Death of East: 9 Weird Tales (Short Stories Book 2) by Michael John Grist

Author:Michael John Grist [Grist, Michael John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-10-08T22:00:00+00:00

6. THE ORPHAN QUEEN

The orphan Queen slumped like a toad atop her throne, at the head of the palace's great court hall, and commanded us to build her a father.

"He must be strong," she said, her voice tart as a raspberry, "neither too short nor too stout, but full of wisdom and authority, as a father should be. He ought stand wholly apart of other men, yet speak with a voice his own, of civilized and consequential matters."

As she spoke, the dead body of her court jester Antonio twitched by her side. He was her latest toy, a corpse hung on strings like a puppet, strings that ran up to pulleys above and back down to her hand, upon which was fitted a marionette glove of the kind I once made her, in kinder days.

She moved her fingers, and the corpse of Antonio jerked at her whim. I remember a time not long past, when she had clapped while he juggled and ate fire for her amusement. Now she was the Queen, only eleven years old, and he amused her in a different way. I swallowed back my disgust, and raised my hand to speak.

"Levetti," said the Queen coldly, "have I not been clear?"

"Majesty," I began, bowing deeply, turning my mind to the matter in hand, "I have but one question. Do you seek a puppet able to locomote itself, entirely independent of support? One that will move in the absence of strings?"

The four other masters in that grand chamber turned their fearful gazes from the Queen's dead jester to me. I was the puppeteer, after all, and once the orphan Queen's favorite.

"That is correct," she replied tersely, "as any father ought."

I steeled myself. I owed the truth, at least, no matter where it landed me. "Then you ask an impossibility, for such a thing cannot be done. The enlivening spark cannot be pressed into the puppet's limbs, through any other means than the strings of the puppeteer. It is not possible for a puppet to stand alone."

The Queen regarded me sourly. The masters either side of me leaned away, as though I was already lofting up on the dead jester's strings, and they feared I would haul them with me.

"I had thought to receive better tidings from you, Levetti," the little Queen said. "Were you not amenable to my every desire a year hence? Did you not bring me every silly little toy I wished for?"

I bowed my head. "I brought toys for a child, then," I replied quietly. "Not a torturer."

"What are you muttering, Levetti?" she snapped, her nose wrinkling. "Should I have your tongue plucked that I might hear you better? I cannot abide mutterers."

I looked up to face her. "Was Antonio a mutterer also, my Queen?"

She followed my gaze to the jester on her strings, then laughed without humor. It was not a pleasant sound. She wiggled her hand, and Antonio danced accordingly.

"Yes, poor Antonio. He spoke treason behind my back, did you know? I asked but a small test of his loyalty, and he denied me.

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