DISCLAIMER: The opinions expressed herein do not reflect those of the writers, they represent the general attitudes of the time period in which Queen of Games takes place.
XXX
Chapter 10: “No French Kissing Please, We’re English”
Jethro Marrack was not accustomed to speechlessness, but one morning he was introduced to it by a single sentence. It was mid-morning when Mr Robert Dudley, Master of the Horse (a very prestigious title, you should know) called him to a private meeting in the stables. As the sun’s rays cut through the crevices between the individual planks that made up the walls, casting thin slithers of gold over the two men in their respectively wondrous and plain clothes, Dudley looked somehow empowered. He was a man who carried himself with almost regal pride, and with his reputation as the Queen’s favourite would-be suitor he had good reason for it. His beard was trimmed to perfection and his eyes sparkled like obsidian stars. Despite smelling of horses, sometimes worse than Jethro himself, old Mr Dudley was so physically handsome that it was nothing more than a trivial detail.
“I’ve heard interesting things of you, my boy,” he said.
“Sir?” Jethro asked meekly.
“You’re rather close to a certain Lady Blackwood,” Dudley continued, “and by extension have worked your way into Her Majesty’s inner circle, and while I applaud such an achievement, it is simply not right for a mere stable-hand to associate with women of their standing.”
“Sir, please, allow me to explain-” Jethro started, but Dudley shushed him with a wag of his gloved finger and his face fell.
“No, no!” said the Master, “I must take action, dear boy!” His face broke into a full smile. “I shall promote you. Henceforth, you will serve as my assistant, and I will mentor you in the practises of my function so that you may take over upon my retirement.” Jethro stood there, mouth agape like a fish, one half of him brimming with utter delight and the other bogged down by uncertainty. “Speak, boy!” frowned Dudley, who was a little offended by this lack of response.
“Urgh! I…” Jethro spluttered. “Sir! Do you really mean it, sir?”
“Of course I do! Don’t be so naïve, lad!” Dudley scolded, and then with a loud laugh, he clapped a hand on his new protégé’s shoulder. “First of all, we must get you a bath and proper clothes for one of your new standing.” So wrapped up in their conversation, neither of them noticed the small boy, who was no older than seven or eight years of age, polishing the brass on the royal carriage at the far end of the stable and listening intently to their exchange. While their backs were turned, he set down the rag he was using and slunk away. The boy was one of the royal spymaster’s wards, but in this case he would be reporting to a very different employer.
XXX
“Enter,” said Robert Cecil, glancing up from his book at the knock on his chamber door. “Ah, Peeler, isn’t it?” he added when the dirty little urchin poked his head around the door.
“Sir, you said to let you know if I found out anything interesting,” said Peeler, who proceeded to relay what he had heard. He finished up with a timid, “You won’t get Jethro in trouble, will you?”
“Of course not,” Cecil purred, pressing a gold coin into the dirty creature’s grubby palm. “I’d never do something so horrid. You’ve done well, now be off with you, back to your work now…and one more detail, not a word of this to anybody.” Peeler nodded and took his leave while the wheels in the royal coach’s head began to turn. This news was indeed most interesting to him for it presented new opportunities, or so his mind told him, greasy and vile as it was. Left alone, the seed of a scheme formed and he gently nurtured it, grew it into a black rose of acerbity.
XXX
It was not long before Jethro was parading about the waiting room as the ladies (sans Gwendolyn) watched with mixed feelings of fascination, amazement and mirth. It was a chalky blue-and-white ensemble with gold jewellery, silky gloves and a black hat with a bit of light plumage. Even his hair was brushed and trimmed.
“I’m the picture of high society now, ain’t I?” Jethro cooed in an overtly feminine manner, arousing delighted applause and giggles.
“Good for you, Jethro,” said Liza with a roll of her eyes. “Now we don’t have to peer through a layer of muck to see your face.”
“You clean up very well,” said Anne. “I’m sure if Gwendolyn were here, she would be most impressed.”
“Oh, I don’t think she’ll care much for the outfit,” smirked Katherine, tipping a wink to Mary and Jane, who burst into a chorus of, “Just how quickly it’s off him!” before collapsing in a fit of shocked cackling.
“Remember your breeding, for God’s sake!” Liza fumed at them. “Are you women of noble breeding or tarts of the night on street corners?” They paid her no heed. She could shout all she wanted at them for it was all too funny. At this point you must understand that as if on cue, Queen Elizabeth did indeed enter the room with Gwendolyn at her side, en route to the throne room. She gave them a polite nod, then made a double-take when she saw Jethro in his new finery.
“Oh my!” she gasped. “Don’t you look a sight, good sir? I’d almost mistook you for someone else.” He looked so like her darling favourite in that attire that she felt her cheeks heat up beneath her ghostly make-up. To Gwendolyn however, what she saw was a boy who looked more handsome than she had ever seen him, which rocked her perspective most stunningly. Unable to speak for the air caught in her throat, Gwendolyn curtsied quickly and excused herself into the corridor. Jethro paused in wonderment until a cuff to the back of his head brought him to his senses.
