6
"I'm tired."
"Hush, we are nearly there. A block at the most."
"You said that a block ago. Can we stop?"
"No. Had you not squandered energy sprinting about the City, then you would not be so exhausted."
"But my feet hurt."
"Child, you are not the only one suffering. Resolve yourself a bit longer, then we may rest."
"…Okay…"
Lurien labored down a rain-smeared thoroughfare, both children lagging along in his wake. Despite the many detours, he had finally amended their course, and the merciful end was in sight.
The Spire loomed in the indeterminate distance, shawled by rain and shadow. Like an optical illusion, it seemed simultaneously near and far. This was not the first time that Lurien had experienced this phenomenon and he was usually much better at gauging it, but with the unfamiliar surroundings and crushing fatigue, his spatial awareness was not at its best.
He hadn't the slightest idea what time it was anymore. The empty streets and darkened windows indicated that it was late, but how late, exactly? If Hornet's rapidly fading strength was a standard of measurement, then bedtime had long since come and gone.
Lurien chided himself for dismissing Marissa's usher prematurely. The return trip through the Pleasure House's labyrinth of corridors had taken hours—at least he estimated as much. A hot, needling fog had seeped into Lurien's head, and it took all his effort just to plant one foot before the other.
A block passed in the drizzling, semi-silence. Then two. And three.
Just as Hornet took up a prolonged, siren-like whine, the Spire lurched forward, and they were suddenly standing at the base of its stairs.
Hornet must have truly been at her limit, for she made no comment about the colossal portico or multi-framed windows. She only plodded up to the landing and slumped against the banister. The Vessel was more energetic—or more aptly inexorable—ascending with a few easy steps and planting itself beside the girl as though the day had only just begun.
Lurien braced his sore joints and climbed.
The Spire's lofty, shellwood doors were shut, another confirmation of the advanced hour. Upon them, a relief carving of the King gazed down in what Lurien swore was disappointment.
Keeping his own eye low, Lurien pressed on the doors, but they did not budge. He tried a second time, bringing his shoulder to bear, though to no effect.
"Do you have a key?" Hornet asked.
Lurien ran a claw over his robes—his spare robes, he realized. The set he had donned that morning in preparation for a messy day of painting. Empty pockets rustled beneath his touch. "It is here somewhere, surely," he said. But as the search yielded nothing, a stone settled in his stomach. "I seem to have… misplaced it."
Hornet resumed her siren whine.
Fiercely, Lurien rapped against the door, hard enough to numb his whole arm. "Hello? Hello?!"
After a moment, the treble of a voice rose from the other side. "The Spire is closed to visitors for the evening. If you wish to return a scroll, then do so on the morrow. The guards do not take kindly to those in breach of curfew. Travel safely."
"I am no visitor!" Lurien bellowed, startling even the Vessel. "I am the Watcher, and I demand entrance to my own residence!"
"Oh, yes, surely," the voice chortled. "And I am the King himself. But enough jokes, you would be wise to return home. It is unsafe to prowl about."
Wait.
Even though the dense shellwood, Lurien knew that voice. "Belvedere?"
There was a pause, long enough that Lurien worried the bug had sauntered off. He raised a claw to pound upon the doors a second time, but there came a clank of tumblers shifting in a lock.
On well-oiled hinges, the doors swung inward, parting the visage of the King down the middle. Beyond stood Lurien's personal assistant, draped in a fine, red uniform and matching brooch.
"Watcher?" Belvedere asked, peering despite the abundant Lumafly light. "What are you doing outside at this hour? Your calendar has today set aside for painting in your quarters." Belvedere slipped a scroll out of the satchel hanging at his waist and unrolled it with one claw. "Yes, so it's marked right here. When did—Oh, dear, you are positively drenched! And you have guests! Are those… children?"
Lurien warded the question with a raised claw before herding his charges inside.
Belvedere scurried out of the way and stood at attention. "My profoundest apologies for not granting you entrance sooner, but I was not informed of this change in schedule."
"Nor was I," Lurien muttered, "but when the King calls, His Watcher attends."
