The Chamber in the Sky by M. T. Anderson Page A

himself up and put his arm around his knees. “Your Highness, we cannot have this mannequin talking of chopping up the ruddy city. We can’t ask our citizens to abandon their homes.”
    Lord Attleborough-Stoughton said, “See here, I want to talk about this question of the railroads. Those are my tracks, and only a damn fool would try to tell me whether they should be defended or not.”
    Suddenly, the Empress Elspeth rapped out, “Will all of you keep clacking on when your Empress sits still? I have not yet admitted this … personage … into my Imperial presence.” She gestured at Malark. She said, “He calls himself the general of the Mannequin Army.”
    â€œYour Highness,” said Malark, “I am General of the Mannequin Army.”
    â€œThere is no Mannequin Army. Not yet, General. There is no separate mannequin kingdom. There is no mannequin republic. There is only one empire, and it is mine”
    Kalgrash stepped forward. He said, “Your Highness, does it really matter? I mean, what you call the army?We’re defending you, and after we’ve defended you, you’re going to give us our own republic in the guts. The name — who cares about the name? We have a lot of work to do in the next couple of weeks.”
    â€œIt matters a terrible lot, actually. Because if that thing is called the general of the Mannequin Army, then there is a Mannequin Army. But you are not another army. You are not my allies. You are my own army. You are my subjects. You are my servants. You, sir, are General Malark of the Norumbegan Army, or you are nothing — and until you bow before me, and call yourself General Malark of the Norumbegan Army —”
    General Malark said, “Ma’am, we fought to a truce. You agreed to recognize the claims of mannequin independence —”
    â€œOnce you won your territory back from the Thusser.”
    General Malark took two steps away from the pavilion. Then he took three steps back toward the Empress. He said, “Ma’am, I am prepared to defend your city with my life. But until I am recognized as the general of a free Mannequin Army, we will not put one spade or shovel into the dirt — we will not put one stone on top of another stone —”
    â€œNo!” said the Empress. “You will not! You are forbidden! Until then, you are an enemy army! An occupying force! Submit to me, mannequin. Bow. Say your true rank: General of the Norumbegan Army.”
    â€œThis is treachery,” complained General Malark.
    â€œIt is entirely according to the terms of our truce. You do not become your own separate nation until the Thusserare defeated. Until then, turn a nice leg, bow, and declare yourself mine.”
    General Malark turned and marched off. His engineers and Kalgrash, startled, looked around at the snickering Council, then followed.
    As the chugging of the clanksiege started up and the machine began to stomp away through the ruins, the Empress settled back on her seat and reached for a glass of iced tea.
    â€œYour Sublime Highness,” said the Earl of Munderplast, her old, grouchy Prime Minister, “was it really wise to bicker over names with the one man who may defend this city against the Thusser invader?”
    â€œHe’ll be back, Munderplast,” said the Empress Elspeth. “He can’t help himself. He’s built to love me.”
    â€œAnd who isn’t, Your Sublime Highness?” said a doting bishop.
    â€œExacters. On the button.” She squinted at the silhouette of the retreating clanksiege. “I don’t like that troll overly much. We can’t have anyone telling the manns what’s what. Nothing like a spot of blindness to keep them marching in single file.” She considered. “One of you kill the troll. Deactivate him. Magnetize him. I don’t care. Things will be easier when he’s unspooled.”
    She turned to the side.