Page 100 of Confounding Oaths
Another silence, just barely broken by a clock beginning to chime the hour. “What is it that you love, Orestes?”
The clock struck once.
“Family, and them that are like family. The regiment.”
Twice.
“Shall I tell you what I love?” Three times. “I love only two things: England, and the men who fight for her.” Four. “Tell me, how many deaths is one girl worth?”
The clock struck a fifth time. “It’s not a quartermaster’s list.” A sixth. “You’re not weighing out rations.”
“Oh, but I am.” A seventh. “That girl’s death might save a ship of the line”—eight—“or squadron of rifles.”
“Or nothing”—nine—“and you’re just a killer”—ten—“fuck, you killed a man you knew.”
“Like a brother,” the lieutenant agreed as the clock struck eleven. “But war is sacrifice.”
Twelve.
In the hall—ofcourseI checked the hall, what kind of storyteller would I be had I not?—things were changing. The fairy dance had ended and the partners were separating. The first half of the evening was over and refreshments were about to be served. But as they began to move from the dance floor, buds, then whole leaves, then branches decked with thorns began to break through the far wall. …
“Don’t give me that,” Captain James was saying. “You can’t really believe—”
… And the leaves were joined by a light, here golden, there silver, the sun and the moon in harmony, or a fine pretence of it. …
“But I do. How can I not? The power of the gods is undeniable.”
… And bricks crumbled and paint peeled and the wall drew aside to reveal the path to that Other Place where my kind dwell where stars dance by daylight, where the ocean is above and the sky is below, where all is possible but nothing actual. …
“And if the other side have it too?” asked the captain. “If they offer up their children to whatever they have over there.”
“Teutates,” said the lieutenant quite matter-of-fact, “Taranis, the Neptunian beast that sired Merovech. And believe me, they do make such offerings. So we must make ours or we willfall.”
… From the light came Titania. …
The captain stood, one hand drifting towards the cuirassier’s sword he still wore at his side. “I’ll not kill you,” he said, “not here. Like I said, murdering’s not the same as soldiering. But stop this, or next time we meet it’ll be a different story.”
… She was garbed all in white, and rode a white horse with fifty-nine silver bells on its rein. …
Lieutenant Reyne bowed his head. “As you say, Captain. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve always considered you a fine officer.”
… Clarions announced her coming; her courtiers were dressed in spiderwebs and morning dew. …
“Heard good things about you too,” the captain admitted, a little grudgingly. “Known men who served under you. Said you never flogged a man as didn’t deserve it or sent a man to die for nothing. Not long ago I’d have said that made you better than most.”
Unmasked, the lieutenant looked almost melancholy. “Yet you fail to understand the calculus.”
“Never had no schooling. Didn’t learn calculus, but I learned right from wrong.”
“It is right to save lives.” Lieutenant Reyne rose and tucked the helmet and mask under his arm. “But the bells have struck. And if the rumours about this evening are to be believed I suspect that you will have other matters to deal with very shortly.” He smiled, and his smile was almost wistful. “I am sorry we met as enemies, Orestes. In another life you would have been a great asset to the order.”
“In another life you’d have been a great asset to the army.”
Since mortal pleasantries are of little interest to me, I left the men to part with whatever vague threats or promises they felt appropriate and returned my whole attention to the hall where, hergrand entrance being made, Titania was circulating now amongst the mortal noblesse.
Our court is, you should understand, far older and more essential than your fragile, artificial social structures. But the mortal mind cannot comprehend the truth of us, and so when we present ourselves to your world we do so through the lens of your own culture. Thus in the partially demolished ballroom of the Prince Regent of England she wore the mien and raiment of a European queen, or at least a recognisable parody of one. A crown of spun silver and living laurels graced her brow, and her gown was sewn with a hundred thousand diamonds, kobold-mined in the places far beneath. All about the room, gentlemen kissed her lily-white hand, and the queen herself curtseyed when her unearthly parallel approached.
Showy. That was Titania’s problem. Unlike my fine and noble lord Oberon, who is extremely understated and down-to-earth. And looks extremely dignified in his crown of antlers that I have never once seen become unfortunately entangled with a light fitting.
