//------------------------------// // Chapter XXXVII: Queen // Story: The World Within the Web // by Lord Max //------------------------------// Chapter XXXVII: Queen * * * * * * “I don't feel silent any more I know where I'm supposed to be Crushed my enemies long ago The last one left to go was me” — “Last One Left,” by Replacer * * * * * * Coin did not remember being captured. If it were not for the ropes binding him to a chair, he might not have noticed. He blinked, groggily, only realizing his arms were tied down when he tried to reach up and wipe at his eyes. Immediately, drowsiness fell away to dull panic—any jerk or tug from his arms or legs only met with more ropes. He could not see either: at first, he thought he was in total blackness, but it took his dulled senses only a moment to gather that he had a bag over his head as well. He could tell he was seated down—and on a singularly uncomfortable chair, at that—but little else. Coin’s first thought was to start screaming, but he managed to remain in control long enough to breathe. Breathe, he thought, ignoring the ropes chafing at his wrists. Breathe. Assess the situation. Very vaguely, Coin could hear noises that might have been voices. They were dampened, though whether it was by walls or his own dull senses, Coin could not say. He ignored it, and everything else, and let out the breath he’d been holding. Summoning his old Moderator calm, he began to think. What is the last thing you remember? The memory came back immediately. Following Haxtoll. Violet and the others. We left the Palace, and . . . Coin drew up blank. And then? He could not recall a thing. Well, not precisely. Some vague impressions came back: doors and darkness, muffled voices, Coin going off alone. Well, he thought with another tug at his bindings, that one at least explains something. Clearly he’d been ambushed at some point. They must have gotten him while he was on his own. Alone in the Changeling Tunnel. A new fear grew in him. And if I wasn’t alone? It was not just him that had ventured off to find Haxtoll. A litany of names appeared, Lady Violet chief among them. Six save me, if someone’s captured her too . . . The noises he had barely heard earlier were growing louder. Either something was getting closer to him, or whatever spell of dullness he was under was beginning to fade. He did not want to think about what ‘something’ might be. He focused on the latter instead. Things that numb the senses. The means of attack can identify attacker. Concussion? It couldn’t be—Coin felt completely uninjured. Drugs, then. It couldn’t have been ingested, which leaves inhalants. Like sleeping draught. The same kind that was used to abduct Dabrius Joh. Coin sucked in another breath, quietly. The voices—he knew they were voices now—were definitely becoming more distinct. He could understand what they said. Coin still was not certain if they had drawn closer to him or if his sense of hearing was merely returning, but he did know where the voices were coming from. Right behind him. “—damn you,” the voice trailed in. “God damn you, I can’t believe it! You know what you’ve done?” “I am certain I don’t,” a familiar voice replied. “You have undone us all, is what!” a third person said, their voice shaky. “You arranged it all, didn’t you? You led them right to us!” “You seem certain it was my doing.” “Who the hell else would it be?” someone else exploded. “All this time, you’ve been prodding them along for . . . for what? To get us all killed?” “Arcadio will skin us living.” Coin did not recognize this person voice, but could hear the terror in it. “When they talk—” “If.” The angry man from earlier cut back in. Coin knew who that one was. “If they talk.” Coin heard a snort. “You cannot think they will keep this quiet, Amberten. That one will tell everything the moment he walks from here, no chance otherwise.” “Perhaps I can find new ways of persuading him.” “That is ill-thought, friend,” said the voice of Heylen Ott. Coin was certain it was him now, the one everyone was accusing. Ott soft voice was unmistakable, though there was a steely edge to it Coin was not used to. “Methods like that would do dishonor to us. And to you. If you are so conc—” “Shut up. You have officially lost your advice-giving privileges, seeing that you’ve tried to kill us all with this.” “You think I told him how to find us?” Coin heard the rustling of clothes, like someone rolling up a sleeve. “I needn’t remind you of the oath you had me swear.” “That we had all of us swear. And don’t pretend you haven’t been trying to sneak your way around it. God’s sakes, I’d have thought that the threat of your skin melting off might have been enough, but you are just impossible to reason with.” “What are we going to do?” someone wailed. “We will have to quit the city. Or beg from the