Chapter 9: “Dearest Doll”
A reduced court, consisting only of those deemed essential by the Queen, had settled in at Hatfield House over the past three days, and things were now somewhat back to normality. Presently, Elizabeth was on her throne, surrounded by four of her ladies-in-waiting with Sir Douglas, her most trusted Duellist Royal, standing at her side, and they were enjoying an afternoon’s entertainment of poetry and the acting of comedic sketches. Lady Liza Townsend led the next courtier in.
“Your Majesty,” she said, “may I introduce Lord Tarquin Whitehawk.”
The nobleman was very tall and broad-shouldered, but also scarecrow-thin with long feet and pale skin, though he did not appear ill or feeble. His sharp cheeks were daintily freckled and his eyes were cast downward as if he did not have the strength to roll them straight. His dark hair was long and neat with several perfectly arranged bangs decorating his forehead in an unusual but interesting way. He was dressed in the height of London fashion, as the Whitehawk family invested greatly in the clothing industry.
“Ah, how nice to see you again,” said the Queen, “and what will you be reading, Lord Whitehawk?” She felt it was only right to make up for her previous behaviour to the young gentleman, remembering that she had acted less than majestic.
“I-if I may, Your Majesty,” Whitehawk stuttered, “I w-would l-like to read something of my own d-devising.”
Katherine politely attempted to stifle a giggle by coughing into her hand, but a glare from MacWood silenced her and she pretended to fix a wrinkle in her dress to hide her shame. Mary, however, who was well known for being a bit empty-headed at times, did not follow her example but her merriment was cut short by Anne flicking her sharply on the back of the head.
“Begin whenever you are ready, Lord Whitehawk,” the Queen encouraged with a pleasant smile. Whitehawk steeled himself and began what would have indeed been a wonderful verse if not for his lack of control over his nerves.
Your skin’s as white as snow
And soft as a fairy’s touch I adore
With your hair an enchanted red
Like the rose a fairy rest on, mi amore
“Well, he’s certainly no Arthur Pomeroy,” Jane whispered across to Katherine and Mary. “I would much rather be listening to Jethro. Where is he, anyway?”
“Probably with Gwendolyn,” Katherine tittered. “Lucky girl.” She received a sharp quick in the back of the ribs from MacWood for her troubles. Why is it that whenever they cannot see me they think Jethro and I are using the nearest convenient bed-chamber? thought the disguised knight. I’m quite sure Jethro does not even think of me that way – at least, I think I’m sure… She shook her head and fought off the blush threatening to grace her features. We’ve been friends for too long! Such thoughts should not even cross my mind!
Whitehawk was decidedly nervous. The Queen was still smiling, and he hoped that this was a good thing, but the three ladies were twittering away to each other like birds over breadcrumbs, and that doubtlessly not a good thing. He swallowed his pride and continued on to the next stanza.
Bewitch me with your voice like a serenade
Sang by a fairies orchestra
Enhanced by your eyes only
Just like a clear crystal lake
“I wish he’d speak up,” said one of the ladies as she checked her nails, and that was it. He lost his nerve and started to splutter, stumbling over his words until they became a verbal mess.
“An excellent poem, I’m sure,” said Sir Douglas, jumping to his feet and walking towards him, “but I think you had best sit down, you look sick.” Putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, he led the poor befuddled nobleman out. When he had returned, he shot an annoyed glare at the three ladies (Anne, having held her silence, was excused from the severe tongue-lashing that was to come and kept herself occupied by combing her hair).
“That was a disgusting display!” he fumed. “Please accept my apologies, Your Majesty, but something has to be said.”
“Sir Douglas is quite right,” Liza chimed in. “Such a shameful collection of ill-mannered girls I have never seen. A gaggle of country geese would have made a better audience. They would certainly have been quieter.”
Jane, Katherine and Mary stared in shock as the pair scolded them, what surprised them even more was that the Queen did not even try to defend them.
“You do realise that Her Majesty’s reputation is affected by the company she keeps?” asked MacWood.
“Not to mention your own,” Liza cut in venomously. “I cannot think of one man who would have been impressed by that act of, ‘kindness,’ from you three.”
“That much I know already,” MacWood sighed. He looked up at the Queen. “Your Majesty, may I take my leave of you?” She nodded and with that he was gone before her head stopped moving.
