DB_Explorer
Purveyor of alternate realities.
- Location
- San Diego, California
- Pronouns
- He/Him
... you never had older siblings did you?
Overlady: Attack of the Minions (Thread II)
- Thread starter EarthScorpion
- Start date
- Fantasy
... you never had older siblings did you?
deadcrystal
Slaaneshi Cultist
- Location
- The Warp
Well Catt didn't realy twig to what Louise was asking, and Louise didn't twig to what Catt's reply meant, so I guess...worth a try? I don't see Louise getting over her hang-ups without help any time soon.
I have two older sisters, although I am male. I just assumed it would be easier for Louise because they were all female and that my experience in being the only male and thus ganged up on wouldn't be applicable.
DB_Explorer
Purveyor of alternate realities.
- Location
- San Diego, California
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Nah Older siblings... or siblings in general will harass each other.
And Louise giving Eleanor, whom they use as the basis for measuring meany..ness, the mere idea that her younger sister has feelings for another girl may end in advice but it will definitely end in tears... or really Eleanor laughing as Louise turns red as a lobster and other such reactions to assorted accusations and possible innuendos.
- Pronouns
- she/her
Louise should not ask Eleanore for advice on that unless she wants to die from embarrassment. Eleanore is definitely the type to embarrass someone in front of their crush... she'd totally point and laugh at how stupid Louise is being over the whole thing.
Louise IS being stupid about the whole thing and apparently it is quite expected of her to actually get involved if that pervert from the tax carriage is any authority. With her helmet staying on of course.
Yeah, see, I'm going to ignore (and/or mock) any complaints that heaven forbid that Louise act like a teenage girl (or, indeed, a 20-30 year old woman) about strange new feelings that she doesn't really want to be feeling and which are getting in the way of her current goals in life. I am not about to derail her and her arc just because people find the idea that someone might not actually like the way they're feeling to be "stupid".
I'm not saying that she shouldn't be stupid about the whole thing, or that she should get forced into not being stupid, that would be unbelievable and I'm not a fan of stories that have no buildup to the romance. Sorry if I came off like that.
Prince Charon
Just zis guy, you know?
I kind of suspect that Eleanore is perceptive enough to figure it out on her own... and then tease her mercilessly about it.
Nobody ever said that being stupid about it wasn't perfectly in character. Doesn't stop it from being a bit stupid (albeit expected).
Aranfan
Team Plasma Grunt
How in character for a teenager.
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?"
– 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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- Location
- in the trash
What's the unit of measurement for hatred?
greensun
You shall all burn beneath my light!!!
Evidently, it's based off of the Elenoire system of measurement as well.
The standard unit is the Eleanor-Minute. An Eleanor-Minute is the amount of hatred that discussions with Eleanor provokes in an average interlocutor in a minute of conversation.
Using Eleanor-hours was considered but was discarded as being too large to be really practical for everyday use.
CV12Hornet
Riter.
- Location
- Tacoma, Washington
Well done, Earthscorpion. I actually like this Eleanor.
Actually, never mind, you never really like Eleanor. You just cackle gleefully as she points herself at a deserving target. Like Marzipan here.
Actually, never mind, you never really like Eleanor. You just cackle gleefully as she points herself at a deserving target. Like Marzipan here.
Chojomeka
Behold! QUEEN MONKE!
Well Marzipan is the only deserving target currently, the other one would be Wardes who I'm getting more than likely played around with that trio.
Great update. Liked the bonding over tearing apart bad books and the minion being better stealing urchin than an actual stealing urchin (which also shows how easy it is to mistake minions for children).
Ah, the old style "S," guaranteed to make anyone who uses it look like they have so strong a lisp, it bled into their writing.
Pretty sure it should be "show" instead of "stop."
Ah, the old style "S," guaranteed to make anyone who uses it look like they have so strong a lisp, it bled into their writing.
Pretty sure it should be "show" instead of "stop."
advanced calculus is the most accurate way to measure hatred, why am i not surprised?
- Location
- The sixth circle of Hell (second on weekends)
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Technically that's just basic calculus; a simple time integral of hatred-at-a-given-time ∫H(t)dt. Advanced calculus would be if she were using things like path integrals that take their proximity to her and modifier functions that take the various specific things they've done to piss her off along with how long the effects of such have lasted into account, and also include second-order effects like her Montespan's influence on her husband and how much of the annoyance he causes her is due to Montespan.
But all of that would have been too complicated for a quick back-of-an-envelope estimate of which one she hates more, and is better suited to a night or two at her desk quantifying exactly how much she hates them. As well as everyone else she dislikes, most especially the authors of a lot of the books she reads at the cult.
Salty
Shadow Cabal Assumptor Supreme
- Location
- Sun, Moon, Talia
- Pronouns
- I/Me
Am I the only one who wants to hear more stories of broken friendships in Amstreldamme?
It sounds like we might get some more insight into this version of Wardes too, if he was originally close to that trio whilst they were in school.
It sounds like we might get some more insight into this version of Wardes too, if he was originally close to that trio whilst they were in school.
Jonen C
F.M.D.G.
- Location
- Lincopense, Ostrogothia, Suecia
Really, all Louise needed to do would have been to remind her that helping Eleanore would give her one up over her while also sticking one at Marzipan, so in effect, her efforts would be making things worse for both of them (in a manner of speaking - Eleanore would be free, but she'd not like who she had to thank for that), as opposed to just sitting by and enjoying the situation.
Of course, delusional evil rarely thinks along those kinds of lines, to busy being knee deep in a river.
Of course, delusional evil rarely thinks along those kinds of lines, to busy being knee deep in a river.
We actually do have at least one insight into Wardes now: he's fireproof.
I mean, he didn't catch fire despite the proximity to the trio, which can't be explained by anything less than complete immunity to combustion.