Evil Overlord in training? Check.
Successfully hidden the true depths of her powers for four years so no one kills her? Check.
Graduating at the top of her class from the Evil Overlord Academy so she can acquire her castle? …Uncertain. And Mercury loathes uncertainty.
If that smarmy git Deviran beats her for first place, Mercury needs to rethink her plans. Because the Tumul Tuos castle belongs to her. No matter what it takes to convince everyone else.
Comic fantasy for fans of Terry Pratchett that will leave you laughing, crying—and questioning everything you ever thought you knew about ferrets.
THE BEGINNING
It began, as a good many fantasy stories do, in a forest, this one populated with black-trunked ironbarks so as to be suitably broody and foreboding. (Ironbarks, in case you have never seen them, are a type of eucalyptus tree; their bark is rough, and black, and split by deep fissures that hint at the red-coloured wood underneath, much as a tear in your skin hints at the redness of the flesh underneath.)
I suppose it might have begun in a palatial or castellan room, probably with someone Important dying—a wife, perhaps, slain unknowingly by the protagonist’s hand; a mother, that her infant may be marked indelibly as the Chosen One (as though parents are all that stand between us and greatness); or perhaps an old man, slain for deserting his post.
Alack, nobody died to make this story, and the births of both protagonists were perfectly average. Thus, we must make do with the ironbark forest.
When the rain began in the forest of ironbarks, just south and east of the great Eye-city of Tumul Tuos, it was ordinary—which did not bode well for a story. But before too long, the water took on a lilac glow that was definitely not—which did.
The oddly-coloured drops splattered on the sparsely-leafed trees, rolling down the branches and streeeeeeeeeetching all the way to the ground.
Normal raindrops, in case you have momentarily forgotten, do not stretch.
These stretching drops reached the red-dirted ground, where puddles began to puddle. The oddly-coloured puddles glowed, and a faint hum began to resonate through-out the forest.
More stretching drops. More dropping drips. More puddling puddles.
The electric-purple puddles thickened like curd, soupy and opaque, until—abruptly—they were a solid instead of a liquid, some sort of leftovers from an experiment gone wrong. And out of the solid, soupy puddles rose purple shapes, parodies of humans and animals, twisted as though a cruel fire had warped their limbs and faces.
The demons stood, and the demons walked, in the forest of the ironbarks—and somewhere, in the distance, someone laughed.
* * *
On a hard plastic chair in the front row of the great Hall in the world’s fifth-best Evil Overlording Academy, with its red-wooden parquetry floor that spoke of wealth and the beige, square panels of sound-boards speaking of conservatism on the walls, Mercury sat, pointedly not sweating.
Partly, this was because the Academy Administrators had deigned to turn on the air-conditioning earlier in the day, in recognition of the fact that the hall would be packed out with approximately six hundred bodies, all here to celebrate the graduation of about a third of that crowd.
But mostly, Mercury was pointedly not sweating because she made it a point never to sweat, sweat being an indication that she was working hard, and hard work being antithetical to her way of life.
However. If she had been sweating right now, it would not have been due to the uncomfortable warmth of six hundred packed bodies that even the air-conditioning system couldn’t completely shift, or, in fact, from over-exertion. Instead, it would have been caused by an even more unfamiliar concept in Mercury’s emotional vocabulary: nervousness.
Mercury did not get nervous. Mercury got things done.
So the fact that she was sitting here, in the front row of the Great Hall, about to graduate from Evil Overlording Academy (with distinction), and was feeling nervous… She crumpled the black paper program in her pale fists. It made her furious, that’s what it did. Abjectly furious, that snooty-tooty Deviran with his stupid morals and his stupid I-don’t-want-to-be-here and his stupid Overlords-are-empty-figureheads and his stupid face sitting ten people over, looking implacable with his deep brown skin and barely-there, precision-groomed beard, as though he knew it gave him a stupid air of alluringly stupid mystery…
Mercury scowled and searched for the train of thought that had been derailed, yet again, by Deviran’s stupidity.
