Florette VI: The Blunt Instrument
“Do not believe that you were successful in concealing your failure, Srin Sabine, nor that evading me was advisable.” Monfroy didn’t sound accusatory so much as tense, icy words trailing out of his smooth-skinned face. They’d had to meet in a different carriage, unassuming wood in lieu of mourning white, which Florette would never have even found without the menacing Richard beckoning her into it once she dared to show her face at the marina. “The reduction in your debt that we discussed, of course, will not be granted for tasks you were unable to complete.”’
Florette felt a bead of sweat form at her nose, the warm spring air, too many layers, and stress of the situation making it difficult to keep it in check. Still, that’s more lenient than I expected. Had the revelation of Monfroy’s crimes truly pushed him onto the back foot? It would explain why he was taking care not to alienate his asset, at least. Though, unfortunately for you, it’s far too late for that. “It was out of my hands.”
Monfroy nodded, though he failed to relax the judgemental slant in his eyes. “Rest assured, the Prince of Darkness shall pay for meddling with my affairs. When his father thought to try the same, I gave his precious Avalon its greatest enemy, forcing him to watch the kingdom he’d built crumble at the hands of his sons. Lucifer’s downfall shall be swifter, by necessity.” He laughed, as if at some private joke. “That fool wants to undo all the good work it took to remove Khali in the first place. If his reckless experiments reopen the Gate between worlds, every last one of us shall pay the price.”
Open the Gate? Florette’s mind jumped back to the visions she’d seen on the Isle of Shadows, the great black hole opening in the sky, Khali’s devastation following immediately behind it. I know what I saw, a city of the distant future brought low by her inevitable return. But the Twilight Society believed that Khali would return sooner, a mere twelve years from now. And even that’s based on guesswork about exactly how long the first Age of Darkness lasted. All they really knew was what the Great Binder had written about her visions, what Florette herself had witnessed while deep in the throes of her nightshade visions: when the year 2000 arrived, Khali would return to tear apart everything humanity had built.
Had Prince Luce seen it too? Was he trying to defy fate by opening the Gate early, before there were glass towers and red metal bridges? Surely he realized that destroying the world early wouldn’t actually improve anything, right? But then, he’s a scholar, forever bound to the task of winning petty arguments on the basis of technicality. It took only a moment to imagine Ticent the Sable-Eye, for example, laughing smugly at his nominal victory as the world withered in darkness, and there was no sure way to know that Prince Luce did not feel the same.
Could the Prince of Darkness seek to live up to his name? He’s not the same timid captive anymore, that’s for certain.
“You see the danger too, Srin. I had thought to dispatch you to the Fortan Highlands once your work in Carringdon was done, to better keep an eye on his progress and—if necessary—ensure that Khali remains sealed.” His voice hardened. “But this insult demands a personal response. You’ll remain in Cambria while I settle things. Do not think that this exempts you from judgment for your own part in this disaster.”
Then this conversation is coming to an end. Florette casually ran her hands across the bag positioned on her lap, Rebecca’s bomb sitting unassumingly within it. For the very last time, she considered delaying, allowing Monfroy to clash with the Prince of Darkness while she composed herself for her next move. For her cover, for her well-being, it was the obvious choice.
And for her morals, just as obviously wrong. I’ve let you get away with too much for too long; the withered faces of your victims are my responsibility as well, and there is only one way to rectify that injustice. She found the button Rebecca had built in to start the timer, then pressed it down through the canvas of the bag.
“Good luck,” she said, trying to draw the conversation to a close.
Monfroy tilted his head. “A most uncharacteristic remark, nearly as unusual as your incuriosity. I suppose it is all too easy to overestimate the intellect of even a talented youth such as yourself.”
“What do you mean?” Florette couldn’t help but ask, keenly aware of the bomb on her lap.
“Creating Avalon’s greatest enemy, of course. I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I didn’t expect you to inquire.” A rare smile crossed his face. “With a few conversations, I created a potent weapon aimed straight at Harold Grimoire, privy to his darkest secrets, and wholly deniable. And Jethro has yet to fail me, nor does he plot towards my demise.”
Jethro? Immediately, Florette tensed, hand drawn to the Ring of Glaciel in her pocket, the only artifact inconspicuous enough to carry on her person at all times. “I never—”
“Spare me the lies.” Monfroy’s smile faded. “This is such a shame. You might have been far more useful to me.” He lunged for Florette faster than she could blink, wrapping his hand around her throat. “But there’s always your youth.”
