faces. “Dose vere prime goot sneakin’-op moves, lady,” Ognian muttered.
Maxim rolled his eyes. “Brodder? I vould just drop it, hokay?”
“Hey!” Krosp caught everyone’s attention. He held his paw up and motioned for silence. “Does anyone else hear... singing?”
(It is here, with great reluctance, and a full awareness of how a chronicler should
Surely the tedious whys and wherefores of how he came to find himself in this particular prison at this particular time have no significant relevance to the greater story, and thus, shall be ignored[68].)
Anyway, it was shortly thereafter, that a lone prisoner, who had been attempting to lighten his pitiable fate by engaging in some heartfelt balladeering, was started when one of his cell’s floor stones suddenly flew upwards, propelled by a hirsute green fist.
A few more stones disappeared, and an unshaven green face emerged. “Hello dere,” it said cheerfully.
“Good grief,” the prisoner replied in astonishment. “You’re Jagerkin! Nov shmoz ka pop[69]?”
“Oho!” Dimo exclaimed as he hoisted himself up. “A home boy! So vere iz ve?”
Another Jager appeared. The Professor offered him a hand up. “We’re in a cell somewhere under Sturmhalten castle.”
Dimo eyed the thick iron-bound door and nodded. “Vell—hit’s been fun—” He reared back and with a vicious kick, smashed the door from its frame. “But ve gots to go.”
The Professor stared at the door, and only slowly registered the parade of people climbing up from the floor and heading out. His attention was caught by a large white cat in an elegant coat, which paused long enough to poke him in the stomach. “I’d get moving, if I were you,” he advised.
This was when a large clawed hand swept him up in a hug, and a distressingly familiar face roared out, “Great-great Grandson!”
The crowd in the square shouted out a final sustained “Huzzah!” and then began a series of cheers that Anevka allowed to wash over her for several minutes before she pulled back into the room and closed the French doors. Even through the glass, the susurrus of the crowd could be heard, and Anevka hugged herself in glee as she gracefully stepped around her container’s attendants.
“I could get used to this,” she confided to Lord Selnikov. She looked at the list he was perusing. “And that crowd was the last of them?”
He looked up. “Oh, yes, your highness. The entire town should be under your sway.”
Anevka hugged herself again. “Lovely. When the Baron’s man sees how loyal the townspeople are to me—” She looked over and saw her uncle staring at the castle and frowning. “Why, whatever is wrong?”
Selnikov looked at her. “I fear for your brother.”
Airily, she waved a hand. “Oh do relax. I promise I shall forgive him immediately.” She thought for a second. “Almost immediately,” she amended.
Selnikov shook his head. “Not from you, my darling niece, but from Lucrezia. He’s all alone. Surrounded by her priestesses.”
Anevka turned away. “Please. Tarvek could charm Klaus himself.”
“But if she’s enslaved him—”
Anevka spun and glared at the older man. “Your Lady’s filthy wasps don’t work on Sparks. That was part of the deal she made with those fools in The Order.”
She studied Selnikov’s face. “—But of course. There’s something you’ve been keeping from me.”
Selnikov looked at her, gave a small snort of amused resignation and sat down. He pulled open a desk drawer, and selected a glass. He then reached over to the ornate pen holder on his desk and pulled the pen toward him. A small spout popped out and a stream of brandy filled the glass. “No, he’s safe enough from Lucrezia’s wasps.” He took a sip, and settled back deeper into his chair. “But there are others.”
He looked at Anevka. “Your father may have been the Head of The Order, but there were others who were tasked with guarding some of The Lady’s devices. She probably didn’t trust any one person enough to own
He hoisted himself up from his chair and strode over to a map of the region. He poked a finger at a large red pin that was stuck through a town. “Remember Herr Doktor Snarlantz? The fellow with the unfortunate teeth? Over in Passholdt? He was the one entrusted with most of her hiver engine manufacturing secrets.” He toasted the pin with his glass before drinking.
He turned back to Anevka. “To be fair, he was fascinated with them. He was always trying to improve them.”
Anevka stopped him by raising a hand. “Wait—Passholdt? But—”
Selnikov drained his glass and drew another. “Oh yes, I see you’ve heard about how well
“Wasps?” Anevka said, tapping her foot.
“Yes, yes, yes. Anyway, Snarlantz occasionally got some amazing results from his meddling. This particular device, well, if we can believe his notes—”
Selnikov put down his drink and held his hands about ten centimeters apart. “It’s a miniature Hive Engine. Capable of generating but a single wasp, but a wasp designed to infect a Spark.”
“How very useful,” Anevka purred. Then she started. “Wait. Are you saying this thing is in the palace?”
Selnikov nodded and gingerly picked up his glass. “Oh yes. The Jotun Brothers and I found it in Snarlantz’s lab, after we lost contact with Passholdt. We had to remove all traces of The Order’s involvement before the whole mess became public.” He drained his drink. “It was quite a fire. We had a fine old time getting out.” Astonishingly, one could tell that the old fellow had actually enjoyed himself.
Anevka leaned in. “Why wasn’t I told?”
Selnikov looked at her blandly. “Because your dear father didn’t trust you. I cannot imagine why.”
Anevka looked away. “Does my brother know of this?”
The idea of Tarvek being considered more trustworthy than his sister caused his Lordship to snort in amusement. “No. My dear brother-in-law hid it away in a secret safe of his own design. I will show you where it is, but good luck getting it open.”
Anevka drummed her fingers on the table for a second, then spread her hands. “A device Lucrezia doesn’t even know about, hidden where she cannot find it, in a safe she cannot open? No, I think we have more pressing things to worry about.”
Vrin frowned down at the small device in Prince Tarvek’s hand. A small gaggle of Geisterdamen clustered around and tried to get a better look. It certainly looked like a diminutive Hive Engine, but—
She glared at the smirking young man. “And this will enslave a Spark? You’re sure?”
Tarvek idly tossed the device up and easily caught it again. “Quite sure.”
Vrin considered the device and the annoying fellow who held it. “So, what, exactly,” she said slowly, “Is keeping us from using it on you?”
Tarvek rolled his eyes. “And go against your Lady’s wishes? Now that would be stupid. Besides—” He casually tossed the sphere to the priestess, who frantically caught it in midair and then glared at him. “There is only the one. She isn’t foolish enough to waste it on me, since I’m already so obviously loyal to her.”
Vrin ground her teeth together silently. Tarvek smiled and continued. “Evidently not everyone who gets infected stays sane, you know.” He deftly reached out and plucked the sphere from Vrin’s hand. “Or even lives. And since she still needs me...”
“For now,” Vrin conceded. She eyed the device speculatively. “So she will try to use it on the Baron?”