“Go after her, you daft beast,” Anne said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Jethro nodded dumbly and followed her out of the room, not exactly sure of what he would do when he caught up to her. The flurry of white fabric almost blew Robert Cecil off his feet as he stalked the halls of Hatfield House, and the azure juggernaut pursuing it was enough to press him against the wall in its wake. Cecil did not catch their faces, but the essence coming off the second one reminded him a lot of that flashy ponce Robert Dudley. He would settle the score with old Horse-Brain later, there was plotting to do, but before he could get back to manning the great machine of his Machiavellian mind there came another interruption.
“Mr Cecil! Mr Cecil!” it was Peeler again. “There’s a strange man in the yard!”
“What are you gibbering about? What man? What did he look like?”
Peeler hesitated to think about it then struck a pose that could only be described as ‘very, very French.’ The colour drained from Cecil’s face and he slapped a hand to the dome of his forehead. “Oh, God no!”
XXX
The impatient young Frenchman was prodigiously sore at being left to his own devices in the smelly yard around the side of the house. He was a great and accomplished individual and these execrable trolls had not only treated him so inadequately but outright failed to recognise him! It was an outrage! A damnable outrage! He voiced his discomforts to his manservant, a grim-faced man named Maurice who was currently unloading their luggage from the coach that brought them. The Frenchman was not used to waiting for smaller people. He had too many things to spread his remarkable prestige across! Eventually the door opened and Robert Cecil stepped out into the sunlight but his lips barely parted before the strange intruder, in his rosy red and leaf green ensemble, bombarded him with his choleric articulations.
“Do you know ‘ow long I ‘ave been waiting?” he squawked. “I always t’ought you English were so cultured, but you leave me, me, out ‘ere wit’ no procession as if I were a commoner!”
“If I may be so bold,” said Cecil, using his handkerchief to wipe flecks of spittle off his cheeks and nose, “who are you?” The Frenchman paused, struck dumb, then his anger became so righteous and blustering that he could be heard in the very depths of the establishment.
“MOI?! MOI?!” he screamed. “You insult me, monsieur! I am Florentin Rise, Signieur d’Thoze, romantic ‘ero of prose and poetry, botanical genius, traveller, and dhe greatest duellist in all of France!”
“Ah!” Cecil nodded. “Did His Highness, King Francis II send you?”Florentin’s volume dropped to something more acceptable.
“Well,” he mumbled, “ah, no, ‘e did not…”
“Does King Francis even know you?” Cecil inquired with one eyebrow cocked, finding the visitor’s abashed change in behaviour mildly amusing.
“’E knows me!” the Frenchman snapped. “’E is just…unaware of my talents. Now, down to business, I seek a lady.”
“Oh? Have you her name, sir?”
“Alas, I cannot tell you ‘er name, for I ‘ave yet to meet ‘er myself!”
Cecil blinked. He rested his hands on his waist, quite puzzled by this. He looked at Peeler, who cowered behind him, and demanded the presence of Sir Francis Walsingham. Peeler was off like a shot, more than happy to be as far away from the fluttering French fruitcake as possible.
“Sacre bleu!” Florentin cried as the spymaster appeared. “You leave me out ‘ere again for eight minutes and twenty-seven seconds, only to bring anot’er useless old man to waste my time?!”
“Now steady on!” the insulted Walsingham protested.
“Our impromptu guest demands an audience,” Cecil explained, more than happy to let his fellow advisor deal with this so he could get back to his own affairs. Walsingham’s moustache bristled as he struggled to maintain his air of bureaucratic indifference. He was a man who believed in procedure and now a nasty dent had been left in his well-written schedule.
“As oh-so-important as your mission may be,” he told the Frenchman, “we require certain letters of introduction. Not just anybody can speak with the Queen, you know.”
“I know zhis, Sir Walsingham!” Florentin snapped.
“It’s Sir Francis,” the spymaster corrected.
“It matters not!” Florentin waved his hands erratically.
“Zhe most gracious King of France sent you a correspondence regarding my arrival weeks ago! Why ‘ave you not received zhem yet? Damn your English delivery service!”
“Post for Sir Francis,” called Oliver Baldrick as he entered the yard, handing the spymaster an envelope that was decorated with elegant pictures of roses and sealed with the royal mark of the French ruler. “Just arrived this morning,” he explained. Walsingham accepted the letter and nodded, silently excusing the porter. Florentin crossed his arms over his chest, tapping one gloved finger on the crook of his elbow as his eyes glistened shrewdly.
“Well, monsieur?” he challenged. “Open it, why not?” Walsingham obliged and scanned the folded sheet of parchment inside as Cecil read over his shoulder.
To whom it may concern,
I send to you one of my favourite courtiers. My funny man in red seeks a wife, and I have no objection as this would bring me many more companions of similar temperament. I trust your Queen to be capable of picking a woman of good breeding to cultivate the traits that I wish encouraged.
