Part 7-4
"A stable and happy marriage should be one between equals. Power disparities doom love. I would never have married a man who could not wipe out a company of Germanian brigands or a small army of goblins, and I most certainly expect my daughters to end up with men similarly suited to them. Well, I do not expect Cattleya to end up with a man – because of her illness of course, nothing more, no other reason – but if she had not fallen ill, I would have imposed the same criteria upon her as Eleanore and Louise."

Karina de la Vallière



…​


"Soooo," Igni said, drawing out the word. The five minions, who were by right of shiniest loot and brute force broadly accepted as the senior non-Gnarl minions around, stood around, overseeing the serving efforts. All five of them had acquired top hats, which they were wearing on top of their normal headgear. Fettid, as befitted her alleged status as a lady of grace and style, was wearing a bonnet on top of the top hat on top of her bonnet. "I no is getting what is going on with the planning thingie."

"It are simples," Maxy said happily. "The overlady and the forgemistress and the henchess are showing off the clothing and talking to the hornies what do the writing down of the wordies and the overlady is going 'mwhahaha I am so dangerous' and then the writey hornies are writing down all of that."

The other minions shuddered at the mention of so many words, even at one step removed.

"Gnarl does the angry word from the Los Diablos Times every day," Scyl contributed. "He say he miss it a lot when vampy lock him in cage."

"I be angry if I read so many wordies," Maggat said firmly. "But Maxy are right. Overlady are doing her talky thing, and then when she do it, we go and give booze what they no is needing to pay for to the writey hornies. Then once that all that is happened, we is making sure that henchess and foremistress are safe while she go watch thingie with the boss-man of far away place."

"It are so romantic," Maxy said with a great sigh. "She have power, he have power, they do thing that leads to kissy kissy and then in long run evil babies."

Igni shook his head. "I no is believing you," he said. "You is trying to explain where human babies come from before, but it no is making much sense. Humans can no make minions without a hive. I no think that they can make a new human without human hive."

"It are like sheepies, only with humies instead of sheepies," Scyl said dreamily.

"That no make sense," Igni said. "Humies no have horns. Unless they are part horny, like forgemistress, and she have them only when she get angry."

"I think we is getting distracted," Maggat said. "Gnarl tell us that we is meant to make sure that the writey horney are very drunk and happy, so they is writing wicked things 'bout overlady because they think if they do that, they get more free drinkies."

There was a moment of realisation, as they managed to grasp the sheer genius of the plan of the overlady – aided of course by Gnarl – and the role they had to play in it.

"Overlady so smart," Igni said.

"I be using my fem-in-ine wile to make sure they is happy and drinky much," Fettid said.

"While what?"Maxy asked.

"I not sure," Fettid admitted. "While stabbity happens, prob'bly."

Maggat cuffed her across the back of the head. "No! Overlady very firm about that. We no is meant to kill the writey hornies, even by accident or if we fall and then oops knifey go in back of writey horny who just happen to have a lot of money on them and so we have to loot all their shineys to help save their life. Overlady very firm that we no is allowed to do that."

"Overlady are evils," Fettid said sadly.

She was the subject of three minionly stares – Scyl being distracted by a fly. "Well, duh," Igni said. "That are the point of overlady."

"Oh yeah."



…​


The Voice of the Steel Maiden rapped her knuckles on the desk. "And I believe that we have time for one last question for the overlady," she said, leaning forwards. "Only the truly unworthy shall be chosen for this."

Louise sitting on a raised chair slightly behind Henrietta was feeling vaguely mortified by the whole set-up. It just didn't feel right to be… well, she would call it 'holding court', only the demons weren't courtiers, with Henrietta asking as her seneschal. She was very glad that her helmet covered almost all her face, because she was blushing. What if she was punished by God for putting herself above a member of the royal family? Oh, and the whole evil overlady thing, too, but that didn't count because she was doing it for a good cause.

Of course, she was also feeling more than a little embarrassed by how much effort Henrietta was putting into this whole pretence. Just yesterday she had caught her friend spending nearly ten minutes practicing a variety of evil laughs into the mirror. And then she had asked Louise how she managed to get such a good evil laugh, and Louise had been forced to deny that she had an evil laugh and then Jessica had walked in and started snickering in a very annoying way.

Louise mentally sighed. She did wish she could stay as calm in front of a crowd as Henrietta was managing, though. Somehow she was managing to sound impeccably regal and commanding when she was wearing far less than was decent. And that was with that additional clothing that Louise had forced on her, though the witty and delicate method of shouting at Jessica until she added an armoured breastplate to the ensemble. Louise felt that there was still rather too much 'breast' and not enough 'plate' in the navel-baring alleged piece of protection, but she would take what victories she could.

At least this was the last question. She focussed on the fortunate demon, a cyclopean creature from the journal known as the Obscured Orb.

"So, has anything amusing ever happened to you in connection with a spoon?" the journaleer asked, his single oversized eye unblinking.

Louise stared blankly back. Her mind was whirring as she tried to see if there was any trap in that question. Any secretly hidden squirming trick which would make everything fall apart if she answered. She couldn't think of anything, but that might just have meant that it was very well hidden. In the end, she decided to play it safe. "No," she said.

Wait. Did that mean they would conclude that she was boring? Had she just answered wrong?

The demon's face fell. "Oh," he said, turning pale. "Oh no." Eye darting around, he tried to make a run for it, but before he got more than a few paces a vast burning eyeball appeared and burned him to a crisp.

"I… I would like thank you all for you attendance and… and hope that you were all satisfied," Henrietta said faintly, doing an admirable job of controlling the tremor in her voice "And… uh…"

"Drinks are provided in the entry hall," Jessica interjected.

There was a clattering of chairs as the journaleers stampeded for the free alcohol. Louise just hoped that the minions clad in stolen butlerial fashion had not got bored during the questions and drunk all the booze already.

Her eyes drifted back to the greasy stain on the floor where the journaleer had died. "I didn't expect that," she said, feeling a little dizzy.

"What… what happened to him?" Henrietta asked in a hushed tone.

"Oh, the editor of that thing is pretty harsh," Jessica said casually. "Fires his staff for the slightest failure."

"So it was my fault?" Louise whispered.

"Nah. All his fault for working for that thing. He knew what he was getting into." Jessica clapped her hands together. "And the two of you did great! Like, wow!"

Henrietta slumped forwards, her head resting on her forearms. "I was so nervous! I mean, I'd read all those etiquette manuals you got me and of course any proper princess knows how to address the infernal masses…"

"Wait, what?" Louise asked.

Henrietta twisted in her seat. "Well, of course," she said. "I mean, the infernal might be a pernicious force of wickedness working to undo all good in the world, but there is such thing as manners. Not least because being rude to an infernal emissary is liable to get you invaded by a horde of wingéd demons or something."

"It's like a reprimand for rudeness," Jessica said brightly.

"I see," Louise said.

"Yes, well, I'd read the theory, but it was totally different in practice! I didn't expect the way they made all those sketches of us, either." Henrietta giggled. "I bet my mother would have kittens if she saw that! Ah ha ha ha ha."

Jessica shook her head. "Still don't have the laugh down, Voxi."

"Drat."

For her part, Louise had not exactly been comfortable with the sketches. Not least because the ones doing them were apparently paying more attention to Henrietta than her. They were meant to be interested in her, not her mysterious new henchwoman! Just because Henrietta was taller than her and more beautiful and bustier and… Louise sighed. It wasn't fair. Dratted bloodlines which had apparently dictated that she would be delicate and petite and… short. And, well. Not exactly curvy.

"We still have some time before I have to meet with Emperor Lee," Louise said, to try to shift the topic. "So I was thinking that we could go and maybe I could get some more occult tomes and…"

Jessica wagged her finger at her. "No," she told Louise firmly. "We don't have time for that! I need to do your hair again and you've smudged your lip paint and I need to check your armour again and… oh, there's no time for things like casual shopping! Especially for boring tomes and scrolls! You need to look perfect!" She grabbed Louise by the arm. "Come on!"

"… but books," Louise said weakly, as she was pulled away. "And my hair is covered by my helmet."

"Not the point!"



…​


In Louise's quite firm and solid opinion, Jessica was the worst maid ever. She was touching up the armour in the ladies toilets of where Louise would be meeting the emperor. And Louise wasn't enjoying it. Some of that may have been due to the fact that Jessica wasn't a maid – and was in fact a demon princess – but she was still very bad at helping Louise get dressed in the way she liked to do it. Which was to say, a way which left her feeling like she had some control over her life.

Jessica disagreed that Louise had any control over her own life, at least with regards to things like the clothes she wore and how her surcoat sat, which was not a nice feeling. And jolly presumptuous! Who was the evil overlady around here, anyway?

Not that she was evil, of course.

"And… done!"

Henrietta smiled. "Oh, you look impressively evil!" she said. "He'll be very impressed, I think!"

"I should hope so," Jessica said. "Make sure if any journaleers see you, they get sketches of you. I want to see you in the gossip pages."

Louise blushed bright red. "I'm not sure that's really proper," she managed. "This… well, for one, he's… it's… I hardly know him! And…"

"It's probably a good idea that the helmet hides the blush," Jessica observed.

"Really? It's adorable," Henrietta said.

Louise worked her mouth soundlessly. Henrietta thought she was adorable? The blush intensified.

"Yes, but not the kind of thing which gets you respect from a hot young ex-evil-vizier who's now the emperor of Cathay," Jessica said. "Get in there."

"No 'in' will be 'got'," Louise said in her most haughty manner, trying to regain control of the conversation. "We are merely going to see a performance together. Nothing more."

"Aww, come on. You should at least try to get a free meal out of him. From some fancy restaurant, too. He's an emperor, right? He should be good for… like, well, basically anywhere."

"This topic of conversation is over," Louise said, crossing her arms with a grating of demonic steel. "Full stop."

"Urgh, fine. Okay, so this is it," Jessica hissed to Louise, as they left the toilets and returned to the lavish and blood-red carpeted foyer, where the emperor would be meeting Louise. "Remember what I told you. Together, you're going to the swevenkino. You have to look like you're used to it, and whatever you do, don't try and interfere with what's happening on stage. Remember, it's not real." She paused. "Well, it's real, but it's not real-real."

"Yes, yes," Louise retorted. "You said that already. It might look like a play, but it's demonic magic breaking into a mortal's dreams and showing them to the audience."

"Yes! Exactly! And there's a protective barrier up in front of the stage, so don't try to run away if it looks like something is heading straight towards the screen! Even if it's a really scary monster. The magic keeps the things trapped inside the dream, so there is one-hundred-percent totally safe no risk ever of the thing getting out and maybe eating everyone in the swevenkino. Trust me."

Louise didn't trust her. No one giving that much reassurance could ever be trustworthy. Especially when the reassurance was that specific and detailed.

"H… I mean, your Voice and me'll be going shopping and just hanging out. We'll have a bunch of minions with us, and we'll just be keeping an eye out for you-know-what. And, oh yeah, I've got the spectacles prepared," Jessica said, passing her a case. Louise took them, examining the eyeglasses. "Put them on, and the tiny demon living in them will write the translation down, which you can then read."

Louise took them dubiously and put them on, removing her helmet to do so. "So what do they do?" she asked. "Do they tell me what he's saying? Won't it be hard to hear what they say and what he's saying at the same time?"

"Nah," Jessica said, flicking her hair. "Magical text appears on the glasses, right at the bottom. And it's even colour-coded by speaking. Subtitling is far better than dubbing."

"Well, if you say so," Louise said.

"I mean, dubs are totally inauthentic and most demons can't get the voices right at all. You totally get far more of the real experience by using subtitling."

"I don't really care," Louise said. "I'm just going to have to get used to wearing glasses to read what someone says at the same time as they talk."

"Well, you should care! You… yeah, okay, not the time. But look! Just check they're working, at least for the Dark Tongue." Jessica coughed. "Je'near-eek Ævuul charn'teengh," she said, her voice taking on a monstrous timbre.

The words Generic evil chanting appeared on the interior of the glasses.

"… did you just say 'Generic evil chanting'?" Louise asked. "And… wait, I sort of understood that anyway."

Jessica broke out into a grin. "Wicked. They're working. And yeah, well, you are, you know, horrifically Evil, so that's why you can probably understand the Dark Tongue even without learning it. But the same doesn't apply for Cathayan. Now, the demons in the glasses have no imagination so they won't lie to you, even if they might be a bit clunky in how they translate things. Oh, and don't worry, I chose a breed which doesn't eat eyeballs! Isn't it great!"

"… wait, what?"

Jessica rushed off, holding Henrietta's hand. "Okay, see you!"

"What was that about eyeball eating demons?"

"Don't worry about it!" Jessica said cheerfully, giving her a thumbs up and winking. "Me and Voxi," she pointed at Henrietta, "will just go and do our super special top secret uber mission thing, right? Laters!"

"I…" Louise sighed in exasperation. How did she get talked into these things? Why was she going to see a performance with a murderous evil – and admittedly sort of handsome and exceptionally rich – emperor from a far-off land who had said that she was 'not objectively suboptimal'? How on earth had her life turned out in a way that she was currently standing around in the Abyss, waiting to meet with a wicked tyrant who seemed to be courting her? She was a good girl! Good girls didn't become involved with evil foreigners who had hordes of dragon-riders serving them!

Louise took a deep breath and tried to reassure herself. At least Emperor Lee, unlike Viscount Wardes, was obviously evil… not that Wardes wasn't the most horrible despicable terrible wretched stupid foul unclean dog ever to disgrace the world with his footsteps and where had she been going with this? Yes! She was expecting that Emperor Lee would try to murder her at some point, and so it wouldn't come as a surprise.

Maggat poked his head out of a ventilation duct. "We is all waiting for your orders so we can go 'gaargh' and do the jumping out and the looting and pillaging if you is wanting us to kill the emperor," he added. "Fettid and the rest is following the forgemistress and the henchess like you is telling us to. It are most cunning."

"Shut up and get back in the pipe," Louise hissed.

Oh, and of course, she had half a horde of evil foul smelling goblins hiding in the ventilation system just waiting for her orders. That did wonders for boosting a girl's confidence. If Lee attempted to do anything improper, like sacrificing her to some evil foreign god, she'd set the minions on him with the promise that they could keep any headgear or shiny objects he had on him.

It was a low, wretched, despicable blow, and Louise was rather proud of it.

And then she saw him. There was a commotion going on outside the foyer, but the protesters holding up signs complaining about dragon slavery and Cathay's human rights' record – apparently they allowed far too many of them, whatever 'human rights' were – were being beaten up by the demonic police. She had a clear line of sight to the emperor. He was dressed in his usual black armour, although he had added a black cape to it, stuck on some black spikes, and was wearing a surcoat made of black dragon scales. It made him look even paler. He was also wearing glasses, which caught the light and made his eyes hard to see.

Louise didn't consider throwing a lightning bolt at him and ridding the world of a great evil. Not seriously, anyway. It wouldn't do anything considering he was probably even more layered in protective magic than her. And it would be rude.

She realised he was right in front of her, and that she was staring.

Emperor Lee said something in Cathayan. "Greetings. You look attractively armoured," her glasses told her.

Louise blushed. "Thank you," she said. "You are also wearing… um, nice armour. And you look nice." She saw him tilt his head, and from the flickering of his eyes he was reading his own translation off his glasses.

At least she wouldn't have to deal with having a translator around getting in the way. But on the other hand, now she would have to talk to him at length.

What if he was only attracted to her armour? That would very strange, but then again, pretty much all the overlords who weren't her were as crazy as a bat, Louise thought in a spasm of worry. After all, he'd never seen any of her body, apart from a tiny bit around her mouth. And yes, she did apparently have a 'cute' chin, if Jessica was to be trusted (she wasn't), but he didn't even know what she looked like. What would he say if he ever saw her in the flesh?

Oh, wait, he'd probably say something like 'No! The daughter of the Karin is after me! I will slay her and become famous for it!'. Louise balled her hands into fists behind her back. It was hard work being an overlady when your mother was possibly the most famous hero in all of Halkeginia, and who had apparently ruined their economies by killing so many foes of righteousness. Which really was flattering and rather amazing, but also somewhat annoying.

There was an awkward silence.

"It will be starting soon," he said, breaking the silence.

"Um. Yes, it will," Louise said, trying to think of something to say. "Um," she added, glancing down at her armoured boots. "Have you been to the swevenkino before?"

"I have not, no," came the response. "Apparently it is all the madness in the Abyss, according to my spies."

"Well." Louise swallowed, and tried not to bite her lip. "Let's go, then."



…​


Jessica spread her arms wide, and gave a whoop of joy, spinning around on the spot. Her expansive gesture took in the great towering black basalt towers of Los Diablos, the iron horses milling around on the streets exhaling smoke, and the smog-browned sky.

"Isn't this great?" Jessica said enthusiastically. "We get to go chill in Los Diablos and we can go around the bargain shops and… oooh! I wonder if Ia'amems has any more of the obsidian in stock! I have the most awesome plans if I can get my hands on some more!"

"Chilling would sound very nice indeed," Henrietta said, fanning herself while she looked nervously at the demonic beasts galloping by on the roads. They were going dreadfully fast. "It is almost intolerably hot. And smoky."

"Yeah, Los Diablos gets like this," Jessica said with a shrug. "It's hot anyway, and then there's all the fumes from the iron horses and the factories and, you know, the magma." She grinned. "Ice cream time!"

"You scream time? Um, what does that mean? How is time something you can scream?"

"I said 'ice cream', not 'I scream'."

"Eyes cream? I'm not sure I want to eat eyes…" Henrietta said dubiously. "In fact, I really don't."

Jessica shook her head sadly. "Sister, you have so much to learn."

"I'm not your sister. I'm a distant cousin several times removed," Henrietta objected.

Jessica ignored her.

"For that matter," Henrietta said, "this breastplate is rather hot and heavy. Do I really have to wear it?"

"'Fraid so," Jessica said. "If you don't, you can just bet that the overlady has told the minions to watch for if you take it off. Right?" she asked the nearest minion.

Fettid cleared her throat. "I no is answering that question," she said. "Overlady tell me not to answer askies about orders to be tattletale."

"See?" Jessica said, spreading her hands. "She's so mean sometimes. Far too stuck-up. I'm being repressed." She tilted her head, as a thought struck her. "Actually, you know, that'd explain a lot. She's so evil, she even represses herself because she is… like, so repressed." She grinned. "The emperor will be pretty lucky if he gets through that wall of repression. Something tells me he won't be getting lucky tonight. Anyway! Ice cream!"

Jessica sauntered up to a colossal three-headed demon, who wept frozen tears from his six eyes. He was buried up to his chest in ice, and he strained constantly to escape, the beating of his six wings creating a pleasant cooling breeze. He momentarily ceased his nearly ceaseless attempts to escape to take Jessica's money and provide her with two cones, before returning to his doomed efforts.

"This is a Ninthy-Ninth," Jessica said, passing Henrietta an ice cream. "It's made from milk from demonic cows and… oh yeah, do you know, normal cows aren't actually demonic despite the fact that they have horns and hooves? I was, like, so totally shocked when I found that out. It was almost as bad as it would be to find that goats aren't demons working to overthrow the world of man."

"Um," Heniretta said, "… they're not. They're… goats." She warily licked her ice cream, lips pursing as she prepared to spit it out if necessary.

Jessica shook her head sadly. "No, silly," she said, "that's just what they want you to think."

"They're goats."

"Nah." Jessica devoured her ice cream in a single bite, with a second one to consume the cone, and looked around. "Okay, I booked a nice restaurant for dinner, but what else do you want to do?"

Henrietta took a deep breath, and started coughing from the fumes. "What kind of food?" she asked, once she had got her hacking under control.

"Uh, pizza. It's a proper hellish food."

"Pizza is a Romalian dish," Henrietta pointed out. "I've had it before."

"This is Romalian-Infernal pizza," Jessica corrected her. "An immigrant dish. From damned Romalians enslaved to work in the kitchens of the lords of the Abyss. I've had 'proper' Romalian pizza. They make the crust way too thin, and there's not enough cheese. You've gotta try a real Infernal pizza. But yeah, what do you want to do before that?"

"Loot!" contributed a minion.

"Maim!"

"Burn!"

"Kill!"

"Shut up," Jessica said casually. "Voxi?" she asked the Voice of the Overlady.

"I honestly don't know," Henrietta said. "I mean, there was some mention of occult tomes, so I suppose we could get them for her and…"

"You're no fun," Jessica said, pouting.

"You must understand," Henrietta said, her voice dropping, "I have spent almost a year locked in a small room, and before that… well, my life was rather controlled by others. And I have never been to the Abyss before, and," she gestured around her, "it is exceptionally strange. I don't know what I want to do here. But L… the overlady did mention evil tomes, and I do owe her." She scuffed her boots against the paving slabs. "And I have spent my entire life being warned about the dangers of forbidden lore, so… so I jolly well think I should get to see what all the fuss is about!"

"Fine! We'll do some book things! And then?" Jessica said. "We're young, we're single, we're princesses. Let's hit the town!"

"Maybe I could get an evil tattoo," Henrietta said wistfully.



…​


Louise tried not to sigh audibly. She was sitting in a dark room, watching things within the dreams of a man moving behind a great glass window - which in itself was a sign of the decadence of demons. Not just the fact that they would spend so much on such a colossal piece of glass, though there was that. And not just because they were controlling the dreams of a mortal man as entertainment, which was of course wicked and dreadful and detestable.

No, it was the fact that the events happening in the dreams of the nightmare-wracked mortal were so dull. And the dialogue was so bad. Louise had seen far, far better plays in her time. And she had been shushed by a demon when she had tried to talk to Emperor Lee. She'd tried to see if he was as bored as she was, but she couldn't read his expression.

She shifted uncomfortably, and tried to settle her head in a position that she could close her eyes. But no, she shouldn't do that. She might offend the emperor. And that wouldn't be proper. He hadn't tried to kill or even harm her once so far. She didn't want him to start.

But this swevenkino was so bad. In the good language sense of the word. And long.



..​


Henrietta and Jessica had a most enjoyable afternoon. Only one murderous assassin tried to kill them, and they were clearly a complete amateur and thus got swarmed by minions.

"I am liking the knifey," Fettid said cheerfully, secreting the weapon somewhere on her person while some of the younger minions started a kickabout with the head. "Is you sure we is not allowed in the eating place?"

Jessica pointed mutely at the sign which said "No Minions and Shadow People", and also had various pictorial depictions to account for the near species-wide illiteracy. And large demons at the entrance to stop them when they tried to get in anyway.

Maxy coughed. "We is under-standing," he said, winking in a completely unsubtle way. "We promises on our bestest honour that we no is going to climb up the bins and get into the kitchens that way." He pulled out his lute. "And if we is not let in, we is just going to have to busk outside."

For some reason, this statement produced a considerable amount of alarm in the proprietors, and the minions were quickly let into the underlings section which any high-class restaurant in the Abyss had as a matter of course.

"I've never been to a hellish restaurant before," Henrietta whispered, looking around. There were many small tables around the interior, and a faint smell of freshly baked bread. Or possibly bread-smelling damned soul. "Or many restaurants at all, to be quite honest. What's the protocol?"

Jessica raised a finger. "Leave it to me," she said smugly. "Okaaaaaaaay," she told the waiter, "we'll both be having the dinner menu, and… wait," she twisted to stare at the specials board. "No, we will be having the dinner menu. Uh… oh, you only have two starters at the moment? One of each then, since we'll be sharing. The pizza for the main, no coelacanth on mine... you like fish, Voxi? 'Kay, she'll have the fish on it. And a bottle of the house red to share. Just red grape, though. No extras."

"Certainly," the waiter said. "Will there be anything else?"

"Not at the moment, but… oh, do you still have the rosemary breadsticks?"

"Indeed, ma'am."

"Then we'll have some of them before the food arrives."

"Certainly, ma'am."

"The dinner menu here is great," Jessica said confidently. "This place caters a lot to cultists and the like, so – like I said – there's a bunch of Infernal versions of normal foods and…"

"Oh my." A tall, strawberry blonde demoness stood behind Henrietta. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Izah'belya," Jessica said, glowering.

"J'eszika," her cousin said, her eyebrows raised. She was wearing a dress which would not have looked out of place at a Tristainian ball, if it had not been for the fact that it was apparently made of tiny obsidian scales. Ribbons of scarlet fire burned in her hair, and were tied around her rams' horns. "Well, well. Fancy seeing you here. I wouldn't have expected that." She flicked her strawberry-blonde hair. "I do so hope you can afford this place. I'd just hate for you to be inconvenienced by such a modest expenditure."

"I'm fine," Jessica said back acidly. "Oh, I think it's my things which have been on the front page of the journals, not yours. I'm the one who played a major role in kidnapping Princess Henrietta of Tristain out of the hands of good!"

"Which she did very well," Heniretta contributed loyally.

"Who is this?" Izah'belya asked. "You seem to have put her in one of your graceless iron contraptions, and she doesn't even have the admittedly-revolutionary femme fere of your overlady."

"She's a colleague," Jessica retorted. "And for your information, some of us appreciate refinements of classical schools, thank you very much! Just because you have your thing for East-West fusions doesn't mean everyone has to go tromping around in stupid glass-crystal things!"

"But it looks so good on me," Izah'belya said, smirking. "Hmm," she said, taking Henrietta in. "I have to say, the whole femme fere thing does look pretty good when you have someone who looks like her. Personally, I'd have made the breastplate out of… maybe some red crystal? The translucency would be quite alluring without compromising the protection. At least you didn't fall for the old regressive fallacy of the unarmoured torso. Well-cut armour plays off the lines of the body rather more."

"Yes, that's what I thought," Jessica lied. "The armour was always an integral part of the outfit. Izah'belya, this is the Voice of the Steel Maiden." She snorted. "'Course, you seem to be here all alone. What, did you get stood up?"

"Oh, no," Izah'belya, said smirking. "I did have something arranged, but I'm afraid Tzeragh had to cancel. A mysterious fire mysteriously set fire to one of her warehouses, mysteriously. And I didn't feel like cancelling my reservation, so I thought I'd see if I could meet someone cute here." She paused. "Sadly, that doesn't seem to have worked. I met you instead."

"Fuck you."

"Oh my," Izah'belya said. "Such coarseness. And I'm not interested in that, dear cousin."

"You're acting like a surface worlder," Jessica snapped at her. "Have you been spending a lot of time up there, or has Klaus been rubbing off on you?"

"Klaus?" Izah'belya asked, her eyebrows fluting up. "Oh, I grew bored of him long ago. He was only in it for the investiture of abyssal power, anyway. And he had a very unhealthy attitude towards women. Do you know, he tried to bind me? So many cultists are sad, pathetic little people who appear to have gone into demonology to meet women. Really, J'ez, you should be thanking me for freeing you from someone so… so contemptible."

"You stole him! We were dating!"

"J'ez, I don't know what you thought you were doing, but he wasn't into that. Especially with your… issue."

Jessica turned red, horns forcing their way from her forehead. "Don't you dare!" she snapped.

"And there you go," Izah'belya said casually. "And…" she frowned, squinting at Henrietta. "I'm sorry, but is your companion tearing up? That's not the usual reaction when you start to… ah. True love?"

"Dead true love," Jessica agreed, taking a deep breath. She tried to calm herself down. "Voxi, this is Izah'belya. My cousin, on my dad's side. Total bitch. Also rather smarter than most of my other cousins, which she mostly uses for being a bitch. And has a thing for avarice rather than lust."

"You charmer, you," Izah'belya said, smiling as she ran a hand over one of her ram's horns. "And here I thought you didn't like me."

"I don't like you." Jessica paused. "You're not going to go away until I ask if you want to have dinner, are you?" she asked.

"You do owe me. Remember? I picked up the tab after the Montregal show."

Jessica threw her hands up. "Fine!"



…​


Louise and the emperor stepped out of the building, into the heat of the abyssal summer. He still hadn't tried to kill her. That meant she was doing a good job.

Louise tried to think of a way to diplomatically tell her opinion of the swevenkino. "It… was certainly unusual," she tried.

"I think it was terrible," Lee said.

Louise paled. Drat. Was he using evil language? She didn't know!

"The plot was bad, the characters were dire, and the script was just atrocious."

That didn't help at all.

"Those are strong words," she said.

"Strong, but entirely deserved," Emperor Lee said, crossing his arms. "Few things I have seen have been that bad."

"Is there anything else you would rather have seen?" she tried desperately.

"Oh, all manners of things," he said.

Louise breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, I very nearly fell asleep," she said honestly. "I have seen far better plays than that."

"Quite so." His steel gloves clinked against his armoured thigh. "I think I shall have the director killed," he said. "It is his justly deserved fate."

"Perhaps you could feed him a copy of the script and make him choke to death on it," Louise suggested. She frowned. "Of course, people don't always choke on paper, so you'd probably have to poison it. Still, that way he'd have to eat his words."

Emperor Lee turned to face her. "I was just going to have an assassin with a poisoned knife stab them repeatedly when they are sleep," he said. "Optimal way of killing."

Louise felt like a naughty schoolgirl being scolded. She squared her jaw. She wasn't going to take that. "But," she said, thinking quickly, "that would be too characteristic of you, and that kind of inefficient killing can be pinned on someone else."

There was a pause.

"You make a fair point," Emperor Lee said, a little stiffly. "But it should still be done efficiently."

"No," Louise said, clasping her hands together, "clearly the death has to take as long as that abomination of a dream-play."

"You are too self-indulgent!" he countered. "You are clearly wrong! And," he tilted his head, "do you want to get a meal? I need to tell you how wrong you are and it would be efficient to eat at the same time."

Was it really right to be plotting someone's murder with an evil emperor? Was she losing her way with this whole overlady pretence? Was it possible that the lie might be creeping up on her, becoming real and…

Oh wait, Louise remembered. The person who they were planning to kill was an evil demon who invaded the dreams of the innocent for no better reason than to amuse the demonic masses. She had almost forgotten that. Which meant that it was, in fact, not only good that she have him killed, but downright heroic.

She'd almost forgotten that. Silly her.

Also, it had been a very bad play.

"I'd love to," she said.



…​


"So you read Obteneratus III's 'Thoughts on Stellar Consumption'?" Izah'belya said, tapping her wine glass. "What did you think of it?"

Henrietta tilted her head. "Well, you should understand," she said, "I was introduced to it from the good perspective. It was a sign of the hubris of evil. But it simply wasn't very well-written. And his arguments from the Brimiric faith as to why it was the correct choice to devour the sun were pointed out as being very theologically unsound."

"Well, it was pretty crazy," the succubus said casually, her batlike wings twitching. "And yeah, not as well written as everyone says it is. I think it gets more credit than it deserves because of the scale of the project, but it never was that workable." She frowned. "And I sort of feel that eating the sun is… like, too evil. Plunging the world into the cold and dark just takes the fun out of everything. Literally everything. I like fire. After all, it is the best element."

Jessica was sulking and nursing her wine. Henrietta and Izah'belya were discussing theological texts she'd never read, and her attempts to contribute to the discussion hadn't gone well.

"I have to say," Henrietta said, "I haven't met very many succubae before. You're not what I expected. At all."

Izah'belya laughed. "No doubt! For that, you'd probably want to look for," she swivelled in her seat, "Maan'ikeh, say," she said, nodding at a four-eyed, four-horned purple-skinned demoness with platinum blonde hair sitting at a table with a vacant-eyed man. "I have to fight constantly against those kinds of living stereotypes."

"Accurate stereotypes," Jessica muttered.

"Is she a relative?" Henrietta asked. She looked at Izah'belya, who looked like a human with horns and bat wings protruding from her back. "I beg your pardon if this is offensive, but you don't look similar."

"A sister. Well, half-sister." Izah'belya sighed. "I have far, far too many half-sisters," she said glumly. "It's more obvious when we take on human form that we're related, but…" she shrugged. "When I do that, all that means is the horns and wings go."

"She really does have too many half-sisters," Jessica interjected.

"Quiet, Miss Only Child. Yes," she continued, "our family looks very… different. But trust me, she's a half-sister. We all get thrown into the fight for titles and respect and status. Mother is, after all, the de facto Queen of Hell, even if she's been very reclusive since a while after I was born. She's planning something large, I think. Oh well. All my half-sisters have a talent for knowing that we're related. Blood calls to blood and all that."

Henrietta frowned. "So, let me get it straight," she said, slowly. "Over there, that Monique…"

"Maan'ikeh," Izah'belya corrected her. "I'm sorry, but topworlders seem to be terrible with names."

"Sorry," Henrietta said. "But let me guess, her father is a demon, yes? And your father must be a human… probably a Germanian, from your colouring and hair? Well, clearly the stereotypes come from the demon-parented ones. Do you take after your father? Is that how it works?"

Izah'belya froze. "Excuse me?" she asked carefully.

"Your father. I wonder if he's where you get those mental traits which quite clearly make you stand out from all your half-sisters." Her fingers tapped against the table. "I wonder; do you have any full sisters? Anyone who looks much like you?" Henrietta frowned. "I wonder who he was?" she said. "Or is, even."

Isah'belya squared her jaw. "Did you put her up to this, J'eszika?" she snapped at Jessica.

"I didn't even know you were going to barge in and demand dinner. It's a perfectly innocent question," Jessica said, almost managing to not smirk. "But you know, you could just answer. Or do you not know? Does your mum know and not tell you, or does she just roll on her back for so many people that even she can't remember? You know, for all I really do hate you, you clearly get your brains from your dad. As opposed to, say, Lues'zeeneah, who's much less of a bitch than you, but as dumb as fuck. Like yo mama. Who's both as dumb as fuck and a dumb f-"

"You're going too far!"

"Actually, FYI, nope. I'm not a succubus," Jessica said, a grin breaking out. "As you like to so kindly point out every chance you get. And I know who both my mother and father are." She leaned forwards. "Whatever my dear auntie chooses to do to you lot, I don't have to care."

Izah'belya put down her napkin carefully. "For your information," she told Henrietta, her hand twitching slightly, studiously ignoring Jessica, "it is considered very rude to ask a succubus about her father. Mother treats us all equally. It is the height of ill manners to make a thing about it, which is why my uncouth cousin does it at every chance she can."

"What, because I like pointing out that when we go full demon, I'm actually clearly much more powerful than you?" Jessica said, grinning in an attractively mannish way. "That you're actually pushing yourself to look as you do, and that your horns shrink when you're distracted? That you don't even have hooves?"

"As I have excellent manners," Izah'belya said, through clenched teeth, "I do not retaliate to this kind of provocation."

"Also, I'd beat you in a fight. Like last time you did react."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, you stupid spoilt mannish brat!" Izah'belya snapped, jumping to her feet. Her hands clenched into fists, balling in impotent rage. "Just… just shut up!"

"Wanna brawl?" Jessica said throatily, long goatish horns extruding from her hair. She too rose, though she was looming slightly as her chest and arms bulked out. Her shadowy bat wings extended too, larger than Izah'belya's.

"I…" Izah'belya bit down on what she had been about to say. "I am very sorry for how my cousin has decided to act," she told Henrietta. "If you would like to continue our conversation without her, I would be happy to." And with that said, she stormed out.

There was silence at the table.

"Did you have to do that?" Henrietta said, sounding faintly shocked. "That was a bit… mean. I thought we were getting on quite well."

"She's a bitch, and had it coming," Jessica said, reaching for the wine. "After this, let's go to the night clubs! Oh, this is going to be great."

"I think the evening is quite ruined," Henrietta said coldly. "I would prefer to head back to the tower."



…​


There was a knock at Louise's door. Louise looked up from the papers she was working on. "Enter," she said.

"Gnarl said you were back already," Henrietta said, her hair very mussed from a day of wearing a helmet. She had discarded the breastplate, and was only wearing the soft dress part of her outfit, and was carrying a satchel in her hand. "So! How did it go?"

Louise smiled softly, mostly to herself. "Well, Emperor Lee didn't try to kill me once! And the swevenkino was dire. Just terrible," she said.

"Are you using evil language?" Henrietta asked.

"No, I most certainly am not! It was really boring! It was just like a play happening behind this very decadent glass screen, but it wasn't a very good play. Also, because the glass was in the way we couldn't throw food at the actors."

Henrietta shook her head sadly. "But that's one of the best bits of a terrible play," she protested.

"Quite so!"

