Taijitu World Building > Pre-Modern Era Fiction

Other People (1951)

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Myroria:
It was almost surprisingly windy, considering how clear the sky was. There wasn't a storm cloud in sight, but the gusts of wind were almost enough to knock someone over if they were caught unawares. Waves, high and rather unruly by the combination of an incoming tide and gale-force winds, were crashing on the cliffs below a green field with a spattering of trees here and there - the whole scene was like something out of a dream really.

Fredrika sat in the shade of one of these trees as it felt like she had for hours. It had been months, maybe even years to recall it now, that she had had the opportunity to get away from the palace and sit near here ancestral proving grounds an hour and a half's drive outside Quarrovth. She remembered the day when, a girl of no more than six or seven, she picked this tree to be "hers". As an only child Fredrika had no problem declaring things hers - but this tree was probably her most prized possession. She would sit under it whenever she needed a moment to get away from her problems. As she grew older her problems seemed to just grow bigger.

Now Fredrika was a 25 year old woman and her father had been dead for one year, four months, fourteen days, and six hours. She had just stop counting the minutes a few days ago and she was hoping the hours would be next. A sudden shiver came over the young queen. She had not realized in the midst of all her thinking that the ocean wind had been blowing a steady layer of mist onto her dress, which was now less a garment and more a cold, wet blanket. She got up and was about to return to her car when she saw a person already standing by it.

Approaching the car, she looked around for her entourage and noticed they were all gone. A pit immediately formed in her stomach. Her nervousness, though palpable, wasn't noticeable on her voice. "When they kill me, " Fredrika thought, "at least they'll know I wasn't anxious."

"Can I help you stranger?" The words had just left her mouth when she realized who it was.

"I've only been gone a year, Fred, and suddenly I'm a stranger?" A smirk ran across her father's face as an enormous grin ran across hers.

"Daddy!" Fredrika ran into his arms as if she was six years old again. She could feel the tears running down her face before she even got to him. "It's been so long,"

"I know, love."

"I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too." Fendryn Quarrovth, Empeurer of Myroria, went to his grave wearing a crisp military uniform, but now his tie was loosened and his collar undone. When Fredrika let go of him after ten or fifteen minutes she noticed she had not seen his favorite roadster there before, but it was there now. She smirked. It seemed as if the whole world calmed in her father's presence.

"Where is he?" Fendryn was always interested in where Peté was or what he was doing. He had begrudgingly accepted his marriage to his daughter, but never particularly liked the outlander.

"A yacht race or something." Fendryn nodded and there was silence for a minute.

"I want to be Empereur, Daddy."

"I know you do, sweetie."

"Do you think I'd be good at it?" Fendryn looked puzzled for a few moments.

"What do you care what other people think?" Again, there was silence for a minute. Fredrika never felt as happy as she did now.

"There's something I need you to do, Fred."

"What is it, Daddy?"

"I need you to wake up."


Fredrika awoke with a start, slumped in a chair in "The Empereur's Chambers", as she would say with a jeer. She had always preferred "my bedroom" but the nobles in the court would shoot her looks for saying that. There was a bottle of gin tipped over on the floor next to her, but she had remembered to put the cap on this time so it hadn't spilled at least.

She reached for the breast pocket of her pajamas for her wristwatch, but touched only bare skin.

"Dammit," she said, getting up and walking to her nightstand. It was 4:18 AM. Fredrika stood there for a minute before looking over and seeing a man sleeping in her bed. It was Gadayn, the aide from Hlaren Quarrovth's office. Fredrika let out a heavy sigh.

"Dammit." Fredrika stumbled to the closet and put on her pajama shirt before returning to the bed. She let out another, heavier sigh, and pushed on Gadayn's shoulder. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes.

"Uuuuh... good morning honey. What... time is it?"

"Don't call me that. It's time for you to leave."

"Wha? I thought we had someth - "

"We didn't. Get out of here." Gadayn groaned and got out of bed.

"Can you get me, uh, my pants?" he said, still half asleep. Fredrika sighed again. It was time to break out the big guns.

"We will not get you your pants." Gadayn, finally coming to his senses, apologized.

