Queen in the Mud: Book 2, Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“Oh gods,” the pudgy woman wailed, looking frightfully at me with tears in her eyes. “Oh gods, what do I do?”

“It can’t be that bad,” I said, incredulous, and even feeling a twinge of genuine irritation at how overdramatic she was being.

“Not that bad?!” The frumpy maid cried out. “I have nothing! Nothing at all that will fit your body! How can I send you to Duke Callister without a single scrap of fine clothing? It looks like you pulled that cloak off a dead man!”

I hesitated at that. I had actually taken this cloak from a corpse, after all - one of the slavers we’d killed way back during the assault on the slave caravan. I mean, I’d cleaned it a bunch of times before wearing it. It wasn’t that gross, right?

“Oh gods...” she quietly mourned.

A couple self-pitying moments passed before she seemed to rally. The frilly marshmallow of a maid wiped away her tears with a balled fist and speared a dramatic finger into my face. “Stay right there! I’m going to go get a curtain, and we’re making you a dress!”

A sudden, inexorable dread fell over me.

~~~

As I sat perched on a wooden stool, patiently allowing the maid to make a concerted effort at applying some kind of powdery makeup to my face, I considered the cruel twist of fate that must have conspired to leave me sitting here.

“Oh gods!” She sobbed in what must have been the fiftieth breakdown of the evening. The powder was a sludgy mess on her brush.

I agreed with her. If the gods were up there, they were surely cruel.

I would have much preferred torture.

~~~

I was being led down a rich hallway by the frilly maid, who was looking very much like the fox who got the hen. Her expression was perfectly professional, but the twinkling smile of pride in her eyes told of her evident satisfaction with the horrors we had both endured in preparation to meet Duke Callister.

I’d been washed, scrubbed, steamed, toweled, perfumed, pressed, pampered, dressed, blotched and slathered among other various atrocities.

Alright, maybe the short and fluffy maid wasn’t the only one being a little overdramatic.

Back on Earth, I’d never been much of a fashion and makeup kind of person. I was the girl that played too many video games and showed up to class in a band shirt and sweatpants, dark rings under my eyes from lack of sleep - again, from playing too many video games.

So while I wasn’t really all that interested in being pampered and made up, I had to admit, I did smell nice. Like a storm of wildflowers on a spring wind.

The dress was more like a robe draped over me, with a mellow red shawl over my shoulders to add a splash of color against the wavy white cloth beneath. I didn’t hate it, but I was looking forward to getting my cloak back, blood stains and all.

The whole affair had resulted in this notification being added to my status:

[Active effect added: Pretty     Classification: Basic

Description: Due to practicing good hygiene and maintaining a satisfactory personal appearance, others are inclined to view you more favorably. Merchants are inclined to give you a marginally more favorable deal during active negotiations.]

The fact that I’d never seen this effect before was probably pretty telling of my lifestyle up until this point.

Throughout this entire process, I’d been surprised to find the palace staff treating me with an exceptional level of respect and professionalism. After experiencing the overtly antagonistic noble district’s merchant quarters, I’d fully expected to be treated like garbage from the moment I stepped foot on the palace grounds. I had prepared for that, and had been pleasantly surprised.

Still, I hadn’t met the Duke himself. There was no telling how he would act, and I still didn’t know for certain what he wanted with Sib - though I did have a couple ideas.

Sib was a highly specialized professional, so it stood to reason that her skill in alchemy was what had drawn his attention. She had been selling her medicines in the Belshaad markets with varying reactions - some had thrown her out of their stores for her disquieting appearance and obvious nonhuman status and others had begged this foreign master of alchemy to take them as an apprentice.

That was how thoroughly her healing concoctions eclipsed those available on the market here. Moreover, those were the medicines that she had referred to as primitive, having made them without a lab or complex equipment. Sib was incredible, and that made it all the more important that we stay on our guard until we knew exactly what the Duke of Belshaad wanted with us.

The maid opened a door and ushered me inside with a bow of her head. It led into a huge, extravagant dining hall with a long wooden table that could probably seat thirty people. Standing at attention along the side wall, shoulder to shoulder like a firing squad, stood a row of palace staff in their sharp uniforms.

Near one end of the long table, sat Sib. She looked the same as she always did, cloak and skull.

“Why am I the only one who had to get a makeover?” I sourly said while walking towards Sib. If she thought anything of my new appearance, she didn’t make any visible indication of it.

“They were too frightened of me to try,” she signed as I took the seat next to her.

These chairs had high backs, making it remarkably difficult to get comfortable, what with my tail taking up so much space. I kept squirming, trying to find a comfortable position. Every different way I tried to maneuver my tail in this chair only resulted in me looking increasingly more ridiculous.

“You smell of flowers. Crusivan, elder pom, eiri and something I don’t recognize.”

“You’ve got a sharp sense of smell,” I observed, still wiggling uncomfortably in my chair.

“Yes,” she replied, “but only for matters of alchemy.”

A man, standing with formal rigidity in front of an ornate pair of double doors, cleared his throat politely in an attempt to gather our attention. “It is my honor to introduce his highness, Du- Oh!” The wooden door opened abruptly, bonking into the prissy man from behind. He scuttled out of the way as a huge bear of a man in royal finery pushed open the door.

“His highness, Duke Callister!” He quickly finished, then swept into a deep bow. The rest of the staff lining the dining hall mirrored his bow, and both Sib and I inclined our heads slightly from where we sat, swept up in the formality.

The Duke neither seemed to notice nor care about any of this. His eyes were downcast, staring into the floor only a foot away from him. It wasn’t shyness that seemed to be the source of this reticence, but rather a profound weariness that showed in the hollows of his eyes and the slump of his broad shoulders. He looked like he hadn’t slept in years.