Your most loyal friend,
Francis Valois-Angoulême, King of France
Walsingham rather hoped that something had been lost in translation, while Cecil felt his facial muscles twinge against the tide of rising amusement.
“Oh, of course!” chortled the coach slimily. “How could we not recognise the ‘great,’ Signieur d’Thoze? Come in, why don’t you? Your trip was surely long so we’ll allow you some refreshment as we make the proper arrangements. Come, Walsy!” This was delicious, he could not wait to see the Queen’s face when she received the news.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Florentin. “Bring my luggage, Maurice!”
“It’s Morris, sir,” said the manservant in a heavy Cockney accent. “Morris Boggins.”
“It matters not,” snorted Florentin, and in they went.
XXX
“Funny man in red?” the Queen asked, wrinkling her nose after re-reading the letter a few times to ensure she was seeing right. “Is that supposed to be some sort of code?”
“Judging by his attire,” replied Cecil, “I highly doubt it.”
“This letter speaks of this man as if he were a hound to be bred,” the Queen pointed out, tapping the parchment with a sharp fingernail.
“If I may be so bold, Your Majesty,” said Walsingham, “I believe our guest may have overestimated his own importance.”
“So where is the pampered poodle now?” asked the Queen.
“I had one of the servants take him to the great hall to, ah, take in the atmosphere a little,” replied Cecil.
“I do hope he’s behaving himself,” muttered Walsingham. The Queen was more concerned about the conduct of her ladies, having sent them down to the great hall as well.
XXX
She had every right to be concerned. The ladies were all gathered in the hall, practising their dance steps for the evening’s entertainment. Mary with Katherine and Anne with Jane were in the midst of their moves as Liza supervised (Gwendolyn had been sent to retrieve small edibles from Molly in the kitchen). Florentin stood at the head lady’s side, watching the gaggle of beautiful creatures and spouting questions that Liza would subtly divert with every technique she had ever learnt, though her evasions did little more than encourage the Frenchman’s curiosity. When Gwendolyn returned, their guest’s eyes were immediately glued to her. The way her hair curtained her features, her elegant walk, the glitter of her eyes…
“Mon Dieu,” Florentin gasped. “Mademoiselle Townsend, tell me, who is that petite angel?”
“You are referring to Lady Blackwood?” asked Liza.
“Blackwood,” Florentin murmured, “mysterious, enchanting…” He began to babble to himself in French at such a pace that even Liza, who had some knowledge of the tongue, simply could not keep up. As Gwendolyn made her way towards Anne for practise, she found herself caught in the strange man’s embrace. He led her into the steps of a dance that was highly favoured amongst the French court and as graceful as it was, Gwendolyn was unfamiliar with this and suffered difficulty in not tripping over her own feet. Every time she did, Florentin would catch her in a way that caused them to make eye contact. He was determined to have her. She soon caught on and went with the flow, but something did not sit right with her…after all, who was this man, anyway?
“Why’s he dancing with her when he was watching me?” Mary pouted as her friends stepped back to watch the spectacle.
“And I am a far better dancer,” Katherine chimed in.
“Too French for me,” Anne shrugged nonchalantly.
“Besides, what normal man wears that much perfume?” Jane sniped, waving her hand as if to dispel a particularly offensive odour. Seeing the displeasure on the youngest girl’s face, Liza intervened.
“Ah, it’s good that you’re back, Gwendolyn,” she said. “The Queen wished to see Sir Douglas the Duellist Royal, and you being his preferred contact, it’s only fitting that you toddle off and find him.” Gwendolyn nodded and seized the chance to escape the foreign man’s clutches, scampering out of the hall. Florentin stroked his chin thoughtfully as he watched her leave.
“Duellist Royal?” he pondered. “How interesting.”
When Robert Cecil found himself cornered by Florentin, he was at first anxious and slightly nauseated, but hearing the request to face the most prestigious and highly-regarded Sir Douglas actually set off the machine of his brain. Wheels turned and a plan formed. On one hand, the Frenchman might actually be a superior player, on the other his demeanour would be so distracting that the mysterious knight could not possibly concentrate. Yes, it was a bit of a long shot, but there was a chance that one way or another, that accursed MacWood would not, in this man, an easy opponent find. He was more than happy to make the arrangements, now all they needed was the Queen’s approval.
XXX
Elizabeth looked down from her throne at the kneeling Frenchman. She glanced to Gwendolyn, who stood to her right in her disguise, and then down again. She cleared her throat politely and addressed him, “Signieur d’Thoze, I do not wish to be rude, but have you duelled very often? Sir Douglas is the Duellist Royal, ranked among the most talented Duel Monsters players in all the empire, and the average opponent would find themselves very unfairly matched.”