"And…" Henrietta asked, nudging her, "so what did you think of the emperor?"

Louise turned pink. "He was nice enough. He found the swevenkino boring as well, thank goodness, so we got to talk about that."

"Did you kiss him?"

"Wh-what kind of question is that?"

"A relevant one. You are courting, after all." Henrietta smiled. "I kissed the Prince Wales," she said, with a giggle.

"No, I did not kiss him!" Louise sighed. "But after that, we went and had a meal together, and then we got to talking about how we'd make the writer of that dreadful dreadful play suffer. And then we got talking about military strategy and sabotage. I liked that bit. And then we went and looked at the magma lakes."

"My goodness," Henrietta said. "Well, whatever makes you happy, I suppose. And were the magma lakes romantic?"

"No, they were mostly just hot and smelt of sulphur," Louise said. "We had to leave pretty quickly because they… I mean, they were pretty interesting to look at, but I wouldn't call them romantic. At all." She sighed. "And those Romalian assassins didn't show up at all! That's not fair!"

"There, there," Henrietta said, patting her hand.

"I went and put myself – and you! – apparently vulnerable. Any half-way decent assassin should have leapt at the chance! They should have interrupted that terrible, terrible play at the swevenkino and then that would have been an attack on the person of Emperor Lee and then he would have been obliged to hunt them down!"

"Perhaps that's why they didn't do it," Henrietta suggested.

"I hate smart enemies," Louise muttered, her head sinking down onto her arms. "Stupid people not falling for my cunning plan. They didn't even try to kill you and get swarmed over by all those minions I had protecting you. I'd sent all the greens I could find, so you wouldn't see them. And I've talked to Catt, and she said they didn't try to break in here. And she was very disappointed about that, because she was hungry." Louise headbutted her arms. "I was so sure it would work!"

Henrietta nudged her. "So, do you think you'd want to do that with Emperor Lee again, Louise Françoise?" she asked.

"Why are you pushing this?" Louise said, not raising her head.

"Ahem. Because he's the emperor of the most powerful nation in the Mystic East – possibly the world - and he seems to be courting you?" Henrietta suggested. "And on top of that, he's passingly handsome – though nowhere near as gorgeous as Cearl was – and while he's an evil tyrant, so are you."

"I'm just pretending," Louise muttered reflexively. "And… and I don't want to be romantically involved! With anyone! It just… it j-just makes everything more complicated! It's bad enough when Jessica getting worked up makes me get all hot and bothered, and that's just evil demonic stuff, not me! Can't people just let me kill the Council and put you back on the throne without… without bodies and men and women making everything more complicated!" She sighed. "But yes, I mean… it wasn't like the stories. It wasn't some eternal undying love thing. I'm pretty sure of that. But, I mean…" she trailed off, looking for the right words. "I mean, I had fun, I think. He was handsome, and I liked arguing tactics and strategy with him. And I think I'd like to do that again. Only not going to the bad, bad play."

Henrietta moved around to hug her friend from behind, resting her head on her back. Louise let out a small 'eep', before she realised what was happening. "Poor, poor Louise," she said. "This must be very hard on you." She giggled. "You're practically having to endure the life of a queen, only without the title or anything and with only evil smelly goblins as your subjects. I don't tell you enough how grateful I am that you're doing this, do I? I owe you so, so much. Your eighteenth birthday is coming up, isn't it? You're a summer birth, anyway. I'm going to have to do something very nice for you." She paused. "In fact, I have a special present for you right now. A very, very special one."

Louise blushed a flaming red. Her stomach was squirming, and Henrietta felt far too close. She could feel Henrietta's warmth up against her back. Everything felt like Jessica was nearby and highly agitated. That had to be it. Yes.

Henrietta mercifully let go, and put the leather satchel down on her desk. "I got you some of those occult tomes when Jessica and I went shopping! There was a book about fire magic and you seem to use it a lot, so I thought you might like it!"

The evil overlady's stomach churned, and she wasn't sure if she was happy or sad. "Thank you," she said, but her mind wasn't on it. Was she feverish? She rose with a clatter of her chair. She was feeling warm and flushed, her cheeks were burning. It wasn't right. And the air felt stuffy and thick. She caught herself staring at the mussed-looking Henrietta, and had no idea why. "I… I need to go do s-something," Louise stammered, backing around the edge of the room. "Something important! Something… uh! Like… like, yes, I need to go work on the m-minion hive. I have a really important… thing! Which I will get to!"



…​


No. No.

That was impossible, Louise thought, as, hand shaking, she tried to focus on the pages. She'd loaded up the hive with a life essence brew, and was waiting while it worked, trying to resolve the confusion in her head. She was just… tired. She had been blushing and idly considering what it would be like to kiss Emperor Lee during the later bits of the meal, after all. And thinking he was handsome. And clearly talking about him with Henrietta had her feeling all mixed up. And she was probably ill anyway.

Or maybe it was all her body's fault! After all, she had been focussing for almost a year on how to free Princess Henrietta from jail and she did have a lot of very evil people in her ancestry. Clearly it was just confused because of the influence from her heritage, and thought she was kidnapping Henrietta to marry her.

And it was also all Jessica's fault! Because she had few friends – in fact if she was to be quite honest, Princess Henrietta and Jessica were really the only ones she had since she was about ten or so – and part of the problem of being Jessica's friend was the way she got hit with misattributed amorousness whenever the half-incubus got worked up. So her body was getting confused with "friend" and "person you're attracted to".

Louise took a deep breath. Yes. The shaking had stopped. Or at least wasn't so bad. She'd made sense of it. She'd just have to deal with it, and never ever let Henrietta know that she was feeling all mixed up. She thought of Emperor Lee. Yes, he was handsome, and yes, she would maybe like to see what it was like to kiss him. And even when she was getting messed around with by Jessica, it was the male demon aura which was getting her feeling strange.

It would be good if she could talk to Cattleya about this, but… no. Louise squared her jaw. She couldn't let anyone know. What would Cattleya say if she knew?

It was her problem and she'd deal with it.

And – her chain of thought was interrupted, as an ichor-covered black-skinned minion slithered out of the hive. It rose to its feet, and opened eyes which burned with malignant light.

Louise's eyes widened in shock. Oh no.

*blort*

The overlady kicked the door from the research area open in a towering rage.

"That's it!" Louise yelled, covered in foul-smelling black goo. "Gnarl! Go find out if there's anyone who might know how to get this blasted wretched stupid minion hive working! I have had enough! And since they're probably in Amstreldamme and that wretched Madame de Montespan lives there, Operation Kill Wardes' Mistress starts today!"



…​
 
What, Another Heroic Interlude?
What, Another Heroic Interlude?



The giant betentacled monstrosity collapsed with a sound not entirely unlike a deflating balloon, or perhaps the largest whoopee cushion since the 'Hurricane of Laughs' of Baron von Zhallowumor. The foul wind that it exhaled only fanned the fires which ravaged what had been a beautiful forest glade.

A bronze sword broke its skin. From the inside.

This was, of course, completely the wrong way of going about such a course of action. From a traditional point of view, it should have been the larval form of the monster which tore its way out of the chest of the human. However, the youth of today showed little regard for the finer forms of established culture, and so the eighteen-year old Guiche de Gramont tore his way out from inside the chest of the great beast, presumably to undergo some form of metamorphosis shortly thereafter.

Even if he was a little old to be a larva.

"You let me get eaten!" Guiche shouted, covered in colourless fish-smelling slime. Holding one of his bronze golems' swords, he hacked at the opening, trying to force it wider without dropping the slime-covered sword.

"Hey!" Kirche objected from behind an icy barricade. She was covered in sweat and soot. A similarly dishevelled Montmorency sighed in relief at the sight of him, and slumped down. "We were kind of busy here. Kind of really busy! It had all those tentacles! And they had hooks and mouths on them! They weren't the f-"

"You let me get eaten!" Guiche repeated, on the grounds that now was not the time for innuendo.

"-un kind of tentacle," Kirche continued, on the grounds that it was always time for innuendo. She paused. "Anyway, remember the mystic scroll we found? It did tell us that the monster was a) weak to sharp objects from the inside, and b) liked eating blonds."

"This was part of your plan?" Guiche managed, slithering out of the wound. "You didn't say that!"

"Wait!" Monmon said, her voice also rising. "I didn't see the bit about it liking blondes!"

Kirche rolled her eyes. "No, of course it wasn't part of a plan. You were meant to block the tendrils while I burned it. Only it started using all that slime which didn't burn well. Which isn't very fair at all."

"It's in my mouth! It… it tastes of fish," Guiche moaned. "Give me something to wash out my mouth, quickly! It tastes like rotten fish and… I'm going to be sick."

Montmorency winced. "Harvesting its eggs is going to be really unpleasant," she said. She put on long gloves, and drew a sharp knife. "Kirche, be on your guard in case it's playing dead. We need to get to those eggs and get them on ice before they start rotting."

"Right," Kirche agreed. "They're like rubies. If rubies rotted. And smelt of fish and..." she sniffed and made a face, "... rotten eggs, I think. Urgh."

"This wouldn't have happened if Tabitha was here," Guiche said sulkily, heading over to the packs washing his mouth out with wine. "She could have just frozen it solid."

"Yeah, well," Kirche said, with a shrug, as Montmorency started butchering the abomination. "She had to go home back to Gallia for something."



…​


Long ago, the monarchs of Gallia had realised that the throne swung between Good and Evil with all the regularity of a metronome, and in a display of sideways logic and pragmatism had decided to make use of it. By institutionalising the royal family's tendency towards heroic bravery and utmost wickedness, in theory Gallia would have an advantage against all other nations because both Good and Evil would be working together for Gallia. Hence, members of the royal family were trained in roles appropriate to their natural temperament – or at least their temperament as it was perceived – and so in theory they could work together in unassailable harmony.

In practice, of course, it meant that a lot of royal relatives got murdered by court-trained assassin-princes hungry for power or executed by morally outraged judge-princesses who had just found what their Evil brother was up to. That was just an implementation detail, however, and the theory was still held to be sound.

Unfortunately, the current generation of princesses had certain… issues.

Princess Isabella of Gallia clasped her hands to her chest. With a morose exclamation, she sprawled backwards onto her plush chair, her long and very pink dress flowing out around her. "Oh, non!" she declared. "Woe to uz, zat ze world eez such a wicked place! How can zose of uz who are good stand against such dreadful cruelty, non? Of course, I am not speaking about you, couzin, for you are one of zose aforementioned wickednesses! And ze duc d'Normandie! Oh, 'ow wicked eez 'e! If only 'e would rid ze world of 'is unrighteous self! Ah, non! But we 'ave given 'im clemency for 'is many wrongful deeds!"

Before her knelt Princess Charlotte Helene Orléans de Gallia, the duchess of Orleans, who more commonly went by the name of Tabitha. Presumably she had reasons for that. She, as appropriate for an individual who was self-evidently as evil as her cousin was good, was dressed entirely in black. There were small, decorative spikes on her glasses.

"What you are ordering me to do eez to go to ze estate of the duc d'Normandie, kill 'im and 'is family, and make eet look like a suizide," Tabitha said bluntly.

Princess Isabella sighed extravagantly. "Suizide would – oh! – be a most unrighteouz sin, and would damn 'im forever," she said, resting her hands on her heaving, albeit typically sized for the Gallian royal family, bosom. "I could not pozzibly condone such an action! Eet would mean 'e would be condemned by ze Church... and not even receive a righteouz burial!" She narrowed her eyes. "You wicked, sinful girl! 'Ow could you possibly say zat I could tell you to do zat? Even eef 'e eez a traitor 'o eez working with ze Regenzy Council of Triztain and ze Albioneze Reconqueezta! Oh! 'Ow hard eet eez being Good, and unable to order 'im to be killed een such a way! Eef I was as wicked as you, I would mozt certainly order you to do zat, no?"

Tabitha really did wish that her cousin would get over the whole 'trying to be Good' thing and go back to just directly telling her to kill people. Princess Isabella had started talking about how she had to 'fight against her heritage' and 'be a better person' and 'choose her own path in life', but the main difference seemed to be that Tabitha now had to try to interpret her orders from what she was ordered not to do. And in addition, she now got insulted for being Evil, rather than all the other reasons which Isabella had used to insult her. She didn't mind killing people. It was easy. But sitting here and being lectured at was hard.

Also, her cousin's mannerisms were very annoying. And all the pink got on her nerves. Tabitha hated pink. It was such a masculine colour.

She wished she was with Kirche, Monmon and Guiche. They never lectured her about being Evil. They just took her to interesting places where there were lots of exotic things living, which almost invariably tried to kill them. It was nice, mentally simple, and challenging work. As a prodigal graduate of the very elite Gallian Assassin's College, Tabitha had never expected to encounter as wide a variety of foes as Kirche managed to stumble into on a weekly basis.

It was remarkable, really. She strongly suspect the forces of Evil were following her friends around, because that was the only explanation she could think of to explain all the various mishaps they managed to get into. Well, the forces of Evil which weren't her or Irukuwa.

Tabitha was vaguely aware that she hadn't always found Evil so easy or natural. But that lay in the past, and she did not think of that. It hurt to do so.

"I will be on my way, wiz your permizzion, oui?" she said.

"As long as you do not go kill ze duc d'Normandie," Isabella said, momentarily cold eyes staring down over the top of a large fan before she remembered she was meant to be coquettish.

Tabitha nodded, and rose.

"Whatever you do," Isabella called out from behind her, "do not make sure zat ze entire line eez extinguizhed! That includez the baztard daughter 'e keeps living up een ze tower! If someone were to murder ze necezzary seventeen individuals, ze estate would return to ze crown. Zut alors, you are une problem! 'Ow wicked are you zat you would conzider such a theeng?"

Ice on the stairs should do it, Tabitha thought to herself. Or maybe she should just have Irukuwa tear the roof off and eat the girl. Her familiar did so like eating people. And Tabitha liked making her friends happy.



…​


Montmorency grinned. "Well, since she's not here, she doesn't get a share of the money," she said. She was methodically cutting out the eggs from inside the monster and putting them in ice. "I really do appreciate the way that everyone else has gone running off after the kidnapped princess. We get to pick up all the other well-paying contracts without any competition at all."

"We should be trying to save Princess Henrietta," Guiche said, in the tones of someone bringing up an old argument that he didn't particularly expect to win. "Don't you have any patriotism?"

"I am a very patriotic Germanian," Kirche told him, smirking. "And that means I don't have to spend time running around wasting effort when no one even knows where this Steel Maiden person keeps her base and the reward they're offering is… kinda on the small side for rescuing royalty. And anyway, all the Tristainian heroes are running off after the princess, which leaves all these sweet, sweet profitable opportunities for us while they take care of it." Her expression soured. "Plus, she has Minions. With a capital 'M'. You know there's an entire breed of Minions who are just completely immune to fire magic? That's basically blasphemy."

"Blasphemy?" Monmon asked, raising her eyebrows. "What, it's a blasphemy for things to not die when they're set on fire?"

"Yes," Kirche said promptly. "Pope Igniferon III issued a papal proclamation that since fire cleanses all sins, only the irrevocably damned do not burn, for they have forsaken all chance of redemption. Not being flammable is a sin."

"Wait a minute," Guiche said, frowning. "Didn't he try to set fire to the ocean? And excommunicated some mountains for failing to melt?"

"There were dragons living in those mountains," Kirche said, sounding hurt. "They were evil mountains."

"I know you're enjoying this theological discussion," Monmon said, shaking her head, "but maybe we can get to emptying its hoard and making sure we get all those valuable eggs? Before anyone else shows up?"

"Right! I'll go find the hoard." Kirche glanced at Guiche. "And you better go jump in a pond. You stink."



…​


The pond did not help a great deal, and Guiche's horse was decidedly unhappy by the time they got to an inn. His mole familiar was even less happy, for it had a very sensitive nose, and was therefore riding on Monmon's horse; as far away from its master as possible.

This left her somewhat distressed, especially when it kept on licking her ear. It was for this reason that she put her hands on her hips as soon as they arrived, informed Guiche that he would be taking a bath, and ordered him to not get out until he no longer smelt of dead betentacled monstrosity.

"Scrub everywhere! And I mean everywhere!" she concluded.

"My my," Kirche said mildly, grinning.

"I am not in the mood! I… I will wash your filthy mouth out with soap!" Montmorency snapped, whirling on her. "And I don't even know what you mean by that, but you said it in that tone of voice so it couldn't be good!" She turned on Guiche. "Go! Wash! Now!"

Throwing his hands up in mock protest, the boy departed.

"So," Kirche said, when he was out of earshot, "I really don't get why you two don't just get rid of all the sexual tension and just do it. You already act like an old married couple."

Monmon frowned. "You wouldn't understand," she said, taking a seat at a table. "I am a proper young lady and we don't do certain things."

"Like cutting a man's throat with an icicle?" Kirche asked, grinning and sitting down opposite her.

"That… that was in self-defence! And it wasn't a man! It was a werewolf!"

"You didn't know that at the time," Kirche pointed out. "But seriously, you've killed, you've stolen… sorry, liberated… and you in particular are now rather wealthy. You could totally propose, or hint strongly to him that he could propose. No one would object, either."

"Firstly, that werewolf? He had a knife! I want to make that clear! I didn't do it for no reason! It was self-defence!" Monmon crossed her arms. "And as to the other point, why are you being such a… such a pain about this?"

Kirche shrugged, sinking down on her seat. "I dunno. Maybe because… look, when we started this, the two of you were from poor noble families. Now he's independently wealthy and you're rather more than that because of those investments you made. If you wanted to, you two could marry."

Monmon swallowed. "I'm… I'm not ready for that," she said quietly. "I'm not even eighteen yet. I don't want children and marriage or…"

"Oh, trust me," Kirche said, smirking, "those two aren't related. At all."

"They are if you want any respect!" the blonde retorted. "Brides who do the kind of thing that we do are disreputable. Even if they're rich – in fact, doubly so if they're rich. I know what families like mine think of women who are mercenaries. They're barely better than women who sell their bodies in the other way. I have to keep a clean reputation, or…"

"Do you think it matters to Guiche?" Kirche asked gently.

"It matters to me! And it matters to everyone else!" Monmon snapped.

Kirche fumbled for her purse. "Or maybe you're just waiting for someone else and leading him on," she said. "Maybe you think there's some 'true love' out there waiting for you?"

"What? No!" Monmon said. "It's not like…" she looked over to the bar, "like I'm holding off so I can jump into bed with, say, him. Trying a bit hard, isn't he?" she said, nodding towards a man stood at the bar. It was definitely a man. Not only were his heels tremendously high, but his cuffs were so lacy that they were getting in the way of his hands. His doublet was a deep crimson and decorated, as was the style among certain young men, with purely ornamental knife cuts, revealing a second layer of fine black fabric. He wore both a wandsword and a short sword at his belt. His long curled strawberry blonde hair was thrown with manufactured carelessness around his shoulders, and his face was elaborately rouged.

He was also beardless and appeared to be about twelve, despite the fact that he had ordered the largest measure of beer that the inn was serving.

Kirche sighed. "You can say that again," she said sadly, shaking her head as she rose. "Hey! Dani! Get over here!" she called out, waving.

"Kirche!" the boy called back, whirling around.

"You know him?" Monmon asked.

"Dani? Yeah. Just a bit. Being that he is, you know, one of my younger brothers."

"Ah, I see." Monmon blinked. "But wait, you said…"

"He is one of my younger brothers," Kirche repeated, slowly. "Do you understand?"

"But…"

"Don't make me set you on fire. Which I will, if you're not going to be civil to him," Kirche said in a low, flat, and completely serious tone. "I look after both my sisters and my brothers. I am a protective older sister or brother, depending on whether Dad's around."

Montmorency worked her jaw and went slightly cross-eyed, but said nothing more.

"What are you doing here?" Dani demanded. "What are you wearing? Father would be so angry if he caught you dressing like that," he said, crossing his arms.

"Just as well he's not going to catch me," Kirche retorted, flicking her brother on the nose. "I keep track of him, and he's in Iberia at the moment. You could get out of your manly lace and high heels and wash the rouge off your face and dress like a girl, you know; if you wanted to. You know, like he does."

Dani sniffed. "Why would I want to?" he said. "Dad's not right about everything."

"You'll change your tune once you start having to wear a corset all the time to get away with that figure," Kirche pointed out. "And you will. It's bloody painful."

"I won't!"

"You're already having to wear looser shirts," Kirche said, pointing at her brother's chest.

Dani crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "They're not going to grow anymore! Not if I don't want them to!"

"You're a von Zerbst," Kirche said knowingly. "They'll grow. And mother's even bigger. Face it Dani, I'm going to have to help you deal with them."

"They won't grow!"

"Much as I'm enjoying watching you air your… uh, strange family situation," Monmon drawled, "and really, I am, don't let me stop you…"

"Who's she?" Dani asked. "Blonde, ringlets… oh, is she the barely adequate piece of filly Father said you were doing the rumpy-pumpy with?" he said, his tone shifting as if reciting what someone else had said.

Monmon turned bright red. "Wha-?"

Kirche rolled her eyes. "Father gets the wrong idea about many things," she said wearily, and paused. "Especially when I did sort of lie to him about that, remember? You had to go fix my ribs after I fractured one and we needed an excuse to get me away from him."

"Barely adequate?" Monmon said, her pitch rising.

"Oh yeah, that." Kirche looked sternly at her brother. "Dani, don't call my friends that. Just because Guiche is a prettier blond than her doesn't make her 'barely adequate'."

"Hey!"

"Look, Monmon, Guiche is so pretty that I'm actively not attracted to him. I prefer my men more rugged. It's no great sin to be less pretty than him."

"But it's what father said!" Dani said mulishly.

"You yourself just said he's not right about everything. And we're in Tristain at the moment. The standards of behaviour are rather different." Kirche shook her head. "Food!" she said, changing the topic. "I'm starving. We killed a vast slimy monster with tentacles today, you know. And picked up some rather nice gems from its mound."

"And all kinds of very valuable alchemical reagents from its eggs," Monmon added snidely.

Dani's shoulders slumped. "You… already got it," he said flatly. "Yeah, thanks a bunch Kirche. I was going to kill it!"

"Sit," Kirche told him. "Dani, what were you thinking? And oi!" she hailed one of the servers, "milk for the boy!"

"Aww, but…"

"Would you prefer cider?" Kirche asked, shrugging.

Dani wrinkled his brow. "Fine, milk," he muttered. "And that's not fair! I was going to kill it and…"

Kirche sighed, waving his complaints off. "Does Mother know where you are?" she asked, bluntly.

Her brother crossed his arms. "Like she knows where anyone is," he muttered. "She's off on another one of her trips. God forbid she actually spend any time at home when she could be off enjoying herself. I think she's off on holiday in Roma on some pilgrimage again. She's always on some pilgrimage or another. And before you ask," he added, "Sam's back home, so he's looking after the younger ones."

"Right. Good. Now, Dani, listen." Kirche said. "There's no way you were prepared on your own to face that thing. It took three of us, and Guiche got eaten by it."

His eyes widened. "Is he all right?" Dani asked. "You're talking about the Guiche de Gramont, yes? The man who captured Fouquet, and who slew the Beast of Boullission?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, that's Guiche. He's fine. He cut his way out from the inside." Kirche sighed. "Dani, you're twelve," she said. "Even I wasn't going out on my own at that age. Well, I mean, apart from setting fire to things like goblin tribes, but they're not real challenges. What were you thinking?"

"You do this kind of thing all the time!" Dani protested.

"Firstly, okay, I'm much older than you. And I do things as part of a team. And… listen, Dani…"

Whatever she had been about to say was lost in the noise of breaking shutters as a man swung straight through them, ignoring the perfectly serviceable door a few feet to their left. "Ah ha!" he declared loudly, to screams and the other inhabitants trying to vacate the bar. "Flee! Si, flee you foolish peasants! Or stay and watch the triumph of evil! It is up to you!"

The man was dressed all in dapper black and held a blade and a duelling wandsword. One of the scabbards at his belt was plain black leather; the other was more elaborate, and bore the royal seal of the cast-down Albionese throne. Elegantly combed dark red hair flowed back from behind his black mask. What could be seen of his skin was tanned.

"Prepare to face the wrath of Don Marikos, my sister," he sneered, dipping his blade to Kirche in a mocking salute. "Soon your blood will stain my sword, and the tears of your father will be my vengeance! My vengeance in the name of honour!"

Dani and Kirche stared at each other, and sighed.

"Oh, bloody abyss," Dani said, reaching at his belt for a knife and his wand.

"I know, right? Another evil half-brother? Seriously, where do they all come from?" Kirche said sadly, taking another sip of her drink.

"Your father's inability to keep it in his pants?" Monmon said snidely, from behind the cover of an overturned table.

"Yeah, well, apart from that."

Don Marikos whipped his blade through the air with a silken tearing noise. "Be quiet. Spend your last moments asking your god for forgiveness, and then prepare to die!"

"Do you want a drink?" Kirche asked. "Before we fight? Oi, waiter, a glass of wine for my half-brother! Dani, do you know which of Dad's bastards this is?"

Dani shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, he's Iberian, but I think the last evil Iberian bastard got killed by Sam."

"Oh, urgh. This is going to bug me."

"Take this seriously, please" Don Marikos said coldly.

"Oh, I'm trying," Kirche drawled, "and I'm failing. You're the eighth evil half-sibling to try to kill me. Two of them were demons."

"I've had two," Dani contributed. "The last one was only two weeks ago. I stabbed her in the wand-hand and then broke her jaw." He paused. "Rrrawwrr," he tried.

"Your bravado. Yes, very good," Don Marikos said. "Please, do not run. I have the building surrounded with a company of the best of the mercenaries of Iberia. They will kill everyone inside if you refuse to fight me in a duel of honour."

"Seen it before" Kirche retorted. "And killing everyone inside doesn't sound much like honour."

"Yes! The same lack of honour displayed by our dear sadly-not-yet-deceased father who left my mother penniless, pregnant and dishonoured – and he even killed her dragon! Yes, she was a dragoon! He took away her means of support!" he retorted, eyes gleaming. "Killing you will hurt him, sister, so I will kill you. And then your little sister."

Suddenly Kirche was on her feet, wandsword in hand. "I'll gut you and then burn you alive," she said coldly.

"Ah ha. Yes, you can try, dearest sister. Touched a nerve, did I?"

"I'll touch your nerves. With fire," Kirche growled, kicking the table aside. The two of them circled, wand-swords drawn and tips on target. They did not cast. Yet.

Monmon grabbed Dani by the scruff of his elaborately laced neck and pulled him back behind the cover of the table.

"Let me go!" he protested. "I have to help my brother."

"… I'm not even going to get started on that," Monmon sighed. "But we're going to keep out of Kirche's way so she can cut loose. Behind a nice, solid, and – if you look, I've been busy – ice-coated table. And then if I get the chance, I can shoot him in the back."

"But that would be dishonourable," Dani said. "What are you, some kind of merchant?"

"I wonder if Kirche was this annoying when she was younger?" Montmonrency muttered under her breath.

The roar of fire filled the room as the two mages attacked at once. A wash of heat marked the two jets deflecting each other. As if by mutual consent, they ceased, and the man stepped in, swinging at Kirche's head.

Metal clashed with metal, and she barked a single word. Don Marikos went to deflect the fireball, and thus was somewhat surprised when he was hit in the stomach by a lump of rock. He gasped and staggered backwards, but managed to deflect her flicking cut. He dived backward, kicking a chair at her to gain distance, and then lunged with a fireball of his own as she cut through it.

Back and forwards they jostled for position, stray bursts of fire scorching the ceiling and walls and shattering the pots of olive oil against one wall. Flames crackled hungrily, and the ring of steel on steel sounded again and again between the barked incantations and bursts of fire. The air soon filled with smoke from broken, burning furniture, but the mages fought on regardless. If one attacked with magic, the other would deflect it. If they attacked with steel, the other responded with fire. Both blades sought the other's wand as they tried to deflect them off target with swordplay, or disarm them entirely.

And Kirche was the better swordsman, or possibly swordwoman. Step by step, she was forcing him back, and none of his attacks were getting close.

Surprisingly, though, her half-brother showed no fear or concern. The man barked a single word, spraying blinding sparks everywhere. He stepped in with a straight cut, only to be met by Kirche's blind stop thrust. The blade went through his neck with a wet, meaty sound. Kirche whipped the blade out and immediately returned to her guard position, blinking the sunspots out of her eyes.

The man didn't die. He didn't stop. He just kept on attacking.

"What?!" Monmon hissed.

There was no sign of the mortal injury he had taken. His throat was intact. Yet the blood stained Kirche's wandsword. Another flick, and she cut under his guard and slashed across his face. This time, the onlookers saw the gash close nearly instantly.

"How?" Kirche accompanied the word with a feint.

He patted his scabbard. "It was just lying around in an Albionese royal tomb for anyone to find," he smirked, leaning back. "Sure, I had to desecrate the grave a bit to get the dead to rise up and try to kill me so I could get past one of the final wards, but who doesn't do that? It was just a grave."

Kirche glared. "When I desecrate graves, it's totally different!" she snapped, breathing heavily.

Marikos stepped in, and stepped in again, forcing Kirche to retreat. She cut to his head, and the noise of blade striking bone sounded out as he blocked the chop with his forearm.

Then he stabbed her. She screamed as his wandsword went through her shoulder, and staggered back, desperately trying to keep her guard up.

"Uh, uh. Too slow," he chided her.

"Go stick your h-head in the… the Abyss."

"Now, that's not very nice. Don't speak that way in front of your little sister. In the few moments she has left before I kill her too."

Kirche straightened up, teeth clenched together. Left arm pressed to the injury, she forced herself to advance, throwing fireball after fireball in his face with reckless abandon. The cloth he wore didn't even smoulder, and he smiled throughout.

"I'll k-k-kill you," she growled.

Don Marikos spread his arms wide. "Come on, then," he said, smirking. "Come at me, sister."

Kirche gasped, trying to hold onto her wandsword with trembling fingers. She kept her injured arm pressed up against the wound, and eyed him up, from top to bottom. Panting, she tried to take a slow breath, and then stepped in, her blade dancing. Rather than stab, she slashed, flowing from cut to cut. And then she stepped back, gasping in pain.

Her half-brother smirked. "Oh, come on," he said. "You didn't even break the skin. That's not very good, is it?"

Then his clothes dropped off him in slithers. Somehow, even his boots disintegrated, slit down the sides. The sound of his codpiece hitting the ground was surprisingly loud in the silence.

Kirche managed a weak grin. "Well, looks like you're not much of a Zerbst there," she said weakly, slumping to the ground as she dropped her wand. "Mummy's boy, really."

"What did you…" her newly denuded brother exclaimed.

"Oh, like F-Father wouldn't teach his eldest that trick," Kirche said. "It's… even easier on men than women. Don't have to… to avoid… the breasts. He… made me practice. On pig carcasses in dresses. Drilled me until. I had it perfect. Took me… now!"

Monmon rose from the cover, sending a volley of ice barbs. He spun and snapped a word. The ice met fire and melted, clouds of steam billowing forth.

He wagged his finger at her. "Uh uh uh," he said. And then he was hit by a ballistic, foam-clad and sopping wet Guiche.

The two boys staggered together and slammed into one of the abandoned and miraculously unburnt tables. Don Marikos screamed as the blond stomped on his foot, and he went over backwards. His flailing arms reached for something, anything to arrest his fall, but only managed to knock the pitchers of olive oil down onto the two of them. Then they got to work trying to kill, or at the very least maim one another.

Montmorency paused, wavering. She should help Guiche. He might have had the other man locked in a hard grip despite the oil that covered both of them, holding him tight from behind, but what if the villain escaped? The grunts and yelps as they competed to dominate the other told her how close their conflict was. But a glance at Kirche changed her mind. The other girl was pale under her tan, and her top was covered in blood.

"Help Guiche," Kirche managed. "Ignore m-me."

"You idiot!" Monmon snapped, rummaging in her bag for bandages. "I should charge you for this! What possessed you to go and do that show-off blade thing after he'd stabbed you! You probably made the wound worse!"

"He was doing it wrong," Kirche managed through clenched teeth. She was pale under her tan, and shaking. "I… had to get his… belt off."

"Idiot! You complete and utter… idiot!" Monmon snapped, producing thick cloths and holding them to the wound. "Keep these in place," she told Dani while she dived back into her bag.

"The scabbard… his invincib… thingie which meant he didn't get hurt," Kirche said faintly, her words almost lost under the noise of the brawl between the Iberian and Guiche. "Albionese. Heard of it. Myth. Had to get his belt off." She gave a weak, bubbling laugh which quickly became a cough. "Not usually the context. I say that. But then again. He is my brother. Have my. Limits."

Monmon pulled out two stoppered bottles. Uncorking one, she splashed it all over her hands. The second went over the wound and Kirche screamed.

"It's an astringent," Monmon said, conjuring snow with a gesture. She handed it to Dani. "Hold this over the injury. We need to slow the bleeding before I can start a proper healing. And we need to deal with…"

Guiche shouted three words, and the floor rumbled, shaking the room. Stone wrenched, and Don Marikos sunk into the suddenly liquid stone. The spell ended with him trapped on all fours, feet and hands sealed inside the stone.

"Ah ha!" Guiche declared, one hand on his hip while the other held the other man's wandsword. With terrible slowness, the last remaining bit of his vital foam covering detached, and landed on the floor with a splattering noise. "We have you now, wrongdoer! You will know the justice of the Crown!"

Monmon stared. Glancing sideways, she realised Dani was staring too. "Guiche…" she said warningly.

"Such does good always triumph." Guiche bit his lip, turning to face the girls fully. "Sorry," he apologised. "I had my head underwater, and then I smelt smoke, but I didn't realise something was up until I heard Kirche scream."

"Ha. Ow ow ow," Kirche gasped. "Should… have screamed earlier." Her eyes drifted south. "You go, girl," she told Monmon.

"You're… you're terrible," Monmon managed, turning back to pay attention to Kirche. "At a time like this?"

"Can't think. Of better time. Hurts less when I'm not thinking of it."

"Dani, move your hands," Monmon told her, wand in hand. Muttering, she turned the snow packed into the injury back into water, and let it sink in. "Hold the bandages. I'll need you to staunch it if the blood flow increases."

"Danny, is it?" Guiche asked casually. "Sorry we have to meet like this. Mon, how's Kirche?"

"Bad," she said tersely. "Don't distract me. I've got the bleeding down, but it's going to be touch and go."

Dani stared at his half-brother, sunken into the ground. "How did you manage that?" he squeaked.

"I got my hand on his wand," Guiche explained simply. "It took a bit of getting used to. His wasn't much like mine. It was much narrower. But once I got a proper grip, it was pretty easy to leave him helpless on the floor like that. It's all in the wrist movement, see?" He demonstrated by flicking the wandsword. "I might keep this, actually. Imagine the fun I could have with two."

"You'll pay for this!" Don Marikos ranted.

"I could gag him," Guiche suggested. "Stop him being a distraction."

"Guiche, you're distracting me plenty," Monmon said. "Go put some darn clothes on."

The boy blinked. "Oh," he said, covering himself and dashing out.

"You fools!" Don Marikos managed groggily, trying and failing to get his hands free. "My loyal, vicious and wicked mercenaries have this place surrounded. If you kill me, they'll kill you all! Let me free and I'm prepared to take you captive, where I will ransom you off. That's my final offer."

"Mercenaries," Monmon said coldly. "I see." She refilled the ice in the bucket. "Keep pressure on the wound," she told Dani. "I'm just going to go out and deal with those mercenaries."

"All on your own?" Dani gasped.

"I may be some time," Monmon said simply.

Dani sniffed in an aggressively manly way, and wiped his eyes on his lacy, blood-soaked cuff. "I'm… I'm sorry I called you barely adequate," he muttered.

Monmon let out a cold smile. "Oh, I think you'll see why the group keeps me around. Beyond the fact that I'm the only one who's any good at healing, that is."

She stepped outside, and then there was silence.



…​


No more than five minutes later, she stepped back in, dusting off her hands. "They're no longer a threat," she said, frowning. "I wish there could have been another way, though."

"So fast?" Dani gasped.

"Well, they were only mercenaries," Monmon said casually.

