Cutlerine
Gone. May or may not return.
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- Age 30
- The Misspelled Cyrpt
- Seen Mar 15, 2014
Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Princess Lied
The presence of Steven Stone at the parties of Hoenn's social elite is not so very extraordinary. He is usually to be found in the midst of a knot of admirers, expounding enthusiastically on geology, or at the back of the room, leaning against the wall and watching the people interact before him.
However, when Steven Stone comes to a party accompanied by two young women whom no one has ever heard of before, it causes something of a stir.
For no one knows who Steven Stone's friends are, or who it is that he met on his extensive travels around the globe. Never before had he been known to bring anyone from abroad back to Hoenn – but then again, no one was entirely sure at which of his many homes he actually lived, so it wasn't known where they would have gone.
Consequently, when the young man entered Archie's house that night, accompanied by a daughter of a well-known Johtonian mining family and a rather plain Swedish princess, those nearby turned to stare in well-bred surprise, and a light murmur ran through the crowd.
"Mister Steven Stone," announced the doorman to the room at large, "and Miss Nicola Courthauld, of the Ecruteak Courthaulds, and the Princess Ingred Sørensen of Sweden."
Steven gazed benevolently over the heads of the partygoers; his Kantan heritage meant that he was taller than most Hoennians.
"Good evening," he said. "Carry on."
And he swept into the crowd, taking a drink from a passing tray-bearer and trailing two rather lost-looking young girls behind him.
---
"Yes," said Steven, "Ingrid is currently travelling the world, to gain some experience of other cultures before ascending to the throne." He turned to Ingrid and said something rapidly in what might well have been Swedish; for a moment, Ingrid looked startled, and then she nodded.
Archie squinted at Ingrid. She looked rather familiar, but he was certain they hadn't met before. Tall, rather inelegant and somewhat gawky, she had a face that was, if not the most attractive Archie had ever seen, certainly one of the more interesting. She had long hair that was just red enough that it had to be dyed, and a perpetually nervous look on her face. Archie supposed that Hoenn probably seemed rather intimidating to foreigners, especially those from as far afield as Sweden; it had a great many differences from, and very few similarities to, the rest of the world.
Nicola Courthauld, on the other hand, seemed to be rather enjoying herself. She was a good deal prettier, but she was Johtonian, which was a downside – Hoenn and Johto were something like England and Scotland, or America and France, in that they were both irrationally prejudiced against each other for some long-past historical slight. The Courthaulds were, however, a family worth knowing: they controlled the biggest mining company in the Grand Pacific Custer. Nicola had the black hair common to the family, and wore wire-rimmed glasses perched low on the bridge of her nose. Like Ingrid, she seemed vaguely familiar – perhaps even more so.
"And Nicola was just here to visit me," Steven continued, regarding Archie with a strange sort of absent-minded perspicacity. "The Courthaulds always send their kids over to meet me; I'm quite the geology tutor when I set my mind to it."
"Is that so?" murmured Archie. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen the girls before somewhere; in the end, he put it down to nerves. Tonight was a big night; he had to get those who had funded the quest for the Blue Orb onto the submarine, get there himself and set sail for the deep-sea cavern where the Orb was being hidden. The investors wanted to see the plan come to fruition, and Archie couldn't blame them; they'd put a lot of money into this. He'd let them witness the resurrection of Kyogre—
"Mister Taniebre?" said Steven. It seemed he'd been speaking for a minute or two, and received no answer.
"What?" Archie blinked, and caught sight of a man who might or might not have been Captain Ernesto Stern (Retired) in disguise coming in through the door, arm in arm with a young woman that he would probably claim was his daughter. "Ah. Oh, would you excuse me for a moment?"
"Certainly," Steven said. He didn't seem unduly put out, but as Archie walked across the room, he felt those green, green eyes on his back all the way.
---
"Steven!" I hissed, retreating from a group of people who wanted to get introduced to a princess. "When can I get out of here?"
Had enough already? I'm quite enjoying this. I can't remember the last time I was at a swanky cocktail party. Which is probably because I've never been to one before, but still.
"Be quiet, Ingrid," Sapphire said with a wicked grin, and took a sip of her champagne. "The time isn't right yet."
"Nicola is right," said Steven, "it's not— oh, hello, Miss Mortensen. Ah, if you would do me the courtesy of returning in just a moment...? Thank you." He turned back to us. "Um – yes, Nicola is right." He glanced around; to our right were the pianist and violinist, and, to our left, someone I vaguely recognised as being one of the Fallarbor film producers, talking to a gaggle of pretty but not-very-famous actresses. "No one knows you. People are going to want to talk to you, and most people are going to want to speak to me, as well. Give us an hour to mingle, and then I'll see if I can find an opportunity for you to slip off."
"You're not coming?" I asked, surprised.
"I have to keep people distract— Why, if it isn't the Admiral!"
I looked up, and saw a deeply-tanned man in a white suit approaching us. He was bald, rather wrinkly, and had big, bulging eyes.
He looks like a piece of calamari that decided it had had enough of being dead, Puck said. What's more surprising is that he's making that look work for him. Not many people can carry that off, you know.
"Steven," said the Admiral. "It's been a while."
His voice was deep, gruff and incredibly rough; either he had a throat full of gravel, or he'd been smoking for longer than most people actually live.
