4
"Quit pulling!" Hornet shouted. "My mother made this! You're going to stretch it!"
The bug child's voice rose high and frail, but the din of the trade district drowned out her protests long before they reached Lurien.
The Watcher kept a grip on Hornet's cloak as though it were the reins of an obdurate stag nymph. He bustled through the ever-shifting maze of a hundred other bodies, his focus darting from shell to shell.
This was not good. Not good at all.
Lurien cursed himself for his negligence. He had been so certain of the Vessel's obedience. If he had only spared a single backward glance during Hornet's pursuit, then this all would have been avoided! How could he have been so foolish? The Vessel was clearly abnormal. He should have accounted for that! Now, without the faintest clue on where to—
Hornet yanked her cloak free. "I told you to let go!" she screeched. "I'm a grown-up, right? I can walk on my own!"
Lurien staggered to a stop and about-faced. "I have misplaced you once already this evening." he said. "That will not happen a second time. If you truly wish to exemplify adulthood, then remain by my side as I search for the Vessel. I cannot allow—" but his words caught.
Their brief spat had attracted attention. A pocket had formed in the crowd—with he and Hornet on patent display in its center. Dozens of curious eyes peeked out from beneath hoods and umbrellas.
With a nervous chuckle, Lurien took Hornet by the claw and ushered her out of the flood of foot traffic. There was an untended cart parked beside a building, and Lurien sidled close, hoping that it would serve as a barrier against further scrutiny. "Heed me, child," he said, "the Vessel is of great importance to the King. If we do not locate it in time, then any number of misfortunes might occur. It could be swept into a storm drain, or trampled in the street, or captured by vagabonds, or—!" He paused to stamp out the rising flames of panic.
Hornet shrugged. "Spirit is fine. You don't need to be scared. They'll come back eventually. They probably just heard some music they liked and wandered off."
Lurien lurched. "What?"
"Did you not know?" Hornet mimed at sawing on a stringed instrument. "Spirit loves music!"
"That is not even possible…"
"It is so!" She twirled in the grip of some imaginary song. "Back at the White Palace the musician bugs have performances all the time, with drums and funny metal horns and silken strings. Whenever they start playing for those stuffy nobles, Spirit always runs off to listen. Even when we're in the middle of a game!"
Lurien thought to voice more denial but he had no such luxury of time. Though Hornet's claim seemed ridiculous, it was their only clue. "Allowing that what you say may be true…" Lurien began, "what variety of music attracts the Vessel? Could it be something as elementary as a wind chime?"
"No, no," Hornet shook her head. "Nothing like that. It must be pretty music, beautiful music! And it could be very far away. Spirit has great hearing!"
Lurien wrung his claws and paced beside the cart. "Very well. If beauty is what we seek, then the Vessel can be in but one place. Let us depart."
"Okay!"
And they set out, toward the burnished, wide-flung gates of the arts district.
It had been quite a while since Lurien's last visit. He had attended some nonsensical, operatic production at the repeated invitation of the City's nobility. He recalled the pomp and presumption of the evening, the stag-drawn carriages, the flower-petal carpets, the menagerie of jewelry. It had soured his taste for music so entirely that he'd pledged never to return. But here he was, once again, strolling the troubadour-choked streets and attempting to differentiate the turmoil of a dozen different songs. Music of all texture and color spilled through open windows and over banisters, eddying, rain-like, upon the cobbles.
Lurien stopped in a plaza decorated with hanging bells. He bid Hornet to do the same and then massaged his temples. The warble of so many instruments was beginning to induce a headache.
As Lurien had expected, the Vessel was nowhere in sight. Music lounge after music lounge flanked the district's main thoroughfare and diminished into the murk. It would take hours—days—to fully scour the place.
"We arrive at the melodic heart of the City," Lurien reflected, "but beautiful music is in such abundance… Any among these songs may have attracted the Vessel."
Hornet swayed in rhythm with the different tunes, speeding or slowing as she switched from one tempo to the next. "I mean, these are nice, but they aren't beautiful."
A laugh escaped Lurien almost without his notice. "A bold claim for one so young. Do you think yourself qualified to make that distinction?"
"Well," Hornet hesitated. "Maybe I do! I've probably heard more music than you have. The White Palace is full of it, and I've been there for a long time."
"Is that so?" Lurien laughed. "You are a connoisseur then? It slipped my notice that I was accompanying such a distinguished figure."
"Yes, that's right! I'm a c-connoisseur. Definitely!"
Lurien gave a theatrical nod. "In that case, perhaps it is best that you lead the way. Your refined senses will serve as a better guide."
