A Nest of Idle Puppets

Hayley Poh

Description

Little Larch seems, at first glance, a perfectly ordinary place. The children are well-behaved and the scenery is beautiful. But look closer, you won’t have noticed this before: Little Larch is ruled by a prejudiced tyrant whom everybody calls the Mayoress. The hierarchy is divided into three primary groups—the plebeians, the commoners; the neutral ones, who refuse to pick a side; and the patricians, the upper-class pseudo-nobility, who will do everything in their power to keep the Mayoress in power.
Then there’s Hildegard, whose plebeian family is just like any other. Hildegard, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have considered trying to change the social hierarchy. She knows only a fool would attempt to overthrow the seemingly all-powerful Mayoress. But this is different. The witch who (rather reluctantly) agreed to turn Hildegard’s heart to ice wants something to change. In any case, the next Election Day is nearing, and if she wins this one, the Mayoress will get to do whatever she wants once and for all. Magic must be added to the chaotic mess to give Hildegard and her mysterious ally a shot at succeeding, but beware—there’s a price for everything, including doing whatever it takes to win.
So there goes the story: a bizarre tale of social commentary, strange, deadly magic, and the consequences of taking shortcuts. The ultimate question is, Does the end justify the means?

Sujets

• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Date de parution: 05 juillet 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781543770438
• Langue: English

Extrait

A NEST OF IDLE PUPPETS
 
 
 
 
 
 
HAYLEY POH
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Copyright © 2022 by Hayley Poh.
 
ISBN:
Softcover
978-1-5437-7042-1

eBook
978-1-5437-7043-8
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
www.partridgepublishing.com/singapore
 
This book is dedicated to J – prodigy and pesky sibling.
CONTENTS
Prologue: Nightfall
PART 1. AUTUMN
1       Overtures
2       Opening Act
3       Herald
4       Focal Point
5       Receptacle
6       Bullseye
7       Equidistant
8       Medium
9       Midway
10     Midst
11     Accord
12     Variance
13     Recrudescence
14     Girdle
15     Revival
16     Treble
PART 2. WINTER
17     Contralto
18     Orchestral
19     Accelerando
20     Allegretto
21     Canon
22     Countertenor
23     Grandioso
24     Bass
25     Schadenfreude
26     Fieramente
27     Coup De Grâce
28     Crescendo
 
