A Queen Among Crows: Book One of Empire's End Read online

  I stood, straightening my dress, and made as gracious and professional an exit as I could under the circumstances. Perhaps there is something to be said for the ways Germans cook their eggs, in it does give one a socially acceptable reason to vacate a business meeting in fair haste; but still, I do not recommend it for future use in international diplomacy.

  I went to head for the hallway door, but Dame d'Aubigny- as I can only assume my would-be disposer was named- stepped past me, then turned and opened the door in a very old fashioned and gentlemanly fashion. I flipped a mental coin, and as this person would be my 'escort' for the next few days, opted for civility.

  "Ah, Dame d'Aubigny, will this hotel be far?" I asked

  "Only twenty minutes or so, I have a motor car. And please, call me Julie." She smiled, and offered me her arm, like were two beaus heading forth to explore the misty vales of romance.

  I stared at it.

  "Ah," She shrugged, and lowered her arm. "My auto mobile is parked a block down on the left." Awkwardly, we moved down the stairs, my steps heavy in my snow boots, lifting my luggage in front of me; her steps almost padding behind me, more of a shadow then a presence.

  As we reached the bakery level, I smiled up at her, before pointing at the water closet in the back of the establishment; she nodded, then leaned against the wall, with arms crossed under her masculine chest, to wait.

  I walked through the tables, drawing some strange glances for the bird on my shoulder and my obvious foreign origin, but eliciting no audible comments. Whatever the relationship, the bakery was clearly used to strange goings on upstairs. Either that or the German people were the politest people I had ever met.

  In the washroom, I latched the door before turning on the water to begin my absolutions. Lois moved my hair aside from my ear with her beak.

  "Honestly, Eryma "She whispered "If we are going to operate on the continent, don't you think you should learn more than just Spanish, Russian, French, and Cherokee?"

  "So, what did the papers say?" I muttered back.

  "Letters, reports and funds. Does the name Grand Duke Aleksandr Mikhailovich mean anything?"

  "No dearest, "I smiled "It means everything."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Murder by Murder, with Murder

  Interlude:

  It is an oft debated point in doctoral dissertations whom the first True Knight was; some argue for one of the great gladiators of the past, or perhaps a biblical figure. Others go farther back, to Gilgamesh, Endiku or some now forgotten Minoan.

  We will likely never know for certain. What we do know beyond any doubt is the name the last true Knight that will matter to history. Sergeant Timothy James Robins could outrun a horse, leap over a man's head, and wrestle a bear; None of which mattered when he was struck by artillery fire yesterday at the battle of Rock Hill.

  The age of the hero is over. We are all not but gristle for the grinder now.

  -Editorial, New Angeles Times, January 9th, 1887

  What German eggs lacked in digestibility, Prussian bathtubs more than made up for in comfort, I decided. Poking one toe above the suds, I examined it for any sign of my growing moral corruption. Yesterday I was a soldier, patriot, and alleged war hero; today, with not even the stroke of a pen, I am a traitor. There should be some sort of outer evidence, some glamour or skein or gnawing darkness to show the rot on my soul.

  My toe, was, well, toey.

  "James, are you certain the men who followed us here discussed nothing important?" Lois's mate perched to my left, on the green veined marble counter top. He was a bit larger than his lady, with feathers of a deeper shade of blue and quite a bit heftier. This often resulted in him being forced to fly everywhere himself and not be carried, which he considered discrimination of a most sexist nature. I thought it to be simply saving my back from an early collapse.

  "While I could not hear them clearly through the window'" Behind him Lois looked up from her newspaper, she was an inveterate cross word solver "I am certain from their gestures they were not discussing you. Well, not unless you have begun carrying pairs of cantaloupes in an awkward manner. Or possibly artillery shells."

  I sighed. Glancing down my length, my shoulders, arms, knees, and the odd foot part parted the waters like angular islands. Perhaps someday my linear figure would inspire fashion?

  Perhaps now I would live to see it.

  "Did you have any success with your reverie last night? " James asked.

