Chapter Seventeen
Pan hadn't expected a triumphant parade on her return to Asphodel, but she got one.
It wasn't parading yet, and it wasn't strictly for her. When she appeared behind a tent in the market, using the bearded shopkeeper's signature as an anchor, the main thoroughfare was in the process of being closed off. Shoppers with bags and crates still pieced down the road, but they were joined by Brenchian and Reizomorph servants partitioning off the side streets and hanging banners from the meaty walls. Guards were out in force, which killed their hopes of blending into the traffic undetected.
"I know a back way that should still be safe," Ember said.
"Is this a holiday?" Pan asked.
"His majesty is having company," Gelata said. "Unexpected company, judging from the haste. I wonder who, and why such short notice."
"We can find out at the palace, assuming anyone there remains loyal to us," Ember said. "This way."
From the roof of the palace, Pan had thought the alleyways looked difficult to navigate. She was right. They were even drearier and more tangled up from the ground. Dirty snow from last night's storm melted into puddles. The walls looked like ink with hints of texture and stone scratched off. Round doorways sank off to places Pan couldn't imagine and suspected she didn't want to.
The palace was in greater disarray when they arrived. Servants and nobles alike sped through the halls, clogging the walkways and murmuring. It was impossible to catch even a word of conversation, so many voices were competing for space. So Pan couldn't hear anything, and she couldn't figure out what tasks everyone so busily worked.
She could, however, tell there were guards everywhere here, too.
"How do we get through, Captain?" Gelata asked.
Before the last of her words had been drowned out, they found out the answer was, 'they didn't.' A guard stepped before them, hands tucked behind his back, his face impassive. Pan wondered if she should ready herself for a fight. She watched Ember, and he didn't, so she waited.
"Welcome back, Captain, Officer," He said. "I hope you'll find your appointed interim replacements have kept everything running to your satisfaction in your absence. Unfortunately, you have no time to take their reports. The king has requested your presence immediately. He sent me to wait for your arrival and bring you directly to him. I was instructed to bring your Brenchian servant, too."
He turned on one heel and marched away.
Ember stepped in line behind him.
"Wait," Pan whispered. "This sounds suspicious. Do we really want to…?"
"We don't have a choice," Ember said. "This is how it's going to be."
"I think I'd prefer to be arrested," Gelata whispered back. "We'd only have a farce of a trial, so the end result would be the same, but at least his majesty would be limited by the publicity in what he could do to us."
Whatever the king was planning on doing to them, he was in no hurry. When he said he needed to see them right away, he apparently meant he needed them to wait outside a closed door for a long time, the guard staring them down the whole while. There wasn't even anywhere to sit, although Pan didn't know if she'd be able to anyway, as keyed up as she was. The wait only made it worse. She thought that might be the point.
When the door finally opened, Pan was surprised by what she saw; or rather, what she didn't see.
Pan had visited a throne room before, in the palatial estate of Don Kee. Every line and brick of that place had been designed to display wealth. She'd assumed that was typical of throne rooms. Why, then, was this one so gloomy and bare? Light filtered reluctantly through windows and fell in bleached squares on an old burgundy carpet. The few bits of antique furniture that didn't look ancient and worn only stood out for it, making them feel less a display and more a mean-spirited parody of opulence.
There was a high-backed wooden throne, but Sulfuri didn't sit on it. In fact, Pan couldn't see the Sutova king at first, so well had he hidden in the shadows. She only located him when he spoke.
"I have in my midst a pair of traitors," Sulfuri said, fading into view at last. "Do you know what my father did with traitors, Captain Ember? Of course you do. You oversaw some of those executions yourself. I bet you still remember how to weave the trap so there's no door to chance springing open, how to fan the flames so the smoke can't suffocate the condemned before they've felt every last tongue on their flesh. Maybe he'd have given your friend Gelata a coat of butter first. My father hated traitors."
