5
The inner passages of the Pleasure House were quite unlike the rooms available to the clientele. Gone were the wide spaces, the crass chandeliers, the sprawling murals, replaced by austerity and the feeling of weight that small places so easily conjured. With children in tow, Lurien followed the usher at a brisk pace. He did as best he could to keep his bearings, but the cryptic pattern of the journey made it no easy task. The turns and staircases bled into one another, and inevitably Lurien became lost.
Defeated, he shifted his focus to the children, ensuring that they were not trampled by the marathon of attendants. One after another, the uniformed bugs passed by, carrying all manner of goods: ceramic urns of sloshing drink, silvered platters heaped with food, censers draped in sweet-smelling mist. It was all quite a marvel to Lurien. Not the goods, but the efficiency with which they were ferried. Despite the shadowed halls and blind corners, not a single collision or spill occurred. The attendants were like the threads of a fine garment weaving effortlessly through one another.
"Are we almost there?" Hornet asked.
"I do not know, child," Lurien said. "I am no more familiar with these halls than you."
"Well, can you ask the usher, then?"
"To what end? Knowing a journey's length does nothing to shorten it. Exercise patience as an adult would. We will arrive when we arrive."
Hornet's stride became a bounce. "But I can't! I'm too excited!"
"Observe the Vessel." Lurien reached back to pat one of its horns. "For all the excitement it doubtless feels, the Vessel still maintains composure. You would do well to emulate."
Hornet thrashed her head. "That's not fair! Spirit's always like that, no matter how excited they are!"
Lurien chuckled. "Come now, settle down. You were unaware of the Songstress' existence a mere hour ago. Are you already so ardent an admirer?"
"Yes! Why wouldn't I be? Aren't you?"
Claw to mask, Lurien took a moment to consider. His opinion of the Songstress had certainly risen after this most recent performance, but even so, that ruinous night of opera would not slip his mind. "It has yet to be determined," he said, and left it at that.
Without warning, the usher skidded to a stop. Lurien caught himself in kind, but that accomplished little, for the children rammed blindly into his back, sending him staggering. He had just enough time to recover his dignity before the usher turned to them and gave a solemn flourish.
"We have arrived."
Their point of arrival seemed no different from any other hall: dim, confined, desolate. However, Lurien did note a distinct lack of foot traffic. The perpetual drone of music and merriment was barely a whisper here.
The usher approached a nearby door of carved shellwood. It bore no plaque or marking, but he knocked with the utmost care. "Songstress? Are you present? I have a guest here that wishes to meet you."
Out came a voice, languid and muffled. "More patrons, Peridot? Forgive me, but I am too weary for visitors. Perhaps another time."
The usher stiffened. He shot Lurien a hurried look and then leaned in on the door. "You misunderstand, Songstress. This guest has traveled long and far for this meeting."
"Please, Peridot," the voice quavered, "grant me just one day of solitude."
The usher's frame shrank in on itself like a withering plant. "If you would only open the door, then you will quickly realize that this is no ordinary—"
"Apologies, truly, but I haven't the strength."
"Yes, but you see it's—"
"Send them away."
The usher pressed his mask flush against the shellwood. "It is Watcher Lurien!" he hissed.
There was a crash, something ceramic hitting the tiles. Everyone jumped, save for the Vessel.
"Watcher Lurien?!" The languor had left the voice. "T-Tell him to wait just a moment, please. I will attend him as soon as I am able!"
A frenzy ensued beyond the door, the scrape of furniture, the swish of a broom, the clatter of baubles.
With perfect, brittle etiquette, the usher turned to Lurien and inclined his head. "The Songstress will be just a—"
"Just a moment, yes," Lurien said. "I am standing right beside you, Peridot."
"R-Right, of course…"
A tense minute stretched, punctuated by frustrated noises and the thump of discarded objects.
Hornet poked her head out from behind Lurien and fixed her intent on the usher. "That's a pretty name. Peridot." She rolled the word around, testing its shape.
"Erm, my name is actually Felix. It is just the Songstress' habit to grant the staff colorful sobriquets."
"Oh, I know that one!" Hornet perked. "You mean nicknames!"
The usher nodded slowly, as if not understanding, and Hornet planted her claws on her hips in triumph.
