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Power Ballad pt 95 - Monarchy Disgusts Me (Anise)
🕑 Added 2024-11-21 04:30:09 +0000 UTCIn the wake of their resounding victory at Hanem Canyon, a very nice elf in a very nice outfit—all slashed sleeves and silk—delivers an invitation to Pack Voraag and their charges. She stands solemnly by as they unroll the proffered scroll and then find someone who speaks High Kyzai to translate it.
Corvan Beiatrek, King of Hanem, requests the pleasure of their company at his palace on the occasion of their wonderful concert and the centennial of the fine city-state of Hanem. The beetle-browed elf they find to translate clarifies that request is being used loosely. “You had better do this thing,” he says in staccato English. “Oft it is observed that petty kings are, well. Petty.”
Legendary excuse themselves from the charmingly intimidating messenger elf, and consult with their manager and their head of security. Kell, for her part, is more than happy to meet this King Corvan dude. “I’m not about to turn down a free dinner in a bigass castle.”
Dee’s far less enthused but just as willing to go along with their royal escort. “He’s not gonna take a no,” she says. “Might as well get off on as right a foot as we can.”
It’s about an hour from the canyon to the city. They didn’t pass through on their way up thanks to the exorbitant tolls on these roads, but with their finery-clad escort they breeze through every high gate and guarded checkpoint effortlessly. After the half-paved paths elsewhere in the Old World, it’s a déjà vu-inducing luxury to travel on such well-paved and tended streets. They’ve even put road markings down to ape the Earth highways.
If Anise were still traveling in the trailer, she’d surely appreciate the smoother ride. But Anise rides rhinos now.
Say this for Hanem City—it’s no shanty-town. Alstorum put a curl in Anise’s lip. Hanem leaves her properly wowed. As they ride to the palace she can’t help but be impressed by its crenellated walls and towers, its tidy tudoresque townhouses and its clean, brightly-colored fashions. The city is built with the rhythm of the breaks and bluffs it was built on; its airy elevations remind Anise of the Hollywood Hills.
King Corvan’s palace is gorgeous; gaudy, sure, but with a grandeur that makes its flourishes feel stately and old-money. His attendants smile and genuflect with every set of grand wooden doors they open. His guards stand in stony silence, their shockingly modern submachine guns the sole nods to minimal modernism on display.
They are announced as Legendary & Retinue by their silken escort. Corvan himself is far from the idea Anise had in her head of an Old World king. He’s a tall, vital, broad-shouldered high elf, dressed in a remarkably well-cut satin three-piece suit, in a distractingly Earth style. The only nod to royalty is a hammered platinum circlet nestled in his azure hair. His beam broadcasts from a palanquin seat overlooking a vast banquet. Glazed, caramelized, powdered, julienned, broiled, slow-roasted, and voluminous enough that the ravenous mouths of Pack Voraag feast to fullness. As Legendary enters Corvan excitedly bounds to them and shakes a bevvy of hands, moving from the band to Anise to random, bemused Voraags with boyish enthusiasm. His servants move with surreptitious grace to seat his guests. A cloud of courtiers condense on the edges of the room, filling the lacquered seats that the tour doesn’t take.
The only person who doesn’t stuff their face is Dalma Kamiyon, who takes an entire roll of photos and eats several carrot sticks.
“Are you not hungry?” Anise asks.
“I’m an anarcho-syndicalist,” Dalma says. “Monarchy disgusts me.”
“You gotta try some of it,” Parag says. “This duck, Dalm. Holy shit.”
“Hand-feed me and I will consider it.”
Parag sighs as he surreptitiously dumps a pair of drumsticks into a waxy feedbag in his satchel. “Can you sometimes be normal.”
“Yo, Ani!” Kell calls from her finely upholstered seat near the King, where he’s insisted Legendary sit. Nick, normally the picture of cocksure confidence, looks profoundly out of place by the king’s jeweled right hand. “Get on up here. We got us a royal proposition.”
Corvan laughs and nods as Anise approaches. “I missed show,” he says. “You must do again. I double your pay, double your crowd.”
“That’s very kind of you, your majesty.” Anise awkwardly bows. “I’ll review our schedule, and if there’s time—”
“Is fine.” Corvan has that high-beam smile on. “We get you out in morning, all toll gates, no problem. You must stay. It is for Hanem the ah. Word.” He snaps his fingers. “Kent-en-el. Asaem, Aldo.”
The omnipresent escort is at Corvan’ shoulder. “Centennial,” he says.
“Yes!” Corvan slaps Aldo’s back and unleashes a string of High Kysaki. The courtier’s face is a fixed mask of polite cheer as he translates.
“His majesty has heard such wondrous tales of your previous concert that he implores you to perform again, tomorrow evening, the night of his centennial, in the capital. Our finest concert hall will be furnished for you.”
“Ah. Right. Well.” Anise plucks a proffered shrimp from a swanning waitress. “That’s a flattering offer, your highness.”
“So is yes!” Corvan claps his hands. “Is good!”