"It certainly has," Steven agreed. "Admiral, I'd like to introduce you to two friends of mine. This is Miss Nicola Courthauld, and this is Princess Ingrid Sørensen of Sweden."
"Pleased to meet you," Sapphire said, affecting a Johtonian accent – she was pretty good at it, too. She shook the Admiral's hand, and then I did too; instead of saying anything, I just smiled.
"Regrettably, the Princess speaks no Hoennian," Steven said apologetically.
"That so? A princess?" This seemed to have been the only part of the conversation the Admiral had picked up on. "I knew a princess once. Good woman, and a damn fine shot, too."
"I see," said Sapphire, who probably didn't.
"Admiral," began Steven, but the old man had already wandered off, and was talking animatedly to a rather surprised-looking waiter.
"That was rude," Sapphire said crossly; I suppressed a laugh.
"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!"
Zing! Wait, whose side am I on? I think I'm on Sapphire's. Boo, Kester! I mean, boo, Ingrid!
Sapphire looked like she might argue, but Steven broke the confrontation up before it began.
"No fighting now, girls."
"Don't call me that—!"
"For the purposes of this evening, you are a girl, Ingrid," Steven said, a hint of steel creeping into his voice. "We went over this in some detail. This is the last guise they'll expect you to come in."
"Yes. Shut up, Ingrid."
I glowered at Sapphire for about ten seconds, then my face got tired and I had to stop.
"Come," said Steven, his usual geniality reasserting itself. "Let us mingle."
He took me by the arm and led me away, back towards the main crowd. Sapphire drifted along beside me.
The time passed nervously and miserably. I'd thought someone would be bound to see through my disguise, but no one did; I think they would have done had they not thought it a ridiculous idea that a boy might be here in disguise as a girl, and that Steven would be helping him. The plan seemed to be founded on the principle that people will always more readily believe a really big, crazy lie than a little one, and that therefore they'd be more willing to believe a seventeen-year-old boy was the Princess of Sweden than a slightly different seventeen-year-old boy.
If I'd been able to get over the fact that I was in the house of someone who wanted to capture and probably torture me, in drag and with a snide Rotom in my head, I might have been able to enjoy the situation. There was booze, which was good, and a lot of famous people, which was better. I was introduced to at least three famous directors, seven members of the Hoennian aristocracy, about ten wealthy businesspeople and aspiring starlets without number. I think a couple of the last saw me staring at them, because they gave me some very odd looks.
At long last, though, we'd managed to rid ourselves of the limelight, and people were now gravitating towards a new arrival who'd just been announced as the Prince of Denmark; he was a couple of years older than me, with a wild look in his eye. I remember him because he was all dressed in black and wore a sword.
"I don't mean to interrupt your enjoyment of the festivities," Steven said, apparently sincerely, "but look over there."
I did. Archie had taken the Admiral to one side, and was speaking quietly and urgently into his ear; as I watched, he finished and walked out with him, through a side door.
"They're moving people into the base," Steven murmured. "Nicola, Ingrid, follow Archie and find the way in. I shall cover for you."
"The Admiral's one of theirs?" Sapphire asked, surprised. "Why are you friends with him?"
"No one said I was friends with him," Steven said, with a faint, chilling grin. "I don't have friends, just tactical acquaintances." He blinked. "Excepting your good selves, of course. Now, go on! You've a secret lair to infiltrate."
Bit creepy, that, Puck said uneasily. No friends, just tactical acquaintances... ominous words, if ever I heard them.
Sapphire and I detached ourselves from the crowd of partygoers and crept over to the side door through which Archie and the Admiral had left. It wasn't locked, and with a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, we slipped through.
We were now in a darkened corridor, handsomely panelled in tropical hardwoods; the same ultramarine shag carpet from the main room covered the floor. I couldn't see anyone ahead – nor could I see anything ahead that was more than a few metres away; it was very dark indeed.
Immediately, I sat down on the floor and started wrenching at my shoes. The heels, while not the highest I'd ever seen, were definitely the highest I'd ever worn, and for the last few hours had been busily torturing my feet with all the fervour of the Spanish Inquisition.
"You have no stamina," said Sapphire scornfully. "Mine are higher, and I'm not taking them off."
"That's because you've done this before," I growled up at her. "I, on the other hand, am not a girl and have never worn these before."
Also, she wants to prove her superiority over you, for it is only in treating you as a second-class citizen that she can distance herself from her imaginary feelings for you. Puck sighed. Man, love's complicated. I'm glad I'm not capable of it – it's too long-term for Rotom, you see. We're too capricious and obsessed with transitory vanities to build meaningful relationships.
I stood up again, wriggled my toes in the soft carpet and sighed.
"Right," I said, "I suppose we go down here, then?"
"You suppose correctly," Sapphire replied, taking off her glasses. "Come on. Leave your shoes here; we'll get them on the way out."
I propped them up against the wall in a corner, marvelling at the fact that I'd been able to stand in them at all, let alone walk, and then turned to follow Sapphire down the corridor.
"There are a lot of doors," I whispered, after we'd passed the first five.
"I know. But none of them have any guards, so I don't think they're the right ones."
"Guards?" I asked. "No one said anything about guards—"
"If you can take those Magma guys, Blake and Fabien, you can take these," Sapphire reasoned. "Besides, I brought Stacey." I hadn't realised it was possible to conceal a Poké Ball in the close-fitting black dress she was wearing, but evidently Steven's tailor was a wizard of some kind, because she produced one seemingly from nowhere.
