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Part 2-9: Weapons
“I preserve a tinge of an old memory, from up here,” said the Jailer. “You can get a sense of the kingdom as it was before the Prince took over. Have a gander.”
Persi and I went to the edge and peered out. Below, the circular field was still there, but now there were lush trees and cheerful bushes all about. A cluster of successively bigger buildings rose in one direction, adorned with deep yellow roofs and limp pennants—we were atop a tiny tower in the middle of a castle courtyard. There was a whole world beyond the walls of said courtyard. I saw a winding road leading to what looked like a sleepy settlement on a river. Beyond that, the dark smudge of a forest. In the deep distance, the trace of mountains bled into the twilight horizon.
“Holy good moly,” said Persi.
“Now we know how Dorothy felt,” I said.
“Dorothy?”
“First Tolkien and now Baum? Add it to the list there, Persi, jeez.”
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” said the Jailer. “I keep it at a time past sundown now because under full sun, everything appears fuzzy and indistinct. Yes, we had a whole world once. Perhaps we once built smaller ones outside the walls.”
“Like that town, out there?” I asked.
“Quite right. I forget if it’s only stage dressing or if it had its own life once.” His voice dropped a shade darker. “However, there’s something out here that only one of us made, that’s for certain. Come.”
He led us away to a different vantage point, this one on the other side of the tower.
Below, a gate interrupted the stone circle. The Jailer’s tower had blocked it from view when we made our grand entrance. The gate led to a drawbridge, and the drawbridge was open. A road struck out from the bridge, into the illusionary lands beyond the kingdom… straight into a glowing, shifting cloud. It clung to the ground like a fog. Rising out of this fog, stretching to an impossible height, a Gothic grandfather clock. It was far away enough that I could cover it with my pointer finger held at half an arm’s length. It was close enough that I could still read the time.
“It showed up out there recently,” said the Jailer. “It’s probably younger than a century, though I admit I’ve lost the skill—and frankly the need—to impress upon one a proper sense of time. I halfway suspect the Prince chose the clock as a bit of mockery, though it’s more likely a choice made for measurement.”
“Measurement?” I said.
“I’ll show you that shortly. For now, let us see what the King left us.”
He took us to the wooden rack. It was for holding lengthy items, empty now save for what looked like a weird axe with a super long handle.
“Before you two showed up, this held four of the King’s weapons. The spear, the sword, the rapier and this polearm. I trust the spear is lost, and I imagine the sword didn’t make it past the threshold?”
I shook my head. “It sort of… uh, disintegrated.”
He nodded. “Yes. Once imbued with the Queen’s force they tend to become terribly unstable. Once it felt the frequencies running through my tower, there’d be little hope of retaining its form nor function.”
“So this ring, it gives these weapons some kind of superpower?”
He took the polearm off the rack and beckoned us towards the stairs again. We started down.
“The King specialized in making instruments that thwarted the Prince and his creations,” he said. “Tactical pieces that reversed or canceled out the patterns he assembled. The Queen was our strategist, working on trying to change the patterns’ rules themselves. The rules of the kingdom, if you will.”
“And what was your role?” asked Persi.
“Maintenance.” He chuckled, not without mirth. “I was a master at operating within the set rules. I kept the Prince from undoing the Queen’s work, or helping hide her patterns until they were ready to be unleashed. Now, the Prince has so much control all I can do is throw a wrench—or occasional spear—into things when I spot an opportune moment.”
We reached the sitting room. The Jailer set the polearm down by the fireplace, beside the rapier.
“When the Queen died, most of her patterns died with her. But before she went to fight, she showed me her ring. That band.” He pointed at my finger. “She buried her frequencies deep within, locked by some code or vital force known only to her. They were beyond the King’s understanding, and too dangerous if left with me, should the Prince defeat the Jailer. As it seems, Miss Alena, you’ve figured it out.”
“But, all I did was put it on,” I said, somehow embarrassed.
“There is something marked in you, then. If it were dormant, the sword would not behave as it did. The band must augment the pattern within the King’s weapons, some recipe of the Queen’s that must block or undo the Keeper’s ability. Or: superpowers. If you prefer.”
“What else does it do?” said Persi, crouching to get a better look at my new jewel. I let her take my wrist so she could peer at it.
“You’d have to ask the Queen,” said the Jailer, through a small half-smile. “How do you feel now?”
“I’ve several rude ways of answering that,” I said.
“I mean to ask if you feel recovered.”
“Oh. I guess so.” I did not strongly feel like puking or running and screaming, so I suppose that counted.
“Good. You will need to be alert for the next piece I show you. Would you prefer to wield the rapier or the polearm?”
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