"Now, lis'en 'ere youn'uns! You know 'ow I was telling ye that the elves are the ones who're collectin' the taxes and that's why taxes are bad? Well, ye know what else? Elves are secret-like runnin' all the hoity-toity schools and yoo-nee-ver-cities. Iffen you let yer children go learn how to read, the elves'll spread their lies into their minds. I seen that all these edumacated folks wear hats, and I'm thinkin' it's to cover up their elf-ears!"

– Ol' Phil, uneducated horse herder

Deep below the surface of the earth, a wicked force of darkness communed with the blasphemous demonic realms. Leaning on her staff, the overlady tore open a fire-rimmed portal which smelled of sulphur. Blasphemous muttering and cursing filled the air, and an unnatural and unholy eye manifested in the scrying window.

"Is this damn thing working?"

Louise repressed a sigh. "Yes, Scarron, it's working," she said. "You're standing too close, though."

"Oh, that's dreadful!" The demon lord stepped back, so she could see more than just his eye. "It is such a problem getting these magical gizmos working, oui? J'eszika is so much better with them than me! I'm just an old man who's useless around these modern contraptions!"

"I see," Louise said, because she could see him properly now.

Twirling his moustache, a hint of hellfire gleaming in his eyes, Scarron settled down. "I am so pleased that you responded so swiftly to my message, Mademoiselle Overlady! Oh, oui, oui, you are perhaps my single most favourite client at the moment."

Louise was quite aware of that. She spent enough with him that she dratted well expected him to be fond of her, or at least her money. Money might not be able to buy happiness, but it could certainly lease it for a while when enough changed hands in the right direction.

"And of course," he added, "you are taking such wonderful care of ma petit! She is so happy! It is malevolent to see my little girl doing," he wiped away an unseen and possibly imaginary tear, "doing so well! And because she is doing well and is happy and is not in any way dead, oui, I will not have to torture you for ever and ever and ever and ever and then a teeny tiny bit longer!"

The overlady couldn't repress a shudder. "I try my best… uh, my worst," she said. Scarron was on the other side of a burning portal, but when he said things like that she sort of wanted to close the portal and run screaming back up the long spiral staircase, lock herself in her room and not come out for several days.

Well, if she had to admit the truth she really wanted to do that.

"Marvellous!" Scarron exclaimed, spreading his arms wide in a florid gesture – although the flowers involved in a demon prince's gesture were things any wise onlooker should be wary of. "Most marvellous, oui!"

Scarron's habit of randomly scattering Gallian words into his dialogue confused Louise no end. He certainly didn't have a Gallian accent. She'd have been able to tell if he did. She was half-certain he just did it to annoy her.

He clapped his hands together, leaning forwards in his high-backed chair. "But alas, non! This is not why I am speaking to you, even though this is just a dreadful little talk." He dropped his voice to a melodramatic tone. "I have found the location of another fragment of the Tower Heart, wink wink nudge nudge," he said, tapping his nose with one rather taloned finger.

Louise's eyes widened. That was good news. Or possibly bad news, depending on where he'd found it. "Oh?" she said, for lack of any better response.

"Oui. It is, as I had suspected but only just received proof of, hidden somewhere in the archives of the University of Amstreldamme." Scarron reached somewhere beyond the portal, and pulled out a map, passing it through to Louise. She took it in one gauntleted hand. "I have marked on the places it may be, but, alas! There is a long history of Evil magic within the university. That makes it damnably hard to tell one strong source of Evil from another." He blew a kiss at her. "I am sure you can do it, though, my dear," he said.

Louise nodded, her helmet clanking. "Very well. I will try to recover it soon."

"That is all I can ask for," Scarron said, twirling his moustache. "Ah, Mademoiselle Overlady, what a pleasure it is doing business with you! Au revouir!"

The portal faded away, leaving Louise in the natural stone chamber hidden under her dungeon. The gloom seemed to weigh on her like a lead sheet. It'd be nice to get outside. To get into a disguise and poke around Amstreldamme a bit, trying to see if her gauntlet could feel the fragment.

Yes. Some time outside would do her good. It wasn't because she was feeling rotten because it was nearly her eighteenth birthday – the second birthday away from home that she'd missed – and… and she just wanted to be home and not having to deal with being an evil overlady. Not at all.

Not at all.