  "No. As best as I could tell, our mysterious employers stay in rooms without windows. They must be paranoid. Perhaps I shall try again. "I closed my eyes, stretched a bit in the now chilling water. In the darkness, my vision blurred for a moment before twinning, and then splitting again and again; From Lois I could see the curling edges of her newspaper; from James a detailed view of the wall paneling; a veritable whirlwind in the outer rooms as hatchlings 16, 17, and 18 chased each other around the ceiling.

  I stopped naming them after the third nest, alright?

  Outside my view became dimmer and more scrambled the range and interference from the buildings clouding my sight. A small flight of local crows wheeled above the hotel, the ground far below spiraling in their combined visions. Individual elements struck out at me; this man pushing his way through the crowd against the flow; that brightly colored flag thrashing in the breeze; a man in grey touching his cap as a bright red auto mobile drove into the next-door parking garage oh blast.

  I blinked my eyes and thrust my body erect as fast as I could, reaching for the soap dish to steady myself, the almost boiling water steaming off me. "Stations, everyone" I called "The French chevalier from yesterday has just driven into the building."

  "I thought she wasn't due until this afternoon" Lois said.

  "She was not. This was meant to be a surprise, there for I shall be surprised. A bathrobe, I think, with my hair in a towel. Our French Chevalier is either a suffragist or a female adventurer, and I doubt the imperial court employs many of the former." I toweled myself off as is spoke, critiquing my many defects in the mirror. Crinkly unfashionable hair, more than tanned skin stretched over prominent ribs like burned sienna no there are no burns. The burns are not real.

  "Ahem, dear. The knight?"

  "Ah yes, thank you Lois. You are my angel as always. Now remember, you are all just normal birds, if a bit large, so act dumb. Plan six I think. Outriders go on my cue."

  "Does that mean we can poop on the furniture?" Child 19 chirped in.

  "No child of mine shall ever do such a thing," Lois scolded "Just act the perfect buffoons. Observe your father; he is a veritable genius at it. Downright sublime, in fact."

  On cue the veritable genius jawed his beak to an absurd angle, before climbing half into my carry luggage, appearing for all that as some bizarre animal totem rising from the cracked black leather sea. The hatchlings rushed to join him, but the eldest stopped almost mid-flight.

  "But mother!" 16 said "they might see you have been doing the crosswords!"

  "Yes, love, which is why I made certain to misspell Quaezcoutoulous. Of a certainty, I am an illiterate imbecile." Lois professed. "Twelve down, by the way, today was Viricide."

  I was saved from the ensuing familial debate by a short brisk knock at the door. If one can judge a caller by their knock, then this was most likely my French military escort. Of course, the entire thing could be coincidence and it was the hotel concierge coming to deliver me chocolates from some mysterious phantom suitor, no doubt a be masked individual with a subterranean sewage domicile and a fetish for dulcet screaming.

  "Who is it?" I called.

  "Tis I, Madame, Dame d'Aubigny"

  "Oh my, Dame, you are quite early. I am still in my bath. Can you perhaps return later?"

  "I brought chocolates."

  ".... Are you wearing a mask?"

  "Non, Madame. I could perhaps acquire one if that is your desire. Dost fair lady prefer a practical mask, something for the holidays or perhaps for a more intimate
operatic?"

  "Will it involve screaming ladies dashing about in lingerie through secret underground lairs?"

  "Now really, Madame, do you expect me to answer that question in the hallway?"

  "Well we are entertaining the hotel staff at this point." I relented and crossed to open the door, my bathing robe clutched dramatically at my neck. Dame d'Aubigny bowed, top hat in one hand, heavy copper walking stick and an off-white paper bag in the other. She was wearing a bright yellow almost canary colored neck scarf and matching handkerchief that in the electric hallway light failed to soften the military cut of her black suit or give life to her bleached skin. Her eyes today burned very bright indeed.

  "Yes, yes do come in. Do you often bring strange women chocolates in the morning?" I waved in, gesturing to the white brocade chair beside the unlit fireplace. I took the facing small red sofa chair, with my back to the retaining wall.

