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¹ Can you draw out Leviathan with a fishhook
or press down his tongue with a cord?
² Can you put a rope in his nose
or pierce his jaw with a hook?
³ Will he make many pleas to you?
Will he speak to you soft words?
⁴ Will he make a covenant with you
to take him for your servant forever?
Job 41:1-4, ESV
When Neuvillette arrives at Lady Furina’s receiving chambers, he’s startled by how she all but yanks him in.
“Come in, come sit,” she chatters. She’s set up three chairs around her most favorite tea table, laden with towers of cake and other pastries. She pushes him towards a chair—he gives way to her, as he always does, lets her steer him down—and then she plops down in her own, leg jittering.
“Lady Furina,” he starts. “Is there—”
Furina stands up and drags her chair over by his, the wooden legs making an unholy screech. Then she sits down again. They are so close that their elbows almost touch.
“Just nerves!” She smiles up at him. “Everything is as it should be.”
Inside his own head, Neuvillette wonders. But he only nods, and sets his cane down against the table’s edge. “As you say, my lady.”
He was right to give in to her request. Something is wrong here, and he can feel it in the very air itself.
They don’t have to wait long. After a minute or two of Furina fidgeting, and Neuvillette doing his level best to pretend he doesn’t notice, someone raps on the door, quick and sharp.
“Miss Furina.” The voice is low and smooth, like dark polished wood, and Furina goes stiff. “May I come in?”
Neuvillette sees Furina put on her smile. “Of course,” she calls out. “The door’s unlocked.”
A click. The door opens, soundless, and Arlecchino saunters into the room, a servant following at her heels. She walks in as if it is her palace, and when she notes their placement she raises an eyebrow and smiles, looking terribly amused.
“Hello, Miss Furina. Iudex. What a charming picture you two make.”
“Nothing less from I,” Furina says grandly. “And my dear Iudex makes a perfect complement to my star. A light cannot shine without its shadow!”
But her hands are tightly balled in her lap, and she cannot look Arlecchino completely in the eye.
“I wouldn’t call your Iudex a shadow,” Arlecchino says. “He seems more a fellow star. Take care that he doesn’t steal your glow, Miss Furina.”
“Impossible,” Furina says cheerily. She pats his hand. “My dear Iudex would never do such a thing.”
Neuvillette nods, short.
Arlecchino huffs. “How sweet. In any case, I brought more of that cake, Miss Furina. I hope you’ll like it.”
She snaps her fingers, and the servant who followed her in scurries to the table and sets down the platter of cake, neatly sliced into the hallowed sixteen.
“Here.” She takes a fork and knife, lifts out a slice herself and sets it on Furina’s plate. “Oh,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. “And I suppose the Iudex can have a slice as well.”
No service for him, though. Instead Arlecchino goes to seat herself across them, dismissing the servant with a jerk of her head, and busies herself folding the napkin across her lap. Neuvillette looks again at the cake. He doesn’t want one anyways. Water is still best.
“Thank you,” Furina says to her plate. She cuts off a tiny morsel of the cake, and begins swirling it into the frosting on top with much focus.
“You’re always welcome.” Arlecchino leans back, red eyes surveying the two of them. “Will Monsieur Neuvillette be leaving? Or is he to stay and listen to us discuss confidential matters?”
“He’s staying,” Furina says immediately. A beat, and then she laughs nervously. “What ever shall I do without my right hand?”
Arlecchino tilts her head. “But you are the Archon,” she says. “He is only some lowly immortal. I heard you fished him out of the sea.”
Neuvillette’s face twists without his input, and Furina bursts again into laughter, genuine and whole-hearted. “Fished! The Chief Justice is far too heavy for that. Look, my dear Iudex is frowning.”
Neuvillette turns away to regain his composure. He does not usually mind Lady Furina’s teasing, but it is a wholly different matter to have the Knave be its instigator.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Monsieur Neuvillette,” Arlecchino cajoles. “Miss Furina and I are only having a little laugh.”
