Oracle opening an earthenware jar. Coffee?

She took the kettle off the stove. Tea.

Hell. Even Carcosa had coffee.

As the Oracle was pouring hot water into their cups, Idelle came into the kitchen and gasped at the sight of them. Mademoiselle!

The Oracle looked at her, startled.

Please, you must allow me! Idelle rushed forward and before they knew it, both the Colonel and the Oracle found themselves standing outside the kitchen, the Oracle still holding the tea kettle. They looked at each other.

The hell just happened? the Colonel asked.

* * *

The others had also awakened to find fresh changes of clothes. Bill and Murphy found attire very similar to the Colonel’s-- simple, sturdy, and comfortable.

Kate, on the other hand, awoke to a shirtwaist, a long skirt, wool stockings, and a corset. It had laces down the back, snaps up the front, and metal boning throughout. A servant girl helped her lace it up. Kate went downstairs feeling very upright, supported, and not just a little confined. Everyone else was already in the dining room. As she joined them, the Oracle gave her a sympathetic look.

Good morning, Kate said.

Good morning, Clayton replied. Beside him, Murphy nodded to her. Bill sat slumped in his chair, picking morosely at his food. By the fireplace, the MJ-12 agent was tied to a chair and gagged. The Colonel leaned against the mantle, arms crossed.

The table was heaped with dishes, each more delectable than the last. The only sounds were the crackle of the fireplace and the occasional scrape of utensils against plates. Kate, who normally would have been beside herself at the sight of such a bounty, took only a piece of toast. Murphy was eating but his posture revealed that he was every bit as uncertain as Kate. She kept glancing over to the MJ-12 agent… and at the Colonel, who was glowering at the agent, silently daring her to give him an excuse. Any excuse.

Now that we’re all here, we can get the briefing underway, Clayton said. His attire was much fancier than the other men’s. He wore a frockcoat, vest, and cravat, with a silver watch chain dangling from an inner pocket. The Oracle was also richly dressed in a velvet riding habit. Around her neck was the dainty gold watch pendant she’d been wearing the night before. Curiously, their attire was brightly colored and embroidered—Kate had never seen any clothing quite like it before. Even more curious was how well it suited the two of them-- Clayton, she supposed, because he was from the 1800s. As for the Oracle, Kate had only met her once before, but how had it escaped her notice that she was very beautiful? With her thick dark hair, porcelain skin, and sweet, round face, she was the most perfect little Victorian girl.

Abruptly, Bill threw down his fork. I can’t do this. I can’t do this with her sitting there, tied to a fucking chair.

She’s gettin’ off easy, the Colonel growled. My vote was to hang her from a goddamn hook.

No, Murphy said. Your vote was to hang her from the nearest tree. The hook was your idea of compromise.

The Oracle’s voice floated across the conversation, We need her.

The Colonel looked over to the wingback chair where she was lounging and smoking, her legs over the arm. His jaw tightened. Just so’s we understand each other, Bill-- just because Sunshine here supposedly saved your bacon from the feds don’t mean you get to return the favor. Get me?

Kate stood up so fast she nearly turned the chair over. "Jesus fucking Christ, Colonel. Who the fuck do you think you are? This is Bill. I know him, and I thought I knew you, and whatever happened between anybody in this room does not give you the right to be such a shit."

Clayton cleared his throat. Colonel, I’m sure we don’t have to worry about Bill’s loyalties. Kate, please sit down. This is getting us nowhere. We need to get ready to set out. The weather is going to hamper our travel and we probably don’t have much time.

‘Probably’? Murphy asked. "What do you mean, probably?"

We’re here to aid our allies who are suffering invasion and occupation from Starry Wisdom. However, as far as a concrete timetable goes, our intel is limited, Clayton replied.

Hence the ‘probably.’

Hence the probably.

Great. One more question.

Go ahead.

"Where are we? And why are we dressed like extras in a Merchant Ivory film?"

At that, the Oracle rolled her eyes, stubbed out her cigarette, and heaved herself up off the chair.

This is Corbenic, Clayton said. That’s the name of the planet, the empire, and the capital city, which is where we’re headed.

Ran out of names?

Think of Rome.

Ah. And the clothes?

The fashion of Corbenic is much like that of our Victorian and Edwardian periods, though not exactly. The Corbenese are alchemists and geomancers, so they love color and patterns.

What’s with the French accents?

"No one’s really sure why translator amulets assign accents to people—as far as I know, that’s never been an intentional part of the enchantment. There are a lot of theories about why it happens. Maybe it’s because the amulets are not just telling us what they’re saying but are trying to make people from other worlds more accessible to us."

So, it’s not a bug, it’s a feature, is what you’re saying?

Clayton smiled. You could put it that way, yes.

Is that why the Carcosans sounded like they were from the Old West or Mexico, even though it wasn’t the Old West or Mexico we know? Kate asked.

I imagine so. Here, the translator amulets make them sound French or Cajun. Which is especially odd when you consider that they’re actually descended from our Greeks, Clayton said.

Really? Murphy asked with genuine interest. How so?

The ruling family here is descended directly from Minos’ brother, Sarpedon. Are you familiar with the legend?

In passing—

Impatiently, the Colonel said, "And I am completely fuckin’ fascinated by all