"Alright, I will," Hornet said. "Just watch, finding Spirit will be easy!"
"I have the utmost confidence," Lurien said as he fell in step.
They traveled the thoroughfare, pausing every block so that Hornet could listen. She devoted herself wholeheartedly to the task, foregoing her usual frolic.
This went on for some time, but inevitably, the ironic mirth bottomed out, and Lurien was forced to accept the truth. He was doomed, utterly and completely. The Vessel was gone.
Lurien's flawless record of service was marred, with a blemish so severe that there could be no redemption. Though he knew that Vessels were not… uncommon, this one clearly bore some great significance to the King. Its loss would herald the end of Lurien's employ.
He wondered what the punishment would be. Execution seemed doubtful; the King lacked the brutality for it. Dismissal was far more likely, but Lurien wondered if there was any difference between the two. He entertained the possibility of banishment, and to his surprise, it did not seem so miserable. It had been an age since he last traveled the world; much must have changed. The distant kingdom of Pharloom was said to be a beautiful place. Were he to visit, then it might even rekindle his interest in music…
"Lurien? Hey, Lurien? Lurien!"
The Watcher jolted.
Hornet waved a claw in his face. "Are you there?"
"Hmm? Yes?" Lurien gently pushed her claw aside.
"I found it!" Hornet squealed.
"Found what?"
"The most beautiful music in the whole city!"
"Oh, right. Of course."
He glanced about, attempting to retrieve his bearings. The girl had dragged him halfway across the district. They stood before a soaring tower of over a dozen stories. Balconies and domed glass windows protruded from its surfaces. At ground level was a gilded, triangular door, beside which sat a sign. This stirred a vague remembrance in Lurien. He walked over to get a closer look. In runny, white paint, the sign read Pleasure House.
Here again? It seemed he was fated to revisit this building. Though, it looked different without the carpet of flowers and the shifting sea of aristocrats. He heard a haunting voice from somewhere far above, and it sent a shiver down his shell.
"Let's go inside," Hornet said. "I'm sure we'll find Spirit in there!"
"Indeed…"
The foyer of the tower was warm and softly lit, with an open-faced elevator at the far side. Lumafly lanterns and luxurious curtains of dyed silk hung from the ceiling. Three nobles, each wearing a silver brooch, stood beside a bulletin board and chattered among themselves in that accent unique to the upper-class.
Lurien wiped his umbrella dry before snapping it shut. He supposed that its purchase had been a wise choice, after all. Only the very bottoms of his robes were even damp. He turned to Hornet to comment on this but was immediately pelted by a barrage of droplets.
Hornet was shaking herself like an angered Mosscreep. Hours of accumulated rainwater shot in every direction, speckling the walls, the curtains, the nobles. Him.
"Stop! Cease! This very instant!" Lurien howled. He made a futile attempt to shield himself but became soaked in moments.
After one last, violent spasm, Hornet stilled. She planted her claws on her hips and appraised the now-dripping room as if all was well. "It's nice in here," she observed.
"Have you forsaken our new agreement already?! In what aspect was that a grown-up way to behave?!"
Hornet flinched. "No, wait! That wasn't on purpose! I just forgot! I'll—I'll fix it!" She ran to the nearest curtain and dabbed at it with her cloak. Both fabrics were equally wet, rendering it a fruitless gesture.
The trio of nobles stared nails at Hornet from across the room. Lurien suspected their response would have been far harsher had he not been present.
"Those curtains will dry on their own," Lurien said, "but you would be wise to atone for your transgression against those nobles. They have long memories for such slights."
Hornet gave Lurien a puzzled look.
"Say that you are sorry," Lurien clarified. "It is what a grown-up would do."
"Right, okay!" Hornet trotted over to the nobles and dipped into a surprisingly elegant curtsy. "My sincerest apologies, noblebugs," she said, her inflection eerily like the White Lady's. "I meant no offense."
The nobles grumbled something incomprehensible and then piled into the foyer's elevator. Though there was sufficient room to accommodate Lurien and Hornet, one of the nobles pulled the elevator's lever. With a jangle of chains, the elevator vanished, leaving the pair behind.
Hornet overbalanced, flopping to the floor. She propped herself on her arms and stared up the darkened elevator shaft. "That was rude," she mumbled. "They didn't even forgive me. I did the curtsy and everything…"
Lurien helped Hornet back to her feet. "I must admit, it was a valiant effort," he said. "Your manner was positively genteel. Has the White Lady been instructing you on courtly behavior?"
"Yes," Hornet sighed. She wiped her claws on her cloak. "It's really boring. And it didn't even work!"
