A Venom Vice

By Mary Whipple

Princess Bellardia Andryala Pimpernel is actually much more skilled at crafting highly combustible potions than she is at basic human interaction. This is unsurprising as her father's obsession with finding one of the Four True Heirs of Matheque led him to banishing all the nobility and gentry from the castle (save for on special occasions every now and then, of course). Thus, our princess grew up in a nearly empty castle (aside from all the maidservants, menservants, cooks, gardeners, guards, tutors, the councilors, her Lady-in-Waiting, and the court soothsayer/alchemist/doctor, Merdwick. So, practically deserted).
She was quite used to being ignored until on her eighth birthday she is given the gift of her very own jester. This boy, Jack, proves to be her very dearest friend despite a past he won't discuss and his predisposition to causing chaos. Aside from crafting the occasional small explosive to clear her head, Jack is her only anchor to sanity when seven years later she comes of age. Now that she’s a woman grown (at a very mature fifteen years of age), she’s thrust into a world of arranged marriage, cloying nobility with suspect machinations, whispers of regicide, and darker parts of her family history that she would really prefer not to think about.
But of course, she’s not in love with Jack. Oh, no. That would be ridiculous. He's a jester. His tousled black hair, emerald green eyes, and taut, agile build never enter into her thoughts in the slightest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Whipple
• Release date: Jul 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370344550

Mary Whipple

Mary T. Whipple is predominantly a writer of traditional fantasy (because what story could not be improved by the introduction of dragons?) but also has a penchant for pirates, tragic romance, Victorian England, and Greek mythology. She has a deep love for fracturing fairy tales and an unreasonable amount of disdain for the Knight in Shining Armor and Prince Charming archetypes. At the age of four she wrote her first story about a family of squirrels (spelling things more or less phonetically). The “novel” she wrote the following year (after attaining a greater understanding of the alphabet) was the story of an incomprehensibly beautiful witch (incidentally also named Mary) who went on a grand quest for no other reason than she felt like it and rescued baby sea monsters and dragons all along the way. Ms. Whipple has continued writing ever since and is proud to say that she now has a very firm grasp of the alphabet. When not reading or writing, Ms. Whipple can often be found playing video games with her husband while their puppy, kitten, and bearded dragon look on dolefully and wonder why they are not currently being given treats and tummy scritches.

Book preview

The Matheque Chronicles

Tales From the Third Kingdom

Book One

A Venom Vice

Copyright 2017 Mary T. Whipple

Published by Mary T. Whipple at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

The Pre-Prologue

The Prologue-Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Connect with Mary T. Whipple

The Pre-Prologue

The king looked down at the red, shrieking creature that writhed in his arms. The creature that killed his wife.

It’s a girl, Your Majesty, said the midwife, her voice flat and exhausted. There was no congratulation in her tone.

Brown. Even newly born, its eyes were brown. And it was a girl.

The queen’s corpse was still laid out on the bed, unstopped blood pooling around her lifeless body. A wet cloth draped across her forehead. Her damp brown hair plastered across her face and pillow. The white chemise she wore clung to her, sticky with sweat.

She’d never loved him. He knew that. While she had never rebuffed his advances, she also never made any pretense of enjoying them. But that had never stopped him from craving her touch. And now she was dead. Once again failing to produce a True Heir. One final snub to his affection.

He was too old to begin again. Searching for a bride that fit all the signs had already taken most of his adult life. He had no choice but to accept that his line had failed. His kingdom would fall. All the Four Kingdoms would fall. All he could do now was struggle to postpone the inevitable.

The queen’s Lady-in-waiting stood beside the bed. Her red hair hung in listless strands around her pale, stunned face. Her grey eyes were filled with the empty horror of someone of little consequence losing their only real purpose. She was little more than a girl.

The king strode to her and shoved the child into her arms.

You are now Lady-in-waiting to the princess, said the king, see that she’s cleaned up and give her a name.

The young woman’s eyes grew wide as she struggled to hold the screaming infant. She looked to the midwife then back to the king.

Your Majesty, she said, her voice shrill, I- I am not a wet nurse. I know nothing of children. I only came to serve as the queen’s companion.