No time for hesitation. A hammer of ice formed around her hand, sharpening to a spike just in time to embed itself in Monfroy’s neck. His grip slackened as he gurgled, which Florette took as an opportunity to pull away. Monfroy was screaming something incoherent through what remained of his throat, flesh already beginning to knit back together while the glow drained from his face.
Florette brandished her icy warhammer with one hand while the other fumbled for the door of the coach, almost losing her grip when they passed over a bump. Her bag, obviously, she left in the seat next to Monfroy. One minute. She chanced a glance out the window of the carriage, then swore when she saw that they were travelling above the railway tracks, with next to no space on the overpass to roll and recover from a jump out the carriage.
But it’s still better than what that bomb has in store.
“Don’t be in such a hurry to leave,” Monfroy rasped, his throat still in the process of reassembling itself. “There remains much to discuss.” He thumped the roof of the carriage twice, prompting a series of footsteps to sound from above.
Time to go. Florette pulled the handle, only for her eyes to widen in horror as the door remained jammed in place.
Monfroy laughed. “Knowing what you know about me, it couldn’t have come as a surprise that my carriage doors lock from the outside.” He continued rasping, slowly sliding closer towards her across the seat, as if savoring every moment. “Then again, I expected you to have a better plan when you unwisely chose to oppose me. You’ve been a disappointment on many fronts this day.”
Florette smashed the door with her icy hand, tearing open a hole that immediately filled the cabin with the roar of the wind. Glancing back at her bag, she guessed there were only seconds left, so she wasted no time in jumping out the window towards the perilous railroad tracks.
She only made it a few feet before the whip caught her around the stomach, hauling her up towards the roof of the carriage where Monfroy’s bodyguard, Richard, lurked with the same stone face he always bore.
“A bomb?” she heard Monfroy exclaim from below. “How dreadfully uninspired.” Florette could only watch helplessly as Rebecca’s contribution sailed out of the hole in the carriage, detonating uselessly above the railroad tracks with no visible effect save the instantaneous demise of some twenty ravens.
Fuck! I knew I should have just planted it under the carriage. That had seemed riskier at the time, considering how close an eye Richard kept on the exterior, but it would have almost certainly accomplished more than that.
“Ah, so you did plan ahead,” Monfroy addressed her from below. “You thought to harness my power with machines, undo me with my own strength.” He waved his hand down and Richard brusquely tossed Florette back into the cabin, his whip still bound around her arms. “Better, but not good enough. These articles of glass and metal can never match the true power of the spirits. But now that I know such a thing exists...” His smile widened, splitting his entire face. “I do not expect that we will meet again, Srin Sabine. But your debt is not yet paid.”
Bound and defeated, Florette struggled to muster the energy to fight back. There was no way left to kill him now, not even if she’d had the Blade of Khali. I missed the best chance I was ever going to get... As Monfroy approached her, Florette smashed her head into his own, momentarily stunning him, then spun around to send a blade of ice through his abdomen.
Not enough to stop him for long, but it might just—
Richard leapt past his master in an instant, slamming his fist into Florette’s already-battered face. For an instant, the world went dark, but when Florette managed to open her eyes again, Monfroy was still bleeding on the seat, his guard readying another blow.
If Florette hadn’t thought ahead, she might have died right then and there, another wizened corpse for Monfroy to throw onto the pile. The thought was haunting, fear and despair amplifying as she drew on the darkness of the Cloak of Nocturne wrapped around her waist, hidden beneath her jacket.
She phased through the floor of the carriage, then the overpass itself, pulling back from Nocturne’s just in time to land atop a speeding train to carry her off to safety, free as the wind.
꣼
It was only the next day, when she read the journals’ account of Monfroy’s ‘demise’, that Florette realized just how badly she’d failed. Thirty-six people died because of me. Worse than that, bringing the bomb had clearly given him the idea to do it in the first place. His carriage must have doubled back to retrieve the casing from beside the railroad tracks before he staged his end.
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All because I couldn’t kill him when I had the perfect chance.
She’d held herself back after discovering the dead construction workers, committing to making a plan that would work instead of recklessly charging Monfroy and hoping for the best. And what had come of that patience? Nothing.
Monfroy was free, believed to be dead, having lost none of his power or influence. There was little doubt he’d pop up again somewhere under a new name, ready to take his vengeance on all who’d crossed him.
Starting with me, Florette thought at first, but then she considered what he’d actually said.
“Rest assured, the Prince of Darkness shall pay.” He was planning to handle it personally, going after him in the Fortan Highlands. With Rebecca right there, ready to get caught in the crossfire. Florette would have to find some way to get her to safety, unlikely as that prospect seemed.