"Oh," Belvedere said, crossing his arms. "I see. Well, you must be wearied by the road. Shall I procure anything for you?"
Lurien wrung his damp robes. "Something to fend off the cold would be welcome. Tea perhaps."
"I can certainly oblige," Belvedere bobbed. "Please rest yourselves in the library until I return with refreshments…" He glanced at the expanding puddle beneath Hornet's feet. "…and towels."
"Thank you, Belvedere," Lurien said.
With that, the bug departed, expeditious as usual.
Lurien shook what water he could from his umbrella before depositing it in a basket beside the doors. He took the children by the shoulders and guided them through the foyer. "Welcome to my home. Do your utmost to behave, many precious and fragile things are contained in this place."
The foyer gave way to the Spire's library, a single, grand chamber of vaulted ceilings, hanging banners, and rows upon rows of scroll racks. Lurien paused at the periphery and drank in the sight as he always did. A peculiar calm came to him, but he was granted no opportunity to savor it. Hornet pressed past him toward the nearest bench. She collapsed onto it in extravagant fashion, sprawling full-length and draping an arm over her eyes.
"That was so long," Hornet said. "Why is everything in the City so far away?"
Lurien strolled over and sat on the remaining quarter of the bench. "It is curious how one impulsive deviation can elongate an otherwise simple journey."
"I know," Hornet said with a weak chuckle. "Spirit really slowed us down. But it's not their fault, they can't help how much they like music."
Lurien bristled. "I was not speaking of the Vessel."
Hornet propped herself up. "Do you mean Miss Marissa? It's not her fault either, you know. She'd been wanting to see you for a long time. It would have been rude not to say hello."
"Nor was I referring to the Songstress!"
Hornet cocked her head. "I'm not good at guessing games. Are you talking about how you got us lost? Don't feel bad, all those hallways looked the same anyway. Even I didn't know where we were."
"I am not the guilty party here!" Lurien snapped. "It was you that I—" but he stopped himself, pressing down on the acid-bubble of his indignation. "Never mind. Regardless of the journey, we have arrived and that is solace enough."
"You're right," Hornet said as she reclined once again. "I guess it's nobody's fault."
Lurien made his claws into a tight ball in his lap and said nothing. As a quiet minute passed, he wondered not for the first time if Hornet was indeed as young as she appeared. Being an offspring of the King, it was entirely possible that she shared in His agelessness. For all Lurien knew, the girl was well into adulthood, only feigning naivety for her own amusement. That would explain the surgical malevolence in some of her actions. Lurien brooded on this potentiality until a slow, rhythmic sound broke his concentration. He looked over at Hornet, tracking the rise and fall of her chest, the tiny rumble of her snoring.
In a matter of moments, she had passed out on a cushion-less, wrought iron bench.
Lurien shook his head. Perhaps his theory wasn't so plausible after all. He doubted anything other than a child could so easily find sleep.
For the time being, Lurien decided to leave her alone. He had no intention of letting the King's daughter weather the night on a library bench like a common vagrant, but there was nothing wrong with a few minutes of peace.
By habit, Lurien turned to the Vessel, if only to confirm it still existed. His faith in its obedience had been sorely tested, to the point that he trusted it little more than the girl.
Fortunately, it stood only a few paces away, inert and unharmed. It had not wandered off in search of wind chimes or crushed itself beneath a scroll rack. With its dripping red scarf and nail-umbrella, the Vessel struck an unusual figure. It was staring at Hornet as she slept, and not in its usual, vacant way.
Perhaps it was the mania of the long day, but Lurien found himself pondering what went on within that horned shell. Was it possible, even in the slightest sense, that the Vessel was thinking about the girl?
"What is it, little thing?" Lurien whispered. "What do you see?"
The Vessel locked eyes with him but offered no revelation.
Eventually, the sound of wheels upon tile echoed through the library, growing louder and closer by the second. From around a corner emerged Belvedere, pushing a silver-plated refreshment cart with all the meager force he could muster. It made a terrible din as it rolled to a halt before the bench, but that did little to disturb Hornet's sleep.