In the hallway, Gwendolyn saw Lord Whitehawk tucked away in the corner, twisting his elegantly handwritten poem between his hands as if its very existence was torture to him. She paused. She wanted to say something – anything! – to ease the poor youth’s mind, but there was absolutely nothing that could improve the situation at this point, so she simply walked away to where she could change his attire in privacy before going to check on her brother.
XXX
Where…?
Sebastian slowly opened his eyes. For a while, everything including his own identity was a blur, then slowly his memories pieced themselves together. He struggled into a sitting position and looked about for Arthur and Donovan, sighing in relief when he saw them in the beds on either side of him. He did not recognise the room, but it could only be an infirmary. It was only after he felt something cold press against his head that he started. He now realised Gwendolyn was in the room with him, seated on the edge of his bed with a small tub of water on her lap. The cold something was a flannel. He blinked away the few drops that trickled down his face and relaxed his back against the pillows.
“Sebastian,” she said firmly, “if you ever, and I mean ever, do anything as downright idiotic as fight over some girl again – and don’t you dare correct me or ask me how I know, I just do – I can say with certainty that you will find yourself unable to continue the family name, if you catch my drift.”
“You’re starting to sound like Mrs Nesbitt,” Sebastian stated weakly. Gwendolyn glowered, puffing out her cheeks for a moment, then flicked a sensitive spot on his arm to make him recoil.
“No, Seb,” she said, “I am much, much worse.”
“How long was I…?” Sebastian began.
“About a week,” Gwendolyn answered. “You had me worried.”
“You would think that I would feel better after sleeping for a week.”
“Not when it’s induced by physical trauma.”
“How are Donovan and Arthur doing?”
“They are fine. Arthur has been mumbling in his sleep a lot, as for Donovan…” she was interrupted by a loud snore from one of the neighbouring beds. The Blackwood siblings laughed amongst themselves. Yes. Donovan was back to his old self.
XXX
Later that evening, Molly Randolph was much more comfortable in her new kitchen. Quite honestly, she was comfortable in any kitchen, but few earned her personal approval, and while this was very different to the one at Whitehall, it suited her tastes all the same. The pans were cleaned in properly boiled water, something not seen as often as she liked, and the utensils were stored correctly, even the store rooms were stocked in a way that made finding ingredients all the more quicker. It was a cook’s paradise! The sound of a small knocking at the door drew her attention.
“Come in,” she called. The door opened and a tiny, alabaster face with wide, dark eyes poked in. Molly could not help but smile warmly at the child.
“Och, it’s you,” she tapped her chin with her wooden spoon as she tried to recall the girl’s name. “Kreszentia, right?”
“Guten Abend, Frau Ra-Ran-dol-ph,” Kreszentia answered, finding the name difficult. While Molly could not speak German, she understood the meaning.
“Are ye hear tae take dinner tae yer master, dear?” she asked. Kreszentia paused, digesting the question, then she nodded and took several steps towards the cook. Molly cast her eyes to the tray for that particular room. It looked rather hefty. “Are ye sure ye can carry that yerself? I dinnae mind helpin’ ye.” The girl shook her head. Molly decided to rearrange the dishes on the tray to balance them out more evenly before reluctantly handing them to Kreszentia.
“Now, I know it’s a bit out o’ yer way, child,” she said kindly, “but take the north stairs up. They’re more evenly spaced and that makes it much easier when carryin’ a load.”
“North stair?” the child asked, for she had never seen stairs at the north end of the guest hall. “Nein. No stair.”
“Och, that’s right!” Molly put a palm to her forehead. “There’s a tapestry coverin’ it since they aren’t used by the gentry very of’en, mostly stable-hands an’ porters carryin’ luggage…oh, one mair thing.” She reached into her apron and retrieved three letters, which she placed onto the tray. It astounded her that the girl did not tremble beneath the weight, not in the slightest. She cleared her throat and continued. “That fool Mr Baldrick, who usually delivers the post, left half yer master’s dispatches when he was in here earlier. Be a sweetie and take them up, will ye?” Kreszentia nodded, only understanding a minimal part of that. She bent her knees a little in a crude curtsey and toddled out of the kitchen.
