Chapter 13:
Hurletta was terrified. Sitting in that darkened hut, with a dozen masked men seated around her, she was terrified. Looking to Blargetha was no help at all. Her sister's face was a mask of indifference, as if she couldn't be bothered to care about what was happening to them. They'd been swept up into the hills on a cart, blindfolded, and Hurletta's bodyguard had been nowhere in sight. Hot prickles of fear went up and down the Slime Princess's back as she considered how they could get out of here. More to the point, what was this all about? How had things gone so far off the rails?
A man strode into that space, walking with a heavy, ornately-carved staff. A glance at the grass skirt he wore told Hurletta that he was Dr. Beto. He had to be. Stepping to the front of the gathering, the witch-doctor announced, "Mocking Bird, know that you stand accused of bringing an outsider into the Grand Temple of the Sky. Know that you stand accused of fomenting conspiracy to damage the Temple. Know that you stand accused of allowing unclean hands to touch the Great Work of the Ancestors."
Hurletta's yellow eyes went wide, and she glanced to her sister, who knelt there impassively, as if she couldn't be bothered to care. Hurletta's mind went back to one of their earliest conversations here–where she'd asked about the tattoos that went up and down Blargetha's arm. It was a requirement here to be a member of the tribe and even a witch-doctor to touch the crumbly stones that had once been a rocket-base. Even though those stones were gone–obliterated by the Bandit Princess–those rules apparently still applied.
The older sister's fears ratcheted up several notches. She'd been doing her sister's leg-work, and after the attempt on Blargetha's life, Hurletta thought they could spin her presence up on the platforms and in the workshops. Unfortunately, they'd been scheming to launch the first rocket without the water-system to dampen the noise, which would surely do damage to the launch platform. How were they going to spin that?
"What excuse do you offer," demanded another witch-doctor? Staring her mentor straight in the eye, Blargetha responded, "if the powers decree that now is the time for the Temple to return, I will not countenance men who stand in the way. The Temple will be restored to its glory, if I have to ride over those who would block the road. A man put his hands to me, when I'm of Royal Blood, but I found the Great Work to be more important than my own life or even that of my flesh and blood." The plump princess rested a hand on her sister's shoulder. "I have the right to demand blood for what was done to me, but I focused my mind on finishing the Work. My sister has been my hands. If you seek to punish someone, punish me."
Those words gave the gathered shamans pause. There was still a great deal of anger and suspicion directed at Chief Red Legs, though no-one had pushed that. Work on the Temple had stalled, with structures going unfinished and fittings laying in the muck for days. Many of the shamans had been pouring over the texts, fretting over possible damage to the materials gathered for the rebuilding.
Taking a deep breath, Dr. Beto acknowledged, "you've done well, apprentice, and we acknowledge your sister's zeal in completing the Great Work. Yet, you didn't answer the second charge. Rumor says that you were planning to launch the Sky Chariot, knowing that it will shake the temple..." "And what have you all done," Blargetha growled?! "You accuse me of willful destruction, but you're doing nothing to prevent it! You've done nothing at all to get the water needed to protect the temple!"
Far from being cowed, she was pissed. Her sister had been going out at risk of her life every day to make sure that progress was being made, and these idiots were doing sweet fuck-all to help. "Well," she demanded? When nobody said a word, the plump princess got to her feet, walked forward, and told the leaders of the coven, "my sister and I are going to get on an airship and go home. We won't be coming back until the man who hired the murderer is found and punished. We won't be coming back until the water is provided. You know me, Beto. This is no threat." Turning to go, Blargetha motioned for Hurletta to get up. "The Chiefs have until this time tomorrow to make their decision," she declared, as the pair marched across the room.
As the two princesses reached the door, two men who'd been standing outside stepped into the entrance, barring their way. Without even turning to face him, Blargetha rumbled, "be careful with what you're doing, Beto. You're important here, but we're important everywhere. Remember that. Remember who's behind us."
Miles away, Melinda Griffin paced off nervous angry energy. The rocket-base project was stopped. That was key, of course. At the same time, with Gordon wanting to make use of the thing somehow, it was important that it get stopped in a condition they could use. Melinda had been applying all her considerable persuasion to accomplish that. She'd had a few false starts, of course. She'd had to take care of the previous agent in charge on the ground here. Tolliver was now swimming with the fishes in a deadly, piranha-infested river. That was done.
If that wasn't enough, she'd had to ingratiate herself with the fat slob who ran this place. Blanca hadn't the sense to get out of the rain, and she bounced between a spiteful desire to destroy the whole thing and an insipid belief that she could somehow steer this to a conclusion where she got credit for rebuilding what never should have been destroyed in the first place. It was delusion, of course, but Melinda had figured out just how to steer that delusion. Now, her fat puppet had put a monkeywrench into the works, getting her people stirred up and getting the whole thing frozen with a fully-functioning cargo rocket ready to go up to the now-complete launch-stand.