The king narrowed his eyes, his jaw flexing beneath his thick grey beard.

That improved your rank, did it not, Lady Rosalind? he said.

Well… of course, Your Majesty. But-

Do you wish to keep that rank?

She glanced down at the child and tried to readjust it in her arms. Her eyes glistened and she quickly blinked.

Yes, Your Majesty, she said so softly it could scarce be heard over the wails of the child.

Then you are now Lady-in-waiting to the princess. Once you’ve finished seeing to her, go tell Alexandrine that she’s still first in line.

He turned and left, assigning the servants standing dumbly by the door to clean the queen’s body and prepare it for burial.

The Prologue-Prologue

A ragged troupe of performers made their way into the town of Halberd. The growing crowd of eager onlookers stunted and dispersed when it became clear there would be no performance that day.

Three men argued at the front of the haggard procession. The carts and wagons, once vibrantly painted, were chipped and dull. Tense whispers floated through the caravan. The only smile among them was on the face of the boy being guarded at the rear of the procession. His hands were bound and tethered to a small wagon that must have once been yellow.

I still say we shoulda just killed ’im and left the body in the woods, said one man wearing a floppy hat with a tattered feather, let ’im get et by wolves or elves or whateversuch wanders ’round about here.

Elves don’t eat people, do they? asked the youngest of the three men. He could have been little more than eighteen and proudly bore the beginnings of a faint blonde beard.

The short, wiry man with the black goatee shook his head.

If I knew of any that did, he said, smoothing his goatee, I’d’ve tried to sell ’im off as meat long before. He’s hardly been worth what I’ve had to spend to feed ’im.

Really? asked the young man, but he’s such a good acrobat… I mean, foris age.

The man in the floppy hat slapped the back of the young man’s head.

No one wants to pay to watch a sulky tumbler.

Neals finally got him to start smiling, though, said the young man sullenly, rubbing his head and nodding in the direction of the wiry man.

An old man in silvery robes stood at a nearby vendor’s stall, wrapping and sorting the various herbs he’d purchased and making a good show of not eavesdropping.

"Now it’s all ’e does, said the man in the floppy hat, slapping the young man again for good measure. It’s shuddersome the way ’e glares daggers with that grin still painted on ’is nasty little face. ’s eyes ain’t natural neither. Green as dragon’s scales. Bet ’e was still grinnin’ the whole time ’e was stabbing Corraidhin."

The wiry man shot him a look.

"What?" asked the man in the floppy hat.

The old man in silvery robes shuffled about the stall for another moment while they spoke. Rubbing at the poorly trimmed scruff that ran along the sides of his leathery face, he gathered up his parcels.

I apologize for interrupting, said the old man as he approached, but I couldn’t help but overhear. Might I see the boy in question?

Who the ’ell are you? asked the man in the floppy hat.

I am the king’s alchemist, he said with a slight nod of his head.

The wiry man raised an eyebrow and looked the alchemist up and down.

Whaddaya want wiv ’im? he asked suspiciously.

For now, said the alchemist, I’d like to meet him. It sounds like you gentlemen are looking for a means to remove him from your party. I might be interested in providing a solution more lucrative for you than killing him.

We’re not slavers, said the young man, wrinkling his nose with distaste. we aren’t just gunna sell-

The wiry man raised a hand to silence him and looked the old man over again.

How much do you plan on payin’? he asked.

First I should like to meet him, said the alchemist, looking to where the boy leaned against a wagon wheel with strained nonchalance.

You sure you wan’im? asked the man in the floppy hat, wrinkling his forehead. ’e killed two grown men and a defenseless woman stupid enough to give ’im a kind word.

The wiry man smacked the back of his head so hard it sent his floppy hat flying. The young man grinned at that.

The wiry man raised his voice so he could be heard by the tail end of the caravan. Bring the boy up!

A murmur passed through the group and a few moments later the boy was led to stand before them.

Hullo, Neals, said the boy, his hard bitter eyes in sharp contrast with the wide smile stretched across his teeth. Decided what to do with me yet? I still recommend having me drawn and quartered. It’s good weather for watching someone get torn into bits.