Lurien patted her shoulder as they waited for the elevator to finish its rattling circuit. "You will find the nobility to be a unique challenge. Do not spurn the Lady's lessons over a single failure. Decorum is the only means of dealing with this ilk."
Hornet made an indifferent noise and went off to explore the peripheries of the foyer. She paused before the same bulletin board that had attracted the nobles' attention. It stood twice her height and depicted a bug with vibrant pink wings and a scarlet dress. One of the bug's arms was extended upward, drawing attention to the caption overhead.
Songstress Marissa. A voice to ease all burdens and still all troubled minds.
"She's pretty," Hornet whispered.
Lurien walked over. "Quite so. That striking presence has earned her significant prestige in the arts district." A recollection bubbled up and he snorted. "Let us hope that she will not be in-costume should our paths cross."
The elevator returned, mercifully empty, and they stepped inside.
"What do you mean?" Hornet asked. She yanked the lever and they ascended.
"When last I beheld the Songstress, it was during an opera at this very building. It was a three-act piece called 'The Vision of the King' that portrayed events in His life: the founding of Hallownest, the truce with the Mantis Tribe, the courting of the Queen. In the third act during the courting, the Queen was played by the Songstress herself. At what I can only assume was the director's behest, she entered the stage in a farcical garb meant to simulate the Lady's features. It was an immediate disaster. The shellwood headdress caught in the stage curtain, and the strips of the gown tangled the Songstress' feet. She could not even complete her aria before losing balance and tumbling into the orchestra." Lurien stifled a chuckle. "The King, the Queen, and I were all provided invitations to that opera, but only I found the time to attend. Surely, that was for the best…"
Hornet crossed her arms. "It's not nice to laugh. And you know, it's harder to walk in that gown than it looks. The Lady let me wear it once—well, part of it—and I tripped on the very first step! Me! You know I have great balance!"
'Great' did not seem like the most felicitous adjective, but Lurien did not contend the matter.
"Besides," Hornet continued. "Haven't you tripped in your robes before? It must not have seemed very funny to you."
Memories tumbled through Lurien's mind: staircases taken faster than intended, door frames hungry for trailing silk, a protruding rivet on an elevator that left him bare-shelled before a mob of onlookers.
"Yes, well…" Lurien coughed, and an awkward moment crawled by. With a clang, the elevator came to a stop. "We have arrived!" he blurted. "Keep your senses about you. The Vessel may be near." He bustled her into a connecting hallway.
Their path led them into another foyer, this one even more richly appointed than the last. Its most prominent feature was a ticket booth embedded in the far wall. Several nobles were lined up before it, exchanging clawfuls of Geo for tickets of silk.
Beyond an archway adjacent to the booth came the disordered sound of instruments readying for a performance. The nobles shuffled through in their approximation of haste, disappearing into the dark of a much larger room.
Hornet skipped ahead and rested her chin on the booth's counter. "Two, please!"
The clerk on the other side sniffed and adjusted a stack of tickets. "Another sopping waif seeking respite from the rain? Charming."
"'Waif'?" Hornet cocked her head. "No, I'm here for the music!"
"Oh, pardon." The clerk plucked a ticket free and dangled it like a succulent fruit. "All are welcome, so long as they possess the Geo. Have you any?"
Hornet rummaged in her cloak, but no Geo emerged. "Not right now, but I did."
"A pity. Move along." The clerk waved in Hornet's direction as though she were a foul vapor in need of dispersing.
"But I have to get inside!" Hornet protested. "It's important!"
The clerk heaved a shrug. "Perhaps by the next performance you will have scrounged the City's gutters for the necessary capital. Until then, however…"
"But—But—But—" Hornet coiled and uncoiled the tassel of the toy nail, her gaze darting between the clerk and the archway.
Lurien strode over to stand behind Hornet.
"I have already requested that you move along, waif," the clerk continued. "You are wasting time, mine and that of the next patron. At the very least, step aside so that they—" The clerk looked up. "Watcher… Lurien?"
"The very same," Lurien said with a grave nod. "Is my ward proving a vexation to you? I should hope not."
"Your ward?" The clerk asked. "No… No, n-not at all! I was about to provide her a ticket to the performance—without charge, of course."
"That's not what you said," Hornet quavered. "You said that I—"
The clerk made several rapid, placating sounds and handed Hornet a ticket.
Hornet hummed dubiously but voiced no other dissent.
"You are most generous," Lurien said.
"No." The clerk shook her head. "You are the truly generous one. We thank you for accepting this invitation." She pressed a ticket into Lurien's claw.
Lurien paused to consider the clerk's meaning, but Hornet took him by the arm and tugged.