XXX
For little Kreszentia, taking the north stairs as the cook instructed turned out to be more than just a helping hand. It was a blessing in disguise. Thanks to the tapestry that separated the stairs from the hallway, she was not seen when a shuffling noise reached her ears, freezing her to the spot. On the other side, she heard two voices. One was quite young and a little stupid, the other was older and slick as oil.
“My Lord!” the young and stupid voice protested. “You’ve been through the ‘ole bag, that’s nothing left!”
“Mr Baldrick,” the older and slick voice sneered, “my intelligence tells me that you had three more letters. Now where are they?”
“That was all I was given, I swear!” Baldrick moaned. A loud thump and a hiss of pain reached Kreszentia’s ears and she pressed her back firmly to the wall.
“You had better hope there was nothing of consequence in those letters you flea-brained worm,” the lord spat, “or you will rue the day you were born.” His footsteps faded away as he exited via the south stairs. Five minutes passed, and Oliver Baldrick limped through the tapestry and passed Kreszentia without even stopping to greet or even glance at her. The little girl hurried to the room she shared with the Freiherr and pushed open the door with her shoulder. Her giant master looked up from his writing desk, on which were spread his hideous cards (he had been re-sorting his deck).
“Ah!” he said in German. “The first post since our arrival here. Thank you, my treasure. Please, set the tray on my bed and bring those letters to me.”
“We should be receiving more,” said Kreszentia, “but Mr Cecil has been stealing from us. He was looking for these ones.” Her master’s face seemed to darken, as if she had confirmed a nagging suspicion of his, but this was gone with seconds.
“Well,” he said, “if he wishes to teach himself to speak German, he is going the wrong way away about it.”
Kreszentia, who had no concept of cracking wise replied, “Perhaps, but this could become troublesome.”
“You worry too much, little one,” said her master with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I will confront Mr Cecil myself about this most disreputable act.” Kreszentia nodded and sat down on the bed, picking up her sewing as her master partook of his meal.
“Child, eat,” he told her.
“But consumption is unnecessary,” replied the girl.
“Humour me.”
XXX
Thunder and confustication! Where were those damned letters?! Robert Cecil had been searching for hours, and the incompetence of his operatives had forced him to search for himself on all fours like some seeker hound. That fool of a messenger was probably telling the truth, Baldrick was far too intellectually deficient to catch on to his plans and hide the correspondences he sought. Suddenly, something grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him into the air. Considering his own height, there was only one possible culprit. Looking up, he saw the hideous face of von Dijkhuizen, with his diminutive ward ten paces behind him.
“Ah, good evening, Freiherr,” Cecil greeted in an attempt to recover his dignity despite his prone position. “I wanted to speak with you, actually.”
“I’m sure you have, Mr Cecil,” replied von Dijkhuizen. “I’m avare you have been, shall ve say, ‘filtering my letters’.”
“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Cecil defended quickly. “Such a ridiculous idea should be below one of your obvious intelligence.”
“I believe dhe expression ist ‘flattery vill get you novhere’,” said von Dijkhuizen dryly as he dropped Cecil onto his feet. The man’s knees actually buckled as he landed.
“I’ll have you know that this behaviour is quite unacceptable, sir,” scowled the royal coach. “I am a member of Her Majesty’s inner circle and-”
“Not a member of her peerage, yes?” von Dijkhuizen interrupted gruffly. “Do not condescend to me, Mr Cecil. If you continue pryink into my personal business, I vill take action.”
Cecil paused. He blinked. Then he said challengingly, “I say, was that a threat?” Von Dijkhuizen bent down so his face was inches from the smaller man’s and they could see the hatred in each other’s eyes.
“No,” he hissed lowly, “it vas a promise.”
It was at this point that Queen Elizabeth and Sir Douglas MacWood were making their way to the good Freiherr’s room to invite him to participate in a tournament to commemorate the New Year. How odd to think I was once so afraid of him, Elizabeth was musing to herself. She almost felt a painful slap of irony when they turned the corner and found the object of her reverie arguing with one of her trusted advisors. The two looked ready to tear each other apart, so Sir Douglas dashed forth to stop them while Elizabeth placed a comforting hand on Kreszentia’s shoulder. The girl looked distressed by the whole affair – this show of emotion piqued the attention of both the Queen and her Duellist Royal, who until this time had never seen anything but faceless professionalism in her.