Ah. Yes. She was angry because she was nervous because she wasn’t absolutely entirely one hundred and fifty percent sure that she’d beaten Deviran in their final exams, and 1) being anything less than a hundred and fifty percent certain of anything made her cranky, and 2) being beaten by Deviran for dux of the year would be utterly unbearable. She flicked away a piece of fluff that had become snagged under her immaculately magenta-painted nails and smoothed out the black paper program.
In the front corner of the hall, the starkly-attired string quartet with their traditional black instruments began playing the March of the Oncoming Doom. The screechy scrapes of hundreds of chairs on the hall’s wooden floor sounded as the crowd climbed to its collective feet.
Mercury sat with her arms firmly folded for a few moments longer, until her best friend Sparky kicked her in the ankle.
“Get up, idiot,” Sparky hissed, hints of real flame flickering through her flame-coloured pixie cut.
“No,” Mercury said, flouncing to her feet and tossing her own glossy brown hair back over her shoulders. Four years she’d been playing by the Academy’s rules in order to get what she wanted, and she’d had just about enough. Other people’s rules should only be applied to plebs too stupid to invent their own.
Sparky rolled her eyes somewhere over Mercury’s head before focusing on the stage, where the ceremonial party had begun entering.
Mercury clenched her jaw and narrowed her own eyes as the teachers of the Evil Overlording Academy filed onto the stage, dressed in their formal finery. Each teacher had their own distinctive look that matched their personality and their Overlording style, from severe charcoal suits to jet-black leathers, pastel ballgowns and gem-toned lingerie and eye-blinding spandex, and even on one tiny old woman at the back, worn jeans and a grey flannel shirt. She was the one to watch out for, of course; Mercury could respect an Overlord who was confident enough in their abilities that they didn’t need to telegraph them. It wasn’t a look she would consider, of course, but still. She could respect it.
The band’s march finished and, after a moderately awkward pause, the crowd sat. The Principal, pale skin and dark hair matching his suspiciously vampiric red-and-black suit, took the podium, and Mercury narrowed her eyes. He was doing a superb job of hiding his emotions—he was a premier Evil Overlord, after all—but she was Mercury, and unlike anyone else, she had the benefit of being able to rummage through people’s consciousnesses. She was better at adding things into people’s minds than taking information out, but he was telegraphing fear loudly enough that she could sense it without trying overly much.
Mercury pursed her lips. Hmm.
The Principal cleared his throat at the blackened-wood podium, and the fear made it into his usually-unreadable eyes. “Before we begin,” he said, and Mercury’s stomach did a peculiar kind of flip-flop. “I have a pressing announcement to make regarding the safety of our students and their families.” He cleared his throat again and took out a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolding it carefully and smoothing out the creases before beginning again. “The Council”—quiet booing echoed around the hall, and Mercury tsked impatiently—“have asked me to recommend that students from Tumul Tuos seriously consider postponing their return to town for a few days. The city is dealing with a situation at present which may present a danger to our students’ health and safety.”
Mercury’s hands fisted at her sides and she forced herself to remain seated. What was wrong with her city? What had the Council mucked up now? A risk to the students’ safety? There had to be more he wasn’t telling them. Gently, Mercury tugged on his consciousness, implanting the suggestion that it might be better to share the news than to keep it secret. After all, how could they fight an enemy they didn’t know?
“There are, ah…” He trailed off, glancing side to side as though wondering why his mouth had decided to continue.
Mercury didn’t snicker, but she did press her lips together in satisfaction.
The Principal took a deep, steadying breath and seemed to change tack. “There has been one death already. The family have already been notified, so it is with much regret that I must inform you that Woovermyer will no longer be with us at the Evil Overlording Academy.”
Murmurs broke out around the room, not all of them sad—to be expected in a school devoted to raising the next generation of dictators (ish) and despots (of sorts).
Mercury, however, crushed her program in her left hand, fist so tight her nails bit her palm.
