I wondered what would happen after that fateful night. Wondering if another attack would come and I'd been played the fool. Many nights I jumped at shadows, eyed every guard as an assassin in waiting.
Despite my founded fears, nothing happened for three months. That's not entirely true. The status quo shifted dramatically. Robert clung to me like glue whenever he could, but he always joined me in our chambers every night.
In a tiny way, my trust of him was regrowing, though it would forever be stained black. Not that I was in a better position morally. That wasn't for me to decide. To put things in summary, it was as if we were in our honeymoon phase once again.
Which worked for me. Even if it was slight, my maids noticed my slight belly bulge. A fuss was raised and the castle midwife was summoned to confirm.
I was pregnant.
The news spread through the castle and across the country faster than a wildfire. I laughed as the next day's paper featured the good news and all the speculation along with it.
Robert was exceptionally enthusiastic at the news.
His mood did not last when he was reminded of the attempt on my life. Castle security was already doubled from before, but he thriced it! Taking no chances.
That is why I was surprised when he invited me to attend court today. Promising a great surprise. A special guest was arriving today.
I didn't know what to think when Robert announced the instructor for self-defense and security from the Irwin Arms Company. There was also some news about adopting military armaments. The two topics were dovetailed together.
The Instructor was supposed to be of the highest caliber. A true marksman! So it was no surprise that I and everyone else were taken aback when a red-haired woman flanked by four giant hounds waltzed into the chamber.
The Herald presented her to the court, "Presenting to your royal majesties, Miss Abigail Annie Oakleaf of the Irwin Arms Company, Southern Lonkian Division."
Abigail gave a cheery freckled smile, her long red hair tied in twin braids that fell past her derriere, boasting a modest bust and hips. She dressed in some Lonkian grab, a white embroidered dress shirt with a dazzling rhinestone studded vestment overtop. It was traditional for women to wear skirts, even guests, but Abigail subverted this slightly. She wore a skirt, but it was obvious she was wearing pants underneath.
I hoped everyone would assume they were tights and not make a fuss about it.
"Howdy yer," she quickly caught herself, pretending to clear her throat, and performed a curtsy. "Greetings your majesties, it honors me you've chosen the Irwin Arms Company. I hope you find our presentation well beyond your expectations."
Robert laughed, clearly amused by her almost botched introduction. "Well, my dear Lady Oakleaf, you've certainly exceeded them already. I don't know how to say this politely, but we were expecting Mr. Irwin."
"I apologize, but when he read you also wanted an instructor to teach your wife, he thought it better to send me. He thought having a woman teach your wife would be preferable to a man. I was also already in Europa, so it wasn't a bother."
"I see, well I can't argue with such courtesy. That said, what are your credentials?"
"Oh, right… Mr. Irwin said it was best if I brought this along here." Abigail pulled a newspaper clipping from her satchel and presented it to the Herald, who ran it up to me and Robert. Robert read it first, humming with interest before giving it to me.
"Winner of the Europa International Shooting Competition, Abigail Annie Oakleaf." Suddenly her name seemed rather familiar, I wasn't invested in the world of sports shooting, but… "Are you the same Abigail Oakleaf that won the Lonkian all territorial expedition and the Gaulian Royal Sharpshooter tournament?"
"Aye, I am. Your father presented me with my second gold medal."
I knew it! I remember reading about that event in a newspaper from home. This woman was a world class sharpshooter!
"I see you're quite accomplished."
"Thank you, ma'am. I'm glad to do my family name proud one last time."
That comment made me frown. "Are you retiring, Miss Oakleaf?"
"No, no, not in the slightest!" She denied fervently. "I'll be shooting till I die! But… well, it's embarrassing, but I'm getting married after I finish my instruction here."
"How wonderful!" I clapped my hands, offering a genuine smile. "While I hope we'll become fast friends over your stay here. Incidentally, do you mind telling us what your new name will be?"
Abigail scratched her cheek, looking uncertain. "Well, I suppose there's no harm in it. After this winter, I'll be Abigail Kane."
My entire body froze, my blood freezing in my veins. This had to be coincidence, right?
"Your majesty? Are you alright?" Abigail snapped me out of my perturbed state. I offered an awkward smile, waving off the concerns of Robert and the others.
"I'm fine. A momentary spell of dizziness is all. Please begin your presentation, Miss Abigail."
"At your leisure. Allow me to present to you one of my family's longest traditions. You are familiar with the concept of a guard dog, I presume?" She asked, scratching the hound at her feet behind the ear.
I nodded, "Of course, but will the addition of a mere animal be enough?"
"I assure your majesty, my Crimson Huskies here are in a class of their own. I've had these boys here, since my daddy… Father, gave them to me. They can't be bribed, seduced, or tricked. Once they acclimate to you, they'll see you as their own. Naturally, I can't give you my little pack, so I brought a new one. I just finished training them."
Servants carried in four large kennels. The insides were so dark the dogs inside weren't visible. Abigail invited me to step down to meet them.
"Their eyes and noses are covered. It's important after training you are the first thing they smell and hear. Please don't be afraid. I'm sure they'll love you."
I kneeled on the carpet, rather scandalous considering my position, but it was important to be at eye level with my new companions. The doors of the kennels opened and four dogs or things that looked like dogs emerged. They were huge! If they were to stand, they'd be half my, no, three quarters of my height!
The dogs whined; their senses damped. Abigail gently tugged them towards me, removing the cloth around their noses first, allowing them to sniff me.
"Refrain from touching them right away, their getting to know you." She instructed.
I remained still as a rabbit among wolves. The dogs circled me, sniffing me aggressively, their wet noses brushing against the puffy fabric of my dress. As one, they stopped and sat, their tongues rolling out of their mouths.
Abigail said nothing, so I remained still, studying the dogs. They were all similar in pattern, so I assumed they came from the same litter, all of them females.
Most of their fur was red, with white splotches on their faces, tails, and paws. As one unit, the dogs yipped, startling me.
"They like you!" Abigail beamed, removing the bandanas from their eyes and tying them around the dogs' necks. They all had icy blue eyes. "Bailey, Sonata, Aria, and Adagio, here's your new master. Your majesty, please stretch out your hand."
I did as commanded. The four dogs crowded around to smell my hand, and yipped, forming a square formation around me, mimicking Abigail's pack.
"An interesting display, but will they be of any use?" Robert asked from the throne. Abigail gave a wicked smile, eyeing the guards.
"I suppose a demonstration is in order. You there! Yes, you, the young buck, please unload your pistol and take aim at her majesty here. That way, you can all see for yourself."
The young guard looked to the King, who looked as uneasy.
"Just do it," I said. "We'll double check it's unloaded."
With my consent, the guard visibly unloaded his revolver. All six shells were accounted for, collected, and the gun was shown to Robert to check every cylinder, and to me, to show the gun was indeed empty. The guard even removed his coat to be in his short-sleeved undershirt, just to prove he wouldn't pull any magic tricks. His extra rounds were given to another guard, leaving him with only his holster.
The guard, sweating profusely, holstered his gun, his hand hovering over the hilt as he nervously stared me down.
"Here, let me give you some motivation. Draw with some intent, please." Abigail stole a gun from another guard, the action so quick hardly anyone realized it before she was behind me and pointing it at my head.
The guard with the empty gun drew like a gunslinger, clearing his holster with trained speed. The gun barely cleared leather when the hound closest to him pounced, tackling him to the ground with massive jaws around the poor man's throat.
To my surprise, the two dogs on my right were on Abigail, their jaws locked around her hands. If not for her thick leather gloves, she might be bleeding. My remaining dog was in a growling match with Abigail's, who were looking for a chance to save their mistress, with two of them on guards that tried to intervene.
"Let's leave it at that. A most impressive display, Miss Abigail. I would advise not to do a repeat surprise performance." Robert said from the throne. He seemed disinterested as a king should, but I could tell he was tense.
"I guess I went a little overboard." With a sharp whistle from Abigail, her dogs stood down. "Match my pitch." She said to me.
My whistling wasn't great, but the dogs regrouped around me.
"I'll teach you all the commands over our time together, but if your majesties don't mind, I think we've all had enough excitement today. With your permission, I would like to retire. It's been a long jont."
