Chapter 14
Belfast, North Ireland
Monday, December 12th, 2050
I passed out as soon as Mr. Maki and I arrived at our hotel, since our travel plans had kept me awake for more than a day, only to be forced out of bed three hours later. Jetlag is one of the Enemy’s greatest curses upon his creations. All of this flying to-and-fro between the hemispheres was, if you’ll pardon the play on words, for the birds.
“You need to become a lighter sleeper,” said Mr. Maki. “The Horde isn’t going to be as gentle as me.”
I held my tongue, since his idea of gentle had been to set off a Flashbang spell in my face. If all he was going to do was mock me, then I almost wished my hearing hadn’t recovered. He’d had to lead me down to a breakfast bar the hotel offered its guests.
At least the humans had developed ways to deal with the effects of jetlag. The energy drink I bought from a vending machine tasted like somebody describing the taste of an orange to a man with no tongue. Thankfully, there was free coffee to wash it down.
Hm. Scratch that; there was hot powdered acorn, a favorite coffee replacement of armies cut off from the tropics. It explained why the hotel was giving it away for free. I also suspected that the bacon and eggs were synthetic substitutes. After months of Mariko’s cooking and farm fresh everything, my tongue recoiled at the taste.
Ketchup turned out to be the solution there. Humans were rather good at solving problems they made for themselves, especially when there was a profit motive.
I missed Mariko; she would have joined me in my complaints, or at least have been sympathetic. I doubted Mr. Maki cared, so I kept my mouth shut.
Belfast proved to be much like the other human cities I’d visited, with a clear local culture that was being choked out by rows of ugly, subsidized housing for the waves of refugees from Europe and elsewhere. These were the newest slums I’d ever seen, the brutalist concrete blocks only distinguishable by their street numbers.
When I mentioned that to Mr. Maki, he said, “It’s amazing how fast they can raise those ups when they suspend the normal bidding and safety processes.”
“Ah… for the refugees from Britain?”
“Nearly doubled the population of the island, after it had already been doubled when mainland Europe fell,” he said, his shoulders slumping. The heavyset Japanese man’s natural energy and bravado often let me forget how old he was. Whenever his enthusiasm failed him, all the grey hair and wrinkles I normally overlooked stood out. “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”
“You did what you could, sir. It will sort itself out in the end; I’m sure of it.”
I wasn’t optimistic the island would ever be free again, but he didn’t need to hear that. It wasn’t technically a lie, by dint of being completely noncommittal. Perhaps I had a future in politics.
It seemed to help him out, since he straightened up. “You’re showing me up, Marlowe. You lost your home and you’re taking it better than me.”
“I try, sir,” I replied, thankful to whatever powers were responsible that our limo was coming to a stop, interrupting that awkward line of discussion.
As quickly as Mr. Maki had let his mask slip, he was all smiles and courage again at the security checkpoint. I wondered how many people he let see his moments of doubt; maybe he liked me after all.
That Divine Blade swagger was a powerful tool; he charmed his way past the soldiers at the front gate without so much as a pat down, and I sailed on past with him.
Much like Belfast itself, Stormont Estate bore the scars of the war. The grounds housed what had been North Ireland’s regional parliament building, which I was told had been commandeered by main United Kingdom government as soon as they’d fled England. Aside from some minor islands scattered across the map, North Ireland was basically the United Kingdom at that point, so there wasn’t as much point to housing the regional government separately.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Housing had been erected for the dignitaries and a small army detachment to protect them. What had been well maintained and orderly grounds were interrupted by numerous concrete eyesores. I couldn’t help but notice they were nicer than what had been provided to the riffraff outside. Their walls were at least painted, and there had been an effort to hide what they were with some veneers and careful use of the existing topiary.
We were dropped off at the largest of the hastily erected buildings, and this time we were given a proper screening. The soldiers who inspected us and our credentials didn’t fawn over Mr. Maki, marking them as true professionals.
If the exterior was shoddy, the inside of the manor was nothing of the sort. The treasures they’d managed to save during the Calamity of 2049 were on full display. Paintings, sculptures, artifacts from museums, that sort of thing. It was a bit cluttered, if you asked me. However, nobody had, and so I got a quick education in art history as we made our way. A pair of armed soldiers escorted us every step of the way.
