KINGMAKERS PART 3

Part Three

Marguerite

On mornings like this, I lean over my balcony and dream I’m free of this cruise ship that is my extravagant cage.

The wind sweeps through my hair, blowing it around like a wild thing. The sea crashes against the ship and spits cold foam at my sun-warmed face. The birds sing joyfully in a pastel sky, darting and weaving through clouds like cotton.

I close my eyes and jump-- only to discover I don’t fall, but fly!

Like the birds flitting around me, I open my wings. The rush of wind and water make a symphony in my ears. The sun shines brighter; the grass grows greener; the flowers turn their faces to me and sing—

A delighted yapping interrupts my daydream. I open my eyes and sigh.

“Marguerite?” My benefactor says my name like a question though he always knows where to find me— right under his thumb. “Where are you, my Rose?”

I sigh, the once fluffy white clouds darkening with storm clouds. “I’m here, Pierre. On the balcony.”

I arrange my face into a pleasant expression and turn to greet my patron. He’s holding a rolled newspaper in one hand, his fluffy dog’s jingling leash in the other hand. He stops short when he sees me.

“Why in our King’s good name are you not dressed?” Pierre’s eyes linger on the vee of milky flesh exposed through my robe. “A show tonight! A new job to perform just after! My dear, we have things to do!”

I link my elbow in his, leading him into my sitting room. “A job? I thought we agreed you’d give me 24 hours in advance to prepare?”

He settles onto the tufted red chaise in my sitting area and unhooks York’s leash. The dog shakes off before trotting to where I’m pulling the French doors shut.

“Ah,” says my benefactor, flicking the wrinkles from his paper. “Must’ve slipped my mind again.”

York follows at my heels and sits beside me on the white loveseat. A servant places a cup of tea in my hand. I sip it to hide my annoyance. “Who is it, then?”

“The Count of Bountiful Falls.”

I spit my mouthful into the cup and shove it toward the serving man, who whisks it away. “The Count? You mean our good King’s favorite in court?” Is he insane?

“The very one,” Pierre says. His striking blue eyes range over the top of the front-page news. I consider trying to sneak a look but, honestly, sometimes ignorance is truly bliss. “Will that be a problem, darling?”

Of bloody course! “Not at all,” I say. I flutter my lashes, petting York’s soft head. “I only wish you'd given me more time to prepare.”

“You do better under pressure, my dear.”

I hold in my retort that how could he know since it’s his servants who clean up my messes? And say instead, “Are you certain it's the Count you want?”

“Quite.” He flicks his paper, letting me know he’s finished with this conversation.

I’m not fishing for information but it doesn’t matter. He never tells me anything about the world beyond this ship anyway.A servant returns with another cup of tea. I blow at the steam while I gather my courage.

“It’s just that, I worry about you sometimes, Pierre.”

“Do you?”

“Of course,” I gush. “And I wouldn’t want you attracting the good King’s eye for the wrong reasons. Well, for any reason at all, really.”

My patron sighs, folding the paper in his lap as he scrutinizes me. Beyond the wrinkles and the graying hair, I can see why he was one of the most coveted bachelors in the Kingdom.

Before we cut off his sister’s head and Julien ridiculed him into obscurity, that is. I take a sip of my tea.

“Marguerite.” By the tone of his deep voice, I already know what he’ll say next. “I feel it necessary to remind you of the terms of our agreement.”

I force a smile. “I remember quite well, dear.”

“Good.” My patron stands, snapping for York to follow. The dog lets out a soft sigh before hopping off the couch and submitting to her leash. Sometimes, I feel more in common with that dog than any man or woman in the Kingdom. “Make sure you stay to your rooms until the pre-show interviews. You know how the paparazzi love a dramatic entrance.”

The door closes behind Pierre and I slouch into the couch. “Bastard,” I mutter, draining my tea in one gulp.

“Did you say more tea, miss Rose?”

I jump, glaring at the eavesdropping servant. “What have I said about sneaking up on me! Can’t I get a moment of bloody damned peace?”

“I’m sorry, mis—“

I throw my teacup against the wall. The porcelain shatters in an explosion of pale pink debris. Three servants rush forward to clean it up, murmuring apologies for my mess.

“Get out!” I screech. “All of you!”

My fit is enough to clear the room in an exodus of crisp black linen and more murmured apologies. Finally. They’ve been hovering around me all morning like a herd of worried goats.