Mods, for all the good it will do.” “It will do us nothing,” a female voice replied. “Arcadio will find a way. The city is his.” “Then we must go!” “We go,” Byrios Amberten muttered, “or he does.” There was a long, still silence. It was Ott that began first. “We cannot even con—” “He’s awake.” Coin seized up, trying to remain perfectly still. It did not help. “What? How do you—” “His head moved,” the female voice said again. “He is listening to us.” Before Coin knew it, someone ripped the bag off his head. He tried to remain still, eyes closed, miming unconsciousness. “Oh, don’t even try it,” Amberten snarled. He seized Coin face in the grip of his hand, and Coin found himself looking into the furious face of Byrios Amberten. “Byrios! He can see your face!” “Idiot, he already knows it!” His grip on Coin’s mouth tightened painfully. “And you just said his name,” the woman added. Coin could see her now: a Devien lady, one that Coin did not recognize, hair up in a bun with bamboo ink-brushes neatly wrapped within. There was a weedy man standing close to her, eyes darting around nervously, whom Coin also did not know. “Disguise your voices,” someone behind Coin hissed. “If he’s been listening so far, he already knows them.” Heylen Ott carefully approached Coin’s side, his white-and-black patched skin eery in the darkened room. They were in a stone cell, of sorts, dimly lit, and the wan light made the pale spot on Ott’s face appear like the eye of a ghost. “Good evening, Sir Coin. Byrios?” Amberten took a hateful look at Coin, then jerked his hand away with a scoff of disgust. Coin instinctively went to rub at his face, but found himself still bound. He sighed. “Evening, Ott.” “I trust you are well?” Ott asked with a faint smile. “Well,” Coin replied carefully, “I seemed to be tied up, and I would rather not be.” Ott chuckled. “Yes, I imagine that would be disagreeable. Perhaps we could—” “Not a chance, sorcerer,” the noblewoman scolded. “He will remain comfortable as he is, until we have chance enough to think.” “You,” Byrios barked, “you said that he would sleep for night, at least!” An accented voice outside Coin vision—the Sajlic man, Johastoff, he guessed—spoke defensively. “The mixture, it can be temperamental. If you want the brew better, you are welcome to try yourself.” “This is besides the point.” An older man walked evenly into Coin’s view. Pendros Haxtoll, aged and hunched slightly, but still dignified. He lifted the walking stick he carried under Coin’s chin, to better look at him. “You know my face as well, don’t you, boy?” When Coin nodded, Haxtoll continued. “I should think so. You and your friends followed me, yes? None of them are here with you, in case you wondered.” “None who were in your party,” Ott clarified. Coin stared at him. Now what was that supposed to mean? If they had someone else, someone not in the group following Haxtoll, but nevertheless captive . . . “Where am I?” Coin asked first. He couldn’t be sure of answers, but questioning was the most he could do now. Haxtoll tilted his head. “I might have thought you would make a guess, seeing that you chased me down here.” “I’m afraid I don’t recall.” “Don’t reca—” Ott frowned. “The draught?” “It is known to have side effects,” the foreign-accented man—still likely Johastoff—admitted sheepishly. “Hmm. Let us hope that is the extent of them.” “Would that he forgot all of it,” muttered Amberten. “Perhaps we should hold a soaked rag to his mouth until he forgets his own name.” “That would hardly solve our first difficulty,” Ott said sardonically. “Where am I?” Coin repeated, insistent this time. Learning that they had addled his mind with alchemies did not improve his mood. “Don’t answer that,” Amberten snapped. “No,” Coin stuttered, “no, I remember. It’s coming back.” He looked up at them. “Nightside. I’m in Nightside, aren’t I?” “Don’t answer that,” Amberten repeated, when he noticed Ott about to speak. But it was already returning to him. They had followed Haxtoll, all of them. Followed him into Nightside, or near enough to it. He could not remember exactly where they found the tunnel, but he wasn’t sure he needed to. “This is it, isn’t it?” Coin turned his head, to try and better measure the room. “These are the tunnels beneath Nightside, the ones where you had met with Dabrius. There was a witness who sighted him disappearing in an alley near there.” He strained to think, to sort through the fuzzy images floating in his memory. The lady scoffed. “So much for memory loss. Can we dispense with this now, Amberten? It seems he already knows everything he needs.” “Bah!” Amberten waved a hand and turned away in disgust. “You want to speak freely? You’d rather implicate yourself? By all means! When Arcadio is flaying you, don’t expect me to speak up.” She nodded. “I am Lady Joania Willburm, friend. And