Chapter Twenty-Six

Annabel screamed as Harriet fell. Cranestoft slid from the machine, his gun held point-blank at Harriet’s head. “Into the Throne Room,” he growled. “If you want her to live. Move!”

Annabel was shaking. She moved toward the door. The heat was intense. Another flaming rafter crashed to the marble floor. Cranestoft leapt over Harriet’s unconscious body and grabbed Annabel, twisting her arm behind her back and throwing his cloak over them both as he shoved her toward the laboratory. The tapestry had burned away. Inside the corridor Cranestoft barked, “Where’s the key?” Annabel whimpered, sobbing, unable to answer him. His eyes alighted on the chain around her neck. He tore it from her and pushed the key into the lock.

“Here,” Annabel said, taking hold of the key. She twisted it left and right and left again until she heard the coded clicking. The door sprang open and Cranestoft shoved her inside. He slammed the thick plate of steel closed behind them. The clamor of battle and destruction dulled beyond.

“Well, well, well,” he said. His deep, resonant voice was close behind her back. “What have we here, Princess? A treasure trove of heresy!”

Annabel felt weak. She smelled his heavy, masculine sweat mixed with blood and the stench of battle. The world swam around her. Sickness boiled in her gut. She turned to face him. Her voice issued as little more than a whisper. “Lord Cranestoft…” she began, but found she had no more words to say.

“A horde of heresy!” said Cranestoft stalking into the room after her. His eyes devoured the abundance of scientosophical books and instruments. He ran a gnarled finger along the surface of one of the old scientosophical workbenches. “Very interesting,” he breathed.

Annabel shuddered when his finger brushed the table’s surface. It was as if his hand rested on her father’s coffin. She wanted to slap it away; to spit in his face again. His presence in the laboratory defiled her father’s memory.

“You have no right,” she said, despite the tremor in her voice, “to enter here.” Released from his grip, she slipped as far from him as she could. Although in a room with no windows and no other door there was no escape. She stood behind a sturdy scientosophical work bench, shielding herself behind a stack of books and mechanical parts.

The Regent still had a gun. He aimed at her. Shifting it with his thigh so he could keep the firearm steady, he shoved a metal trunk, scraping it across the floor to block the door shut.

He turned and took a few steps toward Annabel. She looked first at the barrel of the gun and then into his eyes. They were dark, smoldering with angry fire.

Annabel’s breath came ragged and short. The anxiety which her shock had masked, now knotted in her stomach.

“What do you want?” she said. “Why don’t you kill me? I was to be hanged wasn’t I?”

Cranestoft sneered. “Much has changed in the last hour, Princess. I will kill you, be sure of that. This room is the last place you’ll ever see. But there are things I want you to know before you die. It will give me some satisfaction. You were always nagging me for information, weren’t you? I’ll tell you.”

Annabel shifted still further from her oppressor.

“I know you wanted to kill me before my birthday,” she said. He knotted his eyebrows as his face darkened. Annabel stuck out her chin. “Yes,” she said. “I was here, at the end of the little corridor behind the tapestries. I heard you plotting with the Master of the Guard.”

Cranestoft moved suddenly. Annabel’s heart almost stopped. But he only strode past her and threw himself into the comfortable reading chair that nestled in a corner at the end of a bookcase. He sighed. “It is true,” he said. “Only you stand between me and the Throne.”

“You would be a usurper then,” Annabel said, the bile of anger rising in her throat from the pit of her stomach. Her fists clenched. She strode toward him. “You hypocrite! You accuse me of treason and illegal activities! You claim to represent the Royal House and to be responsible for this island! And all along you are nothing but a plotter, a schemer, a traitor planning to kill your queen!”

Cranestoft rubbed his regent’s ring with the thumb of his right hand and pursed his lips. “Do you know, Princess, why scientosophy is banned?”

Was he teasing her now? Was he attempting to trap her in the net of her own curiosity? She had been bewildered by the ban. She had always wondered what the reason behind stifling knowledge and progress could be.

“It has never been clear,” she said. “It makes little sense. Many of the technologies we have retained are scientosophical: electrostatic energy, for example, even if we are constrained to generate it from clockwork mechanisms and are forbidden to use crystals or steam, was a scientosophical discovery. The knowledge of aerodynamics which enables us to fly also comes from scientosophy. Even the technology of clockwork was developed by scientosphists of old. Why have we limited energy sources to the mainspring and brute animal effort?”

“Everything you say is true, Princess. Your father taught you well.” Cranestoft leaned forward, pressing his palms together, elbows resting on his knees. “I will not lie to you,” he said. Annabel snorted in contempt. The Regent continued. “There is no practical reason to outlaw scientosophy. But long before my birth it was considered to be politically expedient. Scientosophy furnishes us with useful technologies. But it’s not technology that is dangerous. It’s the method. It’s reason. Widespread critical thinking would be a terrible threat to the power of the State. The Royal House must lead. It must control. It must have authority. Princess, we must maintain the ignorance of the population to maintain its compliance.”

The Regent lifted his head and raised his craggy eyebrows. “Look what you have done, Princess! In all these years we have used war for propaganda and control – and always for the benefit of the people of this island. But there has never been a war. Not a single drop of blood spilled until today. Then your juvenile zealots undertook this bloody rebellion!”