"Come on!" she said. "The show is about to begin!"
"Need I remind you that our intent is to locate the Vessel?" Lurien said.
"We can do both."
Lurien allowed himself to be conducted through the archway and into the next room.
There was not much to see in the dark, but assorted scents of exquisite food drifted through the smoky air. Lurien's sight gradually adjusted, and he recognized the soft glow of candlelight. Encircling the room were dozens of tables, each topped with a candle of its own. Nobles of every social rank and order of girth crowded around them, gorging on steamed meats and seasoned mushrooms. Lurien groaned, and the pleasing twitter of musical instruments fell deaf on his senses.
"It's so dark," Hornet whispered. "How are we supposed to see Marissa?"
"I reiterate that our purpose is to retrieve the Vessel. If we are so astronomically fortunate as to find it here, then we will be departing immediately after. It is well-past time I returned to the Spire."
"Oh." Hornet's silhouette deflated. "Okay."
With the slithering sound of drawn cloth, a sudden light bathed the room. Lurien flinched away from it, as did every other bug in attendance.
"It's starting!" Hornet yipped.
A Lumafly spotlight embedded in the ceiling had been uncovered. It cast an unearthly, smoke-warped radiance onto an elevated platform at the room's center. Circling the platform was an orchestra pit that bristled with metal and shellwood instruments like a well-stocked armory. Standing atop the platform, faithful to her bulletin's depiction, was Marissa the Songstress. She lifted an arm over her head and then swept down into a low bow that sent her golden hair tumbling. "Welcome, esteemed patrons of the Pleasure House." She straightened and then extended her arms outward in an encompassing manner. "You honor our establishment with your presence. It is our humble desire to attend to your needs, in both body and soul. I am Marissa, a songstress of some renown. For many years it has been my joy to perform before audiences much like—"
"Proceed!" A slovenly voice shouted from one of the tables. "Give us song, not blather!"
Marissa's wings fluttered like startled Maskflies. "—like this one. With the aid of my expert accompanists, I will weave you the most splendid of songs. The inspiration for this piece arose from—"
"Sing, I say! Sing!"
Marissa took a deep breath and waved a claw at one of the musician bugs occupying the pit.
There was a low hum as instruments readied, and the unending mastication of the feasting nobles lulled.
The song began with gentle plucks upon a harp, soft and slow at first, but rising into a resonant cascade that rebounded off the metal walls. The melody gamboled up and down the octaves, simulating the patter of rain. Out of this rose more instruments: strings, shellwoodwinds, and muted brass. They ebbed and flowed together in sublime harmony, so stirring that it caught the breath in Lurien's chest. The song stretched just long enough for Marissa's presence to fade from awareness, becoming as inconsequential as the bouquets of old flowers littering her feet. But at the most precise moment, she spread wide the painted sky of her wings and unleashed a crystalline note.
A murmur rippled through the audience.
There was no force in Marissa's voice. It did not carve through the ensemble like a crude implement through earth, but instead possessed a numinous quality that permeated the other sounds without destroying them.
The music was so ensorcelling that even the heaviest noble paused in their meal. For a fleeting minute, Marissa was true to her epithet: a voice to ease all burdens and still all troubled minds.
Lurien felt a tug on his robes and looked down at Hornet's outline. The ambient bloom of the Lumafly spotlight made it slightly easier to see. The girl was pendulating with Marissa's every utterance.
"I told you," Hornet said. "Spirit only likes beautiful music." She lifted her free claw and pointed.
There, cross-legged upon the stage, nail-umbrella resting on its lap, was the Vessel. It sat perfectly still among the bouquets, staring at Marissa with a rapt intensity not unlike that of every other bug in attendance.
Lurien jolted. He had not even noticed the Vessel clamber up. How long had he been lost in the music? The urge to rush over and reclaim the Vessel took hold of Lurien. He was halfway across the room before it occurred to him that leaping onto the stage might be a poor way of avoiding attention. He stopped and resolved to wait until fewer eyes were upon the Vessel.
Inevitably, others noticed the intrusion into the performance. Though the appearance of an overeager child onstage elicited some tittering, a general rumble of discontent ran through the crowd. Voices were raised. There were calls for the child to be removed, immediately.
Marissa seemed not to be bothered by the Vessel. She was either so taken by the flow of the song that she did not notice, or simply did not care.
An usher ran up to the base of the stage and beckoned for the Vessel, cooing polite but emphatic words.
Lurien expected—knew—that the Vessel would heed a direct, spoken command. It would rise and trot over to the usher, as compliant as it was designed to be. And yet…
The Vessel did not budge. It did not even tilt its head toward the usher. Marissa alone seemed to be the sole object in its universe.