you are somewhere you ought not be.” “Friend?” Coin examined her closely. “Are you . . .” “Yes,” she replied, a faint smile crossing her lips. “As is Johastoff and Ott, though I imagine you guessed that already. And my Algie, in his own fashion,” she said with a gesture to the nervous-looking man next to her. “Amberten and Haxtoll are not, in case you wondered, though they’re no less dedicated to reform than I. One does hope we shall ever reach that goal, now that your snooping has put a new risk on us.” “I’m hardly the one to blame for being tied up in your base, my lady.” Coin was hoping they would end that sooner rather than later—the ropes were starting to chafe even more. “You are the one that tracked Haxtoll closely enough that you had to be drugged to give up the chase, though. The place that you are uncomfortably residing now is behind a false wall within the tunnels, and several paths down from that. So, we needn’t fear being interrupted by any of the other more nosy members of our fandom, will we?” “We had no choice but to seek you out,” Coin countered. “We need your help.” “And we made it clear,” cut in Haxtoll, “that our work demanded secrecy. If even one of us steps forward, even one of us is exposed, it will put not only that one in great risk, but all of us.” It was not the first time Coin had thought on just that. “Dabrius said the same, when we last spoke.” Haxtoll scoffed. “Dabrius was right, though he was more often wrong. And now both of you have put us on the cliffside.” Coin snapped his eyes to Haxtoll. “Both of us?” Amberten snarled, grabbed the chair Coin sat upon, and lifted it effortlessly around. Coin rattled as the wooden legs met the stone floor, facing the opposite way. Facing, miraculously and unhappily, a sight that Coin had both hoped and dreaded to see. Dabrius. He was not awake. Like Coin, he was bound, tied to a seat. Unlike Coin, whatever stupor he was in had not yet worn off, his head hanging listlessly. He did not seem harmed, at least. “Dabrius Joh,” Coin whispered. “Six save me, you did take him.” “We did no such thing,” Lady Willburm said. “Found him here, we did,” said Johastoff, voice defensive. “What?” Coin asked. “What do you mean, ‘found him?’ ” “It’s the truth, boy. Some hours ago, stumbled on him down here in the tunnels, trussed up like a game-hen. Had Ott not discovered him, he might have died down here.” Coin shot a look to Ott. “It is the truth, friend,” the cybramancer said. “But that’s ridiculous!” Coin shook his head. It wasn’t that he doubted Ott so much that he could not comprehend the crime. “Why in the Web would anyone kidnap a man, just to deliver him to someone else? Someone who didn’t want him, for that matter.” “Someone trying to frame us,” Amberten muttered, arms crossed. “Or trying to force us into coming out of hiding, into making a move. Like your fandom?” “Oh, come on!” Coin exclaimed, in disbelief. “You don’t actually believe that!” “No, he does not,” Ott said. He cast a disapproving look to Amberten. “Perhaps, my friend, we can restrain ourselves?” “Fine, listen to the man who sold us out for good advice. If you must know, I think it’s obvious who is behind this, and your fandom does not top the list.” “Obvious?” Coin repeated. “Who?” “The Channic, clearly.” Amberten sounded annoyed he even needed to explain. “Who else?” Ott nodded. “They are the most suspect, Sir Coin. The anonymites have a talent for chaos, and not just the ones in the Dreamweave. It is not hard to imagine them putting that talent to work here.” Coin thought about it. He could not be certain of anything, but at the same time few other possibilities came to mind. “I suppose you might be right. I just can’t understand why.” He looked around the room. “Or how, for that matter. They would have had to know about this place to do all this. Did they?” “If you could follow us and find this place, they might have done the same. As for why?” Ott shrugged. “I cannot say. Much of their motives in being here remain confused to me, whatever they might say. And this city has become stranger and stranger, of late.” “You needn’t remind me,” Coin said, thinking of his vision. “All that I can say is this: none of my friends in the Changeling Society brought Dabrius here, nor did they steal him away to begin with.” Ott laid a hand on Coin’s shoulder. “I have always tried to be truthful to you, Sir Coin, however much I was able. I am not lying to you now.” Coin measured his words carefully. None of it added it up, truthfully. There was some piece to all of this missing, some motive, some reason, some plan, one inscrutable to everyone save for whatever mind concocted it. What that could be, or who was behind it, Coin still hadn’t the slightest certainty. But he had to place his faith somewhere. He let out a breath. “Very well. I believe