Marguerite was instantly taken with the Wagnerian aircraft – or was it the mechanic? – so Asmodeus politely excused himself from Ludwig’s small hanger and allowed his feet to meander back to the castle. Up the wide, winding path he walked, in the shadow of the white stone outer walls, crenulations zigzagging along the top. At the top of the hill the path curved back on itself to face the large, red-bricked gatehouse. As usual, the portcullis was up and a steady stream of villagers and servants ebbed and flowed through the gaping maw. Asmodeus deftly slid into the throng, passing under the watchful, if somewhat bored, eyes of the castle guards, halberds gripped ceremoniously in their gauntleted hands while all-too-efficient pistols hung from their belts.
Once through the tunnel Asmodeus found himself in the sunlit world of the main courtyard; white marble dazzling in the afternoon sun. Seeing him, a familiar face approached purposefully from across the space, nightgown exchanged for a fitted suit with a hint of the military in its cut. “I must say, Didi, this is more of what I expected when I saw you.”
Didi bowed at the compliment, explaining, “I admit I was disheveled, but you do have that effect on people. I seem to recall a poor innkeeper in Tunis…”
Asmodeus waved his hands in surrender, smiling fiendishly. “Alright, no need to bring that up. Lord knows I was very drunk.”
Didi grinned in return, retorting, “True enough. I only hope the palace fairs better than that poor tavern.” He held out his hand, in which rested a white envelope sealed with the coat of arms of Bavaria.
Asmodeus accepted the parcel with a raised eyebrow. “What’s this?”
“A message from His Majesty,” Dieter replied mysteriously.
Asmodeus carefully broke the envelope’s seal and divulged its contents: a folded sheet of stationary. Spidery lines of ink scrawled in loose formation across the surface, a testament to Dieter’s transcriptive abilities in French. Asmodeus peered at the garbled shorthand. “Well, your handwriting hasn’t improved.”
Dieter assumed a nobler posture. “Have you ever written in a second language as you translate from your native tongue? Just read it.”
A brief moment gave Asmodeus the gist of the letter. It was only a few seconds of mental processing later that gave him the intimation. His eyes grew wide; with terror or joy, he could not decide. “We are to dine with King Ludwig this evening,” he asked in a halting manner. “But we’ve only just put things in order!”
Dieter stood at his ease. “I understand, and I apologize for any inconvenience, but the King is very excited. He wanted to get to know your Ringmaster and a few of her choice performers a little better. As you made it possible for the cirque to be here, I felt it fitting you should be present.”
Asmodeus’ fingers fidgeted with the invitation as his teeth made to worry a hole in the side of his lip. “I’m glad you felt that way, though this letter should really go to Colette’s hands. She’s ringmaster, after all. Still, she’ll be none too thrilled. Colette doesn’t seem the regal-dining type; much more relaxed in a dark, back-alley dive.” After a few more seconds thought, he continued, “At any rate, I suppose I should round up the ‘family’ and tell them the good news.”
At that moment something fast and brocade bumped into Asmodeus, sending him a few steps to regain balance. From behind bolts of vary-hued fabrics came a muffled “Excuse me”, while two fiercely burning eyes peered out from between silks and canvas. Asmodeus blinked in confusion. “Alexandra?”
Piles of fabric fell to the ground in a nearly-organized heap as Alexandra gripped him by the arms. “Asmodeus,” she cried in awe, “It sews sails.”
Asmodeus leaned back in her grasp to put a few feet between his face and hers. He always liked being close to her, just not like this. Warily, he asked, “What exactly does?”
“The sewing machines,” Dieter explained, suppressing a chuckle. “It would appear your Freundin has found His Majesty’s costume shop.”
Asmodeus’ eyes went wide like an owl’s, and his gaze swept back and forth between Alexandra and Dieter, while he babbled, “Girlfriend? Well, I… that is to say… you know…”
Alexandra had continued to rant, “It runs on steam and works at least twice as fast as I do by hand. I could mend costumes, repair sails…” but once she heard Dieter’s assumption translated, her eyes snapped into focus and her arms immediately dropped as she reached to pick up her many bolts of color, all the while explaining, “Us? No, certainly… I mean, really…” She and Asmodeus glanced at each other, blushing furiously. Dieter merely chuckled.
Alexandra finished gathering her bundles of cloth and made to head into the keep. “Well! I have a meeting with a seamstress, so if you gentlemen will excuse me…”
“Actually, that’s gonna have to wait.” Asmodeus handed her the summons.
Alexandra gave it a quick read and held it up in front of Asmodeus. “I would say I saw this coming but that would be cliché. You know Colette’s going to kill you for this.
“Yeah, I had a feeling. She’s mad as a hornet about being here. What if we just don’t tell her?” Alexandra leveled a reproachful glare at him. “Yeah, didn’t think that was a valid solution. I guess first thing is to see that Colette gets this invitation and I don’t really want to be nearby when she reads it. I’ll have to find a messenger; someone she won’t attack on sight.” He looked hopefully at Alexandra.