Simple quantum sewing mechanics, Puck said knowledgeably. I stole some stuff like this from the Milan fashion houses once. The dress redistributes mass to change the perceived shape. Usually, it's used to make people look thinner – but in this case, it conceals the bulge of the Poké Ball in the secret pocket.
"What about Toro and Rono? Why don't I get a full complement of back-up Pokémon?"
"Because they're no good against Water-types, and Water-types are the ones that Team Aqua use," Sapphire told me. "Have you learned anything during the last two weeks?"
I thought for a moment.
"All Trainers are crazy," I said, slowly and with great deliberation.
This isn't relevant or anything, but... has anyone else noticed how long this corridor is? Corridors this long don't actually exist in real life. They terminate, like Arnold Schwarzenegger.
"Is that it?" Sapphire asked. "That's all you've learned?"
"Pretty much," I admitted. "I mean, it's not like I've been at school. If I'd been there, I'd probably have learned about Manila Torrence's campaign against the Spanish*—"
"Sssh!"
Sapphire held up one hand for silence, and put the other over my mouth for good measure. I listened, and heard voices.
"Do you think anyone actually comes here?" asked one.
"I dunno," replied another.
"And what's with the lights? This isn't a film. We don't need dramatic lighting, so why not turn them on?"
"I dunno."
I got the feeling that this line of conversation had been going on for a while.
"I don't see the need for all this cloak-and-dagger stuff, either," the first voice went on. "Sneaking people in here with the cocktail party as cover... Why not just disguise 'em and have come in normally?"
"I dunno."
"Why—?"
"Actually," the second voice said, "I do know why there's a party."
There was an expectant silence. Then:
"Well?"
"The boss likes cocktail parties."
"Oh. That's me told, then."
You know what would be funny? Puck said. It would be funny if this was part of Zero's plan, and he told Archie to give the cocktail party just because he knew Steven would have the idea of this disguise for you and wanted to see you suffer.
I looked at Sapphire, and Sapphire looked at me.
"What is with these people?" I whispered.
She shrugged.
"They're all like this, remember? Not a sane one among them. Anyway," she went on, "they're behind this door."
She indicated one, and, listening harder, I confirmed that she was right.
"The entrance to the base must be in there," Sapphire whispered. "On the count of three, we go in and you shoot them. Three."
"What about Stacey?" I hissed frantically.
"She can't be quiet, so she's our last resort. Two."
"Wait, we should prepare—!"
"One!"
---
"TABITHA!"
There was no need to dispatch a lackey to fetch him. Tabitha could have heard Maxie's roar from halfway to Timbuktu; he thought that the normal laws of the universe, frightened by the anger it carried, probably didn't dare interfere with it. Either that, or Maxie had some Exploud blood in him somewhere – though how that might work was an area too disturbing to contemplate.
Suffice to say, the coffee in the mug on Tabitha's desk jumped when the sound reached it; Tabitha himself leaped up out of his chair, thinking the boss was just behind him, before his pounding heart calmed down and reason asserted itself. Maxie was in his office, staring at the Red Orb; that was where he had been ever since the thing had been brought back here.
Dragging his feet, Tabitha trudged dutifully to Maxie's chamber, wondering what exactly it was that he had done now, and why it was always him that was blamed for things and not Courtney. He supposed she must be better at her job than he was at his – though what exactly it was that Courtney's job entailed he couldn't exactly have said.
He arrived at the door and knocked.
"Get in here!"
Tabitha drew himself up to his full height and smoothed his hood, determined not to come across as quite as pathetic as he usually did, pushed open the doors and strode in. Directly in front of him was Maxie, his shark-like face contorted in fury, and immediately Tabitha shrank back again, nervous.
What was even more surprising was that Courtney was here; she was standing off to the right, looking steadily into the far corner, away from both Tabitha and Maxie.
"You, er, called, sir?" Tabitha said hesitantly.
"Why didn't we know about this?" Maxie ripped a newspaper from his desk and thrust it into Tabitha's hands so hard that the middle bit came out, and the Admin was left holding the corners.
This only served to anger Maxie further, and he snatched the centre part from the floor with all the passion of Juliet stabbing herself.
"Read it!" he snarled. "Why didn't we know about it sooner?"
Tabitha scanned the headline. It read:
TEAM AQUA RETURN TO HIGH CRIME: SUBMARINE STOLEN IN SLATEPORT
"Submarine...?" Tabitha didn't see it. "Why do we need to know—?"
"You want me to spell it out for you?"
Tabitha fought the urge to run: Maxie's voice had gone quiet, and acquired a tone that made it sound almost reasonable. It was when he was in this frame of mind that he did things that he would later regret – or rather, did things that other people would later regret. Maxie did not, as far as Tabitha knew, possess a capacity to regret something as trivial as murder.
"Look, Tabitha," said Maxie, and his smile was like a string of flints, "do you agree that the Aquas were behind the attack on the Weather Institute?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm glad we're singing from the same page of the hymn-book," Maxie said. He turned and started striding carelessly back towards his desk. "So what do you think they got out of that attack, Tabitha?"
"They got their men back?"
Maxie stopped with his back to Tabitha, and waved his hand in a way that indicated that this was true, but not correct. Courtney still did not look at them.
"Close, but no cigar. They did get something, but it was something they didn't have before. Something they really wanted."