“Ah!” Florentin cried, dramatically putting the back of his hand to his forehead to feign emotional hurt. “Your Majesty, you break my ‘eart wit’ such cruel insinuations, for I am zhe greatest duellist in all of France, more zhan worthy to face your salient Sir Douglas!”
The Queen hmm’d and said to her knight, “Do you accept his challenge?”
“I do, Your Majesty,” Gwendolyn bowed. “Signieur, do you have any terms?”
“Just one,” the Frenchman replied, standing up. “T’ere is a lady ‘ere who ‘as caught my eye and stolen zhis ‘ero’s ‘eart. If I win zhe duel, I want to marry Lady Gwendolyn Blackwood!” Gwendolyn felt sick and the colour drained from her cheeks, but she agreed, and the match was readied. Florentin was given a Fairy Pin that had been in the possession of Cecil and the duellists went through the opening ritual of cutting and shuffling each other’s deck.
[Begin Duel: Sir Douglas MacWood vs. Signieur d’Thoze]
“I’ll go first,” said Gwendolyn a touch too quickly. Dancing with her adversary was unsettling enough for her, but the idea of marrying him and living in a land full of people like him was far too much. She had to nip this in the bud as swiftly as possible. She drew her opening hand and frowned. Curses, she thought, not a good beginning. “I’ll set one card in face-down defence and end my turn there,” she announced.
“Does your confidence falter already?” sneered Florentin. “I draw, and I summon Botanical Girl (1300/1100) in attack mode!” The floor rippled and from it emerged a tall, thin woman with pale white skin and black gemstone eyes. She wore a body-hugging suit composed of large, green-and-red leaves and the lips of Venus Flytraps over her chest. In place of hair, her head was crested with silky pink petals and from the back of it extended a bulb like a pitcher plant. Florentin’s eyes widened as he watched the Plant woman performing a graceful entrance dance.
“Ooh-la-la,” he cooed and said something in French. The Botanical Girl blew a kiss to Gwendolyn before crossing her fragile arms over her chest. “Very different, very nice,” he said, “and now, I will play zhis Spell Card, Fragrance Storm!” A loud whistling sound filled the room, and the ground seemed to spit up a mighty whirlwind. Florentin and Gwendolyn braced themselves against the torrent as razor-edged leaves swirled about them, cutting the Botanical Girl to shreds.
“That was your own monster!” Gwendolyn cried, her voice growing in intensity. “You murderous scoundrel!”
“You are really too much, monsieur,” chuckled Florentin, “if I may continue, Fragrance Storm allows me to sacrifice a Plant monster in order to draw one card, and if that card is also a Plant, I can show it to you and draw once again.” He slid a card from the top of his deck and smiled, turning it to face his opponent. “I just drew my Grass Phantom (1000/1000), so I’ll draw a second card.” He did so. “Next, my Botanical Girl’s effect occurs. When she is sent to zhe Graveyard, I may search zhrough my deck for a Plant wit’ 1000 attack or less and summon it to my hand. So, ‘ere I go…your turn.”
[Gwendolyn’s L.P.: 8000 / d’Thoze’s L.P.: 8000]
Gwendolyn drew. She needed to get this done quickly and send Florentin back to his home-land with his arrogant tail between his obnoxious legs. He was also wide open, and in her haste, Gwendolyn went straight on the offensive.
“I summon Bountiful Artemis (1600/1700)!” she declared, the ivory-and-malachite statue materialising in the air before her. “Attack directly!” Artemis raised its three-fingered hands above its head and spread its wings as the lines on its body glowed as bright as the noonday Sun. Gwendolyn made a quick hand gesture and the accumulated power fired out as a crescent of deadly energy that coursed through Florentin. He squawked and held his diaphragm, suddenly feeling short of breath. He bent double until the air returning to his lungs and his body functioned properly again.
“I like zhis new method of play,” he smiled, “it’s, how you say, ‘fun’.”
“It’s your turn,” said Gwendolyn.
“As you wish,” Florentin nodded. He drew and immediately set his new card face-down. “Next, I play anot’er Spell Card, Miracle Fertilizer!” He slapped the card down on the table and the floor of the throne was suddenly coated in a layer of cool, green grass. From beneath Florentin’s table billowed a wave of pale smoke that reached knee-height of the players. An annoyed chattering was heard and tiny creatures that resembled thistles in blue, green and yellow dashed amongst the blades in confusion. They bobbed and darted at random points and clashed into each other so frequently that the comic novelty swiftly wore off.
“So long as Miracle Fertilizer is on zhe field, I may call a Plant monster from my graveyard each turn, t’ough if I do so I must give up my ability to normal-summon for zhat turn as a price. So, return to my field, Botanical Girl!”
Sweet pollen touched their senses as a column of dirt sprouted from the grass and crumbled apart to reveal the somewhat soiled but otherwise unharmed monster.
“T’at is all for now,” said Florentin with a flourish of his silky locks. “Your turn, Sir Douglas.”