As the little wax-person was making her fifth circuit through her secret quarters, the phone rang. Immediately, she rushed to retrieve it from the makeshift charger that maintained her link to the world beyond this forgotten shithole. "Go," she growled? "Melinda," Gordon responded. "You wanted something?" "It's done," she responded. "The two slime-bitches got rounded up a couple-three hours ago." "And the rocket," Gordon demanded? "Locked in the assembly-building," Melinda confirmed. "Starchman and the others have been rounded up. Chief Red-Legs has them under guard." "Good work," Gordon responded.
Melinda frowned. Was that it? "What's going on," she asked? "We've had to amend the plan," Gordon responded. "Keep things in check in Coca Kingdom." Trying to keep her voice carefully neutral, she remarked, "I expected to be moving on to a new task..." In similarly neutral tones, Gordon reminded her, "the thing's not done, Melinda. We don't have possession of the rocket-base. That fat fuck, Blanca, and her pack of idiots have control of it. Until we have definitive possession, I need you there. She's a fuck-up. We don't have space for more mistakes."
It was pretty clear from his tone of voice that he still didn't trust her. Truth? She wouldn't have trusted her either. At the same time, she hated this place. The constant humidity made her hair frizzy, and she'd twice gotten sick from drinking the water. She wanted out of this fucking place and back in civilization. "I"m moving agents in to support you," Gordon declared. "Orzsebet's taking an interest in business there. Identify anyone from her faction. Take steps to isolate them and be prepared to eliminate them at a moment's notice." "Acknowledged," Melinda agreed.
On the far side of the ocean, a small, select gathering trooped into a hotel room across the square from the Candy Palace. Tania Stanek had been day-dreaming about having a room here. She'd been daydreaming of this hotel as much as her mother had been daydreaming of the palace in the west. Both women craved creature comforts, but though the strange candy-coated palace across the square had plenty of those, Tania was afflicted with painful jealousy towards the owners of that palace.
French Toast was kind and gracious, but it was painfully clear that Tania was beneath her, as the bitch never stopped to spend more than a few moments talking to the blonde woman as she went about her business. She was becoming another bitch that Tania hated, and the blonde wanted to see her put on a griddle and fried-up like her namesake.
"So what did they say," asked Nicia? "They claimed that Fionna's injured," Henrietta responded. "They claim that the nuclear fuel is secured." "They're covering something up," Anwen muttered. "But what," Henrietta burbled? She was still shaken by the ugly confrontation with Finn's alien daughter. "If she isn't dead, she's close to it," Tania declared. Her dad had covered up the poor health of New York's chief judge for weeks until it suited him to announce the old fool was dying. By that point, he'd had his picked successor in the public eye and given him plenty of time to lobby and campaign. By the time anyone realized that there was a vacancy, Judge Harriman already had the job.
Nicia threw a newspaper on the table before her fellows. It was the third or fourth headline proclaiming Fionna Mertens-Petrikov was dead. The number of newspapers reporting that news suggested that Tania's words were true. "I agree. She's not dead," Nicia rumbled, as she paced back and forth. "Newspapers sell their rags based on lies and half-truths meant to stir panic in the citizens and get them to buy more papers. They're incapable of honesty. At the same time I think things are a bit more serious than what Finn's people are claiming." Nodding at their pet human, the purple person rumbled, "I think she's right. They're stalling on telling the world what Fionna's true condition actually is."
"Then we press," Anwen growled. "But how," Henrietta responded. "You saw the reaction we got..." "Doesn't she have some kind of title," Tania asked? Frowning, Anwen responded, "Fionna's Princess-General of the Privy Council." Nodding, Tania remarked, "it's just like old Judge Portman. If she's got a job, she's supposed to be seen. If she's not seen, who's doing her job? Anybody?" Nodding in agreement, Nicia said, "we have a right to ask. Well done, Tania." Nodding, Anwen said, "we have to couch it in a way that they can't ignore the question." "More than that, Anwen," Henrietta retorted. "We have to set things up so that there are too many questioners to ignore." "Right," Nicia agreed. "Let's game out who we're going to get on-side for this."
The treacherous beauties sat down to scheme, laying out all the people they knew and who had access to what in the Privy Council. While there were a large number of princesses in Finn's coalition, there were a fair number of faces that he didn't control. More on point, a large number of those hostile faces came from the Bandit Lands. The Princess-General's mandate was to keep trouble in the Bandit-Lands in check–especially with the new reactor-machine installed there. There were plenty of names that could mount a challenge to the King's authority, demanding to know the whereabouts of his General.