At my expense, he thinks, but does not say. Without thought he reaches for his cane, and his thumb rubs against the handle’s smooth detailing, back and forth. No matter. This is not what should concern him. He is here for his Archon, first and foremost.
He nods, unsmiling. “No offense was taken.”
“Good. That’s good.” Arlecchino redirects her attention to Furina. “And how is the cake, Miss Furina? To your satisfaction, I hope?”
“O-Oh! Perfectly!” Furina eats another forkful of cake, chews and swallows through a smile. “I’ll have to send my compliments to the Hotel Debord. I’ve yet to be disappointed by their handiwork.”
The Knave’s eyes are busy following Furina’s lips close around the fork. She doesn’t look like she’s bound to continue the conversation anytime soon—in fact she seems quite content to let Furina nibble at her cake, like a rabbit stealing bites of a carrot. She is watching his Archon as if she were a predator letting her prey fatten for the kill.
Neuvillette squeezes the knob of his cane in white-knuckled silence, and the wood lets out a soft, mournful creak. No, he does not like it at all.
A few more moments pass like this, Furina picking at her cake and Arlecchino watching in complete and utter silence, until at last Neuvillette can abide it no longer.
“Lord Arlecchino,” he starts.
Arlecchino doesn’t startle—doesn’t even look away from Furina, only tilts her head infinitesimally in his direction. “Hm?”
“I was wondering if we could begin the meeting proper.”
“What?” Arlecchino turns to look at him then, quizzical. “Have we not already begun?”
Words fail him, then. Does the Knave really mean to simply treat the Hydro Archon to cake? What sort of ploy is this?
Arlecchino lets the tense silence stretch for longer, and then she laughs. “I jest, Iudex. Unwrinkle your face. Yes, let us get to it, Miss Furina.”
At her name, Furina’s head bobs up, and the similarity to a deer in headlights is uncanny. “Ah! Yes, certainly! There’s no time to waste.”
“Yes, just so.” Arlecchino smiles. “Although I’ve heard reports to the contrary, Miss Furina. What are you doing to halt the tread of your prophecy? Entertaining guests? Putting on plays?” She rests her chin on a palm. “Or perhaps,” she says lightly, “feeding cats.”
Furina freezes.
“I can see it quite easily,” Arlecchino says. “You do so like to play with your subjects, Miss Furina. The same might apply to the feline kind. I recall spotting a litter gathering outside the Palais Mermonia.”
“When would that have been?” Furina whispers. Her hands have retreated from the table again, and she has begun wringing them in her lap. “I don’t remember seeing any these past few days.”
“Last week,” Arlecchino says, and Furina goes white.
“Great,” Furina blurts. “Excellent! I’ll have to ask someone to track them down again. My good Iudex, will you—”
Neuvillette nods. He has already noted it down mentally.
Arlecchino looks at Furina askance, and then laughs. “Oh, Miss Furina. You are so cute when you’re nervous.”
Neuvillette’s eyes narrow into slits. Lurking menace is one thing, but such an explicit overture he cannot permit.
“Lord Arlecchino. Take care how you speak to my Archon.”
Arlecchino raises an eyebrow. “Peace, Iudex. Will you pass judgment over my compliments as well?” She sighs. To Furina, she says: “Miss Furina, please rein in your dog.”
Neuvillette blinks, some unknown rush in his veins, coursing through him but not reaching him. Oil in water. Rein in her—
Furina grips Neuvillette’s hand under the table, shakes her head at him, and squeezes.
Don’t, her eyes plead.
“My apologies,” Furina says. Her voice is small, so small. Neuvillette hates it. “It won’t happen again. Isn’t that right, my dear Iudex?”
Neuvillette cannot trust himself to speak. Instead he nods, short and jerky.
“Thank you.” Arlecchino drums her black-clawed fingers on the tea table. “Though I would appreciate an apology from you all the same, Iudex.”
Neuvillette—
“Neuvillette,” Furina whispers.
And just like that all the fight drains out of him.