you.” And a more appreciative smile from Ott, Coin had not seen. “This is all very touching,” Amberten growled, “but that still leaves the question of what we’re doing with you.” Coin looked around at all of them. There were eyes on him, considering what he might say. And, for the first time, he noticed something on Amberten’s belt. A knife. All of a sudden, Coin sorely wished it was someone like Lady Violet making this case, rather than him. “Well,” Coin started, “it seems as though you’ve weighed your options already.” “Loudly, and at some length,” Lady Willburm said dryly. Coin shook his head. “Come with me. Let me out of here, and Dabrius as well, and talk to the Lord Moderator. You can clear his name and yours, all of you. We can help you, I and the Wardens.” Amberten’s temper flared. “I think we’ve told you and your Wardens enough already. Do you not get it? If we come out of hiding, we’ll die. Not just us, either. I’m not the only Amberten in this wretched place, and worthless as my brothers might be, I’ve no interest in seeing them killed in the streets either.” “We can protect you,” Coin pleaded. “Or if not us, the Moderators.” The nervous man with Lady Willburm—Coin thought it was ‘Algie’—did not seem convinced. “Not bloody likely. When Halforth learns that Joh is here, with us, he’ll hang us for sure.” Lord Haxtoll sighed. “There was a time I agreed more with you, sir. Seeking protection seemed a fair idea. But doing that would mean giving up everything in the Dreamweave as well—our homes, our property. Our families would have to come too, and give up all of theirs, or else be at risk. And now, I’m not even certain it would help. Algerius might well be right.” “You’re asking us to die,” Amberten growled. “It seems,” Coin retorted, “that you’re asking me to do the same.” He could see discomfort racing across the faces of the Changelings. Reluctance, at least, was a decent sign. Perhaps the most he could hope for. In the brief moment he had, Coin thought a prayer to the Generous Friend. “I have a question.” “Speak it, sir,” replied Lady Willburm, folding her hands behind her. “Are you Oathbreakers?” A chorus of outrage sprang up from all quarters. “Never!” cried Johastoff. Heylen Ott remained silent, but Coin could see the chagrin in his features. “You insult us, friend,” Lady Willburm muttered. “Oathbreakers are—” “—Fandom-traitors,” Coin finished. “And murderers, I know. Dabrius Joh denied it as well, when we asked him. When we asked him if the Changelings had killed an innocent man, he said they’d never. So let me ask again.” Coin glanced, unconsciously, at the knife Amberten had at his belt. “Was he wrong?” There was a moment’s silence among them, one of quiet shame. Lady Willburm was first to speak. “No,” she said, “he was not.” “Indeed,” said Johastoff, to which Lord Haxtoll nodded. “It’s lunacy.” Byrios Amberten looked at them all, red in the face. “You’re all mad.” He took a step towards Coin. “If you can’t do it, then—” Heylen Ott moved between them. “My dear friend,” he said calmly, “give it up. You are no murderer.” Amberten’s jaw clenched, and his hand tightened as well. Tightened around the hilt of his knife, knuckles going white. With the slightest sound, he pulled it from the sheath. Then, with a clang, he threw the knife to the ground. “Dammit,” Amberten muttered. “Dammit, I’m not.” Groaning, he gripped his face in his hands. Ott moved gingerly and retrieved the fallen knife. “I believe I can make better use of this.” Coin saw the cybramancer move behind him, then felt the bindings fall, one by one. Rising carefully, Coin looked around the room at the Changeling Society, the mystery he had finally solved. “Thank you,” he said to Ott. “I swear, you won’t regret this.” “I will hold you to that,” said Lady Willlburm. They were interrupted by a groan from across the room. Dabrius Joh was stirring, though not yet conscious, slumping and shifting in his chair. “So, our other guest awakens,” Lady Willburm said with the slightest smile. “Shall I give him the drought?” Johastoff’s hand went to his pockets. “Hardly a point to it now. Let him wake. There is work to be done, I think.” “My lady,” Coin interjected. “If we intend to go forward, it will pay to have the Society together, and safe. Are these all the Changelings?” Willburm raised an eyebrow. “Not the least. What you see here is merely the highest cell. Any more information than that, I’m afraid, will have to remain with me.” “If it—” “If we intend to ‘go forward,’ Sir Coin,” she continued, “it will be done my way, on my terms. I will take no risks that are not necessary. This is non-negotiable.” In no position to refuse, Coin relented. Lady Willburm went on. “Perhaps you think this unfair. But changelings, my good sir, are rarely safe. Without their Queen to protect them, at least.” That