"I'm very sorry, Your Majesty."

"Good. Now please get out of my sight Gadayn." He rushed out the door and was about to close it when Fredrika sighed again.

"Gadayn?"

"Yes, Your Majesty?" he said, a smile on his face.

"If you tell anyone about this I will bury you in the sand and wait for the tide to come in." Gadayn's smile faded.

"Yes, sera.." The door closed. Fredrika returned to her chair, and, with one more sigh, fell back asleep.

Myroria:
"I heard one once," began Bervaso, a tall but gentle-looking man with dark hair and stubble. "I was out hunting partridge with my dad." From his throat came a strange gutteral clicking that sounded almost like the glug-glug-glug of water being poured out of a bottle with a long, thin neck.

"That's impossible," Fredrika replied. "It doesn't exist. It's been extinct for a hundred years."

"With all respect, Your Majesty, you're wrong." Fredrika laughed.

"I'm sure you were hearing something else. There are a thousand birds that sound like that." Bervaso smirked and briefly looked away, as if he could tell this argument would go nowhere. Alerted by their conversation, a small group of woodcocks in a distant field began to fly. Bervaso pointed his shotgun at the group and fired. A cry arose, and one of them tumbled to the ground. As Bervaso and the queen walked to the dying shorebird, they continued their conversation.

"They found a nest a few years ago, you know."

"Without eggs, Berv - a few sticks and wadding does not a miracle make." Bervaso chuckled and picked up the now-dead woodcock. Light rain was falling on his green and black flannel jacket, and the occasional breeze would kick up the cuffs of his khaki pants before letting them settle again. "Nice one," Fredrika said.

They were discussing the ultimate fate of the greater capercaillie, what was once the largest grouse in the world and lived in the upland forests of Myroria until they were cleared to make space for more farmland. Though some old-growth areas were set aside and other tracts replanted, it was too little too late. The last specimen was shot for a private collection in 1885.

A bodyguard of Fredrika's approached her and whispered in her ear. She frowned for a moment and turned to Bervaso.

"Well, old friend, it's been a pleasure."

"You haven't shot anything yet, Your Majesty, and you're already leaving?" Fredrika chuckled.

"What did I say about the 'Your Majesty' shit? Duty calls. You know I'll be at the estate for another week. We'll have another chance." Bervaso sighed and held out his hand.

"I'll find one for you, Freddie."

"If anyone can, it'd be you Berv." The queen adjusted her shotgun slung around her back and walked away with her bodyguard.

"You'd better have a good reason for pulling this shit."

"Your Majesty."


Upon returning to the clearing where the cars were parked, she saw what seemed to be the entire guard force standing there, as well as about six more cars than she brought here. The sounds from the engines were almost overwhelming.

"Please get in, Your Majesty," a wiry, young man wearing a suit a size too big for him said while holding open her car door.

"I hope Bervaso wasn't planning on doing anymore hunting because I think you've scared away every bird between here and Annuminas with this goddamn racket."

"Please get in, Your Majesty." Fredrika groaned. She sat in the back of the car and the thin man sat in the front passenger seat. A distinctly Ozian man was sitting behind the wheel.

"Do you know what's going on here, outlander? Where's Mehma?"

"She's back at the estate, Your Majesty. Someone set off a bomb in Pelagis and she ordered us to come get you."

"A bomb? What?"

"The country is under attack! Someone set a bomb off, Your Majesty!" The thin man excitedly replied. Fredrika turned her face to him, unimpressed.

"Thank you for reiterating, I wasn't sure what he meant by 'bomb', or 'went off', or 'Pelagis.' What do we know?" she asked, turning back towards the Ozian driver with a sigh.

"Not much at this time." he said with an accent. "We think it might have been Pelagians."

"Of course." The cars began to rumble and they headed down the long, dirt road back to the Quarrovth estate single-file.

Myroria:
The light rain that was falling all morning had slowed to a drizzle by the time the motorcade approached the estate house; on the broad lawns surrounding the main building various members of His Majesty's Secret Service stood, watching for a Pelagian attack that would likely never come.

