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seeking entrance. Of course, it found me an impenetrable
fortress, dressed in silent armies and burning moats. I smiled
openly and victoriously at the unseen places behind the
corpse-trees. At last, the ground began to shudder beneath
the ungainly shamble of the Dead Mother. She approached.
I held fast only a few feet from the barricade, waiting
to be addressed. I was not made to wait. “How long we’ve
know each other, artist, and yet only now will we exchange
words. Strange, yes?” Her words were immense, filled with
a poisonous, vaporous warmth—the kind of heat that rose
from fever dreams born of plague. Although I could not see
her for the trees between us, I sensed her size was beyond
the reckoning of numbers. Her appearance, even further
beyond conception.
“Strange indeed,” I said, “as I feel we have spoken often,
if only through our actions. Perhaps our conversations would
be best characterized as an ongoing debate. Though I feel
you’ve heretofore dominated the argument, I’m currently
working on my greatest rejoinder yet.” I thought to get to the
bones of the matter, as it was the contest that concerned her,
and we both knew it.
“Yes,” the Queen replied, “about that rejoinder of yours—
you haven’t much of a chance with it, but I think you know
that. As a being familiar with all its enemies, I know only too
well which are most deadly. You are not the greatest player
in the Shepherd’s Game, artist. You are the tragedy of all
contests—you are second best. I needn’t say the name of the
fated winner, as your fear spells it out for you, in words of
coldest fire. Your death lives in Autumn City. It always has.”
I smiled. “I have made a living—and a killing—from
being underestimated, Queen Mother. I have no reason to
expect that tendency to abate any time soon. I will defeat
Jack Lantern, and then I will destroy you.”
The Queen continued, unperturbed. “While I have quite
the mind to laugh at your bravado, I will not. I’ve not come
here to belittle you, but rather to help you. I am no admirer
266 | Mark Anzalone