"I think that would be for the best," I said. "Allow me to escort you to your chambers, Miss Abigail. Would that be a problem, Robert?"
"No, no, I will finish today's court. You've been rather tired lately."
"Yes, I have, I beg your pardon. Should you need me for any matters, I will be in my chambers. If you would please, Miss Abigail."
"Of course, your majesty."
†
Naturally, when I said I would show Abigail to her room, that really meant I and my servants would show her. It was an entire parade. Abigail's belongings being carried by men and a gaggle of maids surrounding us.
The room Abigail would stay in was right beside mine in the Royal Wing. I hope we become fast friends, but I couldn't help feeling uneasy around her. I desperately wanted to talk to her in private as soon as possible.
That time happened over an hour after we arrived at her room. I took my leave to allow Abigail to make things to her liking. Giving her full rein of the servants. When one told me she was settled, I invited myself to her room.
I found her on the balcony with a cup of tea and dressed down in what I could only assume to be her casual attire, comprising an oversized shirt and a well-worn brown skirt, her hat resting on the bedpost.
Her four dogs were scattered around the room with one laying by her feet. My dogs likewise kept close to me, keeping watch in every direction.
"Greetings, your majesty."
"Please, you can be casual around me when we're alone. Call me Kathrine or Katie if you so wish."
"Alright, Katie, you can call me Abby." She said, putting her cup down and taking up the newspaper. Maybe she was a bit too casual. "So, what did you want to talk about? Is it about your weapon instruction? If so, I'll address everything tomorrow. I'd like to rest from my trip if it's all the same for you."
Yeah, she was too casual, but it was refreshing. I wonder if that was from her or from being Lonkian. Lonk was shorthand for the Land of No Kings. It was an expansive country across the pond that disdained those of my status.
"Yes, I know you're tired, but there's a burning question I would like answered before I retire tonight. This may be strange, but who exactly is your fiancé? Your Mr. Kane?"
Abigail's steely blue eyes peaked out from atop the newspaper, studying me with suspicion.
"Why does it matter to you? He's a common man. Throw a stone and you'll hit ten of him."
"Yet you won't speak his name?"
"Is there a reason to? Do you want to trade your King for him? Sorry, no deal."
I held my hands up but didn't surrender. "I suppose I should make my intentions clear. Recently I… encountered a man by the name of Rooker Kane the Third. I was wondering if he is related to your Mr. Kane?"
Abigail showed no visible signs of panic. I tossed out the name of my would-be Assassin and paramour. Either there was no relation or Miss Abigail was crafted from stone.
"There are plenty of Kanes, your majesty, an entire clan of them. The only Rooker Kane I know of is Rooker Kane the First. Do you know what he's famous for?"
I hesitated to say Assassination, so I merely ungracefully shrugged my shoulders.
"He founded Lonk, its basic history back home. I mean, it's only been sixty years since the nation was founded. As for this Rooker Kane, the Third or even the Second, I can't say."
"Can't or won't?"
"Why are you so fixated on this?"
"He… well…" Maybe if I was honest, should I be honest? "He was the Assassin that made an attempt on my life, the reason you're here."
"Well, he must not have been very good, since your… alive."
"He killed over two dozen guards in his escape!"
The newspaper ruffled loudly as Abigail turned the page. "Well, then those brave men did their jobs, right? As a Lonkian, hearing my founder's grandson doing such nefarious deeds is disheartening, but in character. As you know, we don't much care for royalty. That said, he could just be using the name."
"What do you mean?"
Abigail turned the page again, "As far as I know, Rooker Kane, the first, never had children, at least any sons. We don't keep track of lineage like you do here. That said, there is a difference between Rooker Kane and the Kane clan. I'd have to ask my mother to be sure, but Kane's are notorious for having this shade of red hair. Sometimes people refer to them as the Red Kanes."
She held out her deep crimson hair for me to see. It was certainly was a peculiar shade, almost like blood.
"But your surname is Oakleaf."
"Aye, I am, but we're distantly related to the Red Kanes, or so says my mother. Our entire family had a great migration a generation or two ago. Only recently have we returned to reclaim our ancestral land. That was another reason I was in Europa." Abigail clicked her tongue, looking at the sky with a frowned brow. "My… uncle… maybe? I'm not sure. Invited me and several of my cousins to visit. It was interesting, they were very welcoming. They insisted on calling me Abigail Kane. As far as they are concerned, anyone with Kane red hair is a Kane to them."
This was certainly a complex family tree, but who was I to talk? Royal bloodlines were a mess of bizarre practices.
"So, is your husband one of these Red Kanes?"
"No," she flatly rejected. "Mere happenstance."
"I see."
The silence built between us. Abigail made no attempts to broker any more discussion. I took that as my cue to leave.
"I'm sorry I've interrupted you when you're settling in. I'll see you in the morning. The maids will announce breakfast, unless you'd rather sleep in?"
"I'll be up before the rooster crows, but I probably can't just wander around, right?"
"No, I'm afraid not, but after some time, you'll be given more liberties. I do hope we can become friends, Abigail." I offered a strained smile. She was here on a job. I was the client. It would be a difficult barrier. One made harder by my bizarre interrogation of her private life.
"We'll see, Queenie."
"Queenie…" Is that a nickname? She said it rather sarcastically, but I decided not to make a fuss about it. Taking a personal jab wouldn't do any harm. So long as it wasn't in public.
"Goodnight, Abby."
†
In the morn I was awoken by the usual staff of maids. With one caveat. Instead of pulling me from my bedding and dressing me while I play my best tree like an interned actor. My staff were kept at bay by my new bodyguards.
My four hounds created a fluffy and warm fur fortress, with cannons of fang and claw that pushed back the invaders of my inner sanctum. Three, I'm not sure which ones, they needed collars. Sat in a row on the edge of the bed like a fortress wall, while the fourth paraded back and forth before the group of seven maids.
When the maids tried to approach, the massive red hound that equaled a newborn colt in size brandished its naked fangs like a blade. Yesterday's demonstration was fresh in my servants' minds, so they kept back at the door. Staying out of the dog's domain.
"Your majesty, could you please affirm to your watchdogs we mean no harm?" The Lead Maid, Liz, pleaded.
I was more than willing to give such a command, but there was one minor problem.
I didn't know how.
Or more accurately, I didn't know what command to give. As much as I enjoyed my extra sleep, I had a schedule to keep. However, when I tried to rise out of bed, one dog sat on my legs! Another laid its fluffy, but strong tail over my chest. I want to say it was merely my position that didn't allow me to toss it off, but that vulpine like tail had to be pure muscle! I couldn't remove it!
"Heel… stop… cease…" I tried spitting out random words, hoping the hounds would respond, but they remained guarded. "If you would be so kind as to fetch Miss Oakleaf? Her input would be most helpful."
"Right, please wait, your majesty."
There wasn't much else I could do. It's not like the dogs were going to let me go, so I waited, lulled by their radiant heat. My eyes fighting the call of slumber once more.
"I've brought Miss Oakleaf!" Liz announced, pulling the red-haired woman by the hand. Abigail cleaned the sand from her clear blue eyes, looking haggard and underdressed for a lady.
Liz hadn't allowed her to even dress properly! Abigail wore only an overly large white button shirt. Her long pale legs exposed to the thigh, when even an ankle would drive men mad! Good thing there were only women here. I'd have to apologize profusely for this embarrassment!
"Hmm… what's the problem… oh right…" Abigail yawned loudly, chomping her jaw while mumbling incoherently. "Repeat after me. Thy castle is safe."
"Thy castle is safe?"
"Say it with authority!"
Taking a breath, I imagined I was addressing soldiers. "Thy Castle is safe!"
Immediately, the four hounds got to the floor, laying on their bellies in a neat row. When I sat up, their heads followed me as I moved, but they remained rooted where they sat.
"Is it safe for us to enter, Miss Oakleaf?" The maid asked.
"Say, Observe at ready."
"Observe at ready!"
My dogs sat on their hunches back-to-back, facing every direction. Abby strode into the room, dragging Liz along as she had done to her. The dogs didn't react beyond following them with their heads.
"They won't move unless they sense danger, so don't make any distressing noise, but if something happens, say Prohibere."
"You taught dogs Latin?"
