Salem's Witches (Neitherlands Book 1), page 20
“I am many things, but not a criminal. When nice officers of the law came asking about you I told them the truth. I was not going to be part of your subversive, religiomistic plan. It was bad for my image, and what am I without it? I did what any decent person would have done. Also, there was a reward involved.”
“Salem…” Laura tried not to let her anger get the better of her. “You turned us in. Salem, we were your friends. And you turned us in because we didn’t agree with the religion you chose to follow. A religion you chose based on popularity, and that you know is involved in shady dealings. Yet you had no problem turning us in and letting us rot in jail. This is…” She got up, holding Veronika the toad in her arms. “This is unacceptable.”
“What’s unacceptable is you lot breaking and entering, that’s what. I’m calling the Dominatrix right now, you’ll see!” A noise came from the parrotphone that sounded like another parrotphone. “Operator? Please connect me to the Dominion line!”
The operator asked Salem to wait a moment. Moments later, while the witches scrambled to grab anything they could that could be of use later, a guard’s voice came on.
“New Wakilork City Watch, may I know who this is?”
“This is Salem, and I have to report that—”
“Hello sir! I’m Harry, the parrotphone parrotphone security salesman!” said a new, far too-loud voice, “And you have been chosen to receive an incredible offer!”
“What is this!” said Salem. “I was just talking to the guard! I’m not interested in any security systems. Now put me back with the guard, I have something to report!”
“I could put you back with the guard, but first, wouldn’t you want to consider my offer! Just look at how easily I hijacked your phone! Wouldn’t it be bad if this happened during an important call!”
“This was an important call, you gormster!” Salem screamed. “Put me back!”
“I will put you back, but only after you’ve heard my amazing, almost crazy offer! For just three hundred dominions you can get a talisman preventing anyone from ever barging into your parrotphone conversations again! Isn’t it tempting!”
“I was talking to the guard. This is ridiculous! It was an official call!”
“What is ridiculous is how easily anyone can listen in on or take control of other people’s parrotphone calls! But with the Parrotphone Security Pro all those issues are a thing of the past! You’ll have a secure parrotphone, forever! Now won’t you buy one or more of our excellent devices!”
“I want none of this! Put me back!”
“If you order today we’ll give you a parrotphone-themed postcard for free! And if you get three or more of our devices we’ll also add a coupon for a thirty-percent discount on a separate order from us! Coupon valid for five days, only from two to three in the afternoon, and in orders lower than fifty dominions.”
“It’s like my line has been taken hostage! Put me back, I was reporting a crime! The thieves probably left already!”
As Salem feared, his atelier was empty and the witches had escaped.
“And none of this would have happened had you been using the Parrotphone Security Three-Thousand! Now, since you don’t sound convinced, there are a few testimonies from our users I would like to read to you…”
Salem screamed in frustration.
The mysterious flyers that had come out of nowhere had reached a sizeable group. By Friday night, several hundred people gathered in Dominion Park, most of them carrying said flyers as if they were invitations.
One of those attendants was, of course, agent Leggy. Although he wasn’t expecting it to, he hoped the meeting would finish early since he had lots of things to do on a Friday night. He sat by a tree, bored, and thinking perhaps joining the Secret Service hadn’t been his brightest moment.
The second of those attendants was a Quackologist woman. The flyers had landed all over the city, one of those having the gall of landing in the courtyard of the Quackologist compound. There, this woman found it. Unable to read, she had grabbed it and brought it to her supervisor. Her supervisor had read it and, aghast, sent her to meet one of the counselors. On reading it, the counselor, horrified, told her she had to go to the Overlord. The Overlord, who was a much nicer man than the title might suggest, at first greeted her with a smile. Then he read the paper and sent her straight to Antoine LeFlay.
Antoine LeFlay hadn’t been nice, because Antoine LeFlay wasn’t paid to be nice, and if they offered to pay him to do so, Antoine LeFlay would just quit. He got started with Standard Torture Proceedings without asking a thing, but then the woman had the great idea of mentioning the piece of paper while he measured her knuckles. Curious, he asked for it, and she complied with his request.
He instantly turned red, green, blue, yellow, green again, and a few shades of colors as of yet unnamed. His eyes went bloodshot, his mouth foamed, and his demeanor became ruder than usual. He measured her to build a stake, telling her she’d be convicted, tried, and executed in a matter of hours for what she had done, then placed her on the wheel while he sent a letter to the Quackologist Grand Jury to expedite her proceedings. She spent two hours there, until a letter arrived. LeFlay opened it gleefully while telling her she would be dead within a day.
The letter happened to be one from T. Peter Howard, demanding the woman be released and put under his custody. Displaying more than just a little disappointment, LeFlay let her go while muttering something about finding the rat who’d been feeding information to forbidden actors in his play.
T. Peter Howard was nothing but magnanimous. He was a perfect example of what a religious leader should be, and treated the woman in a way nobody had in years. He asked to read the mysterious flyer and, on reading it, he didn’t become angry or tell her she had to see the Dominatrix or anything like that.