"They are the blackest-hearted fiends in all of Iberia! I refuse to believe you slew them all that quickly and silently!" Don Marikos announced.

Monmon snorted. "Kill them? I hired them. After all, their current employer - or rather; previous employer - was our captive. We do have rather a lot of money. Though I hate to spend it like that."

"You! How could you do that!" Don Marikos gasped.

"They're mercenaries."

"Black-hearted elite killers who serve my every order."

"Mercenaries work for pay."

"They've been with me for almost two years! How could you convince them to betray me?"

"Which bit of 'mercenary' did you not understand?" the blonde asked, with an annoyed flick of her hair. She went back to check on Kirche, and nodded with grim satisfaction. "Congratulations," she told Kirche. "You're probably not going to die today."

"Good," Kirche whispered. "Have plans. Plus, Tabitha would kill me if I died on her."

Montmorency's eyes narrowed. "Stop making this into a joke," she ordered.

"Aww. Monmon. Are you worried about… about me?"

"I'm worried about you!" Dani snapped. "You… you…"

Kirche reached out and patted her brother's hand. "There, there," she said. "You're… you're still going to be fourth in line." She coughed. "And we're taking you with us. Can't have you running around. And they'll need… need a fire mage. Even if you're just a line rank."

Monmon bit back a comment about a twelve year old being 'just' a line. "Guiche! Are you dressed yet?"

"Almost," he called through, before emerging, hopping as he tried to do up his boots. Dani blushed at the sight of him.

"I hired three hundred mercenaries to stop them killing us. We need a way to put them to use which means we're getting our money's worth."

Guiche frowned. "Why are you asking me?" he asked.

"Because you have all these impractical large scale plans which would work if we had a few hundred loyal soldiers. And because I'm busy making sure Kirche doesn't drop dead."

Kirche coughed. "Your bedside manner. Could do with work."

Guiche's eyes lit up. "That's wonderful," he declared. "And… I think this is none other than Don Marikos. There's quite a bounty out for him. The papacy put a price on his head."

"Oh, really?" Monmon said, some cheer entering her voice. "We might even manage to avoid losses from this night, then. Oh yes, Guiche, this is…"

"Kirche's little brother? Yes, the resemblance is clear," Guiche said with a shrug.

"Dani," Dani squeaked, by way of introduction. "Father mentioned you." He coughed, running a hand through his strawberry-blonde hair. "He said you had promise, for… despite how you looked."

Guiche smiled broadly. "He did? Wow. Kirche says that's high praise from him. Hello, Danny," he said. "Sorry we had to meet like this." He turned back to Monmon. "Hmm. So we'll want to get Kirche somewhere safe, and we also need to hand this villain over to the proper authorities."

"And collect the reward," Monmon added, looking up from Kirche.

"Presumably, then… well, we may need to escort this sacred treasure of Albion to a safe keeping place until the crown is restored."

"That's a good point," Monmon agreed. "That has to be worth another reward."

"And then maybe we can make best use of these mercenaries." Guiche frowned. "I've never had mercenaries before. Gosh! This is exciting!"

"And I suppose he did say they were blackhearted fiends…" Monmon said to herself.

"… are you going to suggest we turn them in for the reward?"

"What, me? Never!" Montmorency lied.



…​
 
Unnatural Philosophy
"There are those so wicked, so invariably corrupt that they are overcome by mad lusts and so lie with beasts. From these are born the many horrors of the world. Those men who sate their lusts upon pigs produce the orcs. Those foolish girls who dally with horned beasts or creatures with cloven hooves gestate demons. Those who consort with snakes and reptiles may spawn a dragon; while cats and dogs make goblins. And of course, woe betide any who has carnal relations with a toad or a frog, for they will produce a Gallian."

Mother Superior Blancmange of the Saint Michelle nunnery



…​



"Oh, this is a sick joke!" Louise nearly exploded. Her voice would have echoed around the grand hall, had they actually been in the grand hall rather than a rather cosier and more comfortable room with lush red wall hangings and chairs with comfy cushions. A couple of minions with fans were positioned as inconspicuously as minions could be to keep the air circulating.

In due respect to her elevated status and petite stature, Louise's chair was somewhat higher than everyone else's.

It was breakfast time in the overlady's citadel of uttermost blackhearted malevolence, or at least breakfast for everyone who wasn't Cattleya. Louise's older sister tended to emerge sometime in the late afternoon.

A quiet little routine had settled in. After a certain amount of violence and shouting directed at the minions in charge of the kitchen, Louise had established a mutually acceptable menu which did not, in any way, involve cockroaches. She had found a smaller room which was more convenient than the Great Hall, and there were now rugs which meant they didn't have to walk on the damnably cold stone floor. There were other creature comforts in here, including subscriptions to all the major journals, and it was the front page news on one of them which had produced that reaction.

Louise threw the journal down on the cluttered table. This incautious action was enough to knock over Jessica's drink, sending diluted-down wine spilling onto the floor.

"Hey!" Jessica protested, as a minion scampered in to dry up the wine by lapping it up. "Watch it!"

Louise jabbed her finger at the journal. "This! This is not possible! This… this is wrong! There… there is no way that Guiche de Gramont is getting a headline in an Infernal journal when I didn't get one for kidnapping a princess. Just because he stopped some minor villain who hasn't done anything I've heard of!" She slumped down, pouting. "That is… this shouldn't be happening! It's wrong!"

Jessica's eyes widened. "Oh, really?" she asked, scooting over to stare at the headline. "Oh wow," Jessica said, grinning. "That is a pretty wrong guy. He's cute. Plus, he has the advantage of a quiet news day." She frowned. "Kind of too pretty, though," she added critically. "Kind of a bit girly. Cattleya might like him… well, no, probably not. She's not the sort to take up with a man. Even a man as pretty as that."

"I should think not," Louise said, crossing her arms. "My sister is a proper young lady, apart from her little issue. Involving herself with a man at an unprofessional level would be quite inappropriate for someone of her status. And this is Guiche de Gramont. He is a dreadful little… little oik!"

Jessica opened her mouth and closed it again.

"I'm not sure 'drinking the blood of the living' is a little issue, Louise Francoise," Henrietta pointed out.

"My family has a lot of very bad people in it," Louise said quietly. She cupped her drink in both hands, swirling it. "Catt is far from the worst, and she does try to keep herself under control."

"Well, true," Henrietta conceded. "Mine isn't perfect either, honestly."

They both looked at Jessica, who shrugged.

"Look, Dad's the prince of the Incubi, my aunt is the effective ruler of the Abyss, I have too many cousins who all fuck people to steal their souls and lifeforce, and my granddad is the prime force of Evil in existence," she said flatly, spreading her hands with a shrug. "What do you want me to say?" She reached out, giving them a hug. "But don't worry! Just because my family is worse than yours doesn't mean you can't be really, really bad yourselves!"

"Yes. Being the worst overlady ever is my goal in life," Louise said quickly. "My ancestors would hate to see how bad I am at it. Or love it. I'm still working on my vocabulary of wickedness."

"I'm a very bad princess and my mother said I was evil and wicked and sinful," Henrietta said, nodding rapidly in agreement. "I'm a naughty girl."

Jessica gave them a thumbs up. "That's the spirit!" she said cheerfully. "Every day in every way, we can be worse and worse!"

Louise squared her jaw. "Well, it is still… still completely unacceptable that Guiche de Gramont has managed to be front line news when I haven't!" she declared, putting her hands on her hips – such as they were. "It's just as well that my plans for Amstreldamme and that… that hussy, the Madame de Montespan, are nearly ready!"

"Yay!" Henrietta cheered. "I have utmost trust in you, Louise Françoise, that your punishment for that dreadful woman will be fully appropriate! And I will be very thankful."

Louise blushed. "Well… um, uh, thank you," she began, reaching out to refill her drink.

"Yeah, congrats," Jessica said.

Louise cleared her throat. "And," Louise said, trying to shake her fluster, "I expect you both in the preliminary planning session. That means on time this time, Jessica."

Jessica's face fell.

"I even drew up an agenda this time," Louise added proudly. "We're going to have to think about the political ramifications of our forthcoming actions. There's a special entry on the agenda and everything."

"You and your agenda politics," Jessica muttered.



…​



The Great Hall was dark, the burning braziers dimmed to almost nothing. A small stage had been set up at one end, with a slightly tattered curtain backing it.

"Beetles?" Gnarl said, offering his bowl to Henrietta.

The princess turned just a trifle pale. "One… one would not wish to deprive you of something you're so clearly and enthusiastically and… and loudly enjoying," she managed in her best regal tone.

"Unfair enough," Gnarl said, crunching loudly. "Beetle?" he asked Jessica.

"Nah, I got popcorn," she said, perched on her seat with her legs crossed.

"I'll take one!" Cattleya said happily, taking one. "I'll add him to my pet collection! Actually, no! I said 'him', but I was wrong! It's a girl beetle! You can tell from the differently shaped thorax!" she told Henrietta earnestly.

"I see. How interesting," Henrietta said faintly.

"I know!" Cattleya told her with a disturbingly enthusiastic smile. "Do you know how many different kinds of beetle there are? I have a quite extensive collection, and it's got much more extensive since I arrived here! Do you know, there are species of beetle living in this tower which I've never seen before? I'm going to need a new cabinet, because some of the insects are as large as my head, or even larger!"

"Giant beetles is very tasty," Scyl said dreamily. "Tastes like beetle. Like chicken. Chicken taste like beetle."

"Chicken eggs is yummier than beetle eggs, though," Maxy said, licking his lips.

Fettid snorted. "You is dumb," she told him sniffily, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

"Gosh," Henrietta said. "Oh, look, I do believe Louise is almost ready. We should all stop talking. Because it would be rude. Yes."

Fully clad in her steel plate, the overlady strode up to the front of the hall and onto the low stage, clanking as she went. Her flowing pink hair was artfully tossed, carefully spilling down onto her front, and the metal of her armour was polished to a sinister gleam. From the right angle, faint glowing runes could be seen beneath the surface of the metal, hinting at darker things. A long surcoat lay over the shining steel, dark enough red to seem almost black, trimmed in silver and with intricate and subtly malevolent designs woven into the flowing cloth.

Her aura of malevolent dignity was somewhat ruined when she produced a set of notes from an inner pocket and gave them an intense once-over.

"Oh, that new surcoat is awesome," Jessica said to herself in a self-congratulatory tone of voice. "I'm so great. Look, the pockets don't disrupt the cut at all!"

Louise clasped her hands together. "E-everyone!" she announced, trying to conceal she was shaking. "We are now entering a new phase of str-strategic operations!" With those words, the great blackboard was wheeled behind her by a gaggle of minions. Some small readjustment of its position left it facing the right way, and Maggat saluted and then herded the other minions off stage.

Pointing at the map of Tristain drawn on the blackboard with her staff, Louise cleared her throat. "This is the n-nation of Tristain! Its Regency Council are our enemies! The comte de Mott is already dead! Now we… we begin work on overthrowing the Madame de Montespan! She is the de facto ruler of Amstreldamme, because the duke is senile, and via her influence the greatest magical university in Halkeginia – and it is the best, no matter what those idiots in Roma say! – she supports the Regency Council!

"This is a problem! We will r-resolve this problem in the way we solve all problems! By killing her! Especially because the Madame de Montespan is said to be the mistress of Viscount Wardes, who is an unfaithful treacherous dog who jumps off into another woman's bed less than a season after his fiancée went tragically missing! Can you believe that man!" Louise scowled, getting rather red in the face. "No shame at all! None! He's a treacherous dog… no, a weasel! A weasel dog! Some horrible blasphemous product of magical experimentation which h-has all the worst features of both animals, and none of the good ones! And more flaws on top of it!" She took a deep breath. "And that is why the death of his mistress, who is also a traitor, must happen! We shall kill her and take every last thing she values in the world! Um. And more!"

There was a round of thunderous applaud from the minions, who didn't understand most of the long words Louise had used, but did grasp that the end goals were murder and looting.

"So proud of her," Gnarl muttered, dabbing of the corner of his eye with a crusted old blackened handkerchief.

Louise gestured somewhat frantically at Maggat, until the minions flipped the blackboard over to display a more detailed map of the area around Amstreldamme, speckled with annotations. "If you… um, look here, you will see that there is an old relay tower just off the coast, which used to serve as a lighthouse, but now is occupied by p-pirates," she said curtly. "We will capture that, and then use that to allow us to attack the new foundries being built just outside the city. This will slow the Council's plans to expand the military, and by pillaging their resources, we can transport vital components back to the tower, for Jessica to repair and bring into operation. However, that step is less vital than taking them out of the hands of the Council. If we cannot capture the foundries intact, we will burn them to the ground! Once we have achieved that, I will re-examine the situation."

There was another round of thunderous applause from the minions.

"Any questions?" Louise concluded, ending on a high note.

Igni raised his hand enthusiastically. "Oooh! Oooh! Overlady!" he said, bouncing up and down.

"Yes?" Louise said a trifle dubiously.

"I is wanting to be knowing how much of this are going to be about the boomy and how much about the looting," Igni said. "What are for looting and so no boomy are allowed near it?"

That was a surprisingly intelligent and cogent point by the standards of minionkind, Louise was forced to concede. Yes, it might have addressed the two main interests of the red-skinned minions, but at least it showed an understanding that there were things which should not be blown up. This was behaviour she really needed to encourage in her underlings.

"Some things will allow more… ahem, 'boomy' than others," she answered, with an inward sigh at the fact that she was getting used to minion vernacular. "I need the relay tower intact. However, as I said, if it turns out we can't reclaim the foundry equipment, I want the entire works destroyed."

Igni nodded solidly, obviously pleased by the words 'entire works destroyed'.

Jessica raised a hand. "Oooh! Yeah, there was totally that thing about Amstreldamme," she said. "It's an… what's the word? Anychrome?"

"I beg your pardon?" Louise asked.

"Anycrom? Anagram? No, no… ah! Yes, anachronism! That's the thing. It's anachronistically advanced compared to the rest of your surface world. It's got gas lighting and flushing toilets and they do things with electricity. It's almost as advanced as some backwards areas of the Abyss in some ways."

"No doubt because of the many wicked souls which reside there," Louise said coldly. "The Infernal influence upon that city is well-documented. It does not surprise me that the Madame de Montespan centres her operations there. The entire city – and its university – is very lax when it comes to enforcement of Church law. Is it any surprise that Evil ideas from the Abyss come to dominate there?"

"Yeah," Jessica said, nodding. "Well, totally makes sense. If you're going to go spend time in a proper civilised place like the Abyss, ideas leak out and once you go back to your backwards home, you're going to want to bring the hallmarks of actual proper culture with you. You know, like demon summoning and iron horses and gas lighting and stuff."

Louise fumed at that remark. But on the inside. There was nothing civilised about demon summoning!

"Amstreldamme has been purged for heresy no fewer than four times, and they excommunicated the city once," Henrietta contributed. "In the reign of my… uh, possibly my great-great-aunt – there was some question of the parentage there – the entire city was consumed with a maelstrom of Evil energy and several sections had to be razed entirely to cleanse the taint. Fortunately, once they had set some flammable areas of the city on fire, the sin could be cleansed through penance and tithes, and it was de-excommunicated as per Church doctrine."

"Yeah, that was a partial summoning of my granddad," Jessica agreed. "It's a pretty rad place for a surface place. Great place. I'd love to spend more time there. It's way less boring than Bruxelles which – no offense meant – is totally the most boring city ever, apart from Genevois, which is just blurgh."

"I spent nine months stuffed in a tower. It was very boring," Henrietta said quietly. "Maybe I should move the capital to Amstreldamme when I take the throne. I don't like Bruxelles much anymore."

"Oh, that'd be kickass," Jessica said happily. "I tried to persuade Dad that he should open a franchise there, but he seems okay in quasi-retirement and has to stay close to the centre of power."

Louise cleared her throat. "Excuse me?" she said forcefully, tapping her foot and waiting for them to quieten down again. "Did you have a point, Jessica?"

"Well, I was just checking that you know 'bout that kinda stuff," Jessica said, shrugging. "Because, you know, there's a bunch of stuff you can get from crafters there which is better than anything else you'll get outside the Abyss or elven lands."

"I do know that," Louise said, putting her hands on her lips. "Believe me, I have… plans for the alchemy district."

There was more applause from the minions, who liked that kind of plan.

"Shut up! Stop applauding literally everything I say!"



…​



In the dim of the library, Louise hid behind a protective fortress of books. She was just about over her stage fright, but she had skipped lunch because she didn't feel like eating.

She slumped forwards as a memory surfaced too late to be of any use. "I forgot to hand out the agenda," she muttered to herself. She'd prepared it and everything. And now Jessica was going to be smug about it.

She'd just had stage fright. And… Founder, she'd been going on and on about Viscount Wardes and even though he was a treacherous dog and he was a traitor and… and she hated him, she probably shouldn't have gone on about it like that?

It wasn't like she was jealous of the Madame de Montespan. She hated her. And Wardes, too. Stupid Wardes.

"Louise Françoise!" Henrietta called out from somewhere on the other side of her impenetrable literary walls. "Are you in here? The minions told me to look for you here!"

Louise considered not answering, but reluctantly decided she had to speak up. "I'm here," she said. "I'm… um, working."

Henrietta swept up to her, plonking herself down right next to Louise on her oversized chair. "Oh, Louise Françoise," she said, "you really don't like public speaking, do you?"

"You could tell?" Louise asked guiltily. Henrietta felt far, far too close, and very warm in her black dress which wasn't covering enough. She'd inhaled in surprise when the older girl had sat down, and the scent of her perfume had done an impressive job in making her completely forget what she'd been reading.

Henrietta laughed, giving Louise a hug. "You were shaking, I could see!" she said. She brushed a strand of hair away from Louise's face. "You were hiding behind your hair, too! And blushing! You're still blushing, in fact! It's very obvious when you get nervous!"

Louise blushed, and hated herself for it.

"It's actually really adorable!" Henrietta said. "It's cute!"

This only intensified the blush. "I am working at it," Louise said quickly. "I'm… I'm still not very good at public speaking. I never really practiced it before, and I wasn't very good at it at school."

Shaking out her hair, Henrietta let out a sigh. "They drilled me on it, over and over and over again," she said sadly. "It would have been nicer to go to the Academy, I think. At least I'd have been there with you."

Louise nodded. "It is nice having you around," she said politely, trying to keep her mind on… on something which wasn't Henrietta. It was a welcome relief when her friend rose and started poking around at the bookshelves. "What are you doing?" Louise asked curiously.

Henrietta shifted awkwardly. "I wanted to see what the books were like in here," she said. "The ones in my room… well, they all seem to be novels, which I suppose is good enough, but this place looked much larger."

Louise gave a self-effacing shrug. "They're mostly 'work' books," she said, letting her tongue click around the word 'work'. "Nothing very interesting. Books of geography, history, evil magic, politics, things like that." She sighed. "And a lot of them have wicked lies and mistruths in them," she added irritably. "I can't trust them half the time."

"Sorry, what was the third one you said?" Henrietta asked. "Evil magic?"

Louise turned pink. "Evil manipulation! Evil manipulation!" she said hastily. No, no, she didn't want Henrietta realising that she enjoyed researching new evil spells to aid her in her disguise – which was of course the only reason she read up on them and had spent quite a lot on expanding her collection of dread grimoires. She couldn't have Henrietta thinking ill of her. The thought of that made her heart feel like it was splitting in two.

"That didn't sound like 'manipulation'," Henrietta said dubiously.

"It was! It was!" she protested.

Henrietta smoothed down her dress and looked around. "Well, it is a bit cluttered in here," she said, clearly trying to move on.

The change in subject was welcome. "Ah. Well." Louise coughed into her hand. It wasn't that bad, really. She flinched slightly as a pile of books collapsed onto a minion. "I've bought a lot of books," she said. "I mean, a lot. No, really, a lot. Especially at first before anyone else moved in, it was the only thing to do. And… well, minions are the worst librarians ever."

"Oh? Even worse than Justin the Pyromaniac, last Custodian of the Great Library of Rhacotis?"

"… possibly not quite that bad," Louise admitted, "or at least not that bad since I banned reds from here. But almost all of them are illiterate! And the smarter ones don't really get cataloguing. They tend to file all books under B, for 'book'. Or sometimes F, for 'fing what have squiggles in'." Louise said that with all the disgust of a housemaid picking up a dead rat with tongs. "Sometimes 'S' for 'Shiny', if it has a pretty cover."

"I was wondering why those sections were quite that large," Henrietta admitted. "Oh, Louise Françoise! You work so very hard, and so thanklessly. It's almost summer, isn't it? Your birthday should be soon. I should get you something nice! To show how much I appreciate you!"

"Y-your thanks are enough, your… um, highness," Louise managed.

Henrietta nodded. "Well, unless you let me go pillage some places – and that was a joke – I'm afraid thanks are all I can afford." Henrietta shook her head in mock sorrow. "It's dreadful being a poor royal, though I suppose at least I get room and board here." She paused. "That is the commoner term for such things, isn't it?"

"Uh. I… maybe?" Louise tried, having a similar lack of experience in how the underclasses lived. "Anyway!" Louise said, "returning to our previous topic, I'll be more than willing to help you find something interesting and not at all hazardous or evil. I wouldn't want you tarnished, your highness, by the things I must do."

Henrietta sighed. "I suppose you're right," she said, almost to herself, slumping down. She straightened up again, adjusting her hair. "You should probably show me which areas are fine for me to read, then, and which ones I should avoid. So I know not to go near them."

Louise was more than happy to show Henrietta to where the more acceptable books were kept, insofar as the library was organised at all. With a sigh, she got back to work, only disrupted by periodic crashes as minions had piles of heavy tomes fall on their heads. That was slightly alarming, actually. The minions' heads might damage the books. Founder damn it, why was her heart feeling so confused? Clearly she would have to arrange for another courting date with Emperor Lee so she wouldn't be missing male company and be having… um, thoughts about Henrietta she should only be having about men. Curse her wicked heritage that led her to getting confused feelings about the princess she had kidnapped.

Louise threw herself into her work to distract herself from the… the wrong thoughts she was having, and managed to cover a good hundred pages on the fortifications of Amstreldamme before Cattleya sat down on the table opposite to her, and started writing.

"Uh… Louise," Cattleya asked, after a while. "Sorry to bother you, but… question?"

"Mmm?"

"How do you spell 'inadequate'?"

"Uh… i-n-a-d-e-q-u-a-t-e."

"Okay, okay. And… um, rationalisations?"

"That's… rat-i-o-n-al-i-sat-i-o-n-s. I think. Cattleya?" Louise asked, frowning. "What are you doing, and why are you using words you normally never use?"

Her sister looked up. "Book report," she said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A book report! For my cult! We all have to read books and report back on them," Cattleya said happily.

"Your… cult?"

Cattleya sighed. "Louise," she said chidingly. "Remember, silly? I joined a cult on the way back from Bruxelles! Now I have to do book reports because we discuss the books we've read since the last meeting and critique them!"

Louise put down her pen. "Catt," she asked, "what kind of book is it? Because if it's an evil book which will summon some kind of dark god, I really won't be happy with you. And neither will Mother or Father. I expressly forbid you to summon any dark gods! Do I make myself clear?"

Her sister pouted. "Give me some credit," she said. "I made sure to check that the cult wasn't doing anything really super-bad! If they were doing that, I'd totally have killed them all and drank their blood and then cut the bodies into lots of itty bitty bits and thrown them in a lake just in case any of them were secretly vampires too! Although I probably would have tasted it if they were vampires because other vampires are like the jolly nicest-est tasting thing ever!" She paused. "Of course if it hadn't been so incredibly shockingly dreadfully bad that I had to do it right now or else Evil would win forever I'd honestly have asked you first," she added hastily. "But it's not a very bad cult!"

Louise groaned. "Catt…" she said piteously.

"It's fine! I didn't kill anyone so you don't need to be angry at me, little sister!" Cattleya cleared her throat. "Anyway! It's not a really really bad cult! It's just young noblewomen with boring husbands – usually really old ones too! I'm so glad I didn't get married off like that! I'd hate to be married to some old man! – who get together and talk about books…"

There was a lingering little bit of doubt, Louise felt, that her sister had actually joined a cult, rather than a reading club.

"… and then worship Femin-Anark and Athe a bit! But they're very respectable dark gods! None of them have any tentacles at all! And there's no slime or anything, and Athe only approves of animal sacrifice if you then eat it! Or if you're using the sacrificed animal to study anatomy!"

Louise did have to concede that no respectable gods had tentacles. "You still haven't told me what the book is," she said.

"Oh! Right!" Cattleya said. "It's A La Carte's 'Metaphysical Meditations - In which the existence of Good and Evil and the immortality of the soul are demonstrated'! Of course, it's not right, according to Jessica! She says that you can burn souls for fuel. But I have an immortal soul! It's trapped in my body. Which makes you think, doesn't it? Why is the soul indestructible when it's bound eternally in dead flesh, but so easy to burn when it's on its own? Jessica says burning souls releases lots and lots of magic which can be used, too!"

It didn't make Louise think. "Well, have fun," she said distractedly, getting back to work. She turned. "And don't summon any dark gods," she added.

"Oh, I am having fun!" Cattleya said gleefully, apparently ignoring the warning about dark gods. "It's wonderful! I get to meet people in the cult! People who aren't related to me and who like books and… and aren't servants!" She squared her jaw. "I can't believe I was missing out on all these things being stuck at home for years and years and years," she said. "It's great! Some of the girls are even my age! I'd have… I'd have known them as friends if I went to the Academy of Magic! Of course they don't know who I am because I keep my disguise on," she added hastily, "and I never take it off. No matter what. Trust me, I make sure to keep my mask on and! And and and! I wear hair dye, now! When I go there, I mean! Obviously I just make it go rot off when I'm bored! But everyone expects vampires to be all seductive and dark and pink hair doesn't work too well with all that.

"Well, that's something, at least," Louise said, feeling a little better about the state of affairs.

"You should probably dye your hair! Pink isn't a good choice for evil overladies either!"

Louise squared her jaw. "I am not about to do that," she told her sister.

"Why not?"

She blinked. "Because… because it's my hair," Louise said, feeling greatly offended.

"Dye comes out."

"I don't care. It's mine. I'm not going to dye it."

Cattleya shook her head, running her hand along the bookshelf. "You're not getting weird about your hair again, are you?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Catt. Stop bothering me," Louise said.

"Oh no, you can't drive me off by being grumpy! You are! You're getting weird about it again!"

"I don't know what you mean!" Louise snapped.

"Oh, you know very well," Cattleya said, with a feline and prominently incisored smile. "The same weird about your hair you got with Eleanor all the time when you were little."

"I am not listening to you."

"You used to rub it in her face that you had hair like Mother and she was blonde."

"Catt," Louise said warningly.

"Literally rub it in her face."

"Catt!"

"You got it in her eyes and then she'd chase you and then you'd come back and do it again when she didn't expect it."

"I'm warning you…" Louise began, beginning to blush.

"And then you started asking her if she was really Mother's child, rather than some bastard of Father's. And everyone was very surprised that you'd heard that word and were using it correctly. Eleanor wasn't happy at all! She made the ceiling go soft and hung up there by your ankles! They had to get father to get you down because she refused to do so!"

Louise rose to her feet, clutching her papers protectively as if they could shield her from her sister's total inability to know when to shut up. "This conversation is over! I'm going to my room! I have a headache! I need peace and quiet!" she announced, as she stormed out.

But as she left, Cattleya's words trailed after her. "And it was in front of everyone at her thirteenth birthday party, too!"



…​



"Yes," Gnarl said, stroking his goatee as he watched the scene through his crystal ball. "Her parents may have missed the signs, but to a trained eye like mine, they are very obvious."

"I no can see signpost," Fettid observed, dusting with a feather duster which had nails stuck into it in case she saw a rat she needed to splat.

Gnarl ignored the casual stupidity of his underlings. "The blossoming signs of such great Evil are plain to see! Such a wealth of depravity! The overlady, so careful to pick the point for maximum possible embarrassment for her elder sister – and she would have been only three at the time! No doubt she planned it for weeks in advance!" He frowned. "Though the Evil of the de la Vallière family is also present in her elder sister, it seems. Inventive and improvised cruelty, yes."

"Why she no hit overlady with club?" Fettid pointed out. "Better way of making her shut up."

"Ah," Gnarl said, "because that is the difference between your Evil, Fettid, which is stupid and brutal, and the Evil of a potential overlady. Her elder sister seems to be showing such signs, too." He popped a cockroach in his mouth, and chewed noisily. "My investigations have confirmed that her sister is indeed resident in Amstreldamme," he said. "I do believe that their reunion may well be… interesting."

"Are that the kind of long pause 'in-ter-est-ing' what you do when you smile all evil like and do that thingie with your handies?" Fettid asked, as she splatted a rat with her feather duster.

"Yes, it is," Gnarl said, rubbing his hands together with evil glee.



…​
 
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Part 8-2
"It is… trying being my husband's wife. His very presence makes my skin crawl. Fortunately, he is more than willing to chase after the maids when I have a headache from spending too long in the same room as him and his constant shouting. I would like to free my daughters from the cruel constraints he has imposed on them, but I fear what he would do to me if I forced him to accept the truth about them. What's worse is that some of them prefer to act like he wants them to! It sickens me – but of course I cannot let my true feelings about him and his actions show. So I smile, mouth my prayers for his good health, and wait for him to run off again on some new quest."

Francesca Juliet Helen Georgia Phosphene von Zerbst (née l'Ussuria)



…​



It was dimly lit in the inner chambers of the van Rien estate, and a few lonely glowstones lit the room in a sinister dim light. Goblets full of red liquid gleamed in the gloom. Hooded figures sat around the circular table, listening to one of their number, who stood with a tome on the table before her.

"The narrative was trite and moralising, the character development was positively negative because the lead female literally lost interesting traits as the story went on, and there was no nuance at all in the narrative arc!" the standing woman proclaimed loudly, jabbing a finger at the book. "I can only conclude that the intended market for this… this pulp is people with the literary grasp of a dead seal!"

"My goodness," another one with a few blonde locks escaping her hood, one hand going to her mouth. "So you wouldn't recommend 'Instructions on the Correct Behaviour For A Goodly Wife, With Manifold Examples Of How Sin Might Be Averted', Magdalene?"

She received a withering stare in response. "No, I wouldn't, Jacqueline," Lady Magdalene van Delft told her fellow sister-in-darkness. "I would say that it is pap, utter pap, and it would be better that every copy be burned than one remain to be read by those who might take its message to heart!" By the end, her face was visibly quite red, despite her long black hooded cloak. "We should work within the shadows to ban it forever, and destroy all copies of the printing plates! That will surely lead to the triumph of Evil forever! And if not that, at least no one else will need to read this pulp!"

"That'd be nice," Comtesse Jacqueline van Rien said placidly. She perked up. "And I think sometimes you prefer finding books you can tear apart, so it's good that you're enjoying yourself. Oh! I forgot! I had the servants make cakes! And I got black goats for Carmine! Is anyone hungry? The Midnight Ritual is soon, and we should all have a proper meal beforehand!" She coughed, maternally, and took off her long black cloak, folding it neatly and hanging it over the back of her high-backed chair. "Now, I'm sorry, but I'm just going to have to check on the children and make sure the maids have put them to bed properly. Jacques makes such a fuss if he isn't tucked in with his woollen lamb, you know. And then we can look towards invoking the third aspect of Femin, if the signs are right."

With their host gone, the cabal of upper-class, well-educated and very bored youngish women-slash-conspirators-slash-cabalites-of-dark-gods got down to their base-state. Namely, gossiping, chatting, and enjoying time away from their husbands and children.

"I really liked your report, Carmine," the conveniently newly-widowed Vicomtesse de Anoun said to Cattleya. "We don't get enough people who like reading philosophy. Magdalene likes her natural philosophy, of course, but it isn't the same."

Cattleya beamed, her half-mask concealing her features. "I liked it too, Maria!" she said happily. "I look forwards to these meetings! It's jolly nice to get together with people, you know!"

Maria grinned back at her. "Oh, I know," she said. "And now my husband is dead – thank you very much for that, by the way – I can host them! He was just dreadful, you know. He was always very… demanding about his husbandly 'rights', but he wouldn't let me have any guests at all. I only got to go to these things because I told him that they were prayer meetings."

Cattleya nodded agreeably. "You didn't lie," she said, the flickering lights lighting her face from below.

"I know, right?" Maria said. She picked up her wine-filled goblet, and sipped it. "He never asked which god I was praying to."

Picking up her goblet, Cattleya swirled it around. Or at least attempted to. The other members of the cult were always very accommodating about her dietary requirements, but the thing that blood sitting on goblets tended to do was congeal. She was vaguely aware that her paternal grandmother once infamously used to bathe in the blood of pretty young women, but – quite apart from the fact that Cattleya could think of much better uses for both the blood and the pretty young women – she really wasn't sure how the blood stayed runny when filling the bath. And it'd go cold, too, and cold blood was nasty.

She did vaguely wonder if the blood of old women could be used to make one look older, and whether Louise would be interested in that, but she caught herself and stopped. That was a naughty thought! She shouldn't be making fun of her little sister like that!

Oh, and she also shouldn't be thinking about filling a bath with the blood of old people. That was also wrong.

"Excuse me!" a voice said from behind her, interrupting the talk. Cattleya recognised the constantly-exasperated tone of Lady Magdalene. "Carmine, I feel we must take the chance to talk."

Cattleya smiled up at the other woman. "Of course, my lady," she said sweetly. All around them, some of the other members of the cult were backing away from the confrontation, trying to look like they weren't involved, or in some cases spontaneously comparing baby pictures.

Magdalene jabbed one finger at her, stepping in closer. Her heels clicked on the marble floor. "This is a non-political group and I won't let you use us in your master's power plays!" she said accusingly. "You're not going to ruin this for us!"

As worshippers of Anark, they were of course devoted to overthrowing the nobility and certainly didn't have leaders themselves because they were all equal. However, Cattleya had noticed that Magdalene seemed to be the most equal of all of them, which sort of made her the leader. Well, it wasn't so much that she was a leader, because she didn't really lead. She mostly organised who'd be hosting the next meeting, and then complained loudly about books and tried to persuade them to work in the shadows to ban things she thought were badly written. And loudly criticised people when she felt they were doing it wrong. Which was quite often.

Honestly, she reminded Catt of her big sister.

"Magdalene," Maria said, plaintively. "Please don't make a fuss."

"I am certainly going to make a fuss!" Magdalene, producing several groans from all around the hall. "Do you want a repeat of what… what that woman did? Utterly shameless!"

"It's not the same," Maria protested. "Carmine is nice! She's not a cold wet fish." She paused. "Well, she's cold, but that's not her fault."

"I warm up when I drink blood," Cattleya said helpfully.

"See! She warms up when she drinks blood," Maria said, crossing her arms and nodding emphatically.

Magdalene glared at the two of them, her eyes narrowed and her mouth a thin line. "That has nothing to do with my objections to politicising our group and you know it, Maria!" she hissed, leaning forwards. Her hood fell forwards over her eyes. She yanked it out of the way. "That's a fallacious argument! We're all equal here, and that means there's no way at all I'm letting you ruin what we have just because you've been… associating with a vampire. Remember, she works for an overlady! And overladies never think small!"

Cattleya wasn't sure what followers of Anark thought of organisers. She suspected that they were probably inclined to look poorly on them, but without someone to do those things, they wouldn't get done. And then they wouldn't have somewhere to meet and that would just be dreadful. It was probably fine for peasant who worshipped Anark to meet in a remote barn at an altar of their inverted bull-head icon, but it wouldn't be done for well-bred ladies to do that.

Anyway, this cabal also worshipped Athe and Femin, and being too devoted to Anark might offend the others. They weren't working very hard at overthrowing the nobility, which Cattleya agreed with. Quite apart from the fact that she was rather in favour of the nobility, they'd have to do a lot more work than just reading some books and discussing them to do that. And she went to these meetings to socialise and get away from Louise shouting at her about teeny tiny accidents like maybe perhaps slightly murdering three squadrons of cavalrymen, their horses, and their hunting dogs.

It was jolly unfair! They'd attacked her first! Just because of the colour of her skin and eyes (chalk white and glowing red, respectively).

