Chapter Ninety-One - The Throne

  The elevator continued to accelerate the deeper into the station it went until, finally, it stopped with a lurch that might have made the average person crash into the ground. Ivil weathered it without even a dip of her knees, but she still didn't appreciate the ride.

  It was more about the implication than anything else.

  If a house guest arrived at your place, you ensured that they were comfortable and welcome. You didn't let them open the door themselves and rip their shoes off their feet for them.

  The elevator door opened into a grand hall, revealing walls carved from the stone of the moon and polished until they gleamed, a floor made of inlaid tiles of some imported rock with a long rug running down the centre of it, and some two dozen guards, all of them C-classers evenly spaced apart on either side of the room with halberds of all things.

  Ivil refrained from rolling her eyes.

  She was being polite.

  A man in a suit walked over and bowed nearly in half at the waist before her. "Madam Empress," he said. "The lord Emperor is awaiting you. Would you like to enjoy some refreshments before greeting him, or is it a matter of some urgency?"

  "It's not so urgent, but I wouldn't mind meeting him directly," Ivil replied. She tilted her head to one side. "Unless he's indisposed at the moment. I came with... perhaps less warning than I could have."

  "The Lord Emperor is ready and willing to meet with you now," the butler said with another bow. "Please, Madam Empress, if you would allow this humble servant to escort you."

  Ivil gestured, and the butler bobbed in another bow before turning and leading her through the room and past all of the watchful guards.

  She didn't comment on how ostentatious this all felt. It was a bit much, especially as they came to the far end of the room and she walked past large, vaguely abstract statues of the Emperor himself.

  No eye rolling. Politeness.

  The butler brought her to a large set of wooden double doors and gently pushed one aside. Then it was through a long, wide corridor lined with small alcoves where pieces of artwork hung.

  She noticed that every piece to the left was strangely... bad.

  Ivil was no connoisseur of artwork, and perhaps she was less interested in the post First Inter-System War Art Galactic movement that had taken the art world by storm than others, but even she could tell that the paintings on that side lacked... some degree of skill.

  Those on the right, by contrast, seemed positively ancient, but all the same, very well made. Each alcove had a different artist's work and each was a masterpiece, with most of them coming from pre-spaceflight Earth.

  "Is Madam Empress curious about the artwork?" the butler asked.

  "I am," Ivil said. "The pieces on the left seem... interesting."

  The man nodded. "They are the work of the Emperor's second son. He is an artist by trade. Though, if I may speak plainly, it is somewhat traditional not to mention these pieces to him."

  "Oh?" Ivil asked. She wasn't sure if she cared, but it was better than stifling silence.

  "Indeed. The Emperor's lady wife purchased these early pieces and insisted on displaying them here."

  "Ah," Ivil said with a nod. A parent embarrassing their child. Yes, her soaps covered such things, she understood. It was... cute, she supposed. Would she do something like that? If Aurora painted something and it wasn't a masterwork, would she hang it upon her wall? If Twenty-Six tried something like that? Pixie... for some reason Ivil couldn't imagine Pixie taking up painting, but the point stood.

  If any of them did, she'd buy a museum and redefine art until their work was considered the pinnacle.

  "This way," the butler said as he led her to a second set of doors, this one made of wood inlaid with dozens of complex shapes made of different kinds of wood. The butler stepped to the side, and the doors opened all on their own. He bowed as Ivil passed him.

  This was a throne room. At least, that's what a layperson would see.

  The room was a great hall, with a vaulted ceiling so tall it faded into the shadows and great pillars that dotted the room at even intervals. Benches like ancient church pews were lined up row after row, all of them angled slightly towards a seat upon a raised dais. The seat's back rose ten metres into the air, and it was thick and wide enough to serve as the prow of a small cruiser.

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  The throne.

  Upon it was a man. Middle-aged and relatively handsome. A five-o-clock shadow, well-trimmed eyebrows and a crooked smile.

  Ivil looked past him and at the walls. Those by the entrance were the natural stone of the moon itself, but the rest were all brass and steel, openings showing complex machinery. Gears the size of houses and chains able to tug a battleship, all very slowly moving.

  "So, am I supposed to lock eyes with your facsimile?" Ivil asked as she stepped up to the edge of the space where the room went from stone to machine. Fortunately, there was a bridge of sorts that ran the centre of the room all the way up to the base of the dias. Ivil locked eyes with the thing in the appearance of a man on the throne.

  He shrugged. "It's what most people do," he said before gesturing at the palatial room. "You wouldn't imagine how many people think that all of this is just machinery. Or those who think it's set-dressing!"

  Ivil hummed, vaguely amused by it all. She imagined that the truly important parts of his body were hidden away, but all of this, the massive room and its great throne, this was the Emperor of Jupiter in the flesh and bone and naked metal.

  "You could have thrown on a bathrobe," she said.

  The puppet on the throne laughed. "I suppose so! But you're speaking like someone who doesn't understand the cost of silk, not when you have to order it by the metric ton."

  Ivil shrugged. "Cover yourself in draperies if you wish. I don't know if it will improve things very much."

  The Emperor tutted, shaking his puppet's head. "How characteristically rude. Now, I must admit, I'm very curious as to why and how you're here. Last I heard you travelled to Haumea to scare the clowns, then returned to Mars, and yet I found you at my doorstep. Did you come here to kill me?"

  "No," Ivil said truthfully. "I came here for... reasons that are my own. But I did come upon some information that needed to be shared, and I suppose I felt that it was only right that I share it with you directly."

  "That's kind of you. You could have sent a sacrificial lamb with a note," he said.

  Ivil shrugged. "I'm out of lambs."

  He laughed. "Alright, so what's this news then, cousin?"

  Ivil took a relative eternity to think things through before replying. The Emperor of Jupiter was a strange man, who had once fancied himself a 'king' of sorts, but married life had mellowed him out a lot. It was a good thing, overall. He didn't seek out power as much and mostly minded his own now.

  Still, being called cousin was weird.

  She supposed she could let him live with a few eccentricities. "The Emperor of Earth is passing by," she said. "Or has already. You're aware of the cache the League of Free Moons has found?"

  "I am," he said. "I earmarked a couple of cores from it. Nothing too extreme, mind, just some quality of life things I wouldn't mind grabbing and copying for a few people."

  She nodded. Sensible enough, she supposed. "Well, that may never happen. Earth is out there, and he wants to grab the lot."

  The puppet frowned, very slowly and deliberately. "Well, that'll cause some issues. The League will have to respond. And that will push that troublesome cousin of ours past me in terms of raw cores, won't it?"

  "Perhaps," she said with a shrug. "In any case, I'm going to go feed him his teeth. Thought you ought to know."

  He nodded. "So... any plans for dinner? My wife would love to meet you!"

  Ivil resisted the urge to sigh. "None. But I am entertaining... some people on my ship."

  "Oh?" he asked as he leaned forwards. "Are any of these the people my spies say you're dating? Come on, cousin, give me the details. I'm dying here."

  Ah, yes, the Emperor's other major fault. He was a gossip-starved busybody.

  "Bring your friends over! In fact, I'll invite my daughter too! She's the leader of the League you know, she'll want to hear about this whole thing from the horse's mouth, so to speak."

  Ivil had seen enough soaps to know exactly how awkward this was going to be...

  But she was being polite and polite meant accepting the kind dinner invitation, didn't it?

  ***