Minionkind liked looting, pillaging, plundering and murder. Unfortunately often they found themselves with a paucity of opportunities to carry out such deeds. Overlords could not run around the countryside stomping on sheep and kicking puppies all the time, much as some might like to. Therefore, between violence-filled excursions minions had to find ways to entertain themselves.

Often this entailed minion-on-minion violence, but in the case of the senior and – insofar as such a term applied to such beasts – elite minions of Louise de la Vallière, they were not feeling the urge to inflict brutal injury on their fellows. Not since at least five minutes ago, when Maggat had beaten Maxy over the head repeatedly for looking like he was about to start reciting poetry without prior permission. So instead the minutes ticked by in quiet domesticity in the minion pits, and Maggat started beating up the insubordinate leader of the new Red 'recruits'.

It wasn't a domesticity many humans would recognise, given that the pits were filthy to an almost transcendental level and there was the sound of constant brawling, but it was home to them.

"Oi, Maggat?" Scyl asked, scuffing his blue webbed feet in the dirt. He adjusted his black cloak in front of a scrap of mirror tied to the chest of a younger and poorer minion who was getting a very good deal out of its role.

"I is being oppressed!"

"Yeah, you is." Maggat turned, but didn't stop smashing a club into the head of the unfortunate red. "What are the matter, Scyl?"

"Is… is we getting smarter-er?"

Maggat gave the matter some thought. "Nah," he decided after getting bored with thinking. He kicked the prone figure of the twitching red in the gut, and watched as it messily expired. "We is getting cunninger. Not smarter."

"Ah. Okay." Scyl brought the minion Maggat had just killed back to life. "But what are the difference between cunning and smartyness?"

"That are Maxy's sort of question," Maggat said firmly, hitting the newly revived red again. "I is cunning and deadly and I is the overlady's trusted minion – who are of course much much less trusted or cunning than Gnarl," he added hastily, quite aware of the senior minion's opinions on those who had thoughts above their station. "But wordies is a thing of smartness, not cunningness, and since I is cunning, not smart, I no is knowing the differ-ness between cunningness and smartyness."

That did make perfect sense, Scyl had to agree.

"Now!" Maggat crossed his arms. "Has I taken your free-ness yet? I has taken your life…" Maggat narrowed his eyes in furious cognition, "nine-ten and eight and four-er times so far."

"Never! The red-volution will try-umph!"

"Try and fail," Maggat insisted, headbutting the would-be insurgent. "Char, Char, Char," he told the minion. "We is doing this the fun way for me, but not so fun way for you. If you is shutting up 'bout this whole red-volution thing, I no is going to hit you no more."

"That no is true," Scyl said, shaking his finger at Maggat.

"I no is going to hit you no more than any other minion," Maggat said, glaring at Scyl, who leaped back out of range from the cuff aimed at his head.

"And that are very unfair of you," Igni said loyally. "You is a much worse boss-minion than others. Oi, does you re-member ol' Frottle?"

There was a burst of tittering laughter from Fettid, who appeared out of nowhere to join in the conversation. "Frottle? That are a name I no is hearing in a long long time! He were the boss minion back when I was much less looty and killy!"

"He not half as cunning or brutal as you, Maggat," Igni said, shuffling up.

Maggat shook his head. "You is wanting some thing," he said suspiciously and hefting his current weapon-of-choice in case Igni tried to steal one of his skull pauldrons. Since his weapon was already hefted, he took the chance to give Char a solid thwack with it.

"I is just saying we is good friends and you is hitting us much much less than you hit other minions," Igni says, sounding hurt. "Apart from Maxy, obv'usly."

There was a general nodding. Of course Maxy needed hitting. He committed acts of wanton poetry without provocation. That was going beyond the pale in the usual level of scraps common to minions.

Things which had probably maybe possibly originally been trumpets sounded, and to the sound of dying tooting the Overlady descended to the minion level, holding her nose. The burning torch she was carrying had a blue corona around the edge of the flame.

"Overlady!" Maggat said, hitting Char again and then rushing forwards. "What is you doing here? This no are a place for a so-fis-ti-cat-ed overlady like you."

"I is… I am looking for a minion for a special exploratory venture for the purposes of espionage," Louise said, nearly kicking herself for the slip up in her grammar and thus somewhat over-compensating. It was the dratted smell. She was holding her nose, but it was somehow managing to creep through. Perhaps it was causing brain damage.

After that announcement, she was faced by the blank faces of the minion horde. Apparently Maxy was absent, so they had no one who could explain what she meant. Louise tried again.

