Sinister
This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Latchkey Kingdom comic, which is copyrighted by Nick Daniel.
Chapter 1: Poison
Despite all its hidden treasures The Kingdom of Hilla is a rotten place to try to hide anything of value. Over the years kings, cultists, doomsday-preppers and forbidden-lovers have tried to make use of its countless dungeons, lost temples and dark caverns to hide everything from love nests to gold booty; only to never see their property again. Because eventually, when you aren't looking, a dungeon rat, a creature of the depths, or a nosy adventurer will take it all to parts unknown.
The only objects with any chance to last down underground have to be carved out of the bedrock or bolted down. All this, ironically, also make the subterranean mazes very good places to hide what you do so nobody ever finds any evidence.
In one of these subterranean mazes, not far underneath one of the town's streets, there is a war room carved from the bedrock. In the middle of this room there is a long rectangular stone table, surrounded by a dozen chairs. It is a secret rally point intended to let desperate soldiers plan a last ditch rescue of The Kingdom if it is ever invaded, or just to figure out the best escape route. Tonight this room is poorly illuminated by candle light and a burning kiln in which charcoals glow.
Only the chair at the head of the table is in use, with its occupant staring at the myriad of sharp instruments and strange objects laid on top of the table. The only other dweller of this room is walking slowly around the stone furniture, his glee is obvious as he drags his finger along the edge of the stone. There is a bounce to his hanging tongue.
Mr. Embalmer takes a deep breathe to reign in his childish glee and lifts a small tin box full of pale green mushrooms from the table. "These," he says with pride a he tilts the box's contents into a large bowl, "are æməˈnaɪtə mushrooms. Their poison is slow to manifest and their taste no different from boring regular mushrooms. They also kill slowly, with 'life' leaking out of the diner." He pauses, chewing the inside of his mouth as he ponders something before continuing. "And by 'life' I mean they cause a lethal case of the runs."
His large paws move swiftly to grab long tailor scissors and leafy stalks of a vibrant-red hue. "The dērelinquōtercera graveolens plants found in swamps are much quicker if you are in a hurry to see results. Their sap burns on contact and causes internal swelling. By clogging the throat they prevent any calls for help." Slowly Embalmer closes the scissor bales around the plants, making a show of letting the sap drip down into the bowl before he swiftly finishes cutting the plant into small chunks.
In one fluid motion he tosses the scissors aside and snatches a seemingly perfectly normal fruit from a wicker basket. "This, is just an orange." He tosses the fruit high into the air and then catches it behind his back with his other hand, presenting it again with a flourish of his wrist. "Grown in the glowing marshlands of the metal lands. The orange is contaminated by cursed ground and causes internal bleeding. The only telltale of the poison is that juice glows a pretty green in the dark." His claws effortlessly peel the fruit and drop the juicy slices into the bowl.
"And finally," his voice gets louder as he grabs the the bowl of sundry poisonous plants and a larger bowl of leafy greens, raising his elbows to his sides as he mixes it all into the larger bowl, "the lettuce. For texture and to make it more filling."
He divides the salad between two plates and then places one in front of the sitting figure. "This should hold us over until the pufferfish is done roasting. Or send us under if I got the doses wrong." He winks his large milky eye. "Bon Appétit!"
His guest raises her two hands in front of her face and claps animatedly. "Oh, Mister Embalmer, you spoil me with this rich feast!"
Embalmer's toothy smile couldn't be wider as he bows like an actor on stage. "I'll be richer when you get my bill for all this."
Princess Rosaline waves her hand dismissively. "Oh hush, gold is easy to obtain. Good poisons, now these are rarer. Why, The Witch has no variety at all in her tower! She claims that most of the potions she owns are beneficial and foster health. She just makes it impossible to foster a healthy poison tolerance."
The larger yuman closes his eyes and shakes his head. "No love for poisoncraft these days."
"But still, Miss Blackheart does a very fine job of keeping Captain Kenner distracted. But enough of what," well manicured nails point to her dinner host, "please take a seat."
Embalmer takes his own salad plate and turns to head for the other end of the table when a curt 'Ahem!' makes him stop. He turns to find Princess Rosaline staring at him with a raised eyebrow, her mood has quickly changed to disapproval. "Not at the head of the table, Mister Embalmer. I know you are bold but there is a limit. Tonight I want to discuss business, we should keep it proper. Sit here." Her finger tips sharply tap the setting immediately to her left, twice.