She shook her head. “Not a chance. I drugged and bound her, remember?”
“Hm…” Asmodeus pondered for a moment. A group of children, laughing as children do, ran by, playing some esoteric game. Asmodeus stopped the smallest one, who was lagging behind and waving an oversized pretzel in his hand. Asmodeus crouched down and handed him the stationary, explaining, “Hier ist ein paar Pfennig fuer dich. Sucht das Maedchen von unsere Zirkus. Gebt ihr dieser Breif.” The child nodded quickly, stuck the pretzel in his mouth, took the letter and coins, and ran off, looking in all directions. Asmodeus stood up, triumphant. “Now Colette gets the invitation and I don’t get killed.”
Alexandra looked skeptical. “And what if he finds Marguerite?”
Asmodeus shrugged smugly. “Well, then it’s Marguerite’s problem. She’s invited, anyway.”
Alexandra nodded patronizingly. “And what if he finds Marie?”
Asmodeus dropped his grin. “I hadn’t thought of that; cute little scamp, but not very appropriate for a first impression. I can see her sitting at the king’s table, poking her food around the plate.” Asmodeus’ expression lightened. “On the bright side, if I can barely read Dieter’s French, then I doubt Marie will have any better luck.”
Scowling at this attack on his penmanship, Dieter reached over and took the bolts of fabric from Alexandra, reassuring her that they would be waiting for her in the tower after dinner. “So it’s settled,” he said with a smile. “I will inform his Majesty. Supper will be served in the main hall at six o’clock, sharp. I shall see you all there.” With a click of his heels, a deep bow, and a meaningful glance at Asmodeus, he turned and walked briskly back into the castle, leaving the two standing alone in the courtyard.
Alexandra looked sheepishly at Asmodeus. “What did he mean by girlfriend? What have you been telling him?”
Asmodeus kicked a wayward pebble, muttering, “Nothing. Nothing at all. I mistranslated, assuredly; simply a German word meaning ‘friend who happens to be a girl’.”
Alexandra made a show of pouting. “Well that’s too bad. My cabin is quite comfortable, and I could have poured us some of my special blend of tea.”
Asmodeus’ eyes lit up. “Really?”
“No.”
Asmodeus hunched slightly at the rebuke. Oh, he silently mouthed. Looking up at Alexandra, he continued, “Because, if you wanted…”
Alexandra squared herself, arms akimbo, eyebrow arched. “Yes?”
“You’d have a collapsible bustle after we got done.”
Alexandra moved to an aggressive stance, hand already extending towards Asmodeus cheek, when he clapped his hands together, fixing an unsteady smile on his face. “Which is why it’s good that we have a job to do. Shall we go find Marguerite? Last I left her she was inspecting her new acquisition, not 20 minutes ago.”
Alexandra relaxed slightly. “Certainly, ‘friend who happens to be a man’.” With a wink, she brushed past Asmodeus and out the front gate, Asmodeus in tow.
It did not take long to reach the hangar, the downhill angle lending speed to their steps. A short while later the two were standing before the thick solid oak doors of the hanger, one side left slightly ajar to allow access to the ships within. Asmodeus stepped reverently to the side, indicating Alexandra should go first. She hiked up her skirt fronts and sidled through the opening only to stop immediately inside, staring at the monstrosity before her, for in Alexandra’s opinion, it was surely a monstrosity. No other word quite captured the essence of it. A pastel-shaded white swan of enormous proportion, wings partially outstretched, neck curved back in an ‘s’, squatted ponderously upon the dark stone floor of the hanger. Stained glass eyes stared vacantly to either side, while a sumptuous, if overly embellished, interior was visible through the intricate stained glass portholes along the hull, each depicting great moments of Germanic epics. Couches and divans bearing striped upholstery and thick imported carpets turned a rainbow of hues through the colored panes. Skilled hands and precise eyes had carved ornate scrollwork and minute figures along the railings on the deck, as well as some of the larger beams, while gilt work held sway over all. Alexandra felt something akin to nausea come over her and for a moment seemed fit to faint. Asmodeus, misunderstanding her reaction as awe, moved to check her fall, asking merrily, “Isn’t she among the finest aircraft you’ve ever seen? Took Froderick months just putting the windows together.”
Alexandra, oddly enough, did not feel in the mood to crush his opinions… this time. Ordinarily she delighted in arguing trivial matters, pointing out his flaws or his poor taste, but something in his eyes made her think twice. Or perhaps she was overwhelmed with displeasure and unable to put her opinions into words. Whatever the case, she remained silent, until she realized something was missing. “Asmodeus,” she began, taking a few tentative steps toward the avian. “Where’s Marguerite?”
“Why, most likely touring the ship. I’m sure Froderick’s showing off his mechanism again. He’s quite proud of it.”
Alexandra turned a questioning eye on Asmodeus, then approached the ship, calling, “Marguerite, are you within?”
There were a couple of soft thumping sounds, a stifled giggle, and Marguerite appeared in the doorway to the cabin, fastening the final button of her coat.