Finally, free—at least for now—I cross to the telephone beside my bed and dial.

The line is silent when the other end picks up. “Hello, it’s Marguerite,” I say. “Please send Claude with my usual request at your earliest convenience. Thank you, goodbye.”

I hang up and splay out on my silk pillows to wait.

~

“And now my family has no money.” I sniffled a little for effect and dabbed at my eyes with a handkerchief I’d dirtied up before entering the bar. “All because the Queensguard killed my father.”

I let my chin wobble, my bottom lip just out, then I brought in the big guns and burst into a downpour of tears.

“Oh, your poor child!”

“Does anyone have a dime to spare for the girl?”

“Bless my heart! Can’t be older than eighteen.”

“And so lovely, too. What a shame. Here’s a cheque, dear, buy your poor seamstress mother something to eat.”

“Here, child. Take three. I hope it will help your twelve brothers and sisters.”

"I'll give, too!"

It took all I had not to jump from my seat at the polished bar and hold my belly with laughter. These uptown fools. So wealthy, it only took a sympathetic tale and a few well-placed tears before they started turning out their pockets.

I’d hit every bar in the north quarter last month. Still three quarters to go. I was going to be bloody rich!

“Oh, thank you!” I cried when every patron in the bar had offered me a cheque or three. “I can’t wait to tell my family! In fact, I'll do it now!”

I headed toward the door, pretending to be so excited, I couldn’t linger a moment longer. Unable to stop myself, I did a quick count of the cheques on my way out. I barely registered the front door chime before I slammed into a solid chest covered with polished buttons.

Arms extended from the chest, steadying me. “I’m sorry, miss. Excu—“ His eyes widened when he took in my face. “You!”

“Shit,” I squeaked.

With nothing else to do, I hauled my arm from his grip and punched the Queensguard square in the face. I doubt my tiny arms packed much power, but suppose I surprised him. He released me long enough for me to flit around him and out the door.

People cursed me as I barreled through the streets, glad I wore pants and closed toed shoes as part of my costume.

I looked back once to see the guard a ways behind before I slipped into midtown-- my territory. I lost him in a matter of seconds. I slowed to a walk to wave at the butcher, hanging a murder of juicy crows to dry in the hot summer sun.

It was market day in the citadel so I paid a lady for a shiny apple before disappearing into the alley behind the church. This was my newest hideout and I liked it much better than the horse barn I'd been fleeing to before. No one had discovered my stash yet either.

I should have known it was too good to last.

I was whistling my way down the alley when my back grew cold. I whirled to see a massive man, blocking out the sun as he sauntered toward me. With no weapon and the noise of the market beyond, my mouth turned dry with fear.

“C-can I help you, sir?” I quickly changed into the role of the scraping urchin.

The man stomped closer. Two lanky teens dropped from the roofs at my sides, moving in on me. The distant mountains loomed closer, the buildings around me grew larger.

I was going to die!

The big man pulled a rope from a sack. “The ganglords are none too happy you been ‘croaching on their territory.”

“I believe you mean “encroaching,” sir,’ I retorted, putting on a new act. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about, do you? Do you even know who I am?”

The large man pointed to a garbage dumpster and the teen thugs dragged me to it.

“I’m serious!” I screeched as the kids held me down while the big one wrapped the rope around my middle and then walking it around the dumpster. “I am niece to the Queen!”

“They said you’d say som’ing like that.” The big guy looped the rope around me a second time before kneeling to tie it off. “Said they’d pay me extra to tell you shut the fuck up.”

“Well!”

I jiggled against the ropes, trying to find a loose spot. The giant may have been illiterate, but he obviously wasn’t stupid. The rope was tight as a corset on Sevenday!

The two teens skulk off toward the market, leaving me with the giant.

“Fine.” I drop the act, giving the man my best businesswoman face. “How much are they paying you?”

“None you can afford.”

I smile. “Your ganglord masters obviously didn’t tell you how very much I’ve been “croaching” on their territory then, dear. I'll pay you two times what the ganglord's are paying. And I bet they're giving you shit money anyway.”

A loud thwack came from behind the giant. His eyes rolled back in his head and he stumbled back, swaying like a tree in a hurricane. At last, the giant toppled over, revealing a golden woman holding a battered rifle.