"No, I trained them to react to special commands and phrases to specific tones. I'll take the blame for this incident. I've been with my pack for so long I forgot they need to establish territory and get to know the people closest to you." Abigail turned on her heel regarding the gaggle of maids. "As you enter the room, do so one by one, and let each dog lick you. That will help avoid repeats of this."
Bizarre as it was for highly trained royal maids to get their faces licked by dogs, my pack of hounds seemed to… relax slightly. The tension leaving their bodies. They were vigilant, always monitoring me or any maid that left or approached, but they behaved more like regular dogs. Panting, yawning, looking cute. It put the maids at ease as well.
I wondered if it was an act. I didn't want them to attack anyone, but I snapped my fingers to see what they'd do, and their heads snapped towards me, ears perked, as if waiting for a command.
"Don't do that. False alarms will confuse them." Abigail said from the corner, overseeing my dressing while still in an undressed state.
"What does snapping do?"
Abigail grimaced. "We'll cover that later. Tell them to observe at the ready again."
I did, and the dogs returned to a neutral stance. Later I would learn that snapping my fingers plus a certain word triggered what amounted to a kill order. Yikes.
My maids dressed me in… something out of the ordinary. The garments they laid upon my person were not from my closet, but new apparel gifted by Miss Abigail. A training outfit for females in her family.
The outfit was composed of cowhide and soft leather, the main body was an unrestrictive tunic like dress. The sides of the hem were split, exposing my thighs, the hem rested slightly above my knees. A pair of black tights concealed any skin that might show through.
Seems my instructor was particularly clever about skirting the bylaws regarding woman's apparel. Or perhaps her insistence that we were indeed wearing dresses paid off.
Back to the outfit.
Not only was the main body fitted properly without being constrictive, but the sleeves also fit to the curves of my arms, my hands adorned with a pair of fingerless gloves. The chest area was tailored to accommodate even my overly blessed bust, the boots comfortable with excess soft leather traveling up my thighs to hanging buckles much like that of a garter belt.
Checking my mirror, I cracked a smile. I looked like a Lonkian cowgirl, much like the ones depicted in Silver Dime Novels. Yes, I read those silly little western short stories. Tall tales or supposed historical accounts, or whatever the author imagined, many blue bloods frowned at them for being low-class dreck.
Mind you, I don't harbor any distaste for the classics, but the romanticized outtakes from the young nation were terribly interesting to me.
"Is this sort of thing common in Lonk?" I asked Abigail, who entered the room dressed in a similar style, though much more personalized. My clothes were dyed primary blue with vermillion as a secondary color. Abigail's was naturally tan hide with red as its secondary color, a wide brim hat rested atop her blazing red locks.
"For some, depends on if your city or country gal, I guess. It's not as big on the east coast, but in the west it's popular. Then again, we got leather to spare with all the cattle. Might as well use it, right?"
"I suppose one must use what one has."
"Exactly! Now let's grab a light breakfast and get started."
So today started my tutelage under Miss Abigail Oakleaf. A bizarre time when a foreigner of common birth held sway over me! The Queen of Britannia! That's not to say Miss Abigail held total control over me, but she set my schedule and held nearly full rein over my daylight hours.
It got me out of tea parties with thorn tongued noble ladies, so I wasn't upset. That said, given my situation, it would be foolish of me to blow off too many. I looked forward to Abigail having to attend the same dreadful parties in a proper dress. At least then we could be miserable together.
Now onto the exciting part! After a simple breakfast consisting of biscuits, fruits, and morning tea. Abigail took me to the location set aside for her use. It was an expansive piece of land, near the Royal Hunting grounds at the back of the palace. Far from both the public and noble eye. It was only Abigail and me, and a small entourage of servants.
And our respective packs.
Our eight dogs sat apart from each other, as if symbolizing the current gap between me and Abigail. I so wanted her to be my friend. Perhaps being an outstanding student would pave the way.
"Alright, here's a handbook of phrases for commanding your guard pack. Memorize it before the end of our time together, read it repeatedly, and at least learn what not to do. After this morning's incident, I bookmarked the three things you should never carelessly do."
I accepted the book with weighty responsibility. It was perhaps wiser to not see my guard dogs as mere canines but living weapons. Strangely, my lessons did not begin with my dogs. No, I was to choose my personal sidearm; it seems.
"Miss Abigail, I understand this is your expertise and at your discretion, but should we not begin with familiarizing myself with my guard dogs?"
"I'm glad to see you're not afraid to ask questions. It's an excellent trait for anyone, Queen or not." Abigail said, slamming a heavy box on the provided table. Behind me, gofers were setting up items of various sizes. "But to answer your question, the dogs are already trained. You just need to learn what to say. That's something you can do as easily as reading in bed. Let's not waste daylight on things that can be done in candlelight. Now, come here and take your pick."
What was laid out before me was the largest arsenal of weapons I've ever seen in my life. It wasn't a high bar to cross, but there were so many firearms!
"Alright! This is all the Irwin Arms Company offers! From .20 caliber to the whopper stopper .50 caliber. Many have been adopted into militaries around the world and are popular in Lonk and Europa markets for self-defense carry. A popular choice among certain night working ladies is the humble .45 Irwin Derringer pistol, something to slip in the garters."
Despite trying to sell it to me, Abigail slammed the gun on the table.
"But you're not a whore trying to fight off an unpleasant customer or another whore. Two shots with the range and accuracy of a blind man tossing a stone drunk is not suitable against anyone over five feet away. That said, I won't discourage you from having one as a last resort."
"Then what do you recommend?"
Abigail placed what must be the world's largest handgun in my hand. Its sheer weight made me use both hands to hold it. The cartridges were so massive the cylinder could only hold four. At her instruction I tried raising the firearm and aiming, the sight picture wobbling back and forth as my arms strained to keep the weapon aloft.
"Bend your elbows more like this, grip it tight." Abigail adjusted my stance, kicking my left foot back, straightening my back, and moving my grip. When the time came to pull the hammer back, the cylinder made a 'Chung clunk' noise. I could feel the weight of the revolver shift, pulling my arms to the right. "Fire when ready. Don't worry about hitting anything."
"Ah… ok…" I was trembling. How could I not be? I've never fired a gun before and was about to shoot a bullet larger than my thumb! Tightening my grip as if trying to strangle a neck, I pulled the trigger.
BOOM!
The pistol about slapped my nose! My ears rung even with protection in place and the cloud of smoke made me cough violently.
"That was an Irwin .50 caliber big game revolver, its primary used by Hunters in Afrika if their big bore rifles fail. A last resort against nature's mightiest beasts. It makes quick work of the toughest man too, provided you hit them on the first shot."
Abigail took the weapon from my hands, ejecting the shells while I observed my marksmanship. Since I hadn't been aiming for anything, I wasn't sure where to look, but a fist sized hold in the tree's trunk seemed to be the most obvious.
The gardener was going to have a fit.
"That's your recommendation?" My tone was pitched, but I was feeling certain I was being made the butt of a joke. Abigail's giggle all but confirmed my suspicions.
"Well, if we ever go on a hunting expedition maybe, but for self-defense? Well… even you should be able to tell what's wrong with the Lion Tamer."
Assuming Lion Tamer was the model's name of the monster I fired. I nodded, my eyes fixated on my trembling hands.
"It's heavy, hard to aim, and I could never draw it in time."
"That's a close enough observation. Carrying it would be troublesome as well, though you could hide it under a fluffy skirt easy enough. Before you go thinking that was only for laughs, you just experienced the most powerful pistol cartridge to date! And you didn't get hit in the face!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Most people, men, underestimate little Lion Tamer here and hold it loosely. I've seen plenty of macho gentlemen get broken noses after firing it for the first time." Abigail's smile was radiant. I think she would have enjoyed me bloodying my nose. "Now, let's move to something more reasonable."
The next revolver was much smaller, thank God, what a difference .055 caliber made. I read the engravings. What I held now was an Irwin .445 Caliber New Model Navy 1890 double action. Whatever that was.
"Press that button with your thumb, push it up and tilt the gun sideways." Following Abigail's instructions, I gasped as the cylinder swung out. "Here, load it and give it a go."