The penny dropped.
"They got the location of the Blue Orb?"
Maxie spun around and snapped his fingers.
"Now we're cooking with gas," he said, smile broadening. "So why do you think they've stolen a submarine, after no big out-in-the-open crimes for years?"
"They... need it to get to the Blue Orb," Tabitha said, the colour draining from his face. This was something he ought to have seen coming. Intelligence came under his remit.
"So, Tabitha, there just remains one question." Maxie walked over to him, and his hard, angry eyes stared into Tabitha's from just an inch away. "Why didn't you work this out before?"
"I..."
Tabitha had no answer. Maxie nodded understandingly.
"I thought so," he said. "Now go and find out where they're going, and stop them."
Eager to be out of there, Tabitha turned to leave.
"Oh – one more thing?" Maxie said, as he reached the door. Tabitha stopped and looked back.
"Tabitha's a woman's name," the Magma leader said sourly, and punched him in the face.
---
Barry had not had a good week. It had been ruined, really, as soon as the whole Ominous Wind incident had taken place. From there, it had gone from bad to worse, and now he was standing guard in Archie's house, ignoring his loquacious colleague and feeling sorry for himself. Barry didn't know what the word 'loquacious' meant, but then again, he didn't really know what 'colleague' meant either. One might well be bored upon hearing this – after all, the point has been somewhat laboured – but I will reiterate here that Barry was a moron.
Tonight, he was a bored moron, and in a few moments' time, he would be a semiconscious moron.
For he was standing in a small, sparsely-furnished room that housed a steel door leading into the headquarters of Team Aqua. On the other side of the room's other door, a rather pretty girl and a rather plain transvestite were preparing to – as Barry himself might have put it – bring the pain.
Three seconds before the door opened, Barry was staring vacantly into space.
With two seconds to go, he was wondering what the name of that song that went 'da da de da da' was.
And at the final second, he was reeling under the impact of the realisation that almost all songs can be written down as 'da da de da da'.
Barry had still not recovered fully from this when the door burst open, which did not bode well. Then again, Barry was also a rather two-dimensional character whose primary characteristics were anger and stupidity, and who existed purely to be abused, so perhaps he was destined to lose the ensuing confrontation.
Whatever the reason, he did. As the door opened, a crackling bolt of yellow lightning slammed into his chest, and his head snapped back into the wall with a painful jolt. To his credit, he didn't pass out; he lumbered forwards with an incoherent roar and lashed out at the first thing he saw.
This was rather unfortunate for all concerned. Barry had grabbed what appeared to him to be a somewhat ugly red-haired girl in a green dress; since very few teenage girls attacked the headquarters of criminal organisations, he was startled into not punching her immediately. It took him a full half second to overcome his aversion to hitting women, by which time the girl had become charged with lightning, and the punch, therefore, caused something of a small explosion.
When the dust cleared, Barry found himself lying on his back, atop something lumpy; leaping back to his feet, he found it was the other guard. He was, regrettably, dead, but at least he had stopped talking.
Before him stood two girls, one pretty and one plain. Both looked startled, but, equally, both had an unusual amount of fire in their eyes. Barry's simple brain clicked through a list of possibilities, pointed at 'Felicity' and jumped to the not-entirely-incorrect conclusion that his life was being invaded by ridiculously pugnacious teenage girls.
"Get out of the way, Barry," said the black-haired girl – the pretty one. "We don't care about you."
Barry blinked.
"How do you know my name?" he demanded.
The black-haired girl sighed.
"Ingrid?" she asked.
The other girl looked unhappy, but raised a hand and fired another beam of electricity into Barry's chest. The big Aqua went down hard, and didn't get up again; he was not yet unconscious, merely in tremendous pain, though this had much the same effect.
"Ingrid," gasped Barry inaudibly, as the two girls stepped over him, heading for the door. "Lightning..." His brain raced to complete its current
calculations before it stopped functioning, and fudged a couple of figures to get it done in time. "Kester Ruby has a sister!" cried Barry, finding the only possible explanation, and passed out.
---
Steven lounged elegantly against a sideboard, eyes roving around the room like a hawk watching its field. He noted the young woman coming in through the main door, announced quietly as Lady Amaranth of Emberglow; he observed the pale youth all dressed in black, slipping silently through the side door that led into the dark corridor.
Steven's mouth turned down at the corners, very slightly.
"Things are about to get complicated," he murmured to himself. Then he smiled broadly and sailed forth through the crowd, aiming for Lady Amaranth, and caught her lightly by the arm. "My lady," he said, bowing slightly. "What a pleasure it is to see you again."
Amaranth looked slightly flustered, and Steven steered her away gently, taking her over to the side.
"I'm sorry, have we met—"
"In actual fact we have, my dear, though you were very young at the time; I doubt you'd remember me. We were both waiting for our fathers to come out of a business meeting, about fifteen years ago. As I recall, you ate all my chocolate and made the toys sticky." Steven looked straight at Amaranth, and his smile faded. "I have also met the Lady Emberglow, and since she is currently in Spain, I was somewhat surprised to hear her announced."
The faux Lady stood there for a moment, eyes wide; in them, Steven could read that oft-vocalised thought: oh, cal.
"Come, my dear, your cover will be blown if you act like that," Steven went on. "Here, have a champagne – have a canapé – there you go, that looks more natural. Now, I think we ought to have a little chat. Firstly, about how unusually lax the security here seems to be – and secondly, about why you are here, Miss Stern."