Sulfuri took his eyes from the floor and fixed them on Pan.
"Do you know what he hated more than traitors? Failures. I have ways of monitoring your progress, and I've seen a lot of spectacle and devastation, but as of yet, no Reizomorph corpses. Am I correct in guessing your target is not dead? Tell me, little girl, how do you think my father dealt with failures? I'll give you a hint. If that grub you're hunting were really Frieza, you'd face a kinder fate turning yourself over to him than crawling back here."
That deep well, that place Pan's purest self resided; at the very bottom of it, she felt a slow boil starting, a rage at the presumption and injustice of all this. She fought to clamp it down. Too much anger could trigger a transformation, a transformation could trigger an earthquake, and an earthquake right at the center of Asphodel City… she'd seen that kind of destruction in her worst nightmares. Yet she feared trying too hard to bottle it would only make it blow even harder.
"But I am not my father," Sulfuri said, turning from them, taking his place on the throne. "And your little mutiny did uncover some valuable, if disturbing, information. It seems in spite of my best efforts, a handful of rogue Planet Traders managed to breach the Prismasphere and touch down on Ketchyn undetected. It's essential we find out how they did it. Do you know who is on his way here this very minute to discuss that?"
Ember swore under his breath. "So that's what this is about. That's why Gelata and I aren't in chains."
"You aren't in chains because you were careful," Sulfuri said. "I expressly said you were not to go to the Bludwald, we both know that's where you've been, and if I could prove it you would be punished. I can't prove it. You covered your tracks too well. Bravo. Since you're back, I assume you're ready to resume your duties; and it's fortunate you've arrived just as that hideous man, Count Magmast, has announced his surprise visit."
Magmast. Pan racked her brain. Why did that name sound so familiar?
"And you're hoping you can use my history with him for leverage," Ember said.
"He does have more of a rapport with you than he does me," Sulfuri said.
Magmast… Magmast… hadn't there been a painting in Flint's gallery labeled Magmast? He'd been a guest at the 'lodge' the same year Frieza had been forced into it.
It struck her hard enough to shock away some of the anger that was not the only place she'd heard the name. Frieza had mentioned it after their fight at Crater Farm.
"Magmast's arrows, the arrows that struck down Queen Polrene, were aimed at Cooler."
This Count Magmast that was coming to the palace… he was the man who'd murdered Frieza and Cooler's mother!
"I trust the two of you understand. You are to keep that damned Count peaceable during these talks. Your lives depend on it." Sulfuri interposed himself between Ember and Pan. "And you. As luck would have it, I've found a way for you to redeem yourself, as well. You may have noticed the absence of my sister. She's up in her tower, pouting and refusing to come down. It's not her refusal to make. She must meet the Count. I recall her developing a fondness for you, so you go up there and get her dressed and down here. We've established Ember and Gelata understand their situation. Do you understand yours?"
Actually, Pan was still stifling her temper, shuffling through memories of her family back home, settling on one of her grandpa trying to eat one of Giru's metal apples.
However… curiosity cooled the boiling. Was Incendria really in her room, or off on some new plot? Perhaps Pan could use Sulfuri's orders as an excuse to investigate places she couldn't normally go and ask questions she wouldn't normally get away with. Perhaps she'd even find out where Incendria stashed Chilled's Mirror. She wondered about Magmast, too. She hadn't taken a good look at his portrait and didn't remember much of his face. What kind of person would he turn out to be?
It was enough for Pan to incline her head slightly, although she didn't dare risk opening her mouth for fear promises of compliance would not be all that came out of it.
Sulfuri smiled. "Excellent. I see why the Colds kept you as pets for so long. You're so tractable. All three of you are dismissed."
Pan would have loved to plant her tractable boot right across Sulfuri's face. Ember must have sensed that, because he clamped down on her shoulder and steered her out of the throne room.
