Chapter 11:
The Tsar was a large angry man in a fur trimmed coat that covered most of him in a cascade of red and blue velvet trimmed in fur. His round head stuck out the top of the tentlike coat, seemingly supported on his huge gray beard. He also had bushy gray eyebrows. He stopped in front of his chained up son and glared at him, ignoring Barbaria for the moment.
“I told you,” said the Tsar, poking Phlebas in the chest with a puffy finger, “that the driving purpose of your life was to find the Firebird, and bring it to me. I also believe I said that bad things would happen if you returned without it.”
“I am sorry to be a disappointment,” said Phlebas. “What did you want the Firebird for agan?”
“That is really none of your business,” said the Tsar. “I am the Tsar, and your business is mainly to do what I ask. However, in the interests of plot exposition within the established parameters of the fairy tale structure, I will tell you.”
“Is this where you tell us what your evil plans are, because you’re going to kill us in a needlessly elaborate way?” asked Barb.
“Ah,” said the Tsar, moving to stand in front of Barb, chained beside Phlebas. “The Ice Queen. Such a waste. You would have been a great ally. We could have become friends. But no, you had to fall in with my son, a man who can’t even fulfill the smallest quest.”
“I decided that there was more to life than sitting around in an ice cube,” said Barb. “I gave up being upset with my life, and turned over a new leaf. I’m reformed. From now on, I’m using my powers for…well, I don’t know if for good, but there’s got to be more than just making more snow.”
“Really,” said the Tsar. “I wonder. You don’t know the power of the dark side, said the Tsar, clenching a fist.”
“I know it nearly destroyed my mother,” said Barb, “before she escaped. We’re not like you,” she growled out the last word. Phlebas was impressed by the venom in her voice.
“Your mother never told you about your real father, did she,” said the Tsar.
“She told me he was dead,” said Barb, “and good riddance.”
“No,” said the Tsar. “I am your father.”
“That’s not possible,” said Barb, appalled, partly by the prospect of this mountain of beard and coat being her dad, but mostly because she felt this overwhelming sense of deja-vu where it seemed she was suddenly in a different story.
“Search your feelings,” said the Tsar. “You know this to be true.”
“Oh shut up,” said Barb irritably. “How are my feelings supposed to tell me things that can only be verified through fact checking and possibly a paternity test?”
“So,” said Phlebas, “does that mean she’s my sister?”
“Half-sister, really,” said the Tsar. “Her mother’s a bit of an Ice Queen.”
“And what about my mother?” asked Phlebas.
“No idea,” said the Tsar. “I know I was married to her, but I can’t remember her face. She’s not really important to the story, except as an oblique reference.”
“Your lack of memory might be due to you being evil, or possibly mad,” said Phlebas.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the Tsar. “Anyway, you remind me, I was going to tell you my plans, for no apparently good reason, but you might appreciate them. You see, my new guard officers, who seem to have some grudge against you,” he added to Barb, grabbing her face with one hand and smiling mirthlessly at her, “overheard you talking to each other, and are of the opinion that the Firebird will come to you, given the right incentive.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Phlebas.
“No?” asked the Tsar. “We’ll see. I must have the Firebird, or her fire really. I believe that fire is enchanted by a great sorcerer, and a source of great power. Once I have the firebird’s fiery feathers, I will be able to make Russia a superpower and expand across Europe and then the world.”
“Why would you do that?” asked Barb.
“I’m a Russian absolute monarch,” said the Tsar. “Expansionism is part of the job. If I’m supposed to be Tsar of all the Russias, I want a lot of Russias.”
“You’re a monster,” said Barb.
“Anyway, I don’t believe your little story about how you have no knowledge of the Firebird. I think it will come looking for you. So what I’m going to do is set a little trap. I’m going to imprison you high up on the battlements of the north tower…”
“Why?” asked Phlebas.
“You’ll be visible up there,” said the Tsar. “You’ll be able to look out at what could have been your kingdom, and…look, I’m the Tsar. I get to chain you to a post on the north tower if I wish.”
“What about Barb?” asked Phlebas.
“I shall turn her over to my guards,” said the Tsar. “Sadly, they will have to torture her until she either agrees to help me conquer the world, or she dies. Can’t have her waving ice wands at me all the time. It may be better if she just dies.”
“I’m not afraid,” said Barb.
“Ah, young Ice Queen,” said the Tsar. “You will be. You will be.”
He spun around, which was really quite spectacular, and a lot more ponderous than it sounds. Picture the Queen Mary, spinning around, only instead of being a ship, it’s more shaped like a beach ball covered in a tent. Anyway, it’s quite something. And the Tsar left the dungeon.
Windarsky and Repertorevitch arrived and unchained Phlebas.
“Sorry, Highness,” said Windarsky. “We have to take you up to the north tower.”
“You have to stop them torturing Barb,” said Phlebas, as manacles were attached to his wrists.
“Sadly, we know nothing about that,” said Repertorevitch, “although it sounds like gratuitous excess.”
“Nothing to do with us,” said Windarsky loudly. The two newly minted guard officers pulled him out of the dungeon.