With the clang of a hidden mechanism, the shellwood door shot open. In a maneuver that seemed long practiced, the usher evaded a bludgeoning by darting to one side. The scent of flowers and candle wax emerged on a curtain of warm air.
The usher flanked the doorway and offered a parting bow. "May your meeting prove productive, Watcher. Please, enter. Make yourselves comfortable. And thank you."
Hornet took the offer in a heartbeat, surging past Lurien and into the room. Surprisingly—or perhaps unsurprisingly—the Vessel took the usher's words as a command and shuffled in, head already scanning for something that constituted 'comfortable'.
For an instant, Lurien lingered at the threshold, even though he knew that the point of withdrawal had long-since passed.
"Do you require anything else?" the usher asked, just barely tremulous. "Shall I remain here and escort you back once your business is concluded?"
Without any other reply, Lurien shook his head and stepped inside.
Lurien wasn't entirely sure what he had expected from the Songstress' quarters. Vaulted ceilings? Engraved pillars? Honeycombed chambers of copper and gold? Whatever the expectation had been, it evaporated before the reality, for in truth, the quarters were hardly more glamorous than the sort occupied by Lurien's own attendants. The ceiling was low, the walls plain, and the only decoration in sight came in the form of flowers—bouquets and bouquets of them, spilling off furniture, pooling on the floor. The shattered remains of a vase poked out from beneath a rug in the corner.
"Welcome, Watcher," Marissa the Songstress said. She was perched upon a shellwood chair in a pose of hurried regality, dress tastefully draped, shining hair swept to one side. Her shoulders rose and fell faintly with suppressed exertion. She gestured at an ancient-looking couch across from her. "It is an honor to finally meet you. Please."
"A mutual sentiment," Lurien said, his eye still roaming. There was a weariness about the room, in every tarnished bit of metal, every scuffed surface.
Still under the usher's sway, the Vessel gravitated to the couch and took a seat. The old springs whined pitifully beneath the weight, but the Vessel paid no heed. It settled into the cushions and placed its umbrella across its lap. Just as the Vessel seemed to relax, the couch gave a groan and snapped shut like the jaws of a Fool Eater. In a blink, all that could be seen of the Vessel were a pair of horns and two fluttering feet.
Marissa winced. "Pardon, that couch has accommodated more than its share of visitors over the years. It has grown a bit temperamental by consequence."
Lurien made a perfunctory noise and moved over to the couch. With several fierce tugs, he was able to free the Vessel. He held it aloft at arm's length, inspecting it for damage as he would a fallen easel.
"Miss Marissa, I loved your song!" Hornet shouted. She scurried past Lurien and the bewildered Vessel, straight to the Songstress. Almost hesitantly, Hornet took her by the claw. "It was the most beautiful thing I've heard in a long time."
"Why thank you," Marissa said. "It's a rare thing among the young to show a fondness for music. You must be very mature for your age."
Hornet giggled and shot Lurien a look luminous enough to rival the King.
"Do these little ones count themselves among your retinue, Watcher?" Marissa asked. She carefully prised herself free of Hornet's grip. "Have you exchanged your Knights for gentler company?"
Lurien put the Vessel down and nudged it in Hornet's direction. He rectified the couch before sitting as lightly as he could. "Were you to spend time with these little ones, then you would soon find 'gentle' to be a poor descriptor. They are accompanying me at the request of an acquaintance, but they are no retinue."
"May I know their names?"
Lurien weighed the question, whether revealing Hornet's name was a greater threat than the suspicion that would arise from withholding it. He was allowed three entire seconds of contemplation before—
"I'm Hornet!" the girl blurted. She performed a low curtsy and then yanked the Vessel over to her side. "This is Spirit!"
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," Marissa said. She turned to the Vessel and appraised it just long enough to spark Lurien's worry. "You are that intrepid young bug from earlier. It came as quite a shock to see you upon my stage. Was the view truly so poor among the nobles?"
She waited for some reply, some sign of recognition, but it was not forthcoming.
"Sorry, Miss Marissa," Hornet said, "but Spirit doesn't like to talk. They're very glad to meet you, though. Isn't that right, Spirit?"
The Vessel was still, its puppet strings slack.
Hornet jabbed it in the side with her elbow. "Nod for yes," she whispered, and the Vessel bobbed in accord.
"That will suffice, children," Lurien said. "Go entertain yourselves as the Songstress and I exchange words. Do not stray too far, we will be departing soon."