Awkwardly manipulating the cartridges with my left hand, I methodically popped each shell into a cylinder until it was loaded and, under Abigail's direction, gently closed the cylinder with a 'click'.
Like before, I cocked the hammer, this time aiming at the target, and pulled the trigger. Compared to the roar and bite of the Lion Tamer, the .445 seemed almost mild in comparison. Maybe that was Abigail's intention. I imagine I would have been as shaken shooting this for the first time as before. With that prior awful experience behind me, I doubt anything smaller would startle me.
My shot missed, flinging up dirt as the bullet sailed clear away from where'd I been aiming. I cocked the hammer again and fired and fired and fired.
"Stop!"
Abigail's command made me pause mid action, leaving my gun at half-cock. I wondered if she was going to offer a correction in my aim, but gave a mock exam of all things.
"How many shots do you have left?" She demanded, looking deathly serious.
I licked my lips, pounding my brain for the correct answer. "Um… three?"
"Two," Abigail corrected, holding up her fingers. "Always count your shots. Also, try aiming at multiple targets rather than just one all the time. Change your grip like so, too."
I'd been using my right thumb on my dominate hand to work the hammer while holding the handle. Abigail urged me to use my left thumb instead of my right. She said she wanted to correct this now, rather than later.
Firing my remaining two rounds, I found this grip awkward as I ejected my shells and reloaded, but the more I fired, I found the gun didn't shake as much and my aim, while still abysmal, was better.
"Relax, fire on the exhale." "Don't tense up so much."
Abigail gave out tips every so often, but let me work things out by myself, mostly. I watched for the dust clouds of my stray shots, adjusted, exhaled, and fired again. Repeat.
Time got away from me. I'm not sure how long I stood there firing six shot volleys, perhaps a good hour or more. When suddenly I heard a distinct sound other than my stray bullets zooming off to nowhere.
An empty wine bottle suddenly shattered.
"You finally hit it, only took ya an hour and a half." Abigail said, closing the lid of her pocket watch. "Can't say if I'm impressed or not, but you seem to be getting the feel for her. Let's take a break and set you up with another gun afterword."
"I rather like this one." I pouted as Abigail took the .455 away.
"That's fine, but it's still might be too much for you. Come on, I told your butler to get us some sandwiches."
Lunch was a quiet affair under a shade tree. This may be a firing range, but a proper table and chairs were set out for me and Abigail with scrumptious crosscut sandwiches stacked with ham, cheese, lettuce, and tomato. A variety of condiments were placed on each. I favored the mayonnaise ones, while Abigail took steps to ensure she got the ones topped with mustard.
She accomplished this by stacking all of them on her plate. Not very refined, but it was only us, so I let it slide.
And yes, we had tea. The staple of any proper lunch.
"Do you have a tea preference, Abigail? I understand Lonkians prefer coffee, but…"
"When in Rome, as they say, I wouldn't be so boorish of a guest to fuss over a mere drink. I prefer black tea, no milk, but three sugar cubes, if you don't mind."
The attendant serving us fulfilled the order with the grace and poise expected of him. Delivering our respective tea in real Periclean cups. Mine was mint.
"I'm surprised you let me have such accommodations."
"I'm not here to turn you into a Rough Rider, your majesty. You hired me to teach you how to shoot and defend yourself. I'm not here to judge your lifestyle, but if you want suggestions, you could place a shotgun under the table. Irwin makes a short, repeating shotgun only this long."
By this long, she indicated the length from the tip of her finger to her elbow.
"Why'd Mr. Irwin make such a thing? What purpose does it serve?"
"He wanted to win a bet."
"You can't be serious."
Abigail smiled, resting her chin on her knuckles while she leaned over the table. "I'm deathly serious. I have one with me. It only holds three shells, plus one in the chamber. The range is ridiculously short, but it works well in trains, indoors, cramped places like that."
"I would imagine so, but have you ever needed it?"
"It's come in handy a few times," Abigail said, tilting her head upwards. Her smile was… disturbing.
"So… Abigail, what inspired you to get into competition shooting?"
"Oh, there was no real inspiration. My father taught me how to shoot and said competing against others would help me improve faster. It just so happens I had a knack for it is all, and I enjoy it. The prize money is nice, too."
I washed down my sandwich with a sip of tea, my reflection staring sadly back at me. "You must have been close with your father."
"I didn't have any brothers or siblings. I don't think he was trying to treat me like a boy. He probably just didn't know how to raise a girl. We lived in the wilderness, so dresses weren't necessary." Abigail looked longingly at the sky, her fingerless gloved hands tightening around her teacup, threatening to crack it. "I think making me compete in shooting was his way of socializing me. It's embarrassing, but when I was little, some folks regarded me like I was a wild animal. Dad probably wasn't embarrassed or anything, but when I turned fourteen, he suddenly tried to introduce me to feminine things. He even paid a whore to teach me how to be more womanly."
"Your father hired a whore… to teach you what?"
"Don't get the wrong idea," Abigail said quickly. "She wasn't a low-class whore, she was… some eastern woman from Wakou he paid to immigrate and live with us. You would balk if I told you how much he paid to have her teach me."
"I would remind you I'm a Queen, and a former Gaul Princess."
She laughed, her smile bright as the sun. "Right, right, ah… 10oz bars."
My brows frowned. 10oz bars? Bars of what? Wait! Wait, I've heard of these eastern women! Ones so famous one needed an introduction to even see them! Their rate per hour would even make the nobles here cry in dismay, so if I were to guess…
"He paid her in gold bars!"
"One bar a month, she told me since my father had such an excellent reputation, the house gave him a discount. Also, because he wasn't asking her to sleep with him." Abigail smiled, holding up two fingers. "She taught me for two years."
"Two years…" I about cried. "Your father certainly cared about your education… what did he do exactly to gain such wealth?"
"I wonder," she said, grinning as wide as a Cheshire. "He was great at enterprising, I guess."
That was certainly a non-answer that only tempted me to know more, but Abigail called an end to our break. Leading me back towards the table of assorted firearms. My heart was set on the .455, but Abigail picked out something else. Something much smaller, almost cute.
"This is an Irwin .38 Model 6 Double Action Sapphire."
The gun Abigail handed me was a blue hue revolver, with a lever on the side that my thumb naturally rested on. At her urging, I pressed it; the gun popping open, breaking in half.
"This is a break top. Most don't favor them anymore, but it ejects the spent shells automatically, if you need any further convincing."
Abigail drew one of her two pistols at her thighs in a cross draw, taking the one in the left holster with her right hand. Certainly enough, it was a gun of similar size and shape. The only difference was Abigail's revolver was hued red. Almost like blood, or maybe flame.
"This here is the big sister to that model, the Irwin .38 Diablo Ruby." She displayed the gleaming red steel weapon to me, but didn't hand it over. I could see some minor differences, such as the more pronounced hammer. The sight was a small bead at the end of the barrel with what looked like a small ring on the other end. What other differences there were, I couldn't tell.
"The Diablo Ruby was a custom order by my father for me. The Sapphire is the production model. I'll admit some bias, but I think the Sapphire is the weapon for you."
Taking my instructor as her word, I took to the range again. A pouch of ammo was provided, and I reached inside, surprised to find the shells linked by a simple metal ring in the shape of a full moon. Allowing me to load all six shells at once.
Gently closing the top, I lifted the gun and took aim. I'd finally hit a target before, and I was eager to repeat.
I pulled the trigger!
The gun went off as expected, and I worked the hammer, noting how much softer the recoil was. Adjusting my aim by the ensuing dust cloud, I fired again!
"HIT!" Abigail shouted, the sound of a bottle shattering reaching my ears. Rather than pause and celebrate, I fired again. "HIT!"
Another bottle shattered. I was feeling giddy, so I worked the hammer faster.
"Hit! Hit! Hit! Reload!"
Mechanically, I hit the lever, the spent shells popping out of the gun, while I fumbled around for another clip. My reloading skills weren't much greater than my shooting, especially with my heart pounding like a drum, so it took more time than it should have to line up the new cartridges.
"Breathe! Don't get so worked up!"
CLICK! The top locked, and I fired again.
"Miss! Hit! Miss! Hit! Miss! Miss! Stop!"
I attempted to reload, but Abigail's hand on my shoulder made me pause.