“Enough, both of you!” MacWood snapped at the arguers.
“We’re all, ah, ‘gentlemen,’ here, are we not? If you have a dispute, settle is accordingly.”
“Sir Douglas,” Elizabeth piped up, “please take Kreszentia somewhere away from this poor conduct. I will deal with two certain gentlemen who should know better.” The motherly way she said this last sentence caused both Cecil and von Dijkhuizen to hang their heads and shuffle their feet.
XXX
Gwendolyn readily carried out the Queen’s request, and her first suggestion was to go down to the kitchen and steal a sample of what Molly was making for dessert, but upon learning the girl had neither a sweet tooth nor an appreciation for playing such pranks, she decided to take her to the stable to visit Jethro. Once they were out of earshot, Kreszentia spoke up:
“May ve use stables for duel, Fräulein MacVood?”
Gwendolyn stopped and looked down at her. Of course he’d tell his servant, she thought to herself. I’m starting to think this whole disguise was a waste of bloody time!
“You duel?” she asked. Kreszentia nodded. Gwendolyn reciprocated. She had been waiting for a chance to stretch her card playing muscles again. Presently, they reached the stable-grounds and found Jethro exercising a plump, grey-haired Shetland pony on a lunge rope.
“Evening you two,” he greeted the newcomers. “I finally found a horse for the little’un.” He looked at Kreszentia, who had stopped in front of the midget equine and was staring at it with interest. “I was about to tell the Freiherr he doesn’t have to carry her on the front of his saddle anymore.”
“Very cute, I’m sure,” Gwendolyn nodded, “but I wanted to ask if we could borrow the stable for a private duel.”
“Only if I can watch,” Jethro grinned. He set up some wooden stools for makeshift tables, and Kreszentia revealed von Dijkhuizen’s Fairy Pin, which she clipped to the front of her dress. Gwendolyn readily affixed her own while Jethro sat off to the side to act as a referee.
“As a courtesy,” said Gwendolyn, “you can go first, Kreszentia.” The girl nodded.
“Get your game on!” Jethro declared.
“Never say that again,” Gwendolyn deadpanned.
[Begin Duel: Gwendolyn Blackwood vs. Kreszentia]
Kreszentia drew and immediately played her sixth card.
“I vill begin,” she said, “by playing dhis Field Spell, Cursed Dollhouse.” The Fairy Pin on her chest glowed and the stable began to change. The walls flicked in and out of existence as all their microscopic particles revolved at rapid speed, becoming solid blue walls. The place they stood in was like the living room of some stately manor, with an ornate fireplace and well-made furniture. Even the stools became soft armchairs and they actually had polished tables for their cards. The wide windows showed a dark and foreboding forest and pale pink crescent moon in the sky. Jethro felt very humble for what he had provided. “Dhen I summon Alice the Wandering Doll (300/1000) in defence mode.” A small girl with smooth skin and long, curly blonde hair appeared. She was dressed in a finely made blue-and-white dress, and crouched down with her segmented hands clutching her shoulders. “Your turn.”
“Right,” Gwendolyn nodded as she drew. “I’ll start by playing a face-down card, then I’ll summon my Bountiful Artemis (1600/1700) in attack mode.” In a flash, the winged statue appeared, looking very out-of-place in the living room. “Artemis, destroy Alice!” The statue’s cape billowed out behind it as it flew straight at the doll, engulfing both her and itself in a dome of malachite light. Artemis reappeared in front of its master, and a wave of discomfort spread over Gwendolyn.
“What just happened?” she asked. I killed her monster, but I’m taking damage as well.
“Alice cannot be destroyed in battle,” Kreszentia explained, “instead, dhe vone who attacked her takes 500 points of direct damage, und now…” Artemis threw out its cape and when it withdrew, there crouched Alice. “My Wandering Doll vanders to dhe ozher side of dhe field, und vone more zhing…” The flames in the fireplace rose and crackled loudly and something emerged from a ripple in the floor. Gwendolyn and Jethro both gasped, for it was a floating, disembodied head! Great sections of its structure were missing, revealing its hollow insides, and a gentle face, almost as empty as Kreszentia’s, peered out from among the cracks and chips.