Instead he asked her to infiltrate a meeting and then report to him.
And that’s how she got there. She was loyal to Quackology and, for what she had seen, these people weren’t. It made her sick. She was going to tell.
The third set of people of note in the crowd was, of course, Salem’s Witches. Laura had found one of the flyers while they escaped Salem’s house and, after considering it, they had decided to attend. After all, if somebody was to start a resistance against the church that had taken away their jobs, their freedom, their legal standing, and at least partly their boss, they had to be a part of it. There was just no other way.
The fourth important character in the crowd was a certain blue-haired individual who had sworn not to get in the way of the Church of Quackology anymore. As anyone knows, when people swear things they have the responsibility to make sure things happen as they say at the moment.
Betelgeuse was very bad at being a responsible person. The only reason he was somewhat effective as an investigator was his love for gossip, something his chosen career path included lots of. So, as he had come to expect of himself, the moment a crow, of all birds, had brought one of those flyers through his window, he decided to go and see what the whole thing was about.
He told himself repeatedly he was obligated to attend, for it was likely he’d be exposed to information Desiderio wasn’t privy to, which meant he’d be able to report on it and obtain a nice bonus for a job well done. Not to mention it was possible that the crow was Desiderio’s, and the man kept testing his resolve.
But in truth, it was just curiosity and a burning desire to know what was going on with that church he’d been forbidden from investigating that drove him there.
Annabella made her way through the dense crowd. As she moved, nobody seemed to mind her presence or even know who she was. They opened to let her pass, but in a way more or less any crowd would open to let anyone who really wants to go through.
She walked up the ruins of an ancient stage from when political rallies were still a thing in the city and stood behind a just as old, probably dangerous podium.
No one paid her any attention. For all they knew, or for all they seemed to think, she was there to sweep the stage before the real representative or representatives of the rebellion arrived.
She coughed the kind of cough people do when they want everybody in the room to shut up and listen to them. Nobody did. She coughed again and, was once again ignored, except for a handful of people near the stage.
Those people moved a few steps away, as if she was showing signs of the plague.
“Will you people listen?” she eventually said.
A few faces turned to her and some went silent, but most didn’t seem interested in her, or perhaps they all had found much better gossip. “Well, will you?” she repeated, “Or did you lot only come here to gossip like teenage girls?”
This time there was a more widespread silence. An atmosphere of hatred was also brewing, like those preceding a lynching. “I’m under the impression that everyone who came here did so for a specific reason. And, unless those flyers most of you seem to be carrying are calling for a party, I know what that reason is, for I called this meeting.”
Silence reigned over the park for a moment. Annabella, inexperienced in dealing with crowds, thought she’d done it and from then on they’d become her army, no questions asked and no proof needed.
Then somebody laughed, and another joined them. A third, higher-pitched voice joined in the laughter. Several people seemed to find it funny that a lone woman had called for the meeting, while the majority became a silent majority, complicit in the mocking.
She didn’t know what to do, for people who take a stage for something serious rarely ever expect to be laughed at, and almost never know what to do should that happen. She stood there, giving the crowd, or at least the laughing parts of it, a stern glare.
At first, it seemed to her that was it: She had failed at her task to unite an army behind her banner because no one took her seriously.
But then two women got onto the stage. They stood at her side, and stared at the crowd with her. They were followed by another man and woman, and during the following minutes more joined them. Soon enough she wasn’t the only one facing the crowd, for twelve people accompanied her.
Those who had been laughing stopped, because laughing at thirteen people who seem quite annoyed is rarely ever a good idea.
“Good to see you all have come to your senses,” said Annabella, feeling oddly supported by twelve complete strangers. “As for the ones who attempted to disrupt our meeting and thus doom our crusade against Quackology, they shall be tried and punished for their sin. If any of those people were by your side, help us catch them. There’s hardly a worse traitor than he who lacks belief in a cause.”
To Annabella’s surprise, most everyone in the crowd obeyed her. Just a few minutes later she had about twenty people tied and presented to her.
“Put them aside. Right now, we have more important things to discuss, like the treachery of the Church of Quackology.”
The crowd listened intently, as crowds do when a leader is rising. And Annabella told her story in the vaguest of ways, because a good mystery always makes a leader stronger. Once she had finished explaining the absolutely altruistic, not at all vengeful reasons she wanted to destroy the Church of Quackology, yet another unexpected thing happened.
The crowd cheered and began to applause, while her twelve self-proclaimed aides smiled.
She didn’t know where those people had come from and felt more than just a little scared of suddenly having twelve random people declare themselves her inner circle, for it seemed a dangerous position in which to place herself.
Yet she couldn’t argue against how effective it was to have them onstage with her. Just as she couldn’t argue against the talents of at least one of them who had just decided to address the crowd. It was a tall, thin woman with long, black dreadlocks.
“I’m Morrìgan,” she said. “Just Morrìgan. Last names are unnecessary, and if anyone in the crowd shares my name they should get a new one, for from now on whenever anyone mentions my name, it will be me they speak of. Understood?”