“Good luck,” yelled Barb, trying to be brave.
“Yeah,” said Phlebas. “You too.”
“You can’t do this,” said Phlebas. Repertorevitch shook his head and winked.
“That’s the way,” he said. “Keep shouting protests. It adds verisimilitude.”
Phlebas didn’t know what was going on now, but it didn’t feel like peril anymore, so every couple of minutes he let out a loud protest, expletive, or other expression of displeasure. He noticed that they were not headed for the north tower, but into a part of the palace that had always been blocked off.
“In here,” said Windarsky. They went through an ornate, cobweb covered door, and were suddenly in a sunlit sitting room.
“Where is this?” asked Phlebas.
“It’s your palace,” said Windarsky. “How would I know. I’m just an adventurer. This is an adventure, so here I am. At your service.”
“It’s your mother’s old sitting room,” said Repertorevitch, surprising both Phlebas and Windarsky. “These were her rooms before she disappeared. Well, that’s the limited back story anyway. She’s really not that important to this story. What’s important is that this part of the palace is closed off. Nobody comes here.”
“Except us, of course,” said Windarsky
“I thought you were at the service of my mad father,” said Phlebas
“That was before we found out that he’s evil and a threat to everyone around him,” said Repertorevitch. “We’re strictly freelance, on principle, and we don’t particularly like megalomaniacs.”
“Could you,” Phlebas said, raising his chained arms, “you know…”
“Oh, certainly,” said Repertorevitch. He snapped his fingers and the chains fell away.
“Nice trick,” said Phlebas.
“Look,” said Windarsky, “let’s come clean. We’re not really incompetent adventurers.”
“Yes we are,” said Repertorevitch gloomily. “As adventurers, we are abysmal. Look at the mishaps we’ve had. The only good luck was that girl with the elves that sold us new boots.”
“Okay, you’re right,” said Windarsky. “I should have said, we’re not just incompetent adventurers. That’s really just a cover.”
“We are, in fact,” said Repertorevitch, “from the secret service of a foreign power.”
“And we’re pretty good at that job,” said Windarsky.
“What foreign power?” asked Phlebas dubiously.
“Australia,” said Repertorevitch.
“Isn’t that just a myth?”
“Best you keep thinking so,” said Windarsky.
“You sound Russian. You look Russian,” said Phlebas.
“We were recruited here. We knew the Tsar was evil. We thought Barb was evil too. Glad she isn’t, by the way. It was our patriotic duty as Russians to work for a foreign power to dethrone him,” said Repertorevitch.
Phlebas tried to work out the logic to that. “Even if all this is true,” he said hesitantly, “won’t the Tsar be suspicious if I’m not chained to a post on the north tower?”
“Look out the window,” said Windarsky.
Phlebas looked out. He had a clear view to the north tower. On the top of the tower was a tall post, and chained to the post was a man that looked remarkably like him.
“It’s an illusion I created through my sorcery,” said Repertorevitch. “The Tsar won’t suspect a thing.”
“Nice one, Queue,” said Windarsky admiringly.
“Queue?” asked Phlebas.
“My code name in the secret service. Windarsky is the lead spy. He gets the license to kill and all that stuff. I provide, er, technical support. Unfortunately, my illusion will last only 24 hours, and it will attract the Firebird, I think, since you seem to have some, er, attraction for her.”
“Right,” said Windarsky. “Look, we can’t overthrow the Tsar. If a foreign power was seen to be involved, it could cause all sorts of trouble, but he has to be stopped. You have to stop him before he finds a way to steal the Firebird’s powers. It’s up to you now. We have only this one shot.”
“No pressure then,” said Phlebas.
“You’ll know what to do,” said Repertorevitch. “Here, take this.” He held out a fiery feather using tongs. Phlebas took it. It was warm, but didn’t burn him.
“There,” said Repertorevitch. “I thought I was right about you. If I had touched that, my hand would be a cinder by now. The Firebird has mysterious powers. She just often doesn’t know what they all are.”
“Okay mate,” said Windarsky, “we gotta go. Good luck. Look us up if you’re ever in Oz.”
“Cheerio,” agreed Repertorevitch. There was a puff of red smoke, girt by blue, and they were gone.
Phlebas thought that if he knew what to do, one thing he knew was that he had to get Barb out of the dungeons. He slipped out of the room and started back to the dungeons.
In the dungeons, a number of leather-clad tortures had stripped Barb of her clothing and had her bound to an upright X cross while they heated irons, and tested various torture devices.
“This is really not in keeping with the overall nature of a fairy tale,” said Barb,
She had managed to freeze one of the torturers with her wand when they unchained her. That explained the torturer shaped ice statue who was even now dripping water onto the floor as he thawed beside the brazier. That had stopped when the three other large men had manhandled her to the ground, breaking her wand. She may not have been groped by the Tsar, but the torturers had not had his restraint. Her thighs, bottom, and breasts had been poked, grabbed and abused on the way to stretching her and spreading her out on the cross.
“Just let me go and I’ll be off finding a glass slipper or something,” she said. The torturers still didn’t pay any attention to her.