  "It is perhaps a more effective a means of wooing then one might suspect. That and I could not help but notice the way you stared at the pastries; as wise Plato noted, those of divine blood often have strong appetites. I must confess; while my own talents are considered of less worth than yours I have been wont to wake with unusual hungers." Dame d'Aubigny did not have a charming smile, I noted. More of a carnivorous one; not a crocodilian one, I felt. Crocodiles did not truly smile; I once had the misfortune to discover. No, this was a knowing smile; a leopard or other feral cat might smile in such a way before pouncing from the trees on some clueless banquet below.

  The inoffensive chocolates bag lay on the coffee table between us like some unexploded land mine. It would be dangerous to accept, rude to refuse; fraught with potential more than poison at this point I decided, but dangerous enough for all that. Dame d'Aubigny was after something, and not my somewhat expired virtue.

  "Perhaps," I asked "You might tell me what you want."

  "A test," She said." A test and an offer. While the Imperial court of Russia rules fully one fifth of the earth and lays claims to another, it does not rule quietly. You will need a native guide to navigate its treacherous waters lest you freeze in its cold abyss. I have lived there, and lived well, for over a century and a half. You will not find a more secure berth than I can offer."

  "How generous. What is this test, if I may ask?"

  "Every author or historian I have read claims the Queen to be the strongest piece; stronger than a knight, rook, bishop or possibly even a King, although a King may control a Queen. Queens and Kings are quite rare however, pieces of legend; I have met none, although it is said such existed in my youth. Even Great Catherine herself is only a Bishop, albeit a terrible one. Nations quake at her power."

  "I can slay ten men in battle with ease, and even I would not challenge her." She continued. "And yet the books say you should be stronger still. Your little show and dance yesterday impressed the diplomats, but I am made of sterner material. I am currently only a pace away; I can cover that distance faster than you can scream, and break your neck with one blow. Could you stop me?"

  The silence after this statement was heart rending.

  The mechanical click from behind Dame d'Aubigny even more so.

  "A pistol?" her eyebrows shot up "Your birds can wield a pistol?"

  "Of course not. The blow back would make any fire arm completely unmanageable at their size." I kept myself very still. Death, it seemed, liked top hats these days.

  "Ah yes, of course." Dame Julie leaned closer, ready on her toes.

  "It was the safety pin on the gas bomb. I shall wake sometime later with a terrible headache and some nausea. You will wake minus your eyes, tongue, and any other soft parts my dears might find appetizing. The gas works mostly on mammals, you see." Shadows flickered across the room as birds started flying past the window.

  Dame d'Aubigny paused for a moment, weighing her chances. I attempted to maintain my inscrutability. She could surely kill me, yes, but could she then make it to the window and safety before my murder. murdered? Was it worth the chance?

  She stared into my eyes. Such a long look shows either desire or death, which was it?

  She laughed. It sounded like Chrystal flutes chiming.

  Death I decided, but not death today. No, when she attacked, there would be no warning, no test; she would come like a tide of shadow, a fatal whisper to carry me and mine away. It was a mistake, to show her what I could do so early in our pageant, but not such a mistake as she must think; she does not yet know all I can do.

  "So then," my leopardess purred "You will do, indeed. We have some time until our later appointment; what shall we do?"

  "What I shall do is get dressed. What you shall do is go downstairs and call us a cab."

  "A cab? Why would I want a cab when I own a most excellent motor car?" Dame Julie waved her hand at the street below.

  "Because someone other than me was expecting you, and I don't have time to check over your most excellent racing car for explosives; by all accounts Grand Duke Mikhailovich has ever been impatient and will no doubt wish to open his new toy early."

  "As you command, Ma Chere Reine." Dame Julie half bowed to me from her seat.

  "Ma Chere Reine?" I aimed an eyebrow at her. What was good for the goose, indeed.