"I'm sure L… the overlady would like to discuss any coordination with her plans you might want to do, but I'm here on my own," Cattleya said, gesturing politely to the seat next to her and sitting herself. "If that's something you're worried about, there's no need for that! I like meeting people! And books! Not as much as my sisters like books – I think they'd marry them if, you know, Pope Aegis VII hadn't purged the reforms of his degenerate predecessor from the Church – but I like them."

"No," Lady Magdalene said bluntly, refusing to sit. "There is not the slightest chance we're going to get involved in such… overt actions again. L'affaire des poisons was bad enough, and let me tell you, we kicked out the person responsible for it! We have lives of our own we need to protect, and we will not be pawns for some… some upstart overlady!"

Cattleya pouted.

Lady Magdalene wagged her finger at her. "No!" she said sharply. "Bad vampire! Pouting doesn't work when Jacqueline does it, and she doesn't expose her fangs when she does it! Uh, not that she has fangs. Of course."

Maria scowled. "Lay off her," she demanded, leaning forwards. "And for goodn… badness sake, just sit down and stop making a fuss. You're embarrassing yourself in front of everyone!"

Magdalene drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She sat. "I am not going to let us be turned into some pawn. This is the only chance some of us have to get out of the house and she – or her mistress – will not ruin it for us. Any of us! Remember what she nearly did!"

"I know you got burned worse than me and I understand this! Really, Mag, I do! But the Lady Carmine is different! She's not-"

Cattleya raised a hand, secretly very pleased that Maria had come to her defence. Wasn't that nice of her? "No, no, she's right," she said respectfully, ignoring the little voice in her head which suggested that she should probably grab Magdalene by the throat and then shake her around a bit. And drink quite a bit of her blood, of course. That was a naughty voice. "The overlady has no interest in you. She just considers it nice that I have a hobby – oh… um, she did tell me that she will be very very unhappy with me if we summon any evil dark gods with tentacles to eat the world, but apart from that, she doesn't really care."

"Well, of course," Maria said. "Dark gods with tentacles are so dreadfully nouveau riche – at best! At worst they'll leave you pregnant with their unholy spawn – and only peasants would welcome that!" She shuddered elegantly. "There is such thing as respectability in heresy and blasphemy. I approve of your overlady's standards there."

Lady Magdalene had focussed on another part of what Cattleya had said. "Oh, so we're not bad enough for her?" she demanded, crossing her arms.

"Oh, no," Cattleya reassured her. "She just has different… priorities to you."



…​



On a small island off the north coast of Tristain, terrible things lurked on a wind-swept gravel beach. The crashing waves of the ocean beat down on the islet, throwing spray up over the things which waited among the stones. What foul purposes could such beasts have? What dark and malevolent goal could they be working towards?

"I think this rockie is the tastiest one I is eating at the moment!"

"Nuh uh! This one is betterer! It no hurt teethies!"

"That are because it are drifty wood, stoopid!"

These two shadowy figures were picked up by their heads, and slammed together a few times. "Shhh," Maggat informed the two dazed Minions. He glanced up at the shadow of the ruined relay tower, and the firelights from the pirate encampment built around it. "Blues," he said softly, "this are a very sneaky mission. We is needing to be in place before overlady are flying overhead. So now is sneakytime. Maxy, are the crate all hidy-like yet?"

Maxy, who in compliance with threats of massive violence had removed the strings from his lute, saluted. "The crate are hidden in a cavey," he said.

"There no are water troll in cave no more," Fettid said helpfully. "But there are body of water troll. Now I is feeling better after nasty ride in box across water." She sighed. "We are making big big saccry fices for overlady."

"I is thinking that a cratey is just like a tiny boaty when pulled by minions," Maxy said. "And overlady are needing us to keep the blues from being dumb-dumb."

On that, the three of them were in full agreement. Blue-skinned minions were prone to stupidity of a more abstract nature than other minions, and required firm watching from other minions to stop them from spending too long staring at the pretty lights of their magic. That meant their presence here was a vital part of the plan of the forces of Evil, or at least this specific force of Evil.

Louise de la Vallière, ultimate force of darkness, had once again devised one of the strategic feats of brilliance that she was becoming infamous for. Namely, through observation of minionkind and their casual attitude to death she had realised that the best way to get a crack force of minions onto an island was to have the blue-skinned minions swim over dragging a few supervisors in a waterproof box, and then push the other minions out of a high-flying airship.

They died on impact, of course, but the blues were there to remedy that state of affairs.

Jessica had wanted to call it a High-Altitude-No-Opening drop, but Jessica said things like that a lot. Louise had dubbed it the Lead Skull Stratagem, on the grounds that testing had revealed that nearly eighty percent of minions dropped from a high-flying airship landed head first.

Advanced testing was still in progress to determine as to whether a minion holding a barrel filled with gunpowder and nails could be trained through practice to set it off just before impact. Once again, her forgemistress had tried to call that a smart bombard, but Louise had rubbished that suggestion too because nothing which used a minion as a guidance system could be called 'smart'.

And with no warning, a minion landed on the beach and left a bloody mess in the centre of the sandy crater.

"Ah," Scyl said happily, ambling over with his webbed hands in his stolen trousers. "Overlady are starting with fun jumpiness. Unless minion fall over side. Maybe I no bring him back if he just fall over side, if it no are part of plan."

Maggat shook his head. "Overlady be star cast tick at us if we no bring him back," he said firmly. "No one want star casting."

"It burny," Fettid agreed, as more flailing forms fell from the heavens.

"Oh look," Scyl pointed out happily. "It are raining minions!"



…​



The pirates did not expect an attack from the land, and anyway were mostly inebriated, asleep or both. As a result, with somewhat alarming rapidity they had transitioned from being dead drunk to being dead drunks

Up in the sky, cloak tucked tight around her armoured form to keep out the chill, Louise focussed on the map before her. The enchanted parchment before her was changing colour as her forces rampaged through the encampment, killing and stealing and almost certainly drinking everything even vaguely alcoholic that they found. Fortunately, their minds were so tiny that the alcohol missed it, and so being rascally drunk did not appreciably affect their capacity to follow orders.

"We killed all the pie rats in the docks!" Maggat announced happily, his voice coming out of the Gauntlet. "They no can run away. Some of the boaties are on fire, but it that no is our fault at all, honest. There was a burny mage and she have many drinkies and then she try to burny the reds. It no work, but she hit the boaties."

"I has a new pretty red dress," Fettid contributed. "It now are even redder than it was when burny mage was wearing it. And have stylish knify cuts."

Louise gritted her teeth. She had wanted those boats. They might only have been seaships, not windships, but she could have used them productively against harbours along the north coast.

The Gauntlet rang like a bell. She grated her teeth. She didn't need a distraction like this right now. Nevertheless, she touched it and said, "Hello?" Jessica's glowing ghostly magical projection appeared, flickering slightly. "I'm busy right now-"

"You know, Lou, I have an idea!" Jessica said quickly, "Maybe these pirates might be more useful alive than dead!"

"Don't call me that," Louise said automatically, before her brain kicked into gear. "And I fail to see how a dead pirate is not a good pirate."

"Exactly! With them alive, they could really be bad for you. It'd be pretty good for you to throw away a chance like this!"

Louise stared at her, and then blinked as she processed the Evil phrasing. "You think it would be… helpful for me to leave them alive?" she checked.

"Yep!"

"… why?"

Jessica stretched, leaning against the wall with her hands in her pockets. "Well, just think about it," she said cheerfully. "You tell them to either work for you or die, and they'll probs work for you. Best to give the offer to their leader, because he'll have experience sailing and… uh, you don't. And that means you can be a totally kick-ass pirate queen. Well, maybe a pirate princess because you don't have much of a fleet," she admittedly, "but you could totally grow it! And have your own fleet who can pillage and strike fear into the hearts of men, which is totally sweet – and you'd get a cut of all the money!"

"But…"

"Money," Jessica said firmly, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together in the cross-plane-of-existence gesture for 'filthy lucre'.

"I'll take it into consideration," Louise said firmly. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am busy here so if you don't awfully mind…"

"Kay 'kay," Jessica said, her magical image vanishing.

Louise gripped onto the wooden ship's rail. She did have to admit that 'pirate queen' was not an entirely unattractive title. But it would also be an act of clear and present wickedness. Respectable young ladies did not command pirate fleets. Well, good respectable young ladies did not. She was fairly certain she'd had some ancestors who had probably… slain entire fleets with evil magic and then resurrected the corpses to man them as zombie pirates or something. That sounded like something her ancestors would have done. And she didn't want to be like them.

Although if she could get Henrietta to give her a warrant, technically they'd be a privateer fleet…

"We is taking the air-boatie down!" the minion captain shouted. "Overlady, it are a wicked deed to be flying you and…"

"Yes, yes," Louise said dismissively, checking the set of her armour and gripping tight onto her staff. Her stomach was churning, and she felt sick. She practiced her breathing, and tried to calm down. She hated the moments when she knew violence was coming but she couldn't escape it. Yes, her minions had rampaged across the island, but a stray musketball fired by a pirate – the survivors had barricaded themselves in the relay tower structure – could still hit her in the face or in a joint where the demonic steel couldn't save her.

And even when her armour took the blow, it still hurt like flip.

Maggat saluted her smartly-by-minion-standards when she stepped off the ship. "Overlady! I bet that good-for-something captain of the sky boatie gave you trouble," he said. "But I are here now, to be your much better minion boss no matter what he say." He gestured over at the sealed iron gates of the relay tower. The entire structure was lit up in red by the fire from the burning ships and villages. The screams of the remaining pirates trapped outside as minions went looting for gold teeth echoed through the night. "Pie-rats are in there. They are barry-cading the door so it are very hard for us to get in."

"We no have enough blackpowder to blasty through," Igni said sadly. "It are a cat-ass trophy."

"Interesting, interesting," Gnarl's voice came echoing out. "Sadly you could not get through before they sealed the gates. Alas! Well, that is merely a minor obstacle in the despicable path of Evil! I would recommend that you select one of your most skilled greens – perhaps Fettid – and then direct them up through that small overflow vent which can just about be reached if the other minions make a pyramid. By doing that, they can work their way down to the-"

Louise cracked her knuckles. "Oh, I think I have an easier way," she said smugly. She'd been practicing. The Gauntlet had started whispering to her when she studied magic, and by making some modifications to her lightning and fireball spells to better channel the raw Evil she might have technically been using, she had a raw explosive blast.

She'd tried it out when some winged horses had started hassling her when she was perfectly innocently minding her own business and trying to shape the evil magic properly, but now would be the first time against something as armoured and well-defended as this.

The doors exploded, taking out a good chunk of the wall and the pirates standing behind it along the way.

"Your wickedness!" Gnarl said, sounding appalled. "Please! While unrestrained destruction is of course very, very Evil, it is often ill-advised! When taking over a location you intend to fortify, it helps if there are small things like 'doors' and 'walls'. This will be expensive to repair!"

Louise suppressed her surge of annoyance at Gnarl's borderline insubordinate behaviour. Who was the evil overlady around here? Not him!

She looked around the dust-choked interior. Louise could see the shared architecture with the main tower, but like the other one she had claimed it was built to a smaller scale and was much more cramped. In fact, this one was even more compact than the last one. It was a squat fortress which more resembled a tree trunk than any kind of soaring tower. She wasn't even sure how it was tall enough to work as a relay – except, hah! Of course. This was an island, so it was effectively taller because it was raised up above the seabed.

The dark evil overlady of profound wickedness felt very smug with herself for realising that. A protective screen of minions in front of her, Louise marched forwards through the tower, following Gnarl's instructions.

"Oh, ze wicked leader of zese minions? Would you be az kind as to come in, pleaze?" a man called out. "I wish to talk about… surrender, non?"

Louise, naturally, sent the minions in first. One of the useful traits of her de la Vallière heritage was a keen awareness of the many ways one could pick off the enemy leader. There were a few gunshots, and then the usual sound of minions rampaging.

"Urgh! I was going to give you ze chanze to surrender before I shot you!" the man complained. "Now your feelthy goblins-"

"We is minions, not goblins," Maxy said with rusty steel in his voice. "Overlady, we has him surrounded."

"I has a cleaver at his throaty!" Fettid called out happily.

Ah. Things were right with the world. Louise summoned a ball of fire to her hand, and then stepped through the door, into a room which was probably what was meant by the word 'boudoir'. Or at least, it had been one until about twenty seconds ago, when the minions had entered. The lush red drapes had been cut down and all the mirrors were broken.

The pirate king was a tall, thin man with carefully done hair which managed to look déshabillé despite the proximity of Fettid. Her minions had been busy, and a worrying number of them were now wearing pirate hats which were mostly on their heads. They were also sporting muskets, which were pointed eagerly at the king. Some of them might even be operational. Minions tended to get hold of the first blackpowder weapon they could, use it until they ran out of powder or blew it (and themselves) up, and then use it as a club.

"Arrr!" declared the pirate king. "Welcome to moi domain, Mademoiselle Overlady. Ze pleazure eez…ah,'ow do you say eet? Lezz mine zan eet would 'ave been eef you 'ad not murdered all of my men!" He coughed. "But zat eez now water-with-lots-of-blood-in-eet under ze bridge, non?"

He was not… unhandsome, Louise was forced to concede, even if he was very Gallian. In a degenerate, bare-chested, well-muscled, long flowing black locks coifed, attractively-facially-scarred, tight-trousered Gallian way. Although of course that was nowhere near as handsome as a theoretical Tristainian pirate king would be.

Louise really hoped that was a bollock dagger concealed down the front of his trousers. Well, sort of hoped. Wait, no, really hoped. She had got it right the first time.

"Well," she said. "I appear to have you at my mercy." She bounced the fireball up and down in her palm. "Now, am I a merciful woman?"

From the expression on his face, Louise suspected he didn't expect her to sound so young. Well, that wasn't her fault! She was just naturally petite! He recovered quickly. "Eet would seem to be zat way, and may I say, your mozt grazeful evilness, you are a fine and beautiful woman."

Fettid poked Maxy in the back. "What he talky about?" she whispered. "I no know what ratty say."

"That are because he no know how to speak proper," Maxy said soundly. "He are speaking funny. If he are a proper pie-rat he be talking 'bout yo ho ho and bottles of rum." This was broadly approved of by the minions, who weren't sure what a yo ho ho was, but were great fans of bottles of rum.

"What I wonder," Scyl asked, "are where are his pie? I see his rat. It are on the floor there. But how he a pie-rat without a pie?"

Maxy thought for a moment. "He the boss, so he eat all the pies," he said, an insight which awed the rest of the minions.

"And zat was my door," the pirate king added, attempting to rise elegantly to his feet before remembering the cleaver at his throat and sinking back down. "But it appears zat you 'ave defeated me." He tapped his hands together. "Would you mind eef your leetle minion wizdrew 'er weapon from my neck?" he asks. "I 'ate to offend such a fair maiden by asking 'er 'erself."

Fettid turned a darker shade of green. "I are not some weak may den who you can take ad-van-tage of!" she insisted, withdrawing her weapon. "I are carrying many throwing stabbies!"

"Talented as well as mozt beautiful," he said, rising gracefully and bowing to Fettid. "'Ow amazing you are."

Louise stared in mild confusion and less-than-mild disgust at the fact that this pirate king was not only flirting with a minion, but apparently doing so successfully. It was probably because there wasn't much difference between a Gallian and a minion in smell, she decided. Well, apart from more eau de garlic from the Gallian.

"Now, your wickedness, I am a wize man and I know when I 'ave been beaten," the pirate king said. "I am sorry for myself that I 'ave been defeated and almost all my men killed by ze leetle goblin zings, but now I muzt offer you my servizes. I, the famed pirate François l'Olonnais, will fly under your flag and serve you een… other ways eef you wish, subject to later negotiation. I am sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement zat would 'elp both of us, non? What do you say to… ah, a thirty per cent cut of my takings? And I am sure wiz your sponsorship, eet could grow even larger!"

Frowning, the overlady considered the arrangement. This François l'Olonnais… she vaguely thought she'd heard of him. He was a notorious Gallian scourge of the north coast, famed for plundering, pillaging and… ahem, paramouring. All three were disapproved of by the Brimiric church in general, barring obvious exceptions like pillaging and plundering from evil people. Paramouring was more of a general no-go, except when certain anti-popes were in power. She had to say strong and resist such weak womanly urges!

Even if she was forced to admit he was quite handsome – by Gallian standards, of course – and when he flexed she could see that he was muscular in an athletic way and she was growing quite sure that it wasn't a bollock dagger in his trousers.

It might be a flintlock. With a reinforced barrel.

But she didn't want to be really evil! And living off the proceeds of piracy was wrong. It wasn't at all like what she did when she rightfully confiscated the goods of traitors who opposed her.

Maybe she could… guide him properly. Make him only attack bad people. And then one day he'd turn to her and…

"My dark queen of ze night, I am waiting to pledge my allegianze to you. Your burning eyes fan my 'eart," he smouldered.

Louise turned bright red under her helmet. That… that did it! How dare he… he try to use his Gallian allure on her! To think she'd be swayed by such a transparent attempt at… at… at that! She would never give in to such temptations!

"No," she said shortly, and gestured to the minions.



…​



The sun rose early in summer in the north of Tristain. Louise yawned and stretched, looking down on it from the airship. The miserable wretched swamp was really at its best at this kind of year. It was not freezing, it had dried out a bit, and the vegetation was mostly a healthy green if you excluded the bits with where they'd all died or the cratered areas she used for testing magic.

She'd had a nap on the flight back, but she still wanted her bed. She was going to collapse there and sleep for…oh, six hours felt good. That'd take her to midday and then she could eat. Urgh, but she wanted a bath. Okay, okay, maybe if she had a bath first…

Her calculating chain of Evil logic was interrupted by the sight of Jessica and Henrietta waiting for her.

Oh dear. Jessica clearly was expecting answers.

"I just couldn't trust him," Louise said, having had time to think of her excuse and so made sure to get it in first. "He was Gallian. Everyone knows you can't trust a Gallian. They're as untrustworthy as Romalians, and barely more trustworthy than one of the perfidious Albionese. I couldn't risk the chance of betrayal."

"Louise-Françoise!" Princess Henrietta protested. "Not all Albionese are perfidious."

"But most of them are," Louise countered, climbing down the gangplank and joining the other two as they stepped into the tower. "They're a country of despicably cruel traitors! And Albionese authors? The less said about Albionese authors, the better! We were forced to study some of their – fortunately translated – works at the Academy and that wasn't enough! You can't purge the loathsome taint of the Albionese language! The worst thing is when they think they're being clever! I was marked down heavily for several essays where I explained how awful they were!"

Henrietta and Jessica were looking at her dubiously.

"Ah… Louise-Françoise, that may just be you," Henrietta ventured. "Although of course, I am sure that this is a well-considered and erudite opinion, it is perhaps… not the most well-considered due to the sadly present bias which weights it with certain not-entirely-considered-"

"Lou, you're ranting and I don't think either of us care," Jessica clarified.

Henrietta wrung her hands together. "I wouldn't put it like that precisely," she tried.

"Yeah, you wouldn't," Jessica said, sulking slightly. "I really wanted you to become a pirate queen. It'd be a new income stream and did you see him?" She fanned herself. "Hotty!"

Louise smiled darkly. "Yes, he was. Especially when the reds were done with him," she said.

"You're no fun," Jessica accused.

"Ah, your wickedness," Gnarl said effusively, sweeping up to meet her in the corridor. Louise shifted to walk alongside him. The faster she got this done, the faster she could have a bath and go to bed. "I must apologise for the time it took us to connect the relay back up to the tower, but as I mentioned already the tower can only support one outbound connection at the moment. We had to deactivate the other relay-tower before we could bring this one online. I will have to hassle the forgemistress' father to see if he has found any further hints on the locations of the remaining bits of the Tower Heart."

"That's fine, Gnarl," Louise said. "Have the minions delivered the plunder to the treasury?" She wouldn't expect them to have done it yet if they were humans, but minions were very good at moving large sums of money around rather quickly.

"Indeed they have, your malevolence," Gnarl said, his glowing lantern bobbing with glee. "By killing that pirate, we could clear the place out entirely. Although the income stream would have been nice. Oh, well. The treasury is looking rather more healthy. A few more raids like that and you'll be in an excellent place for an assault on Amstreldamme."

Louise nodded. She licked her lips, thinking, as they made their way into the Great Hall and she collapsed gratefully into her chair. "Are… are there any magical weapons or the like?" she asked, the thought striking her. "Anything I can use against the Madam de Montespan?"

"Hmm. Well, there appears to be a helmet made for a necromancer," Gnarl said. "If the aura of deathly magic wasn't enough, the fact that it's skull-shaped is a clue. Of course, the full inspection is not yet complete, but magical artefacts are most often quite obvious, your wickedness."

Louise stared at him. "And why, pray, was there a necromancer's helmet there?" she asked sarcastically. "Because pirates are such infamous necromancers, correct?"

"Presumably it was plunder," Gnarl observed.

"No, all things forbid that it might actually be something useful to me," Louise continued, raising her voice. "No, it has to be more… more trash. Honestly! No, I have no interest at all in becoming a necromancer, before you say anything at all Jessica. Necromancy is… is an unclean art!"

Jessica coughed, leaning against a pillar. "Well, yeah. And smelly as well as unclean," she agreed. "Dead bodies are pretty unhygienic. But you can't deny it's useful."

"I don't care how useful it is," Louise said, crossing her arms with a grating of demonic steel.

"Your loss," Jessica said with a shrug. "But you know, I'll have it put in the collection next to that staff you found before. It's looking pretty bare. Of course, if you got me more rare metals, I could make you some things would look just fab in the journals."

"And cover all my organs?" Louise asked suspiciously.

"Well, those things are more expensive to make," Jessica said shamelessly. "You need a lot more dragon teeth if you want a dragon tooth enamelled suit of armour which covers your abdomen."

"That would look very good," Henrietta said, squeezing Louise on the shoulder.

"Armour covers organs," Louise said bluntly. She shook her head, trying to clear it. "That's what it's there for. And I am literally falling asleep here, so I am off. We'll talk tomorrow. Or maybe today. Whenever I wake up. And now the relay tower is there, I can reach Amstreldamme. Yes. Nearly there. She's within reach."

She wandered off, in a clanking of metal.

Jessica waited until Louise was out of sight and hearing – the latter of which took rather longer – before she let out a groan of frustration. "She is so annoying!" she moaned.

"Oh, I don't know," Gnarl said, hobbling over to his chair beside the overlady's throne. "I feel she did rather wickedly today. Minion losses were surprisingly light for a plan which involved throwing them out of a windship to fall to their deaths."

"Um," said Henrietta. "You mean… uh, other overlords or overladies have tried that?"

"Oh my, yes," Gnarl said happily, putting his feet up on a stool. "Often just for their amusement. Why, back in the day even I remember my first drop! The ground comes up so quickly."

Jessica crossed her arms and glared, small horns sprouting from her head. "It's not about that," she insisted. "I like her, but she's so… urgh! So repressed! She killed an infamous pirate and paramour when he was known for working for those who defeated him until he could save up to buy his freedom! Why would you waste something like that? Especially when he was gorgeous! And she keeps on refusing to get any handsome oiled-up men to pose around the place!" She pouted. "She really is no fun at all! I'm so glad you're here, Henri! I was going crazy with just her around."

"I think she's just under a lot of stress," Henrietta said reassuringly. "I'll have to organise her a nice birthday. It's coming up soon."

"Oh?" Jessica said. "She didn't mention it."

Henrietta sighed, looking around the Great Hall and the draperies which covered up the whitewashed stone. "Well, no. She's been up late every night, always working. She's in the library past midnight every night. She's obsessed with getting revenge on the Madame de Montespan –and through her, Viscount Wardes. I want to do more to help her – because Founder knows I hate that horrid woman too, but she won't let me. She says I need to remain pure. Because I'm her prisoner." Henrietta ran her hands along the wall. "A party won't help her like… like I want to help her, but it's the most I can do. So I'll make it the best one I can!"

Jessica's eyes lit up, the fires of hell burning within. "Oooooh," she said. "I'm listening…"



…​
 
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Part 8-3
"Ah, poetic irony. Despite their avowed contempt for any form of poetry, the little dears are very fond of it as long as it's messy. Of course, they tend to have no idea what irony means – except for 'made of iron'. Well, Maximillian might. Hmm. I may need to watch that one. Wouldn't want him getting ideas above his station.

Oh, nothing, nothing, just musing out loud."


Gnarl


…​



The body hit the wall with a wet thud, before falling to the ground in a clatter of armour. The blood covering its neck glistened in the dim moonlight.

"Catt!" Louise chided her big sister, calling quietly up to her. "You missed." Cattleya had persuaded her that it really was necessary for her to kill the guard quietly – and that she really needed the meal – for them to be able to get into the compound, and her sister's failure to be quiet was going against her plan.

"Sorry, sorry!" Cattleya apologised from the top of the wall, wiping her mouth. She trudged over, and picked the body up before throwing it again. This time it sailed over the edge of the wall and landed with a splash in the river beyond. In the darkness, it sunk out of sight swiftly, and even the ripples were lost.

"That's better," Louise said, hands on her hips. "Remember! We need to tidy up after ourselves. So we can't leave any sign of our presence here." She paused and reconsidered her statement. "At least until we've taken what we can and blown up the rest and set everything we can't blow up on fire," she added scrupulously. After all, this belonged to the Council, who were evil, and fire cleansed all sins. That was official church teachings.

"Yeah!" Scyl said. "Tidy up after your selfy, Fettid! You is dropping your hat!"

Fettid stabbed him in the throat, and then paused, checking her head. "Oh yes," she said. "I are saying thankies to the kind gentleman who," she focussed hard, "help-ing a poor young nobbly woman?"

"Very well done," Cattleya told Fettid happily, clapping her hands together. "Though it's pronounced 'noble', not 'nobbly'."

Louise did love her sister, but she wasn't sure why she was trying to teach the minions culture. It was like trying to teach peasants culture. Only even more pointless. Cattleya flew down and lifted her up to the top of the walls, and between them they threw the ropes down for the minions to scale the wall.

It was night, but the royal foundries just along the coast from Amstreldamme kept their fires burning and their tools pounding through the night. The waterwheel-driven drop hammers never stopped their ceaseless beat. And before them was their target. The brand new stone buildings of the most recent addition to the foundries loomed before them, taller than even the walls.

Louise didn't understand how the machinery within worked. She did, however, understand the reports she'd obtained on how many suits of munitions plate and how many cannon they could be used to make each year. The Council would use this to strengthen the army and crush anyone who opposed them. Like her. And if they felt strong enough to do that, they might also feel strong enough to challenge her parents.

She wouldn't let them do that. Not ever.

Beside her, Cattleya sighed. "I wish we could have taken the puppies. The little dears really want to get to ride them," she said sadly.

"The puppies which are flesh-eating vampire-empowered adult wolves?" Louise checked, just in case Cattleya had been expanding her pet collection again. She still hadn't forgotten the "sweet little birdies" that had resulted from Cattleya's encounter with a murder of crows.

"Yep! They're so adorable!"

Louise had many words for her sister's abominations against life, but 'adorable' was not one of them. She checked on the progress of the minions. It was going slower than she liked, because Maggat was currently beating up three minions who'd decided that they could climb the ropes faster if they were on fire.

At least now she was up here along with her sister. And on the way here, she'd been trying to pluck up the courage to ask her something. Her big sister might know this, and Louise had no one else to ask. No one else that she trusted, anyway. Jessica should never be told these kinds of things because she was afraid of what the half-demon would tell her if she asked, Henrietta was… uh, rather too closely involved with the subject at hand, and Gnarl… no. Just no. Louise took a deep shuddering breath. "Um, Catt," she said softly. She had to ask now, or she'd lose all courage and there'd be no way that she'd manage it.

"Yep?"

She locked her hands behind her back. "Do…do you have a moment to talk?"

Cattleya looked around, and sniffed the air. "No one is nearby," she said confidently.

"G-good." Louise took a breath, and began to pace up and down. "Do… do you ever find that… that your heart flip-flops all over the place?" she let out in a rush.

Her big sister frowned. "No, not really. It mostly doesn't move." She paused. "Well, I mean, it beats for a bit after I drink blood, but it stops again pretty quickly! Are you feeling ill? Are you worried your heart is playing up? Because that's really bad news! We need to find a healer and-"

Louise screwed up her face. "Not what I meant," she managed. "Not… I didn't mean your actual literal heart."

"I don't think I have any other kind," Cattleya said dubiously. She ran a hand through her loose hair. "I'm not that kind of de la Vallière! I'm not like Eleanore and her collection of pickled animal parts."

Louise remembered why she'd been somewhat dubious about asking Cattleya this kind of thing. "This is the kind of heart-thing which is about love," she said firmly. "I… do you ever find yourself having feelings for… f-for boys? Different ones, I mean."

Cattleya looked blank. "Feelings for boys?" she asked. "No. Why? Oh! Brain-freeze! You're asking for you!" She rapped herself on the head. "Silly me!"

Louise shifted awkwardly, her armour clanking. "I mean… I… I liked spending time with the C-Cathayan Emperor. He's… he's handsome, in a sort of… um, exotic way. And he… he d-didn't try to really kill me much. And he said nice things about me. But… that pirate king. I… I was h-having thoughts about him, too. Before I… uh. Killed him, that is." She decided not to mention her feelings for Henrietta – which were of course just a minor bit of confusion which would pass in time and was probably all the fault of her Evil heritage getting all confused just because she'd captured a princess and now it was assuming that she wanted to marry her which was ridiculous of course because girls can't marry girls. Louise took a mental breath. Yes. That was it.

"That's just as well," Cattleya said, nodding seriously. "Romancing corpses is a sin. Of course, I'm technically a living corpse, but the Church has formally declared that romance of undead corpses is – while dreadful and wrong and wicked of course – not as dreadful and wrong and wicked as romancing corpses which are… well, not living corpses. Or unliving ones. That is… um, undead ones, not… dead ones. Although they're both dead, but one is deader and thus wrong-er."

"Um," Louise said. She hadn't really wanted to know that. "Thank you, Catt, and… uh, why do you know that?"

"I read up on the topic because I wanted to know if I could get married to a prince," Cattleya said brightly, red eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "I was… oh, about twelve at the time. Not that I want to marry a prince anymore." She shuddered elegantly. "The thought repels me. Almost as much as a holy symbol! But I can't get married to a prince, because princes have to get married in churches, and I catch fire if I step into a church or a chapel."

"Oh. Um." Louise frowned. "But the chapel on the estate…"

"Is a chapel on the de la Vallière estate," Cattleya said firmly.

Oh. Yes. Right. Louise supposed that there was probably no way that could count as holy ground considering what had probably gone on there for generations before. Unholy ground, yes. Not holy ground. Even reconsecration had its limits. "So," she tried. "You… you don't have the problem of being attracted to… to people you don't want to be?"

Cattleya looked thoughtful. "I don't really think so," she said, biting her lip as she pondered the question. "I've been attracted to people, but it's never really caused me problems. Which is jolly good, really! Being a blood-sucking monster is enough of one!"

"Oh," Louise said, mostly to herself. No, apparently her sister had escaped such a… an inconstant heart. It was almost as unfair as it was that Henrietta had managed to have a True Love. Louise was almost certain she didn't have one. And knowing her luck, he'd probably be some evil tyrant who wasn't as enjoyable to talk with as Emperor Lee. Or someone who was stupid and boring and… and really really stupid. "Well, thank you, Catt."

Cattleya gave her a room temperature one-armed hug. "Do you want to talk about it more?" she asked gently.

Louise sighed. "I'll just muddle through," she said, shaking her head with a clank. "I can't say I enjoy it, but it'll probably pass and it's just my teenage years being all difficult. And awkward." She peered down over the wall. "And the minions are being very slow," she said, eyes narrowing.

"Oooh!" Cattleya exclaimed. "Maybe I could try raising giant spiders for them to ride. Or flies! Or baby dragons! Or…"

Louise paled. "I… I think we'll talk about this later," she said, trying to not think about the damage a minion riding a dragon could inflict on many things. Including itself. Especially itself.



…​



Back in the darkly malevolent and only somewhat dilapidated tower of the overlady, conspiracies against its mistress were being hatched.

"Mmm," Jessica said through a mouthful of pins, "I think we really need to think more about presents… straighten your arms out, a bit." Henrietta complied, and Jessica adjusted the set of the fabric on her shoulders. "Better?"

Henrietta nodded, trying not to move too much. The aforementioned conspiracy was occurring while she was being fitted for a new dress, because that allowed two sinister goals to be accomplished at once. She sucked in a breath and winced as a pin stuck into her. "Ouch."

"Sorry, sorry." Jessica adjusted the location of the offending pin. "So, it's a shame it's her eighteenth because we could totally have given her a Mega Malevolent Sixteenth, but, like, that's the breaks," Jessica observed. "Oh! I know! Maybe if we get her a big cake… but! It's hollow on the inside and then there's a really cute demon-guy inside and then he jumps out on her! That'd totally loosen her up."

Henrietta stared flatly at her dressmaker. "What do you think is likely to happen if a demon-"

"A cute demon!"

"- a cute demon, yes, but still a demon jumps out of a cake at Louise Françoise?"

The two women thought about it.

"I see," Jessica said, nodding. "Yes, that is a problem. We'd need to find a demon who was both cute and fireproof."

"And lightning-proof," Henrietta added.

"And lightning-proof, yes. And minion-proof. And that means they're not that cute and have to wear more than some really tight underwear to protect themselves from all the Evil magic Lou'll throw at them when the fire doesn't work. And that's just not very cute at all!"

Henrietta sighed internally, glad she'd managed to win this argument at least. Birthday planning for Louise Françoise was not going well. At least some of it was because of Jessica, and the fact that she… well, just didn't get surface-worlders at all. "I think it would be better for you to think of presents and gifts," she tried, "and perhaps leave the organisation of the entertainment for me?"

Jessica huffed ungraciously. "Yeah, well… okay. Yeah. But seriously, what do you get an overlady?"

"She likes books. Perhaps something on history – or, of course, new magic. She's very fond of magical study."

Jessica frowned. "Yeah, but I mean… what do we get her that's not mega-lame? We're trying to not be boring here."

"Well, it's normal for books to not be able to walk," Henrietta said, trying to ignore the burning sensation in her arm muscles. One advantage of putting on muscle far too easily to retain a perfectly ladylike figure was that she could hold a single position for extended periods. "But beyond that, it is rather harder to pick."

Jessica hummed to herself. "Well, what am I meant to do? It's always such a fuss when I'm trying to get her to wear hot new things. She's not interested in clothes, she doesn't have hobbies like capturing heroes or watching slave-fights or… or anything!"

Henrietta didn't point out that Louise Françoise did in fact like dresses, but preferred them in conservative Tristainian styles and that while Henrietta herself was more than willing to cast off the backwards and repressive tastes that her mother would tyrannically impose on her, the overlady seemed to actually like such styles. That was a fight she had lost several times already.

"Sometimes it seems like we're from… like, two completely different worlds," Jessica continued, almost begging. "'Cause, you know, we are. Literally. Please, Henri! You need to help me pick something out for her!"

"Well." Henrietta said, utterly giving up on keeping her arms held out and letting them sink back down. "I suppose I could. But… you're going to need to help me with it."

"Oh? Because I can totes do that… and please, please, please straighten your arms again. You're crumpling the spidersilk!"

Henrietta reluctantly obeyed. "What Louise really wants is revenge," she says.

"Well. Yeah. Duh."

Henrietta leaned inwards, a gesture which would have been much more intimidating and insister and generally conspiratorial if she could have stared over the top of her steepled fingers. "And that means what she really wants is help."

"Oh. Oh, no," Jessica said, crossing her arms. "No. No no no. No. No no." She paused. "No. You have to ask her yourself. I've told you this time and time again. She won't listen to me if you want to help. After all," she said coaxingly, "you're her friend. She'll think it's a demonic ploy coming from me. You need to work on her without my help."

"But why not?" Henrietta said, pouting.

"Because she'll shout at me," Jessica said reasonably. "And you do want to help her, don't you? That's why you need to wear her down. Talk to her in private… maybe in the bath when she gets back, right? She lets her guard down when she's relaxing and tired after a long day."

