The Death Ray

4

"Get those clothes off," Maelani ordered as she slipped off her own delicate shoes.

"Mistress!" her young maid hissed, her cheeks turning red, her hand coming to her chest to cover her heart.

Maelani ignored her. She pulled back the curtains enough to stick her face out of the open window of her coach.

"Driver," the duke's daughter said, "we'll wait here for Theria. I will be napping and will expect not to be disturbed."

"As you wish, My Lady," the driver answered.

Maelani closed first the glass window, then the curtains, so that the interior of the coach was plunged into a perfumed grayness. Her maid hadn't started taking off her clothes.

"I said strip, damn you," Maelani whispered.

Theria began opening the catches on her humble servants' gown, worry turning quickly to panic on her chubby, round face.

"Oh, Mistress," the young girl murmured, "oh, dear. Don't make me do this."

"For Cuthbert's sake, Theria," Maelani replied as she quickly unlaced her own corset, "stop whining and do as I say."

A tear slipped down the maid's pudgy cheek, but she continued disrobing. Maelani did the same and handed her own garment of fine silk and wool to her maid, then collected Theria's less expensive-and less obvious-clothes on the seat next to her.

Soon, the two young women were wearing each others' clothes and though Theria had stopped crying, she was no less beside herself.

"Mistress," she squeaked, "please let me go in your stead. Please don't go out there…oh, Pelor…oh, Pelor protect us all if something were to happen to y-"

The maid squealed when her mistress's warm, soft hand clamped over her mouth like a vise.

The duke's daughter leaned in close and whispered, "Shut your thrice-bedamned mouth, will you? I told the driver I would be taking a nap. You're me, so for all the gods' sakes, will you please take a nap?"

Maelani took her hand away from the frightened maid's mouth and pulled on her simple, homespun cloak.

"Oh, Mistress…" the maid started again.

"Nap," Maelani hissed. "Will you take a nap?"

"But Mistress," the maid persisted.

Maelani pulled the cowl over her head, shielding her face from view, and said, "Will you please just take a nap. Will you? Please, just take a nap."

"But Mis-"

"Take a nap!"

The maid clamped her own hand over her mouth and shut her eyes tightly. Tears oozed from the corners of her eyelids but she made no sound.

"I will be back when my business is finished," Maelani said. "In the meantime, make no noise, open no curtains, and for Cuthbert's sake don't speak to anyone. The driver and the guards won't disturb you if they think you're me, and they think you're sleeping. Sleep if you want to, or just sit there with your hand over your mouth, but wait for me in complete silence. Do you understand?"

Theria nodded and Maelani, opening the door only as far as she needed to, slipped out of the coach.

Without looking at the driver, or the escort of a dozen guards who sat on their horses in front of and behind the gilded coach, Maelani dipped her head and set off along the well-swept sidewalk, heading north. The coach was parked across the street from the front entrance of the Thrush and the Jay, New Koratian society's most oft-visited inn. It wouldn't be unusual at all to see Lady Maelani's coach parked there. The shops across the street were among the finest in the city, and she was seen shopping there often.

Disguised as she was in her maid's common clothes, Maelani easily slipped into the flow of foot-traffic following the street northward to the first side street. There she turned left, heading east along a street that curved gently to the south, following the contour of the city wall that rose half a mile to her right. On her left hand was the bustling Merchant's Quarter, on her right, the finer establishments slowly faded into the mazelike sprawl of the Dark Quarter. Maelani knew her father would die of heartstop if he knew she was so close to the Dark Quarter-the city's crime-ridden slums-but he didn't need to know, and she was confident that her simple ruse would work well enough that he never would.

Still keeping her head down and her cowl closed tightly over her face, she passed the rolling hills and marble-studded expanse of the city's cemetery. At the second major street after the cemetery, she turned right, moving into the very edge of the Dark Quarter.

Though the sun was rapidly setting and the shadows growing ever deeper around her as the crowds thinned and the streets became more rugged, dirtier, and more rank, she was not afraid. She'd gone this way more than once, and wealth and station were not without its privileges, even in disguise. The magical trinkets her father insisted she wear would protect her, she was sure, long enough for her to flee at least back into the relative safety of the Merchant's Quarter should something go awry.

Soon she saw the imposing ruin of the Slithraan estate. The ample, walled-in land and the jagged towers of the manor house were out of place there, a relic of a time when this part of the city was home to a better class of people. The surrounding mansions were torn down decades before, some even moved brick by brick to the island or the eastern shore of the river. Only that one manor was left, standing like a decaying reminder of the city's-and her father's-hypocrisy. No effort was made to clean up the Dark Quarter, just contain it, keep it away from the better people and keep the better people away from it.

Well, Maelani thought, this better person goes where she pleases.

She approached a much more modest, single story house directly across the street from the crumbling estate and went quickly to the door. The paint was peeling from the wood, and there were holes and a spot of fresher color where a knocker used to be. A dim glow flickered in the windows but no sound came from within. Maelani reached up to rap her delicate knuckles against the door but didn't quite manage to touch it when she was startled by a sudden click, then a squeak, and the door swung inward on its own.

The space inside was close, crowded with furniture that smelled as old as it looked. A big, old, gray cat sauntered past, paying her no mind as it twisted itself between a forest of chair and table legs. A single candle burned on a tabletop, wax dripping onto the peeling surface. Behind it sat a woman.

"Vrilanda," Maelani whispered, stepping into the house.

The woman smiled, keeping her lips together, and brushed back her long, curly hair to reveal a pointed ear. Her eyes were a pale silver-a color Maelani had never seen in a human's eyes. Vrilanda, of course, was no human. Though her house and the furniture in it were entirely human-made and gave one the impression that the resident was surely of great age, Vrilanda appeared as young as Maelani, though the duke's daughter knew the elf was old indeed, by human standards.

"My Lady," Vrilanda said, her voice ringing with the musical accent of the elves, "come in, sit down, and tell me what you wish of me."

Maelani stepped in, deftly avoiding another cat that gave her an impatient glance as it wandered past. The door swung shut behind her and locked itself with a sharp click that made Maelani jump.

Vrilanda smiled wider, revealing perfect white teeth. She indicated a chair across the table from her. Maelani sat, resting her arms on the rough service of the old table.

"I need a potion," the duke's daughter said.

The elf s smile faded, but not all the way, and she asked, "You have alchemists in the palace, do you not?"

Maelani sighed and said, "You know why I'm here. No one must suspect…"

She stopped, surprised at herself for being embarrassed to tell Vrilanda exactly what she needed, why she needed it, who she needed it for, and why no one must ever know of it.

"You need a…potion?" the elf witch prompted.

Maelani nodded, then met Vrilanda's gaze.

The duke's daughter took a deep breath and, blushing, said, "A love potion."