“Vhen Alice the Wandering Doll svitches sides,” the tiny girl explained, “zhe effect of Cursed Dollhouse ist activated, lettink me summon vone Doll Part to dhe field, und I have chosen Doll Part Blue (0/0).”
“Fine, but you’ll soon find out you’ve made a mistake,” said Gwendolyn. She wanted to sound threatening, but she really could not. This was a friendly duel with nothing at stake. “It’s still my turn, so I’ll switch my newly acquired Alice to attack mode. She may only have 300 attack points but that’s more than enough to eliminate your Doll Part. Go, Alice!” The doll-girl stood up and walked towards the floating head. As she grew closer, she reached for her stocking and retrieved a very large, very sharp cleaver, which she proceeded to use on the hapless floating head.
“Remind me to never get on her bad side,” said Jethro.
“I’ll end my turn,” said Gwendolyn.
[Gwendolyn’s L.P.: 7500 / Kreszentia’s L.P.: 7700]
Kreszentia drew and inspected her hand.
“I begin by summonink Malice Doll of Demise (1600/1700),” she said. In front of her appeared a little boy made from rotted wood and clad in tattered clothes. His hair was a lifeless mop of straw, his eyes were huge and rolled in their sockets and his mouth was full of uneven teeth spaced far apart from one another. The doll was clutching a lethal hatchet. “Und he vill attack Alice und retrieve her for me.” The Malice Doll cackled like a witch and charged forward, dragging his axe behind him. When he was within inches of Alice, he pulled with all his might. Alice cried out in fear as the blade flashed.
“Not so fast!” Gwendolyn declared. “I activate my face-down Trap Card, Negate Attack!” A small, blue-and-red hole opened in the air and the axe disappeared into it. The Malice Doll chattered angrily and pulled his weapon free with so much force he was sent hurtling back to his original space.
“Now I’ll use the effect of my Bountiful Artemis,” said the older girl, “which lets me draw a card whenever a Counter Trap is activated.” She slid a new card into her hand.
“I vill set vone card face-down und end my turn,” said Kreszentia.
“I’ll start my turn by putting Alice to some good use,” Gwendolyn began, “and tribute her in order to summon Airknight Parshath (1900/1400)!” Alice released a wooden groan as she disappeared in a column of pristine light, a sound quickly replaced by that of running hooves echoed about the room and the armoured centaur appeared, brandishing his sword and shield. “Parshath! Chop the Malice Doll into firewood!”
“Breehy-hee-hin-hin!” the centaur bellowed a battle cry in some lost language that reminded Gwendolyn and Jethro very much of a horse neighing. He galloped forward and swung his glistening blade. The Malice Doll squealed in fear as it was cut in half neatly down the middle. The two halves fell away from one another, spilling black ooze and wooden facsimile organs on the floor before shattering into a cloud of splinters. Kreszentia shuddered.
“Since Parshath damaged your Life Points,” said Gwendolyn, “I get to draw a card. Next I’ll have Bountiful Artemis attack directly!”
“No,” said Kreszentia, “I activate my face-down Trap Card, Draining Shield. It negates your attack und increases my Life Points according to your monster’s strength.” The statue’s flight was came to a jerking halt as it was caught in a field of blue energy that coursed across its entire surface before letting it drop back to its starting place.
“Clever girl,” said Gwendolyn with a nod. “I’ll end my turn.”
[Gwendolyn’s L.P.: 7500 / Kreszentia’s L.P.: 9000]
Kreszentia drew.
“I vill summon my second Malice Doll of Demise,” she said as another wicked wooden boy appeared, running his hand over the head of his hatchet, “dhen I’ll skip ozher phases to play dhis Spell Card, Ectoplasmer. Vonce every end phase, ve must tribute one face-up monster on our side of dhe field to inflict half of dhat monster’s strength as damage to each ozher’s Life Points. I tribute dhe Malice Doll.” The creature in question looked down at his hatchet as the pole cracked open and green sludge crawled out, coating him in a thick, sticky film that rapidly ate away at his body, leaving a few black smithereens and a steaming pool of filth. Gwendolyn, Jethro, Parshath and Bountiful Artemis all recoiled at this horrific show of sacrifice. The pool bubbled and spat out a glob of its material, which slapped itself over Gwendolyn’s face. Her shocked scream was muffled as the stuff slithered into her, through her mouth and nostrils and ears, settling itself within her system. Gwendolyn took a sharp intake of breath as her skin turned a sickly colour.