"Settle down, Queenie, take a breath."
"Right, right, apologies, it was just so exciting…" My breathing was ragged, as if I'd run a sprint.
"I get the feeling," she replied, patting my shoulder. "But hitting your mark is more important. The most important thing to remember in gunslinging is keeping a cool head."
I nodded, barely containing the urge to squeal like a young maiden who discovered her first love. It would be a second love for me. Holding up my Sapphire in admiration. The sun hitting the blued steel made it shine uniquely, like it was the gem it was named after.
What kind of metal produces such a gleam? Was this even steel? I was not a metallurgist, obviously. But the gun was so light it didn't feel real. I'd just fired over two dozen bullets, but the barrel didn't even feel warm to my bare touch.
"This is an impressive piece of craftsmanship."
"I'll tell Isaac it has your seal of approval. How was it compared to the .445?"
"The bark is less, but it still has a bite. I noticed I can find my target easier after shooting. Probably because I don't have to fight to keep the gun from hitting me in the face. Compared to the other two, the recoil feels like nothing!"
"Well, if a dainty flower like you says that, maybe you need something hotter." Abigail was fiddling with one of her many pouches adorning her gun belt but paused mid search for something I couldn't hear. All eight of our dogs stood and began growling, and it was then I could hear horses approaching.
Abigail turned, her stance widening, the heels of her boots digging into the earth, her hands hovered over her pistols, her expression serious.
"Who goes there!" Her voice, loud and commanding, could have shaken the leaves from their branches. The gang of horsemen reared up several yards away from us at the entrance of the hunting grounds. I instantly recognized them as my nephew Wilfred and his compatriots, sons of local lords and ladies.
Wilfred was the eldest son of Robert and Richard's elder sister, Diana. She'd been married off at the ripe age of sixteen to the Northern Kingdom of Clydesdale to solidify the Britannian Kingdom alliance.
There were murmurs that if I and Robert didn't have an heir soon, Wilfred or one of his brothers would be made heir. That was being sorted out currently. It made me wonder what Richard had planned to do about Wilfred. Then again, Richard was keen on Wilfred. Perhaps seeing the boy as his own.
Frankly, I found him rather insufferable.
"Auntie Katie, out for a bit of popping, are ye? The lads and I could hear you from over by the field, so we thought we'd come over and see how you were doing." Wilfred craned his head to the side in a silly fashion as he surveyed Abigail, his gaze darting to our practice field with a positively punchable smirk. "I'd heard your instructor was a woman from Lonk, heralded as the best, but I see many standing bottles compared to the firestorm you were making. I guess the rumors I heard were merely hype."
"I've barely begun my instruction under Miss Oakleaf. Her methods are proven. We would have not hired her if they were not."
"So, you say, but what is that phrase? Action over words? Care to belly up, as you Lonkians say?"
Abigail's lips curled into a sneer, her hands still hovering over her pistols. I didn't like Wilfred's attitude, but I was interested in seeing Abigail's famed marksmanship myself. That said, she was my guest. I would not stand for her to be belittled.
"She is under no obligation to perform for you. Now run along Wilfred."
"No need to be so bothered Auntie, right lads?"
"Here, here, I bet this woman's all hot air!" One of the other boys declared. He was fiddling with something on his belt. And to my incomprehension, he drew a pistol!
What happened next could only be touted as amazing.
A single 'BANG!' resounded followed closely by the boy's scream and him clutching his hand. His pistol on the ground ruined, the cylinder blown apart by Abigail's shot. The motion has been so fast, so clean. It was hard to tell it had even happened. It had been like lightning!
"These aren't toys, boys." Chided Abigail. I had the freedom to glance around. The boys were too focused on her to notice the dogs surrounding them. Posed to attack. "Never draw against another unless you're prepared to die. That's another saying from my country."
"How bold of you for a common Lonkian," Wilfred was trying to keep face, but his voice trembled, and he was sweating. "But you're nothing but a trick shooter, a wannabe Dime Novel Harlot. This is a civilized country."
"If you're civilized, then I'm a Crown Princess."
Wilfred made a strange look, his smile becoming more relaxed. "Well, given my aunt's history of Tomboyishness, you could be. Pardon my companions' dimwitted actions. Chester, apologize."
"Lord Wilfred?"
"Do it." He insisted.
From his saddle, the boy Chester bowed. "Apologies, madam, it was reckless of me to do that."
Abigail's stance relaxed, though her hands stayed close to her pistols. "I suppose that's as good as I'm going to get from bluebloods. Fine, just don't go playing cowboy again, ya here?"
The fact she hadn't apologized for nearly blowing his fingers off nor accepted his apology was a fact I kept mum about.
"Have you come to use the grounds, Wilfred? We have it reserved for another hour or more."
"There is enough forest for us to enjoy a small hunt. We'd plan to go to the southern part and take a quick trot through, but I think I've discovered something much more exciting. We got off on the wrong foot, Madam Abigail, so why don't we patch things up with a little competition shooting? Just because you Lonkians are known for your firearms prowess doesn't make you the best."
"Oh, that sounds like a challenge worth accepting, but there's only one problem."
Wilfred and his gang looked perplexed and anxious. "And what would that be?"
"Simple, a prize! It's no fun if there's nothing to win, right?"
My nephew stroked his chin, nodding in agreement, "That you are correct, Madam. What would make a suitable prize? Ah! How about this, if you win, I will allow you exclusive access to my trusted steed here during the duration of your stay."
Was that really a prize? We already provided Abigail a horse. From her expression, she didn't seem disinterested, but not overly excited either.
"Nah, how about this? Ya, let me pick a stud and mare to breed and I get to keep the offspring."
Breeding her own thoroughbred from the stables of the Royal Family? My instructor certainly could make ridiculous demands. She might as well asked for a bag of gold. Before I could interject to request a more sensible demand, my foolish nephew opened his mouth.
"Acceptable."
No, it's not you damn fool! Those aren't your horses to breed and give away! I so wanted to shout, but their manic energy kept me at bay as their wager escalated.
"So that's my prize if I win, but what do you boys want? I can only give what's mine, not that I have anything you'd want most likely."
I did not like Wilfred and company smiles. What were they scheming?
"Well, we've heard tale of a certain genre of photograph famous in Lonk, what's the name… ah yes, a pin up! If we win, you could do us the pleasure of posing for one of our preference."
"Wilfred!" I barked, but Abigail's reply dosed my anger like cold water. Leaving me flustered and confused.
"Alright."
"Abigail! You can't agree to something so vulgar!"
"I'm sure they only have the most refined tastes." She laughed off my concern, giving me a serious look. "Besides, you don't think they can actually beat me?"
"Well… I…"
I was at a loss here. So, the challenge was officially accepted. We had the servants fetch more targets and before I knew it, this not so friendly challenge became a spectacle! A crowd of other noblemen and women gathered, including my husband and Richard. All of them looking on from under the shade.
In my gunslinging attire, I sat next to Robert, feeling self-conscious. This outfit really wasn't a proper dress for the present company. Not that I'd intended for anyone other than Abigail and my personal maids to see me in it if I could help it. Now the entire court saw me.
"This certainly is exciting." Robert said.
"It is," I said, fanning myself, as Abigail prepared for her duel. It would be her vs Wilfred. The prize for winning was being kept secret from the newcomers, but the drafted referees explained the challenge to the onlookers.
"This will be a single bout duel between Miss Abigail Oakleaf, famed Gunslinger from Lonk, and Prince Wilfred Brus. The contestants will compete in a one-minute bout to shoot as many targets as possible in the allotted time. As he is the challenger, Prince Wilfred will go first."
Wilfred made the challenge, allowing Abigail to pick the event. She decided on a single round of a game she called Double Hand. The basics were the shooter used two pistols to shoot as many targets as possible. Since this wasn't an official match, she told Wilfred he could use one in each hand or switch between them.
To ensure there was no foul play, Wilfred borrowed one of his friend's pistols, instead of taking one from Abigail. Her arsenal was still on full display. The King's guard surrounded the table after checking to ensure they were all unloaded, but stayed close to ensure nobody took one. The King was attending after all.
"Master Wilfred, Ready? Begin!"
