But our welcome was wearing thin. They were clearly busy, and four of the five returned to their efforts. Only Portella sighed, his eyelids drooping, as he realized that he was trapped in conversation with the new queen. Apparently he, as well as I, found her insufferable.
“Yes, my majesty,” he said. “The island should have four seasons, but never has. The rete was pre-set to a position which would favor the physiology of the fire people. That became clear to us when we first took the castle… and it took several days to reset the rete to our own standards. Now that it has been broken, many discs were fixed, but the rete returned to its presetting. Again, our team must dismantle its smaller pieces and turn the stars to a more favorable position. Until we do so, the fire dragons do have a… slight… advantage in battle.”
My heart leapt, even if I didn’t know whether or not I believed in such things. Theon believed in them, and his people believed in them, and what had neurology taught me so far except that belief was more than half the battle?
Now… if only I could find Theon again. Get hold of him. Get the message to him that he had a window in which the gods would tip the scale toward the fire dragons. I was certain he was safe, as news of his death would have traveled rapidly through the region. But where would he go after the shelter had been destroyed? Did he remain in the city?
The look on Michelle’s face was the exact opposite of mine. Her countenance was frozen. My mother had told me long ago that a liar’s face would freeze up when they were caught, even if it froze in a smile. A liar’s face would freeze up because they were afraid, and Michelle was afraid now.
“How long do you think—” she began.
“With all due respect, your majesty,” Portella interrupted, bowing, “the longer we discuss the mechanics of the astrolabe, the longer it remains an unknowing pawn of the fire dragon court.”
Michelle blushed slightly and took a step back. “Naturally,” she agreed, turning and beholding me. I smothered the light of hope in my eyes and prayed she hadn’t caught its glimmer.
“Let’s go, slave,” she commanded, sweeping past me and back into the hallway. “I’ve lost interest in the astrolabe. Let us return to my chambers so that I may have my afternoon nap. My doctor’s appointment can wait a while… While I sleep, it will be your responsibility to tend the fireplace and turn the crank on the barrel organ.”
“Barrel organ?” I’d never heard of it, or seen it, but followed Michelle just the same. She turned back down the hall, toward her own room.
“Yes. I need the music to help me sleep. It drowns out the way the wind bangs and moans around here, when a storm begins.” She glanced at me over her shoulder and her lip quirked. “Don’t worry,” she soothed me. “It’s so simple, a monkey could do it.”
Nell
It didn’t take Michelle long to fall asleep. It was amazing how easily she slid into the lap of luxury, how naturally she fit the mold of a spoiled princess, no matter in what time period or country or even dimension it occurred. She had been given the room which used to be mine when I lived in the palace. The bed remained near the window, hence her need for the fire to be constantly maintained—or else the room became quite frigid—and her need for the barrel organ to be played, drowning out the roar of the storms, which would come and go, throughout the course of the day and night.
Now it was afternoon sometime, the sky overhead a low slate. The clouds were so thick and constant, it seemed nightfall was never more than an hour away, even in the early afternoon.
I sat on a stool near the fire, enjoying its warmth—I supposed, once I got used to deflecting Michelle’s casual barbs, this world was better than the dungeon—with a barrel organ wedged between my knees. The barrel organ was the size of a small child, and it rolled on a set of well-oiled wheels for easy mobility. When the crank was turned, sheet music rolled past in a little window, indicating the song which was being played by the strange pipes housed within. It was automatic, and only capable of playing a handful of tunes. I’d been playing the same melody, a haunting but relaxing lullaby which I hoped would keep Michelle asleep… forever, frankly, and I didn’t care enough to switch out the sheets. Though my arm was tired, I continued to crank the organ, staring out the window at the sudden snowstorm hailing down on Everwinter. The weather here reflected the people of the city: chilly, then solemn, then violent. At times the air was clear, and then the sky would darken and snow would pummel the earth in chunks the size of insects.