PodCastle Miniature 92: Chatter the Teeth - a podcast by Escape Artists, Inc

* Author : Kurt Hunt

* Narrator : Leeman Kessler 

*

Discuss on Forums







PodCastle Miniature 92: Chatter the Teeth is a PodCastle original.





Rated PG-13.

Chatter the Teeth

by Kurt Hunt

Mordecai plucked a beetle from the magnolia, crushed it, and sucked the juices from its head. This rejuvenating trick was one of many secrets known to the imperial gardener, but even he did not know everything the gardens hid—that the ivy conspired, the worms gossiped, or that, far beneath the ground, the magnolia’s roots knotted around a skull.



The juice buzzed in him, so he did not see the emperor’s retinue approach, nor did he hear their demands to genuflect ripple through the exhalations of two hundred and forty-three different species of plants. He merely sang to the budding petals and stroked them from their tightly-packed pink cores to where they flared, bright white at the tips.

“Bend the knee,” said a guard, and shoved him to the ground.

Mordecai turned and squinted at the intruders. Visitors were rare. And the emperor himself? Emperor Baat had been a great admirer of the gardens and had come often, full of questions and conversation, before he was killed in the coup. But never in Mordecai’s years of service had he seen the son.

“Rise,” said Emperor Se, a slight man flanked by a peacock’s tail of ostentatiously–dressed advisors.

Sparrows—which had also been partaking of the beetles and were black-eyed and manic as a result—announced danger and fled to the shelter of a nearby dogwood.

Mordecai stood.

“Tomorrow night, we are fêting the Duchess of Forth,” said the advisor in gold. “We require your assistance.” Evidently believing his message had been conveyed, he said no more.

Mordecai looked helplessly toward the other members of the retinue.

A scarlet-clad minister stepped forward, bowed toward the emperor, and added, “We require your… botanical skills. The Duchess is not a friend of the empire.” He smiled tightly, and cleared his throat.

And waited.

Scowling, Emperor Se broke the silence. “Poison, you daft old goat. We need poison.”

The emperor ruled unquestioned between the Moon Sea and the Jaws of Cailanth, but solitude reigned in the gardens and Mordecai’s tongue was unpracticed.

“Oh!” He looked the emperor in the eye. “Oh no, no no. I grow no poisons.”

The advisors opened their mouths in unison, but Emperor Se waved them back. His eyes narrowed. “You are telling me,” he said, eyes narrowed almost to nothingness, “there is not a single plant in my gardens that yields poison?”

Mordecai cocked his head. True, there were such plants. Tetterwort root, nerium stem… perhaps certain of the euphorbiaceae could be manipulated to yield the desired effect. But he had no experience with such things. He shrugged. “I cultivate life. Not death.”

Another guard arrived, escorting Mordecai’s assistant, who looked wild-eyed at the advisors and at Mordecai. The gold-robed and scarlet-robed ministers repeated their questions, and the assistant—a young man, with a family—bowed and trembled.

It would be done, Mordecai saw, whether or not it was a betrayal. He sighed and nodded a silent blessing at his assistant; what else could be done?

“Belladonna,” the assistant said quickly, glancing toward Mordecai, his face flushed red with relief. “Beautiful flowers, like stars, but deadly through and through. I will fetch the necessary components.” When he left, he ran.

The sparrows, oblivious again to everything but sunshine and seeds, took up their routines in fluttering groups of four and five.

Further episodes of PodCastle

Further podcasts by Escape Artists, Inc

Website of Escape Artists, Inc