"But we just got here," Hornet grumbled, though she still did as was requested and left their immediate presence.
The Vessel was also quick to accept the command, and with far less argument. It about-faced and marched into an adjoining chamber. Lurien wondered how a hollow being would pursue entertainment, if such a thing was even possible. Perhaps later he'd find the Vessel staring vacantly at a wall.
With a shake of his head, Lurien returned to the more pressing matter. "Songstress, your usher notified me—rather insistently—of a proposition that you wished to deliver."
Marissa straightened. "Peridot, yes. He is quite the cajoler when the need arrives. Did he let slip the nature of my proposal?"
"He did not, hence my presence here."
"Good… I thought it best this be a private matter. You see, I wish to beseech a favor of you—a personal favor."
And there it was, the crux. Like every other mewling noble and aristocrat, the Songstress sought something from him. What would it be? Wealth? Influence? Secrets?
Lurien's digits drummed against the couch's armrest.
"It involves my art," Marissa continued. "Did you care for it, by the by? My performance. I assure you it was far from the best I have to offer."
"Time is not something that I have in abundance. State your request."
Marissa recoiled slightly. She broke eye contact and made a show of finding interest in Hornet, who was in the middle of investigating a dressing table on the far side of the room. It was a delicate and tired piece of furniture, but well-accoutered. Shells of powders and creams sat before a wall-mounted mirror, above which hung a fading Lumafly bulb. Hornet amused herself with the reflection, making one silly gesture after another.
"Watcher," Marissa said, "before I make of myself a fool, I must know something. Why have you chosen only now to accept my invitations? I realize that your service to the King asks much of you, but it's been so many months…"
The drumming stopped.
How was he to answer that? With the truth? That the opera had so appalled him he'd vowed never to return? That even had his attendants not filtered his mail, the invitations might have just as likely gone unanswered?
"I—"
"Spirit brought us here!" Hornet said. She drew within a few paces, just beyond the imaginary barrier of Lurien's dismissal. "They heard you sing and ran off to go find you. It's a very big honor, you should know. They don't do that for just anyone."
"Oh. I see," Marissa murmured. "It was chance, then."
"Songstress," Lurien said, attempting to retake the reins of the conversation, "whatever our reason for attending, we are here now, and if you do not make your request then I cannot consider it."
Marissa nodded. "Very true, Watcher." She smoothed her dress with unsteady claws. "I wish to visit the Pale Court. To perform before its constituents. And the King himself."
The couch creaked ominously as Lurien leaned back.
"Can you help me?" Marissa continued. "Is it within your power?"
Lurien scratched beneath his mask. "You ask no small thing. The court's reputation of reclusiveness is well-earned."
"I realize, Watcher, but I must do this. I've aspired to it from the very moment I ascended the stage. I'd hoped to achieve an audience with the court on the merits of my own renown but," she gestured vaguely, "it seems this is my zenith."
Where was it? Where was the ulterior motive? Lurien could not see. Was this some façade, an excuse to draw close to the King? Could the Songstress be a threat, with some nefarious claw guiding her actions?
This and more flitted through Lurien's mind while Marissa squirmed before his silence. He took a breath—
"Of course you can come!" Hornet squealed. "We'd love to hear you sing at the palace!"
Lurien lurched. "Now wait just a moment, I will have none of that! This is not your choice to make."
"But she'd be perfect! We've never had a singer before. The normal stuff gets boring after so long."
The couch made a threatening noise, and Lurien leapt up to avoid the Vessel's fate. "Enough, no more impudence, child. Go retrieve the Ve—Go retrieve Spirit. We are leaving." He looked to Marissa. "My sincerest apologies, Songstress, but I cannot provide you with a royal audience. The King is far too occupied with matters of state to attend any recitals."
Like a dying Fungling, Marissa deflated. "I… I understand. Thank you for your time, Watcher."
"Liar!" Hornet shouted, her voice huge in the small room. "He's not busy! The King listened to a recital yesterday! I saw it!"
Lurien towered over the girl. "I told you to collect the Vessel. This petulance is unbecoming of an adult."
Hornet retreated a step, but only one. "It's her dream. Why can't she come?"
"It is the dream of every citizen of Hallownest to behold the King with their own eyes. Would you have me waste His time with such trivialities?"
