Upon his grandfather's death, the First Prince had declared himself in Mendicant Mourning, and ordered atmospheric rockets to be fired, forcing an artificial winter to fall over much of the Conquered Realms.
Black snow fell continuously for several weeks, destroying crops and killing livestock. Delegations and emissaries were sent, bearing tribute and fine gifts, but all were bared access to the prince, who cared little about the famine he had caused.
He decreed that his subjects suffering would mirror his own, and that all loyal subjects would accept their fate.
He then interred and executed the Second and Third Prince to secure his succession, and retired to the High Spire, with only the Inner Court and a minor harem in attendance.
One early dawn, as the effects of the last of the atmospheric weapons degenerated into thunderstorms and torrential rains, the Red Lady waited quietly in the corridor of the Prince's chambers, where he had barricaded himself for the last week.
She listened to the sound of the Inner Court AI's arguing and bickering by the heavy doors of the chamber. They floated and butted against each other in their constructs, the interference from their colliding G fields spilling a fuzzy blue light down the length of the wide corridor.
The Red Lady occupied a strange position in the First Prince's court. She held no titles or rank, was never listed upon any of the court rolls or minutes, and had no recorded lineage. Her presence was never announced at functions, and she held no estates or fiefs.
Never the less, she was treated with respect, courtesy and affection; because all of those within the court of the First Prince recognised that such obvious invisibility meant that the Red Lady was an enforcer, a statement of quiet but unashamed ruthlessness.
Her apparent non-existence meant, legally, that 'nothing' had killed the First Prince's rivals or enemies - that their death was an accident, or at worse 'misadventure'.
The Red Lady sat for a little longer, before she summon-signalled one of the AI.
The Over-Administer for Finances approached, bobbing respectfully before the Red Lady and flashing a projection of a birch forest by way of welcome.
Swaying in the air before the Red Lady, The Over-Administrator appeared nervous. It was entirely possible that the Red lady made even the AIs nervous.
She had the ageless, robot like face of a geisha, with lacquer black hair and white powder skin; she could have been any age between late adolescence or impossible old age, encased in a the hunched folds of a red silk husk cloak, her age was impossible to judge. Only her hands, as chalk white as her face, with long thin scissor blade fingers, emerged from the depths of the cloak. It was hard to tell whether she was a young firm bodied woman or a withered old hag. She moved silently and as smoothly as oil on glass.
Her voice, when she rarely chose to speak, could be expected to be dreamlike and lilting, or clipped and controlled, but was in fact a rough grating sound, the ragged accent of a gutter waif. And when she ate, it was with the appetite and manners of a starved wild dog. Those thin needle fingers gripping greasy bones, tiny sharp teeth gnawing every scrap of meat from it, her porcelain doll mouth slurping up skin and meat.
She signal-pulsed to the waiting AI.
"I was told the First Prince would be leaving his quarters this morning."
The Over-Administrator bobbed in agreement.
"As were ourselves, My Lady. I trust our concern matches your own."
The Red Lady waved away the politeness.
"Is he well?"
The AI tightlinked to the Marshall Surgeon construct who was involved in the buzzing argument of the other AI at the end of the corridor. The Marshall Surgeon's reply relayed through the Over Administrator to the Red Lady.
"Our Lord and Master has no medical problems. He has not been compromised with Viral or other Biological weaponry, and his vital signs and rhythms remain normal. I blame that game machine for his absence."
At that point, the Chamber door - ornamented black wood, heavily carved with gold leaf peeling slowly from it's exterior - opened slowly, and the First Prince emerged.
He stepped out into the corridor, shooing away the wave of constructs
that surged towards him, and walked unsteadily towards the Red Lady.
He ran a hand over his unshaven face and spoke to one of the constructs.
"I have beaten it. I have beaten the game. Fetch my concubines."
Black snow fell continuously for several weeks, destroying crops and killing livestock. Delegations and emissaries were sent, bearing tribute and fine gifts, but all were bared access to the prince, who cared little about the famine he had caused.
He decreed that his subjects suffering would mirror his own, and that all loyal subjects would accept their fate.
He then interred and executed the Second and Third Prince to secure his succession, and retired to the High Spire, with only the Inner Court and a minor harem in attendance.
One early dawn, as the effects of the last of the atmospheric weapons degenerated into thunderstorms and torrential rains, the Red Lady waited quietly in the corridor of the Prince's chambers, where he had barricaded himself for the last week.
She listened to the sound of the Inner Court AI's arguing and bickering by the heavy doors of the chamber. They floated and butted against each other in their constructs, the interference from their colliding G fields spilling a fuzzy blue light down the length of the wide corridor.
The Red Lady occupied a strange position in the First Prince's court. She held no titles or rank, was never listed upon any of the court rolls or minutes, and had no recorded lineage. Her presence was never announced at functions, and she held no estates or fiefs.
Never the less, she was treated with respect, courtesy and affection; because all of those within the court of the First Prince recognised that such obvious invisibility meant that the Red Lady was an enforcer, a statement of quiet but unashamed ruthlessness.
Her apparent non-existence meant, legally, that 'nothing' had killed the First Prince's rivals or enemies - that their death was an accident, or at worse 'misadventure'.
The Red Lady sat for a little longer, before she summon-signalled one of the AI.
The Over-Administer for Finances approached, bobbing respectfully before the Red Lady and flashing a projection of a birch forest by way of welcome.
Swaying in the air before the Red Lady, The Over-Administrator appeared nervous. It was entirely possible that the Red lady made even the AIs nervous.
She had the ageless, robot like face of a geisha, with lacquer black hair and white powder skin; she could have been any age between late adolescence or impossible old age, encased in a the hunched folds of a red silk husk cloak, her age was impossible to judge. Only her hands, as chalk white as her face, with long thin scissor blade fingers, emerged from the depths of the cloak. It was hard to tell whether she was a young firm bodied woman or a withered old hag. She moved silently and as smoothly as oil on glass.
Her voice, when she rarely chose to speak, could be expected to be dreamlike and lilting, or clipped and controlled, but was in fact a rough grating sound, the ragged accent of a gutter waif. And when she ate, it was with the appetite and manners of a starved wild dog. Those thin needle fingers gripping greasy bones, tiny sharp teeth gnawing every scrap of meat from it, her porcelain doll mouth slurping up skin and meat.
She signal-pulsed to the waiting AI.
"I was told the First Prince would be leaving his quarters this morning."
The Over-Administrator bobbed in agreement.
"As were ourselves, My Lady. I trust our concern matches your own."
The Red Lady waved away the politeness.
"Is he well?"
The AI tightlinked to the Marshall Surgeon construct who was involved in the buzzing argument of the other AI at the end of the corridor. The Marshall Surgeon's reply relayed through the Over Administrator to the Red Lady.
"Our Lord and Master has no medical problems. He has not been compromised with Viral or other Biological weaponry, and his vital signs and rhythms remain normal. I blame that game machine for his absence."
At that point, the Chamber door - ornamented black wood, heavily carved with gold leaf peeling slowly from it's exterior - opened slowly, and the First Prince emerged.
He stepped out into the corridor, shooing away the wave of constructs
that surged towards him, and walked unsteadily towards the Red Lady.
He ran a hand over his unshaven face and spoke to one of the constructs.
"I have beaten it. I have beaten the game. Fetch my concubines."
What was that Iain M. Banks book you recommended? I can't remember the title.
Peace.