“All right, this is getting interesting now,” said Gwendolyn as she drew. “First I’ll have Parshath strike you directly!” The centaur plunged his sword towards Kreszentia, the beautiful blade impaling her directly through the stomach and lifting her into the air. All the tiny child uttered was a slight gasp, and despite Gwendolyn’s reaction to the almost Biblical fright she received, what grabbed her more was the lack of blood. The girl was not bleeding at all, and when Parshath set her back down, she ignored the gaping hole in her abdomen in favour of straightening out her dress.
“I draw as per requirements,” Gwendolyn croaked, “and because of your Ectoplasmer, I’ll tribute Bountiful Artemis, dealing you 800 points of direct damage.” The statue cracked in half down the middle and the acidic green slime fired out, covering Kreszentia and staining her whole body. The Duellist Royal was so perturbed by her opponent’s tranquil demeanour that she mumbled her next statement. “I’ll set a monster in face-down defence mode and end my turn.”
[Gwendolyn’s L.P.: 6900 / Kreszentia’s L.P.: 6300]
A familiar cackle echoed around the room, and from behind one of the armchairs hopped the Malice Doll of Demise, clutching his hatchet tightly, his head spinning on his thin neck. Before Gwendolyn could demand an explanation, Kreszentia said, “If dhe Malice Doll is sent to my graveyard as dhe result of a Continuous Spell Card like Ectoplasmer, he returns durink my next standby phase. Now I set vone card face-down und call on my second Alice the Wandering Doll in defence.” The little girl in the blue dress appeared beside the rotted fiend. “I vill skip my ozher phases to tribute Malice Doll und lower your Life Points even furzher.”
For a second time the giggling lunatic was sucked dry by the ecto-plasmic goop and the feeling of illness in Gwendolyn grew in severity, illuminating her veins with a pink hue. “You may go, Fr…Herr MacVood.” She looked at Jethro, who shrugged in reply. Gwendolyn slowly drew her next card, feeling the malady creeping through her system. She smiled at what she found.
“You could have had a good combination were it not so conditional, my friend,” she said, “for now I’ll tribute my face-down Gellenduo in order to summon…” The floor rippled and the two little imps rose up as if from beneath the surface of a lake, twirling around each other as their were enveloped in a column of white light, which parted like curtains to reveal their shining successor. “Athena (2600/800)!” The goddess of wisdom twirled her caduceus proudly and glared across at Kreszentia. “Slay Alice!” The warrior-woman was on the move before her master even finished speaking, thrusting her blades towards the doll, but alas her attack fell short. A small, bronze item shaped vaguely like a bat blocked her, and from this little talisman was emitted a wave of pale teal light.
“I protect my monster und stop all battle damage vizh dhe Trap Card, Waboku,” said Kreszentia. Waboku? Gwendolyn thought. Why waste such a useful card when her monster was in defence mode? She considered that perhaps her opponent was trying to keep her side of the field from being cleared out, but surely if that were the case a longer-lasting technique would have been more appropriate, and Kreszentia surely was not feeling desperate already.
Gwendolyn looked across at Airknight Parshath and said, “Sorry, my friend.” She faced the German girl. “I’ll tribute my Airknight to your Ectoplasmer.” The centaur did not argue nor resist as the slime swallowed him alive and Kreszentia’s skin began to match Gwendolyn’s in colour.
[Gwendolyn’s L.P.: 6100 / Kreszentia’s L.P.: 5350]
Kreszentia drew as her Malice Doll of Demise’s effect occurred again and it reappeared beside her.
“I play dhis Spell Card,” she said, “Marionette Burial. Since Alice ist on my field, I can send zhese four cards from my deck to my graveyard.” She shuffled through her remaining un-drawn cards as a coffin-shaped door opened in the floor, revealing a bottomless abyss within. She reached out and let the perfectly rectangular bits of tough parchment drop into it. A high-pitched noise, somewhere between a scream and a hysteric giggle, echoed out of the pit and a pale china hand burst out, gripping the edge.