The game began, drawing not only mine, but everyone else's attention. Wilfred, perhaps to show off, wielded both pistols. One in each hand. Alternating between each one as he fired.
I cocked my head sideways. Wilfred wasn't pulling the hammer back, just pulling the trigger, but the guns were firing.
"Confused, your highness?" Abigail said cheekily next to me. "That's double action. Your Sapphire has that feature, but it's only recently been perfected technology wise. So, it fails sometimes." She explained as Wilfred finished his first salvo. Awkwardly, he holstered one pistol while reloading the one in his right hand.
Wilfred's pistols were two different models of the same caliber. The one on his left was a gate loader. So, he'd have to eject each spent shell one by one and reload one by one. The pistol in his right, his personal pistol, was a swing out. He ejected all the shells at once and reloaded as fast as he could. His rate of fire dropped significantly as he continued with only one gun. The other was too slow to reload against the clock.
"Time!" The Referee shouted, making Wilfred pause, eject his shells and present his guns to the Royal Guard. "Prince Wilfred, 24 shots fired, 15 out of 30 hits."
After his first volley, Wilfred had reloaded twice. Of the shots fired. He hit 15 and missed 9, giving him an 62% accuracy. To get his score, you timed his hits by .62 for a score of 9.3. Abigail gleefully explained, she was certainly into this.
Everyone clapped, even Abigail. She didn't seem concerned in the slightest as she praised Wilfred.
"Not bad, not bad, a bit of practice you'd do good on the Shooters circuit, top fifty for sure." It was hard to tell if that was praise or patronizing as Abigail waltzed over to the starting zone, a cocky grin playing on her lips. Many in the crowd were rooting against her. Such is the home field advantage for her opponent, not that she seemed to mind.
"Shooter ready… begin!"
What came next, I could only describe as thunder! Abigail unloaded her Diablo Rubies in less than a second! I had flashbacks to that night, months ago, when my assassin gunned down the guards. I thought her guns had done the same thing as then with how fast she reloaded, but looking closer, I saw the truth.
On Abigail's gun belt were two metal loops she'd thrust the open revolver into, leaving the cylinders up and open on her belt, freeing her hands to grab the next clip of ammo, reload, close, fire and repeat. All with one hand.
To those that couldn't keep up or didn't see the trick, it looked like she was holstering her empty gun and drawing a newly loaded pistol. I wonder if that was the same thing my Assassin did, and I hadn't noticed.
The judge was having a hard time keeping up with Abigail's score.
"Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! Hit! STOP! TIME! TIME!"
Abigail stopped on a dime; her arms posed dramatically, with smoke wafting off her barrels. It was the very picture of a gunnerina, a true Princess of Bullets.
Cheekily she asked, "So, did I win?"
The referee cleared his throat. "Abigail Oakleaf, 36 shots fired, 30 of 30 targets hit!"
Though she had missed a few times, it didn't matter if she hit all the targets. Abigail grumbled that in an official match, her accuracy average would have been penalized for shooting over the number of targets. Lonk was very adamant about one shot, one kill.
She won obviously, blowing Wilfred out of the water with a score of 25, Abigail explaining that her accuracy was 83% because of her six misses. Still 30 times .83 was 25, still the higher score, and she hit the most targets which was the point of this game.
Naturally, the crowd was impressed by Abigail's display of skill and demanded an encore. Perhaps because she was used to such things, she obliged them, and took up a lever-rifle.
"I need a brave assistant! Anyone with a solid brass pair willing to step forward?" Abigail rallied the crowd. Robert stood to volunteer.
I leaned closer, but couldn't hear what they were saying over the crowd's excitement. Robert lit a cigarette and walked twenty, no fifty, paces from Abigail. The royal guards were on edge as Abigail shouldered her rifle, looking very relaxed, as if she wasn't aiming at one of the world's most powerful men. Robert, with the lit cigarette wedged between his fingers, held out his arm.
"Don't move now!" Abigail hollered, cocking the rifle.
She wasn't… there was no way!
BANG!
To my and everyone else's amazement, the ash on Robert's cigarette was gone, extinguished by Abigail's bullet.
The red-haired woman laughed heartily, ruffling her hair as if embarrassed. "Normally, my assistant would have it between his lips, but shooting at a king just got me so gosh darn nervous, you know? I'd hate to hit him, so I insisted he keep the cig in his hand, but let's hear it for King Robert! A man of true metal!"
The crowd clapped for the King, who retook his seat beside me, grinning stupidly. As his wife and Queen, I wanted to chide him for being so foolish to willingly get shot at. But… well… I can't say it wasn't impressive. Maybe even a little charming in that stupid male sort of way.
Our hands intertwined we enjoyed the rest of Abigail's show. Awed by her skill. She bounced bullets off steel plates, hitting targets at 45-degree angle shots, she shot a coin tossed into the air from over 25 paces, juggled her pistols as well as any juggler, and wowed us with a shot from over a hundred yards with no optical assistance. Her target, an Ace of Diamonds playing card, the hole right in the center of the Ace.
It was a proper show for sure.
And like all shows, they must end. The impromptu crowd wandered back to their estates as the sun hung low in the evening sky. I stood with Robert and Richard while Abigail packed away her arsenal. I stood off the side while my husband and Richard bombarded Abigail with questions about her collection of firearms. That was another aspect of her job, selling weapons. She answered whatever she could and encouraged the men to try shooting any rifle that tickled their fancy.
They seem enamored with Irwin's newest bolt-action rifle; I stifled a yawn as Abigail went over the specs. Not that I was bored, but the day has been long.
"Yeah, tired, your majesty? I'm pretty tuckered myself. Here, King Robert, Lord Richard, take the rifles of your choosing and give them a whirl. Don't be afraid to push them either. And if you are interested in a production model of the Irwin Lee, send an order to Mr. Irwin with any changes you desire."
Abigail finished packing her equipment away, and we left with our hounds circling around us protectively. Perhaps it was premature, but I feel we've bonded a bit.
"I'm looking forward to tomorrow's instructions, Miss Abigail. Today was fun, but I hope tomorrows will be more in the norm."
"I'm sure my novelty will wear off after tomorrow, for sure. Don't forget, you need to show me those stables. I'll want to collect my new pony by this time next year."
"Yes, I suppose we'll have to schedule time for that as well."
Oh boy, I wasn't sure whether to keep this quiet from Robert.
We returned to the castle, Abigail bidding me goodnight and me her. After my maids changed me into my nightclothes, I fell onto my bed with my dogs posting themselves around the room like gargoyles.
Today was certainly exciting. I couldn't wait for tomorrow.
†
For the next three months, I learned the way of the gun from Abigail. She taught me how to fire and draw a pistol under duress and even showed me the principle behind dual wielding. Cut in-between breaks from shooting were lessons in commanding my guard dogs and studying ammo types and where to hit a human being for a quicker kill shot. There were even lessons pertaining to how to use a knife.
In my second month, I was introduced to rifles and shotguns and all that came with them. Many times, I found myself staring down a rifle barrel, trying to pick out targets far in the distance.
By the third month, I was feeling like an accomplished shooter. Abigail was quick to put me back in my place whenever I challenged to her to Quick Draw or Double Hand. Still, the last month with my beloved instructor and perhaps my closest friend, was more shooting for fun rather than learning fundamentals.
At the end of our time together, my swelling stomach became much more noticeable and intrusive to my instruction. I was not alone in this either.
Abigail's belly was slightly bigger than mine now, and it wasn't from eating too much cake.
"Huh, I guess he was really eager that last time." She mused, laughing.
We sat on the balcony connected to Abigail's room, enjoying one last cup of tea together before Abigail took her leave. Of course, I planned for the pony yet to be born to be sent to her home upon its delivery.
"Now just because I'm not here to hound ya doesn't mean you can slack off in practicing. I don't want to visit and see ya all rusty." Abigail said pointedly.
"I will practice every day as feasible." I smiled, patting my stomach. "I wonder what this little one will be. I'm sure everyone is hoping for a boy, but… I feel it's a girl."
"Only god knows," my friend mused.
"I suppose you're right," I smiled, watching the setting sun. "I hope our children can be friends one day."
"I doubt they'll ever meet, but…" Abigail gave me a side glance. "Well… who's saying they won't, right?"