"Well, maybe." Henrietta said stubbornly. "I… I just don't see why she won't let me help! I hate the Council as much as she does! No, more!"

"Uh, Henri," Jessica said. "You are sort of our prisoner. You're not much use as a captive if you're obviously working with us. That totally ruins your ransom value."

"I don't want to be a prisoner," Henrietta complained.

"… yes, that's the sort of thing prisoners are meant to say," Jessica observed.

"No, no, not like that. I don't want to be a prisoner! I'm already the Voice of the Overlady! I want to be a proper co-conspirator and help her crush those… contemptuous fools in the Council. Crush under a jolly big rock. Oh! Or maybe we can put them in a cauldron of mildly warm oil!"

"What's that supposed to do?" Jessica asked, intrigued despite herself.

"Be heated up," Henrietta said emphatically.

Jessica sighed. "I'll think about it," she said, shoulders slumping despite the small smirk on her face. "Lou is really loud and… ear-hurty when she shouts at me. Just think of the sacrifices I'm making for you."

"I knew you'd come around to my point of view," Henrietta said. "Now, could you hurry up? I wish to lower my arms before they fall off."



…​



A light drizzle pattered down on the roofs and the alleyways. It wasn't heavy enough to really be called rain properly, but it got in the eyes and made the torches splutter and hiss. Two guards, wondering why the bleedin' Abyss they got the night shifts, clattered and clunked their way around the perimeter of the largest factory.

Louise let them pass, her eyes narrowed in disdain. The torches they carried left them almost blind in the dark, and their broad-brimmed hats kept the rain off them at the cost of nearly deafening them.

Well, she didn't mind that. It served her causes well. She couldn't see too well in the night either, but that didn't matter. She could see the guards who were handily carrying light around. And she had her sister with her.

A bat fluttered behind a pile of junk in the alley, and there was the sound of Cattleya changing, followed by the sound of her getting dressed again.

"Found a way in," she said brightly, poking her head up from behind the cover. "If I just move some of those planks, the minions can get up to that overlook, and I can carry you! Oh, isn't that wonderful?"

"Wait a moment," Louise said, narrowing her eyes. "Didn't Jessica make you something magic which meant… uh," she blushed faintly, and hated herself for it, "… uh, your clothes stayed with you? Some kind of magic outfit?"

Cattleya muttered something as she ducked back down again, trying to do up the ties at her back.

"Pardon?"

"I said," Cattleya said sheepishly, "I've put weight on. So… uh. Um. The enchantment isn't working properly. So she leant me something else."

Louise pursed her lips, tapping her foot. "You said you needed the food from the guard," she said. "Not that you were getting… getting fat."

"It's not my fault," Cattleya protested. "The blood of the living goes straight to my chest and hips! It's jolly unfair! I wish I could stay as trivially slender as you. My cult says that's the current fashion at court! The Madame de Montespan apparently is built just like you and now all the fashionable ladies are trying to look like beanpoles with two peas attached."

There was an awkward pause.

"I am going to murder her in the face," Louise hissed. "And you're going on a diet. Uh. Whatever a diet is for you. Less blood. And less fattening blood, if that's a thing."

"Aww," Cattleya whined, straightening up. Her hair was sticking out from under her mask, and the black dye was coming out. "But animal blood is boring!"

"Tough luck!"

The break-in hit a snag at the entrance on the balcony, which surprisingly was not minion induced. The minions perfectly subtly smashed down the door and stole the hinges, which was why it came as quite a surprise when Cattleya stepped through the open door, got half-way through and then rebounded, landing heavily on her behind.

"Owie," she said, picking herself up, glowering as she rubbed her aches. "That always stings. There's someone living in there."

Louise sighed and stepped through the door. "Come in," she said wearily. She was tempted to make a comment about 'padding', but didn't do so. That would be unkind. She did think it fairly hard, though.

"Thanks!" Cattleya said brightly, stepping through without incident. "Stupid invitation rule. So mean and horrid and annoying!"

"Hmm," Louise said pointedly, looking around the interior of the room and ignoring the fact that the minions had gone in ahead of them and thus it had already been stripped bare. "Yes. Who's living in here, I wonder?" Her left gauntlet felt… warm. Like holding a kitten in her hands, or maybe a sensation of nearby Evil. According to Gnarl, the two feelings were basically the same thing.

The hallways echoed with the sound of beating metal and great clanking sounds. Despite that, they seemed abandoned. Louise didn't see a human soul as she worked her way down to the ground floor and the great hall of the workfloor. This statement was correct even if her sister and the minions were with her. Vast items of machinery several times her height worked away, but there were no people watching them. There was also nothing to stop anyone falling into the machinery, as several minions proved entirely willing to demonstrate.

"It's very loud in here!" Cattleya shouted, wincing.

"Pardon?" Louise shouted back.

"I said, it's very loud!"

"Yes it is!" Louise frowned. The feeling in her hand seemed to be coming from below them. She leaned forwards. And there were pumps moving up and down through the floor, driving the machines. What hellish mechanism forced these unnatural things to move? She knelt, her armour clanking, and laid her hand against the stone floor.

The feeling was stronger. "Minions!" she shouted. "Find a way to the underlayers!"

"What?"

"What what?"

"Overlady say something but I no hear!"

"What?!"

"I say 'Overlady say something'!"

"What?!"

This went on for long enough that Louise found the door down on her own. Raising her gauntlet, she summoned the minions back to her and waved frantically in Cattleya's direction until she noticed her. The noise somewhat receded as she descended down the spiralling stone staircase, to be replaced by a hissing sound and a roar of flames.

… Founder drat it, was it a dragon? Louise hoped it wasn't a dragon. She really hoped it wasn't a dragon. It was totally a dragon chained up under here. Drat, drat, drat and triple drat. She paused to shake her sweat-slick hair out of her eyes. It really was getting excessively hot in here. Probably a sign of dragons. She was fairly sure her mother had mentioned it was one of the signs that they were about. That is, before they set everything on fire, they liked to nest in hot environments.

Well, there was one thing she could do. One thing completely in line with her training, with her heritage, and with all proper standards of noble behaviour.

She sent the minions in first.

Leaning against the wall, she shushed Cattleya and waited for a little bit. She couldn't hear a dragon eating them. But then again, she couldn't hear very much at all.

"Overlady! Overlady!" Igni came sprinting around the corner, skidding on the smooth stone and crashing face-first into the wall. He picked himself up without a care. "You no is believing what we is finding!"

"It's a dragon! I knew it! A dragon!" Louise snapped, nerves somewhat frayed.

"… no, overlady," Igni said staring at her with the blank expression which usually indicated confusion and-slash-or stupidity in a minion. "It are minions! Lots of minions!"

"What?" Louise snapped.

"Reds!"

Louise gritted her teeth, took a deep breath, and glanced out. The room was dimly lit, but there was a fiery glow coming from somewhere in among the machinery and the pistons running up in the room. Waving her sister forwards, she ducked low and began working her way towards the glow. In among the noise she could hear the moronic gibbering of minions. She thought it probably wasn't hers – well, most of it at least. She'd seen a pair of browns already prying repair tools off the walls.

The red glow was coming from a recess in the floor, and from glowing metal up above. Louise swallowed. It reminded her of the lighting in the Abyss. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and it seemed to match the beat of the machinery above. She licked her dry lips, making sure she could cast quickly, and glanced down.

Row after row after row of red minions were strapped to strange arcane-looking devices. Their limbs were chained and wickedly long needles had been jammed into their chests. That alone would have killed any human, but that was just a prelude to what was going on. The barbs in their chests were connected up to a complicated array of glass tubing and pumps which drew a crimson fluid which glowed like firelight up out of them. The red possibly-blood was being drawn into a brass vessel hanging overhead which glowed red hot on the bottom and which shrieked like a kettle. Cogs and pistons protruded from the sides, somehow powering all the machinery overhead.

The air tasted like lightning and hot metal, and there was a tang to the air which told her that magic was in use. Evil magic, too.

Suddenly she was blinded by bright magical lights, white and pure. Compared to the darkness and gloom of the area before, it was painful. Cattleya screamed and ran away, but Louise stood firm, raising her free hand to cover her eyes.

"Stop right there, evil criminal scum!" someone shouted from up above. The light was coming from a balcony which overlooked the minion pit, at the same level as the brass vessel which was drawing out their magic – and possibly their blood. When she blinked the tears out of her eyes, she could just about make out a figure in a hulking suit of armour. She thought she recognised the design from her father's pictures of what elite Albionese grenadiers might wear, or perhaps the magic-powered suits occasionally made by artificers in Amstreldamme.

"What are you doing with these minions?" she demanded.

"This is their penance in the eyes of the Founder, for the Evil of their creation! And I am their taskmaster! I am the forgemaster!" the man in the clanking suit of armour declared, the glass lenses gleaming in the light. The steam boiler on his back whistled as he raised his arms, the windstones mounted on its surface allowing him to move with unusual grace. "None shall enter my domain! I alone hold the secrets of-"

Louise raised her left gauntlet, and lightning the colour of inflamed flesh lashed out. The man convulsed, fell off the balcony, and lay there squirming. Given the distance he'd fallen, he was almost certainly mortally wounded, but her minions made sure.

Igni let out an impressed whistle she heard even over the noise of the machinery. "I is liking this shiny armour," he said. "It are the worst!"

"Your wicked malevolentness, you have improved greatly with your use of the Gauntlet to cast vile sorceries with narry the chanting of those lesser casters who must channel the elements. I noticed that this time, you drew heavily upon your spite," Gnarl said cheerfully. "Spite is a very powerful emotion, but you must be careful to not focus on it exclusively! There are so many dreadful negative emotions to draw upon."

"Thank you," Louise said darkly. "Now please, stop talking. I'm trying to concentrate." Chanting, she conjured a fireball, and then blew the brass vessel hanging overhead wide open. It ignited and burnt like a torch, metal twisting and warping as it spit its burning contents onto the imprisoned red minions. The captive minions only seemed to be invigorated by the heat. Above her, everything went quiet as the machinery ceased to beat, the cogs and pistons deprived of their motive source. Glass rained down as the piping shattered.

Down in the pit, the minions stirred. The red glow died, leaving only their eyes in the dark. First one, then many began to summon fire. They melted their chains and pulled out of the torture devices.

"Free!" one slightly larger red minion declared, holding its fist in the air. "We is free! Viva la revolution! No kings! No masters! We no is never gonna be slaves again! Not to no one!"

"Ha! That means you are-" Louise began, but she was ignored.

"It's the infernal influence," Gnarl said sadly. "Sometimes, if they're exposed to demonic influences for too long, minions will decide that their place in life is not crushed under your deliciously Evil steel boot. The Reds are particularly prone to it. It's probably because the First Overlord used a tiny bit of demon in them when making them so they could make the fireballs. It leaves them prone to rebelliousness."

"Is that a problem?" Louise asked, concern in her voice.

"Nah," Maggat said, tugging on her sleeve. "We is used to dealing with red rebellions. You is just needing to beat it out of them. Of course, you is needing to give the orders to some kind of trusted and loyal minion what are ready and willing on your orders to…" Maggat turned and whispered to Maxy, who whispered something back and then gave him a thumbs up, "… commit acts of violins with ex-treme pre-just-ice to maintain order in the ranks."

Louise stared at the bulky minion with his skull helmet and skull shoulder plates and belt of wired-together skeletal hands. "And if I, say, were to order you to do this?" she asked, the corners of her mouth curling up despite herself. It was almost cute. It was like a five-year old trying to be cunning. Though five-year olds were, in her admittedly limited knowledge, rather better at it.

"It would be very sad. Boo hoo. But I is just so loyal to the overlady I is more than willing to beat these red gobbos in the face so hard all the rebellion come out."

"It are sort of a pale yellow colour," Scyl said helpfully. "It are needing to be lanced."

"I is ready, with chains and clubs with nails in them and sometimes their own hands," Maggat concluded.

Louise put her hands on her hips. "The thing I don't understand," she observed, "is why you're pretending you don't want to beat them up and so you feign reluctance."

This produced a bout of intense whispering, largely on the topic of what the words 'feign' and 'reluctance' meant. Maggat turned back around, with a lopsided grin. "We is getting less-ons from oversister for how to act in front of princess even if princess are henchess," he explained.

"We is meant to pretend we is not wanting to hurt thingies even though we is," Fettid said sadly.

Maxy stepped forwards. "We is hearing your want for freedom and we is understanding it. That is why overlady has generously and…"

"Ahem!" Louise said firmly. There was no way she was going to let a minion loot… um, steal her lines. "I hear your desire for freedom and I understand why you might say it. That is why you're free to go." Around her, her minions crept forwards, weapons at the ready.

"Yes!" pronounced the ragged leader of the reds. "We is free! Finally! Freedom! They beat us, kick us, make us melt things…"

"No burny at all," said another of the freed reds, shaking its head sadly.

"… but now we is no longer chained! We no be beaten or kicked or…"

Louise cleared her throat. "I promise you your freedom," she said calmly, watching Maggat circle around to a perfect pouncing position.

"Really?" asked the leader of the rebels suspiciously.

Louise considered the point. "No," she said, giving the sign and then stepping back.

Minion on minion violence ensued. And since one side had a bunch of burly, loot-festooned browns and greens while the other was largely composed of emaciated reds who not five minutes ago were having their blood drained by a magical machine, it was only going to end one way.

By the end of this brief interlude of cathartic violence, Maggat had the leader of the rebels held by the throat up against the wall, while his underlings were in some permutation of dead, mutilated, and concussed.

"Listen up you miserable gobbos!" Maggat roared. "That are insub-ord-in-eight talk! You is minions! That mean you get beaten and kicked if overlady want you beaten or kicked!"

"Or if it funny," Fettid contributed helpfully.

"Yes! Hurty what are funny are part of minion life," Maggat agreed. "So line up! You is coming with us back to the tower!"

"You is taking our lives but you no is taking our freeness!" managed the red leader, before Maggat slammed his head into a wall a few times. He twitched a few times and then stopped moving.

"Oi! Scyl!" Maggat barked. "I is needing him to be not dead any more. So I are able to take his freeness."

"Sure thing, boss," said Scyl happily, hands already glowing with minionish magic.

"Minions you knighted can never be defeated - argh!"

"Wrong!" Fettid declared, hacking away at his ankles with butcher's cleavers.

Louise was by now rather bored of the minion-on-minion violence, and so wandered away from where the rebel leader was repeatedly being murdered and resurrected to look for her sister. She eventually found her hiding up in the rafters.

"Catt?" she called up.

A sob answered her.

"Oh dear," Louise said. "Are you hurt?"

"M-my eyes hurt," Cattleya said. She sounded like she'd been crying. "Has the fire gone away?"

Louise paled as she remembered that she'd just melted the magical device which had been drawing power from the captive reds. Of course. It had gone up like a torch. And then the reds had been throwing fire all over the place as they tried to fight off her minions. She sighed. She hated her honest streak sometimes, but Catt would know because… well, it was sort of hard to hide a fire. "It's… it's still burning, but…"

"I'm not c-coming down until it goes away!"

"We're nearly done, but…"

"Is the fire g-gone?"

Louise hated having to deal with this kind of emotional thing. For one, she had very little experience of it from this angle. It was usually her being comforted. "Do you want a hug?" she tried.

A vampire dropped down from the rafters and wrapped its cold dead arms around her in an inexorable grasp with the dreadful strength of rigour mortis. "I… I really really really don't like fire, do you understand me?" Cattleya insisted. "Especially when I'm already on edge! All the light was fire light! And then there was the bright light before! It was like sunlight!"

Louise sighed, or at the very least air escaped from her lungs. "I know. I know," she said, trying to breathe.

"I'm… I'm s-so sorry," Cattleya stammered. "I know I'm not brave like you, but… the bright light and the firelight together… it made me panic! I had to get out of here! It's like sunlight!"

The noise of minion beatings increased in the background. "It's all right," Louise said, patting her sister with whatever arm movement was left to her. "We're going to go home. Um. Back to the tower."

Lips wobbling, Cattleya nodded fervently and mercifully released her grasp somewhat. "Uh," she said, looking around at the damaged machinery. Her tone was obviously one of someone trying to put their mind off things. "Little sister? How are you going to get all of this stuff back? It's rather big and the staircase up was jolly narrow."

"Oh, it's quite simple," Louise said smugly.



…​



"Wow," Jessica said, hands on her hips as she looked up at the newly installed machinery within the bowels of the tower. The stone here was still dilapidated and ruined; they'd needed to open up a new set of chambers to fit them all. The minions were busy enthusiastically swarming over the complicated constructions of steel and brass, and periodically suffering fatal industrial accidents. The drop hammer was claiming a rather high toll. "Lou, this is fucking sweet. Seriously. You spoil me, you really do. This is more than I deserve!"

"You're right, I do spoil you," Louise said. "And it is."

"How did you even manage to get this all out of the underground area?"

"Very well, thank you very much."

Jessica ran her hands over the sleek metal of the something-or-other – Louise wasn't really sure what this specific thing was for – and made a noise of delight. "You're a terror, aren't you?" she cooed to it. "And now you're back in the wrong hands, you'll do dreadful things. Just horrible!"

"Please don't elope with the machinery," Louise said dryly.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that," Jessica said, grinning. "I don't want to marry it. I just want to get it in bed."

Louise opened her mouth. Louise closed her mouth. "That… was a joke?" she asked hopefully.

Jessica gave her a flat look. "Yeah," she said, gesturing at the two-storey high roller designed to churn out sheets of pressed steel. "It was a joke."

Louise sighed in relief.

"This isn't the kind of machine you'd take to bed," Jessica added. "It's just a work colleague."

"You won't get me again with your wicked infernal jokes," Louise said archly. "I refuse to believe you have… have any sort of… of amorous desire towards inanimate objects! And that is that! Now! Let us move entirely away from that topic."

"Hey, I think I have an idea for a present for your eighteenth!" Jessica said with a grin which would have been described as 'impish' if she had not significantly outranked imps in the demonic hierarchy.

"Not another word!" Louise crossed her arms. "So. How long will it take to get it back into full operation?"

Jessica reluctantly stepped away from the machinery, sticking her oil-stained hands in the pockets of her dungarees. "Eh," she said. "This stuff looks like it's of an infernal design – or at least influenced by bleedover from the Abyss – but it's still a lot more crude than the normal stuff in the Abyss. I'm going to have to get a bunch of manuals out from a dark library to maintain it. It's beautifully made, but I haven't done stuff with this before. And we're going to need to work on the power supply. At the moment it's a minion-crank, but that just provides motive power. I'll need reds to heat it, or… hmm, we could get an infernal combustion engine!"

Louise shook her head, trying to clear her head. "An infernal combustion enginge?"

"It burns souls!"

"… we'll use the minions for now," Louise said firmly. She pinched her brow. "So… do you think you'll have it ready within a month?"

Jessica looked at it, and sucked air in between her teeth. "Probably in the prototyping stage," she said. "Mass production? Probably not. And that's only if I don't need to do other things, like fix your armour because it got damaged."

"I would prefer that such a thing would not be required," Louise said. "Not least because I would be wearing it at the time." She sighed. "I'm going to have a bath, and then I'm going straight to bed. Midnight operations play havoc with my sleep, and I'm exhausted."

"I think Henrietta wanted to talk to you," Jessica said hastily. "You should probably talk to her. No doubt it'll make you feel better."

"Later," Louise said, yawning. "When I've slept. See you in the… afternoon, probably."



…​



The silence of the tower was stifling. A ball of faintly glowing water held about her hand, Princess Henrietta of Tristain crept through the corridors. Louise Françoise and Jessica were almost certainly asleep, but Cattleya as a vampire could be anywhere, and she didn't want to stumble into a minion. They might misunderstand what the captive princess was doing skulking around in the tower, outside of her room.

She was only doing it to help her good friend, but they might not believe her. And then they might be rude, or possibly even violent. So it was better for her to pass unseen.

Louise Françoise had been jolly rude by yawning at her in a vaguely offensive manner and then closing the door to the bathroom when she had tried to talk to her, she considered. She had just wanted to talk to her friend when she was in the bath, and it was perfectly natural for two women to bathe together. Why the devil was she being so secretive? Did she have something to hide?

She did so hope that Louise Françoise wasn't feeling ashamed from some peculiar twisting of the flesh which she had developed from the use of dark magic. That would be just dreadful.

Well, since talking wasn't working, she might as well go ahead and begin step two of her plan without necessarily quite clearing step one. She could do that later. Carefully, she eased open the door to the library. She had already oiled it with oil from Jessica's workshop earlier in the day, and so it opened with barely a squeak. Closing it behind her, she lit the candles and then built herself a cushion-fort on the floor.

Now. Where should she start with her self-study?

Hours passed. The candles burned low, casting long flickering shadows against the walls. Henrietta yawned. Although it was dreadful and wrong and wicked and sinful and all that, from certain angles and certain viewpoints the explanations of the magical texts from Louise's library…

… well, they just made more sense. Blood was basically just dirty water, after all. And – while of course she wouldn't practice it herself – just looking at the theory, blood magic didn't look particularly hard.

But of course she wasn't going to start using blood magic. Not one bit. At all. Really. Because that would be wrong.

Entirely so. Completely.

She wasn't going to do it.

At all.

One bit.

...

… now, necromancy on the other hand was a much more promising starting point, she thought, heart fluttering in her chest at the hope she barely dared to hope.

She yawned again. That would have to come tomorrow night, though.



…​
 
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Part 8-4
"Now, lis'en 'ere youn'uns! You know 'ow I was telling ye that the elves are the ones who're collectin' the taxes and that's why taxes are bad? Well, ye know what else? Elves are secret-like runnin' all the hoity-toity schools and yoo-nee-ver-cities. Iffen you let yer children go learn how to read, the elves'll spread their lies into their minds. I seen that all these edumacated folks wear hats, and I'm thinkin' it's to cover up their elf-ears!"

Ol' Phil, uneducated horse herder



…​



Deep below the surface of the earth, a wicked force of darkness communed with the blasphemous demonic realms. Leaning on her staff, the overlady tore open a fire-rimmed portal which smelled of sulphur. Blasphemous muttering and cursing filled the air, and an unnatural and unholy eye manifested in the scrying window.

"Is this damn thing working?"

Louise repressed a sigh. "Yes, Scarron, it's working," she said. "You're standing too close, though."

"Oh, that's dreadful!" The demon lord stepped back, so she could see more than just his eye. "It is such a problem getting these magical gizmos working, oui? J'eszika is so much better with them than me! I'm just an old man who's useless around these modern contraptions!"

"I see," Louise said, because she could see him properly now.

Twirling his moustache, a hint of hellfire gleaming in his eyes, Scarron settled down. "I am so pleased that you responded so swiftly to my message, Mademoiselle Overlady! Oh, oui, oui, you are perhaps my single most favourite client at the moment."

Louise was quite aware of that. She spent enough with him that she dratted well expected him to be fond of her, or at least her money. Money might not be able to buy happiness, but it could certainly lease it for a while when enough changed hands in the right direction.

"And of course," he added, "you are taking such wonderful care of ma petit! She is so happy! It is malevolent to see my little girl doing," he wiped away an unseen and possibly imaginary tear, "doing so well! And because she is doing well and is happy and is not in any way dead, oui, I will not have to torture you for ever and ever and ever and ever and then a teeny tiny bit longer!"

The overlady couldn't repress a shudder. "I try my best… uh, my worst," she said. Scarron was on the other side of a burning portal, but when he said things like that she sort of wanted to close the portal and run screaming back up the long spiral staircase, lock herself in her room and not come out for several days.

Well, if she had to admit the truth she really wanted to do that.

"Marvellous!" Scarron exclaimed, spreading his arms wide in a florid gesture – although the flowers involved in a demon prince's gesture were things any wise onlooker should be wary of. "Most marvellous, oui!"

Scarron's habit of randomly scattering Gallian words into his dialogue confused Louise no end. He certainly didn't have a Gallian accent. She'd have been able to tell if he did. She was half-certain he just did it to annoy her.

He clapped his hands together, leaning forwards in his high-backed chair. "But alas, non! This is not why I am speaking to you, even though this is just a dreadful little talk." He dropped his voice to a melodramatic tone. "I have found the location of another fragment of the Tower Heart, wink wink nudge nudge," he said, tapping his nose with one rather taloned finger.

Louise's eyes widened. That was good news. Or possibly bad news, depending on where he'd found it. "Oh?" she said, for lack of any better response.

"Oui. It is, as I had suspected but only just received proof of, hidden somewhere in the archives of the University of Amstreldamme." Scarron reached somewhere beyond the portal, and pulled out a map, passing it through to Louise. She took it in one gauntleted hand. "I have marked on the places it may be, but, alas! There is a long history of Evil magic within the university. That makes it damnably hard to tell one strong source of Evil from another." He blew a kiss at her. "I am sure you can do it, though, my dear," he said.

Louise nodded, her helmet clanking. "Very well. I will try to recover it soon."

"That is all I can ask for," Scarron said, twirling his moustache. "Ah, Mademoiselle Overlady, what a pleasure it is doing business with you! Au revouir!"

The portal faded away, leaving Louise in the natural stone chamber hidden under her dungeon. The gloom seemed to weigh on her like a lead sheet. It'd be nice to get outside. To get into a disguise and poke around Amstreldamme a bit, trying to see if her gauntlet could feel the fragment.

Yes. Some time outside would do her good. It wasn't because she was feeling rotten because it was nearly her eighteenth birthday – the second birthday away from home that she'd missed – and… and she just wanted to be home and not having to deal with being an evil overlady. Not at all.

Not at all.


…​



Minionkind liked looting, pillaging, plundering and murder. Unfortunately often they found themselves with a paucity of opportunities to carry out such deeds. Overlords could not run around the countryside stomping on sheep and kicking puppies all the time, much as some might like to. Therefore, between violence-filled excursions minions had to find ways to entertain themselves.

Often this entailed minion-on-minion violence, but in the case of the senior and – insofar as such a term applied to such beasts – elite minions of Louise de la Vallière, they were not feeling the urge to inflict brutal injury on their fellows. Not since at least five minutes ago, when Maggat had beaten Maxy over the head repeatedly for looking like he was about to start reciting poetry without prior permission. So instead the minutes ticked by in quiet domesticity in the minion pits, and Maggat started beating up the insubordinate leader of the new Red 'recruits'.

It wasn't a domesticity many humans would recognise, given that the pits were filthy to an almost transcendental level and there was the sound of constant brawling, but it was home to them.

"Oi, Maggat?" Scyl asked, scuffing his blue webbed feet in the dirt. He adjusted his black cloak in front of a scrap of mirror tied to the chest of a younger and poorer minion who was getting a very good deal out of its role.

"I is being oppressed!"

"Yeah, you is." Maggat turned, but didn't stop smashing a club into the head of the unfortunate red. "What are the matter, Scyl?"

"Is… is we getting smarter-er?"

Maggat gave the matter some thought. "Nah," he decided after getting bored with thinking. He kicked the prone figure of the twitching red in the gut, and watched as it messily expired. "We is getting cunninger. Not smarter."

"Ah. Okay." Scyl brought the minion Maggat had just killed back to life. "But what are the difference between cunning and smartyness?"

"That are Maxy's sort of question," Maggat said firmly, hitting the newly revived red again. "I is cunning and deadly and I is the overlady's trusted minion – who are of course much much less trusted or cunning than Gnarl," he added hastily, quite aware of the senior minion's opinions on those who had thoughts above their station. "But wordies is a thing of smartness, not cunningness, and since I is cunning, not smart, I no is knowing the differ-ness between cunningness and smartyness."

That did make perfect sense, Scyl had to agree.

"Now!" Maggat crossed his arms. "Has I taken your free-ness yet? I has taken your life…" Maggat narrowed his eyes in furious cognition, "nine-ten and eight and four-er times so far."

"Never! The red-volution will try-umph!"

"Try and fail," Maggat insisted, headbutting the would-be insurgent. "Char, Char, Char," he told the minion. "We is doing this the fun way for me, but not so fun way for you. If you is shutting up 'bout this whole red-volution thing, I no is going to hit you no more."

"That no is true," Scyl said, shaking his finger at Maggat.

"I no is going to hit you no more than any other minion," Maggat said, glaring at Scyl, who leaped back out of range from the cuff aimed at his head.

"And that are very unfair of you," Igni said loyally. "You is a much worse boss-minion than others. Oi, does you re-member ol' Frottle?"

There was a burst of tittering laughter from Fettid, who appeared out of nowhere to join in the conversation. "Frottle? That are a name I no is hearing in a long long time! He were the boss minion back when I was much less looty and killy!"

"He not half as cunning or brutal as you, Maggat," Igni said, shuffling up.

Maggat shook his head. "You is wanting some thing," he said suspiciously and hefting his current weapon-of-choice in case Igni tried to steal one of his skull pauldrons. Since his weapon was already hefted, he took the chance to give Char a solid thwack with it.

"I is just saying we is good friends and you is hitting us much much less than you hit other minions," Igni says, sounding hurt. "Apart from Maxy, obv'usly."

There was a general nodding. Of course Maxy needed hitting. He committed acts of wanton poetry without provocation. That was going beyond the pale in the usual level of scraps common to minions.

Things which had probably maybe possibly originally been trumpets sounded, and to the sound of dying tooting the Overlady descended to the minion level, holding her nose. The burning torch she was carrying had a blue corona around the edge of the flame.

"Overlady!" Maggat said, hitting Char again and then rushing forwards. "What is you doing here? This no are a place for a so-fis-ti-cat-ed overlady like you."

"I is… I am looking for a minion for a special exploratory venture for the purposes of espionage," Louise said, nearly kicking herself for the slip up in her grammar and thus somewhat over-compensating. It was the dratted smell. She was holding her nose, but it was somehow managing to creep through. Perhaps it was causing brain damage.

After that announcement, she was faced by the blank faces of the minion horde. Apparently Maxy was absent, so they had no one who could explain what she meant. Louise tried again.

"I want a minion to accompany… to come with me for the purposes of… of… a sneaky mission," she said.

"Ah," Igni said gnomically. "Why you not say that the first time, overlady?"

She chose not to dignify that with an answer. "Maggat?" she asked.

The minion slumped down. "I are sort of a little bit busy, overlady," he said, sounding heartbroken. "I are having to beat some oh beadyence into these reddies. And I are needing Maxy to use the poetry to make them suffer. And I are needing Scyl to bring them back when I kills them or when they do the suey-cide to escape the poetry. I are thinking you is wanting Fettid or Igni."

Louise considered which minion she wanted to have around her the least least. On one hand, Fettid was frightfully stupid, bad-smelling, vicious, cruel, bloody, had the attention span of a thing with no attention span at all, was still wearing one of her old dresses…

"I shall take Igni," she said, trying to sound haughty when holding her nose.

"Yay!" Igni proclaimed, while Fettid slumped. "Where is we going? I are hoping there is lots of alchemy there! Alchemy explodes!"

Louise swiftly reconsidered whether she really wanted him, but… no. The other choice was Fettid. "Maybe," she said. "Now, come on. We need to leave. Quickly."

She got half way down the stairs to the tower heart when someone cleared their throat. "Ah, your wickedness," Gnarl said from about twenty centimetres behind her. "Are you going somewhere?"

Louise managed to not scream at all, and only eek slightly. "Yes, Gnarl," she said once her heartrate was somewhat under control. "Scarron has contacted me and told me he's found evidence that the another fragment of the tower heart is in the University of Amstreldamme. I thought I'd go there under cover with a few minions and see if I could sense where it is using the Gauntlet. Um. Before I began a major operation to capture it." She waited for the inevitable reprimand that she had paperwork to do or-

"Ah, most devilish thought, your tenebralness," Gnarl said cheerfully. "A real go-getting attitude there. I'd feel a lot safer in the knowledge that this tower is very unlikely to explode in a giant burst of Evil and pain and death. It's very good for my health, you know. The number of little fluffy ducklings and cute puppies it'd kill isn't worth the blow to Evil that the loss of this tower would be."

"So… you're fine with that?" she said.

"Of course, your depravedness," Gnarl said.

Louise winced. She hadn't needed to sneak out at all. That meant she hadn't needed to go down to the minionish levels. She could have spared herself the entire experience! Drat, drat and double drat!

"Very well, Gnarl," she said. "I should be back soon."



…​



Cattleya's eyes snapped open. There was something warm on her chest. Blinking in the gloom of her tastefully done technically-a-crypt, she stared at the slathering red-eyed wolf leaning on her.

"Oh, no! Bad Pierre," she chided the blood-drinking monster, which yelped. "No using me as a pillow. Off the bed! Down. Down! No sleeping here! This bed is for me and for maids!"

The wolf whined.

"No! Down, boy!" she ordered it, and it retreated down to the floor. Cattleya believed in fur without suffering, and thus the wolves which formed an impromptu carpet were mostly alive. And the ones who weren't alive were undead and vampiric, which was the next best thing!

Groaning, she twisted her head until she could see the clock by the side of her bed. From the way she felt, it was early. Maybe as early as eleven the morning.

Her hypothesis was correct. Urgh. Far, far too early to be awake. But something had woken her up. Something which wasn't just a wolf using her as a pillow. She tried to be strict with her little puppies, but she usually slept through it and she often woke up covered in wolf fur and she was just too darn soft-hearted to really punish them.

Rising in one continuous movement which started with her flat on her back and which ended with her upright, Cattleya uncrossed her arms from her chest and pondered. What was this peculiar feeling? Hunger, she wondered, licking her lips and her canines? No, she was fully sated from unicorn, wolf and maid and she had drunk only a few hours ago.

It could only be one thing. Something bad was happening. She was certain of this.

Unfortunately, this wasn't a very helpful feeling, because in the overlady's tower, something bad happened on a daily – or at least weekly – basis. She often woke up in the middle of the day knowing that something bad was happening. It was jolly annoying, really, but she just grinned widely and bore it.

Maybe she should say something to Louise about not having Evil plans during the middle of the day, Cattleya thought. Oh! Maybe it was because it was her sister's birthday today! That was probably a good thing for Louise, which made it a bad thing in the language of Evil. She settled back down and tried to get back to the cold rest close to death, wherein her damnéd and anchored soul strayed close to the coldness of the grave which was her deserved resting place yet was denied to her, for she wandered the world hungry for…

… hmm. She was thinking melodramatically. Maybe she was a little hungry.


…​



"Something's burning out there!" one of the guards up on the walls said, shielding his eyes against the bright summer sunshine.

"What? Where? I don't see any fire!"

The older and more world-weary guard stared at his companion. "There's a pillar of smoke over there," he said, trying to sound like he didn't think his companion was an idiot and failing. As a native of Amstreldamme from birth, he naturally considered anyone from the countryside to be a rural bumpkin barely smart enough to remember to breathe, and defined 'countryside' as 'anywhere where there's grass under your feet'. In the case of this particular co-worker, he was broadly correct.

They went to raise the alarm, and the short-yet-sinister black robed figure followed by a vile smelling child walked in through the gate completely unnoticed.

Louise was in a bad mood. Some might say that this was much like saying that water was wet, but it was worse than usual.

"Stupid useless stupid annoying stupid brainless stupid stupid ponies," she muttered to herself.

"They burn well," Igni contributed. "Also fry well. And I likey the bit where you spray them with the pink acid. They scream a lot and then melt. Fun-fun."

That had been quite messy, Louise thought with a wince. Apparently evil-water could be either acid or blood. She hadn't quite realised that until she tested that spell on those stupid horses.

Not that she'd gone looking for them! It was all the fault of the stupid useless farmer who'd let his horses run over the blasted wicked heath where the evil portal had opened. The ponies had been waiting for her! Plotting and working together! But she had had magic and magic beat the sinister plotting of horses!

Looking around, she shed those irrelevant thoughts. Louise had only been to Amstreldamme a few times before. She remembered it being strange back then. Now, looking at it with older, more experienced, and not-glowing-because-she-had-the-illusion-up eyes, she could see the similarities to the Abyss. The magelights hanging from poles above the streets which had once awed her now reminded her of the burning souls which lit hell. The haze of coal smoke and fog was like clinging sulphurous smog. The tall grey buildings leaned over narrow streets, and carriages bounced along cobbled roads.

Yes, having seen the Abyss and Los Diablos, it did sort of seem like a lesser version. Smaller and less blatantly soul-crushingly Evil. Jessica had called it 'anachronistic' which sounded like a good word for that concept.

