The Kingdom of Noitcif

Chapter Sixteen - The Emperor's Puppets

  Tarquin was so distracted by the unveiling of everyone's true attire that he hesitated a moment too long. In that instant, Griffith began fingering his strange ring as Jax cautiously circled Tarquin, hoping to land a punch and get his gun back. Espen was ready to spring at Jax, as well, but suddenly saw spots circling around his vision. By the look on Rosalind's face, she had seen them, as well. Espen cringed as Griffith advanced towards him, and the young king's legs began to freeze up - feeling like pillars of needles as they locked in place. As Tarquin too started to succumb, Jax landed the solid punch he had been hoping for on the messenger's cheek before Tarquin had a chance to grab his earring.

  As the two Noitcif citizens and Rosalind stood as still as statues, they heard Jax demand, "Call Father."

  Griffith obeyed, and drew a strange metal camera out of his coat pocket.

  With stiff, shaking hands, Tarquin slowly gripped his earring.

  A couple seconds later, Espen opened his eyes to see Tarquin and Rosalind helping him to his feet. The young king glanced down at himself, and saw his clothes still flickering back and forth between Base World and Noitcif styles. To his right, Jax and Griffith stood slack-jawed in mid-step, locked in a moment of time. Their clothes, too, sputtered between Base World fashion and the high-tech attire of Ytilaer.

  "Come on, you two – time to ride," Tarquin encouraged, taking Espen and Rosalind's hands.

  "What just happened?" Rosalind inquired wearily, trying to regain her balance.

  "Too much to go over right now." Tarquin held onto her shoulder and helped Espen up with his other hand. "But I shall tell you all about it later. Right now, we must leave."

  "Already? But I only just got here."

  There, at the edge of the trees, flickered a holographic projection - issuing out of the box that Griffith was still holding. The man portrayed was raven-haired, bespeckled, and wearing a very sophisticated, circuitry-laden leather jacket and slacks. His arms were crossed, and he was looking positively bored.

  Espen sucked in his breath as he remembered the last thing Jax had said.

  "And it would be quite rude to leave now before we've even been introduced. Although I see my sons aren't up to the task at the moment," the man continued as he pushed his black, thick-rimmed glasses back up on the bridge of his nose. "Come, Sir Hollingberry – would you be so kind?"

  Espen noticed that Tarquin was flushed and angry, but finally forced out, "King Estevan, meet Engres, nefarious Emperor of Ytilaer, and, inconceivably – your uncle."

  "And also inconceivably – my father," Rosalind chimed in with a note of distress in her voice.

  Espen swiveled his head to look at her, mind spinning, trying to make all these connections. He realized she looked just as shocked as he felt.

  "Ah, yes. You weren't aware your father was such a successful man, were you? Perhaps someday you can assume a role in my empire the way your brothers have."

  "Come on, you two," Tarquin interjected gruffly, "we do not have to waste our time here listening to this buffoon. Rosalind, you ride with me."

  And the messenger picked her up and placed her on Verbum's back. With a swift movement, he mounted the saddle in front of her and reigned the steed in, waiting for Espen.

  "Oh, by all means, don't let me hold you up," the emperor laughed. "I'm just grateful I finally got to meet my young nephew."

  Espen mounted Fabula and directed her to stand next to Tarquin in readiness for their trip through the portal.

  But before they could dash away, the holographic Engres leaned in towards the young king with a sardonic grin. "And, may I just say; you look exactly like your father."