Queen Mab (9 page)

"Half a year ago, I was told my House would fall.  I seek you out to find out if I have sidestepped this fate, if I am finally safe, or if a pointed end is still written in the stars."

Queen Mab rose and walked over to her basin, her skirts swishing softly upon the floor.    The basin's innards were polished to a high sheen, showing none of the wear of centuries of abuse.  Each spell cast, each misspoken word, wore the rock like a thousand feet climbing the stairs of a castle.  She poured the water into the tub, watching as it slowly rose to the lip, forming a perfect mirror of reflective surface which shifted with a breath.  She stroked her hand three times across the surface and watched as it came to a stop.  There she saw a tomb.  There she saw the daughter, Juliet, plunge a dagger into her heart.

"What do you see?" asked Tybalt.

"The danger has not passed.  It is just as I foretold almost a decade and a half ago to your uncle."  The wager with Faunus caused the words to stick bitterly in her throat.  "The end of the House of Capulet draws near."

The young man grew pale.  "It is just as I feared and just as that fortuneteller predicted.  He told me of my premature death.  He told me to become the best swordsman in Verona, and in doing so, this cup might pass me by.  This I have done!  Why are we not yet safe?"

Mab leaned forward.  "I see nothing of your death, only your House's fall."

"As the only male heir in the House of Capulet, they are one and the same, are they not?"

"This fortuneteller, did he say by whose hand your death would come?"

"By a Montague!  And so I have trained to best any of them in a fight, honed my sword so that I am unmatched."

Queen Mab looked once more into her basin.  "Your passing is shrouded from me.  If this fortuneteller told you true, keep your rapier always ready and sharp.  If your death shall begin the domino's fall, far better to stay the hand which pushes it than to try and right the piece.  Strike the Montague first before he can deal you a blow."

"That I gladly shall," Tybalt replied.  "But if you see not my death, what harm do you predict will bring about our destruction?"

Mab turned and walked slowly back to her throne.  "That which I told your uncle.  As long as Juliet marries not a Montague, the House shall be safe, but fate has not yet been diverted from that path."

"Wed to someone other than a Montague?" Tybalt laughed.  "Why didn't the fortuneteller say that this was all that was needed?  A marriage is simple enough to arrange and something easily within my uncle's power."

"Has he found her yet a suitor?"

Tybalt thought, "Nay, she is still young.  But there are many suitable enough and fitting to our family.  One who would seem a blessing, not a curse, is a man named Paris..."

"I shall see to Paris," she said, cutting him off.  "I will plant the seeds of desire to fit him to your cause.  In doing so, I have aided your family.  Go then secure in your safety." 

Tybalt would not take her dismissal, demanding that she hear him through.  "It is good enough to save our House, but what of tomorrow and the years beyond?  How long will we delay the inevitable fall with a foe like the Montagues haranguing us at every turn?"

She sat back, lost in the possibilities of what might be. 

What if she could use the downfall of the House of Montague to get that which her heart truly desired?  True, this was a game to end the strife between she and Faunus.  But what if it could be so much more?  Mab leaned forward, seeing the opportunity to strike.  "What price would you pay if I brought down the Montagues?"

Tybalt seemed to have lost his voice, unable to comprehend her words.  Finally, he replied, "Anything!  Any price!"

Mab looked upon Tybalt.  Oh, if man only knew his power; that his words caused even the gods to seethe with jealousy.  These humans could bend the heavens and override even the will of Jupiter.  With a simple binding, Tybalt could grant her deepest wish.  With a careful bargain, a promise to this man to see to the end a wager she had already made, this Capulet could cancel out the curse and cease her disappearance in the sunlight.  Then she could spend her days at the side of Mercutio until he passed into the arms of the only lover more true than she.  She couched her words carefully, so that Tybalt would not demand more in the bargain.  "Nothing that will cost you anything, but something that will aid me in this task."

"Your price, Queen Mab," he demanded with an impatient tone.

She would have liked to have raked him across the face for his insolence, but once more held her tongue long enough to speak her wish. "A welcome to visit during the hours of day.”

Tybalt looked at her in astonishment and then began to roar with amusement.  "A welcome during the day?  Why, a simple calling card will do you just as well.  Truly, if you prevent tragedy from befalling my House and transfer tragedy to the door of my enemy, you can ask much more than a visit."

