“The last thing I want is the Baron thinking that I cannot administer this town on my own. If I crush this rebellion myself, he has no cause to usurp my right to rule.”
Krosp nodded and to Anevka’s surprise, looked relieved. She realized that the cat, at least, must know that Agatha had no wish to encounter the Baron or his representatives.
Lars spoke up. “It’ll all boil down to partisan loyalties then. Are you sure that the townspeople and the army will rally to you instead of your brother?”
Anevka gently touched her newly re-tuned voicebox. “Oh yes. Everyone in Balan’s Gap will do what I say.”
Several minutes later, one of Lord Selnikov’s under-cooks was stumbling towards the back door of the kitchens. Before he got there, another set of blows landed on the far side, rattling the dishes.
All right! All right!” he shouted. “Keep your hair on!” Grumbling mightily, he threw the great deadbolt, and heaved on the iron-bound door. “You must be new,” he said as the door groaned open. “We don’t accept deliveries before—”
The heavy door pushed into him and he stumbled back with an oath. Furious, he grabbed a broom and turned back to find a monstrous, green face leering at him from scant centimeters away.
“Bot dis iz a very special delivery!”
A jolt of fear surged through him as a crowd of people pushed into the kitchen. One of them called out, “Hey! Dere’s food!”—And instantly, most of them fell upon the remains of last night’s banquet. The under-cook was aghast, if only because, by tradition, this was the morning staff’s breakfast that was being devoured before his eyes, and he knew who was going to get blamed for it. He raised the broom—
“Stop!” A tall girl with green hair snagged his sleeve. “I’d step back, if I were you. Those are Jägermonsters and animals eating there.” Krosp waved his paw in acknowledgement. “How smart do you think it would be to get between them and food?”
The under-cook paused, remembering the face at the door. It was said that if you interrupted a Jäger at dinner, you’d be the dessert.
He saw Lars industriously carving himself a slice of roast swan. “Hey! What about that guy?”
“He’s an actor.”
This, the under-cook knew how to deal with. “I’d better go hide the silver.”
He turned to go and found himself face-to-face with a bemused Princess Anevka, who was supervising her bearers as they gingerly edged her catafalque through the smaller doorway. In his panic, he executed a perfect curtsy. “Forgive me, your Highness!”
Genially, she waved aside his apologies. “It’s quite all right, my good fellow. It’s been awhile since I wasn’t the strangest thing in the room. Now fetch your master.”
With a quick bow, the under-cook took off like a shot.
Less than three minutes later, a very stout man clad in a lavish, ermine-trimmed dressing gown burst, huffing, into the kitchen.
He had been quite muscular once, and there was still some evidence of this under the fat that now swaddled his frame. He had a small dapper moustache that was sadly out of place on the broad, square face. His features revealed that he was obviously related to the Royal family from somewhere in the not-too-distant past. “Princess Anevka!” he gasped upon seeing her and her entourage. “It is you! Are you all right?”
The Princess shut the recipe book she’d been idly thumbing through, and tilted her head in amusement. “Quite well. Especially now that you are with me in all of your sartorial glory, Lord Selnikov.”
The older man glared at her as he straightened his outfit. “Some of us were a bit rushed this morning.”
“My apologies. But there has been a small shakeup in our plans.” She took his sleeve and headed for the door. To the others she said. “Eat up, my friends, I must bring his Lordship here up to speed.”
Lord Selnikov now saw what was depleting his larders (as the remains of the banquet had been quickly disposed of) and his protests and demands to know who and what those filthy creatures were, easily kept Anevka from having to say anything until they reached his Lordship’s private study, at which point she forcefully told him to shut up. He did.
“Last night my father found an actress with vocal harmonics identical to those we’ve been trying to duplicate.”
Selnikov sat down in surprise. His mind considered the possibilities.
“She controlled an entire theatre full of people. They responded just as though she were The Other. Once we had her, Tarvek was able to adjust my voice to match hers, perfectly.”
“Astonishing.” He thought for a moment. “And the effect upon the Lady Vrin and her people?” His Lordship may have looked like a carousing oaf, but he still had a sharp mind, when he was goaded into using it.
“Alas, my voice alone is not enough to control Vrin, and the effect on the ordinary priestesses leaves much to be desired.”
Selnikov frowned, and pulled the head off of a stuffed hawk with a “pop,” revealing the mouth of a bottle. He poured himself a large dollop of brandy. “That’s inconvenient,” he muttered before emptying half the glass with one swallow.
“Indeed, but there was no time to investigate the problem, as I barely escaped with my life.”
Selnikov started. “What?”
“The Lady Vrin has decided that this girl is, in fact, their lost Holy Child, and thus my vocal experiments were, in effect, blasphemy. She was very touchy about it.”
“What about your father? Surely he could talk—”
Anevka stared at him and then slammed her hand down upon the desk. “My father is dead! I cannot believe you are unaware of this! The town has been in mourning for hours!”
Selnikov reddened. “I was busy. Until quite late in the evening. I left orders that I was not be disturbed for any reason.” The look on his face said that he regretted that particular order now.
Anevka considered him. “That’s right, dear Lady Selnikov is in Paris, isn’t she? Well I hope you enjoyed your little dalliance, and you’re damned lucky that you weren’t required.”
Selnikov glowered, and took another drink. “Your brother?” he asked brusquely.
“My brother has denounced me to the Geisterdamen loudly and extensively. He ordered the guards to catch me, and immediately pledged fealty to this Holy Child and The Lady. He even shot at me as I was escaping.”
Selnikov stared at her. “Good Lord.”
Anevka nodded with a touch of pride. “Yes, he was very convincing. They will trust him. He will do his work, as we will do ours, and everything will work out beautifully.”
She glanced out the window, and saw that the eastern sky was beginning to glow with the pre-dawn. “But now I must insist upon a change of clothes. It simply will not do to topple the Empire in our pajamas.”
Several hours later, Prince Tarvek stumbled into the lab that now housed Moxana, as well as the deactivated Tinka. He collapsed into a chair and gazed at her in exhaustion. “Sweet lightning,” he confessed to her, “That woman is going to kill me! I’ve got to get some sleep.” He waved a hand. “She only stopped working because I refused her more stimulant. I... I’m worried it might damage her—well... that body.” He paused, and shook his head in despair. “I don’t even know if Agatha is still in there. I haven’t seen her for hours, and Lucrezia’s control of the body seems to be absolute. The machine she’s working on is almost finished.”
He scowled. “This will be trouble. The actual Lady Lucrezia is too much of a wild card. I probably should have killed her when I had the chance, but this opportunity was just too...”