Then they pulled a hot iron out of the fire. One of the torturers swaggered over to her and held it under her nose. She could feel the heat radiating off it. She began to feel panicked. She pulled at her bindings, but they were very competently tied.
“Hey,” she said in a placating but quivering voice, “you don’t have to do this. I’ll talk. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Don’t want to know anything, do I?” said the torturer. “Now we’re going to play a game.”
“What are the rules?” asked Barb.
“Simple. We do things to you,” said the torturer applying the point of the hot iron to the skin just under her left armpit. Barb screamed. It seemed to go on for some time. When she stopped, he added, “and you try to stay alive as long as you can.”
Phlebas heard the scream, from the top of the stairs. He had to stop this, he thought. That was his, not quite his sister. He realized he didn’t even have his sword. He looked around. There were a few swords actually. Unfortunately, they all were in the hands of some fairly unfriendly looking guards who were advancing up the hallway towards him. He assessed the odds.
“Get him!” shouted a guard, as Phlebas took off up a side staircase.
The torturers were blissfully unaware of Phlebas’ problems. They were applying whips to Barb’s badly burned body. After each lash, she had stopped crying out. She only whimpered now.
“Hey, girlie,” said the torturer, “don’t give up yet.” Barb chose that moment to lapse into a faint. The torturer sighed. One of his colleagues picked up a bucket of cold water to throw over her.
“Shut this down and take cover,” said a guard rushing in. “The palace is under attack! We need you to help in the defenses.”
The torturers left Barb where she was hanging and ran up the stairs. “What’s going on?” asked the lead torturer.
“I don’t really know. Somebody said something like a carpet full of enemies landing in the courtyard, but that sounds crazy.”
Phlebas barrelled up the stairs with the guards in hot pursuit. It had been a while since he had explored the palace, and he wasn’t exactly sure where he was. He made a sharp left turn and opened a door, emerging into the palace’s central courtyard in time to see a large Persian carpet land neatly on the flagstones. It had a lot of people sitting in rows eating what looked like Danish pastries.
“Phlebas!”, said Jollyrei brightly. “You made it back! Splendid.”
“Jollyrei,” said Phlebas urgently, “look, you have to get Eulalia out of here, it’s a trap!”
“We just got here,” said Jollyrei. “Anyway, wasn’t the whole idea to come back and bring the Firebird with us?”
“Yes, but father is evil, a megalomaniac, and he’s totally mad,” said Phlebas.
“I know,” said Jollyrei.
“Yeah, well he wants to kill us all and steal Eulalia’s powers to take over the world.”
“Can I do that?” asked Eulalia. Phlebas pulled her against him and inexplicably still didn’t burn up. “I don’t know half of my mysterious powers yet, it seems.”
“I don’t know,” said Phlebas. “The Australian agents seemed to think there was a chance. We have to stop it from happening. Oh, and we have a long-lost half-sister who is an Ice Witch and is also being tortured in the dungeons.”
“Australian agents?” asked Rodentsov. “Aren’t they just a…oh never mind.”
“We have dungeons?” asked Jollyrei. “Who knew, right? I say, you have been having an exciting time of it.”
“Yeah,” said Phlebas, “but Barb is probably in bad shape. We need to rescue her.”
“I’ll go,” said Wragg, grabbing his bag of potions. “I healed Messaline. I can deal with this.”
“What about the torturers and guards,” asked Messaline.
“I’m a sorcerer, remember,” said Wragg tersely. He snapped his finger and faded into a ghost form, which slipped silently out the door.”
“Okay,” said Rodentsov, drawing his sword. “Wragg will find Barb. The rest of us better look lively. Sounds like people coming.”
“This sorcerer of yours,” said Phlebas. “He’s reliable?”
“He makes great pastries,” said Jollyrei, “but he’s excellent at healing as well. Have I introduced everyone? This is Thessela. She’s a shoemaker.” He said it in a way to suggest that shoemaker rhymed with Nobel Prize Winner.
“Oh,” said Phlebas. “Nice to meet you.
“Um, Jolly,” said Thessela, pointing toward the door.
“There is a large fat velvet tent in a beard coming out here,” said Messaline, sounding puzzled.
“Great,” said Phlebas. “Father’s arrived, and he wants the Firebird.”
“I take it he’s not going to make you Tsar of all the Russias then?” asked Eulalia.
The guards with the Tsar had crossbows and they were all pointed at the group by the carpet. “Drop your weapons and surrender, or die almost immediately,” said the Tsar conversationally.
“Seems doubtful,” said Jollyrei reflectively. “Hello father. You seem well. As megalomaniacal as ever, I see. Shall I do the introductions?
to be continued...
I never won the Nobel prize
But Wragg International Airlines did cop an award for the standard of its in-flight catering!
Actually, now I come to think about it, if the Tsar is going to make Australia one of the Russias, he's going to need to travel more!
Win-win! If I rescue Barb, I might get fewer demerits, if I don't, I could be the Tsar's personal pilot!
Or have I got this fairy-tale plot a bit muddled?