*
And it is. It’s very good. They let the king provide lodgings and Anise gets fucked that night on silk and down, which is a fun change-up from furs and a little easier on the knees. The music hall is voluminous and balconied, its pillars decorated with geometric statues of smiling high elves with striking resemblances to King Corvan. The crowd is responsive and rowdy and active and they drink and dance and throw millet, and the King watches from his box with his massive smile and claps and cheers after every song.
And then it’s over, and Aldo is back, all smiles once more, with gold as good as the King’s word. A whole chest of it.
“So pleased was His Majesty with your performance! So very pleased. He insists you dine with him again tonight that he might reward your artistry.”
Okay. Why not? The food is superb. Everyone is being very nice, very accommodating.
Dee leans over to Anise as, at the head of the table, a gregarious Corvan downs a goblet of wine and throws his arm around their boyfriend’s shoulders. “If they try to keep us here another day then we tell them fuck off, right?”
Anise anxiously rubs Dee’s knuckle. “Maybe not in those exact words.”
Another night of wine and feasting. Dalma, Anise notices, seems to have gotten a taste for that duck. Another night with those amazing sheets. Lying tangled in them, afterward, Dee asks Nick: “what were you and the king guy talking about at dinner?”
Nick shifts under Anise’s draping thigh. “No goddamn idea,” he says. “Spoke Elf the whole time.”
“Do you speak any of that, baby?” Dee nudges Anise with her foot.
“Uh-uh.” This is about all Anise can muster; she’d tell them about her assimilationist upbringing, the arguments with her grandparents, but she’s still trying to reassemble the pieces of her brain.
“That’s okay.” Dee rubs her head. “More room in there for packtongue.”
Nick chuckles. “I think Ani’s got lots of room for pack tongue.”
“Sh.” Anise manages to raise her palm and thwap it back against his broad chest. “Shuddup.”
Morning comes. So does Aldo, as Pack Voraag begin their load-out of the music hall. He brings more gold, and a big smile, and another flowery invitation that they stay for another day of centennial celebration.
In his wake, Legendary huddle with their friends and advisors beneath their still-standing scaffold.
“The space is good,” Kell says. “I mean. The space and the sound, it’s good.”
“It is good.” Evan shakes his head. “But we’re on tour and now we’re late. And I don’t think his majesty is going to let us out after this one, either. I think we’re in some kind of fairy tale new-toy situation.”
“Boss.” Dee’s urgent in Anise’s ear. She hasn’t called her Boss in weeks. “I’m gonna tell our guys to get back to load-out, okay?”
Anise chews at her nail. “Do it.”
“Pack everything up. Double time. No inventory, no sort-and-tag. We’ll do that on the road.” Dee directs this to Parag, who quickly moves to obey. “Rarek. The rhinos.” Her seneschal nods and is off.
They’ve taken down half the scaffolding when Anise sees silken Aldo return, crossing the pit with consternation on his face and his chapeau wringing in his hands. “What’s the meaning of this?” he asks. “Why are we striking the set?”
“That’s the first step to packing it up,” Anise says. “Which is the first step to leaving. Please pass our regrets to the King. We’re departing today.”
“Oh, but you mustn’t.” Aldo’s smile is brittle on the edges. “King Corvan insists.”
“We insist otherwise, I’m afraid.” Anise returns his grimace. “We have tour dates to fulfill.”
“Surely those will be not nearly so lucrative.”
“Surely, but that’s not the point. A tour’s a tour.” Anise passes her hand through the air. “That means it moves.”
Aldo’s smile has flaked off. “You fail to understand your situation. The King has decreed you will perform again tonight.” He takes a step forward. “So you will perform again tonight.”
A shadow falls over the elf. Anise’s packmistress stands at her back. “We are leaving, little man.”
He shrinks back and miraculously rediscovers his deference. “I really must insist you come with me and explain this to His Majesty. He’s quite eager to see your residency continue through the Centennial.”
“This was never a residency. The Centennial’s over.” Dee crosses her arms in a manner that makes them look absolutely massive. “And we’re going.”
The elf scurries away.
Five minutes later, he returns, flanked by a dozen armed men.
*
It’s with great effort that Anise gets herself and her lovers into the throne room to accompany the Kamiyons. The encompassing chamber that served as their feasting hall echoes starkly when no tables full of comestibles occupy it. Instead of smiling attendants the columnar corners and upholstered transepts are lined with severe-looking armed fairfolk. Some half dozen of them detach from their edges and stand in a loose semicircle around the guests.
Aldo has a much straighter spine with a flock of submachine guns at his back. “Now,” he says, nose turned upward, “you may explain to the king what you explained to me.”
“Your majesty.” Anise gives him an awkward bow. “We’re grateful for your favor and for everything you’ve done for us, but two unplanned performances are enough. We’re now cutting into our travel time for our shows elsewhere in the Old World, and we’d hate to cause any trouble for us or for yourselves by tarrying past our contractual appearances.”
She waits for Aldo to translate into filligreed High Kyzai.
Corvan’s smile is absent today. A shrouded blue cloak rests on his shoulders. His mellifluous response filters through Aldo: “His majesty King Corvan has surely paid you well past the agreed-upon sums for your future appearances, has he not?”
“Maybe,” Anise says. “I’d have to check our books.”