"I want a minion to accompany… to come with me for the purposes of… of… a sneaky mission," she said.

"Ah," Igni said gnomically. "Why you not say that the first time, overlady?"

She chose not to dignify that with an answer. "Maggat?" she asked.

The minion slumped down. "I are sort of a little bit busy, overlady," he said, sounding heartbroken. "I are having to beat some oh beadyence into these reddies. And I are needing Maxy to use the poetry to make them suffer. And I are needing Scyl to bring them back when I kills them or when they do the suey-cide to escape the poetry. I are thinking you is wanting Fettid or Igni."

Louise considered which minion she wanted to have around her the least least. On one hand, Fettid was frightfully stupid, bad-smelling, vicious, cruel, bloody, had the attention span of a thing with no attention span at all, was still wearing one of her old dresses…

"I shall take Igni," she said, trying to sound haughty when holding her nose.

"Yay!" Igni proclaimed, while Fettid slumped. "Where is we going? I are hoping there is lots of alchemy there! Alchemy explodes!"

Louise swiftly reconsidered whether she really wanted him, but… no. The other choice was Fettid. "Maybe," she said. "Now, come on. We need to leave. Quickly."

She got half way down the stairs to the tower heart when someone cleared their throat. "Ah, your wickedness," Gnarl said from about twenty centimetres behind her. "Are you going somewhere?"

Louise managed to not scream at all, and only eek slightly. "Yes, Gnarl," she said once her heartrate was somewhat under control. "Scarron has contacted me and told me he's found evidence that the another fragment of the tower heart is in the University of Amstreldamme. I thought I'd go there under cover with a few minions and see if I could sense where it is using the Gauntlet. Um. Before I began a major operation to capture it." She waited for the inevitable reprimand that she had paperwork to do or-

"Ah, most devilish thought, your tenebralness," Gnarl said cheerfully. "A real go-getting attitude there. I'd feel a lot safer in the knowledge that this tower is very unlikely to explode in a giant burst of Evil and pain and death. It's very good for my health, you know. The number of little fluffy ducklings and cute puppies it'd kill isn't worth the blow to Evil that the loss of this tower would be."

"So… you're fine with that?" she said.

"Of course, your depravedness," Gnarl said.

Louise winced. She hadn't needed to sneak out at all. That meant she hadn't needed to go down to the minionish levels. She could have spared herself the entire experience! Drat, drat and double drat!

"Very well, Gnarl," she said. "I should be back soon."

Cattleya's eyes snapped open. There was something warm on her chest. Blinking in the gloom of her tastefully done technically-a-crypt, she stared at the slathering red-eyed wolf leaning on her.

"Oh, no! Bad Pierre," she chided the blood-drinking monster, which yelped. "No using me as a pillow. Off the bed! Down. Down! No sleeping here! This bed is for me and for maids!"

The wolf whined.

"No! Down, boy!" she ordered it, and it retreated down to the floor. Cattleya believed in fur without suffering, and thus the wolves which formed an impromptu carpet were mostly alive. And the ones who weren't alive were undead and vampiric, which was the next best thing!

Groaning, she twisted her head until she could see the clock by the side of her bed. From the way she felt, it was early. Maybe as early as eleven the morning.

Her hypothesis was correct. Urgh. Far, far too early to be awake. But something had woken her up. Something which wasn't just a wolf using her as a pillow. She tried to be strict with her little puppies, but she usually slept through it and she often woke up covered in wolf fur and she was just too darn soft-hearted to really punish them.

Rising in one continuous movement which started with her flat on her back and which ended with her upright, Cattleya uncrossed her arms from her chest and pondered. What was this peculiar feeling? Hunger, she wondered, licking her lips and her canines? No, she was fully sated from unicorn, wolf and maid and she had drunk only a few hours ago.

It could only be one thing. Something bad was happening. She was certain of this.

Unfortunately, this wasn't a very helpful feeling, because in the overlady's tower, something bad happened on a daily – or at least weekly – basis. She often woke up in the middle of the day knowing that something bad was happening. It was jolly annoying, really, but she just grinned widely and bore it.

Maybe she should say something to Louise about not having Evil plans during the middle of the day, Cattleya thought. Oh! Maybe it was because it was her sister's birthday today! That was probably a good thing for Louise, which made it a bad thing in the language of Evil. She settled back down and tried to get back to the cold rest close to death, wherein her damnéd and anchored soul strayed close to the coldness of the grave which was her deserved resting place yet was denied to her, for she wandered the world hungry for…

… hmm. She was thinking melodramatically. Maybe she was a little hungry.