She sounds so... so hollow, and empty. If he had a heart it would hurt. Lady Furina, he wants to say. Only tell me what has brought you so low, and I will see it gone. Let me shoulder this burden for you, as I would anything else; whatever it may be, let me...
Furina squeezes his hand again. “Please.”
“I,” Neuvillette manages. “I must—I beg your—I apologize.”
It is almost wrenched out of his throat, but Arlecchino smiles all the same, and her satisfaction makes him... not sick. He is not human. But there is something like it bubbling in his gut, a coal-black almost disgust.
“I must applaud you, Miss Furina, for having such a well-trained pet. Do you think we can swap tips?”
Furina laughs, high-pitched. “Only treat them well,” she tells Arlecchino. “Nothing breeds loyalty as well as good care might.”
“Care is certainly one way to put it.” Arlecchino eyes the position of their arms. “You keep quite a long leash on your Iudex. Well, I can’t fault you for that, Miss Furina. It does seem effective in its own way.”
Furina follows her gaze, and comes to the same realization as the Knave. She yanks her hand from his, the recoil of a burn. “Y-Yes.”
Neuvillette will never confess it, but he feels the loss of her hand in his profoundly. Not so much for his sake, but for hers. He hoped he would be able to take on some of her worry.
He will never presume to hold sway over his Archon’s emotions, of course. But at the very least, can he not serve as refuge?
What is he, after all, if not unyielding? He is only the empty seafloor, asking for the bite of an anchor.
“Moving on,” says Arlecchino. “I had some questions about the Oratrice. I was hoping Miss Furina could indulge them.”
“Oh?” Furina affects arrogant curiosity, but her voice breaks on the syllable. “And what does our wonderful guest take issue with?”
Arlecchino rests her chin in her hands. “Well, for one, you don’t seem to be doing anything with it at all.”
The silence descends so quickly you can hear it, the negative intake of a breath.
“Why,” Furina says, “Lord Arlecchino, what an opener!”
Arlecchino graces her with a smile. “You do so love grand entrances, don’t you?”
“As much as any Archon, I’m sure.” Furina smiles brilliantly. Under the table her hands wring the skirts of her dress. “Lord Arlecchino, did you want to compare notes? I’ve heard of a few of your spectacles, in Snezhnaya and in other lands—they’re really quite inspired.”
“Thank you. I believe an entrance holds strong merit—you can nip a lot of things in the bud that way. Diplomacy is, after all, mere prelude to war.”
Furina titters, eyes darting left and right.
“We weren’t finished,” Arlecchino says. “What was it you said, Iudex? The ‘meeting proper’. We have arrived at it, I believe. Miss Furina, I hope you forgive my rather blatant curiosity; I did so hope we could discuss the finer points of your lovely land. For instance, as I have said, the Oratrice. Could you explain it to me? So that we could settle those pesky rumors of it being utterly useless.”
Furina lifts her chin, crossing her arms. “I have never heard such nonsense in my life! Besides, Lord Arlecchino, you seem to have it completely wrong. The prophecy and the Oratrice are two different things; the Oratrice empowers the land, and it empowers me to pursue the prophecy’s end.”
“I see. Then could you enlighten me? What progress have you made on that front?” Arlecchino leans forward, steepling her hands, her elbows on the table. “I am sure you understand my concern, Miss Furina. I am a Fontainian born and bred, after all.”
“Well,” Furina says softly, “I’m— I am—”
Here Neuvillette has to admit that he is also curious to hear what she says, since she has never seen fit to tell him either.
Arlecchino continues, “And the Indemnitium? I understand part of it being used to empower you. But I have heard tell of an egregious majority retained in the Oratrice, lying there latent and unused. Miss Furina, what use could you have for such an exceeding wealth of power?” Arlecchino’s eyes glint. “Do you hold heavenward ambitions, perhaps? I could respect that. After all, among my colleagues we agree on one thing and one thing only.”
“No,” Furina says. “No, no.” She titters again. “Lord Arlecchino, you make the funniest jokes.”
Arlecchino taps a claw on the table. “Oh, but I’m not joking.” She smiles.