“Lord!” I said. “Have you come to arrest me or are you collecting on the ganglords’ bounty? Or have I offended the Lord Himself today, too?”

The woman smirked, shouldering the strap of her gun. “Looked like you needed some help.”

“Why does everyone always assume I need help?” I snapped. “Perhaps it is you who needs my help!”

The woman smirked. “Not from where I’m standing, kid.”

“Well!” I struggled against the ropes binding me— to no avail. I blew a lock of hair from my sweaty forehead so I could glare at the strange woman. “Fine. What do you want?”

“What do I want?”

If my hand had been free, I would have waved it. “Yes, yes. No one gives help for free.”

“I’ve been watching you,” she said, making me still. “I have work that might interest you. Work that will pay much better than conning rich uptowners out of a few cheques.”

I gave her a once over. From her greasy silver hair to her grime-covered boots, she didn’t look like an employer who’d pay well. But I knew best of all that appearances could be deceiving. And though her gun was battered, I knew a weapon like that cost more than a downtowner could make in five years.

I was a good little thief.

And like a good little thief, I loved the freedom money gave me. Freedom from my father’s rules. And one day, freedom from the working class who struggled for just enough.

So like a good little thief with dreams too big for her wallet, I said, “I’m listening.”

~

It’s half past noon and I’ve already taken my lunch on the balcony when a sharp rap comes at my door.

“What took you so lon—” I frown at the young man on my threshold. “You are definitely not Claude.”

The young man looks unfazed. “Claude was unavailable.”

I hiss a curse under my breath. Who does his master think he is, sending strange young men to my room? Perhaps this would have been appropriate when I was young, but I have too much at stake to let a stranger in on my illegal purchases.

“Well.” I place a manicured hand at my throat, feigning offense. “You tell your master I, Marguerite the Rose, am extremely put out with him. Tell him—“

I squeal when the young man shoulders past me, manhandling me away from the door and shutting it behind him.

“How dare you!” I don’t have to fake my offense this time. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

The nameless stranger smirks. “Even if I didn’t, you did say who you are just a moment ago.”

“You are an insolent little twerp,” I tell him. But if he’s smart enough to come up with that reply, he should be smart enough to keep his tongue still before the paparazzi. “Alright, show me what you’ve got.”

The young man gives me a friendly smile—he is much too familiar for my liking—before setting a locked briefcase on my coffee table. I sigh, settling on the white couch. The young man gives me a distinct feeling of discomfort, but I am often unsettled these days.

Being trapped in a room on a ship for a few years can do that to a woman.

The click of the lock comes before the young man steps out of my way, revealing the glimmering contents of his briefcase. Some women like jewelry; some women like shoes. But Amelie taught me to like my shiny things with hidden blades and that was always my favorite of her lessons.

“Beautiful.” I lift up a diamond-encrusted choker that unfurls into a sharp garrote. A bit too hands-on for my taste, I place it in the box and retrieve a lovely emerald ring that doubles as a needle for poisons. “This is new?”

The young man clasps his hands behind his back and nods, seemingly suppressing a smile. “All of it is new. You’re the first to lay eyes on it.”

“You know just what to say to a lady.” I wink at the young man before replacing the ring as well. “I will take them all.”

The young man gives me a curious look. “Them all?”

“Yes, yes.” I shut the briefcase and lock it, extending my hand to not-Claude for the key. “I forget you’re new. Charge it to Pierre du Sang’s account.”

“Pierre du Sang? Oh, Marguerite, don’t you know how much he must want revenge against us all?” It’s the young man who speaks but, whoever he was before, I’m sure those words don’t belong to him.

I bolt from my seat, backing toward my bedside where I always keep a blade. “Solene?”

Solene pulls off the masque and gives me a frown. “Marguerite, are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Oh, Lord.” The floor shakes beneath my feet, splitting to the core and revealing the depths of Hell below. “Did he send you? Has it really come to this?”

Solene's pale green face darkens with regret. “You really have been on this boat for a long, long while.”

“That’s not an answer,” I hiss.

Solene gives me a strange look. “No, Marguerite. I left Julien over a year ago.”

I crumple to the edge of my bed and try to calm my racing heart. Solene crosses to my balcony and unlocks the doors, throwing them wide. “What are you doing?” I hiss. “I can’t be seen with you—“

My words trail off as a ghost strides into my room. Her face crinkles into a smile when she sees me. “Hello, Marg.”

