The Kingdoms of Evil (67 page)

From around Castle Clouds-Gather they came, scuttling, slithering, oozing, and striding. They ranged from the huge and ponderous to the tiny and gnarled—furred, scaled, clawed, taloned, and tentacled. Bat wings fluttering, suckers pulsing, and less identifiable limbs twitching and coiling, the monsters of the Cabinet of Horrors took their places.

"General Blaarg," whispered the dangling head of Mr. Skree from behind Freetrick's left ear, "of the Homicidiary. Unctual, collector of Spoils. Grimp, Senior Undersecretary of the Deep Synod. Razanel, Chair-Thing of the Guild of Torturers. Squill, amanuensis to His Dark Lordship Wrothred Despot Necropolor…"

Freetrick smiled and nodded, weirdly reminded of the parade of evil princesses he had seen his last time in this arena. At least these monsters weren't actually trying to attack him. On the other hand the nubile Dark Ladies, even at the height of their disgusting fashion, could not compete with these creatures in the field of looking horrible.

"I salute the Despot of Skrea and Ultimate Fiend of the Kingdoms of Evil!" Bellowed one of the beasty retinue—General Blaarg? In a voice like a boulder falling into a pool of phlegm.

"Uh, right back at you," said Freetrick, staring.

General Blaarg's head—enormous, wet, clay-colored, and roughly cube-shaped— sat between his shoulders as if left there by a sculptor with better things to do. Yellow eyes glared manically from within deep pits in his face, rendered only a little ridiculous by the big pointed ears that flapped to either side. "Pleased I am to finally make the acquaintance of the Ultimate Fiend!" The four fat tentacles sprouting from the General's chin wiggled as he shouted. "I sincerely hope I am not killed for expressing myself in this way!"

"Don't…uh, worry about it?"

"I shall not!" The monster waved aside a pair of warty ogre bodyguards and seated himself with a grunt.

General Blaarg nodded at a spindly, insectile creature lurking behind the ogres and motioned it into the seat next to him. "This is my batman," General Blaarg indicated the creature…person, as he sat. "He is Chitinous."

Freetrick wasn't sure if the word was a name or a description. "Hello there, Chitinous."

Plates of red-edged ebony pulled back. Slippery mandibles chittered.

"Chitinous does not talk," General Blaarg laughed, then leaned closer to Freetrick and winked a yellow eye at him, "But then, sometimes they do not need to…eh?"

Freetrick's imagination shut down in self-defense. He looked desperately elsewhere. "Razanel, isn't it?"

"That is correct, Fiend." The person seating himself between two twitchy goblin bodyguards at the other side of the table looked human enough. Then the leathery mantel over his shoulders twitched, and Freetrick realized he was looking at a pair of membranous wings. Freetrick thought suddenly of his own cape, and hoped it wasn't made from anyone Razanel knew.

"It does me great honor," said the bat-winged person, "to sit in the presence of the Ultimate Fiend and retain the use of all my limbs and sensory organs. We hope we may serve the Malevolence soon as we served his justly feared father, may the blood never dry from his hands."

"Uh…thank you?" Freetrick wondered if Razanel filed his teeth, or if they were naturally pointy.

"Well, it looks like everyone's here," he said, as something that looked like a pile of jellied octopus flopped into a bucket-shaped seat on the table's far side. "Shall we get going?"

"May I take my lord's leave to begin the sessions?" Rumbled General Blaarg.

"Uh—."

"
Fear us!
" Bellowed the monster, "for we are the Monsters that Lurk Together!"

"Fear us!" Repeated everyone at the table except Freetrick and Bloodbyrn.

"
Loathe us! For we are slime beneath the boot-heels of evil!"

"Loathe us!"

The invocation went on. Freetrick shifted uncomfortably. Fortunately, he was not placed on the Skull Throne, but at a slightly less ostentatious seat at the head of the table placed on a wide leather mat in the center of the sandy bottom of the Audience Pit. Around them, Bloodbyrn's red-noise dome shimmered, partially obscuring the concentric ranks of empty seating rising from the Pit.

And beside him sat Bloodbyrn, looking absolutely furious.