Epilogue: Denouement
List Of Notable Characters
Writer’s Note
Acknowledgements
Prologue: Nightfall
The cobbled streets are deserted, the houses are bustling with activity. It is only early evening, verging on six, but dinners are already being set out on tables, fires in hearths are lit or logs added, the kitchens the busiest of all.
In small towns such as this, there is no need for emphatic privacy. Everyone knows everyone else’s business, and people who try to hide things are often viewed as untrustworthy and dishonest, although discretion in discussing such matters is encouraged. So, the curtains are drawn, bolts of plaid and tartan, checked and striped, floral and houndstooth, pulled away from each other to reveal scenes of housewarming cosiness. Warm golden light from the flames and lamps spill from the windows onto the cobbles.
Just as curtains are constantly apart, windows are used to being shut. Windy days are not uncommon in Little Larch, and neither are rainy days. Once there was a hailstorm, too, but now the worst that could happen is a massive thunderstorm. Rain will pelt the glass, thunder will shake the sturdy foundations, lightning will strike a few trees. Nothing the townsfolk can’t repair or regrow.
Imagine you are a visitor, new to this place. You stand here in the middle of the silent, dusk-cloaked street and marvel at the archaic loveliness of the gabled houses built in parallel rows along the sidewalks. A light wind arrives and stirs your hair and chills you to the marrow, so you put on a coat. So fixated are you on the architecture that you do not pay attention to the setting sun slowly giving way to night until you realise the streetlamps have gone on and you can no longer see the long shadows thrown over the ground before.
Frowning, you retrace your steps to the inn, where you intend to stay for a few days or so before you leave. As you pass the rest of the rows, you cannot help but stare. Gnarled trees flank each house like sentinels. In the imminent dark, you pick out oaks, larches – a lot of larches – rowans, proud aspens, alders, even the occasional bowing willow. Bushes line almost every garden out front; flowers clamber up trellises. The wind rises to a soft, high pitch, whistling through the place. The faint impressions of stars bloom across the sky like diamonds.
You notice that the moon is a perfect circle.
Inside the inn, a small, warmed cottage with a thatched roof by the grandly twisting river, you finish your bowl of hot soup and salted herring and climb the rickety stairs to your room. Setting down the candle provided by the kindly innkeeper, you sink onto the comfortable bed and pull the sheets over yourself, turning onto your side to stare out the window at the star-flecked horizon.
As the candle wanes, dripping wax into its porcelain bowl, and nightfall deepens into true night, you begin to succumb to your weariness. But your mind conspires to keep you awake, choosing to mull over the day’s sights and sounds. Everything you have witnessed and tasted, you do so for the second time in bed.
The ample-bodied mayor – no, mayoress, that is what they call her – welcoming you with a beatific smile and viperous eyes. The near-undetectable undercurrent of hostility rippling beneath the beaming smiles at the flea market, on the streets you just walked. Daggers concealed in silk and velvet. Poorly disguised intrigue and suspicion upon your entrance; they do not warm immediately to newcomers, you recall sleepily. The elegant horses clip-clopping over the stones, ridden by two kinds of people. One is humble, plain and unambitious; the other is proud and prone to displays of wealth. You are not blind. You saw this but made no comment.
Ah, and the alien coaches, pulled by said horses. Who can miss them? Strange clanking sounds come from their bellies, the more familiar whirring and grinding of gears and cogs and machinery. Several are topped with flags with crests, adorned by curlicues. They all trundle and make a loud racket when they move.
With the passage of day and the infiltration of night comes the usual deep, unmoving silence in the inn. You pull the burlap curtain over the window to block the moonlight, blearily wondering if the people do the same at night. Your eyes focus on the wavering candleflame until it flickers weakly, the wax no more than a stub, and blows out, plunging your room into total blackness.
Your dreams are untroubled by the morning’s observations. When you wake up to a beautiful morning, you forget that you ever suspected foul play within the old veins of the town and set out to renew your experiences.
PART 1
Autumn
Friday July 16 th
… for as long as we have lived, there has never been absolute equality. Not here, the archaic tomb of larches, where witches have been said to escape death on broomsticks made of the very wood we cultivate for our homes, powered by corrupted magic birthed by the lines we put up to separate our community. Prejudice and bigotry roam wide, and yet how is it that we are equal in some ways, unfair in others? As the primary chronicler of these Concordances , I must have a say in how we remember ourselves. Truth is overrated; history only remembers those who strive to be different, to do different, and from there we, the historians and scholars who hold the keys to the so-called ‘truth’, pick up the trailing threads and weave them into familiar, comfortable, but false stories that will allow us all to sleep well at night. If I cannot have a say in how we write our stories, then I shall control what goes into this book of records you have so graciously permitted me to fill.
—From the First Scholar, Dame Imogen Clayderman, to Mayor Julian Reichmann, in a letter concerning her finest project,
The Concordances of Little Larch, which are still being updated today
A List of All the Things the Mayoress Has Banned
1. Dancing in public events and places, anywhere, anytime, which has obviously crippled the dance companies; in fact, eight of them have gone bankrupt, and three more follow
Punishment: fines up to 1,000 sterling
2. The unapproved pairing of a patrician and a plebeian, which needs to clearance from the High Jury of Clementia (which is mostly patrician anyway, so what’s the point really) , but this rule is largely ignored these days, because love conquers all
Punishment: nothing
3. Magic, not that it exists. I wonder why she bans a myth
Punishment (unconfirmed): public execution by burning
4. Oh, and witches! Don’t forget witches. The Mayoress hasn’t exactly condoned public burnings of ‘witches’ (if they’re even real) at the stake, but everyone can tell that she wants to. If only executions hadn’t already been outlawed by the High Court, which is surprisingly equal in the difference of status
Punishment (unconfirmed): public execution by burning
5. Cross breeding a horse and a donkey to produce a mule, especially if the horse is a mare and a thoroughbred
Punishment: unconfirmed, probably immediate euthanasia?
6. Fairness and equality, in a nutshell
7. Plebeians attending the Southern Hills Collegium – no commoners allowed at an elite tertiary school
8. Venturing farther than the Deeps into the Wilds – be eaten by wild bears and wolves and heathers know what else lurks in the Wilds at your own risk
Punishment: self-explanatory
9. Penny dreadfuls, also an unpopular rule, because they’re such fun to read (Hildie has a few)
Punishment: confiscation … only if you are caught
10. Prenuptials
I think that’s it. I crossed out number six and that bit in number two because you never know who might trespass in your personal space. I hope nobody takes offence at number