A murmur came from the crowd in what seemed to be agreement. Not that it seemed wise to disagree with that woman.
“We all are here to get rid of the blight that is the Church of Quackology, but let me say the very first, most important thing of all: Nobody, not one person, will take any actions against them that haven’t been approved by the Maid of New Wakilork and reviewed by me. Is that understood? There will be no acts of wanton destruction or random attacks, and no comments of any kind that could put our victory at stake.”
Another murmur rippled through the crowd. This time a certain degree of disappointment could be heard, although the specific sources were difficult to trace. Annabella wouldn’t have been able to trace it anyway, for she was too busy thinking about that title she’d just had randomly bestowed. The Maid of New Wakilork… It had a nice ring to it. She was keeping it.
“If anyone disagrees,” said Morrìgan, who seemed to dislike people disliking her words, no matter how few, “feel free to raise your hand. Or, if you want to make yourself useful, feel free to join that group there.” She pointed to the people Annabella had arrested. “And we’ll deal with you later.”
The crowd became silent. Annabella was ecstatic, and scared, at how Morrìgan could control them. She would have expected everyone to just go away after she said what she did, but instead they remained. They had what seemed like a terrible, unforgiving woman ordering them around, and they just stood there listening.
For a moment, Annabella had a glimpse of the reasons the Dominion worked as well as it did.[29]
“Now, as the chief strategist of the rebellion, I declare this meeting over. You all have done well, Warriors of the Truth. The maid called, and you came. Now go home and wait for our next step, which you will learn of in time. The maid and her high circle must now retreat to discuss strategy and make plans. Fare thee well, Warriors of the Truth. You have served your maid well today, and in time you shall be rewarded.”
Not one person moved. Everyone stood there, staring at Morrìgan. Even Annabella, who had no clue what to do, resorted to staring.
Eventually a single hand in the crowd rose.
“What is it?”
“Do we…do we have to go now? I mean, if you all are going, may we stay?” said the person. Their voice was shaky, but there was something else to it. It sounded like longing.
“We’ll retreat, but it’s up to you all what you do as long as you don’t go around burning churches. What are you thinking of?”
“I was thinking we could, you know…since the meeting went well and we are going to destroy Quackology and all… Would a welcome party be too much to ask?”
Whatever Morrìgan thought went unsaid, for immediately after the lone voice mentioned a party, said party started. People began to sing whatever they thought of, groups got together to dance and, of course, booze came out of nowhere[30] to quench the thirst of the army. And so, while Annabella and her newfound, unknown, possibly dangerous high circle went away, led by Morrìgan, the party raged on in Dominion Park, with constant cheers for the Maid of New Wakilork.
T. Peter Howard sat at his desk. He seldom left his office anymore. Why would he? He had the most luxurious suite in the whole city right there. Naturally, that went against what he preached, but what his followers didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. If they wanted to think of him as an amazing, self-sacrificing man who spent his days up in his office with barely any food and no commodities while doing his best to manage the whole Church of Quackology and overthrow Xianuu, the more power to them. They were happy believing that, and he was happy not being that. Everyone won.
Somebody knocked on his door. He scanned the office quickly, to make sure everything was in order, and let them in.
It was that woman he had sent to the suspicious meeting at the park, whatshername. He could rarely remember the names of his many followers, and he wasn’t even sure she had even told him hers. He decided she’d be called Gertrude, for that name was as good as any. If she complained, he could always just say her original name had horrible ties to Xianuu, and therefore it had to be changed.
“So tell me, Lisa, how did that meeting go?” he said, once Etheldreda had reached his desk. It wasn’t a horribly long way, but most of his followers had a tendency to walk and do everything slowly. It drove him crazy.
Ursula told him the meeting had been mostly an effort from a woman to raise an army against the Church of Quackology. This took her a while, for a handful of reasons, primarily because she was completely smashed. Due to her having been ordered to attend the meeting until the end, this meant staying there for the duration of the party. And, since attending a party and not drinking was considered poor manners, she had drunk like a Cossack. Her breath alone was enough to make anyone near her drunk.
She also spoke really slowly. This drove Howard up the wall, for he was anxious to have her gone so he could return to his usual schedule.[31]
In addition, the woman had the absurd need, perhaps out of drunkenness or perhaps out of deep admiration, to hand out compliments like candy every third phrase and go on with it for minutes on end. This one was probably the most annoying of all, for Howard didn’t much like direct compliments such as this. He loved being loved and admired, but from afar. If people were to come near him, they had better come bearing gifts.
“Can you tell me something?” said Howard, having heard the whole story about the crazy night—including several rather personal stories about what Marietta did while drunk he would have rather not heard. “Who was this woman you speak of, the one who called for the meeting?”
“The Maid of New Wakilork,” said Alanna, slurring her words and making an apparent effort not to pass out right there.
“Yes, I know that. But what was her name. The real one. Somebody must have said it, right?”
“Oh…yes, somebody did, once or twice. It was… Uh…” Giselle seemed to struggle to remember the maid’s name. “Somethingsomething Bostwick I think.” She fell asleep on the desk.