"I was given to understand that this interlude would be of the romantic and diverting kind that have been so woefully lacking in my life of late," she spoke over the voices of the monsters as if they did not exist. "When we are out of the public scrutiny, rest assured, my lord, that my punishment will be both lingering and memorable."

Fangs, jaws, and mandibles snicked shut. Eyes of various colors and shapes rolled toward her, then the Ultimate Fiend. Those faces capable of expressing emotion looked confused.

"Uh," said Freetrick, "don't mind her. Um. Carry on."

"I shall
imbed
the tip of my whip in your hide." The furious hiss from his concubine bounced off the inside of her buzzing blood shield.

Freetrick swallowed, aware that the monsters were all staring at him. Might as well begin. "Gentlemen…uh…things." He pulled his sheaf of notes from the chest-plate of his armor and adjusted his pince-nez."I suppose you're wondering why I called you all here today."

"Uh," he said, "I have something for you…no, wait." He closed his eyes.
Remember your persona, Freetrick.
"
Heed me, minions
,
for
I have a task for you.
" He looked up, carefully focusing on the wall at the opposite corner of the room, over the heads of his terrifying audience. "
Yes, a task I say, a task to preserve the Kingdoms of Evil against those who would destroy us!
"

There was a gnashing of teeth and a quivering of tentacles in his lower peripheral vision.

"
I speak not of those without our borders, nor of those who scheme within
," he continued, "
but of the actions of all of us. The actions that, if not halted, will kill us as surely as an assassin's dagger or a paladin's sword. Yes, my minions, it is we who are our own greatest enemy."

Freetrick risked a look down. They were listening. The jello raised a timid tentacle.

"The Skull Throne recognizes Scwelsch, amanuensis to Teirvulg Despot Shoggor," said Mr. Skree.

"Oh murderous instigator of terror," the monster burbled from somewhere under his gelatinous mantel, "might this not be a subtle order for the suicide of your slow-minded lackeys?"

"If so," grumbled the furry, three-eyed fellow, "he could have at least sent the death squads after us."

"No!" said Freetrick, "I was being metaphorical, strike it. I'm talking about converting the Kingdoms of Evil to a sustainable lifestyle."

Variously-shaped eyes glanced at each other. Strike it, he'd slipped back into Rationalist slang. "I mean, uh,
the wasteful lifestyle of my minions, which,
uh,
robs our nation of resources and must be stopped lest doom befall us all."
Strike it out this was hard. Like public speaking and live action role play combined.

"Ah…" General Blaarg sighed, "genocide then." He elbowed Chitinous, "Told you it would be genocide."

"No!" said Freetrick.

Bloodbyrn sighed.

The monsters shared another glance. One of them, the furry one, leaned forward. "Oh great disreputable Master of Misery, oh Monarch of Woe..."

"Oh no," said Freetrick.

"The Skull Throne Recognizes Unctual, Collector of Spoils," hissed Mr. Skree.

"No, that's okay," Freetrick looked at Mr. Skree, "We're not going through all this officious rigmarole, are we?"

Apparently they were. The Collector of Spoils perched atop a high seat, his little hands steepled on the table in front of him, fur spilling from the cuffs of his exquisitely-fitted, black-leather suit. Black and white lines—Freetrick couldn't tell if they were paint, tattoo, or the natural pigmentation of the monster's skin—creased into an oily smile "Of course this most minor of all grovelers knows his life will be forfeit for daring to question the meaning of the orders issuing from the Black Oracle that is the Ultimate Fiend, but circumstances necessitate he do so."

Freetrick rubbed at his forehead. "This isn't working, is it?"

The Collector ran a neat hand across one of his curling black horns in a nervous gesture, like a man readjusting his hair. His three large, copper-colored eyes blinked
.
"May this slithering entrail inquire as to what his master refers?"

"Oh, 'slithering entrail,'" murmured a person with ram's horns curling out of his blue hair. "Good one."

"Thank you," said Unctual.

Freetrick glared at the dapper little monster. "You guys seriously plan to talk like that that the whole time, don't you?"

Unctual smiled again, "the plans of such as we, mere humble blemishes upon the world, could never presume of even think of planning to do anything other than—"

"Enough!" Freetrick stood. "Gentlemen...things. We're not going to be able to get anything done if it takes you striking half an hour to say anything.