The bedroom smelled of imminent death. The old man in the bed was in a bad way. He was flanked by an IV bag and a heartrate monitor, as well as an attending nurse. I had never seen the man before, but I could guess as Mr. Maki fell to one knee and averted his eyes. I followed suit, though I was rather confused. This couldn’t have been the party I’d been invited to, could it? There was barely room for the two of us, never mind if we’d brought plus ones.
A stuffy-looking man standing near the door cleared his throat. “Your majesty, Asahi Maki and Soren Marlowe have arrived.” He looked down our way. “Allow me to present King George the Seventh, Defender of the Faith, Head of the…”
“Oh, hush,” came the quavering voice. It was soft, but there was still power in it, and in his lively green eyes. He turned to the nurse. “Don’t waste our time. Unhook me and fetch my cane.”
The heavyset brunette frowned. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“These nice young wizards were kind enough to come all this way to see me,” he barked. “I will stand to greet them.”
That he did, though he needed assistance. He made his way over as we continued to kneel. I looked up, hoping it wouldn’t violate protocol too badly. His jowls reminded me of a bulldog, but everything else on the man was loose and gaunt. He’d dressed in a suit that must have once fit him well, but now barely stayed in place. Despite it all, he carried himself with dignity. His back was as straight as he could manage, and he moved with regal bearing.
“Well,” he said, coming close enough that he could have touched me. “I finally get to meet the last man out of England. I’ve been trying for months, but they kept saying you were occupied. It seems providence saw fit to grant an old man’s wish.”
“He’s had a trying year, Your Majesty,” said Mr. Maki.
“M-my…” My words failed me; a lump of conscience lodging itself in my throat. How could this man who’d lost his country be so pleased to see me, the man who’d won the last Battle of London?
King George completely misinterpreted me, of course. “Now, now. No cause to be tongue-tied.” He gestured towards his empty bed. “I’m only human, just like you.”
I held myself together, though tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. “Of course, Your Majesty,” I managed to choke out. “I-it is an honor, sir. May Our Father keep you, and may you reign until the moon falls into the sea.”
The natural address I’d used for the Dark Lord back in Pandemonium came naturally. I managed to not add ‘below’ to Our Father Below’s full title, but it was a near thing.
A long silence filled the room before King George shattered it with a raspy laugh.
“Well, that’s a new one! You shouldn’t make wishes you don’t want to come true, Mr. Marlowe. I want there to be something left after I’m gone.”
“But sir, the Horde would never see that one coming,” my lips said, outrunning my mind.
I could practically hear Mr. Maki’s muscles flex as tried to keep from throttling me for my disrespect. All that saved my throat was another laugh from the king.
“I see they aren’t teaching manners at that school of yours,” he said.
“Your Majesty, I—”
King George cut off Mr. Maki mid-protest. “I don’t mind. I’ve had my bloody fill of manners, especially now that everyone’s convinced I’m fragile. Still…” He reached out to give my cheek a condescending pat. “I’m also glad I brought you up here first to prepare you. We wouldn’t want you running your mouth at the ceremony. You’ll keep your peace, outside of your lines.”
“Ceremony, sir?” I asked.
He leaned forward on his cane. “That’s right, we did keep it from you. Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise, now would we?”
I didn’t want to blurt out again, but his expectant look required a response. “Surprise?”
“What I am about to say does not leave this room.” Mr. Maki and I both nodded. “Good; the official announcement will drop tomorrow morning. My social media handler tells me it will go out at the proper time for ‘virality’.” His annoyance at the word dripped from his words. “I’m sure it won’t surprise you to hear that the national morale is at a low point,” he said.
“I would imagine,” I said. Hardly any nation left, after all.
“You, however, are a bright spot,” he said. “Just by existing, you give the people hope. Repeatedly beating those bastard Holy Brother terrorists inspires us all to keep fighting and reminds us that extremism is not the answer.”
It seemed His Majesty was already working on his speech. I nodded, having an inkling of where this could be going. Another medal, I figured; the Horde had handed out so many of those decorations that some Grand Generals could hardly stand. I’d gotten my fair share of them for my service in Spain and England. I was simply starting a new collection for the other side.
I was so caught up in my ruminations that I nearly missed the thrust of King George’s words.
“You are to be knighted tomorrow. Prepare yourself accordingly.”