Now that Monfroy had slipped her grasp, it didn’t seem like there were any good options.
Nor do things look much better here. The strike was continuing apace, only occasionally thwarted by an overzealous Guardian before Christophe put them back in their place, but the negotiations seemed no closer to resolution.
The workers could only last so long on the funds they’d pooled, and the bosses knew it. Their factories were vacant, their textiles lying unprocessed in their warehouses, precious profits plummeting. In strict financial terms, they were losing a hundred times more than all the workers combined every day that the strike continued, yet they still held firm.
This isn’t just about the money. They can’t let a single strike succeed, or workers everywhere will rise up to defend themselves. Already, Versham-Martin had tried dragging people out of their assembly lines in other areas of the company, pulling workers used to processing laudanum, steel, and pistols into factories about which they knew nothing.
Christophe had managed to wrangle that, convening the relief workers with the strikers long enough to work out an agreement, and now Versham-Martin was facing the risk of work stoppage across three of their most profitable industries. Yet, if anything, the prospect of settling negotiations seemed even more distant now.
The Blue Bandit could put the fear in them, perhaps, and Florette had of late grown tired with restraint, but that didn’t mean they’d get the solution they needed. Slaying executives left and right carried the risk of hardening their resolve further, perhaps closing the factories entirely. The entirety of Versham-Martin could crumble to dust and most of its largest shareholders would still walk away wealthy—even wealthier, perhaps, than they would by granting all their workers a fair wage, fair hours, and safe employment.
And I’ll never be able to steal enough mandala to feed them all.
Christophe hadn’t had any better ideas, unfortunately, for all that he’d stepped up in Florette’s absence. Worse, his time in Cambria was coming to an end.
“Sunderé and Volobrin are one thing, but now Plagette is arming itself for war. Condillac dissolved its regency council in favor of a single Lady Regent, and it’s rumored that Céline Clément wants to raise an army to invade Malin in revenge for her cousin’s capture. We could have a second Winter War in a matter of months, and I’m just... Sending supplies is one thing, but I worry for my kin.”
“I get it,” Florette had told him, placing a hand on his cold shoulder. “You want to protect your homeland.”
“I’m worried, if I don’t, that there won’t be a homeland left to protect. Queen Glaciel has always looked out for all her descendants. Without her, I wouldn’t have this mission—I wouldn’t have this face. I know I owe you much, Florette, but I can’t... can’t stand here helpless any longer.”
Florette had remained supportive, but internally cringed. I can’t begrudge him that, but his timing is terrible. The strike was still in full swing; Monfroy was still on the loose; Alcock had urgently directed her to his lab for momentous news about the Giton dig; and final exams were mere weeks away.
And now it seems I’ll have to protect the strikers too. As overwhelming as that was, Florette felt the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. At least, in this, I can be myself. She was tired of wearing the skin of Srin Sabine, tired of bottling herself up in the hopes of some future boon. Tired of this assignment I should have known better than to choose.
꣼
The soonest ship for Forta didn’t leave until tomorrow, so Florette decided it was finally time to answer Professor Alcock’s summons. It might be a little while before I can make it back to Cambria—this should help shore things up for when I get back.
Yet still, with everything going on, jumping back to archaeology felt dizzying, so distant was the history of ancient Giton from her current travails. The disconnect never felt stronger than the moment she burst through the doors of Professor Alcock’s lab, earning a raised eyebrow from Ticent the Sable-Eye. “Where have you been? The Professor wanted you here for the pistol examination.”
“Duties in Carringdon. I couldn’t avoid it, unfortunately.” All the more unfortunate because my being there didn’t accomplish anything. Even Monfroy had been exposed without any involvement from Florette, the product of some Charentine journalist and Charlotte de Malin. All she’d succeeded in was dragging Rebecca into the line of fire, forcing herself to run north when a million other concerns were pulling back towards Cambria. Worse yet—
“Pay attention, Sabine.” The Sable-Eye glared judgmentally. “It’s bad enough it took you so long to get here.”
“I’m sorry.” Florette dipped her head, trying to free it from the stressful reality of her current situation. “What did you find out?”
The Sable-Eye frowned, then pulled out the ancient pistol they’d uncovered in Pelleas Grimoire’s tomb. “It’s functional. Your Rebecca tested the mechanism herself. In some ways, it’s better than our current pistols, apparently, though I’ll admit that most of that mechanist talk flew over my head. I trust we can count on her aptitude and discretion?”
“Of course.” Lately, she’s proven even more discreet than I thought her capable of. “Do you think that knowledge was lost?”