By the time the long column of cars had completed its journey from the brushland to the main house, it was one o'clock and Fredrika along with a doubly large compliment of guards hustled inside. Removing her tweed hat only to find the post gone, the queen dropped it onto the ground and walked into her office while her guards stayed behind by the door. Fredrika took slow, careful steps across the tile towards her office and paused outside the door. Hearing activity, she took a deep breath and swung the door open.

"It's been years since I've seen two men in a room eagerly awaiting my return," she remarked before heading to her desk. "What have you got for me, Vertroth?" she continued, looking at the man on the left.

Agent Fadren Vertroth, a totally nondescript man of completely average height and build and the court's man inside the Imperial Office of Investigation, stepped forward and opened a folder on the desk. 

"I wish I could say I knew more than we do, Your Majesty," he began. "We have the office's best on the case now but right now all we can say for certain is that elements inside the Pelagian rights movement are most likely responsible."

"Your office's best know as much as my chauffeur, Agent. Who's this?" Fredrika asked, pointing at a black-and-white mugshot paperclipped to the folder.

"That's Emanuel Politius. My sources in Pelagis say he hasn't been heard from since last Thursday and we're inclined to believe he's presently scattered around Moomintroth Square."

"Lovely. What are we looking at for a casualty count?"

"43 deaths so far, but 17 of the injured probably won't make it through the night." Fredrika sighed and stood up. Walking to the bar on the other side of her office, she glanced at Seldus Quarrovth, a short and squat minor noble who was never able to hold a House post for very long but this week served as the court's representative to the Imperial Intelligence Office.

"What do your sources say, Seldus?"

"A friend in the R.C. says that the yachts are at least a day and a half out. I don't think anyone's been able to get in touch with His Majesty yet." Fredrika grunted in affirmation before pouring gin and tonic water into a glass. There was silence in the room for a second as she sipped her drink and glanced into the corner to see her hat rack with radio wires draped over it and a console sitting on an end table. "Folvys is probably going to handle things from here on out until His Majesty returns."

"No! Goddammit Seldus, this is too important to leave to those squabbling nobles. I want you to make sure Folvys fucking Quarrovth is in this room by ten a.m. sharp tomorrow or it'll be his head." Fredrika paused to take a drink from her gin and tonic. "Folvys Quarrovth, running this country for a day and a half. Traval City would be falling into the sea. I won't allow it." Seldus paused a moment.

"The Prime Minister of Prydainia sends his condolences. I think the Presiding Steward did as well." Again the room was silent for a minute or two.

"Get the hell out of my sight, the both of you. I need to think." Fredrika took a cigarette out of the mouth of a dispenser shaped like a duck as the two men hustled out. She rummaged through her desk for a few moments looking for a holder before giving up, tucking the cigarette between her lips, and lighting it. She slumped back into her chair without bothering to remove her hunting jacket and nervously tapped the desk.

Myroria:
By four o'clock, the sun had come out and it warmed considerably. It was an unseasonably warm day for early fall in the Quarrovth woodlands, feeling almost like a June afternoon. The contingent of guards had yet to vacate their posts on the fields surrounding the estate, even though as the day wore on a Pelagian attack directly on the queen became less and less likely.

Fredrika was sitting on the floor in an upstairs hallway, back on the wall with legs splayed out in both directions. A bowl of ice was sitting in front of a fan by an open window, but the heat remained oppressive. Being forbidden by the secret service from swimming in the outside pool, she instead occupied herself by tossing a small rubber ball onto the floor in front of her, where it bounced onto the opposite wall, then back into her hands. She was currently on her third gin and tonic of the day, but being spread over as many hours it had little effect beyond flushing her face.

The patience of the bodyguard standing guard in the corner watching the stairs must be commended, as he was  going into his second hour having not moved at all or shown any irritation in at the constant thump-thump of the ball's bouncing. The only thing he seemed concerned with in the slightest were those thirteen steps that in two hours no one had yet ascended. Fredrika caught the ball and held it in her hands while turning to look at him. There was no reaction at all. She quietly wound up and tossed the ball at the wall parallel to his face, and again elicited no reaction.