One by one, the names got assigned to a member of the conspiracy and checked off. One by one, the quarrelsome cuties rehearsed how they would open the dialogue and what they were going to say. As the clock in the hall tolled for nine in the evening, the plan was set. Tania got up to go take the long stroll across the icy square to the castle's gates. They'd be locking the place up soon, and she wanted to see her bed. The idea of frying French-Toast and her bastards on a giant griddle and taking the weird little castle for herself was gaining more and more appeal, and she'd gleefully have tossed Fionna and her brats on the pile too.
As the sun rose on the sea, east of the Confederation the following morning, a ship loaded with humans cut through the stormy seas, headed north for Tequila Kingdom. With much of the work on the rocket-launching site finished, the men and women aboard the vessel were looking forward to returning to their families. It had been an exhilarating experience for many. They'd grown up in a space defined by walls. As much as the Ark was meant to give the inhabitants the feeling of a wide world around them, truthfully that world was just a few miles on a side. A determined person could cover the length of New York City on foot in just a few hours. Having been deposited in the lush, beautiful, and deadly jungle had been a refreshing experience. At the same time, it was also an experience that left many homesick and anxious to return to their world.
The ship was making good time, beating its way north under full sail, vaulting the swells with easy grace. This late in the season, the seas were often perilous, and the crew were no less anxious to see port again than their living cargo. Captain Clarke scanned the horizon with a practiced eye, looking for the signs of a blow coming up on them. It was important to trim sail and get the boiler lit in the engine room when a good storm was coming. That would let the ship ride out the weather with minimal damage to her sailing rig.
"Black sail, Mr. Edwards," rumbled the old mariner. The first-mate stepped forward, raising his own glasses. His face took on a frown. "Paid the tithe, skipper," he rumbled. The self-proclaimed King of Ooo had paid it for them. Their accounts were good with the Pirate Princess. There shouldn't be trouble. Shouldn't's a pretty big word, Akoni, the skipper thought. "Raise the yellow ensign," he commanded. The pale yellow flag was the sign that a vessel had paid the tithe. Woe to the mariner dumb enough to fly it if he hadn't.
Hour by hour, as the day spun out, the black sails grew closer and then closer still. At first the pirate ship's course was roughly parallel. They might have simply been going to the same destination. Akoni Clarke, though, smelled a rat. His mind began to go down some dangerous roads. Were there pirates mad enough to cross Morgana? Oh, yes. The reality was that you'd better have a lot of allies on your side to do it, which meant the prize had better be very good. You'd get no second chance. Akoni's eyes went wide, and he began to mutter curses as he realized that his ship had, inadvertently, become a prize big enough to tempt one of the Cursed Band. He had one cargo that was likely unique on all the seas just now–a shipload of humans.
On the far side of the ocean, Finn the King sat himself on the throne that he had been avoiding almost since his return from the far east. "Good afternoon, everyone," the King announced, even as he took note of the faces that were gathered before him. Much as Strudel had reported, the majority of the princesses had gone home to their kingdoms for the winter season. The only people still here were their various clingers and representatives. Betty had been militating for an end to the endless council sessions and his mother, of all people, had been urging him to do just that.
Finn and his allies had been feeling their way through this business–establishing the traditions that Finn hoped would carry the Kingdom of Ooo forward when he was gone. Minerva Mertens had a unique perspective on the matter. She'd come from a world with at least the veneer of human civilization. The Mayor and City Council held business for a set period each and every year. That period came with a distinct beginning and ceremonial opening. Then, when business was wrapped up for the year, there was a distinct ending where business was adjourned. The Mayor could call the council to order in emergencies, but Minerva couldn't remember the last time there had been an emergency either while she was alive or even after she'd become the Ark's governing intelligence.
She'd been slowly working on her son–aided and abetted by the saner heads in the family–to do just what the government of New York had done. Move past the crisis-phase of the business. Abolish the endless meetings. Force the princesses to go home to their own business instead of being in his shorts all the time. And she'd been gaining ground. Now, Finn was going to float the proposal to see the reactions of the various people still here in the Candy Capitol.
In calm, measured tones, the King of Ooo remarked, "I understand that we've all been under a lot of stress these last few years. We've had the Lich and the Dipped to contend with, and we've seen the Bandit Princess threaten the world with terror from beyond the void. After careful consideration, and in light of yesterday's... discussion, the Royal Family has decided that formal audiences will be suspended until after the New Year. I would formally like to extend the Royal Family's apologies for any... You have something to say?"
Lady Zagir rumbled, "we never received an answer." The big man's eyes narrowed, but the nasty witch held her ground. "Princess Fionna is General of the East," Zagir growled. "Her portfolio includes the Bandit Lands, where you've installed the Council's Reactor." Finn's frown deepened. It was the council's reactor now, was it? His family had negotiated for it, gotten it built and moved, and arranged a site to house it, but it was now the Privy Council's property?!
