Ivy

[King Ghidorah]

*     *     *

William Conrad van Harnburg's study was on the Northern face of the keep, and it had a fantastic view. A broad oriel window  dominated the exterior wall, overlooking the majority of the town; cottages and half-timbered buildings curled away around the edge of the lake, mere shadows beside a pool of molten glass in the dawning light of the morning sun. Some miles distant, past small stands of conifers which appeared smoky and indistinct in glare, were the valley walls. Tthe crimson cliffs that bordered the lake giving way to steep, rocky hills speckled with pines, far less forgiving than the gentler slopes further up the basin. As the sun rose the stones glowed in striking shades of red orange and red, setting the cliffs and hillside outcroppings ablaze. 

In front of the window, positioned to take maximum advantage of the view, was an ornate cherrywood desk, inlaid with a a gold-leaf ivy motif and carved so that the legs resembled the talons of a bird of prey.  It was equipped with a matching chair upholstered in deep red leather, so dark it nearly blended with the timber. The room's wainscoting complemented the furniture, and the carpeting matched the upholstery: deep shades of crimson with an ivy watermark and suggestions of raptors. An expansive lacquered bookcase laid claim to the easterly wall, occupied by hide-bound tomes and various curiosities ranging from a small bronze telescope to the taxidermied head of a stegosaurus to the scorched white helmet of a Coruscant storm-trooper. Pride of place on the wall opposite the shelves belonged to a large oil-painting set in a gold-leaf frame, depicting a three-masted schooner struggling triumphantly in a choppy sea; The sky in the painting was violet, as was the light upon the sails, and speckled with the faint suggestion of stars. Other, smaller maritime images and various portraits of people who had never lived in Castle Harnburg (or anywhere else in the Omniverse) formed a constellation around the frame. 

The room smelled of leather, wood and candle-wax, and besides the desk, the shelves, their contents, and the paintings, there was nothing else in it except the door, which was varnished and had brass fittings but was otherwise unremarkable, and a small chandelier, currently unlit; the Duke liked to be able to move around when he was thinking, and this was not a space for receiving guests.

William Conrad van Harnburg was only recently awake and still in his nightgown, admiring a small portrait of a plump woman in a large, lacy hat when Isolda strode through his bookcase as if the sturdy carpentry and the wall behind it were made out of smoke. She'd changed into her day-clothes - one of her many green silk dresses - but her hair was a mess. 

The Duke had gotten very good at detecting the morbid change in the air when Isolda entered a room agitated and without using the door; He'd had a lot of practice. The master of the castle took a step back from the paintings and turned to face his unexpected visitor, contriving to raise an eyebrow in a way he thought suggested discerning curiosity, but actually created an impression closer to mild indigestion. He was genuinely surprised to see her: Usually, at Isolda's insistence, the two of them only met for their thrice-weekly family dinners and the occasional state function.   


She padded over to him, silk-slippered  feet whispering across the carpet, and gave him an efficient sort of hug around his narrow shoulders. The Duke returned it, and, affectionate formalities observed, they separated. 

"Isolda," he said, a wan little grin gracing his jowly face. "What an unexpected pleasure."  

His niece started to smile back, but the expression died before it could form. "We need to to talk, Uncle William." 

The Duke sighed, self-consciously tightening the sash on his gown. Isolda hadn't wanted to talk since just after the founding of the duchy. They would discuss the state of his fiefdom in broad strokes, or her efforts in gardening in great detail, or, very rarely, the things they had accomplished together before William Conrad was a titled aristocrat - but their conversations were never urgent.

It wasn't hard to deduce what it was that had upset his niece. There was only one thing happening in Harnburg that was both powerful and distressing enough to break her out of her treasured psychological shell of detached privacy. 

He tried very hard not to be glad about it. 

"Yes," he said. "I expect that we do. This is about Ghidorah?" 

The room grew marginally colder. The bronze telescope shifted on its fittings. Isolda nodded, and took a deep, steadying breath before she spoke.