"If you're dead, I must compliment your posture; if you're alive, I must compliment your professionalism."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Ah! It's the latter." Fredrika put her hand on the wall and rose to her feet, pausing to grab her drink. She stood five foot seven in socks and her white starched hunting shirt was untucked, disheveled, and foundation and sweat stained the collar. She walked towards the staircase to retrieve the ball she threw. "You're a good man, uh,"

"Nethyn, ma'am."

"Nethyn! You're a good man. I'd offer to make you a drink but, ah, I've heard that's verboten since my birthday bash." Nethyn chuckled. "There's a smile! Where's your family from, Nethyn?" At this point it would be clear to an observer that maybe three gin and tonics in as many hours was having an effect on the pencil-thin woman. Nethyn cleared his throat.

"Uh, Novrith, ma'am."

"How long have they lived there?"

"Since the Exodus, ma'am." Fredrika smiled. To be more precise, this would be the moment the king's wife's drunkenness level would move up a notch from "friendly" to "sloppy":

"A like a good Myrorian man. Too many Pelagians nowadays. If there's one thing my father taught me when we were living in Resdaynia, it's that the natives there at least had the courtesy to admit when they were defeated... these people... it's been 300 years and they're still fighting the damn same war. It's a pity. A damn pity."

Nethyn cleared his throat and, for the first time in two hours, fidgeted. Everyone expects that when they go to, say, a family reunion they'll always have the one aunt who gets just a little racist with a few drinks in her - in fact, in Myroria, "Surprise Racist Aunt Day" may very well be an unofficial national holiday. What's a lot rarer - and a lot more embarrassing - is to have a "Surprise Racist Empeuress Day". As if to save him from another minute of rambling, Seldus Quarrovth hustled up the stairs.

"Your Majesty," he said. Seldus began to bow but the tight quarters by the stairs made him lose his balance. He
settled on having his face in Nethyn and Fredrika's chests for a moment before awkwardly straightening out. "Uh," he began, motioning for Fredrika to walk in front of him. She led him into an upstairs office where a blues record that ended an hour ago was repeatedly clicking on the turntable. She picked up the needle and turned to Seldus as he closed the door.

"Did you get ahold of Folvys?"

"I did, sera. He said he's willing to meet with you here at your specified time tomorrow. But..." Seldus paused, considering whether or not to continue.

"But?"

"But I feel I must remind you, Your Majesty, that constitutionally the head of the majority House is to act on the Empeurer's behalf if he is incapacitated or otherwise incapable of carrying out his duties." The red flush of liquor on Fredrika's face now widened into a red flush of anger.

"Constitutionally, Seldus," she began, placing her drink on the desk with force, "I would be Empeurer, as every majority House's heir has been for millennia. However, a year and a half ago, our illustrious Council saw fit to appoint an out..." Fredrika paused. "saw fit to appoint my husband to the throne instead. So I think Folvys would understand if, just one more time, we could bypass that document." Fredrika picked up a cigarette off the desk. "Have you seen my cigarette holder? Ah, to hell with it." She lit it and placed it between her lips. "What have you heard regarding the Pelagians?"

"Well, ma'am, that's more Agent Vertroth's world than mine, but as I understand the Pelagians have yet to release an official statement."

"You'd think if you blew up a whole plaza you'd want to make sure everyone knew it."

Myroria:
"I'm very pleased you could make it all the way out here on such short notice, Mr. Quarrith." exuberated a man in a suit with particularly dark five o'clock shadow and beads of sweat dripping down his face. At six o'clock, the sun was beginning to go down but the humidity on the estate was sweltering. A black Studebaker came to a stop beside him, its whitewall tires darkened with dirt from the long drive through the backwoods.

"Of course, Agent - I live to serve." said a man in a cream-colored blazer through the open window by the driver's seat, not entirely unsarcastically. He turned off the car and opened the door.

"Your reputation precedes you, sera. Once we heard from His Majesty we knew there was no one else to call." The agent, still over-enthusiastic, stepped out of the way of the car door and extended his hand. "Agent Serys Hlaroth."