"Nevertheless, it is what I desire.  Give me the power to visit during the day."

He shook his head.  "For being a woman with the powers you claim, you are terrible at driving a bargain.  My uncle could give you gold—riches beyond your wildest dreams."

"I doubt beyond my dreams," she replied.

"Indeed, beyond yours, old witch."

She stiffened.  "I shall not be called an old witch."

"A woman of your years able to wield such powers of sight?  Very well, do you prefer ancient sorceress?  Wizened magician?  Grandmother crone?"

She looked in the mirror at her golden hair and smooth skin, puzzled at his choice of words.

He did not seem to notice and continued, "I shall call you whatever you like, but I shall not call you a wise business woman."

"All I wish is to be able to..."

"Yes, yes... Bring down the House of Montague and come during the night!  Come during the day!  Come any time you please!  You drive a hard bargain, but I will agree to your price!" he laughed.

For the first time in centuries, Mab experienced a forgotten emotion which she vaguely remembered being called hope.

P
aris lay upon his pillow like an angel sleeping so quietly and sweet.  Surrounded by riches and wealth, his room was well appointed in iron work, velvet, and art.  His face bore the marks of Capulet, black hair slicked straight and olive skin.  Perhaps he could be her champion, Mab thought.  At night, Paris was a different story to the terror he inspired in the courts at day.  Before this moment, she particularly delighted in leaving him with nightmares, knowing they were the price required to absolve his daily sins.  One did not live a life of cruelty without reaping the rewards.

She regarded him with disdain.  He could take the taste of kindness and she would not feel ill at ease for using him as her pawn.  She even wondered what he would be like to have a conscience to tend his soul.  But the die was not yet cast in this game, and she was not sure if this was the piece she wished to play.  For tonight, she would fulfill the promise to Tybalt to sway this Paris to woo, and nothing more.

"Paris," she whispered.

He sighed as he turned onto his side.

"I must tell you of your happy destiny, of a future so bright that one such as you is undeserving."

She paused for a moment, a strange sense of regret weighing upon her for brokering the harsh marriage of Lord Capulet's daughter, Juliet, to this boy.  She tried to comfort herself in the knowledge that happiness was but a fleeting thing, a momentary lie to make the world bearable.  It was something to dream about and hope for, but a place never to live.  Mab knew the girl would survive well enough, as all women had endured since time immortal. Mab had promised the Capulets protection, and this marriage would ensure that the House's precious daughter would not die. 

Still, there was something about it which gave her pause. 

She thought of how easy the hours were when spent in the company of love.  She would be condemning this girl to her own frozen prison to marry her to this man.  She looked once more at Paris, wondering kind of jailor he would be.

But if she let Juliet die, the Capulet House would fall.  Faunus would win and Mab would be condemned forever.  The decision seemed clear, and yet, she had to force herself to say, "Tomorrow, County Paris, you are to go to Lord Capulet and make your suit.  You will keep the bloodline strong, benefiting you and countless others.  Make Juliet your wife before some young man's pretty face sways her good sense and another suitor preys upon her loyalty and virtue.  Seek suit from her father and protect the House of Capulet."

Paris nodded in his sleep and a cruel smile fell across his face.

She paused for a moment, wondering if the cruelty was any greater than her own.

M
ab was careful to stand in the shadows of the dining room, the mid-morning light shuttered and dim to keep out the heat of the day, and listened quietly as Lord Capulet and County Paris talked—one man she had sworn to protect, and one who might be able to stave the fall of the first's House. She needed to see if the dreams she planted were quick, or whether they required further tending before the thoughts could be harvested in the sun.

Lord Capulet had not changed so much from when she saw him those fifteen years ago.  His face was lined, and those emotional etchings spoke of the harshness of his ways since. Indeed, he was angered this morning due to a chaotic scene his men had wrought in the town square, a meaningless brawl which had brought the ire of Prince Escales down upon his head. 

"That nephew Tybalt of mine stirred up trouble once again with his strutting and preening.  But at least the Montagues cannot strike back," Lord Capulet assured Paris, "For we are both bound by the prince's decree to keep peace in the streets.  It is not hard for old men like me, but who is to say what hot-headed young men are capable of?" He gave Paris a knowing wink.  "And who is fool enough to think that they might listen to their elders?  Especially if their elders are slow to speak."

