Terrestrial Undead

Chapter 39

Orla needed to get out of here quick; the guards were getting fed up, and they weren't exactly known for their kindness to prisoners. She was strong enough to beat them off if they got it into their heads to handle her roughly, but they were beginning to take it upon themselves to bet on who could last the longest in a fight with her. It was tiring.
"Lunchtime, freak," growled a guard, opening the door to her cell and tossing the grey contents of the tray onto the floor. "Give us a round."
As he swaggered in and a crowed gathered outside the door, Orla rolled her eyes.
"You really don't have anything better to do, do you?"
He threw a punch which she easily blocked with her arm; fiat met metal with a clang and a sound like popcorn cooking. They never learned. This morning, all three of her opponents had come away with mangled knuckles.
Although, come to think of it, this one was especially oafish. He stumbled around her cell like a drunkard, and was getting more and more frustrated. What was wrong with him?
"Ta hell wi' this," he slurred. "Gimme the crossbow."
Orla froze— those things packed a punch, and these guards almost certainly weren't thinking straight. The next words that fell sloppily out of his mouth confirmed her fears: "I'm gonna put a bolt in your brain, missy, and even the King can't stop me!"
As soon as he said it, he planted his face flat in the muck of Orla's cell. The others looked on wordlessly before dropping one by one as she watched, baffled.
"Who's the best cook in Terrestria?" A familiar voice asked, and Orla burst out of her cell and threw her arms around her partner.
"You are! I should've known it was you once they started to flop. What did you slip them?"
"A half dose of vampire poison. Come on, we need to get dressed. I'm taking you out."
"Where to?"
"Only the King's banquet," Tesla replied, grinning and handing over Orla's vampire fangs, already half loaded. She popped them in, and the two picked their way around sleeping guards all the way to the exit.