Before he could respond, another voice piped up. Anwen Mallory remarked, "it's a fair question. This government has spent a great deal of cash–monies that could have gone to support the Elbownians in their current crisis. You vetoed the idea of moving the Elbownians in favor of the folk in the bandit lands, when the Elbownians could have taken charge of the reactor-machine." In short order, the gathered councilors were bickering and shouting back and forth, while Finn desperately tried to restore order.
Not one voice seemed to be calling for the same thing. Some simply wanted to know where Fionna was. Others insisted that somebody be appointed in her place. Still others demanded that the reactor be relocated. The Elbownians offered to move down in force with their people and take charge of things–for safety, of course. And still other groups demanded to know who had assailed the nuke-fuel storage and how. One thing became clear to Finn in the chaos, as he tried to pull the meeting back on track. His mother was absolutely right. He wouldn't live to old age if he had to do this every day.
Back in the west, Captain Clarke watched as the range slowly came down. He'd been playing a bit of cat-and-mouse with their foe, testing the waters as it were. He'd change course just enough that they'd have to follow, in order to remain on their intercept course, but not enough to reveal he suspected them. He might have just been refining his course or tacking a little too early. Unfortunately, it was now clear that the pirate ship was indeed on an intercept course. As the pirate vessel closed, the skipper's eyes flicked to the gold flag, praying that they'd honor it, even though he knew they wouldn't.
The Forlorn Hope pulled in alongside, with dozens of pirates already at the rail, swords and pistols in hand, and that set the tone for the encounter. With the practiced skill of years in the maritime entrepreneurial trade, panels were dropped along the ship's sides, revealing hidden guns. Moving to the loud-hailer, Akoni Clarke identified himself and his ship, reminding the pirates of the Covenant. He'd paid his tithe. He should be free to go.
Unfortunately, his cargo was much too valuable, and he knew it. The black ship pulled alongside, and the pirates hurled grapnels, lashing the ships together. In short order, dozens of pirates were boarding, swarming through the ship to seize control of the sails and the engine room. More pirates came swarming up to the bridge, kicking down the door to get inside.
At their head came Moana the Beardless, one of the worst pirates to sail these seas. Fair of face, with long, golden hair, she cut a striking figure. She would have been a pretty piece of fluff to fill a man's dreams with her heavy endowment of titty-flesh, broad hips, and flat, washboard belly–exposed just now under a short, lacy, midriff-baring shirt. Akoni couldn't get past the shrunken heads that dangled by their hair from her sword-baldric–or the pistol she had aimed at his crotch.
"You know what the Pirate Princess will do, when she learns of this," the first mate growled. At a nod of the Pirate-Lord's head, one of her girls battered his head in with the butt of a rifle. "Take them all," growled the pirate. Knowing there was no point in fighting, Captain Clarke surrendered, and the pirates swiftly whisked him across to the pirate ship.
On the Forlorn Hope, the hapless ship captain found himself face to face with the true author of this treachery. She was tall for a water-nymph, and she came with deep purple skin, and night-dark hair. Dressed in the diaphanous garb typical of her kind, she wore her rank like a coat, and it was clear that the pirates deferred to her. "How many," she asked, as the pirates brought the first of the captives aboard? The heavily-armed pirate beside Akoni responded, "not sure yet." "This one knows," growled the First-Mate.
Two pirates shoved the captive sailor to his knees before the author of this madness. Leaning down such that those heavy titties were almost hanging in his face–succulent morsels before a doomed man–the pretty nymph growled, "how many of them are aboard, boy? Answer me falsely, and you'll be consigned to the worst labor I can find for you." Akoni knew what she meant by them. It was just as he'd feared. These people had known of his cargo and lain in wait for his ship. At the same time, he knew that this creature would be good as her word. The nymphs had no use for men other than as strong backs to hold up their kingdom. "One-thousand," he responded. "And the other ships," Cenobia asked? "I know nothing of other ships," Captain Clarke responded. "I had only this one contract." "Take him away," the nymph growled. "I want to be away from here. We'll sink this ship and move on."
The First-Mate got in her face, snarling, "ship's money! She's got a good hull and good masts..." "The ship is nothing compared to your captain's share," Cenobia retorted. "With the ship on the bottom, there's no trace of what happened. It will be as if these... disappeared." Inclining her head in haughty fashion, the purple-skinned harridan growled, "follow my instructions." Then she turned and strode back into the deckhouse. We'll see, thought the First-Mate. Moana hadn't become one of the richest pirates on these seas by throwing away prizes like the ship.
Changing gears, as action moves back across the ocean. Looks like William may have to go back to the kingdom of the nymphs.