"Something's burning out there!" one of the guards up on the walls said, shielding his eyes against the bright summer sunshine.

"What? Where? I don't see any fire!"

The older and more world-weary guard stared at his companion. "There's a pillar of smoke over there," he said, trying to sound like he didn't think his companion was an idiot and failing. As a native of Amstreldamme from birth, he naturally considered anyone from the countryside to be a rural bumpkin barely smart enough to remember to breathe, and defined 'countryside' as 'anywhere where there's grass under your feet'. In the case of this particular co-worker, he was broadly correct.

They went to raise the alarm, and the short-yet-sinister black robed figure followed by a vile smelling child walked in through the gate completely unnoticed.

Louise was in a bad mood. Some might say that this was much like saying that water was wet, but it was worse than usual.

"Stupid useless stupid annoying stupid brainless stupid stupid ponies," she muttered to herself.

"They burn well," Igni contributed. "Also fry well. And I likey the bit where you spray them with the pink acid. They scream a lot and then melt. Fun-fun."

That had been quite messy, Louise thought with a wince. Apparently evil-water could be either acid or blood. She hadn't quite realised that until she tested that spell on those stupid horses.

Not that she'd gone looking for them! It was all the fault of the stupid useless farmer who'd let his horses run over the blasted wicked heath where the evil portal had opened. The ponies had been waiting for her! Plotting and working together! But she had had magic and magic beat the sinister plotting of horses!

Looking around, she shed those irrelevant thoughts. Louise had only been to Amstreldamme a few times before. She remembered it being strange back then. Now, looking at it with older, more experienced, and not-glowing-because-she-had-the-illusion-up eyes, she could see the similarities to the Abyss. The magelights hanging from poles above the streets which had once awed her now reminded her of the burning souls which lit hell. The haze of coal smoke and fog was like clinging sulphurous smog. The tall grey buildings leaned over narrow streets, and carriages bounced along cobbled roads.

Yes, having seen the Abyss and Los Diablos, it did sort of seem like a lesser version. Smaller and less blatantly soul-crushingly Evil. Jessica had called it 'anachronistic' which sounded like a good word for that concept.

Following the thronging streets filled with men and women dressed in sober black, Louise made her way towards the centre of the old city. The centre of Amstreldamme was dominated by the university. Indeed, according to the university the entire reason the city had been built was to support it and to give the scholars somewhere to spend their money. This was acknowledged by less hubristic academics to be technically speaking a lie, because the city predated the university considerably and was in fact built on old dragon-ruins. Nevertheless, the faculty exhibited remarkable independence and authority, holding itself not entirely subservient to secular authority.

It was probably this attitude which led to the university having to periodically be purged for heresy, Louise felt.

Idly giving Igni a kick because she noticed the minion was looking at… well, everything as if he was considering how flammable it was, she went looking for entertainment.

She swiftly found it, in the form of a poster on an academic billboard. Louise tore down the poster, staring at it. 'A debate on the possibility of the hereto unproven yet often speculated demonic nature of goats, viewed with most eminent reason with the arts of natural philosophy and debated in the Department of Natural Philosophy here at the University of Amstreldamme'. It was today. And the names on it were-

The names on it were-

Françoise Athénaïs de Rochechouart de Mortemart, marquise of Montespan. And Eléonore Albertine Le Blanc De La Blois De La Vallière.

The names were written really small to fit onto the poster and were hard to read. Oh, and they were also her sister and the treacherous simpleton seductress witch ex-fiance-stealing trollop who she was going to kill dead dead dead.

Well. Change of plans. There was no way she was missing this. Not least because as a little sister, Louise had been at the sharp end of Eleonore's diatribes vis a vis paint and people's hair on several occasions and thus it was a transcendentally glorious thing to see her unleashed on other people when she herself was not in the firing line.

And if the Madame de Montespan won –well, she'd have publically humiliated her sister. Which was totally unforgiveable and would mean that in the sake of her family's honour, why, Louise would just have to set her on fire. Such a shame. Boo hoo.

Sound in her moral convictions, the sinister overlady who struck fear into the hearts of the masses went looking for a way to get in to watch the debate.