“You okay?” Sparky murmured, leaning toward her.
Mercury gave a single, tense shake of her head and stared at the podium. Dead. Livie Woovermyer was dead in her city. And the Council hadn’t done anything to stop it. Couldn’t do anything to stop it, probably, given they’d warned the students to stay away. Livie hadn’t been the strongest candidate in the year level, but she was no lightweight, either. It would take a lot of power to kill a Seven.
Enough was enough. A good thing Mercury was about to graduate at the top of the class, giving her the right to knock the lowest ranking current Overlord off their perch. Tumul Tuos would be hers in a matter of hours. And then there’d be no more of these wasteful deaths. Her city would be safe at last.
Madame Pompadour was up the front now, elbow gloves the same glimmery silver colour as her elaborate, piled-curls wig, eyelids gleaming with matching silver eye shadow, and abruptly Mercury realised Madame was there to make the announcement that would change her life forever. She leaned forward in her seat, ready to stand when her name was called.
“And now the announcement you’ve all been dying for,” the Political Alliances teacher trilled, the frills on her evening gown fluttering as she moved. “The dux of this year’s cohort!”
Sweat slicked Mercury’s palms. Irritated, she reached over and wiped them on Sparky’s thigh.
Sparky pushed Mercury’s hands back into her own personal space bubble and Mercury, nervous to the edge of distraction, let her.
“Will you please join me in welcoming to the stage, our wonderful dux for this year, Deviran Goodsmith!”
Mercury froze halfway to standing. “Did she just say Deviran?” she whispered furiously to Sparky.
Sparky hauled her forcibly back down into her seat. “Yes,” she hissed back. “Sit down, you’re making a fool of yourself.”
Mercury’s spine snapped upright as she sat, and she arranged the folds of her long black skirt demurely. “No I’m not.” She closed her eyes. “Deviran’s going up to the stage, isn’t he?” Even at a whisper, the misery in her voice was clear, but this time, she didn’t care.
Sparky reached over and squeezed her hand.
Mercury squeezed back, lacing her fingers through Sparky’s, and held tight as all her plans and dreams vanished in front of her.
A stone had landed in her chest. That must be it. Some strange sort of magic that made her chest contract and sink, and made the world distort for just a moment, long enough to trick her into thinking Deviran had beaten her so that someone could jump in front of her and yell SURPRISE!
Any moment now.
Any moment.
She refused to open her eyes and watch Deviran parading across the stupid stage like some stupid stupid-person, receiving his stupid medal and stupid symbolic crest pin.
It was that last exam question. She’d known Deviran would pull out his ridiculous ‘Evil Overlords are merely figureheads, the Business Guild is where the power really lies’ rant that everyone had heard a million times back when he was younger and angrier, and she’d tried to counter it, she really had. She’d argued for the importance of the Overlording position, for the power of having a symbolic figure to unite the population in their hatred, for having a person able to make all the difficult, necessary decisions the Council was too weak and spineless to make… But it hadn’t been enough. Everything she’d worked for, everything she’d set out to prove—and it wasn’t enough.
There were words, there were names, and then forever later, once she’d died twice already, Sparky elbowed her in the ribs. “Come on,” Sparky muttered. “We’re up next.”
And sure enough, there was a shuffling of presenters as the last of the Powers Behind The Throne graduates departed the stage, and the next speaker announced in threatening, funereal tones, “The Overlording cohort.”
Mercury blinked furiously and followed Sparky to the end of the line at the right side of the stage. The other candidates proceeded one at a time across the stage, two girls and then stupid Deviran, and then a handful more and then Sparky, and then the speaker was calling her name.
Hands fisted, Mercury tossed her head high, climbed the four steps, and marched across the stage. She wouldn’t look at them, the stupid faculty who’d denied her the city she rightfully deserved, and she wouldn’t look the other way either, at the classmates and crowd undoubtedly sniggering at her failure.