Following the thronging streets filled with men and women dressed in sober black, Louise made her way towards the centre of the old city. The centre of Amstreldamme was dominated by the university. Indeed, according to the university the entire reason the city had been built was to support it and to give the scholars somewhere to spend their money. This was acknowledged by less hubristic academics to be technically speaking a lie, because the city predated the university considerably and was in fact built on old dragon-ruins. Nevertheless, the faculty exhibited remarkable independence and authority, holding itself not entirely subservient to secular authority.

It was probably this attitude which led to the university having to periodically be purged for heresy, Louise felt.

Idly giving Igni a kick because she noticed the minion was looking at… well, everything as if he was considering how flammable it was, she went looking for entertainment.

She swiftly found it, in the form of a poster on an academic billboard. Louise tore down the poster, staring at it. 'A debate on the possibility of the hereto unproven yet often speculated demonic nature of goats, viewed with most eminent reason with the arts of natural philosophy and debated in the Department of Natural Philosophy here at the University of Amstreldamme'. It was today. And the names on it were-

The names on it were-

Françoise Athénaïs de Rochechouart de Mortemart, marquise of Montespan. And Eléonore Albertine Le Blanc De La Blois De La Vallière.

The names were written really small to fit onto the poster and were hard to read. Oh, and they were also her sister and the treacherous simpleton seductress witch ex-fiance-stealing trollop who she was going to kill dead dead dead.

Well. Change of plans. There was no way she was missing this. Not least because as a little sister, Louise had been at the sharp end of Eleonore's diatribes vis a vis paint and people's hair on several occasions and thus it was a transcendentally glorious thing to see her unleashed on other people when she herself was not in the firing line.

And if the Madame de Montespan won –well, she'd have publically humiliated her sister. Which was totally unforgiveable and would mean that in the sake of her family's honour, why, Louise would just have to set her on fire. Such a shame. Boo hoo.

Sound in her moral convictions, the sinister overlady who struck fear into the hearts of the masses went looking for a way to get in to watch the debate.



…​



Jessica was getting angry. Very angry. This could be seen by the smoky shadowy wings sprouting from her back, the flaming horns protruding from her forehead, and the fact that her eyes literally smouldered with passion. Henrietta had broken down into tears about her lost love even before Jessica had entered the room she'd been decorating for Louise's birthday party.

"What is she playing at?" Jessica shouted, gesturing around the banner filled room with the large ornamental cake in the centre. She half-turned, and barely stopped herself before her wings knocked over the cake. "Where has she got to!?"

"I don't know!" sobbed Henrietta into her handkerchief. "I didn't see her this morning and she… she… she…" and the rest of what she was about to say was lost in a blurble of words accompanied by a snot bubble.

Hands on her hips, Jessica roared, "Catt!" in an attractive baritone which would have any woman who felt the slightest desire for men weak at the knees. "Get in here!"

There was a delay, and a tousled head poked through the door. "What?" Cattleya said warily, hiding behind the doorframe. "I was asleep. And… um, please stop being on fire."

"Where is your sister?!"

Cattelya rubbed her eyes. "I do not know," she said, trying not to yawn. "It's… it's not noon yet. Can't think. Because you're on fire. And-"

"Have you seen her? She's vanished on me! It's fucking pissing me off!"

"Okay, I have had about enough of you shouting and being on fire!" Cattleya retorted, something breaking inside her head. "It is not very nice to interrupt people! Stop it! And don't you dare swear at me! Or be on fire! In fact, I'm going away and not coming back until… until you stop being on fire!" And with that said, she stormed out.

Jessica glared back, a looming and very handsome figure of smoke and flame. Gritting her teeth, her wings folded back in so they were no longer taking up the entire room.

"I'm going to find Gnarl!" Jessica roared and stomped out, her hooves echoing on the ground.

Blowing her nose, Henrietta tried hard to get a hold on herself. This was not a good day. She liked Jessica most of the time, but… but… but when she got angry, all she could do was think of her poor dead love. It was almost like he was here sitting next to her, like he had in that moons-lit night under the veranda by the lake, gazing deep into her eyes and… and… she furiously blotted at her eyes.

He was dead. Her heart was full of love for a dead prince. She'd never love another man again, because she… she didn't have room. Jessica's demonic power was trying to make her love her and it couldn't. And if… if such terrifying power couldn't get into her heart, what hope did any mortal man have?

She blotted at her eyes with her thoroughly sodden handkerchief, and went rummaging through her pockets to try to find one which didn't have to be wrung out.

She found one just in time to break it in when a roar of "He did what?!" echoed through and left her in a fresh wave of tears.

The door damn well nearly burst off its hinges as Jessica barged back in. Demonic magic crackled over every surface. A burning, shadow-wreathed portal ringed by screaming skulls tore into the world. The air lost all humidity, becoming as bone dry and hot as a desert. Perfumed smoke drifted through the air. "Dad!" Jessica yelled. "What did you do! I am trying to organise a birthday party here and you have fucked everything up!"

From the depths of the hellish portal, Scarron's image appeared. He seemed somewhat surprised, not least because he was sitting in a hip-deep elvish bath full of blood-red bubbles and wearing only a shower cap. A horned duck of the Abyss floated by. "Ma petit, you are looking malevolently demonic today! I've always wanted you to embrace your heritage, but I am in the bath right now so how about I call you back and…"

"I am in no mood for your shit!"

"J'eszika! Language!"

"I don't fucking care! What did you do to Louise? I have a fireproof stripper in a cake just waiting for her to get back and if she isn't here the cake will go off! And fuck you if you're ruining this for me!"

"I understand you might be angry, but…"

"Where. Is. She?"

Scarron blinked, and looked momentarily uncomfortable. "Wait," he said, shifting around until he could pick up the soap he was sitting on. "She didn't tell you, non?"

"She didn't! And it's your fault!"

"Oh! Is that all you're angry about, ma petit? That little thing?" Scarron stretched and smiled, obviously relieved. "Jessica, dear, I am under arrangement with her and the Gnarl to tell them as soon as I find solid information as to the missing fragments of the Tower Heart. Remember, darling, what happens to a Tower Heart which is overstressed when it is damaged. I'm just sure none of us want that! Magical explosions are very bad for business – and for your health, considering how close you are to it! I wouldn't let you be there if she hadn't already partially stabilised it. She's probably in Amstreldamme right now."

Jessica sullenly glowered, the wind let out of her sails. "Well, yes, but…" she said, wings collapsing down and shrinking.

There was a moment of silence, tension filling the world.

"… wait. Dad. Why'd you think I'd be angry?"

Scarron shifted awkwardly. "Well, uh, a client may have passed that information to me and I might have thought that you might have considered it a possible problem because I didn't mention it and…"

"Which. Client."

"Ma petit, I have a confidentiality arrangement! You can't just demand to know their name, even if it might possibly probably be a teeny weeny trap! I have professional standards!"

"Did you send her into a trap?"

"I don't know. J'eszika, you cannot blame me for this." Scarron paused. "I was paid a lot to not ask questions. And I entirely fulfilled my contractual arrangement with the little overlady, so I cannot see how I can be at fault, non?"

"Dad!"



…​



One of the great historic problems that scholars of natural philosophy had wrestled with since antiquity was how one could tell a denizen of the Abyss from a perfectly normal creature which just happens to have horns and hooves. It was a great and troublesome question, sparking lively and often heated debates that ranged between the fields of natural philosophy, unnatural philosophy, theology, anatomy, and the occasional odd venture into demonology to try to cast a three-fold binding upon cows and compel them to speak the truth.

So far, the latter had proven that cows were either not secretly demons, or they were particularly strong-willed and powerful demons who could resist even the mightiest forms of enspellment. It was suspected that the former was the case, if only because anything intelligent and powerful enough to hide so completely from all forms of detection would probably have had enough dignity to do so as something other than a cow.

But goats weren't to be trusted. No one should trust a goat.

Hood up, Louise slipped into the debating theatre, trying to make as little noise as possible. The stalls were packed with black-robed scholars – who dressed like crows to a man and woman – so she barely stood out. Carefully muttering apologies, she squeezed past the guards at the door and sat herself down in one of the free seats at the back. And then she had to go back to get Igni past the guards, making excuses for the 'poor orphan boy' and promising that he wouldn't steal any of the silverware.

Louise felt vaguely guilty for lying about the silverware, and also the fact that Igni had already stolen the man's purse.

"If you say a single thing," she hissed to the minion, "your fate will be worse than I can possibly imagine." She paused. "I will give you to Gnarl," she said.

An elderly academic nodded approvingly. "Ver'ah good child raising there," he said in an Albionese accent. "Threatening a child with the Gnarl. Gotta'h scare the little blighters." He was then shushed by the people around him as Louise took her seat.

By the looks of things, she was late and had missed most of the debate. A partially dissected goat lay on the marble slab down at the centre of the auditorium, while other preserved parts floated in various tanks in green fluid. The blackboards behind the two podiums were covered in diagrams, occult markings and postulates. Louise could see the characteristic caricatures of her sister, who combined a fast and precise drawing hand with an eye for mocking satire.

And speaking of her sister, Eleanore was on the podium to the right of the stage. Louise's heart leapt in quiet joy to see a member of her family that wasn't Cattleya. Her eldest sister was blonde, but otherwise they were quite alike. They had similar faces and the same slim build – although Eleanore was aggravatingly taller and somewhat more busty. Though the latter point was probably because she was ten years older. No other reason.

At least she looked well. In fact, she looked like she was positively enjoying herself.

Her gaze then drifted to her. The enemy. Wardes' trollop. Louise gripped the back of the chair in front of her tightly. This was the first time she had ever really seen her second-greatest enemy in the flesh.

They looked nothing alike. She had no idea why some people had suggested that. Yes, they were both pale, but that was just because they were members of the nobility. Only commoners or Germanians – but she repeated herself – got tanned. And yes, the Madame de Montespan might actually have been slightly shorter than her, after her recent growth spurt. And yes, she might have had a similar build. And maybe, yes, their faces were not entirely unalike. But they were completely one hundred percent different! Françoise Athénaïs wore white! And her hair and eyes were pale green, not pink! How anyone could confuse them was totally beyond her!

Louise glared down at the short woman who was carefully expounding on some principle of anatomy that she couldn't understand because she'd missed the first half of the debate. Françoise Athénaïs was going to suffer. No two ways about it. Yes. She was going to suffer and then Wardes would find out and… and maybe he'd cry!

… or maybe he'd just go find a new mistress. Hmm. That was a problem. He was a disloyal dog who didn't even wait a single season from the death of his fiancée before finding a new one. What if killing her didn't upset him?

Oh, wait. She was still a traitor and a member of the Council. She needed to be crushed under Louise's steel boot regardless.

"… and so in conclusion, I believe the evidence is quiet clear on the nature of goats, and that no one in their right minds could argue with it," the Madame de Montespan concluded, to polite applause from the audience. Louise didn't clap. Hah! See how she liked that!

Eleanore politely nodded to her opponent, and took to the stage.

"Of course, there is another reason why we must – with the greatest respect – challenge the claims of my most esteemed opponent," Eleanore said. "Namely, that while I do not cast aspersions on her talents in certain fields, this is not one of them. No, where her true talents lie is in her work with wards."

Louise frowned. No. Oh no. What was Eleanore doing? She didn't normally compliment people, unless she was setting them up for some greater insult. Or sometimes dratting them with faint praise. Mostly the former. Eleanore didn't really do compliments, in the same way that water didn't do 'starting fires'.

"Yes, my good friend Françoise-Athénaïs has taken in the most central element of wards and made the entirety her own. The matter in hand may have been long and hard, but she has worked late at night with wards, bent over her writing desk, and her analysis has been comprehensive – to say the very least!"

Louise swallowed. Oh. Oh dear.

"On her hands and knees, she has worked long into the night. And got very little rest because of the great sacrifices she has made in the name of her research. In church, she has knelt and called out the name of the Founder – praying, no doubt, for inspiration." She folded her hands together sanctimoniously. "Oh, her fidelity is famous to those of us in the know. We have no doubt as to her virtue or her suitability for marriage. None whatsoever!"

"Are you done?" the Madame de Montespan said icily.

Eleanore shot a glance at the white-bearded adjucator with a hurt expression on her face. "Point of order!" she said, sounding shocked. "My opponent has had her turn to speak! If she wishes to object to factual accuracy of any of the points I make, she need only raise it in the summary speeches!"

"De la Vallière is entirely correct," the scholar said solemnly. "De Montespan, control yourself. You will have your turn later. De la Vallière, cont-"

"You know she is slandering me," de Montespan said.

"Slander?" Eleanore said innocently. "How can I slander you when I praise you? Your papers on the calculus of wards were brilliant. You must have sweated and screamed as you worked on wards until the target of your attention was entirely spent. How else could you get such fine results that would lead you to your current position? Why, if you hadn't carried out such a comprehensive study of wards, I have no doubt that you would not be on the Regency Council. Now, excuse me, I would like to raise that she so rudely interrupted you, sir, and regretfully request another strike be issued against my esteemed opponent."

"Upheld," said the man, making a mark on a chalk board. "That's three strikes against you, de Montespan, and a formal demerit will be issued by the university for such a shameful display. Continue, de la Vallière."

Eleanore inclined her head. "Thank you very much, sir" she said, smiling politely. Louise could hear chuckles and sniggers coming from the audience, especially from a certain kind of grey-haired senior academic. Her big sister seemed to be quite popular with the elderly men who ran this place.

Probably because she was a pretty young woman with a tongue as sharp as… as… as a very sharp thing. Louise wasn't feeling in a very metaphor-y mood.

"Indeed," Eleanore said with a perfectly straight face, "I think we must, one and all, concede that the sole reason that my esteemed rival occupies her current elevated status is because she is a mistress of wards. It is for that talent beyond all others that we must offer her public recognition, but ladies and gentlemen of the audience, please do not mistake her great skill at handling wards for any more profound talent at the study of the natural philosophies." She inclined her head respectfully, shuffled her papers, and curtseyed to the chair of the debate.

And then she let out the smirk she had been holding in. It wasn't a large smirk, but it was carefully and elegantly tailored to demonstrate to all academic standards that she had been doing it deliberately, while also maintaining plausible deniability. It was smug. It was vicious and cruel. It was vindictive.

It was a de la Vallière look.

"Now, to move onto the main body of my argument – oh, do please tell me if I go too quickly, Françoise Athénaïs. Your speciality is manipulating wards, not natural philosophy. But…"

The Madame de Montespan cleared her throat. "I believe this mockery has gone on long enough," she said. Her voice was colder, more clearly enunciated.

Eleanore's smirk grew. "Oh my. I would like to raise with the chair that my respected opponent has once again-"

"Shut up." De Montespan's words were ice cold, and an immediate uproar erupted in the auditorium. "And that goes for you too," she added, casting a quick spell to amplify her voice. "Oh, Eleanore Albertine, you silly little girl. You don't seem to understand what you've done. What wicked ways you've been party to. Or perhaps you do and you just have no shame." She didn't smirk. "You are a de la Vallière, after all."

Eleanore's hand went to her wand. "A duel!" she announced. "If you will not respect the rules of this debate, then…"

"Respect? You dare speak of respect? You, who prides yourself on staying within the letter of the university regulations while you insult anyone who fetches your fancy? And what of the insults you show to our great nation? To our queen? No, this charade has gone on quite long enough."

And half the audience rose, pointing pistols and wands at the other half. From the rafters of the auditorium, men on stage ropes dropped in, while two mages crawled out from under the dissection slab. Even the blackboards rolled up to allow more soldiers to step onto the stage.

Louise yelped. No. No, no. What… this… no! What was happening? This was meant to be an academic debate, not… she wasn't wearing her armour. And the guards at the door had stepped in and they had their weapons raised and her sister was surrounded and she couldn't do a thing to help.

"Checkmate, Eleanore Albertine," Françoise Athénaïs said calmly, her wand levelled at Eleanore. "I do understand that it's not usually allowed in chess to take all your opponent's pieces at once, but then again, chess is just a metaphor here."

"De Montespan, what have you done?" the chair of the debate snapped. It was quite a brave gesture, because the elderly gentleman had four pistols and two wands pointed at him. "It is forbidden by university regulations to arrest your opponent in a debate!"

"It's a violation of CVII 23(2)," Eleanore confirmed. "Also MIV 2(4), XXIII 43(23), and under some interpretations…"

"Thank you, de la Vallière, that's enough. You are undoubtedly correct as always, but you're not helping." He cleared his throat. "Yes! And you, madame, are using state resources to settle a personal grudge!"

The Madame de Montespan clasped her hands together. "Settle a personal grudge?" she asked calmly. "Far from it. It's just a question of ethics in academia." She leaned in. "And calling my motives – as a member of the Regency Council of Tristain – into question is quite shocking." She shook her head. "Academics such as yourself are meant to be neutral in political debates. Why, that calls your own ethics into question."

"This university has always been independent! Only the worst tyrants in the history of Tristain have dared-"

"And there you go, acting so very… unethically," the woman said, her face entirely neutral. "I think that this raises very serious doubts about bias in the organisation of the University of Amstreldamme. Far-reaching systematic bias, which provides protection to wrong-doers such as that contemptible accused criminal from a well-known Evil family." She paused. "Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Taking to the stage, she strode up and down. "Now, ladies and gentlemen of the audience," she said, addressing the half of the audience who had weapons pointed at them. "I would like to present a case before you. Imagine, if you would, a certain family. A family known for their wickedness. A family known for their depravity. A family whose eldest scion and heir stands before me on the stage. Imagine, if you will, that this aforementioned scion has many allies among the academics. Some of them are allies of her family – which call their judgement into question. Some of them are her allies. Disgraceful.

"These academics would be a shame on their profession, for they would let bias and ill-judgement creep into their decision making. They would take the very honour of this noble institution and," she scuffed her foot along the ground, "smear it into the dirt. Such a subversive influence couldn't be trusted. They'd be a veritable plague on our nation, hiding behind their tenure."

Françoise Athénaïs smiled quietly, showing emotion for the first time. "Wouldn't they all attend a debate she was in? Especially since she is known to be a silver-tongued, lying witch. Or at least something very close to a 'witch'. Perhaps they'd all attend so they could watch a member of the Regency Council be 'humiliated'?"

She clapped her hands together.

"Now, of course, we shall all act ethically and with the proper moral guidance. Not all of you are being arrested. I do sincerely apologise to those of you who are not in league with this evil viperess. But until we have winnowed through and separated the guilty from the ethical, none of you will be permitted to leave.

"And as a small note, the city of Amstreldamme is now under martial law, to ensure an orderly transition of power and prevent the wicked and corrupt in the civic authorities from indulging in their wicked ways."

The look on Eleanore's face was an expression of pure, impotent rage. She had been forced to her knees by the guards and her wand was lying beside her, but she was still struggling. "Do you have no honour? I'll... I challenged you to a duel! If you have any conviction, you'd… you'd face me!"

Françoise Athénaïs stepped up to Eleanore, the same quiet smile on her face. And then she slapped her, the sound of flesh on flesh loud in the auditorium. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that. I've hated you since that first day of school," she said softly. "Take the traitor away."



…​
 
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A Downright Malevolent Interlude
A Downright Malevolent Interlude

The summer sky was bright blue. The woods of Albion were green and vibrant and full of life. Happy bunnies and cheerful deer frolicked and did whatever such animals do when humans aren't watching. Cheerful trout swam in the sparkling streams with only a small fear of a human sticking a barbed hook through their cheek and pulling them out into the air to asphyxiate. Flowers bloomed bright and beautiful in the warm, clear air, offering bribes of nectar to any insects that happened to wander past and feel like helping them reproduce.

Within the town of Aebbedon, preparations were beginning for the summer faire. Things were very summery, because there was an extra –e on the end of 'fair'. Brightly coloured tents were being set up, and the sugary scent of honey bread could already be smelt. The people of this area had always been shorter and rounder than most other men, with a tendency towards hirsute feet and while that usually just resulted in increased sales of shaving equipment, it did mean they enjoyed a good party.

All in all, it was nauseatingly bucolic.

Of course, everyone knew the forces of Evil were out and about, and that they were likely to try to ruin this festival. That was why Aebbedon had its strong walls to keep out any foes, and a moat filled with fast-flowing water to ward off the dead. And a strong force of well-trained guardsmen – many of whom were even barely over the retirement age from the army – to deal with more mundane trouble.

Of course, the biggest threat to them at the moment was the elite and highly trained force of tiny adorable well-washed small orphans trying to cross the bridge to visit the fair. And while children were prone to doing things like kicking chickens and carrying out acts of petty theft, a beating usually saw to fix such habits.

"And I want to be a herbyologitht when I grow up," said a little boy who was carrying a basket of flowers and spices with him, demonstrating a devastatingly adorable lisp. "I want to help heal people and make them better!"

The elderly guard grinned, and patted him on the head. "You don't want to do that," he told him jovially. "That's woman's work. Why don't you want to become a guard?"

"I want to become a guard!" a slightly older girl with red hair, freckles, and a crude 'sword' made of tied together twigs announced. She was carrying a long, thin box on her back which really looked too big for her, but she refused to let anyone else help her with it. "Well, maybe! If they'd let me! I really want to be sort of like Karin of the Heavy Wind! I like climbing and I like fighting! Hah! I bet no one ever told Karin she wasn't allowed to use a sword! You know I heard she once went to the Blasted Wastes of Vlaar, and no one has heard from that place since!"

"That's adorable," he told her patronisingly. "But you don't even have a real sword with you, so how about you just let me keep you safe?"

This seemed to somewhat annoy the girl, but a little girl who just radiated innocence and adorableness and sugar and spice and all things nice grabbed her hand before there was an outburst. The tiny blonde had a sling filled with woollen dolls. There were more in the bag on her back, as well as something wrapped in brown paper. "Thank you very much, Mr Guard Person," she told him very seriously. "But we can't wait here! Our friends can't get here and the fun can't start until they're all here!"

The guard smiled paternally. "You have to tell me if you're friend or foe," he said.

"Friend," the children chorused together.

"Then you may pass," the guard said, stepping aside.

He was smiling as he watched them go. Children were so cute. He was going to be a great-grandfather soon. His daughter's eldest was expecting. He really hoped they'd be a boy, and grow up to be big and strong. But he was blessed, really. He'd lived this long and managed to survive all kinds of wars – and the Civil War had mostly passed this town over, thanks to the wise choice of the governor-general who'd declared for Cromwell. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and it was nice and warm. What a day for his last summer faire before he retired, eh?

Yes, everything was good.



…​



Five days later, the peaceful town of Aebbedon resembled hell on earth. The merchants' district had been systematically and thoroughly set on fire, small children had pillaged the faire bare, demons were roaming the streets preying on the righteous – and also the unrighteous, because they were fairly indiscriminate demons – and the governor-general was the focus of a show trial in the market square for crimes against the Dark Queen of the Dark Elves.

The fall of the town was a mystery. No one knew how the drawbridge mechanisms had been mysteriously sabotaged, the culprits somehow sneaking through a culvert far too small for any adult to fit through. Likewise, it was a complete mystery how potent diuretic herbs had found their way into the tea of the guards, though it was truly an act of dreadful cunning to poison the one drink that any Albionese worth his salt imbibed. The fact that all the sentries had been stabbed to death by an Evil blade which hungered for human life and left them as drained corpses was pernicious in its mysteriousness. And as for the mystery of why there were demons everywhere eating people – well! It was a most mysterious mystery.

But to spoil the surprise regarding the demons in particular, it was all the fault of one particular gap-toothed little blonde girl. Currently, she was on her hands and knees in what had been a rich man's courtyard, drawing a Vaantic pentagram in red chalk. She'd already placed the dull brown Valencian candles at each of the corners, made from a mix of homemade beeswax and her own blood. The latter component had been obtained from a nosebleed, because she was prone to them in hot weather.

"Hmm," she said pursing her lips. She twisted her head to look at the rag doll which floated in the air next to her surrounded by an abyssal aura of menace, looking over the summoning pentagram with its button eyes. "What do you think, Cuddles?"

The doll coughed in a lawyerly manner, and adjusted its knitted woollen cravat with mitten-like hands. "Most excellent, mistress," he said. "I can see no flaw in your work. As usual."

Magda was the youngest currently practicing demonologist on the Halkeginian continent, following the proud traditions of her family. The dukes and duchesses of Grantebrychge had long consorted with foul and blasphemous infernal powers, helped by their bloodline tendency to be fair-skinned, blond, and innocent-looking. No one ever suspected them. And as a pretty little girl with a sunny nature, Magda was a prodigy in her family's black arts. She had evoked her first familiar at age three, when it usually took them until the age of at least seven to master such things.

Sadly the Reconquista had burned their ancestral home and slain members of the family wherever they found them. This was not as part of an entirely deserved punishment for the way they traded the souls of innocent men and women to the Abyss and engaged in cabalistic rituals, but due to their support of controversial tax legislation the King had proposed which had been the catalyst for the rebellion. Indeed, although the Reconquista had alleged they were demonologists, they had been very surprised to find the open portal to the Abyss in their basement surrounded by the mewling spirits of the damned once they'd butchered the Duke, the Duchess, and all their elder children.

In the words of the commander of the republican forces, "They hadn't seemed like the type. They were quiet, and kept to themselves. Who'd have thought?"

Unfortunately, the destruction of a wicked family second only to the likes of the de la Vallières was thwarted by their second youngest who evoked the demon prince currently bound into her favourite rag doll, burned three squads of infantrymen to death, and fled off into the night on wings of creeping death carrying her little brother. Of course, the capacity to summon and bind a lord of the Abyss does not impart a then-four year old with the capacity to survive on her own, nor care for a rambunctious two year old. Despite the aid of her demonic familiars in stealing milk from cows and carrying off chickens, the two of them were gravely ill and starving by the time they stumbled by pure chance across Tiffania and her rag-tag collection of war orphans.

That was why Magda was here, being helpful. Some of the older boys and girls had been taught dark magic by their families, but none of them were as good as her. And there was no way she was going to let anyone stop her from helping Aunty Tifa! When she helped Tifa kill the people who killed her family, Tifa was happy! And then when they got everyone on Tifa's list, she said she'd help Magda go after the people who killed Mama and Daddy and her brothers and sisters.

That'd be nice. Magda was going to feed them all to demons. Slowly. Feet first. She giggled to herself. And then she could go to the Abyss – because all her family went there when they died – and then find them and bind them back on Earth and everything would go back to how it used to be! But better! Because her mummy and daddy wouldn't be able to make her go to bed when they said anymore, because she'd be in charge!

And she was helping much more than Hannah and her stupid people-eating demon sword! So nyah!

But no thinking of that now! She rose, and dusted off her grazed knees. There was no saving her dress. She always got covered in chalk when she did mass summonings like this. She snatched her demonhost doll out of the air, hugging him close to her chest. "Right! I'm doing it," she announced, and began to chant in the Dark Tongue.

A deep and sonorous bell pealed out, from nowhere at all. Darkness and fire unfolded from the earth, bound only within a thin layer of chalk. It roared and smashed into the invisible walls of the warding circle, flattening itself against the perimeter, but the circle held.

Madga's only response to the display was to hold her nose to blot out the scent of the sulphur.

"Who would dare summon me?" the dark shape boomed, slowly coalescing into an ever-burning humanoid figure which may or may not have had wings. It was somewhat unclear. Regardless, it was the kind of monster that gave small children nightmares, present company excluded.

"Cuddles!" the little girl ordered. "Talk to him! He's smelly!"

The figure of smoke and flame sniggered. "Cuddles? Ha. Why are you obeying this snot-nosed brat?"

"Ah," said the doll, adjusting its knitted cravat, "yes. I am currently bound to the service of this young lady – who has a clean nose at the moment – who has chosen to confine me to this doll as a host. Unfortunately certain constraints about her nature and how it interacts with mine means I cannot even try to find loopholes in her orders, but must obey the spirit of her commands."

The hulking shape of flame and shadow stared in bafflement. "Wait a moment. Wasn't it that you had to obey the spirit of orders from…"

"Pure-hearted virgins of noble blood, yes. Indeed so. A usefully niche constraint considering the pronounced tendency for Heroic types to consummate their passion with other wretched Heroes, until now."

The looming demon frowns. "I can understand the 'noble blood' and the 'virgin' bits," he said, "but… uh, she's summoning demons. How does she have a pure heart?"

"She has a heart of pure Evil," the doll said, sadly shaking his head. "It is rather aggravating." He cleared his throat. "Now, do you wish to negotiate a contract of servitude, or would you rather contest this summoning?"

"Fuck that!" the demon declared, to a gasp from Magda. "I'm not obeying some brat, regardless of how clean her nose is! I have my pride!"

The demonhost nodded. "My mistress, he wishes to contest the binding," he informed the little girl.

Magda frowned. "You're very bad," she told the giant flaming demon earnestly. "I like that! But you're also naughty and smelly, and that won't do! And you swore. Fluffles!"

A knitted black rag doll shaped like a five-horned kid goat, and which coincidentally was a sanctified and chained host of the endlessly-reincarnating demon god Falufarghlesh floated forwards. "Your wish, mistress," it asked, in voice of screaming infants.

The little girl broke into a gap-toothed smile. "Eat his face," she said happily.

The sound of hellish screams sounded out as a rag doll began to eat the face of a burning spirit of smoke and flame. Turning her back on the atrocity, Magda flipped open her big book of demonology. Humming happily to herself, she began to read the tome written in the Black Tongue with the aid of her index finger and the phonetic method for sounding out hard words. Fortunately the Black Tongue was much easier to read than Albionese. It didn't have complicated, hard-to-work-out-how-to-say letter clusters like '-ough'.

By the time she turned back, the demon was on the ground, unmoving. It was missing its face. And also most of its head.

"Oh," Magda said. "Drat."

"He was very tasty," said the rag doll avatar binding the demon-god Falufarghlesh.

"Well, that's good! You're my friend! But you weren't meant to kill him dead! Only eat his face!"

"It's not my fault. I ate his face and he died."

Magda shook her head sadly as the corpse disintegrated in a cloud of bad-smelling smoke. "Then he wasn't as powerful enough," she said, narrowing her eyes. "That's sad for him." She pouted. "Well, now I need a new toy!"

"Right now?" Dread Kuudeilza asked.

"Now!" Magda declared. "Since that stupid demon died when Fluffles ate his face, I want a new one! This time I'm going to try to summon a sukkybus!"

The demon-god Falufarghlesh and the princeling of the Abyss, Dread Kuudeilza exchanged a glance. Dread Kuudeilza adjusted his knitted cravat. "Why would you… uh, wish that, mistress?" he asked, a trifle nervously.

"Surely there are better breeds for you, mighty one," Falufarghlesh said hastily. "And it's pronounced 'succubus'. Why would you want one of those?"

Magda threw her arms out extravagantly. "Duh! Because I want a pretty girl to be a pretty girl doll who'll be my friend!"

"Oh, no, you don't want that," Dread Kuudeilza said hastily. "No one wants succubae around. They're frightfully stupid and-"

"Then I'll summon a smart one! I'm doing it and you can't stop me!" Magda said, crossing her arms and glaring. "Anyway, you're demons! You're not trustworthy, so stopping me trying to summon one is clearly a scheme of yours to stop me getting any girl dolls to have tea parties with!"

"It's really not like that," Dread Kuudeilza began.

"Shut up, Cuddles! I'm doing it!"

Again she began to chant, although the ritual was different in several key aspects this time. Sprinkling salt on the ground, she called out a single word in the Dark Tongue and clapped her hands together.

A pillar of red flame erupted from the earth. It somehow managed to be both lavish and decadent despite those not being adjectives usually associated with incursions of demonic flame. "Who calls me to provide my… services?" a lush voice said huskily. A woman with bat wings and ram's horns was lit by the crimson glow, dressed in a delicate negligée with the approximate consistency of mist which left precisely nothing to the imagination. Her artlessly tumbling reddish-blonde curls cascaded down her front, providing considerably more coverage than her alleged and mostly hypothetical clothing.

Putting her hands on her hips, Magda squared up to the demoness. "I did!" she said, tilting her head back. "And put the fire out! If you're cold, then you should be wearing more clothes!"

Crossing her arms across her chest and letting the fire die down, Izah'belya looked down at the little girl. "Aren't you too young to be summoning succubae?" she asked curiously, idly morphing her clothes into a considerably warmer fluffy jumper and pair of trousers. The Albionese night was cool, despite the fact it was summer – especially compared to the heat of Los Diablos at this time of year.

Magda crossed her arms and pouted. "What's that got to do with anything? Why does no one want me to summon a sukky… succubus?"

Izah'belya opened her mouth. Izah'belya closed her mouth. "This is the first time I've ever been summoned by a five year old," she tried. "I'm just a little surprised."

That got her a ferocious glare in return. "I'm not five! I'm six! And two months and fifteen days! Or sixteen days now, because it's now past midnight!"

The succubus sighed. "Oh, that takes me back," she said nostalgically.

"Huh?"

"When you're in your twenties, you'll look back at such innocent days," Izah'belya said. And then she frowned. "Though given that you're summoning demons at the age of six years and two months and sixteen days, I'm not sure you were ever innocent. Like, wow. I mean, seriously, wow. I'm a succubus, granddaughter of the King of Hell, princess of the Abyss, and the fact you're doing this is… like, wow. Seriously, what."

"She really wasn't ever innocent," Dread Kuudeilza provided. "She has a heart of purest Evil. I tried to stop her, but she didn't listen."

"Oh!" Izah'belya's eyes widened in recognition. "Kuudeilza! There you are! I was wondering why you weren't answering my calls! People usually call me back after a date!"

"Do you know Cuddles?" Madga asked curiously.

The doll attempted to narrow its button eyes. "My name," it said in a voice of doom, "is Dread Kuudeilza."

"His name is Cuddles," Magda said, nodding.

"Yeah, you're right," Izah'belya agreed, grinning widely. "His name is Cuddles. Hey there, Cuddles."

Dread Kuudeilza harrumphed. "I hate you," he told Izah'belya. "And I would hate you if the terms of my binding don't preclude me from hating you," he told Magda.

Izah'belya snickered quietly and shook her head in mock sorrow. "He's so mean," she said in a mock whisper to Madga. "You shouldn't trust him."

That earned her another ferocious little girl glare. "I'm not falling for that! You're being just like Emma when she tries to make people not like other people so they'll like her!" Madga stated.

"Gosh," Izah'belya said with a perfectly straight face. "I'm dealing with someone who's immune to my wiles. Oh no. I am defeated and trapped in this summoning circle. Whatever shall I do? I must try to negotiate with you, for I am at your mercy."

"Can I eat her face?" the demon-god Falufarghlesh asked, trotting around the circle. "She looks like she has a tasty face."

"… okay, Falufarghlesh, chill," Izah'belya said. "I know you get sick thrills from your faceophilia, but can you be serious for just a moment? If you try to eat my face, I will wreck you. My face is insured for quite a lot of money and has a very nice assassination contract tied to it. Get your jollies some other way. Maybe find some nice girl toy goat to make the Great Beast With Two Backs with, if you know what I'm saying."

Magda didn't know what she was saying, and began to search through her demonologist's tome to see what the nature of this Great Beast was. "I ban you from trying to fuse with another demon!" she ordered the demon-god Falufarghlesh, after failing to find a mention of it in her dark book.

Izah'belya had a mysterious coughing fit, and even when she overcame it she was still grinning widely again. "Oh my dark gods, you're adorable," she said happily. "You're certainly the cutest summoner I've ever had! But… yeah, sorry, I'm sort of busy and I'm not prepared to be your slave. Like, at all. So maybe if you just let me free, I'll give you… this!" Drawing her hand out from behind her back, she pulled out a strange demonic baked good, studded with brightly coloured blobs of a product of the partial hydrolysis of collagen extracted from the skin, bones, and connective tissues of murdered animals.

"What is that?" Magda asked, screwing up her face.

"It's a cookie," Izah'belya said.

"No it isn't! It's a biscuit!"

"Oh dear. It seems you've outsmarted me. Well," she said, pulling out another one, "how about two biscuits?"

"I don't want biscuits! I want your bound service! Stop… stop pat-ron-eyes-ing me!"