His words stunned Annabel.

He leaned forward again, eyes wild. “The people must be compliant to the law. Nothing breeds compliance more than fear; the need for protection. In the old days we fought real wars for this purpose alone. But we realized we didn’t need the expense of real wars. The idea of the enemy was enough. If people are afraid of an enemy, of the others, they turn to the State for their protection. That’s how it works, Princess. We threaten them with invasion and terror. We reward them with food, clothes and entertainment. We are the shepherds. They are the sheep.”

“What of slaves?” Annabel said. “How do you justify slavery? Where are all those children from?”

“All great civilizations are founded on slavery,” said Cranestoft, waving his hand as if batting away an irritating fly. “Without slavery you’d need people to care more about each other than they do about themselves.” He jabbed his finger at her. “You may dream of that ideal, but you’ll never have it. If you want this standard of living someone has to pay. They always have and always will, whatever your ragtag bunch of youthful dreamers may think. Besides, we only took children who were poor and homeless. Many of them have better lives here than they had before.”

Annabel could not believe what she heard.

“You’re insane,” she breathed. But was there truth in what Regent said? She rested her hand on the workbench, feeling its textures beneath her skin, hoping she might somehow gain inspiration from this talisman of her father’s memory.

Cranestoft leaned forward in the chair, resting his chin on his fist. “Princess, I understand why you long to be queen. But should you wish to retain the power that role would give you, you’d be wise to understand that teaching scientosophy and liberating slaves would undermine your ambition. Your father understood. He kept his practice secret not from fear of discovery, but because he wanted to keep his crown.”

“You are trying to trick me. You have always deceived me in the past. Why should I trust you now?”

“Because killing you would be expedient and easy. I might as well tell you the truth.” The Regent tapped his fingers against his lips, eyes closed. When he opened them again his expression had changed. A slight smile curled his lips. “In the current circumstances,” he said. “Perhaps killing you is not the only option. Getting your cooperation would be far more elegant and useful. You’ve often complained I have not schooled you in the art of Statecraft. Well, perhaps I should.”

“What do you want from me? Speak plainly if you want me to answer you plainly.”

Cranestoft rested his palms on his knees and, easing himself forward, stood to his full height. He stepped toward Annabel. This time she didn’t flinch or move away. She held his gaze. He rested a hand on her shoulder. His eyes seemed sad and full of weariness.

“Your Highness,” he said. “I may have made a mistake. I considered your murder to be the only secure option for safeguarding the welfare of our kingdom. If you will forgive me for such a grave error, I will tell you the truth. It is not for me to shoulder the responsibility of the monarchy. I felt it forced upon me. You were only a child – and a dangerous child if I am honest. But now I see you are as wise as your father. You would be a good queen, open to wise counsel and proper guidance. Statecraft most often means striking bargains; making compromises. I would like to strike a bargain with you now.”

Annabel’s mind raced. Her life depended on her response.

“Cooperate with me,” said Cranestoft. “You will be Queen. You will rule. We will win the battle outside. We can close the door on this laboratory. You may continue your hobby in peace. Of course, I will know your little secret. But as long as you comply with my wishes you will find me open to making reasonable compromises with you.” His hand tightened on her shoulder. “Princess, it would be easier to kill you.” He released her. “Do you agree?”

Annabel clasped her hands together to stop them trembling. She looked around at the laboratory, once so full of fond memories, of intellectual excitement, of love, of passion for knowledge and endeavor shared with her father. It wasn’t only scientosophy which mattered to her. The laboratory represented her identity. It is who I am, she thought. Without this, even if I become queen, I may as well be hanged. I have nothing else in all the world.

And yet…

Her heart shrank in her breast as she formed the words with her lips, but she raised her head, and looking Cranestoft in the eye she said, “No.”

The Regent sneered. “Then you leave me no option but to fulfil your execution.”

Annabel looked around wildly. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. She edged to the right, further behind the scientosophical workbench. Cranestoft raised the gun. His finger squeezed the trigger.

“Goodbye, Princess,” he said.

Annabel flung herself forward, knocking the gun from his grasp, glassware shattering, books thudding from the table. Cranestoft cursed. He struck her hard with the back of his hand. The blow rang in her skull. She tasted blood.

The gun landed on the edge of a copper plate, part of a large device. Cranestoft lurched towards it.

“No!” Annabel screamed, reaching out to take his ankle. He kicked free of her. “It’s not safe!”

But she’d unbalanced him. As his hands closed around the gun he slipped forward, slumping over the center of the copper plate.

The crystal glowed. An electrostatic bolt sizzled through the arms of the device. In an instant, a blue current of energy pulsed along the copper tubes. The needle points sparked and crackled. Cranestoft yelled, his body thrown back several yards, crashing through glassware and knocking over brass instruments. His clothes and hair were on fire. He thrashed about, screaming, the gun tossed to one side.

Even hating him as she did, horror filled Annabel at the sight of the man’s suffering. She snatched up the gun and aimed it at him. She grasped one hand with the other to control the shaking. Tears pricked her eyes. But she did not need to pull the trigger.

Cranestoft looked at her, his eyes wide in terror. “Damn you,” he said. And fell limp to the floor.