Jessica was getting angry. Very angry. This could be seen by the smoky shadowy wings sprouting from her back, the flaming horns protruding from her forehead, and the fact that her eyes literally smouldered with passion. Henrietta had broken down into tears about her lost love even before Jessica had entered the room she'd been decorating for Louise's birthday party.

"What is she playing at?" Jessica shouted, gesturing around the banner filled room with the large ornamental cake in the centre. She half-turned, and barely stopped herself before her wings knocked over the cake. "Where has she got to!?"

"I don't know!" sobbed Henrietta into her handkerchief. "I didn't see her this morning and she… she… she…" and the rest of what she was about to say was lost in a blurble of words accompanied by a snot bubble.

Hands on her hips, Jessica roared, "Catt!" in an attractive baritone which would have any woman who felt the slightest desire for men weak at the knees. "Get in here!"

There was a delay, and a tousled head poked through the door. "What?" Cattleya said warily, hiding behind the doorframe. "I was asleep. And… um, please stop being on fire."

"Where is your sister?!"

Cattelya rubbed her eyes. "I do not know," she said, trying not to yawn. "It's… it's not noon yet. Can't think. Because you're on fire. And-"

"Have you seen her? She's vanished on me! It's fucking pissing me off!"

"Okay, I have had about enough of you shouting and being on fire!" Cattleya retorted, something breaking inside her head. "It is not very nice to interrupt people! Stop it! And don't you dare swear at me! Or be on fire! In fact, I'm going away and not coming back until… until you stop being on fire!" And with that said, she stormed out.

Jessica glared back, a looming and very handsome figure of smoke and flame. Gritting her teeth, her wings folded back in so they were no longer taking up the entire room.

"I'm going to find Gnarl!" Jessica roared and stomped out, her hooves echoing on the ground.

Blowing her nose, Henrietta tried hard to get a hold on herself. This was not a good day. She liked Jessica most of the time, but… but… but when she got angry, all she could do was think of her poor dead love. It was almost like he was here sitting next to her, like he had in that moons-lit night under the veranda by the lake, gazing deep into her eyes and… and… she furiously blotted at her eyes.

He was dead. Her heart was full of love for a dead prince. She'd never love another man again, because she… she didn't have room. Jessica's demonic power was trying to make her love her and it couldn't. And if… if such terrifying power couldn't get into her heart, what hope did any mortal man have?

She blotted at her eyes with her thoroughly sodden handkerchief, and went rummaging through her pockets to try to find one which didn't have to be wrung out.

She found one just in time to break it in when a roar of "He did what?!" echoed through and left her in a fresh wave of tears.

The door damn well nearly burst off its hinges as Jessica barged back in. Demonic magic crackled over every surface. A burning, shadow-wreathed portal ringed by screaming skulls tore into the world. The air lost all humidity, becoming as bone dry and hot as a desert. Perfumed smoke drifted through the air. "Dad!" Jessica yelled. "What did you do! I am trying to organise a birthday party here and you have fucked everything up!"

From the depths of the hellish portal, Scarron's image appeared. He seemed somewhat surprised, not least because he was sitting in a hip-deep elvish bath full of blood-red bubbles and wearing only a shower cap. A horned duck of the Abyss floated by. "Ma petit, you are looking malevolently demonic today! I've always wanted you to embrace your heritage, but I am in the bath right now so how about I call you back and…"

"I am in no mood for your shit!"

"J'eszika! Language!"

"I don't fucking care! What did you do to Louise? I have a fireproof stripper in a cake just waiting for her to get back and if she isn't here the cake will go off! And fuck you if you're ruining this for me!"

"I understand you might be angry, but…"

"Where. Is. She?"

Scarron blinked, and looked momentarily uncomfortable. "Wait," he said, shifting around until he could pick up the soap he was sitting on. "She didn't tell you, non?"

"She didn't! And it's your fault!"

"Oh! Is that all you're angry about, ma petit? That little thing?" Scarron stretched and smiled, obviously relieved. "Jessica, dear, I am under arrangement with her and the Gnarl to tell them as soon as I find solid information as to the missing fragments of the Tower Heart. Remember, darling, what happens to a Tower Heart which is overstressed when it is damaged. I'm just sure none of us want that! Magical explosions are very bad for business – and for your health, considering how close you are to it! I wouldn't let you be there if she hadn't already partially stabilised it. She's probably in Amstreldamme right now."

Jessica sullenly glowered, the wind let out of her sails. "Well, yes, but…" she said, wings collapsing down and shrinking.