The presence of Steven Stone at the parties of Hoenn's social elite is not so very extraordinary. He is usually to be found in the midst of a knot of admirers, expounding enthusiastically on geology, or at the back of the room, leaning against the wall and watching the people interact before him.
However, when Steven Stone comes to a party accompanied by two young women whom no one has ever heard of before, it causes something of a stir.
For no one knows who Steven Stone's friends are, or who it is that he met on his extensive travels around the globe. Never before had he been known to bring anyone from abroad back to Hoenn – but then again, no one was entirely sure at which of his many homes he actually lived, so it wasn't known where they would have gone.
Consequently, when the young man entered Archie's house that night, accompanied by a daughter of a well-known Johtonian mining family and a rather plain Swedish princess, those nearby turned to stare in well-bred surprise, and a light murmur ran through the crowd.
"Mister Steven Stone," announced the doorman to the room at large, "and Miss Nicola Courthauld, of the Ecruteak Courthaulds, and the Princess Ingred Sørensen of Sweden."
Steven gazed benevolently over the heads of the partygoers; his Kantan heritage meant that he was taller than most Hoennians.
"Good evening," he said. "Carry on."
And he swept into the crowd, taking a drink from a passing tray-bearer and trailing two rather lost-looking young girls behind him.
---
"Yes," said Steven, "Ingrid is currently travelling the world, to gain some experience of other cultures before ascending to the throne." He turned to Ingrid and said something rapidly in what might well have been Swedish; for a moment, Ingrid looked startled, and then she nodded.
Archie squinted at Ingrid. She looked rather familiar, but he was certain they hadn't met before. Tall, rather inelegant and somewhat gawky, she had a face that was, if not the most attractive Archie had ever seen, certainly one of the more interesting. She had long hair that was just red enough that it had to be dyed, and a perpetually nervous look on her face. Archie supposed that Hoenn probably seemed rather intimidating to foreigners, especially those from as far afield as Sweden; it had a great many differences from, and very few similarities to, the rest of the world.
Nicola Courthauld, on the other hand, seemed to be rather enjoying herself. She was a good deal prettier, but she was Johtonian, which was a downside – Hoenn and Johto were something like England and Scotland, or America and France, in that they were both irrationally prejudiced against each other for some long-past historical slight. The Courthaulds were, however, a family worth knowing: they controlled the biggest mining company in the Grand Pacific Custer. Nicola had the black hair common to the family, and wore wire-rimmed glasses perched low on the bridge of her nose. Like Ingrid, she seemed vaguely familiar – perhaps even more so.
"And Nicola was just here to visit me," Steven continued, regarding Archie with a strange sort of absent-minded perspicacity. "The Courthaulds always send their kids over to meet me; I'm quite the geology tutor when I set my mind to it."
"Is that so?" murmured Archie. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen the girls before somewhere; in the end, he put it down to nerves. Tonight was a big night; he had to get those who had funded the quest for the Blue Orb onto the submarine, get there himself and set sail for the deep-sea cavern where the Orb was being hidden. The investors wanted to see the plan come to fruition, and Archie couldn't blame them; they'd put a lot of money into this. He'd let them witness the resurrection of Kyogre—
"Mister Taniebre?" said Steven. It seemed he'd been speaking for a minute or two, and received no answer.
"What?" Archie blinked, and caught sight of a man who might or might not have been Captain Ernesto Stern (Retired) in disguise coming in through the door, arm in arm with a young woman that he would probably claim was his daughter. "Ah. Oh, would you excuse me for a moment?"
"Certainly," Steven said. He didn't seem unduly put out, but as Archie walked across the room, he felt those green, green eyes on his back all the way.
---
"Steven!" I hissed, retreating from a group of people who wanted to get introduced to a princess. "When can I get out of here?"
Had enough already? I'm quite enjoying this. I can't remember the last time I was at a swanky cocktail party. Which is probably because I've never been to one before, but still.
"Be quiet, Ingrid," Sapphire said with a wicked grin, and took a sip of her champagne. "The time isn't right yet."
"Nicola is right," said Steven, "it's not— oh, hello, Miss Mortensen. Ah, if you would do me the courtesy of returning in just a moment...? Thank you." He turned back to us. "Um – yes, Nicola is right." He glanced around; to our right were the pianist and violinist, and, to our left, someone I vaguely recognised as being one of the Fallarbor film producers, talking to a gaggle of pretty but not-very-famous actresses. "No one knows you. People are going to want to talk to you, and most people are going to want to speak to me, as well. Give us an hour to mingle, and then I'll see if I can find an opportunity for you to slip off."
"You're not coming?" I asked, surprised.
"I have to keep people distract— Why, if it isn't the Admiral!"
I looked up, and saw a deeply-tanned man in a white suit approaching us. He was bald, rather wrinkly, and had big, bulging eyes.
He looks like a piece of calamari that decided it had had enough of being dead, Puck said. What's more surprising is that he's making that look work for him. Not many people can carry that off, you know.
"Steven," said the Admiral. "It's been a while."
His voice was deep, gruff and incredibly rough; either he had a throat full of gravel, or he'd been smoking for longer than most people actually live.
"It certainly has," Steven agreed. "Admiral, I'd like to introduce you to two friends of mine. This is Miss Nicola Courthauld, and this is Princess Ingrid Sørensen of Sweden."