“It’s possible,” he admitted. “When the Grimoires were driven from Giton, many of their texts were lost amidst the sands. Others burned when they attempted to take it back. But then...”
“If they had pistols, why did they lose? Why didn’t anyone mention it in their accounts of the Fox-Queen’s conquests?” Florette shook her head. “No, I can’t imagine they used these for war. We only found one, anyway, buried with the ‘Grimoire of Grimoires’. It was a treasure, not a common weapon. But why not build more?”
Ticent started to answer, but Florette interrupted him with the answer to her own question. “They didn’t. They never built this one, either, else they would have known how to make their own.” Which only further reinforces the idea that someone caught a glimpse of the future and built it from there. Such visions were supposed to be impossible, of course, but that hadn’t stopped the Great Binder from witnessing the horrifying moment of Khali’s return, nor Florette from seeing the same when she plunged her head into that dark pool in the temple. “Which raises the question of who did.”
“Indeed,” the Sable-Eye reluctantly agreed, returning the pistol to its protective case. “The only other new discovery of note was a carving expressing gratitude to Voleur, spirit of the horizon.”
“The Bridge of Earth and Sky,” Florette recalled. He’d raised a floating armada for his sages to fight the Fox-Queen, whole mountaintops ripped from the earth spirit’s skin and hurled into the sky. It was a matter of some debate where those mountains actually were, but considering the geography of the war, most agreed on Micheltaigne. Those floating stones had crashed down in the desert, somewhere, but no one had ever found them. After Voleur had been sealed in Nocturne alongside Khali, it had looked like no one ever would. “Did it have a map? Any indication of location?”
Finding out where they’d originated would be a massive scholarly achievement, proving the old story and sourcing a crucial piece of history, but finding where they’d crashed would be even more momentous. Especially with that pistol in mind... If the ancient Grimoires had had access, however limited, to pistols superior to those of the modern day, what did that say about the Armada of Stone and Sky?
“We have yet to fully reconstruct the text,” Ticent answered, looking absolutely certain they would discover what it meant in due time. “In any case, Sir Thomas requests that you return to Giton as soon as your examinations are complete. Another artifact was uncovered as the dig progressed, but it cannot be moved from the tomb. Your assistance is requested in examining it at the earliest opportunity.”
Sure, not like I have anything else going on. “What was it?” What could they have uncovered that couldn’t be moved? Something fragile? Built into the tomb itself?
“Something we’d never have expected to be found in the Erstwhile Empire: A Nocturne Gate.”
꣼
From one Gate to another, Florette thought as she examined the dark circle from afar. With Monfroy’s ominous promise and Rebecca’s abject refusal to step back from the project, there hadn’t been any choice but to follow. No one else will protect her first, nor do they know what’s in store.
“You shouldn’t be here. I have no idea how no one’s caught you yet.” Rebecca had been surprised, to say the least.
Not hard to hide when you have a Cloak of Nocturne. “You shouldn’t either. Monfroy’s coming after your Prince, and he specifically said he was coming here. We need to leave. Now.”
“I can’t walk away from this,” she’d insisted, ignoring all the danger that their failed attempt on Monfroy had put them in. “We’re piercing the veil between worlds, breaking a seal that held back the greatest of spirits!”
“And you’re not worried about what will happen when you do?” Florette had tried, only to get absolutely nowhere. Rebecca had only been here a few days when Florette arrived, but she already seemed rooted in place as firmly as a Refuge husk.
“We know exactly what will happen: the Gate will open a crack, we’ll take all the readings we need, and then the counter frequency will close it. The risk of a resonance cascade is practically nil, and even then, we have countermeasures.”
“Do you have countermeasures for Monfroy?”
“Lieutenant Charlotte seems to have things in hand. We have dozens of shadow guards with pistols, and we’re miles from the nearest town.”
After that, no argument had been able to change her mind. Florette had scampered back into the night, leaving Rebecca to complete her work. What else could she have done?
It hadn’t been too difficult to set up camp near enough to keep an eye on Rebecca but far enough not to be spotted—the moors were largely void of trees, but the rolling hills formed enough of a ridge to stay out of sight. It was hard not to resent the decision a bit when it meant imposing another week in Cambria on Christophe and tearing herself away from the strike, but Florette’s frustrations were nothing next to the risk to Rebecca’s safety.
I dragged her into all of this—I can’t stand by while Monfroy goes after them all.
“I knew it,” snarled a familiar voice. Florette turned to see Charlotte de Malin standing menacingly, hand hovering next to a pistol at her belt. “You’re coming with me.”