There was a moment of silence, tension filling the world.

"… wait. Dad. Why'd you think I'd be angry?"

Scarron shifted awkwardly. "Well, uh, a client may have passed that information to me and I might have thought that you might have considered it a possible problem because I didn't mention it and…"

"Which. Client."

"Ma petit, I have a confidentiality arrangement! You can't just demand to know their name, even if it might possibly probably be a teeny weeny trap! I have professional standards!"

"Did you send her into a trap?"

"I don't know. J'eszika, you cannot blame me for this." Scarron paused. "I was paid a lot to not ask questions. And I entirely fulfilled my contractual arrangement with the little overlady, so I cannot see how I can be at fault, non?"

"Dad!"

One of the great historic problems that scholars of natural philosophy had wrestled with since antiquity was how one could tell a denizen of the Abyss from a perfectly normal creature which just happens to have horns and hooves. It was a great and troublesome question, sparking lively and often heated debates that ranged between the fields of natural philosophy, unnatural philosophy, theology, anatomy, and the occasional odd venture into demonology to try to cast a three-fold binding upon cows and compel them to speak the truth.

So far, the latter had proven that cows were either not secretly demons, or they were particularly strong-willed and powerful demons who could resist even the mightiest forms of enspellment. It was suspected that the former was the case, if only because anything intelligent and powerful enough to hide so completely from all forms of detection would probably have had enough dignity to do so as something other than a cow.

But goats weren't to be trusted. No one should trust a goat.

Hood up, Louise slipped into the debating theatre, trying to make as little noise as possible. The stalls were packed with black-robed scholars – who dressed like crows to a man and woman – so she barely stood out. Carefully muttering apologies, she squeezed past the guards at the door and sat herself down in one of the free seats at the back. And then she had to go back to get Igni past the guards, making excuses for the 'poor orphan boy' and promising that he wouldn't steal any of the silverware.

Louise felt vaguely guilty for lying about the silverware, and also the fact that Igni had already stolen the man's purse.

"If you say a single thing," she hissed to the minion, "your fate will be worse than I can possibly imagine." She paused. "I will give you to Gnarl," she said.

An elderly academic nodded approvingly. "Ver'ah good child raising there," he said in an Albionese accent. "Threatening a child with the Gnarl. Gotta'h scare the little blighters." He was then shushed by the people around him as Louise took her seat.

By the looks of things, she was late and had missed most of the debate. A partially dissected goat lay on the marble slab down at the centre of the auditorium, while other preserved parts floated in various tanks in green fluid. The blackboards behind the two podiums were covered in diagrams, occult markings and postulates. Louise could see the characteristic caricatures of her sister, who combined a fast and precise drawing hand with an eye for mocking satire.

And speaking of her sister, Eleanore was on the podium to the right of the stage. Louise's heart leapt in quiet joy to see a member of her family that wasn't Cattleya. Her eldest sister was blonde, but otherwise they were quite alike. They had similar faces and the same slim build – although Eleanore was aggravatingly taller and somewhat more busty. Though the latter point was probably because she was ten years older. No other reason.

At least she looked well. In fact, she looked like she was positively enjoying herself.

Her gaze then drifted to her. The enemy. Wardes' trollop. Louise gripped the back of the chair in front of her tightly. This was the first time she had ever really seen her second-greatest enemy in the flesh.

They looked nothing alike. She had no idea why some people had suggested that. Yes, they were both pale, but that was just because they were members of the nobility. Only commoners or Germanians – but she repeated herself – got tanned. And yes, the Madame de Montespan might actually have been slightly shorter than her, after her recent growth spurt. And yes, she might have had a similar build. And maybe, yes, their faces were not entirely unalike. But they were completely one hundred percent different! Françoise Athénaïs wore white! And her hair and eyes were pale green, not pink! How anyone could confuse them was totally beyond her!

Louise glared down at the short woman who was carefully expounding on some principle of anatomy that she couldn't understand because she'd missed the first half of the debate. Françoise Athénaïs was going to suffer. No two ways about it. Yes. She was going to suffer and then Wardes would find out and… and maybe he'd cry!

… or maybe he'd just go find a new mistress. Hmm. That was a problem. He was a disloyal dog who didn't even wait a single season from the death of his fiancée before finding a new one. What if killing her didn't upset him?

Oh, wait. She was still a traitor and a member of the Council. She needed to be crushed under Louise's steel boot regardless.