"Gothren Quarrith," replied the chamberlain. He winced when their hands touched. How could one man produce this much sweat? Reaching inside his coat pocket for a handkerchief, he chose not to ask and instead continued with the niceties. "What time did you hear from His Majesty?"

"About 4:30." Hlaroth snapped his fingers at a page, instructing him to grab the Imperial Chamberlain's luggage. "He's about two days out - worse than we thought. Then it would be another six hour flight back to Pelagis. Honestly, it's a miracle we heard from him at all. Radio can be so fickle out there."

"Does Her Majesty know this?" Gothren shut his car door and took his cigarette case out of his pocket.

"Well I don't think she's been in many yacht races but I assume she'd know the radio is fickle, yes."

"Not the radio, f'lah, does she know that you've heard from His Majesty?"

"We've been keeping her informed out of courtesy of course. We expect Serjo Quarrovth to take control of the situation soon, but we have yet to hear anything yet. His Majesty instructed us to keep the queen here until he returns." Gothren, lighting his cigarette, looked incredulous.

"I don't think that will do, Agent. I've been serving the Imperial Family since Fendryn took the throne and I find it hard to believe that Her Majesty would allow that. Regardless," he continued, fetching a datebook from a third pocket, "She's due back in the capital at five o'clock tomorrow."

"Mr. Quarrith, I'm afraid our orders come straight from His Majesty himself - and Serjo also gave us the same instructions." Gothren, shaking his head, stood back up after leaning against his car.

"I'm sure we'll get something worked out, Agent. But I had a long drive and I would like to be seen to my room."

Agent Hlaroth, slightly perturbed, nodded and allowed Gothren and the page carrying his luggage to pass.

"It's gonna be warm tomorrow," the page noted, trying to make conversation. It would be hard for Gothren to look less interested.

"Mmhmm." His eyes were instead fixed on an upstairs window that he saw the queen looking out of. He took a drag from his cigarette and watched her turn away.

Gothren's room was on the second floor of the estate house, where it was just hot enough to be miserable. Placing his suitcase on the floor, he sat on the bed and put his head in his hands, rubbing the palms of his hands into his eyes. He sighed and slowly dragged his hands down his face and by the time he was done Fredrika was standing in his doorway.

"Your Majesty," he said, standing and picking his suitcase up off the floor.

"Thank you for making the drive," the queen replied, closing the door. "I know it was a long one."

"Three hours, on the highway, ma'am." Gothren said simply. He placed his suitcase on the bed and unhooked the latches.

"You're the only one I can trust, Gothren." she said. She had stopped drinking but one could smell the cigarette smoke from across the room. The queen walked across the room to the window.

"I understand you heard from His Majesty?"

"Yes, though I didn't speak to him myself. As soon as they told me they had heard from him there were three new guards on the floor. I think they're trying to keep me here."

"That's correct." Fredrika turned to Gothren suddenly.

"Is it?! Did he tell them to keep me here?"

"That's correct." Gothren hung up a shirt in his wardrobe.

"I bet he's in with Folvys. This is exactly the situation he's been dreading - thousands of miles away from the country in a crisis. He knew it'd be either me or that old son of a bitch running the show and I'm sure he didn't want it to be me."

"I don't think we need to jump to conclusions, now. His Majesty's intentions weren't necessarily malicious,"

"Just probably malicious." Fredrika interrupted. Gothren laughed and took off his blazer. "I'm meeting with Folvys tomorrow at ten o'clock, but it might be too late by then. He's already consolidating."

"Meeting Folvys? We weren't scheduled to leave for Pelagis until one."

"He's coming up here."

"Folvys is driving here? How much did you have to pay him to do that?" Fredrika chuckled but then paused.

"I want you to set up a dining table in the Green Room tomorrow by nine. And who was that man you were talking to outside?"

"That was Agent Hlaroth. You know him, he's head of security."

"No, no, not him. The other one. Squirrely kid, carrying your suitcase."

"Him? I don't know, some attendant. I didn't get his name."

"Well I need him in that room at ten." Fredrika walked towards the door with speed. "I'm going to type something up for you Gothren. I'll send it your way."

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