Oh. The audacity.

“’Hello, Marg’?” I leap to my feet and storm across the room. “That is all you have to say to me, Amelie, after all these years?” I point one manicured finger at Solene. “And you! What nonsense was that charade, hmm? Were you trying to get information out of me? Did you even intend to reveal yourself?”

I put my hands on my hips. “Explain. Immediately.”

Solene and Amelie exchange a look, doing that thing where they seem to communicate with expressions alone. I’m reminded of all the times I felt left out. But I push that feeling far, far away.

“We’ve come to ask you for help,” says Solene.

I stare at them open-mouthed. These two—the one who abandoned me and the other one who ignored me my last days in the palace. I have felt many bad things toward them these years I’ve been locked in my floating cage. Yet I cannot make myself feel angry towards them.

I can, however, make them beg. “I don’t see why. You two never much cared for my help before.”

“Of course we care!” Solene says quickly, her green eyes full of self-loathing regret.

“Regardless,” I snap. “I am a busy woman. Famous, even. Which means I don’t have time for the likes of you two.”

Solene smiles softly. “You aren’t on stage, Marguerite. You don’t have to pretend.”

I wilt further, which was likely their intention. But I refuse to be the weak one again. I refuse to let Solene manipulate me with that long-suffering empathy!

“What do you want?” I say. “I’m sure you don’t know, but I do have a show to prepare for this evening.”

“We know,” says Amelie. “We’re coming.”

I sniff, not wanting them to see how my heart soars at those words. “You are?”

“Brought some friends from City-sur-le-Wall, too,” Solene says, throwing an arm over my shoulder. “Big fans of yours.”

“Really?” I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

Solene nods. “One even has a mage in her bloodline. Had to sneak in, she wanted to see you so bad.”

“Yes,” says Amelie. “And I came halfway across the world, um, just to see you.”

I snort. “Now you’re lying.”

“I am,” says Amelie. “But I am excited to watch you perform.”

“Alright, alright.” I finally grin and throw my arm around the mage’s too-thin waist. “You’ve grovelled to my satisfaction. We may talk as friends now. I’ve missed you, too.”

We settle in my sitting area and I pour Solene a cup of tea. Amelie and Solene tell me the reasons they’ve come—Am, in that short and cold manner of hers; Solene, with enough passion to send a tear flowing over my cheek.

When they finish, I let out a long and heavy sigh. “So you’ve come for him.” I always wonder who would strike first—the lion or his pride?

“We have,” says Amelie. “And as Solene said, we need you.”

I stand, clearing up the evidence of my company. The clock beside my bed reads three hours until the pre-show. My hair and makeup people will be arriving soon.

“I hate to say it.” And I did, I really did. “But I can’t help you.”

Solene is quiet, never one to push. But Amelie sits forward, ready to bring in fresh reinforcements.

“Why not?”

I sigh. “As Solene said before you arrived, I work for the late Queen’s brother.”

“He has something on you,” says Amelie.

Solene frowns and tilts their bald head in a way that always reminds me mage are not human. “Or is he protecting her?”

I nod at the mage. “When Julien threw me out, he put a price on my head. Pierre was the only person in the Kingdom who hated Julien enough to spite him by taking me in. He promised to use his wealth and resources to protect me on two conditions: That I never leave him and,” heat creeps into my cheeks, “that I kill his enemies.”

Amelie nods as if she’s gleaned as much from my circumstances. “If the king were gone, you wouldn’t need your benefactor.”

“Aye,” I say with a rueful smile. “But for me to get to the King, I must first escape this cage. And if there is a man second in power to Julien in this world, it must be Pierre. So you see, I am trapped.”

Silence settles between us and I know they see my dilemma.

“This was not the life I wanted for you,” Amelie says it in that rare gentle tone of hers, the one that seeps into my bones and reminds me I am loved.

“But it is the life I had to choose to survive.”

Amelie’s frown doesn’t fade but she nods. Of all people, she understands the lengths we must go to protect our own hides.

“If we help… remove du Sang,” says Solene, “will you help us with the King?”

I don’t want to seem too eager so I look away, biting my lip as if in thought.

But I’m not weighing the pros and cons. For I decided a long time ago—if I were ever granted the chance to kill him, I would not pass up the offer. Not after what that monster Julien did to me.

______________________________________

Part 3 to be continued....