"Pleased to meet you," Sapphire said, affecting a Johtonian accent – she was pretty good at it, too. She shook the Admiral's hand, and then I did too; instead of saying anything, I just smiled.
"Regrettably, the Princess speaks no Hoennian," Steven said apologetically.
"That so? A princess?" This seemed to have been the only part of the conversation the Admiral had picked up on. "I knew a princess once. Good woman, and a damn fine shot, too."
"I see," said Sapphire, who probably didn't.
"Admiral," began Steven, but the old man had already wandered off, and was talking animatedly to a rather surprised-looking waiter.
"That was rude," Sapphire said crossly; I suppressed a laugh.
"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!"
Zing! Wait, whose side am I on? I think I'm on Sapphire's. Boo, Kester! I mean, boo, Ingrid!
Sapphire looked like she might argue, but Steven broke the confrontation up before it began.
"No fighting now, girls."
"Don't call me that—!"
"For the purposes of this evening, you are a girl, Ingrid," Steven said, a hint of steel creeping into his voice. "We went over this in some detail. This is the last guise they'll expect you to come in."
"Yes. Shut up, Ingrid."
I glowered at Sapphire for about ten seconds, then my face got tired and I had to stop.
"Come," said Steven, his usual geniality reasserting itself. "Let us mingle."
He took me by the arm and led me away, back towards the main crowd. Sapphire drifted along beside me.
The time passed nervously and miserably. I'd thought someone would be bound to see through my disguise, but no one did; I think they would have done had they not thought it a ridiculous idea that a boy might be here in disguise as a girl, and that Steven would be helping him. The plan seemed to be founded on the principle that people will always more readily believe a really big, crazy lie than a little one, and that therefore they'd be more willing to believe a seventeen-year-old boy was the Princess of Sweden than a slightly different seventeen-year-old boy.
If I'd been able to get over the fact that I was in the house of someone who wanted to capture and probably torture me, in drag and with a snide Rotom in my head, I might have been able to enjoy the situation. There was booze, which was good, and a lot of famous people, which was better. I was introduced to at least three famous directors, seven members of the Hoennian aristocracy, about ten wealthy businesspeople and aspiring starlets without number. I think a couple of the last saw me staring at them, because they gave me some very odd looks.
At long last, though, we'd managed to rid ourselves of the limelight, and people were now gravitating towards a new arrival who'd just been announced as the Prince of Denmark; he was a couple of years older than me, with a wild look in his eye. I remember him because he was all dressed in black and wore a sword.
"I don't mean to interrupt your enjoyment of the festivities," Steven said, apparently sincerely, "but look over there."
I did. Archie had taken the Admiral to one side, and was speaking quietly and urgently into his ear; as I watched, he finished and walked out with him, through a side door.
"They're moving people into the base," Steven murmured. "Nicola, Ingrid, follow Archie and find the way in. I shall cover for you."
"The Admiral's one of theirs?" Sapphire asked, surprised. "Why are you friends with him?"
"No one said I was friends with him," Steven said, with a faint, chilling grin. "I don't have friends, just tactical acquaintances." He blinked. "Excepting your good selves, of course. Now, go on! You've a secret lair to infiltrate."
Bit creepy, that, Puck said uneasily. No friends, just tactical acquaintances... ominous words, if ever I heard them.
Sapphire and I detached ourselves from the crowd of partygoers and crept over to the side door through which Archie and the Admiral had left. It wasn't locked, and with a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, we slipped through.
We were now in a darkened corridor, handsomely panelled in tropical hardwoods; the same ultramarine shag carpet from the main room covered the floor. I couldn't see anyone ahead – nor could I see anything ahead that was more than a few metres away; it was very dark indeed.
Immediately, I sat down on the floor and started wrenching at my shoes. The heels, while not the highest I'd ever seen, were definitely the highest I'd ever worn, and for the last few hours had been busily torturing my feet with all the fervour of the Spanish Inquisition.
"You have no stamina," said Sapphire scornfully. "Mine are higher, and I'm not taking them off."
"That's because you've done this before," I growled up at her. "I, on the other hand, am not a girl and have never worn these before."
Also, she wants to prove her superiority over you, for it is only in treating you as a second-class citizen that she can distance herself from her imaginary feelings for you. Puck sighed. Man, love's complicated. I'm glad I'm not capable of it – it's too long-term for Rotom, you see. We're too capricious and obsessed with transitory vanities to build meaningful relationships.
I stood up again, wriggled my toes in the soft carpet and sighed.
"Right," I said, "I suppose we go down here, then?"
"You suppose correctly," Sapphire replied, taking off her glasses. "Come on. Leave your shoes here; we'll get them on the way out."
I propped them up against the wall in a corner, marvelling at the fact that I'd been able to stand in them at all, let alone walk, and then turned to follow Sapphire down the corridor.
"There are a lot of doors," I whispered, after we'd passed the first five.
"I know. But none of them have any guards, so I don't think they're the right ones."
"Guards?" I asked. "No one said anything about guards—"
"If you can take those Magma guys, Blake and Fabien, you can take these," Sapphire reasoned. "Besides, I brought Stacey." I hadn't realised it was possible to conceal a Poké Ball in the close-fitting black dress she was wearing, but evidently Steven's tailor was a wizard of some kind, because she produced one seemingly from nowhere.
