Theatre of the Gods (52 page)

‘What was that for?’ said Lambestyo.

‘So you’ll forget about that woman and start acting like a man again.’

Captain Lambestyo felt his heart crack open like an egg, the oozy lava crawling from his chest, up his neck, into his brain. He had had no inkling that any of his shipmates loved him. He would always remember the feeling as he walked through the gate to his death. It was the first time he’d felt as though he wanted to be alive. He
also found that the Empress had vanished from his mind.

When the captain too had vanished, Lenore turned slowly to the Emperor, who stood to one side, and said, ‘Do you know how long your goodly wife has been alive, sir?’

It was a strange question, and the Emperor took his time to say, ‘She has been living for … some thousands of years.’

‘Good,’ said the girl. ‘Because one way, or another way, I will make her suffer for many times longer.’

465671: THE ONE WITH THE SEVEN SAD MOUNTAINS

A day passed in which our friends did not eat, or leave their rooms, or receive visitors. It was such a cloud that hung above that even Carrofax began to feel the drag of the human heart. ‘You must shake off this grief!’ he said, but Fabrigas wouldn’t even reply.

Lenore would not come out of her room. Anyone who approached the door felt their hair rise up as if by electrical force. A servant who touched the latch was thrown back across the hall with a powerful jolt. He was admitted to hospital.

The girl remained in a trance: a waking dream-state in which she drifted through a sea of lucid visions: 465254: The One with the Metaphorical Tunnel; 465273: The One with the Ultimate Fighting Champion. Finally she found her mortal enemy, somewhere beneath the Seven Sad Mountains.

‘You took my captain, woman. Now we are enemies.’

‘I didn’t take him, dearest. Blame the bee, not the honey. Your captain is a man. You, on the other hand, have a way to travel.’

‘I am older than you.’

‘That is technically true.’

‘You tricked me and betrayed me. You said you’d help me, then you took the only thing I cared about.’

‘It was our deal. You asked me for protection. In return you had to give me something you won’t miss. And you won’t. Eventually.
We are even now.’

‘We are not even. You will pay a price. I’ve come to bring destruction on your city. I’ve come to bring snow and fire.’

The Empress laughed. ‘That’s not how this story plays out. You are handed over to the Pope. He does with you what he will. He throws you into a black hole. He leaves. That is your story.’

‘You said we wouldn’t be killed!’

‘No, I said
you
wouldn’t. And you won’t. You’ll survive the black hole. But all your friends will die. The problem is you think this is a fairy tale, but it isn’t. It’s life. Just look at me. I’m a cursed woman whose only solace is to feed on love. I can see how it all ends. Would it help you to know that some day someone will open the box containing the Forbidden Zone? The lovers inside will swarm upon the palace and tear me to pieces.’

‘That’s bad.’

‘Isn’t it, though?’

‘Things can change. You know I can change things.’

‘Oh, Lenore. You are in for some real surprises. Remember what I taught you. It’s not always wise to run from a beast. Sometimes to kill a beast you must let him get close. So close you want to scream with terror.’

The whole palace woke to the sound of the girl’s scream. A few minutes later the door opened and she appeared, looking more than ever like a terrible young monster, and said, ‘The time has come to face our enemies. And bring me a glass of milk.’

DEARLY DEPARTED

There had been another death. That night at the Domus, the city’s largest temple. A socialite well known for his flamboyant sense of dress had been compelled to kill his wife, then himself, but not before he’d scrawled six words across the side of the temple in his wife’s blood:

‘TODAY IS THE DAY, LITTLE GIRL’.

There wasn’t a person in the city who didn’t know which little girl he was referring to. People painted their own banners. ‘GIVE HIM WHAT HE WANTS!’ and ‘ONE GIRL FOR OUR LIVES SEEMS A FAIR PRICE’.

The little girl was not anxious. ‘He is right. Today is the day. Let him come. I am ready.’ She sipped her lemon tea.

The Emperor arrived and told them that he was putting them in protective custody. He wore a particularly elegant purple hunting jacket with gold stitching, white gloves, white boots and an ornamental bronze ‘crotch-piece’. He had prepared a cave annexe high on the mountain where they would be safe. He appeared unusually upbeat about it all. He took them quickly through the corridors, his shoes clacking on the hardwood floor. ‘I have prepared a great breakfast for you. You will want for nothing.’ Miss Fritzacopple couldn’t help noticing that he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

‘Ah yes,’ Lenore said. ‘Breakfast in the caves. Cannot see anything wrong with this.’ The Emperor glanced quickly at her. ‘Where’s that other girl? Kimmy?’ He scanned the group.