"Where did you get these?"
"I stole them," Tesla answered simply as she trussed her girlfriend into a corset, "like we're going to steal the invitations we need to get in. Hold still."
Orla fixed a dark lace veil over her face to top off a scarlet ensemble trimmed with black to match Tesla's dusty pink one's identical jet borders. Once they looked respectable and the evening began to close in, they headed out on the town, prowling the streets for a good target. The streets were bustling with invitees in their best dress on their way to the palace; they soon found someone acceptable. A trio of women decked out in silk and feathers bustled along the streets, giggling excitedly. One was saying "When we get to Mr and Mrs Ainsley's..." when Tesla accosted them.
"I bet your pardon, ladies," she cried, "but you must help me! My sister is suddenly ill, she has collapsed in the street!"
"Call for a doctor," one of the women said shortly, and the trio shuffled on, not seeing Tesla's eyes narrow.
"Oh, please, do help, I must insist," she pressed, grasping one of their hands and pulling them towards the corner.
"We are new to town, we don't know any doctor! Please, she is in terrible danger, for King's mercy!"
The ladies reluctantly went with her, saying "of course, but we really must be going," and such complaints, obviously torn between not appearing heartless and getting to the King's feast. They rounded the corner to see Orla swooning on the sidewalk.
"You are too kind, a glass of water and I will be alright..."
Once the pair had the women where they wanted them, they incapacitated them quickly with a firm stranglehold long enough to render them unconscious. Since they were outnumbered, it had been difficult; they had had to hold one of the women down with their legs while the others struggled before going limp. This further alarmed the third, and they were forced to stop her mouth with the folds of Tesla's dress. Once they were tucked away safely and Orla had found the invitation, they headed off.
"We're now the Blakesley sisters," she announced, "you're Ashley and I'm Penelope. Eliza is... sick."
Next, they needed locomotion; nobody could arrive at the palace gates on foot. One of the sisters had mentioned the Ainsleys, who they were presumably going to the party with; Orla cast around. There was a carriage waiting in front of a house nearby, and on inspection of the contents of their mail box, it belonged to the Ainsleys. Tesla, who did the talking due to Orla's unusual voice, rapped on the door.
"Excuse me, but there's an emergency!" She cried when the door opened. "Three ladies have been attacked just up the street. They're mostly talking nonsense, but they claimed to know you, and that you would help them."
"Good King help us," exclaimed the man who had answered the door who was presumably Mr Ainsley, and he and his wife rushed down the street with two foot men in tow, leaving Tesla and Orla to enter the waiting carriage.
"Mr and Mrs Ainsley have been indisposed, and will order another carriage. They told us to go in this one alone; you may drive."
Orla was impressed with Tesla's haughty tone, copied from just a few words from the sisters they had waylaid earlier.
As they arrived, the guards were just about to close the gates; their plotting had taken them a considerable amount of time. The driver announced them, and they handed over their invitation.
"My sister sends her apologies. She was suddenly taken ill— that's why we're so late."
The guard looked suspiciously over at Orla.
"If you would remove your veil, madam. For identification purposes."
"How dare you!" Cried Tesla before Orla could react. "You, ask a lady to remove her veil! I will be complaining to His Majesty directly."
As the guard stammered before Tesla's proud indignation, Orla had to stifle a laugh. They were eventually allowed through, complete with an apology.
"I can't believe that worked," Orla whispered, laughing. Tesla shrugged.
"If it hadn't, I would've just let you punch him out."
Side by side, they entered the banquet hall. Guests were milling about everywhere in masses of silky fabric and clouds of feathers, peppered with servants in gold livery serving drinks.
"Right," Orla muttered, "how are we supposed to know who the king is? Everyone looks like they reckon they're royalty."
Just then, trumpets sounded, and Tesla slid her a look as she rolled her eyes.
"Of course. Silly me."
He emerged from behind gossamer curtains held aside by the trumpeters, wearing by far the most ridiculous attire in the room, which was no easy feat. Orla wondered how many animals had had to die for just the fur cape alone. It was trimmed with feathers. Who combines fur and feathers? Orla couldn't see much under the fluff of the cape, and admittedly wasn't looking very hard; she was staring at what she guessed must be a crown. She only came to that conclusion because it was balanced precariously on his head; in no shape or form did it look like a crown. It didn't have a shape or form under the masses of diamonds that encrusted it. Orla thought it had coloured stones arranged in an iris and a pupil, but she had to look away before the light it reflected blinded her.
The company bowed low in unison before the King took his place on a throne at the front of the room.
He said a few words— "welcome, and enjoy"— and the room burst into thunderous applause. Orla was glad for the veil. This was the single strangest most ridiculous thing she had ever seen, and she was afraid her face must be showing it.
"How are we going to get him alone?" Tesla hissed, snapping her out of her stupor.
She glared up at the King again. If that wasn't a very, very fragile ego up there, Orla supposed she must have been born yesterday. Nothing else could account for the sheer scale of perfectly stupid grandeur before her.
"That man," she smiled, "is not the kind of man who could bare to lose face for even for a second."
Tesla frowned. "You're not wrong..."
"So, we publicly insult him until he takes the bait and does something as brainless as he looks."
Tesla shrugged— it was the only plan they had, and she knew a girl with a plan when she saw one.
"What should we do?"
"It doesn't look like it would take much to knock off his hat, what do you think?"
Orla looked around as she spoke. There were guards stationed in pairs around the hall, trying to look austere rather than bored. Giggling, she took Tesla's arm and a drink, and teetered over, trying to look absorbed in some gossip or other and possibly slightly worse for wear. As they passed close by, she stumbled, exclaiming as she bumped into the guards. Tesla apologised profusely for her 'sister' while Orla slipped his crossbow under the voluminous folds of her skirt, and the pair tottered away again, this time into the garden.
"That was embarrassing."
"Yeah. Hold my drink while I climb this tree," Orla replied, hoisting up her skirts.
Once she was high enough, she balanced the crossbow between the branches and aimed carefully. When she had a clear line of sight from her position to the King's crown, she called for Tesla to pass up an ice cube out of her drink. Tesla did so, and Orla pulled the string back with her hand and placed the ice in front of it.
"Okay, let's go back," she grunted, dropping out of the tree. "We have to be in the hall before the ice melts."
After they had re-entered and had a chance to blend in with the milieu, the sound of glass shattering and cries of alarm erupted from the opposite side of the hall. The ice had melted, allowing the string of the crossbow to spring forward, flinging a bolt through the window and into the side of the King's spherical crown. It wobbled and fell to the ground with a crash, smashing champagne glassed in its wake as it rolled away and leaving the fussy curls at the sides of His Majesty's temples revealed. Amidst the general confusion, Tesla and Orla had some time to laugh to themselves. Eventually, the guards rushed in the direction the bolt had come from, leaving the King relatively unguarded. Panicked guests milled about, frightened at the idea of having an assassin in their midst, while their monarch tried to process what had just happened. This was their chance.
Tesla scooped the crown up and presented it to the king while Orla closed her jaws around his neck, and the man went limp as she dragged him behind the curtain. They'd gotten somewhat further than expected when they heard the shout go up:
"Guards! They're taking His Majesty!"
They'd known it when they took their chance: they would have to fight their way out. A line of guards filed in behind the curtain, crossbows raised. After looking from them to the clunky sphere in her hands, Tesla sent it rolling into them with a grunt of effort, and turned to take the unconscious King's legs. As the pair ran with the limp man between them, the guards were knocked onto the floor by the weighty ball, and Orla briefly wondered how such a relatively small man could bear the weight of such a ridiculously sized crown for so long before they were cut off by more guards and they were forced to stop dead.
"Give him to me," Orla cried, ripping off her veil and putting the load in a stranglehold, making sure the guards could see her metal hands glinting at his throat.
"Shoot and I kill him, see? Make a move and I rip his head clean off."
The guards paused, and Orla's mind raced as she realised they were at a stalemate. Right now they had the king as a human shield, but if they turned to leave they would be shot in the back. Tesla backed up against the wall and began to speak.
"We've got your king. Time to negotiate, wouldn't you say? Which one of you wants to be the one to save the King's life?"
As she finished speaking, they heard a rhythmic, metallic clunking, and Orla's thumping heart froze before the wall behind them trembled. They had just enough time to move before it was torn away completely, revealing a steely, skeletal structure glowering down at them.
"You are under arrest. Do not resist."