  "Would you prefer Ma Chatte? Ma Cherrie? Ma Sardine? Or...." Dame Julie smiled "Ma Car Beau?"

  "I am neither a handsome horn or a pun, Dame." My eyebrow was having little effect, it seemed. I must re arm them with a higher caliber of lashes, perhaps.

  "At least try to make the innuendo challenging, Ma Crevette."

  "Fine." I grimaced "If I must be something, I shall be the colonial Ma Reine. At least I own the correct boots."

  She laughed again, sharp notes falling like lost leaves. She swept from her chair, her stick striking her top hat in such a way it pirouetted through the air to land on her bowing head. Whistling with cocky confidence, she left my rooms, and they seemed the emptier for it.

  I hurried to get dressed. What does one wear to see a terrible new weapon of war, I wondered?

  And I ate the chocolates.

  After having James scent them for poison, of course.

  Cherry champagne. Oh my.

  CHAPTER THREE

  What goes up

  Interlude:

  The individuals granted gifts greater than those of other men were often considered to be the children or grandchildren of gods; the fact that these gifts are in some ways inherited was simply believed to be more evidence of this, and therefor in the existence of those gods to begin with. For much of prehistory then, these 'divinely born', for purposes of study, to now be referred to as 'Homo Sapiens Mega ', or simply Mega for short, were simply known by the names of the gods they claimed to be the children of. Someone with far more than ordinary human strength, for example, might claim to be a child of Heracles, Gilgamesh, or any other number of such Gods.

  It was only with the rise of the Hellenic Empire and the ensuing rise of the ideas of natural philosophy, mathematics, and science, did the questions of what these people actually are, how they were born with their strange abilities, and how best to qualify them did other ideas of what to call them arise. Was being able to lift vast stones a greater gift than being able to outrun the fastest cheetah? What of those rarer gifts, such as being able to move metals with one’s mind, or create diseases and poisons from their own breath?

  It was in the 14th century that Arabic polymath Ibn AL Haytham attempted to consolidate what by then had become a dozen different systems into a coherent whole, and suggested what would become the modern system, largely based on the potential uses for each 'class' of Mega on the battlefield, noted here in order of occurrence, from most common to least:

  The Horse (modern version, Knight): great speed, can move rapidly around the battlefield. Specific individual sub groups include the archer, the sword, and the dancer.

  The Chariot (modern version, Rook): Great strength or toughness, used to assault a defensive position. Sub groups incl
ude the juggernaut, battering ram, and cannon ball.

  The Elephant (modern version, Bishop): the ability to strike at range, or in ways the enemy will not understand, or create fear among the enemy. Generally considered those who have mental powers over natural forces, such as the thunderstorm, plague bringer, prophet and necromancer.

  The Counselor (modern version, Queen): the ability to summon and control beasts. These are so rare that there are no sub classes, rather instead are simply noted by the beast they can control; Boadicea, for example, would be called the 'queen of horses'.

  The Lord (modern version, King): The ability to control people. By far the most feared gift, since Napoleon, there have been no Kings recorded, quite plausibly because they are not allowed to live to adulthood.

  It has been suggested that queen and king are in some way the same thing, as their abilities work in the same fashion, and there seems to be some gender difference between the two, as in modern times, no male queen has ever been proven to exist. The theory is, it is the same gift, just channeled slightly, by the biology of male and female forms.

  "On the nature of the divines" By Professor John Bartlet, University of London, reprinted with permission, Reference for students of Modern Events, St. Anglos Press, 1831

  Scenic mountain pass drives are supposed to be romantic. Or exhilarating. Or at least intoxicating in their danger. This one – in a careening motor car driven way too fast by a knight far too confident in her ability for the conditions of the roads to qualify- I found simply vertigo causing. Closing my eyes did little good, the world still spun around my stomach like some drunken spindle and if I kept them closed too long, I began to see the action through the eyes of my birds twisting above and behind us, which was even worse.

  "Now is this not better than a taxi cab, Ma Reine?" The grinning ghost chauffeuring me to my vehicular demise yelled above the engine noise.