"… and so in conclusion, I believe the evidence is quiet clear on the nature of goats, and that no one in their right minds could argue with it," the Madame de Montespan concluded, to polite applause from the audience. Louise didn't clap. Hah! See how she liked that!

Eleanore politely nodded to her opponent, and took to the stage.

"Of course, there is another reason why we must – with the greatest respect – challenge the claims of my most esteemed opponent," Eleanore said. "Namely, that while I do not cast aspersions on her talents in certain fields, this is not one of them. No, where her true talents lie is in her work with wards."

Louise frowned. No. Oh no. What was Eleanore doing? She didn't normally compliment people, unless she was setting them up for some greater insult. Or sometimes dratting them with faint praise. Mostly the former. Eleanore didn't really do compliments, in the same way that water didn't do 'starting fires'.

"Yes, my good friend Françoise-Athénaïs has taken in the most central element of wards and made the entirety her own. The matter in hand may have been long and hard, but she has worked late at night with wards, bent over her writing desk, and her analysis has been comprehensive – to say the very least!"

Louise swallowed. Oh. Oh dear.

"On her hands and knees, she has worked long into the night. And got very little rest because of the great sacrifices she has made in the name of her research. In church, she has knelt and called out the name of the Founder – praying, no doubt, for inspiration." She folded her hands together sanctimoniously. "Oh, her fidelity is famous to those of us in the know. We have no doubt as to her virtue or her suitability for marriage. None whatsoever!"

"Are you done?" the Madame de Montespan said icily.

Eleanore shot a glance at the white-bearded adjucator with a hurt expression on her face. "Point of order!" she said, sounding shocked. "My opponent has had her turn to speak! If she wishes to object to factual accuracy of any of the points I make, she need only raise it in the summary speeches!"

"De la Vallière is entirely correct," the scholar said solemnly. "De Montespan, control yourself. You will have your turn later. De la Vallière, cont-"

"You know she is slandering me," de Montespan said.

"Slander?" Eleanore said innocently. "How can I slander you when I praise you? Your papers on the calculus of wards were brilliant. You must have sweated and screamed as you worked on wards until the target of your attention was entirely spent. How else could you get such fine results that would lead you to your current position? Why, if you hadn't carried out such a comprehensive study of wards, I have no doubt that you would not be on the Regency Council. Now, excuse me, I would like to raise that she so rudely interrupted you, sir, and regretfully request another strike be issued against my esteemed opponent."

"Upheld," said the man, making a mark on a chalk board. "That's three strikes against you, de Montespan, and a formal demerit will be issued by the university for such a shameful display. Continue, de la Vallière."

Eleanore inclined her head. "Thank you very much, sir" she said, smiling politely. Louise could hear chuckles and sniggers coming from the audience, especially from a certain kind of grey-haired senior academic. Her big sister seemed to be quite popular with the elderly men who ran this place.

Probably because she was a pretty young woman with a tongue as sharp as… as… as a very sharp thing. Louise wasn't feeling in a very metaphor-y mood.

"Indeed," Eleanore said with a perfectly straight face, "I think we must, one and all, concede that the sole reason that my esteemed rival occupies her current elevated status is because she is a mistress of wards. It is for that talent beyond all others that we must offer her public recognition, but ladies and gentlemen of the audience, please do not mistake her great skill at handling wards for any more profound talent at the study of the natural philosophies." She inclined her head respectfully, shuffled her papers, and curtseyed to the chair of the debate.

And then she let out the smirk she had been holding in. It wasn't a large smirk, but it was carefully and elegantly tailored to demonstrate to all academic standards that she had been doing it deliberately, while also maintaining plausible deniability. It was smug. It was vicious and cruel. It was vindictive.

It was a de la Vallière look.

"Now, to move onto the main body of my argument – oh, do please tell me if I go too quickly, Françoise Athénaïs. Your speciality is manipulating wards, not natural philosophy. But…"

The Madame de Montespan cleared her throat. "I believe this mockery has gone on long enough," she said. Her voice was colder, more clearly enunciated.

Eleanore's smirk grew. "Oh my. I would like to raise with the chair that my respected opponent has once again-"

"Shut up." De Montespan's words were ice cold, and an immediate uproar erupted in the auditorium. "And that goes for you too," she added, casting a quick spell to amplify her voice. "Oh, Eleanore Albertine, you silly little girl. You don't seem to understand what you've done. What wicked ways you've been party to. Or perhaps you do and you just have no shame." She didn't smirk. "You are a de la Vallière, after all."