‘Kimmy will not be here for breakfast,’ said Miss Fritzacopple. ‘She’s gone to see your son.’

The Emperor showed a brief expression of panic that neither Fabrigas nor Fritzacopple could fail to notice. Then he sped on again, saying, ‘Can’t be helped, can’t be helped.’

‘What do you mean it can’t be helped?’ said Miss Fritzacopple. She nudged Fabrigas firmly in the arm. The old man was squinting at the Emperor.

*

Soon they were riding up the mountain in one of the antique cable carriages. The carriage rocked and cried above the crags. Lenore was conspicuously quiet. The Emperor said, ‘You are quiet this morning, Miss Lenore. Did you sleep badly?’

‘Not at all. I slept like a baby log. Everything is just as it should be.’

‘I will stay for a quick breakfast,’ said Fabrigas. ‘I have a coffee date with Dray, and then antique shopping.’

‘So you keep saying,’ said Fritzacopple.

But the old man continued. ‘I was going to sketch the birds as they hatch outside my window this morning. They are ripe any day now.’

‘It would really be wise if you stayed in the annexe I’ve prepared. It is much safer there.’

‘Nonsense. Coffee, shopping, sketching birds. This is my day.’

Their host said nothing more as they docked and left their car. The annexe was even more impressive than Fabrigas imagined. A web of tunnels and arcades had been drilled through the dormant volcano. Some of the tunnels were wide enough to drive a carriage down, others were hardly big enough for a single person to squeeze through, and all were carved with mysterious cyphers. Some led to ancient digs, others to dead ends, others to lonesome mystics, others to cascading waterfalls and lush mountain-top grottos. It was a work in progress. As they walked the ancient stone tunnel towards the hall
where they would hide from their pursuer they found they almost had to run to keep up with the Emperor, ordinarily a rambler. A pair of robed monks, headlamps lit, leaped to get out of his path.

Carrofax, who had been spending most of his time lately vainly searching for the
Necronaut
, appeared and said, ‘I don’t like this. This is all bad. Turn back,’ just as the hall doors flung themselves open to reveal the long table set with coffee, pastries, soup.

Sitting at one end of the table was a pudgy, smiling man in a white leisure suit and a white, pointed cap. ‘Good morning, friends!’ beamed the Pope. ‘Do you know me? I am the Pope!’

POPE

‘So, you are the people causing all the troubles!’ The Pope had greasy pastry freckles on his face. With every word he said flecks fell like snow upon the table. He wore a white leisure suit with gold stripes and a gold monogram on the right breast. The year was embroidered in gold on the left breast. The limited-edition leisure suit had been designed to commemorate the Great Crusade. ‘His fleet arrived some days ago,’ said the Emperor. ‘They have the planet surrounded on all sides. They said they would destroy my city if I didn’t cooperate. I had no choice.’ They all sat, solemn and silent, as the Pope sent morsels in after the morsels already in his horrid purple mouth. The Pope’s guardsmen, great hulking men dressed in black, had barred the room’s only exit.

‘Do you say your prayers every morning?’ said the Pope. ‘Do you recite the Plasms? Do you read stories from the Holy Neon Bible? Are you good children?’

‘Do you plan to keep us against our will?’ Fabrigas spoke and the Pope froze, mouth in mid-chew on a load of snowy-white moosh, and stared at the old man with an expression of a child who has just seen a stranger pull a pencil from his ear. He put his pastry down directly on the shiny surface of the table and smoothed the crumbs from his leisure suit with his two fat hands.

‘I have declared a crusade. I have come to find the people who ran off from our universe in defiance of the laws.’

‘Which laws?’

‘The laws of nature!’ The Pope slammed his open palm upon the table, leaving a greasy print. ‘This group of rebels has something that belongs to the Queen.’ And while his head remained perfectly still, his eyes, squinting, made a slow, slow journey to Lenore. ‘Hello, little girl.’

‘Hello.’

‘I hear that you have a nose much like a dog, more or less.’

‘Better.’

‘Better?’

‘Yes.’

The most feared and powerful man in the universe, in any universe, drew a love heart with his finger in a sheet of icing sugar.

