The Pretty Tea Party

Chapter One
How the children slay

The courtiers sat deathly silent at the table. Heedless, the birds sang in the trees anyway. Syrupy sunlight seeped through the leaves to tickle whiskers, ears, or the occasional button eye. Not a one would so much as twitch, though. The furniture was a mishmash of wicker and faded wood of varying finish. The cups and platers were of crude fired clay, chipped scrimshaw, or cracked chipstone. No one would argue that it was not the grandest court of the free manors. Indeed, few would dare to argue at all.

Paeia Mayven stood gazing at the assembled sundry and considered favoring them with a smile. Instead, she decided that there should be something there that should displease her. The tableware had been undisturbed since she last held court. Her household staff and retainers had likewise remained unmoved. She had already punished those who looked stupid for the crime of looking stupid. Nothing for it, then. She sighed, smoothed her dress, and sat down in a high-backed wicker chair at the head of the table.

A pair of butterflies sat on the table, their crimson laquered wings spread slightly apart as if prepared for flight. Paeia picked them up and used them to pin back her shoulder length brown tresses. She selected an elegant cup of the finest select ivory and poured some tea from the sterling pot on the table. Her eyes closed as the copper colored brew rolled over her tongue and snaked into her belly. When she could feel it coiled there and ready to strike she finally smiled. She licked her lips immaculately of any leavings before opening her chestnut eyes.

"Begin."

They stirred and shuffled nervously. Rod'ger, her chamberlain, was the first to speak.

"My lady. The eastern front is quiet this morning although Old Scratch reports strangers under the bridge again. Miss Wuthers has had another litter. Lady Margolie is engaged at a party at her family manor and apparently neglected to invite you. Your brothers are still busy on their...project. Two emissaries and a supplicant await your pleasure."

The orb of Rod'ger's left eye rolled around in its shattered socket as he gave his report though his pink veined marble face was otherwise impassive. Paeia steepled her fingers in thought, her thumbs tickling her lip. Why wasn't I invited?

"Notify the emissaries that I will receive them momentarily. The supplicant I shall deal with last."

Rod'ger nodded and limped away with all the dignity that his red and green jester's costume afforded him. Paeia had broken his leg when he had tried to run away, once. After punishing him, she had repaired it but left the leg deliberately shortened so that he would be hobbled.

"How do you do, Miss Wuthers!"

The plump matronly bunny tittered from her place at the tea table. She brushed back her lone floppy ear that hung from beneath her blue bonet and smoothed her dress before responding, "Tis true, I'm afraid. Hatched them as the sun rose. Oh, but they are such darlings, though!"

"Indeed. I can imagine what a precious sight they must make. Pink twitching noses, bright curious eyes, their tiny paws kicking...and their cutsie little ears! I would just have to give one to each of my friends!"

"Oh, but that would be so very lovely."

"I think not, Miss Wuthers. I expect that they should be drowned by next morning."

Miss Wuthers laughed ingratiatingly. Paeia heard footsteps approaching. She did not turn her head to see who it was. She could tell easily enough what it was by the soft steps and confident swagger of their pacing. You would not strut about so easily if my mother were here.

"Oh my! A tea party! I fear I have intruded and without an invitation! A most grievous faux pas! Please, accept my humble apologies, my ...lady." The woman courtsied at the last, looking ridiculous doing so in leather breeches.

Paeia turned her head, her pale pink lips parted in a smile of toothy graciousness. She let her eyes take in the woman's features without seeming to focus on any one of them in particular. Dark hair, dusky skin. Unassuming traveling garb, small sensible carry-on, her exaggerated courtesy betrayed a muddled dales custom. Short sword at the waist, a lute slung across one shoulder, a silver pin of the harp on her lapel.

"Not at all. It has been too long since I have had guests. Are you here for the fair?"

"Oh! How could I not be?" She struck a swooning starry eyed pose, one hand at her cheek. Her eyes then widened and her fingertips flew to her full red lips as she let out a startled gasp. "Dear me! What are those delicious looking pastries!" The woman said, pointing to an empty platter on the table.

"Why, those are cinnamon dainties, fluttered with sugar sauce."

"I don't suppose...oh, but I musn't...but oh...might I try one?"

"Oh, but of course!"

"Oh, but I couldn't!"

"Oh, but you must! You are my guest!" Paiea implored for all the world as if she would simply die if the woman did not just try one.

"Well...I suppose one wouldn't hurt," The woman plucked up one of the pastries, "...mmhh...oh...ohm...mrngph...oh...magnifishent...OH!"

She devoured another dainty, then another. She began working her way around the table, sampling from all the empty plates.

"Butter crisps! And jelly cones! You must have such exquisite help!"