Simple quantum sewing mechanics, Puck said knowledgeably. I stole some stuff like this from the Milan fashion houses once. The dress redistributes mass to change the perceived shape. Usually, it's used to make people look thinner – but in this case, it conceals the bulge of the Poké Ball in the secret pocket.
"What about Toro and Rono? Why don't I get a full complement of back-up Pokémon?"
"Because they're no good against Water-types, and Water-types are the ones that Team Aqua use," Sapphire told me. "Have you learned anything during the last two weeks?"
I thought for a moment.
"All Trainers are crazy," I said, slowly and with great deliberation.
This isn't relevant or anything, but... has anyone else noticed how long this corridor is? Corridors this long don't actually exist in real life. They terminate, like Arnold Schwarzenegger.
"Is that it?" Sapphire asked. "That's all you've learned?"
"Pretty much," I admitted. "I mean, it's not like I've been at school. If I'd been there, I'd probably have learned about Manila Torrence's campaign against the Spanish*—"
"Sssh!"
Sapphire held up one hand for silence, and put the other over my mouth for good measure. I listened, and heard voices.
"Do you think anyone actually comes here?" asked one.
"I dunno," replied another.
"And what's with the lights? This isn't a film. We don't need dramatic lighting, so why not turn them on?"
"I dunno."
I got the feeling that this line of conversation had been going on for a while.
"I don't see the need for all this cloak-and-dagger stuff, either," the first voice went on. "Sneaking people in here with the cocktail party as cover... Why not just disguise 'em and have come in normally?"
"I dunno."
"Why—?"
"Actually," the second voice said, "I do know why there's a party."
There was an expectant silence. Then:
"Well?"
"The boss likes cocktail parties."
"Oh. That's me told, then."
You know what would be funny? Puck said. It would be funny if this was part of Zero's plan, and he told Archie to give the cocktail party just because he knew Steven would have the idea of this disguise for you and wanted to see you suffer.
I looked at Sapphire, and Sapphire looked at me.
"What is with these people?" I whispered.
She shrugged.
"They're all like this, remember? Not a sane one among them. Anyway," she went on, "they're behind this door."
She indicated one, and, listening harder, I confirmed that she was right.
"The entrance to the base must be in there," Sapphire whispered. "On the count of three, we go in and you shoot them. Three."
"What about Stacey?" I hissed frantically.
"She can't be quiet, so she's our last resort. Two."
"Wait, we should prepare—!"
"One!"
---
"TABITHA!"
There was no need to dispatch a lackey to fetch him. Tabitha could have heard Maxie's roar from halfway to Timbuktu; he thought that the normal laws of the universe, frightened by the anger it carried, probably didn't dare interfere with it. Either that, or Maxie had some Exploud blood in him somewhere – though how that might work was an area too disturbing to contemplate.
Suffice to say, the coffee in the mug on Tabitha's desk jumped when the sound reached it; Tabitha himself leaped up out of his chair, thinking the boss was just behind him, before his pounding heart calmed down and reason asserted itself. Maxie was in his office, staring at the Red Orb; that was where he had been ever since the thing had been brought back here.
Dragging his feet, Tabitha trudged dutifully to Maxie's chamber, wondering what exactly it was that he had done now, and why it was always him that was blamed for things and not Courtney. He supposed she must be better at her job than he was at his – though what exactly it was that Courtney's job entailed he couldn't exactly have said.
He arrived at the door and knocked.
"Get in here!"
Tabitha drew himself up to his full height and smoothed his hood, determined not to come across as quite as pathetic as he usually did, pushed open the doors and strode in. Directly in front of him was Maxie, his shark-like face contorted in fury, and immediately Tabitha shrank back again, nervous.
What was even more surprising was that Courtney was here; she was standing off to the right, looking steadily into the far corner, away from both Tabitha and Maxie.
"You, er, called, sir?" Tabitha said hesitantly.
"Why didn't we know about this?" Maxie ripped a newspaper from his desk and thrust it into Tabitha's hands so hard that the middle bit came out, and the Admin was left holding the corners.
This only served to anger Maxie further, and he snatched the centre part from the floor with all the passion of Juliet stabbing herself.
"Read it!" he snarled. "Why didn't we know about it sooner?"
Tabitha scanned the headline. It read:
TEAM AQUA RETURN TO HIGH CRIME: SUBMARINE STOLEN IN SLATEPORT
"Submarine...?" Tabitha didn't see it. "Why do we need to know—?"
"You want me to spell it out for you?"
Tabitha fought the urge to run: Maxie's voice had gone quiet, and acquired a tone that made it sound almost reasonable. It was when he was in this frame of mind that he did things that he would later regret – or rather, did things that other people would later regret. Maxie did not, as far as Tabitha knew, possess a capacity to regret something as trivial as murder.
"Look, Tabitha," said Maxie, and his smile was like a string of flints, "do you agree that the Aquas were behind the attack on the Weather Institute?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm glad we're singing from the same page of the hymn-book," Maxie said. He turned and started striding carelessly back towards his desk. "So what do you think they got out of that attack, Tabitha?"
"They got their men back?"
Maxie stopped with his back to Tabitha, and waved his hand in a way that indicated that this was true, but not correct. Courtney still did not look at them.
"Close, but no cigar. They did get something, but it was something they didn't have before. Something they really wanted."
The penny dropped.
"They got the location of the Blue Orb?"
Maxie spun around and snapped his fingers.