Eleanore's hand went to her wand. "A duel!" she announced. "If you will not respect the rules of this debate, then…"

"Respect? You dare speak of respect? You, who prides yourself on staying within the letter of the university regulations while you insult anyone who fetches your fancy? And what of the insults you show to our great nation? To our queen? No, this charade has gone on quite long enough."

And half the audience rose, pointing pistols and wands at the other half. From the rafters of the auditorium, men on stage ropes dropped in, while two mages crawled out from under the dissection slab. Even the blackboards rolled up to allow more soldiers to step onto the stage.

Louise yelped. No. No, no. What… this… no! What was happening? This was meant to be an academic debate, not… she wasn't wearing her armour. And the guards at the door had stepped in and they had their weapons raised and her sister was surrounded and she couldn't do a thing to help.

"Checkmate, Eleanore Albertine," Françoise Athénaïs said calmly, her wand levelled at Eleanore. "I do understand that it's not usually allowed in chess to take all your opponent's pieces at once, but then again, chess is just a metaphor here."

"De Montespan, what have you done?" the chair of the debate snapped. It was quite a brave gesture, because the elderly gentleman had four pistols and two wands pointed at him. "It is forbidden by university regulations to arrest your opponent in a debate!"

"It's a violation of CVII 23(2)," Eleanore confirmed. "Also MIV 2(4), XXIII 43(23), and under some interpretations…"

"Thank you, de la Vallière, that's enough. You are undoubtedly correct as always, but you're not helping." He cleared his throat. "Yes! And you, madame, are using state resources to settle a personal grudge!"

The Madame de Montespan clasped her hands together. "Settle a personal grudge?" she asked calmly. "Far from it. It's just a question of ethics in academia." She leaned in. "And calling my motives – as a member of the Regency Council of Tristain – into question is quite shocking." She shook her head. "Academics such as yourself are meant to be neutral in political debates. Why, that calls your own ethics into question."

"This university has always been independent! Only the worst tyrants in the history of Tristain have dared-"

"And there you go, acting so very… unethically," the woman said, her face entirely neutral. "I think that this raises very serious doubts about bias in the organisation of the University of Amstreldamme. Far-reaching systematic bias, which provides protection to wrong-doers such as that contemptible accused criminal from a well-known Evil family." She paused. "Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Taking to the stage, she strode up and down. "Now, ladies and gentlemen of the audience," she said, addressing the half of the audience who had weapons pointed at them. "I would like to present a case before you. Imagine, if you would, a certain family. A family known for their wickedness. A family known for their depravity. A family whose eldest scion and heir stands before me on the stage. Imagine, if you will, that this aforementioned scion has many allies among the academics. Some of them are allies of her family – which call their judgement into question. Some of them are her allies. Disgraceful.

"These academics would be a shame on their profession, for they would let bias and ill-judgement creep into their decision making. They would take the very honour of this noble institution and," she scuffed her foot along the ground, "smear it into the dirt. Such a subversive influence couldn't be trusted. They'd be a veritable plague on our nation, hiding behind their tenure."

Françoise Athénaïs smiled quietly, showing emotion for the first time. "Wouldn't they all attend a debate she was in? Especially since she is known to be a silver-tongued, lying witch. Or at least something very close to a 'witch'. Perhaps they'd all attend so they could watch a member of the Regency Council be 'humiliated'?"

She clapped her hands together.

"Now, of course, we shall all act ethically and with the proper moral guidance. Not all of you are being arrested. I do sincerely apologise to those of you who are not in league with this evil viperess. But until we have winnowed through and separated the guilty from the ethical, none of you will be permitted to leave.

"And as a small note, the city of Amstreldamme is now under martial law, to ensure an orderly transition of power and prevent the wicked and corrupt in the civic authorities from indulging in their wicked ways."

The look on Eleanore's face was an expression of pure, impotent rage. She had been forced to her knees by the guards and her wand was lying beside her, but she was still struggling. "Do you have no honour? I'll... I challenged you to a duel! If you have any conviction, you'd… you'd face me!"

Françoise Athénaïs stepped up to Eleanore, the same quiet smile on her face. And then she slapped her, the sound of flesh on flesh loud in the auditorium. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that. I've hated you since that first day of school," she said softly. "Take the traitor away."