The menagerie of dolls and stuffies watched the feast in still silence. Paeia only smiled, inclining her head this way and that in gestures of accomodation for the woman's indulgence.

"That was delightful. I feel I must burst," the woman said, licking her fingers.

"Would you like some tea?" Paeia asked.

"Thank you but I must decline. My gluttony will be the death of me, I'm afraid. I do have business with your father that needs attending. Perhaps another time."

The woman waggled her fingers at Paeia then plucked a flower from a tree and held it to her nose as she departed with a jaunty step towards her father's manor. Paeia watched her with narrowed eyes.

Pick's whiskers tickled her cheek. "Shall I send a detail to follow her, my lady?"

"No," Paeia said, "I will not be goaded into a misstep. Let the cow play her silly game."

The imp sat at the foot of the table across from Paeia. He was about half Paeia's height, paunchy and naked with red skin. He had horns of course. He also had the requisite bat-like wings and the obligatory spear point tail. It amused Paeia that he so closely resembled the illustrations from her books of bedtime stories. He looked forlornly at the empty plates on the table. "Do you have anything more substantial to eat?" he asked.

"If you find my hospitality lacking, Seschal, then you know exactly where you can go."

"Well, on to business then. As you may know, my overseer, Mister Imbal wishes to settle his accounts before--"

"Would you like some tea?"

"Eh, thank you, no. As I was saying--"

"You must be very busy with this coming holiday of yours. You only celebrate it what...every thousand years?"

"It's not a celebration per se, we see it as a reordering which is why--"

"Oh bother, Seschal!" Paeia said laughing "We have never not been unable to disagree on anything, haven't we?"

The imps eyes darted around nervously as he quickly tried to form a response, "uh...yes...I mean no! I...I mean wait...I...eh--"

"And if we cannot agree on anything then there is no account between us, is there?"

Seschal worked his mouth and tried to find his tongue. "Eh...all else aside some agreements are implicit and unspoken. There is the matter of your brothers and their recent activities, for instance. You are not unaware of them?"

"Oh. That." Paeia said, studying her fingernails.

On a lark, her older brothers Kuris and Jeorde had ventured to dig a hole down to hell. They worked on it whenever they had nothing better to do, which was all too often. They had also rebuffed Paeia's offer to supervise the operation. "Go play with your silly dolls. This is men's work," Jeorde had said, laughing.

"They seem quite persistent," said Seschal.

"Had you any brothers?"

"I don't remember much from before the scourging of the infernum."

"Well, if you could remember then you would agree that they are a pointless bother. In any case it will be some time before they reach the first circle."

"Any hole to hell is just deep enough."

"This is my tea party and my rules. I will say what is deep enough."

"Be that as it may, there are your rules, there are our rules, and there are the rules. You are treading a fine line. If you are not careful you may find you've wandered into someone else's little game. It is not Mister Imbal's wish to antagonize you but he is very impatient to seal this deal. For someone who makes as many enemies as you do, an agreement with us would bring you a measure of security that--"

Paeia slapped her hands on the table. Her expression was frosty. "I do believe that I have had enough of Imbal's concern for my welfare. I know exactly what the wishes of your kind are and you are disingenious to pretend otherwise. You are devils, after all. Should I decide to enter a pact, it will be of a time and manner that pleases me and not otherwise. Your well-mannered facade has ceased to amuse me. Begone."

And just like that, Seschal changed. His face contorted in obscene rage. His black talons tore deep grooves in the table top.

"You little bitch-whore! Your insolence will make you ours one way or another. The legions will be lined from horizon to horizon to have at you and you'll be begging me to make it stop!"

During his tirade, Seschal had not noticed the figures who had unobtrusively closed in behind him. Paeia rang a spoon against an empty tea cup and they were upon him. The imp was pummeled and stabbed. Clearly surprised but undaunted he fought back tooth and nail. Paeia had torn the stuffing from her guards and replaced it with lead shavings. Nonetheless they were tossed around as if they were mere toys. She was unprepared to witness the pure ferocity and hideous strength of the fiend.

Seschal tore at fabric and fur with his claws and snarled and howled like the damned. Overwhelmed by sheer numbers he still refused to die. Paiea was interested to note that his blood was black and reeked abominably. The imp tried to fly away but one of his wings had been pinned to the table by a hat-pin. Finally sucumbing to his wounds, Seschal howled and dissapeared in an explosion of fire and brimstone.

Paeia's guards had suceeded to be sure but it had not been the one-sided slaughter she hoped it would be. She would need to spend valuable time rethinking her strategy. Time that could have been spent playing. The butterflies in her hair fluttered their wings in irritation.