In any other circumstance, this massive man would make an imposing sight, but as it was, he just looked broken.

He ghosted to the chair at the head of the table, an ornate cape of brown animal furs trailing behind him. One of the staff went to take his cape, but the Duke, either oblivious or indifferent, sank into his chair before he could. It awkwardly bunched up and over the edge of one armrest. It looked ridiculous, but Duke Callister didn’t seem to care.

One of the staff went to place a goblet and pitcher on the table in front of the Duke, but he held up a hand and shook his head, eyes still downcast. A moment passed in silence, the Duke simply staring down into the table, radiating this aura of quiet exhaustion.

Sib and I shared an uncomfortable look with each other. I considered saying something, eager for an explanation of why we were here, but the silence was infectious.

Right as I was wondering if this huge man had fallen asleep with his eyes open, Duke Callister finally looked up, setting weary eyes on the two of us. Then he spared a glance towards the palace staff standing attentively to the side. His voice sounded almost as tired as he looked. “Leave us. I will speak with my guests in private.”

The staff all bowed in unison, then departed in an orderly fashion, shutting the door behind them.

Duke Callister drew a deep breath, sat up a little straighter and addressed us. “Good evening. I’d like to dispense with the pleasantries of a formal meeting, if that is acceptable?”

“Alright,” I tentatively agreed.

He nodded. “To begin, I apologize for the haste with which I summoned you and the necessity for meeting at such a late hour.”

I folded my arms. “Well, we weren’t given much choice. Your soldiers all but arrested Sib, here.”

“Yes,” the Duke admitted, “My apologies for that as well. I am in something of a difficult situation, and time is a luxury in short supply.” He looked to Sib, eyes attentive in spite of his general fatigue. “You are the witch doctor?”

One of Sib’s eyes twitched. She signed a response to me, and I interpreted. “She says she’s a healer.”

He glanced at me in a weary assessment, then nodded once. “I see. Good. Now, as for why you are here -- There is a silent emergency unfolding behind the locked doors of my palace. I believe that you may be able to help. I’ve summoned you here in order to request your services.”

Sib and I shared another look. She seemed content to let me do the talking. “Why Sib? I’m sure you have plenty of healers and alchemists.”

“Yes, plenty. However, this is a matter that requires some… discretion. To put it plainly, I am in need of a healer who is independent from the political spheres of Belshaad - Someone without obligations to any of the major noble houses. Many of those residing within the city cannot claim to be without allegiance, as the nobility and the merchant companies of Belshaad are often one and the same.”

I tapped a claw against the wooden table contemplatively. “You need someone who knows what they’re doing and can keep their mouth shut.”

“Precisely. Should you accept, I believe you will understand why this matter is so sensitive when you meet your patient.”

That actually came as a bit of a surprise, both for Sib and myself. “Wait, the patient isn’t you?”

The Duke’s brows rose marginally in surprise. “What? No. I am in perfect health.” He looked like he might collapse from exhaustion at any moment. “As I said, time is short. I cannot and will not force you to work for me, so I will ask you again: Do you agree to lend your assistance?”

I looked to Sib for her opinion.

“This is why I study alchemy - to heal others,” she signed to me. “If I can help, I would like to.”

I had my reservations, but I’d be lying if I said my curiosity hadn’t been piqued. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to have the ruler of Belshaad owe us a favor. This was a way to earn some leverage in a place where we had none, and sure, it all seemed a little shady, but I got the impression that he genuinely needed our help.

“Alright,” I said. “We’ll do what we can.”

~~~

The Duke led us down richly decorated hallways and through the only sets of doors I’d seen since entering Belshaad. Each of them were locked, and Duke Callister had to stop and sort through a keyring to unlatch the door and let us in.

Wherever he was leading us, it required the security of multiple locked doors, almost as though we were heading into a treasury. It finally settled in that whoever we were about to meet was a very well guarded secret within these palace walls.

I’d taken the time to fill in Thaddius with my transmitter tail, telling him to stand down, that we weren’t in danger. He seemed agitated by the fact that he wasn’t here with us, but he trusted my judgement in deciding to help the Duke.

At the last door at the end of this hallway stood a man that I actually recognized. It was the mustached old soldier that had escorted us to the palace, still wearing his plate armor as he stood guard out front of the door.

“Captain Hobbes,” the Duke tiredly acknowledged.

The balding old man pressed a fist against his breastplate and bowed his head. “My lord.”

The old soldier stepped aside to allow the Duke to open the door. We followed after him into an opulent bedroom where a little boy, maybe eight or nine years old, was fast asleep under layers of blankets, pale faced and breathing feverishly. His left arm was over the covers, and I was shocked to see that his forearm transitioned into purple scales ending in sharp claws.

There was a chair set to the side of the bed. Next to it, on the floor, was a small pile of books with colorful covers, candles for nighttime reading, and a small assortment of painted toys. The Duke lowered himself into this chair and reached over to take the boy’s small, scaled hand in his own. Now I recognized why he had been so exhausted. I could easily see him sitting here, day and night by this bedside, hoping for the boy’s condition to improve.

It all clicked into place then: Why the palace staff had been so welcoming in spite of the prevailing opinion towards beastkin in Belshaad, Why there was such a need for secrecy, and why Belshaad was the first city in the northern realms to outlaw the sale of beastkin slaves. At the center of all of this, was the Duke of Belshaad.

“This,” Duke Callister spoke somberly, not looking up from the deathly ill beastkin child, “Is the first prince of Belshaad; my son, and only child.”