“Now dhe price has been paid,” Kreszentia explained, “Marionette Burial vill take effect. It ist actually dhe door of a toymaker’s vorkshop, a toymaker so evil dhat to look upon his creations could induce insanity. There are now five of my Doll Part cards in the graveyard, so I vould like you to meet…” The hand’s twin joined it and together they pulled up their master. Gwendolyn and Jethro looked on, wide-eyed, as a tall, thin doll the size of a fully grown woman emerged. Much like the disembodied head, large pieces of her skin were missing, though her raven hair was even more of a mess and her eyes were empty, black sockets. Deep scars and cracks covered its body. She wore a dark green dress that may have once been beautiful but was now just shredded rags. Her arms were so long that her fingertips reached halfway down her calves and her legs were bent. Even more outlandishly, she had two heads perched on her shoulders so the gap where the head belonged was just a stumpy neck. She flopped and writhed in a non-existent breeze and the whole spectacle was very unearthly.
“Doll Chimera (0/0), und for each Doll Part in dhe graveyard, she gains 400 attack points, so she is presently 2000 points strong.”
“If your intention was to give us nightmares,” Gwendolyn began.
“Then it bloody well worked!” Jethro finished for her with a squawk.
“Show some pride!” Gwendolyn snapped.
“I am not finished,” said Kreszentia. “Now I play anozher Spell Card, Doll Hammer. By sacrificing Alice, I can draw two cards und change dhe position of a monster you control.” The Malice Doll bent his knees and sprang into the air, within seconds he forsook his hatchet for a large stone hammer. With devilish mirth he swung this down, flattening Alice and spraying parts of her in all directions. Athena gasped and knelt down, raising her shield to deflect the shrapnel but also sealing her own doom. Kreszentia looked at her two new cards then looked at her monsters. “Malice Doll, cut down dhe goddess of visdom.”
“Ooh! Hee-hee-ha-ooh!” the doll laughed and ran forward with its heavy hammer raised. He threw it down with all his strength against the shield, splitting the metal in half and snapping Athena’s arm in several places. The goddess screamed and sank into the floor as invisible hands tore her apart.
“Doll Chimera,” said Kreszentia, “attack directly.” The giant doll moved forward with the speed and grave of a ballet dancer but the fluidity of a flag, grabbing Gwendolyn by the shoulder and dragging her to her feet. She opened both her mouths and sprayed thick red mucus over her. Gwendolyn spluttered and gurgled as the torrent of carmine washed over her. The Doll Chimera dropped her and returned to her starting place.
“I end by sacrificing Malice Doll to Ectoplasmer yet again.”
[Gwendolyn’s L.P.: 3400 / Kreszentia’s L.P.: 5350]
What Gwendolyn drew next brought a confident smile to her face, and Jethro could have sworn that just as before, her voice had changed, if only for an instant.
“It is time for a change of scenery,” she declared. “I play my own Spell Card! Valhalla, Hall of the Fallen!” The dollhouse around them started to bend and change. The carpet became rich and red and four columns sprouted from the floor on either side of Gwendolyn. Her entire half of the house was replaced by the glorious temple and the rays of day shone down through the open ceiling. Her chair had become a marble throne atop a dais.
“This is much more like it,” she sighed in satisfaction, “when Valhalla is active and I have no monsters on the field, I can special-summon one from my hand, and I choose to call on this! Tethys, Goddess of Light (2400/1800)!” With a chorus of angels, the beautiful, silver-haired woman appeared, her golden tiara and white clothes glistening in the glow, her wings spread magnificently behind her.
“Now I will also normal-summon my Harvest Angel of Wisdom (1800/1000).” A loud horn blew and down came a second Fairy, one who was decidedly male, covered from head-to-toe in streamlined gold-and-silver armour with exposed in certain spots. A mane and tail of yellow-green leaves crackled behind him and two wings grew from his legs. He tooted the horn he carried in his hand proudly as leaves swirled around him.
“Tethys!” Gwendolyn commanded. “Destroy the Doll Chimera!” The goddess of light cupped her hands together at arm’s length as she formed her signature solid blue star, which she hurled at Doll Chimera with enough force to smash it into fragments, each one burning up before it reached the ground.