Equal parts chastised and confused, he does as she instructs and quickly drops into the stone chair to her left. "Right, my proper seat is... to your leeeft?" His head tilts to the side, seeking confirmation.
And just as quickly the golden haired princess is all smiles again. "Indeed! And that is a matter I wanted to discuss with you tonight." Without even having to a second look she is able to select one of the seven silver forks around her plate, the one for salad. She uses it to vaguely point at Embalmer's bloody clothes. "Embalmer, dear, have you considered your long term career as a henchman?"
Taken aback, it takes long time for the gray creature to formulate an answer. The gears inside his mind crunch at the issue for a full minute before he responds. "Nope." He follows her example and grabs some silverwear too, a steak knife, and stabs some morsels from his plate.
Rosaline nods knowingly, as if she had expected that answer. She spears her own salad much more delicately but waits until they have taken a few bites before continuing the conversation."A man of your nefarious skills and commitment to unscrupulous work shouldn't be wasted on the private sector, Embalmer. You are a prime candidate for government work".
Embalmer recoiled away as if she had just slapped him, bending away as far as the chair would let him. "No! Government work is boring busywork. Signing papers, shaking hands and ass kissing." He eyed the room's exit, preparing to bolt. "I do not want to be a-"
"MISTER EMBALMER!" Lighting quick the princess' left hand grabs his wrist and holds it to the table. Had he actually tried to pull away Embalmer would have found her grip to be very, very firm.
His great jaw snapped shut with an audible clack, his attention now returning to her "Yes, Princess?"
Rosaline's tone is mater-of-fact. "You can rest assured that I do not want you doing any signing or shaking hands. There will always be enough bureaucrats and diplomats for that. When I take the crown what I will need is somebody who can reach where I cannot directly interfere." Embalmer opens his mouth to speak, but the princess continues before he can get a word out. "I will govern fairly. I will find a good right hand man or woman," The princes waves vaguely towards the empty seat to her right, "to take care of all the legislative work and I will have a good left hand man," she squeezes his wrist again, "to end problems and seed chaos where I need it. The obligatory pruning of disloyal aristocrats, persuasively asking questions and handling the cases of my enemies mysteriously disappearing. THAT is what I believe you are uniquely qualified for."
Embalmer let out a great sigh of relief and relaxed again, hunching forward, and the princess finally let go of his wrist. "So if you want me as your left hand man, that would make me your Sinister Man? Get it, left?" Another exaggerated wink, and it took a beat for the bad pun to be understood, but soon both were raucously laughing.
With her laughter is back under control the golden girl slaps Embalmer's hand playfully. "Oh you will be great as a Sinister Man, Embalmer. I can scarcely imagine how much fun we will have; for the good of the realm of course. I really want to show you the palace's torture devices and my poisonatorium!"
"Oh, I had an aunt who let me play in hers. That does sound like loads of fun. So, where do I sign?'
"You are not qualified." Rosaline said, in a deadpan tone.
Embalmer's head tilted again, his tongue poking from the other side of his mouth. "But didn't you just..."
The golden girl pushed her nearly empty salad plate aside and crossed her fingers in front of her face, forming a small triangle. "Yes I am aware that you have all the talent, charisma, ethics and resourcefulness that the position requires, but you will also need to blend in among the aristocrats and merchants of the capital as well as you blend in with the rabble of these backwoods. The secret society handshakes, the right clothes, the right topics of small talk, all the formalities. All of that part of the subterfuge so nobody questions why I want you nearby. But don't worry, dear, I am an excellent mentor and you will be up to speed in no time. Even fine daggers require some polish." The princess paused for a moment, narrowing her eyes. "Lesson one, when hosting an event with royalty in attendance: Don't burn the fish."
The gray creature's nose flared as he noisily smelled the air, catching the smell of burnt fish. He dashed off the chair and towards the kiln to try and save what was left of the main dish. Princess Rosaline didn't move from her contemplative pose, but a smile grew on her face as she watched Embalmer move. She bit her lower lip so hard that a tiny droplet of blood ran down her chin.
End of Chapter.
Please read and review. Criticism is welcome, especially this early in the story as I try to nail the characterization.
Updates will happen as time permits and if there is interest in this story.