"I don't know, maybe? It can't be so hard to help Miss Marissa. Don't you have a dream of your own?"
"Little one," Marissa cooed, "your efforts are appreciated, but you needn't—"
"I do!" Lurien boomed. "To serve the King to the best of my abilities, no matter how many hellions he might inflict upon me. I strive toward that dream every day, and wasting His time with musical nonsense seems a poor way to do it. Now go find the Vessel. The decision is made."
Hornet did not move. She held her ground, tense as a duelist. With a hiss of cloth, she drew her toy nail and pointed it at Lurien. "No! You listen here. I-I order you—As princess, I order you to let Miss Marissa sing for the King!"
"Oh, so now you are a princess? Only as it suits your puerile needs! Heed this, your royal blood holds no power here! The King has entrusted your keeping to me! NOT the other way—" But he stopped, his shell going cold. On a creaking axis, his head pivoted toward Marissa.
"Royal blood?" the Songstress whispered.
Lurien coughed, long and loud and wet. "Well, Songstress, it—it seems that our meeting has ended. It was a pleasure speaking with you." He cupped his claws to shout. "Vessel, come!" Shakily, he activated the lever beside the main door, which snapped open. "Let us depart, Hornet." He grabbed her by the outstretched arm.
"Wait!" Marissa rose. "Please explain. Do you mean to say that she is the King's own heir?"
Lurien waved his umbrella as though dispersing a fog. "No, no, you misunderstand, it is only a game that the child plays, nothing more. You know how every little girl longs to be a princess."
Hornet dug in her heels, and a thrumming sensation ran up the length of Lurien's arm. "It's not a game. I am the princess. That means you have to listen to me!"
Lurien laughed, though it was high and strained. He dragged the girl a step toward the door. "That is enough fun for now. You may play more princess once we arrive at the Spire."
"I'm not playing," Hornet growled. She leveraged all her weight and brought the tug of war to a standstill. "We aren't leaving until you promise to help."
The thrumming grew like a static charge, and the silk tassel of Hornet's nail rippled, but Lurien only redoubled his efforts. "Now, now, child, there is no need to make a scene. Just do as I say, and all will be well." With another good heave, he had her at the threshold. Only a few more steps and they would be done with the fiasco that this meeting had become. But the Vessel was nowhere to be seen. If the quarters were as small as they appeared, then it must have heard his shout.
"I said we're not leaving!" Hornet shrieked.
There was a gust of air, a compression in Lurien's vision. Light, soft and milky white, flowed from Hornet's body into the silk of her nail. The tassel spasmed to life, its every strand elongating and whipping about in directionless fury. A dozen blows—heavy as clubs—fell upon Lurien: his mask, his chest, his arms. He lost grip on the girl and stumbled back, landing on his rear with a thump.
The energy vanished as quickly as it had appeared, the wind dying and the tassel returning to dormancy. Hornet dropped the nail as if it had burned her. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! Are you alright?!"
Lurien took stock, running a claw over his mask and shell. Slowly, he wobbled upright, unbroken but not unbruised. As the shock subsided, he felt the ache swelling to take its place. "I am fine. I am fine," he slurred.
What had just happened? Was that Soul? Had she infused the silk with Soul in the very same way that the King infused his wards? Heat built beneath Lurien's mask. Why had he not been warned that the child was capable of such a thing? It was immensely dangerous!
Marissa drew close and took Lurien by the elbow. With soothing words, she guided him to her chair, and he took a seat.
Hornet kept several paces off, her claws clamped to her chest as though she feared what they might do if let free.
"What happened?" Marissa asked. "That was the King's magic, wasn't it?"
Lurien thought to concoct some plausible denial, but his mind was a whirling mess. "No, it was merely the wind, a Lumafly discharge from—"
Marissa tightened her grip on his elbow. "Watcher, I am no pretty simpleton. Offer the truth, please."
Hornet was trembling from her horns to her feet. "I'm really sorry, Lurien. I wasn't trying to hurt you, honest! We-We can go now. I'll get Spirit and then we'll go, okay?" She ran off after the Vessel, gasping, but not from fatigue.
Lurien waited for his heart to stop pounding. He gave Marissa a look weighted with all the gravitas he could muster. "It is as it seems. She is the heir of Hallownest, the King's daughter, and the inheritor of His power."