The song approached the climax, rising in both octave and decibel. Marissa flapped her wings to hover in the air, holding a single note so perfectly that the audience seemed to freeze within their shells. The harp plucked a wistful melody as Marissa let the note go and returned to the stage. Her shoulders sagged, but she still lifted an arm in her signature gesture and bowed low for the audience. The echoes faded, and silence flooded in to take their place.
None clapped, as if fearing to disturb the fragile tranquility. Eventually, the scrape of utensils on ceramic resumed and the song was forgotten.
Marissa rose from the bow and flinched at the sight of the Vessel sitting before her. She glanced over at the usher who was still calling to it. Marissa murmured something mellifluous before patting the Vessel on the head and turning to leave.
At that, the Vessel wobbled to its feet and finally assented to the usher's pleas. It walked over and hopped off the stage without further incident.
"Baffling," Lurien muttered. "What manner of Vessel disregards a command?"
Hornet laughed. "Spirit can be pretty stubborn sometimes, right?"
"'Stubborn'? Is that the word?"
Having seen enough, Lurien approached the stage. Hornet skipped after him, still humming the final few bars of Marissa's song.
The usher was in the middle of a pointed—and utterly futile—interrogation. Question after question crashed and broke against the imperturbable bulwark of the Vessel's gaze.
"Are you lost, young… sir? Did you arrive with your parents? Are they nearby? Can you… understand me?"
Lurien cleared his throat and tapped the usher's shoulder. "That child is under my care. It appears to have disrupted the performance. I apologize."
The usher turned and peered at Lurien, as though he had not understood.
Lurien began to repeat himself, but—
"You are Watcher Lurien!" the usher exclaimed.
"…Correct," Lurien said.
"And you are here! At the Pleasure House!"
"Also correct…"
"At Marissa's own performance!"
"Truly, you have cut to the heart of the matter."
The usher seemed to recall himself and dipped into a formal bow. "It is most excellent to see you here, Watcher Lurien. Most excellent indeed! We feared after so many unanswered invitations that you had no interest in attending. But here you are! Marissa will be ecstatic. Shall I escort you to her quarters?"
"Her quarters?"
"Yes, Watcher."
"The Songstress' quarters?"
"Y-Yes…?"
Lurien stared off into space. He had been expected? And several times, apparently. But why? The Songstress and he had never even spoken. After that disastrous opera, he'd received no more letters from the Pleasure House.
But something occurred to him.
He thought back to that event, and to the vehement complaints he had made to his attendants afterward. How had he put it?
'If I never behold another performance at that ridiculous place, then it will be too soon!'
Lurien's shoulders tightened into a cringe. It appeared that his attendants had taken his words to heart. He wondered just how many invitations they had turned away without even informing him.
"Marissa wants to see us?!" Hornet blared. "Really?"
The usher startled. "Erm, if you are a member of Watcher Lurien's retinue, then yes, you are also welcome."
"Did you hear that, Spirit?!" Hornet darted over to the Vessel and shook it by the shoulders. "We get to see the Songstress! Aren't you excited?"
Lurien stopped mentally composing a stern speech to his attendants. "Wait, child. As generous as this offer may be, we have no time for conversation. It grows late, and I must find you sleeping accommodations within the Spire."
"But we're already here!" Hornet objected. "And I'm not even tired!"
"We have dawdled long enough. I warned you of this outcome."
Hornet hugged her toy nail. "She invited us. Isn't it rude not to say hello? That doesn't seem like a very grown-up thing to do…"
Lurien scoffed. "Do not presume to lecture me on the etiquette of adulthood, little girl. Your behavior so far has done nothing to convince me that you are worthy of a real nail."
"That's mean! I'm doing my best!"
"If I may?" The usher clasped his claws together. "I understand that your obligations are quite pressing, Watcher, but Marissa's desire to see you is not a passing whim. She has a proposal for you that I am certain she would rather deliver herself. Would you please reconsider? It will require only a few minutes of your time."
"Yes!" Hornet said, sidling over to stand beside the usher. "Only a few minutes! We can at least do that, can't we?"
A protracted grumble roiled about in Lurien's throat. He had no stamina for these battles of will. Hornet was so irrepressible, as if the word 'no' did not carry the slightest meaning. Perhaps this was how she had bested the King. "…Very well, then," Lurien conceded. "We will speak with the Songstress…"
Hornet gave a cheer and leaped nearly twice her height into the air.
"But only a few minutes!" Lurien said. "No more."
"Of course," Hornet affirmed. "Of course."
