Ch. 28

Septieme took this opportunity and ran with it, dancing with her father immediately. As they did so, keeping in perfect rhythm, she whispered in his ear with great urgency. The king's expression never changed, but Martis thought he grew a great deal paler, especially after he whispered to one of his guards, and got a reply within a few minutes.

Martis kept close by. He was beginning to feel like an extra thumb when all of a sudden Carlotta was next to him, asking to dance. He happily complied, and was able to keep watch while whirling with the saucy but strong redhead.

Oreldo tried to figure out where he was most needed, whether by Alice, Stecchin, or Martis and the royals. He then realized that since his street smarts and charm were his best assets, he would serve best by mingling in the thick of the audience, watching out for anything out of the ordinary. It wasn't an easy job, since he'd never been to a masquerade ball of this magnitude.

"Mr. Oreldo?" said a voice behind him. He turned and gasped.

"Hannah?"

"May I have this dance, sir?" she said. She smiled, but Oreldo could see she was shaking with terror.

Alice tried her best, allowing Oland to lead her and matching his movements. Fortunately, he wasn't the greatest dancer either. All too soon she found herself stepping on his toes. She blushed and began to apologize when he grinned and ducked his head down to hers.

"It's okay, milady, just place your toes on top of mine," he said. She complied, and suddenly remembered dancing with her father this way when she was much younger.

Oland watched her and thought she must have a natural knack for acting. How sad she seemed when they finally joined hands! He tried to cheer her up by making a few jokes, pointing out some of the more outrageous costumes and so on, but the more he spoke, the sadder she seemed to be. They made their way through the throngs of people, back toward the stage, until they reached the entrance to the back of it. The third song was almost finished. When the fifth began, they were to reappear on stage to finish the story.

"Milady, are you all right?" he asked.

Alice looked up and him and smiled. "I'm fine, C-er, Mr. Oland."

"Lady Kavi told me," he said. He saw Alice's eyes widen in alarm, so he quickly added, "She said you are in the military. It's okay if you want to call me by my rank. I don't mind."

Alice breathed a sigh of relief. "I see," she said.

He cocked his head to the side. "What's your rank, if you don't mind my asking?"

She debated for a moment. Hell. She couldn't protect him forever, nor could she lie outright. It went against everything she stood for, all she was brought up to believe. She only hoped it wouldn't trigger anything.

"Second Lieutenant," she said. "It's nothing big, really. I head a-a small PR group."

"Oh, that's good," he said, completely oblivious. "I was so worried." He immediately realized he had just implied an insult and blurted, "I-I mean it's n-not that I don't believe you can handle yourself in battle! It's just…I don't want you to get hurt!"

Alice laughed. She couldn't help it. For a brief moment, he sounded so much like the Oland she once knew.

"Thank you, Corporal," she said.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied automatically. He began to turn away to check on the audience when he paused.

"Yes, Ma'am," he whispered to himself. He did it again...and again. He frowned.

"Wait a minute…"

Septieme finished dancing with her father and looked for Martis. At first she couldn't see him, but when she did, she was crestfallen. He seemed to be really enjoying himself with Carlotta. Both of them were laughing and joking with one another. Just when she thought he'd forgotten all about her, he saw her and immediately dismissed himself, bowing to Carlotta, who curtsied and giggled like a schoolgirl.

Martis went to Septieme and made another formal bow, offering his hand. Septieme blushed and took it.

"Well," he asked, "how did it go?"

Septieme looked up at him and found she couldn't answer. Instead, she placed her head on his chest and sighed. Let the gossipers whisper amongst themselves. She no longer cared.

"Your Highness?" Martis said, "Septieme, what's wrong?"

"I wish we could stay like this forever," she mumbled into his suit jacket, almost to herself.

"Huh?"

She peered up. He looked so handsome and dashing, despite his owlish costume.

"I…" she said, "Mr. Martis, you must know that I'm very fond of you."

Martis felt his eyes widen. He knew this moment was coming, and yet he found himself speechless.

"I know too," she continued, "that I am but a little girl still. However, I still wish to ask you, that if and when this whole debacle has ended, if you would like to stay here in Rodelia as…as an advisor, if not a…a suitor?"

Martis was truly touched. He sympathized as well as admired her bravery and candor.