Under the table, Furina’s hand finds his again, and squeezes so tightly his knuckles move against each other.
Neuvillette thinks, Nothing is worth this.
Neuvillette thinks, I do not care about insulting Snezhnaya.
Neuvillette—
A knock comes meekly at the door.
Neuvillette rises from his seat and sweeps over to the door, heedless of Furina’s wide eyes. And if Arlecchino deigns to stop him, he will not brook another—
“Lady Furina, your—” The attendant registers who stands before him and blanches. “I—Iudex!”
“You are calling Lady Furina’s attention to an urgent matter,” Neuvillette says, speaking quickly but evenly. “There is no time to waste. Lives may be at stake.” Saying this he drew the door wide open, and let the frightened man in, who grew even more frightened at the sight of the smirking Knave, sprawled out on her chair like it was her tearoom.
“Lady Furina,” the attendant said tremulously, “Miss Knave, I beg your pardons—”
“Beg me again after you have amended my title,” Arlecchino says boredly.
“Lord... Knave?”
Arlecchino inclines her head, and says nothing.
“I,” says the attendant again, hesitant, “I beg your pardons... I was sent to beg the Lady Furina’s presence at the Opera Epiclese, there has been a problem and we are afraid of flooding and structure collapse. We humbly plead our beloved Archon to succor her subjects...”
Furina shoots up from her seat, alarmed. “But of course! Take me there at once!”
“But our cake, Miss Furina,” Arlecchino says mournfully.
“Worry not, Lord Arlecchino,” Neuvillette rumbles. “The two of us need not follow. I know Lady Furina has it well in hand.”
Behind Furina’s back, Arlecchino flashes Neuvillette a nasty look, shorn of all the saccharine she’d given his Archon. Her eyes are very red. It is a good thing Neuvillette is so long-lived; he returns her gaze, unruffled and steady.
“Oh well.” Arlecchino turns away. “If your heart is set on it, Miss Furina, then let’s reschedule.”
Furina has been conversing with the attendant, but at this she whirls back to Arlecchino. “I— Oh. Oh, uh, yes. When—?”
“Lady Furina will not be free until next week Friday,” Neuvillette says firmly.
“Yes—yes, that’s right, thank you, my dear Iudex.” Furina starts, and covers her mouth with gloved hands. “And now! the Opera! Dear me, I do have to go. My people need me!”
With that she rushes off, the attendant trailing panicked at her heels.
The silence that comes in her wake is total. Neuvillette rises from his seat, and moves to shut the left-ajar door. It closes with a death-toll click.
“Why, Iudex,” Arlecchino drawls, leaning back on her chair. “I’m surprised you’d conspire to detain me.”
“I have no such wish.” He returns and takes his seat again. “Lord Arlecchino, I will be frank. What is the purpose of all this... provocation?”
“We are alone,” Arlecchino remarks.
“Indeed we are.” But he has power too, a wealth of it, and the Knave will be foolish to challenge it blindly. Not when she seems to have some especial hold over his Archon already. “So state your business, Lord Knave.”
“Didn’t I say already?” She smiles, wolfish. “I’m curious.”
“What a waste of my lady’s time.”
Arlecchino sneers. “And does your lady know how much you like to speak for her?”
“If she finds fault in it, then I will gladly submit to her punishment. Elsewise, I would prefer to fight the battles she has no wish to.”
“Me, you mean.”
He can be honest here, in this enclosed room filled with open hostility. “Yes.”
Arlecchino sighs. “You are really, really quite the nuisance.”
Neuvillette says nothing.
“Do what you will,” Arlecchino says. “Try and stop me. You’ll see. Your precious Archon will come begging you to let me through, Iudex. And then I will enter as I have done today, and smile, and she will step on your foot and make you be silent. Oh, I saw through that little pantomime, by the way. Really, so adorable.”
“Get out.”
Arlecchino sneers at him again. Then she scrapes her chair back, loudly, and rises.
Neuvillette watches the Knave saunter away, and feels no certain victory.