Unctual cleared his throat. "May the veins of the entire unholy congregation be cleaved in twain, oh Prime Cause of all lamentation..."

"For crying out loud! Here." Freetrick grabbed Bloodbyrn around the shoulders, yanked her in front of himself, and pushed her down into his chair. She squeaked in protest. "Okay, talk to her. Someone say hello to her."

At the far end of the table, a monster like a shaggy buffalo cleared his throat with a sound, indeed, like a buffalo clearing its throat. His head hung between enormous humped shoulders, his face a mass of vertical wrinkles, dangling jowls, and braided wool. Two finger-sized horns framed his temples, and sunken, rheumy eyes focused on Freetrick. His massive, black-nailed hands twisted in the air before him.

"He says!" chirped a voice from somewhere amidst the matted dreadlocks over the monster's shoulders, " 'A horrendous morrow to you, dark lady.'"

Bloodbyrn gave Freetrick a surly glance, then inclined her head to the buffalo. "Horrendous morrow, Grimp."

"Wonderful!" Freetrick clapped. "Now, can we get down to business?"

"Excellent," translated Bloodbyrn, "the sinews of the Ultimate Fiend sing with dark energy. Let us, if I understand his idiom correctly, sink our teeth into the throat of the matter."

"Yes," said Freetrick "now, does each of you have an agenda?"

Bloodbyrn shot him a venomous glare. Then she sighed and settled into her role as translator. "Are the agendas within your grasps?"

There was a chorus of affirmative grunts, murmurs, squishes, and chitters.

"Okay. You'll see here an outline of the new policies we need to implement if we want to ensure the stability of the Kingdoms of Evil."

Freetrick let the notes he had prepared carry him forward, with Bloodbyrn translating his words into a form fiendish enough for the Cabinet to understand. "Our first task is to get a better picture of the people of Skrea and their needs. So we need to draft, then distribute questionnaires, conduct audits, and interview Castle staff preparatory to what will probably be a massive overhaul of all major government systems."

"You cannot hide your sins from the all-seeing eye of the Ultimate Fiend. Prepare yourselves," Bloodbyrn said, "for the coming purge."

Freetrick smiled nervously. Then remembered his persona and smiled maliciously. "The idea is to re-assign those unfit for their postings and promote competent" and not insane, "people to replace them. You all have nothing to fear," he went on, "since, according to the reports I've seen, you are all extremely capable…people."

"The capricious plan of the Ultimate Fiend is to callously weed the weak from the strong in a sequence of trials, each more brutal than the last."

That caused some blinking and tentacle-twitching. Unctual and Impan, the blue one, leaned forward. Grimp rumbled while the…something on his right hissed. Freetrick took that as a good sign.

His optimism was quelled by their reaction to his promise of promotions for valuable monsters. Grimp, the hand-talking, bison-like ogre, informed him that promoting a monster over a human aristocrat was basically the same as slow execution. The plans that had seemed so simple in his government classes now loomed huge and impossible.

"Next," Freetrick tried to keep his voice calm as he thumbed to the next page of his notes. "We will need to create courts of law, and a body to administrate them…uh," he glanced at his notes.

"Laws?" growled General Blaarg, as Bloodbyrn's translation caught up to with them, "Laws as in order? The opposite of chaos?"

"Wouldn't you like legal recourse if some random necromancer tries to kill you?" Freetrick asked.

Dangling chin-tentacles wiggled. "For what do we need all this law business? Simply slaughtering everyone involved in a crime was good enough for the Fiend's feared father."

"General Blaarg," Freetrick tried to explain, "You're a military…man. Tell me, how I can ensure the loyalty of my troops?"

"They must to be oppressed constantly, Fiend, less they rebel."

"But, don't you get it?" Freetrick said, "by oppressing the people, we only make their grievances worse! What happens when they rebel again?"

Blaarg looked honestly baffled. "Oppress them more, Fiend, of course."There was a chorus of grunts and growls and sloshing sounds of assent.

Freetrick closed his eyes over a sudden stab of headache. He reminded himself that none of these monsters could defend themselves magically; he could kill one of them get the energy he needed and make sure all the other monsters damn well obeyed him. That would make things easier. Too easy. Freetrick restrained himself.