‘Your devil-nose can tell what I had for breakfast this morning?’

‘It can tell you what you were having for breakfast
yesterday
morning. Half of a dead chicken and a bowl of sausages. With a jug of wine.’

The most powerful man in the universe, in any universe, was still looking at her sideways, and now his squint was so profound that his eyes became two gleaming slits.

‘I am allowed to eat what I would like for breakfast. I am the Pope.’

‘So you are.’

The girl could not see the Pope begin to turn, by minute shades, to a kind of purple found only in the berry kingdom, and she could not see the perfectly manicured fingers of his left hand draw back, slowly, into a fist, leaving long claw-marks through the icing-sugar heart. Then the Emperor spoke calmly.

‘Holiness. Please forgive the girl for her impertinence. They have had a long and difficult journey. I hope that we can remain civil, and that any business we need to conduct can be done in a –’

‘You are a king?’

‘I … no, an emperor. We met yesterd—’

‘What do you eat for breakfast?’ The Pope looked towards the Emperor.

‘… Toast.’

‘
Pphht
. What on it?’

‘… Honey.’

‘Pah. That is no breakfast. Honey is devil juice. Little buzzy devils with their busy, buzzy devil-dancing,’ as he made a pair of tiny wings with his hands and rocked from side to side. ‘I am the Pope!’ He stood – though it was hard to tell, he was so short. ‘And you had better all start showing me respect! Because let me tell you one thing: people who don’t show me respect, they vanish!
Poof!
’ And he rose to full height. ‘The people who cross
meeeeee
, who think they can take advantage of
myyyyyy
generos—’

‘Pope! Enough!’

The voice seemed to come from the very air. The Pope froze, one finger pointing to the heavens, and the others, looking around the room for, it seemed, the first time, found a man in the corner. The man was sitting, one leg across the other, in a plush leather chair and reading from a small, leather-bound book. He was
exceptionally
well dressed, and immaculately groomed, but for some fading bruises on his face. He did not look up as he said, ‘Please forgive our Pope. With great power comes a great lack of manners. I think it is time we got to know each other.’ The Well Dressed Man stood now, placed the book carefully inside his jacket pocket, turned towards the group and touched a finger to his cuffs.

A WELL DRESSED GENTLEMAN

‘So you are the great Fabrigas, the magician who made the universe disappear?’ The Well Dressed Man had taken the Pope’s seat at the head of the table. He had taken a perfect white kerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the top clean of pastry crumbs.

The Pope was sitting, upright, in the leather chair, looking for all the world like a young boy waiting for his mother. The Well Dressed Man held the kerchief in front of Fabrigas, snapped it firmly, and the thing disappeared. The old man shrugged.

‘I am Fabrigas, yes. And you are … a travelling entertainer?’

The Well Dressed Man found a minute crumb on the sleeve of his perfect jacket. ‘Oh, but I thought you loved magic shows. I saw your prank with the trick knives. You almost had me fooled.’

‘There are no trick knives. I made that very clear.’

‘Really? Fascinating. Would you like to see one of my tricks? Pope! Kneel!’ The Pope fell from his chair into a kneeling position.

‘Pope! Pray!’ The most powerful man in the universe raised his eyes and hands and fell into a babble of silent murmurs.

‘Pope! Slap!’ The Pope struck himself hard across his face, immediately leaving a perfect pink handprint on his baby-smooth cheek. The sound was so loud they all jumped. All except the Well Dressed Man.

‘Again!’ Slap! This time on the other cheek. ‘Again!’ And now two huge black shapes passed by, and the murmuring Pope was joined
by two of his hulking guards, in their high-necked black sweaters and silver ear studs, who waltzed merrily in each other’s arms.

‘This is the Pope, in case you didn’t know. He is the most feared and powerful person in the universe. His fleet can make whole cities vanish. And he works for me. You will soon learn that I am no entertainer.’ The Well Dressed Man frowned, sniffed the air twice and sneered. ‘Empathy gas? You are trying to disable me with an empathy gas? You can’t beat me with gases, or fake knives, or any tired parlour tricks.’ Now Fabrigas felt his right arm begin to move, slowly, from where it rested. He fought hard to stop it, but it was as if that arm no longer existed. His arm rose and floated to an inch from one of the heavy candles that sat along the table. Fabrigas felt the heat.