The wiry man, Neals, slapped the back of his hand against the boy’s face.

You keep a civil tongue in that mouth a yours, boy, he said.

The boy turned back to face him, his smile unwavering.

I thought that was pretty civil, given the circumstances, said the boy, were you hoping I would serve you tea in greeting?

Neals slapped him again.

Are you sure? said the boy. Tears pricked at the corners of his bright, green eyes but his smile only grew. We could have a tea party every time I say ‘hullo’ from now on.

Neals raised his hand again.

There’s no need for that, said the alchemist, his voice dangerously level.

The boy turned to look at him and cocked his head.

Who’s this? he asked.

My name is Merdwick, said the old man. Is it true you killed three people?

The boy stiffened.

Nope, he said with forced joviality, Only two.

Only two? asked Merdwick, raising a bushy eyebrow.

Yup, the boy said, a hard edge creeping into his voice. I tried to… violently get Corraidhin to stop raping Nasrin. He slit her throat to spite me. Or maybe it was accidental and he was just graceless in his use of the dagger meant for me. In either case, I took it from him and gave it a new sheath in his eye… and then his other eye. Lucus heard the commotion and tried to stop me from killing Corraidhin.

So you killed him too? asked Merdwick.

The boy looked down and scratched at his nose with his bound hands.

That one was an accident.

Was Nasrin your mother? asked Merdwick.

The boy shook his head.

Who was your mother? asked Merdwick.

That hardly seems like your business, said the boy, looking up.

Do you have any brothers or sisters?

The boy said nothing. He simply smiled and glared.

He was a stray, said Neals. Found him wandering the woods little more’n a year ago, half-starved, covered in soot, and bawling. Took more’n a month to get ’im to say a single word.

Now the trick is gettin’ ’im to shut up, said the man who now lacked a floppy hat, and keeping ’im from killin’ ’is rescuers apparently.

The boy’s grin dwindled to a cutting smirk. He looked down at his ragged bare feet, failing to hide the glistening in his eyes.

He whispered so softly Merdwick almost didn’t hear. I was trying to save her.

Anyway, said Neals, I trained a smile into ’im. Boy’s a decent tumbler, quick as anything, an’ obedient enough once you show ’im the right side of your hand. Not a bad pickpocket neither if you plan to use ’im for less legitimate things. How much is ya willin’ to pay?

Pay? The boy’s head shot back up.

Merdwick crouched, his knees crackling loudly in protest. He searched the boy’s face and eyes for a moment before making up his mind.

How would you like to come live at the castle? Merdwick asked.

The boy raised an eyebrow and glanced up the hillock to the stone edifice that crowned it.

Umm… sure? he said, still eyeing the castle.

Merdwick smiled and returned to standing.

Unbind him, he said, fishing a fair sized purse out of one of his copious sleeves, I’m certain this will be sufficient payment.

He plopped the purse into Neals’ hand with a heavy clang. Neals pulled the strings to look inside and his eyes widened.

Well, get to it! said Neals, waving his free arm at the young man who was peering longingly at the shining gold coins.

Neals whacked the back of his head and the young man hurried to cut the bindings around the boy’s hands.

Merdwick nodded.

Good day, gentlemen, he said and turned away, trusting the boy to follow.

The boy glanced back at the caravan once before trotting after Merdwick.

So… he said once they were out of earshot, what’s my new role, then? Slave labor? Human experimentation? I wouldn’t complain if I wound up with a pair of wings.

Merdwick gave him a sideways glance with a raised eyebrow.

Well, I wouldn’t, said the boy, kicking a rock and watching it skitter across the cobblestones.

For now, we need only think how to get you into the castle without the king knowing and how to keep you there without him having you thrown out or executed.

It was the boy’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

Am I to be an assassin then? What’s a little regicide amongst friends, eh?

No, it shouldn’t come to that, said Merdwick with a smile that left the boy unsure whether or not he was joking.

They walked in silence for another few moments. Merdwick stared thoughtfully at the castle while the boy wondered whether or not he should run away now or wait to see what would happen. He was awfully curious. And it wasn’t every day raggedy cast-offs like him got invited to live in a castle.