small, dignified smile returned again. Coin looked at her carefully. “So you are their leader?” The smile did not fade. “I admit, I thought I might have heard of you.” “It seems, sir, that you have hit upon the advantage of a secret society. Ott, would you care to rouse our friend Dabrius? It would be best for him to wake to a familiar face.” Ott bowed. “It is rare that a face like mine is put to good use.” He drew away and attended to Joh. “I will need to find my friends, my lady,” said Coin. “And return to Lady Violet as well. And make some kind of plan.” There were still mountains left to move. Coin realized then how tired he was. “This has the makings of a long night,” he sighed, dusting off his clothes. Lady Willburm nodded. “Yes, that would be best. I imagine Lady Violet will be interested to learn who I am. I admit, I have been curious to learn if she suspected my identity at all. She is shrewd, I know, but I doubt that unsigned datagrams gave much hint.” Coin stopped himself. What? “How do you mean?” Lady Willburm tilted her head. “The messages that we have sent.” She seemed confused as well, but only for a moment. “Ah, she did not tell you.” “Tell me what?” Coin demanded. He looked around at all of them. “What are you talking about?” “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Amberten. “She’s been speaking with us for months!” He looked at Coin in disbelief. “Who do you think organized us?” * * * * * * It was not long after the landfall of Lord Mars on Sixchan-in-the-Sea that a Devien noblewoman stepped foot upon its rocky shores. A daughter of a prominent Chamberseat family from the isle of Kursedos, she could not have been more out of place. At the time, the fandom and its members were in disarray. In the main archipelago of the Chan, its armed forces were rebuilding, beaten and bruised from their flight out of Baysmouth. And in Sixchan, thousands crowded in their new exile, refugees forced from their homes and afflicted with new doubt for the success of their cause. Nothing that this new arrival saw would have inspired further confidence. None would have been surprised if she had packed and left. Instead, she threw herself into work immediately. The importance of this singular choice cannot be understated, as the young lady who eventually took the name ‘Violet Brushshape’ would prove to be as shrewd and intelligent as she was talented, well-trained in the arts of the Devien Isles and superb in negotiation. Within a day of her arrival, she had already been introduced to Feylen Mars, and rapidly became a close friend. Their debates on fandom dynamics and theology helped in speeding Violet’s conversion to the Six, and it did not take long for her chosen branch and talents to become clear. It became obvious early on that she possessed skills in sore need. Her training and experience made her an early standout among the fandom artists who dutifully produced divinely inspired works in greater numbers by the day. Ability and drive they already possessed, but it was Lady Violet’s vision that propelled them to greater heights. Concurring with Lord Mars, she concluded that the followers of the Six were unique among all fandoms—toughened by war, stronger in will, with a fanaticism and virtue utterly unlike any others—and her ambition to see the fandom triumph led to an artistic initiative of enormous scale. Under her direction, fandom artists were producing at lightning pace, and exporting their works outward, flooding content markets across the Web with Brony works, and winning scores of new converts as they did. Not content to bring in new members of the nascent fandom, Lady Violet set to work in uniting those that existing already. Brony cells and communities across the Chan were scattered, with the defeat at Baysmouth sending many into hiding and cutting off communication between others. Some Brony fellowships held each other apart, resentful of certain fandom divides or suspicious of possible infiltration by the anonymites or the Mods. Realizing that the only chance of survival was in unity, Lady Violet’s work and pace was tireless, careful, and utterly thorough. Alongside Lady Semmer, she began a system of messengers and representatives who could reach out and reintegrate the windswept elements of the fandom. Using charm, guile, bribery, and threats wherever needed, she managed to bring together the piecemeal parts of the fandom in ways that Lord Mars and Lady Semmer would otherwise have not considered. At the same time, her efforts were not close to done. The largest challenge still remained. It was found far away, past the dark waters of the Chan, past Aggra’s Gate and into the Connecting Sea, where lay the topless towers of Central, and one curious figure who had just arrived on its white shores. — Excerpt from The Brony War, by Lorelove