"Now we're cooking with gas," he said, smile broadening. "So why do you think they've stolen a submarine, after no big out-in-the-open crimes for years?"
"They... need it to get to the Blue Orb," Tabitha said, the colour draining from his face. This was something he ought to have seen coming. Intelligence came under his remit.
"So, Tabitha, there just remains one question." Maxie walked over to him, and his hard, angry eyes stared into Tabitha's from just an inch away. "Why didn't you work this out before?"
"I..."
Tabitha had no answer. Maxie nodded understandingly.
"I thought so," he said. "Now go and find out where they're going, and stop them."
Eager to be out of there, Tabitha turned to leave.
"Oh – one more thing?" Maxie said, as he reached the door. Tabitha stopped and looked back.
"Tabitha's a woman's name," the Magma leader said sourly, and punched him in the face.
---
Barry had not had a good week. It had been ruined, really, as soon as the whole Ominous Wind incident had taken place. From there, it had gone from bad to worse, and now he was standing guard in Archie's house, ignoring his loquacious colleague and feeling sorry for himself. Barry didn't know what the word 'loquacious' meant, but then again, he didn't really know what 'colleague' meant either. One might well be bored upon hearing this – after all, the point has been somewhat laboured – but I will reiterate here that Barry was a moron.
Tonight, he was a bored moron, and in a few moments' time, he would be a semiconscious moron.
For he was standing in a small, sparsely-furnished room that housed a steel door leading into the headquarters of Team Aqua. On the other side of the room's other door, a rather pretty girl and a rather plain transvestite were preparing to – as Barry himself might have put it – bring the pain.
Three seconds before the door opened, Barry was staring vacantly into space.
With two seconds to go, he was wondering what the name of that song that went 'da da de da da' was.
And at the final second, he was reeling under the impact of the realisation that almost all songs can be written down as 'da da de da da'.
Barry had still not recovered fully from this when the door burst open, which did not bode well. Then again, Barry was also a rather two-dimensional character whose primary characteristics were anger and stupidity, and who existed purely to be abused, so perhaps he was destined to lose the ensuing confrontation.
Whatever the reason, he did. As the door opened, a crackling bolt of yellow lightning slammed into his chest, and his head snapped back into the wall with a painful jolt. To his credit, he didn't pass out; he lumbered forwards with an incoherent roar and lashed out at the first thing he saw.
This was rather unfortunate for all concerned. Barry had grabbed what appeared to him to be a somewhat ugly red-haired girl in a green dress; since very few teenage girls attacked the headquarters of criminal organisations, he was startled into not punching her immediately. It took him a full half second to overcome his aversion to hitting women, by which time the girl had become charged with lightning, and the punch, therefore, caused something of a small explosion.
When the dust cleared, Barry found himself lying on his back, atop something lumpy; leaping back to his feet, he found it was the other guard. He was, regrettably, dead, but at least he had stopped talking.
Before him stood two girls, one pretty and one plain. Both looked startled, but, equally, both had an unusual amount of fire in their eyes. Barry's simple brain clicked through a list of possibilities, pointed at 'Felicity' and jumped to the not-entirely-incorrect conclusion that his life was being invaded by ridiculously pugnacious teenage girls.
"Get out of the way, Barry," said the black-haired girl – the pretty one. "We don't care about you."
Barry blinked.
"How do you know my name?" he demanded.
The black-haired girl sighed.
"Ingrid?" she asked.
The other girl looked unhappy, but raised a hand and fired another beam of electricity into Barry's chest. The big Aqua went down hard, and didn't get up again; he was not yet unconscious, merely in tremendous pain, though this had much the same effect.
"Ingrid," gasped Barry inaudibly, as the two girls stepped over him, heading for the door. "Lightning..." His brain raced to complete its current
calculations before it stopped functioning, and fudged a couple of figures to get it done in time. "Kester Ruby has a sister!" cried Barry, finding the only possible explanation, and passed out.
---
Steven lounged elegantly against a sideboard, eyes roving around the room like a hawk watching its field. He noted the young woman coming in through the main door, announced quietly as Lady Amaranth of Emberglow; he observed the pale youth all dressed in black, slipping silently through the side door that led into the dark corridor.
Steven's mouth turned down at the corners, very slightly.
"Things are about to get complicated," he murmured to himself. Then he smiled broadly and sailed forth through the crowd, aiming for Lady Amaranth, and caught her lightly by the arm. "My lady," he said, bowing slightly. "What a pleasure it is to see you again."
Amaranth looked slightly flustered, and Steven steered her away gently, taking her over to the side.
"I'm sorry, have we met—"
"In actual fact we have, my dear, though you were very young at the time; I doubt you'd remember me. We were both waiting for our fathers to come out of a business meeting, about fifteen years ago. As I recall, you ate all my chocolate and made the toys sticky." Steven looked straight at Amaranth, and his smile faded. "I have also met the Lady Emberglow, and since she is currently in Spain, I was somewhat surprised to hear her announced."
The faux Lady stood there for a moment, eyes wide; in them, Steven could read that oft-vocalised thought: oh, cal.
"Come, my dear, your cover will be blown if you act like that," Steven went on. "Here, have a champagne – have a canapé – there you go, that looks more natural. Now, I think we ought to have a little chat. Firstly, about how unusually lax the security here seems to be – and secondly, about why you are here, Miss Stern."