Izah'belya laughed, flicking her hair. "Your loss," she said, deliberately and decadently biting into the treat. "Oh, wickedness me! Look at the inside. It's just filled with molten chocolate! Lovely, warm, delicious molten choc-"

"I don't know what that is, but I know you're trying to trick me," Magda said, once again showing the terrifying wisdom which put her ahead of most demonologists in their capacity to detect demonic deceit. "I don't even think it's real. I bet it's just an ill lose sun."

"… it's called an illusion, sweetheart, and yes, that's what it is," Izah'belya admitted, letting the fake biscuits fade away. "But you have to admit, it was a pretty good illusion. Good enough to fool even me, so I could taste it."

"Can't I eat her face a little bit?" the demon-god Falufarghlesh whined.

"Shut up, Fluffles!" Magda jabbed her finger at Izah'belya as she picked up a bell and a rag doll with straw-yellow wool hair. "You're trying to trick me and you're being mean and you're using long words and being tricky! So are you going to work for me or not?"

"I'd love to talk to you about contracted employment – for pay – because I have something wonderful in my summer collection and I'd love to see you model it for the journals," Izah'belya said. "Being your slave? Sorry, it really doesn't do it for me. And asking me to spend time in such an unfashionable doll is just a no-no, you know, no?"

"I'm going to bind you either way," Magda said threateningly.

"No. No, I don't think you are, sweetheart."

"I am! Lots of demons don't think I can bind them! Fluffles laughed at me! He's not laughing now! He was very mean about it!"

"Yes, but… what's your name?"

"I'm not telling you that!"

"Well, okay, cutie, there's one problem with you trying to bind me. One ittie bittie problem." Izah'belya gritted her teeth, and strode towards the edge of the pentagram. Wincing in pain, she stepped over the invisible line. Her clothes smouldered and charred, and her horns flaked away, shrinking down to mere nubs on her head, hidden by her hair.

"Yeouch," she said, shaking her head. Blood trickled from one nostril and she blotted at it with her sleeve as she worked her jaw. "Ow. Ow, ow. Ow. Always stings like heaven when I do that." She grinned, and worked out her shoulders, balling her hands into fists. "So. Your move," she told the littlest demonologist.

"You can't do that!" Magda protested, backing away. "Demons can't leave the circle! That's cheating!"

"Yes. Yes, it is," Izah'belya said happily. She bent down and picked up a discarded sword, dropped by a guard who'd been eaten by Falufarghlesh.

Magda looked up at the smirking succubus, her eyes wide and her lips wobbling. "Y-you wouldn't hurt a little girl, would you?" she tried.



…​



The town square was lit by the flames consuming the town. Demons gibbered in the corners and flapped overhead. The wailing of the captured inhabitants of the town was a constant refrain in the background.

Queen Tiffania the Malevolent, Dark Queen of the Dark Elves – despite their efforts to get her to change her name to something more fitting, like 'Malevola' – listened gravely to the offer. "I see," she told Izah'belya, leaning back slightly awkwardly on her ornate chair set up in the plaza. Until two hours ago it had been sitting in the governor-general's office. That state of affairs had changed when a nine year old girl hyped up on souls consumed by her sword had kicked down the door and dragged the man out from behind his desk. And then had gone back to get a nice chair for her Aunty Tifa to sit in. "So you're offering your courtor… curto… clothes-making services?"

"Tifa!" whined Magda, holding an ice pack to her black eye while she clutched two heavily tattered, scorched, and soggy rag dolls. Tifa hugged her closer, bouncing her up and down on her knee. "She hit me. Make her say sorry for hitting me! And also for stabbing my dollies! And then setting them on fire! And then stabbing them again. And then throwing them in the river."

"Hey!" Izah'belya objected, sword held by her side in case any of the demons got ideas. "I will consider an apology for the initial blow as part of our negotiations, but I'm not saying sorry for the dollies. They started it!"

"Because you hit me!"

"You were trying to distract me so they could get behind me and eat my face."

"That's not fair!"

"How is it not fair?"

"Fluffles really likes faces! It's mean to not let him eat them!"

"Shh, Magda," Tifa said, hugging the grumpy little girl on her lap. "She didn't mean it."

"Actually, I did," Izah'belya corrected her. "I hit people who try to bind me. It's a reflex from my human blood, I think. It's a very useful one."

"Well…" Tifa reconsidered, "I'm sure she didn't mean it very hard."

"Let's go with that for now, sure," Izah'belya agreed. She reached behind her back and pulled out a brochure. "Here's my catalogue, although this is just off-the-shelf prices. And since I'm trying to move into the aboveworld market I'm willing to negotiate a generous discount." She snapped her fingers. "In fact, I'll be more than generous if you'd be willing to model for me and we can get you in the journals. Think of it as win-win for both of us. It raises your profile and gets me publicity in the right sectors." She meshed her fingers together. "Perfect brand synergy, yeah?"

Tiffania stared at her blankly. "Huh?"

"… okay, let's try that again. I'll sell you things cheaper if you let people paint portraits of you wearing it." Izah'belya paused. "I'll keep the IP rights to the images and all associated merchandising, while you can wear the pretty dresses and even keep some of them, which I feel is more than generous."

"Don't… do… it," Dread Kuudeilza wheezed up from Magda's lap, fluff escaping from a sucking chest wound. "Mis…tress. I… can… negotiate. Something better for. You. You shouldn't. Give away your image rights like that. Not without. More recompense."

Magda glared at Izah'belya. "Cuddles says she's trying to cheat! Which she probably is because she's a dirty dirty cheat who cheats like a cheater and cheatingly cheats! And he's hurt! Tifa! Tifa! You need to fix him and sew him up so he can help us not be cheated by the cheating cheater there!"

"I think that would be a very good idea," Tifa said after some consideration.

"Darn," said Izah'belya, though without much heat. "Well, malignant anyway. I'll call my lawyers, and they can discuss it with Cuddles," she smirked as she said that, "over there. Let's do lunch some time."

"Do you mean 'have lunch' when you say 'do lunch'?" Tifa checked, frowning. "And when we 'do lunch' does that mean we're eating it together?"

"Yeah. I know some great restaurants we can go to while my demon-lawyers talk to your demon-lawyer."

"Then, thank you very much, I believe that would be for the best," Tifa said gravely, leaning forwards in her chair. "I am just in the middle of overseeing the execution of one of the forty-six men involved in the murder of my parents."

"Neat. I'm sure you're very busy. In fact, I can see you are," Izah'belya said, looking over at the bloodstained headman's block and the skinny black-clad elf standing by it carrying an axe. He looked familiar, but she couldn't remember exactly where she knew him from. There was a line of prisoners waiting, eyes filled with fear. Several people had already undergone the attentions of the headman, as could be seen by the stacked up bodies and the heads in a basket. Tifa's adorable little scamps had already borrowed one and were using it to play headball.

The govenor-general looked at Izah'bleya, shaking like a leaf. His rich gold chains clanked and clattered as he trembled. She gave him a thumbs up. "Which one is he?" she asked casually.

"He's number seventeen." Tifa tilted her head slightly. "At the start of today, I was only on number twelve. Today has been a good… um, sorry, I mean 'bad' day." She smiled awkwardly. "I'm still working on my evil vocabulary! I haven't been doing this very long!"

"I'll leave you to it, then! Beckon me when you want to talk. Madga knows how!"

And with that said, Izah'belya strolled off, thumbs hooked into her pockets. Behind her, she heard the sound of metal hitting meat, something dropping to the ground, and the sound of prepubescent voices cheering. Followed shortly by the sound of prepubescent voices arguing over who got to keep the shiny chain.

Ah, the innocence of youth. She wished her mother had taken her to more public executions, but she'd mostly been raised by governesses and tutors. Life as a succubus-princess of the Abyss wasn't all fun and games. Wasn't really many games at all when you were young. You only really got to relax once you'd managed to claw out a bit of status and could do things you wanted to do without Mum being passive-aggressive at how you were wasting your time. Dark gods, she was so glad she'd managed to pull herself up to a place where she could carry out the family trade for fun, not profit. Corporate mergers and acquisitions were just so much more intellectually stimulating than stealing life energy through intercourse. And didn't leave a bad taste in your mouth from some of the things you had to do.

Izah'belya frowned. That was what had been ringing a bell. That looked like Apostrophe up on the platform, and where you found Apostrophe, you usually found Lillysuffering. Izah'belya was pretty surprised at that. This operation was entirely too… uh, well, competent for Lillysuffering to be involved. She hadn't seen even one earnest poster condemning the goods of the nobility and trying to persuade people to eat less meat.

Man, she hoped Lilly wasn't ill.



…​



She found Lillysuffering Crim'somdoomblood sitting at a table outside a pillaged and plundered tavern, a clay jug and an earthenware mug in front of her. The red firelight played over the scene. Lilly's scanty dress was even more tattered and revealing than usual, and her pet spiders had covered her in cobwebs. Several appeared to be trying to stage an intervention by webbing over the mouth of her mug.

"Oh. Oh dear," said Izah'belya, shaking her head. She sat down opposite to the elven girl slumped down over the table, taking her hands. "Lilly? Lilly? Wake up."

"Mmm?"

"Lilly?"

"Mmm? Oh, hi there, Izah-'postrophe-belya. When… when did you get here?"

"Oh, Lilly," Izah'belya said sadly. She picked up the glass and sniffed it. "Cider? Really? How many have you had?"

"Uh… half?"

"Half a mug?"

"… mo' like half a jug."

Izah'belya paled. "Lilly! That's dangerous. You know you can't handle alcohol!" Bending down, she scooped Lilly up, carrying her over one shoulder. "You should've stuck to slightly fermented fruit juice!"

"… couldn't. Had… had to make the… it stop." Lilly let out a muffled sob-hiccup. "So… so many people. All dead. C-couldn't stop them. C-c-couldn't even heal them. They… they bled all over me and I c-c-couldn't do a thing," she wailed. "I… I wanted to heal them because they were hurt but… but they were Good and… and…"

"There, there," Izah'belya said, patting her on the shoulder as she heaved her along through the burning streets littered with bodies. Lilly's spiders trailed behind the pair of women, forming an arachnid honour guard. A few demons tried to hassle them, but Izah'belya had kept the sword and it didn't take long for most of them to get the point and leave the mortal coil. "Come on. Let's get you to bed, eh? It'll feel worse in the morning."

"Dun' wan' it to feel worse. Wan' it to stop," Lilly whispered.

"Where do you sleep?" Izah'belya asked. "Come on, Lilly. You'll feel better in bed. And your bed is?"

"Ou' in the woods."

Izah'belya made a disgusted noise. "I really don't see what you see in nature. It's so…" she pulled a disgusted expression, "… wet. And organic and… ew. And there aren't any good coffee shops."

There was just a snoring from Lilly.

"You know what? I'm dragging you back to the Abyss," Izah'belya said. "I hope you're grateful. You're not as light as you look, you know."

There wasn't a response. Lilly's feet bumped along the ground as she was half-carried back towards Magda's hellish rift.

"This way, maybe you can sleep somewhere dry for once and… like, I don't know, not have to use hedgehogs for pillows or whatever happens out in nature. I've got plenty of room. And they're taking terrible care of you if no one's noticed that you're drinking cider," Izah'belya said, narrowing her eyes. "I guess I should probably leave them a note. If they even care. I'll leave it by the summoning circle. You can come back if you want, but… I hope you won't. You're not cut out for this kind of life, Lilly."

She paused, and let the dark elf be noisily sick by the edge of the portal.

"That's bad, come on. Get it all out and-"

With a flash of black lighting, the circle opened again. Wreathed in toxic vapours, a tarnished beauty rose from the depths. Face hidden behind a blank mask, a dark angel fallen from grace unfurled her black-feathered wings and drew her sword of hissing fire. "I have come," she whispered in a terrible voice.

"Not now!" Izah'belya snapped, and then her eyes widened in recognition. "Oh, Garzeniel! Sorry! Caught me at a bad time! Man, what are you doing here?"

"Izzy!" the dark angel said happily, but also terribly, pushing back her mask to reveal an attractive black-skinned girl with glowing red eyes and dyed neon-blue hair. "Dire to see you! I could say the same! Whatchu doing up here?"

"Summoner," Izah'belya said, shrugging. "She's adorable. Could go far if she has a wicked teacher. Also, she's six."

"Six and already summoning a succubus?"

"I know, wrong? You?"

"Prayer from a cultist," Garzeniel said casually. She frowned. "That one, actually. And…" her face fell. "The prayer was 'God, I feel sick'." She facepalmed. "Man, slow evening or what? Didn't even read it." She shook her head. "Oh, Lilly," she said, sounding disappointed. "What's down with her?"

"Drunk. Half a jug of cider."

The dark angel's eyes widened. "What? Is she crazy? Oh, I am going to give her such a talking to! There's no way she can forward the goal of all evil if she's dead! Elves can't handle their drink at all, and she's a lightweight even by their standards!"

"I know!" Izah'belya shook her head. "She's not coping with actual, like, field work. This new overlady is pretty extreme, if you know what I mean. Lot of raw talent."

"Really?" Garzeniel said, sounding interested. "I mean, I've heard some bad stuff, but…"

"Oh, yeah. Her chief summoner has… oh man, you'll love it when I tell you the whole story, but she's got both Dread Kuudeilza and the demon-god Falufarghlesh bound. But Lilly is… yeah."

"Yeah." That was all that needed to be said. "So what now?"

"I'm taking her back to my place. Let her sleep it off, and… fuck, I don't know. This isn't the wrong place for her. Maybe I'll see if she's interested in doing some PR for me."

The dark angel nodded. "Makes a lot of sense. She does do pretty bad posters. I mean, fuckin' heaven, she makes me feel vaguely guilty about eating raw steak. For, like, half an hour, which is half an hour more than anyone else has managed."

"Wanna come back with me? We can go watch shitty plays on the mirror after I put her to bed. And get pizza."

Garzeniel grinned. "I thought you'd never ask. Just like school, eh?"

Izah'belya grinned as they stepped through the portal. "You got it."



…​
 
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Most Ethical Academic
"At the heart of it, Eleanore, there is Good and there is Evil. There is right and there is wrong. And though Evil will try to tempt you, you must stay strong and resist its blandishments. Your father's heritage is as wicked as it comes, but he stands strong against it – and so can you. I believe you will be able to do great and Good things, my dear, if you can resist the easy compromises of sin. I expect nothing less of you! And on that note, I also expect that you learn how to prepare your own potions to inhibit fertility and prevent infection well before you are old enough to need them, because sometimes accidents happen when adventuring far from potion suppliers alongside dashing young heroes. Not that I am calling you an accident. Even if you were one."

Karina de la Vallière, speaking to her 14-year old eldest daughter



…​



Eventually Louise remembered how to breathe.

There was something else she had to remember to do, she thought, staring out at the world through a red haze. Something quite important. She was fairly sure there was something along those lines. Something which it was critical that she do. Something which got in the way of her all-consuming desire to burn the Madame de Montespan's face clean off her traitorous skull..

She couldn't remember what it was precisely this moment, but it had to be very important. There had to be a very good reason that she was not burning off the face of that lying fiancé-stealing sister-hurting witch, because if there wasn't a good reason, she would have already started doing it.

So. Work off the logical assumption that there was one. So what should her next action be?

Use lightning to fry her? No, that probably fell under the same category as 'burn off her face'. Likewise, using acid to melt her down into a puddle of organs and meat wasn't a good idea for… for some reason.

She should listen to her blood and consider what it wanted her to do. Ah, yes. Her long heritage of de la Vallière ancestors was pointing out that if she did something stupid and heroic by throwing herself at the Madame de Montespan right now, not only would she get herself killed – which her blood was not in favour of – but she would also get her sister killed because de Montespan would consider a rescue attempt an excuse to kill Eleanore. And then when they found out that the Overlady of the North was Louise, they'd use that as a chance to go after her parents, and probably re-kill Cattleya and Jess and lock Henrietta up again if they found the Tower. And the towering rage she found herself in was probably the result of a disgusting heroic sort like her mother ruining the breeding line.

Stupid totally accurate and correct blood. Even if she didn't appreciate the jibe about her mother.

So what she should do, her blood continued, was get in a position where she could make sure Eleanore was safe, and then burn off the Madame de Montespan's face and then keep on burning and make sure that she couldn't run away and return wearing a prosthetic face made of silver, which was the sort of thing heroes did. Because no one betrayed de la Vallières and got away with it, apart from other de la Vallières – and only then for sound strategic reasons which served the overall goal of the family. Not over anything as petty as this.

Ah. That was a good point. And much more palatable. Sometimes having the blood of the darkest of villains was convenient, especially when it came with useful instincts for self-preservation.

The lecture theatre was half filled with soldiers. They were checking everyone, pulling off academic hoods and caps as they looked for people on lists they had. There were mages and there were unpleasant hard-faced people with swords and pistols. They certainly had the potential to do rather unkind things to her.

Now, on one hand Louise was fairly sure she wasn't going to be on a list of people to arrest. After all, she had vanished over a year ago, and even if her parents knew she was alive and 'kidnapped by the overlady', she suspected they weren't going to shout it from the rooftops – not least because of the fear that Cattleya's involvement would be discovered. On the other, much more important hand she looked incredibly like her mother, quite a lot like her big sister, and she was wearing a sinister hooded robe and wearing an ancient artefact of Evil on the aforementioned hand.

So she really didn't want to be found.

Carefully, gently Louise looked around and then sunk down in her seat. The floor under her was made of wooden planks, and through the gaps she could see light. So that meant there was a room built in the space under this seating. One not very far below. Placing her gauntleted hand down on the floor, she whispered an incantation. Pink foaming acid began to bubble and steam on the wood, dissolving its way through with alarming alacrity.

Now, all she had to do was wait for it to make a slightly bigger hole, delay until no guard was looking in her direction and then with utmost subtlety and grace she could slip out without-

"Hey, what's that smell?"

"Like acid, I think!"

"Someone find it!"

Oh sugar.

She quickly added more acid, grabbed Igni around the ankles with her free hand and dropped down the hole. She made sure that he was between her and the ground. Better a soft and stupid landing than something hard.

Louise landed with a pronounced 'oof' and the scent of onions. That was unexpected, because minions as a species would generally be significantly improved if they smelt of onion rather than 'minion'. Despite the shared final four letters, the odours were radically different.

She looked around. Ah, yes. The reason that there was a smell of onions was that she had landed on a sack of them. Well, technically she had landed on Igni and Igni had landed on them, but who was counting? Certainly not Igni, as he lacked the intelligence or looted skeletal fingers to do so. The reason she had landed on a sack of onions, incidentally, was that it seemed that the university staff had taken to storing food supplies in the empty places below the lecture theatre. She looked around at piled crates of vegetables, bags of flour, and of course shocked looking serving staff who were somewhat surprised that magical acid had burned a hole in the ceiling. And, uh, bits of the floor too.

"As you were," Louise told them as she hastily clambered off Igni and brushed herself down. "Just a minor magical… uh, experiment. I was demonstrating something to the class. With. Um. The aid of this poor orphaned child," she hinted strongly.

This seemed to pass muster. "Urgh, again?" Louise heard a woman say. "They need to move these here stores away from the bleedin' lecture hall. I swear, if we could just go a week without this happenin', I'd be a happy woman."

Excellent. Time to make her escape.

"Someone stop them!" a guard shouted down through the hole in the ceiling.

Louise fled. And then there was much lamentation. Or at least much weeping, because Igni set fire to the onions.



…​



A placid expression on her face, Françoise Athénaïs stared around the chaotic lecture hall. The expression was only possible because of the spell which surrounded her head in a bubble of fresh air. Otherwise she'd be choking and gasping like everyone else in here.

"Everything smells of onions!" the captain of the guard wheezed, holding a handkerchief to his watering eyes. "We're under attack! The treacherous Gallians are attacking us! King Joseph has declared war."

The Madame de Montespan gave him a look that said in no uncertain terms that she considered him to be an idiot. She seriously doubted King Joseph had declared war, not least because it was widely held that the man was so crazy that most days he wasn't entirely sure where Tristain was and thus any attempt to attack it would probably involve him ordering his men to march into the Great North Sea and stab it to death. And it had already been proven natural-philosophically impossible to stab the ocean to death, despite the best efforts of various popes, princes and one king annoyed that the tide refused to listen to his orders. Its susceptibility to siege warfare hadn't yet been tested, but it was probably only a matter of time.

"I doubt that the Gallians have decided to attack Amstrelldame right here and now," she said clearly. She looked down at the figure of Eleanore de la Vallière, who glared back despite her watering eyes and the bright red slap mark on her face. "Get her out of here, just in case this is an ill-planned rescue attempt."

She didn't think it was a rescue attempt, though. It rather more resembled an undergraduate prank. The Madame de Montespan shuddered elegantly. Undergraduates. That universities had to have them around was one of their few great flaws. She'd been an undergraduate once, which was a shameful blemish on her character, but she'd had the decency and good taste to grow out of it.

Eleanore de la Vallière was disgustingly popular among undergraduates. Apparently she 'made natural philosophy fun'. Given that most undergraduates were barely human, they apparently enjoyed her tendency to produce mocking diagrams and generally act in a crude and inciteful manner. It was probably some black sorcery of the de la Vallière family which let her channel her boundless spite to capture others under her will.

Yes. Françoise Athénaïs balled her hands into fists, even as her face remained calm. The de la Vallières were good at stealing things. Thieves. Treacherous evil thieves. She'd show them. She'd show them all the consequences for their actions!



…​



Louise fled through corridors which smelt strongly of onions. It was probably for the best, decided the bit of her brain which wasn't cursing about how much her eyes hurt. It meant that no one could follow her or Igni by the odour d'minion.

The de la Vallière part of her brain also contemplated whether she should load some catapults with burning sacks of onions and fire them into enemy castles to incapacitate their protectors, but then decided that it was better that she use something kinder. Like one of those alchemical compounds which drive men mad and lead them to fall upon their friends in a killing frenzy, before their hearts give out. Louise told that stupid bit of her brain to shut up if it wasn't going to help her run because now wasn't the time, darn it.

Eventually the sound of footsteps faded away. It was just as well. She was gasping for breath and on the verge of collapsing. Why was she so out of shape? She needed to find somewhere to sit, just to get her breath back. Louise looked around. Her flight had led her into the theology department. Seeing a nearby chapel, she ducked inside. The chapel was small, but there were long red curtains hanging from the walls. They'd do.

Gratefully, she let herself sag down, and then realised she'd lost Igni.

Well. Uh.

Gosh.

A shame, but he'd probably show up at some point. Or she'd just need to follow the fire. If he'd heroically given up his life in her service, she'd… uh, do something. Maybe get some revenge? Maybe be secretly happy? She was too out of breath to really be sure at this present time, but decided she'd make up her mind later.

A vague sense of religious guilt nagged at her. This was a chapel, after all. And in her current place, a prayer probably wouldn't hurt.

Kneeling behind the curtain, Louise clasped her hands together. "Uh, hello?" she whispered. "Founder? Lord? If it might please you, might I have your divine aid in my sacred quest? Uh, right now, that is? Please? I understand that I may sort of be an overlady, but that was never really something I planned. And I have always been faithful to my princess," and have never indulged in any wicked urges directed towards her, Louise mentally added because there was no way she was admitting to that out loud, "and while I may have occasionally used dark and evil magics, I have only directed them against villains, fiends, demons, and quite a lot of vampires. And a few necromancers And traitors, obviously."

Louise waited to see if there was an answer, and really hoped it didn't come in the form of righteous smiting. The fact that no lightning bolt had come after a few seconds was probably good news, all in all. The lack of a booming voice telling her that all her sins were forgiven and that none of them had been very bad sins in the first place so she should keep on doing what she had been doing already because it was the Lord's will that Princess Henrietta be restored to the throne was… uh, less comforting, but the fact that she had wanted that was probably hubris anyway.

"Amen?" she added hopefully.

An answer would be nice, though.

A little white head poked through the curtain, and mewled. A young cat, barely more than a kitten, pushed its way into her hiding place and – after spending a few seconds batting at the tassels on the curtains – stared up at her with bright blue eyes.

"Hello, kitty," Louise breathed. "Just go away. Please." She could hear a clatter of feet outside. The guards were showing up. "No, no, no. Move on, please," she told the guards and the cat alike.

The white cat tilted its head at her words, and walked closer. Purring like a saw, it rubbed up against her legs. It obviously wanted to be stroked.

"Shh!" she whispered. "Please… just go."

Sitting down, the cat stared at her. Blue eyes stared up at her. Quite deliberately, it mewed.

"Oh no, no, no. Don't start that. Don't even think of it," Louise hissed.

It mewed, slightly louder this time.

"No no no. Please."

It mewed again, raising the volume.

"What was that?" called out one of the guards.

"Sounded like a cat," another one said.

Louise rotated in place, trying to make as little noise as possible. Carefully, delicately, she reached out and stroked the cat. It purred happily, melting into her evil gauntleted touch like a sack of butter under a blowtorch.

"Oh, you… you wicked little thing," Louise whispered, gritting her teeth. "How dare you do that?"

"Just a cat. Never mind."

The cat shot her a glance, which clearly indicated it'd yowl if she even thought of stopping the stroking.

"You wicked, malevolent, evil, bad, nasty, cruel, spiteful, horrific, terrible, monstrous thing," Louise added. "You… you Wardesian dog… uh, cat."

Twisting, the cat rolled over onto its back and batted at her gauntlet with its pawns, play-fighting with the tool of vilest Evil.

Barely breathing, Louise listened while tickling the white cat on the stomach. It had a collar. Apparently its name was Pallas. The guards seemed to be going. Good. They'd go, she'd get out of here, and now that she actually had her breath back she could speak to the tower and see what the nearest escape route would be.

"Goodbye, Pallas," she said, "you evil stupid wretched thing."

The cat tilted its head. "Mrrraa?" it asked quizzically.

"Yes, I'm leaving," Louise told it cheerfully.

"Mrarrraraaaaa!" it mewed threateningly, raising its voice.

"Oh no. No you don't."

"Mrraa." Pallas rolled onto its feet, and sprung up onto her shoulder.

"Of course you can't come with me!" Louise hissed.

"Mrrrrrrr," the cat disagreed.

Louise winced. Grating her teeth together, she sighed. "Fine!" she muttered. "Stupid d… cat. Can't even tell a cat what to do."

"Mraaa!" Pallas agreed as she rose and poked her head through the curtains. No one was looking for her and the guards had moved on. Time to make her move.

"I bet you were some witch's familiar," Louise told the cat sitting on her shoulder, grumbling as she poked her head out of the chapel entrance. It looked clear. "Some wicked horrible witch. She… she probably fed you on scraps from the table. And she cooked children, so you… you grew up feeding on human flesh. Well, there's no way you're getting that from me."

Louise was vaguely aware that witches were meant to… um, nurse their familiars. Which was… uh, a thing. A horrible, perverse lower class thing which clearly indicated why only peasants became witches, while proper well-bred ladies who fell to the forces of Darkness became sorceresses or dark enchantresses or… or other wicked blasphemies which did not, in any way whatsoever, involve having a cat chewing on your breasts. Apart from witch-queens, but if they didn't want a wetnurse to feed their cats they were clearly… clearly s-s-sick in the head.

"There's no way I'm doing that for you either," she added, glaring at it. "You can just eat mice. If you can get to them before the minions."

The cat mewed and batted at the end of her hood with its paw, clearly enjoying its ride. "Mrrarrara," it observed wisely. Perhaps it felt more comfortable because it wasn't too high off the ground.

And then Louise felt it. Distant. Warm. Pulsing. And familiar.

Yes. She could feel the fragment of the tower heart somewhere in this building.



…​



Françoise Athénaïs de Rochechouart de Mortemart, marquise of Montespan sat back in her office. It was a nice office. It was, in fact, possibly the second best office in the entire university. The large glass window overlooked the fens to the east of the university, and – apart from the annoyance of the cemetery – it was a wonderful view. It always made her feel so calm and relaxed and tranquil.

But then again, being on the Regency Council had its advantages. And barring a small onion-based prank, today had been very, very, very, very, very, very good day. She held her hands to her flushing cheeks. Yes. The best day ever! Well, not quite! Because there'd be one day which would be better and she'd be wearing a white mantle and…

Françoise Athénaïs started to laugh, high and shrill, and then clasped her hands over her mouth. She wasn't meant to laugh like that, even in private. Someone might hear. She had to seem calm and impassive and like the earth of her magic. Proper manners, yes. Proper dignity.

A deep breath. Yes. Calm like the earth. Cool as marble. Yes.

There came a hesitant knock at her door.

"Come on," she said clearly.

Several guards shuffled in, each of them trying to hide behind at least one of the others. She had found she worried the guards. Apparently they didn't like her habit of using excessively long words. She tried to dampen down her vocabulary for the sake of their uneducated tiny brains, but it didn't seem to help.

"Well, your ladyship," the first of the guards said reluctantly. "We… uh, have a small tiny weeny question. About Miss de la Vallière?"

"What is it?"

"Well, when you said to put her in 'the special cell'," one of the guards began. "Uh… which one did you mean by that?"

There was an awkward silence. "Did you mean the special cell with the rack and the dripping water fountain and… all them things?" another of the guards asked.

The Madame de Montespan sighed. "No, the other special cell," she told him with a faint note of irritation in her voice.

"Well, I'm just saying, your ladyship, it's a bit confusing to have two cells which you call 'the special cell'. Howsabout we try renaming one of them?"

"It wouldn't take very long," another guard chipped in. "Just need some paint, we can repaint the sign on one of them. Simple! My next performance review wants me to suggest a process improvement and this kind of proactive thingie will look very good 'cause my wife is wanting me to make sergeant by the time I'm thirty and-"

"We will table the motion for later," de Montespan said coldly. "For now, just take her to the special cell which is located in the east block."

"Ah, excellent show your ladyness. The East Special Cell. Gotcha. We'll just… uh, have to move her."



…​



For the second time in the space of an hour or so, Eleanore de la Vallière was thrown in a prison cell.

As prison cells were, this one was certainly an improvement over the last one. There were roughly zero percent of the torture devices, which also left a lot more floor space. It was probably for the best. The previous one really had been a bit cramped. Really trying too hard.

The key turned in the barred door behind her. Eleanore counted to a hundred in her head, and let the men who'd dragged her here get out of hearing range. Then she let out a scream of frustration, and started beating the metaphorical crap out of her pillow. After around fifteen minutes of this she was feeling somewhat more in control of herself. Enough that she could resist the urge to punch a wall, at least. Punching walls hurt. She'd found that out a lot when she was younger, until the fact had been pounded in enough to stick.

Slumping down on the floor, she sat panting and let the tears take her. It was all part of the catharsis. She had to vent the negative emotions and feelings before they could condense within her and lead her to do things she didn't want to do. And if it looked like she'd have a breakdown, well, all the better for her.

Once she was feeling calmer, she dried her eyes and took a deep and barely-shuddery-at-all breath.

As the eldest daughter of two famous Heroes with more than a little experience of her own, Eleanore took in the cell with practiced eyes. A window wide enough for her to fit her shoulders through with metal bars which were barely embedded in the crumbling mortar. The wall the bed was up against had manacle bolts in which could be easily used to collapse the structure. The gate was one of the old-style hinged ones which, if she strained, she could probably lift off the frame and get through. The lock was fragile and could probably be broken with a good kick. The jailer had hung the keys on the wall opposite the door, and if she reached through, she could reach them.

Oh, and to round things off, there was a wand under her pillow, with an anonymous note attached. It said "You have friends. Use this well."

Eleanore sighed. Honestly, Françoise Athénaïs was far less clever than the egotistical witch thought she was. Carefully, she threw the wand out of the window, reached into her undergarments and withdrew two of her three reserve wands and tossed them out the window too. The third reserve wand was a design she'd copied from her mother. She wouldn't dispose of that, but since it wasn't assembled she couldn't be caught with it. They'd no doubt search her at some point, and if she had a wand on her they'd use that to justify anything they'd do to her.

What did they think she was, stupid? What kind of idiot put someone in a cell this easy to escape from unless they wanted them to escape. Françoise Athénaïs was compensating for something by being this blatant. If she was male, Eleanore would have thrown plenty of implications of masculine deficiencies at her, but alas, she wasn't. And making fun of someone for their lack of bust was hard when you had quite conspicuously failed to inherit the de la Vallière tendency for buxomness yourself.

Such a shame for her dear old 'friend' that there were so many other things she could make fun of her for.

Despite all that, she desperately longed to be free. She was scared. You would have to be a fool to not be scared when you were in a situation like this. Françoise Athénaïs would rig the court. But if she had anything which would give her a certain prosecution, she would have simply had Eleanore arrested according to standard procedure.

Her most certain means of getting Eleanore to incriminate herself would be to make it easy for her to flee and have her killed when she escaped. Or failing that, use her escape as self-incrimination. And either way, she'd then move against her family. Cattleya couldn't inherit b-because… and Louise was missing and hadn't been much of a viable heir anyway, so if they could dispose of her, the primary line of the de la Vallière family would be barren. Her cousins were… de la Vallières of the old school. She loathed them.

So much as it disgusted her, Eleanore knew she was safest for now by staying right where she was. Even if her blood was boiling, telling her that she needed to find a way to silently murder Françoise Athénaïs without being seen to leave the cell. She had to stay calm. Serene. Under control.

Sitting down on the bed, Eleanore crossed her legs and began to practice the meditation she'd learned from a quite interesting wandering orange-robed monk from the Mystic East. She'd learned a few other things from him. Like some things about their decadent culture and how monks there – utterly disgracefully and yet intriguingly – weren't expected to be chaste. Also, how to punch a man in the chest in just a way to make sure his solar plexus shattered and punctured both lungs so he drowned on his own blood.

And, well. If anyone broke into her quarters to try to plant evidence, they'd find a horrible array of particularly spiteful traps. She was rather fond of some of them, especially the inventively lethal one in the bedpost that activated if the floor panels were disabled. Intricate mechanisms were something she'd always been good at. Probably a part of her de la Vallière heritage.



…​



Hood up, white cat on her shoulder, Louise de la Vallière stepped out of the kitchen entrance of the university and strode past the carts and out onto the narrow streets of Amstreldamme. And that was pretty much precisely followed with the voices in her head chiming to life from her gauntlet.

Louise winced, and pressed her hand to her ear.

"Where have you been? Why weren't you talking? Or listening?" Henrietta exploded.

"She's alive?" an attractively demonic male voice boomed in the background.

"Yes!" Henrietta shouted back. "Louise Françoise!" she snapped. "What on the Lord's earth did you think you were playing at?"

"I'm sorry," Louise apologised, swapping Pallas away from trying to bat at her hood. "I was running for my life! Didn't have breath to spare! And also hiding!"

"I was so worried!"

"So was I!" Louise coughed, and ducked behind a wall. She was drawing attention. "I mean, I'm sorry you were worried, but I was terrified. I wasn't thinking properly. I'm sorry."

Henrietta let out a slow sigh. "Don't you ever dare do that again! I mean that! Princess' orders! Never ever ever ever sneak off like that!"

Louise felt that at this point she should probably be technically pointing out that Princess Henrietta de Tristain was her captive and thus her authority to issue such commands was abrogated. What she actually said, however, was "Um."

"Was she in the university?" Gnarl's wizened voice said. "There's ancient magic in that place. Especially with her incomplete tower heart, it'll be hard to hear from her when she's in that place. Your wickedness, it is bad to hear from you again. I wasn't looking forwards to having to find a new overlady on short notice. But I'm sure I'd have managed."

Ah. It was good to hear from Gnarl again. In the Evil sense of the word. "Gnarl," Louise said, circling the building. "I have confirmed a fragment is present in the university. I felt it."

"Well, that is diabolical," Gnarl said happily. "Dire work, your darkness."

"Now," Louise commanded, "put Cattleya on."

"Hi! Louise! It's so good to hear that you're not dead! Or undead! Or trapped! We were so worried, and Jessica was so on fire which is even worse!"

"I'm sorry for worrying you," Louise said. "Now-"

"Are you sorry for Jessica being on fire?" Cattleya asked.

"Yes, that too," Louise said brusquely. "Listen. Catt."

"Mraa?" asked Pallas.