"A marvel," Marissa breathed. "I've shared words with not only the keeper of the city, but the future queen as well. The staff will call me mad when they hear of this."
Though it sent lances of pain through his neck, Lurien shook his head. "No, that knowledge is not to leave this room. The common bugs—especially the nobles—need not be privy to the King's… reproductive activities. It would only prove a nuisance to Him. And to me."
Marissa flicked a claw through her hair. "Oh… I see."
There came a tumbling crash from the other chamber, followed by a shrill voice. "Spirit, what did you do?!"
Before the sound had even finished reverberating off the walls, Lurien was back to his feet and on the move. It seemed he was undeserving of even an instant's pause.
Marissa was quick to follow, the nervous flicker of her wings lightening her step.
The adjoining chamber proved to be the Songstress' bedroom, complete with pillows and frayed sheets. On the far side, Hornet stood before what appeared to be a pile of cloth and wooden scraps, still shrouded in an aura of settling dust. The girl fretted from foot to foot. "Oh, no, no, no. Marissa will be so mad. We don't have time for this, Spirit. We need to leave, get up!"
Lurien circled the bed for a better look.
"Not the wardrobe," Marissa moaned.
Beneath the discordant remains of what had once been a stately piece of furniture wriggled the Vessel. An avalanche of dresses, in all shades and styles, had buried the thing up to its head. It was attempting to obey Hornet's command to rise, but must have been hopelessly tangled, for no amount of effort saw any progress.
Feeling eyes upon her, Hornet whirled about. "I'm sorry, Miss, Marissa! It was an accident! We'll clean it up right away." She dug the Vessel out to a chorus of tearing silk, and it emerged thankfully undamaged, trailing bits of dress like streamers.
A red strip hung from the Vessel's neck. Lurien took it to be just another casualty, but upon closer inspection it appeared to be a scarf of a suspiciously familiar red. Hornet tried to pry it off, but the Vessel's claws were fixed firmly and would not relinquish it.
Lurien trudged closer and trawled the Vessel's umbrella out from beneath the heap. "I will ensure that you are reimbursed," he said, wearily. "Deliver a missive containing whatever fee you feel is appropriate to the Spire and an attendant will provide the Geo."
"That is appreciated, Watcher," Marissa said, "but can I expect a response from that missive? I mean no offense, but given the history…" She trailed off.
"I will make certain of it. Now, I believe we have done enough damage for one day. Come along, children."
"But Miss Marissa's scarf!" Hornet said. "Hold on, I'll—" She tugged again, but the Vessel would not yield. "Spirit, come on, just—"
Marissa patted Hornet on the shoulder. "It is alright, little one. They may keep it. They're far more enamored with that scarf than I ever was."
Hornet conceded and bowed her head. "It was nice meeting you," she murmured before shuffling after Lurien.
By some miracle, Lurien managed to escort the children back to the hallway without further devastation. Though his shell throbbed with dull pain, Lurien offered Marissa his most courteous farewell.
"Before you go," Marissa said, pressing her claws together. "All this excitement aside, if I might ask just one last time, is there no way that you can help me to gain a royal audience?"
Though Hornet practically vibrated beside him with suppressed petitions, Lurien held firm. "No, Songstress. Good day to you, I wish you luck with your art."
He turned to leave, but Marissa muttered under her breath—something like 'if I must, then.'
"Luck to you as well," the Songstress said, cheerfully. "I imagine it will be quite a challenge to protect little Hornet's secret. You'd be astonished at how quickly rumors can spread from the Pleasure House. Many nobles frequent the establishment, and they are so fond of talk. But you've no need to worry about me. I'll keep my peace." She tilted her head in mock consideration. "Though, of late, I worry I've become a bit of a gossip. Without any meaningful performances to occupy me, I whittle the time with idle banter among the staff, and we discuss all manner of things. Hopefully nothing slips out. But do travel safe."
Lurien froze, one foot off the ground. He said nothing for a long moment as his mind scrambled for a counter thrust.
But none came.
Instead. "You have made your point. I will prepare the arrangements. We will come to collect you in one week. Until then, you had best keep that peace, Songstress."
And he set off.
Marissa waved as they diminished down the hallway. "Thank you, Watcher! You will not regret it!"
As they turned a corner, Hornet piped up. "What just happened?"
But Lurien had no energy to reply.