[Gwendolyn’s L.P.: 8000 / d’Thoze’s L.P.: 6400]
He must have something in mind if he didn’t attack my face-down card, Gwendolyn thought, adding a new card to her hand.
“First,” she announced, “I’ll sacrifice my face-down Nova Summoner (1400/800)…” The orange wreath floated up from the grass and vanished in column of light, a vague ring-shaped shadow crawling up to the ceiling and dissipating. The column parted like curtains as the new monster came forth. “…To call down Tethys, Goddess of Light (2400/1800)! Tethys, the situation calls for defoliation, so rid this room of his Botanical Girl.”
The divine woman cupped her hands together at arm’s length as a star of solid blue light appeared between her palms. She pulled the star above her head and then threw it down towards Botanical Girl, who gasped and flapped her petals about her defensively.
“Activate Trap!” Florentin responded defiantly. “Negate Attack!” A small hole opened in the air in front of Botanical Girl, filled with red, blue and white light. The star was sucked into the portal, which closed up and left only a few faint vibrations of magical heat. “So sorry, but I believe zhe phrase is ‘good show’?” he teased. Gwendolyn frowned.
“Fine,” she said, “but whenever a Counter-trap is activated, Bountiful Artemis lets me draw one more card from my deck.” She did so and glanced at it. Not a Fairy, she thought, at least I don’t have to show it to him. Can’t give Cupid Cringe-worthy any sort of advantage. Especially not one that lets him read my hand.
“My turn,” said Florentin. “I’ll play anot’er card face-down and summon this monster. Grow up, my Copy Plant (0/0)!”
A group of thick, brown roots protruded from the floor until they reached stomach-height with the players, then knotted themselves tightly together until they formed an ugly, acidic-smelling bundle of filth. A beady green eye peered out from the gap between two of the roots.
“’Ere is zhe exciting part,” he chuckled. “Once a turn, Copy Plant can duplicate the star-level of any Plant monster on the field, and I choose Botanical Girl!” The roots broke apart and slunk across the field, clamping shut around Botanical Girl. The plant woman gasped as the roots gripped and crushed her until she was cocooned up to the chest. A pinkish slot opened between her breasts and the beady eye appeared there.
“Copy Plant is a very special new kind of monster straight from France,” Florentin explained. “It is called a ‘Tuner,’ and when it and anot’er monster of zhe right level are harmonised, I can do…zhis!”
A dark blue tone covered the vegetation and six luminescent balls of green and magenta appeared around them, moving slowly at first, and then faster and faster until they became a wheel of strange flames.
“I synchro-summon…”
The wheel exploded, and within the ensuing dome of blinding light, you could see the two Plant monsters as black silhouettes suddenly implode into each other, becoming a swirl of black particles that flew about inside their dome and reshaped themselves. The dome faded to reveal a tall creature, at least ten feet tall, and facially appeared as if the girl who stood in her place moments ago had grown almost ten years, maturing and blooming into a full woman, or dryad, or whatever it called itself. In place of legs she stood on a single tree-thick stem, her arms ended in vicious green-and-pink snapping jaws and petals and vines made up her scant, exotic attire, including an intricate floral crown that covered what hair she may have had. The jaws snapped and drooled cytoplasm. The grass from Miracle Fertilizer had vanished but now a thick bed of roots and tentacles dominated the floor and leaves blew around on an intoxicating breeze.
She’s beautiful, thought Gwendolyn.
Stay focussed, said a voice in her mind, don’t be awed by that overgrown cabbage. Gwendolyn nodded, staring straight down at the cards in her hand.
“My Queen of Thorns (2200/1800)!” Florentin finished. “With Botanical Girl off zhe field again, her effect occurs once more.” He shuffled through the deck and picked his prize. “And now, my Queen of Thorns, O Maiden Mistress from zhe Garden of Delights, shatter ‘er Bountiful Artemis.” The Queen of Thorns nodded and turned her attention on the floating statue. Some of the verdure on the floor rose up and snapped out, catching the floating statue’s lower body and arms. It tried to struggle free but its limbs were held taught. The Queen held out one arm, which sprung forth elastically, the jaw of her extremity opening to its astonishing fullness and slammed shut around Artemis, crushing it to powder. Florentin ended his turn with another over-emphasises hand gesture.
“Soon, dear Sir Douglas, you too will be plant food for my Queen.”
[Gwendolyn’s L.P.: 7400 / d’Thoze’s L.P.: 6400]
Gwendolyn looked at her newest card and said, “I’ll use Tethys’ special effect. Much like your Fragrance Storm, I can draw again, and if the card I draw is a Fairy, I can show it to you and do it again, only difference is I don’t have to pay for it with a monster. So here I go…I reveal my Majestic Ohka (2400/1400)!”
She plucked another card from her deck. Not a Fairy, she thought, but just as good.