It is almost the princess’ birthday, Merdwick mumbled.

Ah. So… I’ll be a concubine?

What?! Merdwick stopped walking and glowered at the boy.

So the old man took great offense at the prospect of sexual slavery but was nonplussed (possibly even amused) by the mention of regicide. The boy found that information quite interesting.

"The princess is a child, said Merdwick, she’s not even as old as you, I would guess. Are you not from the Third Kingdom?"

The boy shook his head.

Merdwick pursed his lips and continued walking.

I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me where you are from?

The boy trotted along beside Merdwick and shook his head again.

Well, that will come in time, I’m sure, said Merdwick. He scratched at the several-days-old white stubble on his chin before speaking again, I think I have it. I’ll have more... interesting quests for you in the future, I’m certain, but, for now, your only assignment is to befriend a lonely little girl.

The boy raised an eyebrow.

You want me to defy the king and infiltrate the castle to… befriend a little girl.

For now, yes. That’s all I ask.

The boy’s brow furrowed and his smile very nearly began to wane. You’re aware that none of this makes any sense, yes?

Merdwick smiled.

That too will come with time.

One

I perched on the edge of a small silver throne, my feet scarcely brushing the ground. My skirts twisted around my ankles as I aimlessly swung my legs. Piled around me were walls of elaborate packages, wrapped with meticulous care. Many sat empty, already eviscerated by my eager little fingers. Boxes of elaborate gowns, priceless jewelry, and delicately crafted toys (that would doubtless be broken within a week’s time) lay strewn about my feet. Shreds of glistening paper carpeted the floor. Yet more scraps clung to the low hanging banners and coated my slippers (which had long ago abandoned my swinging feet). The air was thick with competing perfumes and the buzzing conversations of the nobility.

As far as I could tell, every noble of the Kingdom was there. Granted, in my eight long years of life, I could only remember a handful of times that any of the nobility had visited the castle. Still, there must have been upwards of fifteen, maybe even twenty people in attendance (I couldn’t be bothered to count them all). They mulled around in uncomfortable looking clothes, nibbling on delicacies like fire salamander tail or drinking wines with simple enchantments placed upon them to make the liquid swirl and change colors. A few gazed on with mild interest as I rummaged through the gifts. Though, I imagine their interest was more in comparing who had spent the most lavish amounts.

My father was probably in the room somewhere. He had been announced and everyone had stopped what they’d been doing to bow. I’d stood up on the seat of my throne to try to get a look over the crowd but my Lady-in-waiting had scurried over from flirting with a duke or somesuch to remind me to be ladylike. Father never joined me in the large throne that stood beside my little one.

I kicked my heels back and forth against the throne, enjoying the rhythm. A herald stood to my right, announcing the name of the gifter each time a package was hefted onto my lap by the attentive servant to my left.

He had a very loud voice and his perpetual shouting was starting to make me grumpy.

My eyes wandered the room. It seemed to me that all nobles were either old women trying to pretend to be young ladies or old men having competitions to see who could come up with the most boring topic of conversation. There were five richly dressed girls about my age in attendance, all wearing varying shades of pink or orange (and an excessive amount of ribbons). However, when we had been introduced earlier in the evening they all seemed to think that being nine or ten years of age was far superior to being a mere eight years of age, princess or no.

I rather hoped they would all spill cake on themselves.

I kicked my heels a little harder and muffled an unladylike cry of displeasure.

Where was Merdwick?

Merdwick was our court soothsayer and alchemist. I rather suspected that he was also a sorcerer of some kind but he had often refused the title of Court Wizard.

The best presents always came from him.

On a previous year, he had given me enchanted wings (that had been destroyed when I landed in the moat). Another time, he crafted me a delicate silver harp the size of my hand that would play any song you asked (I left it on the throne room floor once and my father stepped on it). On my sixth birthday, he gave me a shimmering gold toy dragon that could breathe a heatless flame (I discovered, however, after an unfortunate incident with a window that it could not fly). And on my seventh, a thin silver ring that transformed whatever I was wearing into whatever I wished to be wearing (it may have rolled under my bed, or perhaps I lost it in the bath). A