From the profusion of dishes and decanters arrayed upon the cart, it seemed that Belvedere had become carried away with his duties… again.
"Please pardon the delay," Belvedere chirped, "but the Spire chefs were more difficult to rouse than I anticipated. For beverages, I have tea, mineral water, berry juice, and a spiced root drink from the market that I was assured is an excellent pick-me-up. For comestibles, I have meat buns, shredded vegetables, moss salad, and—" he leaned in, his eyes glinting conspiratorially, "honeycomb! Do not ask how I acquired it; I am sworn to secrecy."
Lurien pressed his mask into his claw. "All I requested was tea. You woke the chefs?"
"Yes, Watcher."
"It is the middle of the night!"
"Indeed, it is."
"This is no time to be badgering the chefs into furnishing banquets."
Belvedere straightened. "The time of day is no excuse to rescind hospitality."
"You would have done that very thing to me at the Spire doors had I not called your name!"
There was a pause. Belvedere seemed frozen in some intense calculation. "That is different," he said slowly. "You are the Watcher… and they are your guests."
Lurien threw up his arms.
Belvedere bowed, wrists crossed contritely at the waist. "If this displeases you, then I apologize. My only wish was to provide a sufficient repast. I will remove it immediately."
"No, no. I—Your consideration is appreciated, truly, it is only that this is a great deal of food for a night's snack."
"One never knows when it comes to the appetite of guests," Belvedere murmured.
As though on cue, Hornet groaned and sat up. She looked dazedly from Lurien to Belvedere before settling on the cart. Just as it had been with the Geo in the umbrella shop, all else in the world seemed to fade from her awareness. "Is that food?" she asked.
"It certainly is," Belvedere said cheerily. "Are you hungry?"
Hornet affixed herself to the edge of the cart. "A little."
Belvedere swept to the side with a flourish. "Then partake as much as you please! The Spire's amenities are at your disposal!"
Hornet lunged for the nearest meat bun, but she stopped herself. To Lurien's surprise, she glanced at him, a silent appeal in her eyes.
"Go on," Lurien sighed.
Hornet made a joyous noise and snatched up the first morsel.
It seemed acceptable enough to Lurien. With a bit of food weighing the girl down, bedtime would likely be less of an ordeal.
Yet 'a bit' quickly proved to be an inaccurate estimate. To the clash of dishware and the hollow, metal chime of tipped decanters, Hornet partook all that she pleased. Lurien looked on with horror as she systematically decimated everything upon the cart. Belvedere was barely granted enough time to rescue two helpings of moss salad before all the rest vanished.
"She eats like a newborn Mawlek," Belvedere whispered. He ushered Lurien over to a nearby reading table before setting down one of the plates. "Have you been feeding her at all?"
"Well, no but…"
"Watcher!"
"It was unnecessary!" Lurien hissed. "The trek to the Spire is not so long—at least it should not have been. Had all gone according to good sense, then we would have arrived here in time for the usual meal."
"A wise guardian always brings along a satchel of snacks," Belvedere tutted as he set out some silverware. "The young grow peckish easily."
"I haven't the patience for admonishment, Belvedere. The King informed me of my duty a mere moment before dropping these children on my head!"
Belvedere shrank in obeisance, though that didn't stop him from chuckling. "Well, you needn't worry any longer. Your dutiful assistant is here to ease this burden."
Lurien prodded his moss salad with a fork. "You have my thanks. I am not so proud as to deny that offer."
As though braving the jaws of a Fool Eater, Belvedere retrieved a pot of tea from the cart and poured Lurien a cup. After the Watcher had taken a sip, Belvedere poured one for himself. "So, how long will we be enjoying their company?"
"A week."
"That seems no great challenge."
"Be wary," Lurien warned, "these are not ordinary children."
Teacup between his claws, Belvedere watched Hornet down the pitcher of spiced root drink in one heroic quaff. "So I am beginning to fathom." He took a sip and shifted his attention to the Vessel.
It had not taken a single step toward the refreshment cart.
"Would the young… sir care for a meal as well?" Belvedere asked. "He must be just as famished."
Lurien nearly choked. "No, h-he is quite alright."