“Time I reminded you whose territory you’re in, d’Thoze!” she challenged. “Welcome to my Sanctuary in the Sky!” She slapped the card onto her table and the throne room was replaced by the flying temple. As always, Elizabeth sat at the top of the staircase with the duellists positioned on the landing. Florentin glanced back over his shoulder at the second stairway leading to the blue abyss of the sky and shuddered, budging closer to his own table. He would try to murder me, the poor surprised adventurer said to himself, this MacWood is a very dangerous enemy indeed!
“Next,” spoke Gwendolyn, “I will summon my Ohka!”
The she-wolf flashed into existence, her bodily markings glistening as she exhaled rose-coloured smoke from her mouth and nostrils. Tethys knelt down and stroked Ohka’s long mane and the top of her muzzle and the creature’s tongue lapped in and out in response.
“A foolish move,” Florentin smirked. Two fat, gnarled roots burst up on either side of Gwendolyn and wrapped around her, squeezing her arms against her sides and forcing the air from her lungs as her Life Points drop.
“Don’t try to speak,” said the French duellist. “I should explain t’at my Queen’s effect states when either of us summons a non-Plant monster, we must pay 1000 Life Points. Now, you may continue.” The roots holding Gwendolyn stopped constricting her, but they did not relinquish her. The magic had taken place and it would stay until their source was cut off. Gwendolyn knew she had to destroy the Queen of Thorns now, and Ohka was more than strong enough to carry out the task.
“Ohka!” she commanded. “Tear his monster apart!”
Ohka howled and bounded forward, ready to clamp her jaws on the unfortunate flower, but the Queen did not look scared at all. She looked almost pleased! So she should have been.
“I activate another Trap,” said Florentin. “Plant Food Chain!” Ohka yelped as both her target’s toothy tendrils grasped her at either end of her torso. Long, orange tongues snaked out of them and wrapped around her, and with a disgusting, sloppy noise, tore her perfectly in half and swallowed her in two hideous gulps. Gwendolyn, Tethys, Elizabeth and even Florentin watched with disgust as the shapes of Ohka’s dismembered corpse travelled up the Queen of Thorns’ arms, distending her skin before a series of muffled clicks and chomps sounded. The protrusions seemed to shrink as they were sucked through her shoulders, but it only took seconds for them to reappear under the thorny flesh of her stem.
“Mon Dieu…I think I’m going to be ill.”
“You’re the one who commanded it!”
“I did not know she would do that!” Florentin regained his composure and explained his Trap. “Plant Food Chain gives a Plant monster of my choosing an extra 500 attack points.”
“Yes, but since Ohka was a Fairy, Sanctuary of the Sky reduces any battle damage to nothing, so I only lose the 1000 from your Queen’s effect.”
Florentin nodded in understanding. The civility between them would not last long. After all, the duel had to continue. He drew.
“I set a monster in face-down defence,” he said, “and then play the Spell Card, Graceful Charity.” In a twinkle of stardust, a blonde angel with a sad smile appeared next to him and lifted the three topmost cards from his deck, displaying them for him to peruse. After selecting one, the angel handed it to him and placed the other two in his graveyard pile.
“Well…I have a game to win,” he said, “so…my dear…please attack Tethys but do not do it in a way that turns my stomach.” The monster reacted by turning to face her master and snapping her arm-jaws at him angrily. Florentin’s hair stood on end and he emitted a fearful squeak. “Ah, that is, you just do your zhing…” He turned his chair because suddenly the wide blue atmosphere was that much more comforting. Gwendolyn covered her face with her cards as they both listened to Tethys’ defiant cry before she was pulled to pieces and swallowed. The players returned to their proper positions just in time to see the last of Tethys’ mangled remains slip through the Plant’s shoulders and stretch her stem even further.
“You should prune that thing,” said Gwendolyn.
“I’m inclined to agree, monsieur,” replied Florentin. A root popped up in front of the Frenchman and gave him a light but not painless slap on the face. The Queen looked nonchalant. Elizabeth stifled a laugh.
[Gwendolyn’s L.P.: 6400 / d’Thoze’s L.P.: 6400]
“I know what I’m going to do already,” said Gwendolyn before she even finished her draw. “First I’ll play Valhalla, Hall of the Fallen!” A red carpet faded in over the stairs and the landing, not interfering with the tangled foliage. The temple’s white surface changed to a glistening gold and decorated with finely polished wood. “Next I’ll use this Spell Card, Reload! This means I must shuffle the five remaining cards in my hand back into my deck and then draw five new ones.” This she did in the span of just half a second, her concentration briefly peaking even with the uncomfortable wooden arms firmly embracing her.
“If I have no monsters on the field, Valhalla lets me special-summon one straight from my hand,” she said, “so here comes Athena, my Greek Goddess of Wisdom (2600/800).” The white-clothed warrior woman materialised, cutting a space amongst the growths with her caduceus. When the roots holding Gwendolyn squeezed tighter and sucked at her Life Points, Athena moved to help her but a raised hand from her mistress halted her.