I blush at my silliness. Of course, our children would likely never meet. One would be a princess and the other the child of a trick shooter. It wouldn't be impossible, but given the distance, it would be unreasonable to force Abigail to visit. Plus, I doubted she wanted to be pulled into the world of royal politics more than she already was.
"How about letters? I understand this was a professional endeavor for you, but… well…"
"Nothing wrong with writing some words between friends, right? Besides, it's rare one gets to brag about being friendly with a Queen, right?"
"I suppose it's not, and who knows, I host my own shooter's circuit and we can have an official rematch one day."
Abigail flashed me a dazzling smile against the red glare of the setting sun. "I'll see ya there, Queenie."
After that night, I bid my friend and teacher goodbye. Our paths crossing again was uncertain, but I held hope we'd meet one day.
†
Another six months and some weeks passed. My bulging belly spared me from wearing corsets and stifling dresses. My lead attendant threw her arms up at trying to make me presentable for the public and nobles. I quite liked my alone time in the Royal wing of the castle.
Not that I was ever truly alone with all my staff surrounding me to carry out my whims. The child in my stomach was going to be an excited one, what with their persistent kicking.
To help pass the time these last few months, Wilfred, of all people, visited me regularly. Our time together saw the two of us, much to my surprise, bonding as family. We played chess, discussed current events, but what truly brought me and the sixteen-year-old boy closer was our shared admiration and love for Miss Abigail.
Whenever Abigail's exploits were published, Wilfred would come running with the paper before anyone else. A month ago, he brought the magazine for International Arms. The lead article was Abigail winning her seventh championship with a baby girl in her arms. I tried to find the tale of her husband, but he was excluded from the buzz.
As exciting as the news was, Abigail also announced her retirement from competition, for now, stating that maybe when her daughter was of age she'd return.
"Aunt Kathrine, what do you think of this model of rifle? Uncle Richard has crowed about needing a new general issued firearm for some time."
"I certainly like it, but he's so fixated on Stanley's." Even months after completing my self-defense training, I kept a healthy (Unhealthy according to my head Maid Stephine) interest in weapons. Specifically, those produced by the Irwin Company, not that I didn't look at other companies' catalogues for comparison. "But he makes a good argument. Irwin is great for personal hand-crafted firearms, but they are higher priced per unit. Stanley may not be as customized, but their work is solid and reliable. Plus, they are a domestic company."
No matter how you pitched it, no country, unless for unprecedented reasons, would choose a foreign company to supply their nation's arms if they had a reliable domestic one.
"Wilfred, what do you think of this pistol here?" I pointed to the gun image in the Maus Waffen Magazine, a Saksa Arms Company. Saksa was a relatively new nation on the world stage, officially known as the Armed Saksa Federation. Basically, a loose coalition of smaller states morphed into a hegemon overnight, splitting the Europa continent in twine from the north sea to the southern straits.
Its rapid ascendance has led to many political and geological headaches around the world. Its neighbors had a right to be wary. Before unifying, Saksa, formerly Saxon-Germania, was known for being an army with a nation, rather than a nation with an army.
Their principal export, soldiers of fortune, aka mercenaries. So not only was it a rising power, but it was also an rising power with an army of well-armed Veterans.
"What a peculiar design. The Maus D-92 8mm semiautomatic mechanical pistol. The new age of personal defense, featuring a detachable seven capacity matchbox magazine, one unit is priced for 45 Ska. That's quite the sum for a pistol." Wilfred remarked, setting the catalog on the table. "Still, a non-revolving pistol. What a novel idea. I would be interested in procuring one. What do you think, Auntie?"
"8mm is a rather small caliber." I remarked. Doing the conversion in my head, it was smaller than my .38 Sapphire rounds. Not by a wide margin, but still smaller. "Seven rounds is a novel improvement. I assume to reload, you replace the magazine?"
The column advertising the D-92 had an extra space illustrating how the matchbox magazine functioned. It was remarkably like my speed clips for my Sapphire. A feature any swing or top break revolver could use.
"Damn… I want to test it, too. I can't get a feel for how large it's supposed to…ugh…"
"Auntie?"
I stand, gripping the end of the table for support. "Get the midwife…"
Wilfred stared at me at a loss before snapping too and racing out of the room, screaming down the hall. The maids, so carefully out of sight, flocked around me, pulling me towards the bed. My guard dogs stayed on the fringes of the room, but one sniffed the cup I'd been drinking from, and whined, unable to smell poison but saw I was in pain.
"Pax… pax…" I said with fading strength as the maids did their work. The dog trotted over, resting her head on the bed, whining at its helplessness. "It's ok…"
I didn't know if I was trying to convince the dog or myself. This would be my first child; it would be a lie to say I wasn't scared.
"Deep breaths, madame, the midwife will be here soon."
"She's burning up! Is she sick?"
"She looked fine a second ago…"
The maid's voices were growing fainter. My head was on fire. Was I sick? Is this normal? How I wish my mother had been less vague with my education in this matter!
"Your majesty! Your majesty, stay with us!"
My eyes closed, darkness taking my consciousness.
"Queen Kathrine! Hurry! Fetch a Doctor!"
†
My body felt weightless, like I was floating in water. I tried moving, but it was like I was swimming through pudding. Flailing my arms, I right myself or maybe I was upside down? I had no frame of reference.
Everywhere I looked, there was just a deep, dark void, like a moonless night without any stars.
Was I dead?
Inhaling, I close my eyes and exhale, calming myself. When I opened my eyes again, I saw what looked like a small bonfire burning in the distance. I walked towards it, a marble stone path forming beneath my feet as I walked.
Was this a dream?
Approaching the bonfire, I see… a woman with bone white hair and triangular red markings on her cheeks. Her skin was fair and unwrinkled. In fact, she looked younger than me. I've never seen such a person in my life.
Beside the woman was a familiar reddish dog, a similar if not the same breed as my own, only it sat as tall as her. Should she desire, the woman could ride it like a horse.
There was one more… being is the only way I could describe it, sitting on a bleached log. A skeleton dressed in tattered clothing was seated beside the woman. Its bones clattered as it moved. I observed them both drinking what I believed was alcohol from the smell of it.
"My, my, seems our guest has arrived." The woman smiled, urging me closer, inviting me to sit across from her. Another bleached log appeared for me to sit on.
Not to be impolite, I took a seat. In doing so, I suddenly became aware there was not a strip of cloth on me. I hastily tried to cover myself, although my hands couldn't hide much.
"You're so shy!" the woman laughed. She glanced towards the skeleton. It clattered gibberish to my ears. "Kathrine Vermillion, huh? I wonder why you're here… but this child of mine is pleading your case. I suppose…" the woman said, smiling playfully. "One must help family, even if they are not of blood. The mother of my kin, is still my kin, right Katie?"
I silently nodded, bewildered, not knowing if I was dreaming or if I had died. Was there a way to rationalize what was going on?
The woman clapped her hands. "Alright, Mother of my Kin's kin. Raise thy child well, for she is of my blood, and she will bear the name given to her by her father. Her true father."
The skeleton suddenly began chattering excitedly, or perhaps angrily, shaking its fist.
"I've heard your protest, but this is my will." The woman chided, the skeleton looking solemn, nodding its head. "Good, now let's get you back where you belong, Mother of my Kin's kin. Oh, and tell your hounds to sniff for the maid that smells of almonds. Goodbye, for now."
The woman clapped her hands, and I saw a brilliant crimson light.
†
"Queen Kathrine!" My maid Stephine screamed, shaking me. She helped me sit, the room astir with many people, Wilfred, Robert, Richard, servants. It was all so overwhelming, but a force of which I didn't understand urged to reach out my arms.
"Give me my child."
"My Queen…"
"Give me my child!" I barked. My stained tone stirred my circling guard dogs. The maid, holding a freshly wrapped crying bundle, stiffly fulfilled my request.
"It's a girl, my lady." The maid timidly told me.
The tension in my body eased as I got the first look at my baby girl. "What interesting eyes you have."
I believe the term is Heterochromia. My daughter had two different eye colors, one an emerald green much like my own, and the other a crystal ocean blue, much like her father.
"We thought we lost you." Robert said, looking physically and mentally drained.