“Hanem City is a centrally located and much-famed place,” Aldo says. “His majesty gladly receives visitors from all corners of the Old World. Happily, he would welcome them to watch your performances.”
“We’re not doing that,” Evan says. “We never agreed to a residency.”
Aldo tuts. “You took his food, you took his gold. You took lodging in his palace. Are a mere two performances truly worthy recompense?”
“His majesty has been extremely kind,” Thekla says. “But the kindness rendered was for the performances given. And now we’d like to leave.”
“And if you aren’t going to let us leave, that’s us being detained.” Kell points at Aldo. “Do you understand that?”
The guard standing by her puts a hand on her arm. “Remain calm.”
“I’m perfectly calm. Excuse me.” Kell pulls her arm away from the guard.
Evan’s eyes are wide and bright blue. “If you touch my wife without her permission again, I’m going to hit you.”
“Nobody’s hitting anyone,” Aldo says. “You will remain civil and deferential.”
“You need to lower the temperature on these guards, sir.” Dee’s voice is low and lethal. “Or they’re gonna be a problem.”
“The problem lies with your failure to grasp your situation,” Aldo says. “Your places of honor depend upon honor returned. If you continue to refuse his majesty, there may be repercussions.”
“Repercussions?” Kell’s eyes narrow as she looks up at Corvan. “Look, your highness, with respect—”
“You will bow when you address the king.” The guard next to Kell plants a heavy hand on her shoulder.
Evan Kamiyon punches him in the face.
He goes sprawling backward. By the time he comes up, snarling and rifle raised, Dee has stepped between him and Legendary’s bassist.
Many people start talking all at once.
Anise’s voice rings out the loudest.
“Sir, that is it.” She yells it into Aldo’s face. “Jerk me around all you want. You will not threaten the talent. How dare you?”
Aldo’s trying to shout her down. “His highness—”
“Shut up. Shut up. I have had enough of these Ren Faire rejects trying to screw up my tour. Every fucking kingdom I end up in is ruled by weasels.”
“This is insubordination, tantamount to treason,” Aldo snaps. “The king’s mercy is not infinite.”
“You’re trying to talk like the evil empire.” Anise shrills out a hyena laugh. “You’re talking to the evil empire. Wave that stick of yours around all you want at your people and your neighbors. I am the envoy of a world with enough firepower to wipe ourselves out 100 times over. Mine is bigger.”
The room has gone quiet.
“You misunderstand what we’re here to do.” Anise balls her hands into fists. “This is not just a rock tour. This is a desperation play. This is good-hearted people trying to get ahead of the curve and keep the Old World alive. I’m what Earth sent because they were convinced not to send tanks. I represent a razor-thin margin of people on Earth who are desperately restraining their governments from doing the thing they’ve done to every single newly contacted, comparatively weak, resource-rich land they’ve discovered in the past thousand years. And that’s fucking it to death.” Anise punctuates every syllable with a jabbed finger. “The more like Earth we can see you as, the more we can identify with you, the less likely our leaders are going to decide they have free reign to obliterate you. They are twitchy, amoral sociopaths and if you give them the slightest reason to pick a fight, they will, because then they can take all your shit and bomb your cities to rubble and tell themselves they’re heroes for it.”
“Are you threatening the king, custodian?”
“Yes. Please inform your king I am threatening him. You are going to open those city gates and you are going to allow us to leave—after you thank us for gracing you with our encore—because if you touch a hair on the head of my band or my crew, Earthgov will turn you into a grease stain. You were at the first conference. You signed the accords. You know what an intercontinental ballistic missile is.”
Corvan speaks. His thick High Kyzai accent is gone. “You are a long way from Earthgov, woman.”
“You think I can’t get in touch with them?” Anise is bluffing madly at this point. “You think they sent me here without a line back home? We can do things you haven’t even dreamed of. They give band managers this job because we’re assholes. They gave me the first Old World tour because I’m a fucking maniac. I’ll see your castle turned into a patch of glass and a chapter in a history book about the history of total idiots. One call and I can do it. You try to stop me, they do it. You kill me, they do it, and then when you’ve rebuilt they do it again, and again and again for a century until you’re an object lesson for your entire dimension.” She’s run out of breath by the end of this screed. She inhales. “Did you and your translator get all that or do I need to go over it again?”
“You are lying,” Corvan says.
“Call my bluff, then. Give it a shot. You can explain to the orphanages why you thought you could. Whichever ones are left standing.”
King Corvan’s stare is as frozen and inexpressive as a classical statue’s. The silence stretches.
“Leave my lands,” he says. “Be gone from my sight.”
“With pleasure, your majesty.” Anise turns on her heel. Her kids fall in behind her.
“Fuckin’ shit, baby,” Nick whispers in her ear. “How long have you had that villain monologue in the chamber?”
“Keep walking.” Anise narrows her dogged focus to the throne room doors, refusing to behold the bristling automatic firearms in her peripherals. “Keep walking keep walking.”
They exit the throne room. Anise slaps her hand onto Dee’s arm. “Can we please go to somewhere I can collapse and hyperventilate.”
Dee’s a pillar of support at her back. “You got it, princess.”