Belvedere lifted the remaining plate of moss salad. "Surely a modest bite won't hurt." Before Lurien could object further, Belvedere marched up to the Vessel and presented the plate.
The Vessel regarded the offering in its typical way: an inscrutable silence that could all too easily be misconstrued for deliberation. It did not nod. It did not reach. It only stared.
Belvedere, being no novice to the life of an attendant—one spent indulging the mercurial desires of noblebugs—did not budge an inch. He seemed perfectly content to remain a living art fixture for as long as the Vessel needed.
Knowing what he did—and what Belvedere did not—Lurien foresaw that being a very long time indeed. He considered ordering the Vessel to shake its head and end the awkward scene, but before he could, it extended a claw and took the plate.
With a little bow of approval, Belvedere retreated back to Lurien's table.
"A bashful one," Belvedere observed. "He and the girl are quite the dichotomy. Wouldn't you agree, Watcher?"
Lurien made a noncommittal grunt.
There it was again: that spark of will. Belvedere had given the Vessel no command, and yet it accepted the plate. Certainly, it had not done so out of need, for Vessels required no sustenance to survive. But why, then?
With the umbrella in one claw and the plate in the other, the Vessel had no means of lifting its fork. Instead, it returned to staring at Hornet as she picked at the last dregs of her feast.
Finally satiated, Hornet fell back onto the bench and let out a great sigh. "That was good. Thank you, Mr. Belbedere!"
Belvedere waved, not bothering to correct her. He leaned over to Lurien. "Shall I prepare lodging for the children?"
"Yes, the guest quarters adjacent to mine will be suitable."
"Very good," Belvedere said. "It shall be done forthwith." He then hastened off, but not before handing Hornet a towel from one of the cart's compartments.
Lurien nursed the last of his salad and tea, giving Hornet an opportunity to digest. Considering that the girl had consumed half her own body weight in food, it seemed a prudent idea. Soon enough the heavy meal would set in and she'd grow as docile as a Grub. For once, it appeared that Belvedere's excessive zeal had been a boon.
Lurien held firm to this supposition up until the moment that Hornet began to literally bounce off the walls. She leapt and skipped, pirouetted and tumbled, making the library's furniture her personal obstacle course. No amount of threats or castigation from Lurien could keep her still, as though her body had been possessed by a spirit of pure chaos.
It took little deductive skill to realize the spiced root drink that Hornet had guzzled was far more than a mild 'pick-me-up'. As Hornet scaled a scroll rack with a beast-like dexterity that would have surely impressed her own mother, Lurien wondered about the street legality of that concoction…
Provided he survived the night, Lurien would have words with his assistant.
With profuse cajoling and a dollop of luck, Lurien managed to corral Hornet through the library and into the elevator on the far side. The three of them ascended, and as the chains sang and the mechanisms crackled, Hornet hopped up and down, her body a taut string.
"Oh, I like your elevator, it's so shiny and loud, I've never ridden in one before, there are some in the palace, but the Lady won't let me use them because she says they're dangerous, but why have them if you can't use them, everyone treats me like I hatched yesterday but I'm not dumb, I could use an elevator if they just let me try, all you do is pull a lever, that doesn't seem so hard, and how can it—"
"Child!" Lurien barked. "Take a breath. Please."
Hornet paused just long enough to fill her shell with air before springing into another ramble. Fortunately for Lurien, it was directed at the Vessel and not him. In Hornet's enthusiasm, she took the Vessel by the arm and shook so vigorously that Lurien feared an impending dismemberment.
After a time in dim claustrophobia, the elevator jounced to a stop, and Hornet shot out like a Lumafly released from a glass bulb. The trio traversed the Spire proper, passing empty dining halls, studies, and sitting rooms. Even the scriptorium— a place that rarely went without the flicker of a midnight candle—was completely vacant.
Hornet ranged far and ahead, but Lurien lacked the strength to keep up with her. She hadn't the slightest idea where she was going, and as the tassel of her nail disappeared around a corner, there came the thunder of a warning.
"Halt, intruder! Name yourself!"