When the massive door closed again, Pan wanted to scream. Instead, she stormed away without a word, hoping a long, solitary walk would give her the chance to compose herself.
ooo
Gauzy curtains fluttered by the open window. Dolls stood all in a row. Doors opened to murky shadow. Incendria's spider cradle gave every appearance of being empty.
Pan didn't know what bothered her about the scene. She'd expected the room to be empty. She was sure Incendria had made those excuses to Sulfuri so she could scheme without being disturbed. Yet as Pan stood in the doorway, watching the curtains billow and the blue sky thrum, her gut nagged her to look harder. Something was not right here.
No life forces glowed in the immediate area.
Perhaps Incendria had left some clue to her whereabouts. Pan didn't know if she could risk being caught rummaging through the drawers, though. The halls were still too crowded to search discreetly.
She thought back to the grave hidden in the copse, and how she'd found it. Maybe she couldn't search physically, but nobody would notice a brief transformation.
Pan's reward was immediate. The cloth hanging from the ceiling hid ceiling tiles, and one was false. Pan powered down. She brushed away the webbing and knocked on it. Hollow, just like the grave's floor.
Was this where Incendria hid Chilled's mirror? Would Pan open this hidden trapdoor to her own bastardized reflection? How did it open?
Remembering the trap in Frieza's room, Pan ran her fingers under the windowsill. There; a switch. She flipped it. Something behind the tile clicked.
Pan approached it slowly, pondering whether or not a bunch of spikes would shoot out. She pushed it slightly and it sprung open.
It wasn't spikes that dropped from the opening. It was slick and red, and it landed on all fours on the floor. Whiskers lashed, prehensile. Knees buckled and elbows turned out. Before Pan had time to wonder if she was dead, the Sutova woman turned her head upwards, the angle so extreme it looked unnatural.
With the same jerky movements, Incendria climbed to her feet and stared.
Still off-guard and scrambling for her bearings, Pan simply couldn't react when Incendria charged her; but the Sutova princess only threw her arms around Pan's neck and buried her face in her chest.
"Um… hi?" Pan said, wondering if Incendria did this to all her friends. It wasn't the greeting she'd expected from a devious mastermind. Not sure what to do, Pan patted her back.
"I can't believe you're alive," Incendria said.
"After the past few days, neither can I." Pan glanced up to the trapdoor. It had closed on its own. "Would I be prying if I asked what you were doing up there?"
"Hiding," Incendria said.
"From what?"
"Everything. Usually, if I don't want to be found, I'm not. I'm glad you found me, though. It brought back so many bad memories when Sulfuri threw you out. I wondered if every moment I spent in here was your last out there. I'm glad Ember went with you. I wish I could have."
"The king didn't throw me out. I wanted to go," Pan said, wriggling away.
Incendria tried to straighten her whiskers. "That's what they all say. I suppose you're back to fetch me."
"He threatened to execute me if I didn't come back with you," Pan said. She stretched her neck out the open window. She could always fall back on her favorite old pastime. Incendria struck her as experienced enough to handle it. "We could steal away instead. Flying's too risky, the scouters would pick us up, but we could jump from this sill to the top of that pillar and climb down. I saw it in a video game, so it probably works."
Incendria smiled for the first time since Pan's return, although it was a wan smile. "Sulfuri can posture all he wants, but that's an empty threat and he knows it. I suspected it before, and when you powered up for a moment just now, that confirmed it. He doesn't have anything approaching the strength it would take to put you down."
"That isn't all that matters, trust me," Pan said. "I've had too many close calls with wizards and cultists and parasites and even a few dragons who shouldn't have been any match for me, let alone Grandpa, but came this close to killing us both. Not everybody fights with their fists. Ember told me Sulfuri has a lot of people after his throne. He's still on his throne. He's stayed there somehow, and it's definitely not by charming his enemies with his winning personality."
"I misjudged you, Pan. However, I still think your plan to jump out the window is grossly misguided."
"You mean you changed your mind, and you want to go see Count Magmast now?"