"Septieme," he said, his tone soft in her ear, "I am so honored. I think you are truly an amazing young lady. You know I'm not saying that just because you're a royal. We've had so many adventures here, and you've been strong through all of it. I believe that you have as much chance as any of your siblings, if not more, to be leader of your country."

They stopped dancing. Martis lifted her chin with one finger. Septieme suddenly forgot how to breathe.

"I'm sorry," he said, watching her eyes fill with tears, "but right now, my place is with my unit. Even if and when we solve this mess, I still need to help my country fix itself. I have friends and family there that I'm not ready to leave behind just yet. Do you understand?"

Septieme bit her lip and cursed herself for crying, but she couldn't help it. Martis tried to shush her but she backed away.

"I understand," she said, her voice a dull monotone. "I'm too young. Perhaps Carlotta is better suited to you. I'll not…ask you to stay for the rest of the night."

"Wait, Princess!" Martis cried. "What about His Majesty? Did you tell him? Will he listen?"

"It's all taken care of," she said, waving a hand in dismissal. She turned away. "He's aware of everything. It's all up to him now. I think…I think I shall go home."

She suddenly dashed away. Martis called after her, and made a move to follow when he was distracted by a strange sound.

"Hannah, what happened?" Oreldo hissed. "Everyone's been looking everywhere for you!"

He'd tugged her to the side where the refreshments sat. He gave her the onceover and saw she wore a dull gray cloak over a black wetsuit. At her side was a silver lantern.

His eyes bugged out of his head. "Don't tell me…you're one of them?"

"Mr. Oreldo, please listen!" Lucia, aka Hannah said. "It's not what you think!"

"Start talking," Oreldo said, grasping her by the arms, ready to shake her. "Now!"

Oland slowly turned to look at Alice. He blinked a few times in confusion. A muscle in the back of his head spasmed, and he grunted. He looked out in the audience, adjusting to the lights, when he saw them…they couldn't be real, but he saw them as clear as day.

Dozens of dark figures, all wearing familiar gray cloaks, were circling with partners and making merry. They were the ghosts of his old unit, and as he watched, the floor seemed to liquefy to blood, and the hands…the hands were rising out of them, beckoning.

Oland stumbled backwards. "No!" he hissed to himself. "Not now!"

Pain exploded in his head. Something at the back of his neck began to pulse in time with his heartbeat, which was speeding up with every passing second.

"Mr. Oland?" he heard Alice call. "What's wrong?"

Oland knelt and raised a hand to his face, panting. He felt her come up behind him and touch his shoulder.

"Get away from me!" he rumbled. Head in his hands, he hunkered down, making himself as small as possible. He almost curled up into a ball, every muscle in his body tense.

"Corporal?" Alice called. "Are you all right?"

Too late she remembered asking him the exact same thing the night of the near-massacre. She watched him carefully turn his head to look up at her. Despite the pain and fear, she could see he was puzzled.

"I told you to get away," Oland growled.

Alice instead came closer to try and see what was wrong. Without a word she removed one of her long gloves and touched his forehead.

"Oh no," she said. "You're burning up!"

"I said go away!" he roared.

Suddenly, he flung out a hand without looking. He felt his fingers strike her chin, and she cried out, more in surprise than pain. He heard her fall to the ground, and he gasped.

Lionel flew around the dance floor and was pleased. Everything seemed to be falling into place…or, at least it seemed so at first. The remaining members of the 906 had arrived, but the more he looked, the fewer and fewer of them there seemed to be. It was as though they were vanishing one by one. He grumbled to himself. Lady Kavi must have noticed and connected the dots. The Mad Minstrel had struck again.

Quickly he looked around and found Jan by the punchbowl. Unlike the rest of the cloaked figures, he was the only one not wearing a black wetsuit underneath.

He feigned needing to take a break and his partner stepped to the side. As he stood beside Jan and poured himself a glass of punch he muttered, "Strike."

"Now?" Jan asked, not looking at him.

"Yes."

"The Minstrel? She knows?"

"Bingo."

"Damn! Understood."

Jan moved away toward the stage. Lionel down his punch in two gulps and rejoined his partner. He began to move in the opposite direction, but the temptation was too great and he turned around. He just had to see how the overgrown soldier would react.