"… not you, cat. Cattleya. The Madame de Montespan has arrested Eleanore and most of her allies at the university. The entire city is under martial law. I've managed to escape them for now, but getting out of here is not going to be easy. In the worst case, I'll stay on the run until nightfall until you can show up."

"Oh sugar," Cattleya swore. "That flipping mother-sucking witch."

"Steady now," Louise said, paling slightly at the language Cattleya was using. While she was very angry about the Madame de Montespan herself, she wasn't a homicidal vampire. "Breathe deeply, Catt. We're going to stop her, do you understand?" She could almost hear her sister's nod. "Now. Is there anyone in Amstreldamme who might be sympathetic to our cause, or who's an ally? Jessica? Do you have any… uh, family members who you don't hate too much who live here?"

"She has run off and is… um, currently breaking things," Henrietta said. Louise could almost hear the wince.

Louise groaned, and ducked into a filthy stinking alleyway. "Drat. Well…"

"I can think of someone," Cattleya said. "I know her from my cult. But… uh, you might not like it."

"Why, Catt?" Louise asked warily. "Remember the trouble I'm in. I'm a bit desperate here."

"Well… uh, Magdalene is… well, she's a bit mean."

"A bit mean?"

"A bit mean. A large bit mean."

"Tell me it simply, Catt," Louise said. "How many centi-Eleanores is she?"

Cattleya sucked in a breath. "Maaaaaaybe… uh, seventy. Seventy to eighty. Well, seventy-five-ish."

"Seventy five?" Louise echoed faintly. "But most people don't ever get above twenty! Do you mean she's really three-quarters as mean as Eleanore?"

"I know! She's very mean! And hurtfully sarcastic, which is… gosh, at least thirty points of that rating."

Louise shook her head warily. "Are you sure you can't think of anyone better?" she asked hopefully.

"Louise, I'm a shut-in who barely got to leave the house," Cattleya told her. "You should be lucky I know one person there from my cult."

Slumping her shoulders, the vile overlady of darkness sighed. "Fine," she said. "It's a close thing, but it's… it's probably better."

"I'm sorry for not being more helpful," Cattleya said. "You just need to hold on until nightfall and I'll be here in a snap! But… um, Jessica hasn't adjusted the fit of my sunproof suit yet so… um, it doesn't fit over my chest and… um, hips. Um. Sorry?"

Louise ground her teeth at the reminder that her sister was a member of the undiet.

"Wait. Can we just go back a little? Centi-Eleanores? You use one hundredths of your elder sister for measuring how mean someone is?" Henrietta asked, fascinated. "That's… a thing you both do?"

Louise frowned. "She's my eldest sister," she said, in a tone of voice which was very carefully trying not to imply that the heir to the throne was an idiot. "Of course I measure 'mean' in terms of her. And I can't measure using just Eleanores. It's too big for a useful measurement. We'd be measuring most people using values from 0.01 to 0.1 Eleanores. The centi-Eleanore is easier."

"It's her fault I'm a blood-drinking undead monstrosity who hungers for the vital essence of the living, a creature of the night whose foul hungers drive her on in an endless mockery of life," Cattleya added. "The curse lingers within me, driving me onwards to-"

"Catt, you're fasting until I get back home alive and in one piece," Louise snapped. "I don't care if you're getting hungry and that you just helped me! You need to lose weight!"

"Aww."

"Now. Give me directions to wherever this Magdalene woman lives."



…​
 
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Part 9-2
"Too long! Too long have we tolerated the depredations of wickedneſs! Too long have we let any two-lira wicked-doer invade our world from the vile Abyſs of blaſphemies and malevolence. My children, I tell you this muſt change! We muſt exterminate the wicked – not one by one, but all at once on a ſcale not appreciated before! Cleanſe your ſouls and be ready, my faithful, for we muſt be ready for ſyſtematic ſlaughter of a ſort which ſhall never be ſeen again! Ready for the day of reckoning – and Good, not Evil ſhall win! Not a damned ſoul ſhall be left alive in the Abyſs when it is cleanſed, and thuſly Good will triumph!"

Pope Benevolence III, 'A Manifeſto for the Neceſſary and Syſtematic Deſtruction of all Evil Forever No Matter the Coſt'



…​



The townhouse was a looming structure of smoke-dirtied grey granite on the corner where two streets met. It was not officially a gothic edifice because Halkeginia had not undergone an architectural movement which paralleled the Gothic, but nevertheless, it was totally a cursed and shadowed gothic edifice.

Louise swallowed. She'd seen considerably more evil structures in her time – and technically lived in one – but it left her with a feeling which was more than just foreboding. Fiveboding, perhaps. Maybe even more.

"Mrraaa," said Pallas, shifting around on her shoulder.

"I'm not sure if that's meant to be encouraging or an instruction for me to run far, far away," Louise told the cat as she edged closer, taking smaller steps than she really wanted to admit.

"Mrr."

When the cord by the door was pulled, a deep, sonorous bell tolled out. The noise disrupted the ravens nesting in the trees, and they took flight with a raucous cawing.

"Are you sure that's the right address?" Louise whispered into her gauntlet.

"Yes," Cattleya said firmly. "This is the residence of Lady Magdalene van Delft. She runs the cult. Well, she doesn't run it because it worships Femin-Anark and thus it's disestablishmentarian and non-hierarchical in its gynosyndicalism, but she's the one who shouts at people and organises the meetings. So she's like the leader, but not, but is really."

Louise blinked. "What does that mean?" she asked, before suspicion compelled her to add, "and since when have you known words that long?"

"I know! I learned all sorts of thing at the cult!" Cattleya said happily, somehow failing to hear the first question.

Any further explanations were interrupted as with a rusty squeaking and a long, drawn-out groan, the door creaked open. A gust of cool air hit Louise in the faint, accompanied with a faint scent of lavender, lilies and amaranth.

"Excuse me?" asked the butler. "And who might you be?"

Frowning, Louise took in the plump and quite rounded man. He looked to be in his forties, his head was very shiny, and… uh, he seemed rather out of place in this macabre spectacle. Behind him, she could just about see a maid in a sensible brown outfit dusting. "I'm an acquaintance of a friend of the lady's," she said. "I was in the neighbourhood, and Lady Carmine asked me to pass along her best wishes. My name is…" Louise's mind blanked. Oh flip. She wasn't good with making up names. "Lady Ubermadchen von Daark," she said.

One of the butler's eyebrows raised. "You speak Tristainian very well, my lady," he said. "I can't hear a trace of your accent."

"Oh, I was educated in Tristain," she said hastily. "It was in preparation for an expected marriage, but that was called off after my would-be-husband… uh, fell in battle." She paused. "It was most tragic," she added. "And I'm not part of the main von Daark family line. A mere cadet branch, I'm afraid."

"Ah, that would explain it," the butler said, stepping back. "I was somewhat confused, because my second cousin never mentioned a daughter."

"I beg your pardon."

"Oh, I have family in eastern Germania, serving the ancient and brave von Daarks, glorious and heroic defenders against the barbarians of the East," the butler said. "I will see if the lady is available, and in the meantime would you care for some fruit juice or wine, milady?"

Louise forced herself to smile, suppressing the panic which had filled her. "Fruit juice would be lovely," she said. "It is nice to be a guest in a household which pays attention in such a matter. It is a trifle warm outside." Though it was not warm in here – a strange chill lingered in the air.

"It's very kind of you to say so, milady," the butler said.

Waiting in the cool, Louise found herself unable to relax fully. Her thoughts were still running over what had happened today, again and again. She couldn't supress the thought that perhaps the butler had seen through her paper thin false name – or even now was checking the genealogies to see if the name she claimed for herself truly existed. And what was happening? Was that witch dragging Eleanore off to the execution block even now?

The sound of advancing footsteps roused her from her contemplating, as the same maid in the brown dress entered, a glass of orange juice on a tray. She passed it to Louise and curtseyed, and then paused as she misunderstood Louise's apprehension.

"Please don't judge us poorly for the state of this place," the mousy maid said quietly. "The master acquired this place by marriage, and I am afraid it was rather neglected beforehand. We've been trying our very best to make it more comfortable, but… well, there is a history of misery and wickedness in this house."

Louise very nearly raised an eyebrow at that. Did the girl not realise she was talking to a figure wearing a sinister black robe who refused to lower their hood? Was her disguise really so effective that no one seemed to assume there was anything unusual about someone who was wearing a metal glove on her left hand? Did the Gauntlet have some sort of effect that turned everyone around her into idiots? Hmm. That last one would certainly account for quite a lot of minionly behaviour if it were true. Maybe they'd been around it so long it had just sort of sunk in and kept them that way.

Her question was implicitly answered when the lady of the house made her appearance. Lady Magdalene van Delft was statuesque, full-figured and as pale as death. The 'are you sure she's not a blood-drinking queen of the night because she really reminds me of Cattleya' theme was continued with her blood red lips, long straight black hair which reached the small of her back, deep violet eyes and her lilac-trimmed black gown. Louise wasn't entirely sure, but she had an uncanny feeling that the room had got colder when she walked in.

Clearly the maid's sense of the natural had been permanently warped by exposure to the lady. Louise sighed internally. She'd have more people taking her seriously if she looked like that. She wasn't jealous! Not at all! But the lady did manage to pull off a classic Tristainian beauty very well and… and… and at least Louise would find it easier for armour to fit and… and her back didn't hurt! So unfair and mean and…

Lady Magdalene coughed.

The overlady elevated her eyes, blushing.

"Lady von Daark," the older woman said. "So nice to finally meet you! I have heard many tales of you from Carmine!"

"I just hope they're good," Louise said, almost without thinking. "Carmine can be… a trifle empty-headed."

Magdalene smiled in a way which was slightly cold and imperious and notably didn't show her teeth at all. "Well, yes. She is Carmine," she said. "Nice girl, but I'm not sure she's all there in the head."

At this point Louise was split. On one hand, no one got to insult Cattleya like that, apart from Eleanore and that was not so much 'got to' as 'was so incredibly mean you couldn't stop her'. On the other hand, she couldn't deny it was grounded in reality. More grounded in reality than Cattleya, anyway, who tended to have her head in the clouds. "She's always been like that, I'm afraid," she said.

"Ha! No doubt!" Magdalene looked the cloaked figure up and down. "I think we should retire to my reading room. It is rather more comfortable and no doubt if you know Carmine you would be interested in seeing my collection. Claudine, that will be all. Return to your duties."

The doe-eyed maid leaned in. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer me to wait on you?" she asked, her tone somewhat insubordinate.

"No, I believe that will be quite fine. Return to the dusting," the lady ordered. "Come on, Ubermadchen. This way."

She led Louise through dusty corridors lined with faded paintings which rather resembled the kind of paintings that one found in the de la Vallière household. By contrast, her reading room seemed to have all the attention lavished on it that much of the rest of the house lacked. All the wallspace and every surface was covered in books. Well-cushioned seats the colour of wine were scattered throughout the floorspace which was not covered in books. Louise, as something of a bibliophile, felt like she'd stepped into a small heaven. Lady Magdalene waved her wand and lit the magelights, and then carefully closed the door behind her. A great black cat – no domestic tabby, but one of the great predators of Ind – slunk around the furniture, to rub against her legs as she cleared books off one of the seats and offered the chair to Louise.

"We can talk here with a degree of openness," Magdalene said, her voice chilly. "This study is cork-lined. I don't know which ancestor decided to do it and for what purposes, but it is quite a blessing. Now, 'Ubermadchen', what on earth are you doing here? And incidentally, that was exceptionally stupid of you. Really? 'Ubermadchen'?"

"It is a Germanian first name," Louise said a trifle chilly as she took the offered seat. She already knew it was stupid. She didn't need anyone else to point it out.

"True, but only within very… certain kinds of family. The kind of family who in Tristain would be calling their daughters things like 'Agonista' and 'Tormenta'. And the von Daarks are far too heroic for that kind of thing." She shook her head, and settled herself down, her familiar resting its head on her lap. "Incredibly stupid! I can't believe I'm being stupid enough to even let you in the house! After promising to myself I wouldn't let myself be dragged into another political fiasco!"

Nodding stiffly, Louise considered what to say. "This is a great favour you are doing for me, and I will remember it," she said, as Pallas slipped off her shoulder. The little white cat leapt down and found a cushion where she immediately went to sleep.

"On your honour as an overlady?" Magdalene asked sardonically. "Speaking of which, I rather thought you would be…" her gaze swept Louise up and... well, it was more like down and further down, really. "… taller."

"Yes, actually," Louise retorted, gritting her teeth and ignoring the barb about her height. She sighed. She wanted to take off the hood, but she couldn't do that. It would entail revealing her identity and that was unacceptable. "Can we at least be pleasant to each other first?" she said, looking around. "I must say, I like your library."

"Oh?" Madgalene sat back, stroking her familiar's head. "I must say that surprises me. For all the claptrap I said out there, I must say that Carmine is quite unbookish and her taste is atrocious."

Again, Louise winced. "That is… not untrue," she said diplomatically. "Her taste is quite low-brow at times." She half-turned and looked at the nearest book. It was one she recognised. "Oh. 'Instructions on the Correct Behaviour For A Goodly Wife, With Manifold Examples Of How Sin Might Be Averted'," she said.

"You've read it?"

Louise scowled. She had. Her parents had bought it for her for her sixteenth birthday. "It was dreadful pulp that should be burned," she said darkly.

Lady Magdalene's face widened into a delighted smile. "I know! I really don't understand why on earth anyone praised it! My husband bought it for me – and I must say that no doubt made his skin crawl from touching a book!"

"I don't see why you even have it in here," Louise said, shaking her head. "It wasn't the worst book I've ever read, but it had to be in the bottom ten."

"If you must know the truth, it's that the leather binding makes it a comfortable armrest," the other woman said.

Louise raised her eyebrows. "Goodness," she said. "A productive use for it. I would never have thought such a thing to be possible."

Lady Magdalene laughed and Louise's heart leapt. Perhaps she had a chance.



…​



"And stay out, you ragamuffin! Street rats like you aren't welcome in here!"

The kitchen doors opened, and a foul-smelling diminutive form dressed in an assortment of stolen clothes was thrown out.

"Oi!" it shouted back.

"I'm telling you! See you lurking around here again, and I'll give you a proper kicking, I will!"

Cursing, swearing, and gesturing with a long-bladed dagger in the direction of the man, the totally-a-child-and-not-a-minion in disguise ran off.

Sitting on the rooftops above, Igni sadly shook his head. That human child was utterly terrible at breaking into the kitchens and looting food. Chewing loudly on the leg of ham he'd stolen and charred into minionish edibility, Igni considered his current situation. He was alone. He had lost the overlady. If he returned to the tower without her, he'd probably be horribly tortured to death. Repeatedly. She wasn't dead, because the familiar runes on his hand were still there. So his next step was obviously to find the overlady to avoid his fate vis a vis being horribly repeatedly tortured to death for losing her.

He sighed. He really wished Maxy or Maggat were here. They were cunninger than him. Without the overlady here to tell him what to do, he would have to – dramatic pause – try to work out what she'd want him to do and then do it.

Igni sighed to himself. Clearly a sign he'd been hanging around with Maxy for some long. He had picked up some of the curse of melon drama.

Pulling himself to his feet, he began to nimbly scramble up the rough stone wall. He wasn't as good as climbing as a green, but all minions were incredibly strong for their size and had a powerful grip. Old stone like this wasn't too hard to climb, and he was following his nose for Evil. Overlords usually liked you looking for Evil. You'd either find shinies for them to loot, or find rivals for them to kill. And then loot.

"Oh, no, of course I won't try to escape, my dear madame de Marzipan," he heard a voice full of latent Evil, casual cruelty and malice say. Which was to say, a voice which sounded very much like the overlady. It was probably the oversister. Not the vampy oversister, who was back in the tower, but the other oversister.

"Montespan," the horrible Hero who looked so much like the overlady said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"De Montespan. Not de Marzipan."

"Excuse me? Have you ever considered clearing your ears out? That's what I said, Françoise Athénaïs. De Montespan. Now, I would no more consider escaping than you would consider – oh, say, committing treason."

… minionkind needed a name for the other oversister. It was so confusing that the overlady had two oversisters. Igni scaled the wall until he could perch on the overhang above the barred window.

"Your vile insinuations will have no effect here," the heinous Hero said softly. "There is no one here to hear your lying words."

Igni considered whether he should point out that he was, in fact, just outside. He decided against it. He wasn't quite as stupid as Fettid. Usually. At least fifty percent of the time.

"My goodness, I'm not insinuating anything," the oversister said, in that same smirking tone that the overlady used when she was anticipating tormenting things, or had just kicked the jester in the face. "If I was insinuating things, I'd make reference to certain documents which have come into my possession stored in my quarters which entail certain… illicit involvements of yours. If you know what I mean."

"I'm not going to fall for that," retorted the Hero. Igni was bored of thinking of her that way and was running out of words beginning with H- to alliterate, so he decided to call her Marzipan instead in his head. Igni liked marzipan, especially minionish marzipan which used bitter almonds and was lethal to most other creatures. "Quite enough brave guardsmen have already been lost attempting to penetrate your private quarters."

"Uh uh uh. It is illegal under university law to search the rooms of someone with tenure without a warrant gained from a properly assembled university court, under clauses CCC.1(3), CCCI.3(12), CCCI.3(13)…"

"Be quiet."

"Actually, no, I believe that this is entirely pertinent. These authorities are under the third proclamation of Amstreldamme passed indefinitely from the crown to the university authorities, and furthermore without a duly issued revocation – which must be presented to the full University Council, which I am a member of…"

"Be quiet!" Marzipan said, raising her voice for the first time and letting some emotion into her tone. "Or I will have you gagged. Which seems about the only way to make you to shut up."

"Ah, yes, gagging. I do believe that's a vital part of your research into wards, is it not?"

"I will not stand here and be insulted any longer."

"I do believe the guard has a stool. You could borrow that."

There was the sound of a person trying very hard to not dignify that with a response.

"Oh! Or you could kneel. As we both know, you're entirely used to spending time on your hands and knees. Your loudly voiced devotions to Lord and Founder are well known. 'Oh Lord!' Truly the holy ecstasy of faith has descended upon you, filling you with its essence."

Igni nodded firmly. She sounded in pain when she prayed, which was very normal for people praying in the proximity of minions.

"You are literally the worst human being ever!" Marzipan declared, storming out. Her feet disappeared down the corridor, and then reappeared. "I know you stole the Malevolene Fragment," she said in a cold, low voice. "I will find it. Such a powerful tool of Evil will not be permitted to remain in the hands of one such as you."

"What's a Malevolene Fragment?" the oversister asked innocently. Igni leaned forwards, his pointed ears perking up. That sounded interesting. And much like a tower heart fragment.

"You know what. In your corruption, you stole it from the university and have hidden it somewhere. I know it."

"And I will be more than willing to answer any such charges in the proper university court," the oversister said. "In the meantime, I believe visiting hours are over."

"… what? There are no visiting hours. And this is my jail."

"Shh! The warden gets short tempered if guests stay too long. Do you want to get me in trouble?"

Marizpan marched off again, this time for good. Igni heard the oversister lie back on her bed, humming. He saw a pigeon, and barely resisted the urge to throw a fireball at it – and only then because he'd just eaten a whole ham. Deep in thought, he contemplated what to do next.

Then he heard a high-pitched squeaking noise from within the cell. Curiosity overcoming him, he hung down and risked poking his head through the window.

The oversister was strapped to the ceiling!

Oh wait, no, he was upside down. Oh yes. She was sitting on the bed, a golden monkey with a mane and a dark face perching on her lap. Igni, remarkably knew what this was. A former overlord had had them invade the lands to the south west, across the Great Western Ocean, which was much greater and more oceanic than the Great North Sea. There had been lots of jungles, lots of lizards, and strange stepped pyramids filled with very lootable gold. That creature was a golden lion tamarin, also known as a golden marmoset. Igni remembered that because, contrary to the name, they were not made of gold. Or lions. Or marmalade.

They had been tasty, though.

"Who's a good boy?" cooed the oversister. "You are! You are! You stole her purse without her noticing when I was distracting her! Such a clever, clever little boy. Now, let's see if there's any interesting things in here?" She rummaged through the purse. "Money – ha! Hardly much use in my current situation. And oh! An amulet with a little picture of Jean-Jacques."

She pulled it out, and slipped the picture out, considering it.

"Oh dear." she said flatly. "My fingers slipped."

In fact, her fingers slipped repeatedly, and tore the picture into lots of little pieces. Then she carefully put it back in the purse.

The familiar chirruped.

"Oh, I wasn't scared she'd gag me. If I was gagged, I couldn't cast magic to escape, and she needs to do that. Meanwhile, if she's suitably annoyed by me, she'll leave me here to rot. Which means I don't get to 'enjoy' her company which – alas! – is just one of the travails of life I must face. Now, I am afraid you will need to do another thing for me. I'd give you some sunflower seeds, but I find myself a little short. Nevertheless, please take the purse back to her townhouse, and leave it in her room, somewhere she'd naturally leave it. And do try not to shed fur on it."

The monkey squeaked at her. Igni was growing increasingly sure that it was her familiar. Like how the overlady had the minions. A little monkey like that was very nearly a minion, it seemed.

"Yes, I know there's a horrible red-skinned goblin who's been listening to everything above the window," the oversister said with malicious humour. She didn't look up, but kept her hands in her lap.

"Oi!" Igni objected. "I no is a goblin! I is a minion and…"

It was at that point he realised that not only had he given himself away, but he had a wand pointed at his face.

"I knew it," the oversister said smugly, sighting down her wand. "Look at those well-defined horns, that homogenous coat colour, that deep brow ridge, and of course the distinctive odour. Clearly a minion. Now, where's your overlady, minion?"

Ah ha! An easy question. "I no know," Igni said honestly, who was still trying to work around the word 'homogenous'.

The golden marmoset chittered at him insultingly.

"Oi! Shut your face, or I is gonna give you such a beating!" Igni retorted.

The marmoset squeaked at him.

"Nuh uh! You is the stoopid one!"

"Silence, minion. And you are a servant of the Overlady of the North?" said the oversister, her pink eyes glinting like… some kind of pink gemstone which glinted like her eyes glinted. Igni wasn't sure. He didn't know much about rocks, apart from the way they tasted.

"Yes?"

The oversister stretched, pacing back and forwards in the cell like a caged tiger. Now that Igni looked closer, the wand looked like it was made from multiple screwed together bits of wood. "Well, inform your mistress – who has my sister hostage – that the house of Françoise Athénaïs is full of things which are valuable and also things which are flammable, and more a few things which are both. I would of course be loathe to pass along such information normally, but alas! With my little sister's life in danger, I must do what I can to protect her and if I must compromise my morals," her hand went to her brow, "and tell a wretched minion - who has so grotesquely threatened my sister - such things…"

"I no threaten your sister," Igni said, confused.

"Yes, you did," the oversister said firmly, one hand still to her brow. The other was of course still holding the wand pointed at his face. "That is the only reason I am telling you that there are many expensive things in her house, and it is likely very flammable. Now, go find your mistress and tell her those things! Only spare my little sister!"

The golden lion tamarin made a rude gesture at Igni. Igni could respect that, and was growing increasingly sure that the oversister had a familiar which was basically as close to a minion as you could get without it literally being a minion.

"Now, go away, or I will blow you off the wall," the oversister said coldly. "Your breed is immune to fire, but you're not immune to long falls."

Highly confused, Igni pulled himself up out of view. His brain was fairly sure that this was not how talks with prisoners were meant to go. And the oversister had used a lot of words which had been very long. And he had apparently threatened the overlady which is something he would never do, but she said he had.

Still, now he had a Clue. A Clue that there were lots of shiny and burnable things in the Marzipan de Marzipan Hero living place. The overlady would probably want to know that, yes?

… now, where was the overlady?

Igni resumed his epic quest.



…​



"So de Bosque's translation of 'Journey to the Occident'?"

"Dross! Utter dross! If it had been any more wooden, it would have floated!"

"I know!"

Louise and the lady van Delft were getting on well. In fact, Magdalene looked positively ecstatic. "Carmine mentioned you, but she didn't say you actually had good taste! It's wonderful!" Her voice dropped. "No one at the cult wants to talk about books like I do! They just want to talk about the books they liked and what were their favourite ones! And worship dark gods, which I consider to be jolly well missing the point! I chose the dark gods we'd worship with a lot of care to meet the proper standards! Not ones with squamous tentacles! And then certain people wanted to take things rather more seriously than I was willing to tolerate!"

Louise frowned. "I don't follow," she said, ignoring the talk about dark gods. Pallas had moved from her cushion onto her lab, and Louise was tickling her tummy. "But… why would you just want to talk about books you liked? Especially when there's so much more you can say about bad ones."

"Do you know… do you know, they literally stop reading a book the moment they stop enjoying it?" Magdalene said, sounding scandalised.

"Mraa," Pallas said disapprovingly, batting at Louise's fingers with her little white paws.

Shaking her head sadly, Louise sighed. "Some people just don't appreciate literature properly," she said, giving the young cat a light flick on the nose. "There's nothing quite like tearing something contemptible to shreds."

"Though at least they're reading."

"Oh, yes. People who don't read are just the worst. Absolutely, totally, utterly the worst," Louise agreed. "Well, apart from people who steal people's fiancés and people who are cheating fiancés and…" she paused. "Um. Wretched enemies of all kinds," she added hastily.

"No, no let me tell you what's worse," Lady Magdalene softly, jutting out her chin. Her long black hair fell in front of her face, and she blew it out of the way with an annoyed puff. Her black leopard padded over and rested its head on her lap, eying up Pallas as if it was considering what she would taste like. Which it probably was. "What are absolutely, positively worse are arranged marriages to people who are so ill-mannered and coarse and boorish that they consider books to be portable sources of firewood."

Louise paled. "Burning books?" she exclaimed. "You're married to someone who'd do that?"

The older woman coughed. "Of course not I love my husband my marriage is happy," she said loudly, and then winced. "Sorry, force of habit there. He's a lamentable bore and he has the servants spy on me, I'm sure of it. I don't even know how on earth he managed to graduate from his academy – he went to the Academy of the Fighting Arts…"

"Of course he did," Louise, a proud would-have-been-an-graduate-of-the-Academy-of-Magic-if-it-wasn't-for-um-stuff, said.

"… and he certainly hasn't ever been to university. And despite that, because he's one of de Montespan's toadies, he's making decisions about it! That anti-intellectual swine! He has an 'honorary degree', can you believe it?"

"That's just awful," Louise said softly. Her heart went out to her. Magdalene was some of the most intelligent company she'd had in years. Which would as a statement mean a lot more if she hadn't spent a lot of the past two years surrounded by minions and before that she'd been surrounded by teenagers. She may have been ten years older than Louise, but the two of them got on quite well. She took a breath, and rose, cradling Pallas in her arms. She was sorry to bring the 'talking about books' bit to an end, but the mention of Montespan had reminded her why she was really here. At last she'd been able to settle her nerves.

"Mrraaa!" Pallas protested, and jumped down, snuggling up in the warm seat where Louise had been sitting.

"Very well, suit yourself," Louise told the cat, and shook her head. She paced over to one of the grand bookshelves, running her hand down the lush leather spines of the books. "I fear I must speak of what brought me to your household," she began, trying to seem as formal and wise as possible.

"I fear you must, too," Magdalene said. "Can't we just talk about books some more?"

"I am afraid not," Louise said gravely. She had to sound professional and reliable and not stammer and try not to show that her stomach felt like it was filled with butterflies. "I have to say I planned none of this. It has been a pleasant surprise to meet you, but that was never part of my day. I was merely visiting the city when the Madame de Montespan went… well, as far as I can tell she went insane. She has declared martial law and arrested most of the staff of the university."

A noise not entirely unlike a boiling kettle escaped from between Lady Magdalene's lips. "That witch!" she exclaimed.

"You dislike her?" Louise asked, heart leaping with joy.

"That's one way to put it," the older woman said darkly.

Louise took a deep calming breath. This was the next step, the thing she'd got more and more certain about on the way over here. She'd probably be shouted at by Jessica for doing this, and worse, Gnarl would approve and call her a 'real go-getter advancing the ways of Evil' or something like that. But there was no other way. "There is also an artefact of great Evil in the university," she said, mentally wincing at her by-now-automatic capitalisation of the word. "I fear that the Madame de Montespan may be after it. It – and other great powerful wonders – must be removed before she can get her hands on them."

Technically she wasn't lying, Louise reassured herself. She did fear what would happen if de Montespan got her hands on the fragment of the tower heart. It wasn't a justified fear as far as she knew, but she never said it was.

"Well, I am in favour of annoying her. Oh, and probably advancing the cause of Evil," Magdalene said, her attitude clearly indicating that she considered the former to be the superior incentive.

"And you know what else she did?" Louise continued, getting more and more worked up. "She went and arrested Eleanore… Eleanore de la Vallière in the middle of a debate! Just because she was losing! That cheating little-"

"So what?" Magdalene said.

"Excuse me?"

"So what if she arrested that spiteful cow?"

Louise's heart fell. Oh. Oh yes.

The problem with persuading people to help Eleanore was that some of them had probably met her before.



…​



The atmosphere was tense in the sitting room which had become the impromptu crisis centre back in the overlady's tower. Jessica had stormed off, Gnarl had vanished somewhere, and Henrietta had returned with an armful of books she was now studying with a scowl. Only Cattleya seemed calm, and only then if you ignored the fact that her pupils were slightly smaller than they should have been and she twitched occasionally.

"Aha!" Henrietta declared, looking up from the book of genealogies she was flicking through. "I thought I remembered that! The van Delfts are a new money family who made their money on the spice trade with Ind. Very wealthy indeed! But the wife of the current head of the family isn't from their social circles. Lady Magdalene Marie Sanguine Alicia Violetta van Delft, nee le Provost."

"Ah!" Cattleya said brightly. "I… must say I don't follow."

Henrietta raised her eyebrows. "I'm surprised you don't know. Cattleya, 'le Provost' is one of the de la Vallière cadet lines."

Cattleya let out a sudden sigh of comprehension. "Of course! So that's how she can be so mean! She's kin to Eleanore! How close a relative is she?"

Henrietta traced the lines back with her finger. "Her grandfather was your great-grandfather's younger brother," she said. "So that makes her a… um." She thought. "Uh. Your third cousin, I think."

"Second cousin once removed," Cattleya corrected her.

"Are you sure?"

"I believe so!"

"Grr. Founder, I hate cousin things," Henrietta grumbled. "Which is quite a weakness as a princess, let me tell you that." Her finger tapped the page. "Except, no, because her mother is from a de la Vallière distaff line. And her grandmother was… hmm, an unacknowledged bastard of my great grandfather." She threw her hands up. "I give up!" she proclaimed. "Regardless, she's related to you. And also to me. I think when I claim the throne, I shall ban cousin marriage if it means it is easier to memorise genealogies and how everyone is related! Who's idea was this, anyway?"

"The Bloody Duke's," Cattleya said quietly, her knuckles whitening on the arms of the chair. The wood splintered under her grasp. "The Bloody Duke liked to breed the family back into itself."

"Oh!" Henrietta said, looking vaguely nauseated. "So… uh, he was one of those sorts? Did he think family… um, tasted better?"

"He did," Cattelya said. "It wasn't the only reason he did it – it wasn't even the main reason – but yes, he did." She hunched over. "I saw some of his memories when I killed him. When I sank my teeth in and drank his blood and ate his soul."

"It's a jolly good thing he's dead!" Henrietta said, false brightness in her voice. "Or re-dead or…"

"I'm glad I did," Cattleya says in the same low, flat tone. "I saw what he felt when he was feeding on me." She fell silent. "He liked the way I tasted. Liked it a lot."

"Uh…"

"But he was also disappointed. I wasn't what he was breeding for. I wasn't good enough for him. He didn't even think I was useful as breeding stock after he tasted my blood. It didn't have what he was looking for. He stared down at me when I was just ten, and decided that I wouldn't be any good for breeding from, so he might as well drain me over the course of a few nights as to make sure I turned into a fairly powerful vampire. I wasn't any use for his project, so he decided to do… to do this to me to hurt my parents. Upset them," she continued. "Maybe I'd be one of the ones who went berserk when I died and might kill one of them. He'd have found that hilarious. He was chuckling smugly to himself about that idea as he did it."

Cattelya wasn't crying. She didn't sound upset. Henrietta would really have preferred had she been upset. Then she could have offered a hug. As it was, she was rather concerned that going too close to Cattleya might result in the loss of some of her blood. And Henrietta liked her blood. She used it to keep herself alive. Speaking with her professional opinion as a water mage and a fair healer, it was rather important.

"And now my little sister is in danger and I can't go out to help her because I'm dead and if I went out in the sun like this I'd burn up even if I pigged out on blood first and… and I hate this. I've spent the past ten years trapped inside, never seeing the sun, this hunger gnawing inside me, twisting and writhing and… and I'm an immortal monster who can only really die if another vampire eats me alive and I can't do a thing."

Henrietta shuffled closer to the door.

Cattelya perked up. "But that's enough about me!" she said brightly. "Let's put our heads together and see if we can think up anything to help Louise! Oh, when she gets back I'm going to have to act like Mother and give her a jolly big scolding for going anywhere without telling us! And without wearing her armour or taking her horde of adorable little goblins with her. Although Mother probably wouldn't say that!"



…​



In the study, the great grandfather clock with a skull-shaped face ticked away the seconds.

"Well, I mean, it'd really annoy de Montespan if Eleanore escaped?" Louise tried, wheedling. There was a raven cawing loudly at the window, but she ignored it.

"That is true… but it'd really annoy me if she was free. I'm just considering things, blast it," Magdalene hissed.

"What on earth do you need to consider?"

"Who I dislike more! I went to school with both of them and the three of us used to be friends and trust me, I have plenty of reason to more than strongly dislike them!"

Oh.

Louise watched in bemusement as Magdalene strode up and down muttering to herself. She then pulled an abacus out of her pockets, and started flicking beads around. Fetching a slate from a desk overloaded with books and some chalk, she sat down and started jotting down maths. Louise was glad Igni was missing because it wasn't even the usual kind of minion-scaring maths. It was the kind of maths which uses letters in place of numbers, and thus couldn't be worked out on one's fingers and toes.

"… and if we look at dh/dt… yes, and then integrate to sum over all time…"

The overlady watched in awe. She hadn't put quite this much work into deciding how much she hated people. She tended to use a much more simple ladder ranking. If it weren't for the circumstances, she might be tempted to ask for lessons.

"Fine!" the older woman eventually concluded. "I dislike Marzipan slightly more. But only because my husband is one of her flunkies."

"Uh." The overlady looked blank. "Marzipan?"

"Françoise Athenais," Magdalene said, blushing slightly. "It was her nickname at school. She always hated it."

Louise bit her lip and made a note of that for future reference. "There is a slight chance there may be some widespread use of fire, lightning and magical pink acid," she suggested artlessly. "Accidents happen. Possibly in the vicinity of the Madame de Montespan."

"I don't know what you mean by that," Magdalene said sniffily. She paused. "Although I do believe she has those collections of paper screen walls in her townhouse which she gathered from the Mystic East," she added.

Louise locked her eyes on the books, clasping her hands together. She had to do this right. "S-so you'll help de la Vallière?" she asked as artlessly as she could manage. Which wasn't very artlessly.

Magdalene scowled and her leopard growled. "You don't understand!" she snapped, a flush coming to her pale cheeks. "I don't want to help either of them! We were all in the same year at school! I used to like both of them! We were friends!"

Oh my, thought Louise. That must have been a really tough class at the Academy for their classmates. That means there were at least two Eleanores of mean in the year between the three of them.

"And then everything changed and both of them changed and Eleanore got her damn monkey and we didn't go adventuring with Jean Jacques anymore and… I tried to make it up with Marzipan years later, but then she went and…" Magdalene bit her lip. "Why am I even telling you this?" she demanded.

"I don't know," Louise snapped back. "I didn't even ask you!"

Surprisingly, the older woman laughed. Perhaps it was something about how just how piqued Louise sounded. "Well. I'll help you with the Evil artefact at least," she said. "De la Vallière? We'll see."

The overlady sighed. "Thank you," she said, wracking her brain for cheap and easy ways to butter her up. "I'll make sure the Cabal hears of your assistance."

"The what?"



…​
 
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