"No, I mean there are much better ways to sneak out, especially for those of us who can hide from scouters."
"The halls are full of guards, though."
Incendria knelt beside her spider's cradle of a bed and pressed a tile. It sank about a half-inch into the floor, and then a trapdoor swung open beside it. "Who said anything about taking the halls?"
Pan bent over it and looked inside. She was expecting a dark rift, but the crawlspace below was well-lit. It was less of a tight fit than Pan would have imagined, secreted as it was behind the palace walls, and it was cleaner, too. A smattering of little black spiders scattered when the door opened. "How many secret passages do you have in this room?"
"As many as we could find places for," Incendria said. "He did the building. I only dictated where I wanted them to go."
"Sulfuri, you mean?"
She covered her mouth and giggled, and maybe Pan imagined it, but a blush crept across her face. "No, he doesn't know. I hope he never finds out."
There was no ladder leading to the bottom, but it wasn't far to jump. The door closed as soon as Incendria landed beside Pan.
Coincidentally, that's also when Pan remembered she may have just shut herself in an enclosed space with a killer of indeterminate strength. She looked down the descending hallway. It did fade into darkness, even with the prismatic lamps glowing haunted blue. "Where does this go?"
Incendria passed through the lamps and shadows, glowing and fading by turn. "To one of Father's old trophy rooms; ironically, one of the safest places to go if you wanted to avoid him, as he never bothered with it unless he had guests and wanted to show off his collection. From there we can dart across the hall to my wardrobe, where another hidden passage will take us to the garden. Perhaps it's not as dramatic as your suggestion, but it's less conspicuous."
"I wish I knew this was here when I was escaping the dungeon," Pan said. "It would have made things so much easier."
"Yes, but then I'd never have met you, so it all worked out."
"Can I ask something kind of personal?" Pan asked. "How did you learn how to suppress yourself? Nobody else here knows how to do it, so you couldn't have been taught. Did you just figure it out?"
"My father, King Flare… was not a kind man," Incendria said. "When he'd get angry with Sulfuri and I, I'd curl up in a little ball and wish I was invisible with all my might. Do you know what happened? My wish came true. I became invisible, at least to scouters, so Father could never find me. I'm afraid that means Sulfuri got the worst of his rages, and for what? It didn't matter. Even when he wasn't there to enforce his 'rules,' we followed them, and we still do. I don't know which is sadder; that our marionette strings are tied to King Flare's corpse, or that the spasms of his death nerves can still pull them, even after all these years."
They stopped talking to navigate a narrow staircase.
"Is that why you don't want to meet Magmast?" Pan asked, once they reached the bottom. "Or is he unfriendly?"
"Unfriendly?" Incendria snorted.
Stupid question, Pan though; the guy used to hunt people for a tyrant. 'Unfriendly' was probably right in the job description.
"He's so sentimental he makes me want to vomit! All his quixotic notions about equity and reform; you'd think he'd gotten so senile in his old age he forgot what planet he was on. What good will any of it do? If I go down there, he's going to smile, and I'll be expected to smile back, and he's going to shower me with sympathy and I'm going to have to accept it, and I can't right now. I just can't."
Huh?
Incendria and Pan passed a few more lanterns in silence, their shadows on the walls like prison bars. Pan walked through another series of these miniature eclipses. They stopped at a dead end.
"Here we are," Incendria said, pulling the nearest lamp.
The wall slid open. The room on the other side was cluttered and unlit. Before they went inside, Incendria gave it a quick scan to make sure it was really empty.
"No life-forces," She said.
Pan double-checked. She didn't feel anyone nearby, either. There were faint signatures outside the door, probably guards and palace servants, but none of them seemed interested in this room. "As we say on Earth, the coast is clear."
They stepped through the door and it closed behind them, fading so neatly into the wall, not even Pan could find it once it had completely sealed.