Paris coughed and shifted impatiently.  "Slow to speak seems wise in this situation with the prince, but to our business, Lord Capulet, speedily spoken words would seem the more desirable course.  What say you to my suit?  What thinks you of my proposal to bind your house to mine through the bonds of marriage between myself and your daughter, Juliet?  The wisdom of this match came to me as if in a dream.  From every angle I can see it is a profitable venture."

Lord Capulet chewed thoughtfully upon the grape and spat the seeds out upon his plate.  "She is too young."

"Younger than she are happy mothers made."

Lord Capulet shook his finger at Paris.  "And too many her age taken too soon. She is my only child, Paris, and the only hope I have to carry on my line."  Lord Capulet rose and walked to the window.  He clasped his hands behind his back, silent as he thought.  He turned his head over his shoulder and said, "Still, I hear your words and I will not deny there is wisdom in it.  I tell you this: Get her heart, Paris.  I might give my consent, but it is hers which tells me where to give it.  Tonight, I hold a feast.  I have invited all the best families of Verona, all those that I hold dear.  Come.  Look upon the ladies as they emerge from winter's grasp.  Their dowries and inheritances are as large as my Juliet's.  If you gaze upon all these maidens and still are wont to woo my daughter, and my daughter deigns to look upon you, you shall have my blessing."

Lord Capulet waved to his servant to follow him as he went to his desk.  He picked up his quill and, inking it, placed it up on the parchment to write out his wishes. "Go, servant, and trudge through fair Verona to find those persons whose names are written here.  Welcome them all to a masque at the home of Lord Capulet tonight."  Lord Capulet turned to Paris.  "We shall see what temptations I can lay before you and will not think you less a man if you manage not to escape from their grasp."

Lord Capulet finished the list, blowing upon the ink to quicken setting.  He rolled the paper and handed it over to his servant, who bowed and left to invite the guests.

Queen Mab nodded, pleased Paris had listened so wisely to her council.  The game had now begun and was stepping smartly to the tune she played. 

F
aunus sat in the marketplace, delighting in the wanderings of the humans about him. These mortals fought and haggled for desires which would scarcely survive the week.  He fed them spirit to keep their ire sharpened, caring not about the effects of the chaos.  He, himself, fed upon the bitter strife for the things that would be forgotten by day's end.  But it was not for these joys that he was drawn today to the busy sellers' square. 

He did not have to wait long, for soon entered a dark blonde man, a hulking brute of brawn.  This man made for his kinsman, Romeo, who was sat reclined upon the steps of a wine merchant, the effects of such wares already coloring Romeo's day.  Faunus listened in like a spy, waiting the words which might be wielded as weapons against these children of Montague, these offspring of that House which Juno, for some reason, held so dear.  Faunus had other plans and was happy to play his part in fate.

"Good morning, cousin," greeted Benvolio.

"Is the day so young?" replied Romeo.  His face held the shadows of unrequited love, his heart troubled and aching with yearning.  Faunus understood the aching loins of youth and found it strange this young man would stay in misery and not seek out some satisfaction.

"What sadness lengthens your hours?" asked Benvolio.

"Want for the one thing that makes the hours fly," said Romeo, taking another drink from his half-empty skin of wine.

"In love?"

"Out"

"Of love?" asked Benvolio.

"Out of her favor," sighed Romeo.

With half an ear, Faunus listened to Romeo swear love for a wench called Rosaline, bemoaning the chaste future she had vowed to live.

Faunus looked down upon this Montague, his straw colored curls peeking out from beneath his cap. Faunus thought aloud to himself, "This gives me ideas a plenty.  Why, who is this Rosaline?  Not one who could cause the House of Montague to fall. But perhaps one far fairer than she...  How much more appalling that a man such as Romeo should love and be spurned by Capulet's daughter?  Who knows what havoc it might play?  Only the gods themselves... and I.  That is how I shall bring his ruin.  Such a simple thread to pull, to unravel his story before it does begin!" He clapped his hands with glee. "Ah, Mab, someday you shall see that we both were playing the same side of the board, but I alone shall win!"