She shook hands with the presenter, and while he pinned the tiny crossed-swords badge on her collar, her eyes betrayed her and slid toward the audience. Her stomach flipped as she saw the crowd of parents and friends behind the rows of students, all the way to the back of the hall, twenty rows at least, illuminated by the late afternoon light streaming in through the ceiling-high windows to the right. Everyone had someone here to watch them graduate. Everyone except Weird Al—and her.
The presenter finished with her pin, muttered some-thing to her, and offered his hand again. Mercury coldly ignored it and strode from the stage. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Tumul Tuos was her city anyway, and no one could change that. She’d think of something. She’d take a day or two out, make some plans…
And she could always hope that Deviran would choose some other Overlording territory. He’d be stupid to, but then again, he was stupid, so. Mercury could hope.
All at once, mid-way down the steps off the stage, Mercury came to rigid attention, scanning the room. Somewhere out there in the crowd, an exchange of power had just taken place, and it felt… unusual.
But the final few students were backing up behind her and muttering, so Mercury headed back toward her seat, craning her head all the while and searching for some sign of whatever it was that had just discharged a dizzyingly quiet amount of power into the room.
She sat, and Sparky leaned over. “Okay?”
“Mm,” said Mercury. “Did you feel…” She accidentally caught the eye of the student behind her and twisted back to face the front.
“Feel what?”
Mercury turned it over in her mind. It had felt like a large shot of power discharged very quietly—but perhaps it hadn’t been. Perhaps it had only been a small discharge after all, something most people wouldn’t have noticed.
But still, something about it had tugged on her. It very nearly felt like something she’d felt before, only she knew she’d never sensed that kind of discharge.
She shook her head. “Never mind. Don’t worry.”
Sparky sighed and straightened. “It’s fine, Mercury,” she said, drily exasperated. “I know you didn’t win, but I promise, you’ll live through it.”
Mercury waved a hand for silence.
The power had just discharged again, and it had come from somewhere in the back corner, far away from the windows and light.
Impatiently, Mercury waited for the formalities to conclude. The crowd stood while the quartet played the exit march, and the stage party left, Mercury tapping her foot all the while.
The moment the last notes of the march died away, Mercury turned and headed to the back corner, weaving in and out of the students and parents who had seemed to explode slowly but inexorably out from the neat rows of seating, ignoring Sparky’s calls behind her. Power, something that tugged in a way that was strange and familiar, all at once. She pushed her way through a family posing for pictures—and halted.
In the shadows of the back corner, Deviran stood with his family, with his stupid, smug little smile, looking as tall and dark and stupidly alluring as ever. Prat.
His mother, short but sleek, and his father—tall, and utterly terrifying in a way not at all diminished by his gleaming smile—gushed over him, patting his back and hugging him tight. Within moments the Principal was there, glibly shaking hands and congratulating them on the success of their son. Something flickered across his consciousness, and also Deviran’s father’s—some moment of recognition in response to what they were saying. But Mercury brushed it aside just as the mother brushed melodramatic tears from her cheeks and handed Deviran a silver-wrapped package about as long as her hand but half the width.
That. That was the source of the strange, magical feeling. Mercury watched hawk-eyed as Deviran unwrapped the gift. A glimpse of gold set her pulse racing—What was it? What did it do? Could she steal it?—and then the paper fell away to the floor, and Deviran stood staring wordlessly at the object in his hands, and Mercury did too.
Wide-eyed, Deviran raised his gaze to his parents, and even from where she stood Mercury could hear the reverence in his voice as he thanked them.
But Mercury had eyes only for the object. No wonder she’d felt it discharge, and no wonder it had felt both strange and familiar. In Deviran’s hands lay a glorious, sunshine-gold key, large and strong—and with a handle in the shape of a stylised fish, long, flowing fins curving to make the grip.
A Key. They’d given him a Key. And not just any Key, but the Key, her Key, the Artefact of Power belonging to her city.
A wordless noise of wanting rose in Mercury’s throat. Who cared about being dux? She needed that Key.