When Incendria said this was a trophy room, Pan had no illusions about what she meant. It was still chilling to see the shelves and cabinets lining the walls full of blasters, swords, armors and knives, bottles and canteens… personal effects of people Flare and his friends had massacred. More chilling than she expected. And just when she thought she'd gotten over the shock, she came to a display like a knife to the heart.
In the middle of the room there was what she could only describe as a shrine; a tower of a curio, gilded dark wood. On it she found models of stone huts, mixed with jewelry and tools. A variety of clothes, from classic post-annexation battle armor to old fur robes, hung on racks. There was even a strange dress with a smooth armored chest plate, a heavy belt, and thick gloves and boots. There were books, too, and Pan didn't know what they said; couldn't even read the titles, and that hurt most of all. She recognized the clothing and the models. These were Saiyan things.
"Don't look," Incendria said. "There's nothing you can do for them now."
Incendria pushed Pan to the door. She let herself be pushed.
Passing through the hall would be the difficult part. Incendria put Pan on point; the guards, after all, weren't looking for her. She poked her head out the door and watched several pass. When the guards had passed and she saw nothing but bakers and attendants, she motioned to Incendria.
They ran across the hall and threw themselves through the door to the wardrobe.
After the last room, this pastel forest of dresses was a relief. Pan disappeared into the lace and silk. Dresses hung from racks, and also from mannequins in poses, most of which had been modeled after the princess. Each was as extravagant as Pan would have expected a royal wardrobe to be, bejeweled and in every cut and every color of the Prismasphere. A few shifted with it, like Incendria's staff. Pan lifted the sleeve of one of these, admiring the blue shine.
"Are you fond of dresses?" Incendria asked.
"Yes," Pan said, although it was a half-truth. She was fond of dresses on Bulla and Marron, much in the same way she was fond of the paintings in Flint's gallery, but she never quite felt like herself when she wore one.
They both felt it at once. Pan dropped the sleeve and Incendria froze. Someone else had entered the room.
"They're not powerful," Incendria whispered. "Perhaps it's an attendant, looking for me. I bet I can get rid of her by sending her to fetch something, and then we can slip through the trapdoor before she comes back."
Incendria picked up the dress and carried it with her. Pan followed.
"Ah, I was just about to ring for you. I've decided to wear this to my meeting with the Count, but it simply will not do if I don't have… the…"
Incendria stopped so suddenly Pan bumped into her, but Pan would have if she hadn't.
The Sutova girl was not an attendant. In fact, though her whiskers had been braided and her green dress, while plainer than the ones on display here, very formal, Pan recognized her.
"Lucia?" Pan asked.
Lucia turned. "Pan! I didn't know you'd be…" She fell into a deep curtsy. "Your majesty."
Pan waited to see if Incendria would say something, but from the look on her face, she wasn't going to. Pan did.
"What are you doing here?"
"You're wondering why Magister Bustion didn't make me stay back at the mansion," Lucia said. "Believe me, he tried, but father insisted I be brought to see the proceedings. He says if I'm to succeed him someday, I have to know how it's done. Personally, I'm hoping to marry a handsome prince, and then I won't have to worry about such complicated things… oh, I beg your pardon, your majesty. I shouldn't be chattering like this in front of you."
"Your father," Pan said.
"He's doing much better, thanks to you," Lucia said. "Your majesty, did Pan tell you how she helped Shivor save my father's life? Mine, too. I'm so grateful to you for lending her skills to us."
In an instant, Incendria melted into her professional demeanor. She smiled. "We're all too happy to have been of service. So your father has arrived at the palace?"
Lucia said, "He insisted on a private exchange with the king, so they sent me here. They thought I might like the gowns. If I may say, your majesty, your selection is impeccable. I've never seen anything so lovely. Are you coming, Pan? What will you be wearing?"
"Your father… is meeting with the king…" Pan said.
"That's right," Lucia said. "My father, Count Magmast of Colander."