“I will be fine,” Gwendolyn smiled. “I’ll do my part, you do yours.” Athena reluctantly nodded and turned back to face the Queen of Thorns, who eyed her hungrily. “Then I’ll summon the Agent of Force – Mars (0/0)…awk!” She cried out as the coils gripped her tighter still, the little extensions cutting through the material of her clothes and scratching her arms, chest and back. For a while she feared they might damage the scarf used to flatten her breasts. The red-skinned master of warfare stood by Athena with his double-tipped weapon held in front of him. “W…with another Fairy…suc…successfully summoned… A-Athena cuts down your Life Points…by…600.”
Florentin squealed as the caduceus blade launched in his direction, totally bypassing his monster as it pricked his forehead.
“Then I’ll use Athena’s other power, exchanging a Fairy on the field for one in my graveyard. I lend Mars to dark rest and use his life-blood to resurrect Tethys, Goddess of Light!”
Athena was grateful to see one of her good friends return to her side and clasped Tethys’ hand, then struck Florentin, shaving his Life Points even further. The Frenchman put a hand to his forehead, making high-pitched noises and exaggerated breaths.
“My face!” he wailed.
“I’m far from finished with you!” Gwendolyn exclaimed. “Now I play another Spell Card, Mystical Space Typhoon, and I’ll use it to destroy your Plant Food Chain!” The sky around the floating building turned dark as blue streaks of light flew this way and that and lightning cracked and wind blew and raged down! The Queen of Thorns cried and raised her arms to defend herself. She seemed to drop several inches in height and the wiggling orange tongues in her jaws were sucked down into her twin throats. She turned purple in the face like she was choking, and her stem lost the writhing shapes and returned to normal. When the storm passed, she looked quite humbled.
“Tethys!” she ordered. “Attack his face-down monster and Athena, destroy his damnable Queen of Thorns!” The two female monsters charged their powers – Tethys’ star sunk into a section of the floor in front of Florentin and a sickly-looking green shrub, the Grass Phantom, appeared before withering into a pile of brown shrapnel, while Athena’s glorious weapon hacked and chopped at the screaming and struggling Queen of Thorns until she was nothing but leaves and green gunge – as the roots holding Gwendolyn finally released her and she found her breathing returning to normal.
“My face…” Florentin moaned, “my beautiful visage.” His voice turned into a vicious snarl. “You’ve marked me, Sir Douglas, I will remember zhis.” The two beads of blood trickling down his face had met at the tip of his nose, culminating in a tiny crimson dome of liquid on the pointed tip. Through this, the Frenchman smiled. He drew his next card.
“I set a card face-down, and play anot’er Miracle Fertilizer! So…guess which of my fragrant fancies will make a miracle comeback?”
Gwendolyn looked up with just a hint of worry as the Queen of Thorns opened her jaws.
[Gwendolyn’s L.P.: 4400 / d’Thoze’s L.P.: 4800]
XXX
While all this was taking place, the Freiherr and his charge were enjoying a more tranquil day. The girl, still recovering from her ailment, was seated on the back of her Shetland pony, whom she had dubbed ‘Siegbert,’ which her giant master was leading it around the gardens of Hatfield House by a rope. He was pointing out specific flora and telling Kreszentia about them in German. His voice was soft and gentle, not what was expected of a man of his formidable stature.
“Excuse me,” said a voice behind him. Von Dijkhuizen looked over his shoulders to see a young man walking across the garden towards him.
“Ah,” he said aloud, “you are…Sebastian, am I right? Cecil’s man?”
“And Lady Blackwood’s older brother,” replied his new companion. “I come to you, sir, as a duellist. Just a friendly match, if it would please you.”
“Sounds delightful,” the Freiherr nodded. “It has been a vhile since I stretched my card-playing muscles.”
“There is a stone table just over the way,” said Sebastian. “I believe you will find me to be a worthy opponent. I gave my sister quite the game in the tournament.” He was well aware that the German man knew his sister’s identity through a conversation with her earlier that week, and had taken her word that all appearances aside, he was an honourable man. He felt nervous of course, but was relieved that there would be no real monsters involved, just cards and strategy. He had almost forgotten the way things were before the Fairy Pins came along and changed the very nature of Duel Monsters. He nodded to Kreszentia and led the way to the stone table, which sat in direct sunlight, surrounded on all but one side with pleasant-smelling flowers.
From one of the many windows of the house, Robert Cecil watched. Good. The first phase of his plan had gone smoothly enough. Von Dijkhuizen was thoroughly distracted, giving him time to put the second phase into action. He quickly made his way to the quarters shared by the giant and his creepy little demon-child. The door was locked, but this was not an issue. Delving into the pocket of his fine coat, he retrieved what could be described as an essential tool for anybody with such a deviant plan as his; a skeleton key, one of only three commissioned by Her Majesty in the name of security. He licked his lips, dry from anticipation, and unlocked the door of the room.