I gave him my best smile, even though it was dawning on me I might have just died.
"My time has not yet come, I assure you. A child needs its mother, no?" This time my smile was genuine, which assured Robert slightly. He looked deathly pale. His skin was gray and clammy.
"I'll leave you to recover. Worry not for your duties, my Queen, for they are all in your hands." He basically said taking care of our child was more important, a sentiment I whole heartily agreed with.
"Are you not going to name her, your majesty?" Wilfred asked from behind Richard. The young man's earnest face contrasted his uncle's dower grimace. Funny, I'd thought Richard would have been happy with a girl. This all but cements Wilfred's ascendance to the throne.
Girls are the ones you marry off, after all.
I suppose one of the noble houses could make a bid for the crown by marrying my daughter. That was preferable to having a foreign prince take the throne. I'd have to be more on guard than ever before.
Back to the question at hand, a name… that cosmic woman said her father held that right. I'm sure she meant Rooker. No, I was certain. So, I wondered what would happen if he didn't? Would the generous life given to me be taken away?
Lucky for me, Robert declined the honor.
"No, I believe tradition dictates Father's name sons, and mother's daughters. Come now, everyone, besides the bare minimum, let's give My Queen space to rest and think. I'm sure whatever you pick, it will be a beautiful name."
Robert left with a parade of people marching in his wake. Wilfred flashed me a smiled, wishing me and his new cousin well. By the time they all departed, only two maids remained. My little bundle was eagerly clawing at my swollen breasts. Eager for her milk.
Slipping my gown aside, I let her suckle and noticed a breeze from the window. I was certain it was closed before. Looking at my guard dogs, I saw them looking confused, prowling around the room, looking for something that was beyond my senses.
"If you would wait outside, I'd like some privacy."
True to their training, the remaining two maids stepped out, their heels clicking on the stone floor as they went to the end of the hall, far enough not to eavesdrop, but close enough to hear the summon bell.
My daughter eagerly suckled my teat. I looked at the window, a certain familiar shadow occupying it. The dogs stood front and center, barring the intruder's path with fangs bared.
"I didn't think you'd come, or have you been close by this whole time?" Who was to say when I'd be ready to give birth? I certainly didn't. I knew gossip could spread faster than a wildfire, but news of the birth shouldn't have left the castle grounds yet.
"I was told to arrive this day," Rooker said mysteriously. "By two who I cannot refuse."
"Oh? And who's that?"
"My wife and her matriarch."
"Your wife…"
"We married after… you know… call it sewing my wild oats, still…" Rooker removed his hat and pulled down his collar. That handsome youthful face I saw before was scarred horribly. Three grisly slash marks ran from ear to ear over his eyes. If he didn't look blind before, he certainly did now. He smiled, amused. "That didn't mean she was happy with me."
"I'm surprised she'd allow you to visit me at all…"
"I'm obliged to tend to the child as her sire." Rooker walked towards the bed, the dogs surrounding him. Before I could give the command, he… growled inhumanly. The dogs whimpered and backed away. "They're well trained, if a little earnest." He said, removing his clawed gauntlets to brush the smooth head of our daughter. "Let's see… you need a name… you're a princess, so I suppose it should be something grand."
Rooker closed his eyes, deep in thought.
"Jessika Evangeline Kane."
Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me, but Jessika's eyes seemed to dull, matching her father, before returning to normal.
"The more I see of you, the more I think I've entered a Faustian bargain. Are you perhaps actually the devil?"
"Well, I'm not an angel."
"Hilarious," I tucked Jessika closer, Rooker setting something heavy on the bed. Its shape was a familiar one. It was a pistol. "Do you want to hold her? You are her father."
Rooker carefully took his daughter into his bloodstained hands, the baby appearing no bigger than a loaf of bread in his palms. She giggled and reached for a stray strand of his long hair. He held her close to his chest, letting the newborn listen to the heartbeat of her father. She must have liked it since she drifted to sleep.
"What's this for?" I picked up the pistol, removing it from the holster. It was decorative with fine engravings with a familiar red hue to the metal. Embedded in the pearl ivory handles were two silver coins with the image of a blind devil weeping. The gun was marked as an Irwin .44 Diablo Hellfire. However, when I pulled a round out of the cylinder it was much larger than the standard one with a deep hallow point.
"That's a Hellfire Magnum round. It's been developed as backup for big game Afrika hunters. It'll also split a man in half just fine. But the true power of this gun is this." Rooker pointed to the coins in the grips. "Flash that mark if you're ever in trouble. To those that know it, it is a symbol of authority."
Rooker handed Jessika back to me, looking longingly at the child. "She has an older sister, not much older, but still… I hope they can meet one day." He said, petting the sleeping child. "Richard planned to kill both you and your husband Robert that night."
"You certainly know how to transition a conversation, but I figured that was a possibility. I am certain he plans for Wilfred to take the throne, after claiming it for however long he can. I find it odd that both he and Robert have trouble conceiving children, even if it's genetic… for both to be sterile… it's odd, right?"
I certainly wasn't a doctor, but it struck me as unlikely.
"They've been cursed by a witch. Not surprising she'd make them infertile. She's a scary one."
"You make it sound like you know her." Was I too nonchalant about there being a witch? After everything in these recent months and my recent fever death dream… believing witches were real wasn't too outlandish. And my husband and brother-in-law crossed one.
"We are acquainted through our work. I'll spare you're her name, knowing it would only harm you. To a more pressing matter, Richard knows that's not Robert's child. I doubt he'll take any dramatic action too soon. I've taken measures to shatter his connections in my field and my name alone protects you from my compatriots, but that man strikes me as stubborn."
"Indeed he is," I sighed, worrying about my child's future. Feeling like a guillotine hung over us, ready to end it all. If Richard gathered the proof and the truth was told, I would at the very least be exiled from the castle, if not the country. Of course, my family would never take me back for having an affair and ruining Gaul's and Britannia's alliance. My father would never live with the shame or rather he wouldn't let me.
Rooker noticed my gaze and the burning question on my mind, "I can't kill Richard." He said and then clarified. "To be precise, I can't kill him without causing more trouble than it's worth. The Witch already lays claim to his life. If I were to take it, I would make an enemy of her. That is something I do not do lightly."
"So, when is she going to kill him?"
"She's already destroyed his and your husband's bloodlines. As she says, she's savoring their suffering, so they'll die when they die. Whether that be today or withered on their deathbeds."
"So, he can basically live out his life until the end. What a kind assassin she is. And if I were to kill him? Say he be on a hunt and walked into my line of fire during my practice?"
Rooker's face contorted, pondering my hypothetical.
"I'm sure she'd be amused, but that could lead to her to taking an interest in you. To put it another way, if you break her toy, you might just become her new one."
Basically, don't do it is what I was understanding. A shame, to be hampered like this, but an uneasy peace was better than an all-out war with a witch. At the risk of being called an occultist, I'd do my due diligence and learn of my potential enemy while watching the wolf outside my door.
I had my work cut out for me raising my daughter.
"I won the bet, but it doesn't feel like it. So long as Richard lives, it will never truly be over, will it? The best I can do is make it too troublesome to kill me and Jessika. I'll have to cultivate my power base. Richard's a pragmatic and hawkish man with a pulse on the Lords of the Land. This will not be easy."
I came out of my musing to see Rooker at the window, his pale eyes gazing at me with amusement. A significant part of me wanted to ask for his continued aid. The words about left my tongue, but no, I couldn't ask that of him. This was my battle.
However.
"If there comes a time where this child seeks you out for help… can you, as her father, care for her? Take no thought of me or my fate, but please say you will. Please heed this selfish woman's plea?"
The conflict was obvious in his eyes, but he nodded firmly, taking the weight of the world off my wiry shoulders.
"If she seeks me out, I will not turn her away, I promise you and her that."
"Thank you, Rooker."
Like the wind that brought him, he vanished from my sight. As he promised, the love I never knew. I would not see my Assassin Paramour again. Though I would look towards creeping shadows and whistling gales, hoping just maybe to catch the sight of a ragged cloak and a pale glare.
I never saw what I couldn't see, but in my heart, I believed he was there.
Watching over us, my beloved Assassin, and lover.
Fin…