Then he walked out onto the ballroom floor, accompanied by Goth. He clapped his hands. Vatches began swarming around him. All of them were tiny, but there were so many they seemed like a curtain of impossible blackness.
The party is over. Thank you all for coming. Please come again. Now go home.
The vatchlets squawked vehement protest. Pausert began forming vatch hooks. Great, big, glowing, terrible vatch hooks. That had the same salutary effect on the vatchlets as a father brandishing a great big terrible leather belt before his human brats.
Quickly, the blackness receded.
Silence settled over the ruined ballroom. And then the orchestra, those who still had whole instruments, began to play of all things, an ancient lullaby.
The Empress took off her mask and walked up onto the dais. She held up her hands to hush the crowd. The hysterical panic-filled babble subsided as they turned to stare at Empress Hailie.
"My lords and ladies. Control yourselves," she said, firmly. "We have an Empire to save. We have the Imperial appearance to make at midnight. If it doesn't happen, you know what the consequences are sure to be. So. Masks off, courtiers! And to work. If the Emperor himself isn't fit to appear on that balcony . . . I'll find someone else to stand in his shoes for the night, and wear the crown and wave to his people. But the people of the Empire will see what they expect to see. The Empire will go on. Then, when that is dealt with, we'll put things to rights here."
* * *
Dame Ethulassia finally got both the audience and the applause she'd always craved. Richard Cravan found himself wearing Imperial regalia, and playing the role of a lifetime. In later years it was said that was the Winter Canival when the Emperor had given his most regal speech ever.
Though the Leewit didn't think so. "Clumping stupid, you ask me! There wasn't any wind blowing at all. And even if there had been, he didn't have to say that crude stuff about wind cracking its cheeks." The Leewit was genuinely affronted. "Huh! It's not fair. If I'd said it, you'd be washing my mouth out with soap."
Epilogue
Things still had to carry on, and be finished off.
Hantis, however, wouldn't be part of it. She was dead keen to leave for Nartheby. "I have a great deal to rebuild. A great deal of history to see revisited. I made an arrangement with my ancestor before we left. He's hidden all his records in a secret chamber under the seat of Justice in Aloorn. Someone is finally about to receive the honor he deserved."
The captain realized just how closely they had been monitored—somehow, presumably with yet another branch of klatha he hadn't explored—when, a few minutes after the midnight ceremony, a delegation of witches arrived in the banquet hall. Pausert had no idea how they'd gotten there. There'd been none of the telltale signs of the Egger Route.
There was a lot of hugging as Toll was reunited with her daughters. Pausert was grateful to see that his great uncle Threbus had come to take control of the situation. Among those the witches had brought with them were a squad of healers, such as the Leewit would be one day. They took charge of the unconscious victims of the Nanite plague.
"It appears that the Petey B's thespian troupe will have to remain here for some years," said Threbus later, as he and Pausert walked in the cool green gardens of the Empress-Regent's palace. "To keep the masquerade going until Amra is old enough to ascend the throne herself."
Pausert winced. "No hope of saving any of the people infected?"
Threbus shrugged. "A few—those who were infected at the carnival itself. But not all that many. It doesn't take long for the mind of the victim to be wrecked beyond repair."
Pausert wasn't really surprised. He tried to find what comfort there was. "Well, I guess that means Cravan and Ethy's troupe will have to be given official status. 'The Empress Players,' something like that. No other way to explain why a showboat would remain here for years. They'll like that, even if they'll complain constantly that they miss their wandering ways."
Threbus nodded. "And look on the bright side: the Empress has firmly cemented her position as the power behind the throne, since 'the throne' is now nothing more than an actor playing a role. And she's gained the respect and leverage she needs over the bulk of the nobility." He patted Pausert on the shoulder. "Karres is proud of you, Grandnephew. You came through at the end with flying colors."
"I wasn't inclined to forgive you at first, Threbus," said the captain heavily. "But I suppose you risked a great deal, too."
The Karres witch nodded. "Two of my daughters, Pausert. Two of those I love most dearly." He sighed. "It was a high-risk option, but all our predictors said it was the only alternative to a long and terrible war, just as the Sprites once fought. Now, we have an answer. You and the little vatches. We've bought time and can find other ways of dealing with the problem, without killing people."
Goth came to join them. As she drew alongside, she slid her arm around Pausert's waist and hugged him tightly. He placed his large hand on her little one and gave it an affectionate squeeze. There was a time when the captain would have been a little surprised at how easily and naturally that movement came to both of them. But . . . no longer. Again, he found himself wishing that klatha could somehow be used to affect aging.
Threbus was smiling. "Time passes, Nephew. Trust me."
The smug expression on his face, combined with the serene look on Goth's, aroused Pausert's natural contrariness.
"Ha! You two know-it-alls! I remind you that you also predicted something very good would happen to Goth if she spent the next year in my company. So? What is it?"
Alas, Threbus still looked every bit as smug. And Goth's serenity seemed completely unfazed. She gave Pausert that sidelong glance he'd come to know so well.
"The year isn't up yet, Captain," she murmured.
Pausert tried to think of a suitable reply, but couldn't. Then he caught sight of a pair of slitty silver eyes. And then another. And another. And more.
"The cure may just be worse than the disease, Threbus," he said with a grin. "Here we go again!"