He was bombarded with strange smells, the stenches of unholy liquids and powders. One entire side of the room had been used to form a monstrous makeshift laboratory, the sort that alchemists would use in their unique blending of science and art. Many charts baring confusing symbols that made little to no sense had been pinned to the wall above the equipment. Random numbers and nonsense words, sometimes even single letters and outrageous symbols circulated profound pictures. Inventions, sets of locked components, stars and planets, and this one the royal coach found most curious of all; an anatomical chart of the little girl. Her right side showed skin, her left was cut open to show organs and bones. It suddenly struck him that the pictures of stars and planets were not so, they were body parts; brains, hearts and other organs, even eyeballs and glands. It was as if he were – well! – as if he were building a human being.
The idea disturbed Cecil and he blotted it from his mind. There had to be something he could use in this blasted chamber of horrors. A weapon to prove this was the den of an enemy beast. All the time he rummaged about, he felt eyes on him, and the image of the girl’s sketched half-face kept returning to him. The exposed eye, the Devil’s eye. At last! Finally! Yes, a loose floorboard beneath the bed. With a grunt, Cecil pulled it free and fished out the treasure. It was a journal, one of many, bound in leather and sealed by a small padlock. The date on the front cover was badly scratched, but he could just barely make it out; Januar 1530-Dezember 1540. He blew the dust from the top of the tome, only to cough as it darted up his nostrils and down his throat. He swore to himself and slowly got to his feet, wiping the grit from his field of vision.
“Damn,” he murmured, running a thumb over the padlock. He looked around until seeing a knife on the laboratory table. As he walked towards it, he heard a sound behind him. A deep, slow, “Mrrrooow.” Cecil started. He turned on his heels and glared with indignation at the thing sitting on the windowsill. It was a cat, a fairly large one with a mane of black fur, long, twisting whiskers and eyes as red as poppies. Its long tail slithered to and fro as it looked up at him. Cecil grunted and gestured with his hand for it to leave. When it refused to budge, he grabbed a fireplace poker resting against the wall and held it out towards the cat, poking its side while murmuring, “Go, sod off, accursed feline.” The cat blinked slowly and shook its head. So badly did he disdain the animal that he refused to go near it, and instead edged his way across the room towards the door with the journal tucked firmly beneath his arm. The cat hissed loudly and lunged. Cecil yelped and dropped the book with a dull ‘thud.’ He ran from the room, clutching his bleeding face, as the cat sat on the book with a wry smile across its fiendish face.
“Mrrow,” it purred, content with itself. By the time the Freiherr finished the duel in the garden and returned, the cat had disappeared. The door, hanging wide open, was enough to worry him, and the droplets of blood found in the way on closer inspection struck a chord. Somebody had been in his room, in his private little section of the house. Kreszentia asked what he would do.
“Alert the Queen,” her master responded.
XXX
As the Queen of Thorns raised her slathering, slimy jaws to strike down Gwendolyn, Elizabeth heard footsteps behind her. She turned to face the sound as the towering figure of von Dijkhuizen stepped out from behind one of the columns of the temple behind her.
“Pardon my intrusion, Your Majesty,” he said quietly so as not to interrupt the match below (he was quite impressed by what he was seeing. This stranger in red had some impressive creatures in his arsenal, if a little pungent). When he reached the throne, he got down on one knee and whispered what he had found in his room. Elizabeth stood up and called out, “Stop the duel!” Gwendolyn, Florentin, their monsters and the small crowd who had gathered at the doors to watch turned their eyes to her.
“There could be a thief in Hatfield House!” she announced. “Everyone must return to their chambers post-haste to ensure their belongings are not damaged or missing!” The magical field of the Fairy Pins faded as Gwendolyn and Florentin both tucked away their cards. The sound of a dozen pairs of running feet could be heard outside. I hate it when I can’t finish a duel, thought the Duellist Royal.
“A good match, Sir Douglas,” said Florentin, offering his hand to his adversary. “I will concede to you t’is time, but we will meet again and settle our score, and t’e lovely Lady Blackwood will be mine.”
“I’m sure she’s absolutely heartbroken that she’ll have to wait,” Gwendolyn smirked. Not realising the sarcasm of the statement, Florentin took his leave. Elizabeth had gone to inspect her own quarters, leaving Gwendolyn alone. Glad for the respite, she removed her cap to let air reach her warm head.
“You wouldn’t really marry that Frog would you?”
Gwendolyn started. She turned to see Jethro standing behind her, looking quite bashful. His arms were crossed, his head was down and he was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I mean…”
“Oh, I don’t know,” the girl teased, putting two fingers to her chin thoughtfully. “I’ve heard France is quite nice…”
When she saw Jethro’s face darken, she playfully thumped him on the chest. “Too bad it’s full of people like the ‘good,’ Signieur.” Jethro’s mouth curved into a smile, and then both of them laughed together.
[COMPLETE] Yu-Gi-Oh!: Queen of Games
Reply With Quote
Thank you Saffire Persian. (Complete list coming soon)
Originally Posted by DragoKnight