“By killink my Chimera, you activated her ozher effect,” said Kreszentia. “When she ist destroyed, I can sacrifice two Doll Parts straight from my deck to revive her vizh even more power dhen before.” The veritable lake of black ash whirled up, each little particle gluing itself to its brothers and reinvigorating itself. The whole process took less than two seconds, and there stood the Doll Chimera, now with six long arms, the lowest pair of which had their palms resting on the floor. Gwendolyn growled at this. While her adversary had taken the damage, it always made her seethe when the physical legwork was undone. She concluded by sacrificing Tethys, who went with quiet dignity much to the upset of her golden battle-mate, for 1200 direct points of damage.
[Gwendolyn’s L.P.: 3400 / Kreszentia’s L.P.: 3850]
Kreszentia drew and just like before, the Malice Doll of Demise materialised at her side.
“Doll Chimera,” she said, “destroy the Harvest Angel.” The monster in question stalked forward, all six of her arms waving around like some kind of dancer from the far off lands of Arabia.
“I do not think so,” Gwendolyn said defiantly, “I’ll counter by dropping Honest (1100/1900) from my hand to my graveyard, adding your Chimera’s attack strength to my Harvest Angel’s until the end of this turn, putting him at 4600 points!” Harvest Angel blew his horn again and his golden body shone with the light of the sun, causing Jethro, Kreszentia and the other monsters to shield their eyes. The Doll Chimera slink away, only to groan as her entire form melted into a puddle of boiling pink gunge with shreds of dirty material floating on top.
“I vill…tribute…Malice Doll to Ecto…plasmer…und…end…my turn,” said Kreszentia. Gwendolyn fought the urge to throw up, for the sickness had now grown that bad. She was more concerned with her opponent, who seemed to have broken into a cold sweat and was trembling all over.
“Kreszentia?” she asked.
“Are you feeling all right?” Jethro finished.
“Make…turn,” was the response, and Gwendolyn obliged with a draw. Her opponent’s field was now empty. The opportunity to end this had come, and she was ready for it. Something was obviously amiss and she had to find out what. Her eyes fell on the brooch Kreszentia had pinched from the Freiherr, the gemstone had turned from swirling black to a furious green.
“I’ll start,” she said, “by playing Monster Reborn, and I’ll bring back…” A huge, red, crystalline dome grew up from the floor and shattered, revealing the armoured centaur. “Airknight Parshath! Now, my monsters, attack her directly and wipe out the rest of her Life Points!”
Parshath raised his sword and the Harvest Angel his horn, crossing them in the air above their heads. With a united boom, they rushed forward, engulfing Kreszentia in a ball of auric light.
[Gwendolyn’s L.P.: 2700 / Kreszentia’s L.P.: 0]
[End Duel: Winner – Gwendolyn Blackwood]
The light faded and the sickness left their bodies, the stables returned, as did the sounds of the land outside. Kreszentia still fell, however, all the strength dissipating from her with the glow of the Fairy Pin. Gwendolyn raced to catch the poor child before she could bang her head on the ground. She was pale, paler than usual, with no sign of blood or life aside from her shallow breath.
“We have to get help,” said Gwendolyn. With Jethro in the lead they charged into Hatfield House, not with a specific destination in mind, they just had to find someone, anyone, and they did. Jethro was the first, slamming straight into the Freiherr’s rock-hard body and bouncing off, landing hard on his rear end. The German giant said nothing. When he saw his little Kreszentia, he cursed in his own language, scooped her out of Gwendolyn’s arms and walked away from them at a quick pace, each heavy footstep echoing off the brickwork. Gwendolyn and Jethro looked at each other.
“Do you think she’ll be fine?” asked the boy.
“I…I can’t say,” the girl replied regrettably, “but…if anyone can help her, it may as well be her master.”
XXX
As he went into his room and kicked the door shut behind him, von Dijkhuizen muttered under his breath. “I thought I’d gotten it right this time,” he said to himself, “but there’s always one setback. Well, I won’t give up.” He placed his servant on the bed, cringing as her bones clattered loudly through her skin, which had lost all its colour and density, becoming a transparent membrane that showed her complex inner systems. Retrieving the correct tools, potions and talismans from his strongbox, he got straight to work.
Re: Poetry Corner
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Originally Posted by shazza
Thank you Saffire Persian. (Complete list coming soon)
I know its binary but thats it
