Heart of the Staff - Complete Series

by Carol Marrs Phipps

  Budog and Mazhev thumped their breasts and turned to go, but Demonica had other ideas.

  “There is, however, a little matter I need the two of you to attend to in the dungeon before you return to the mainland,” she said. “Follow me there now and you can see to it.”

  Budog and Mazhev shared an anxious look as they followed her to the very place in the dungeon where she had caught them with her wine. Not only that, there was a feast laid out, but this one was much grander than the one they had been enjoying at the time.

  Budog winked at Mazhev. They were obviously being rewarded for their good work and this was her way of apologizing for ruining their fun earlier. They grandly took their seats. But then, something was not quite right about that. She never apologized to anyone for anything, unless it was one of her traps. Suddenly their eyes met in panic.

  Demonica watched the exchange with grim amusement.

  “Is something upsetting you, gentlemen?” she said in the tone of a waitress whose guests had not tasted their soup. “Ah, of course. How clumsy of me. Your wine.” She hurriedly set a large flagon on the table and stood back, clasping her hands. “This time the food will be better. It's from my personal larders.”

  They bobbed their heads in wide-eyed politeness as they each wordlessly picked up bread and knife.

  She smiled as she turned to go. “Oh,” she said, stopping short. “I forgot to mention that the prisoners haven't been fed for the entire time you've been gone.”

  They looked toward the cells where the inmates stared back with ravenous eyes. They grinned hugely at this. This was even better. “Thank you, mistress,” they said in unison.

  Demonica smiled primly and went out the dungeon door. It clanked heavily, followed by a jingling of keys and an audible click.

  “She locked the dor choarier koukou!” cried Budog.

  “What's she up to, Budog?” croaked Mazhev. “Do you suppose she poisoned the food?”

  “I'm not about to try any of it to find out,” he said, warily eyeing the feast before nodding at the prisoners. “They can test it.”

  “Right. If they drop dead, we won't eat it. If they don't, we have a great banquet.

  But what does she mean by locking the door, Budog?”

  “Probably just to unnerve us a bit for pilfering her stinkin' wine. If anything's poisoned, that's probably it.”

  Mazhev tilted the flagon and looked doubtfully at the label. “You really think she'd do that to her best stuff, just to get even with us?”

  “Do you have any brains at all? That bottle might look like her best stuff, but you can bet your wages for a year that she's filled it with cheap stuff.”

  “Well, sure. That's what I was saying, Budog.”

  “Right. Well, let's test out the food on those worms.”

  “Righty-o,” said Mazhev as he sliced off a couple of pieces of roast and poured out a bit of wine before turning to the first cell.

  “Whoa,” said Budog. “This is right odd. How could these stinkers go better than a week and not be locked in?”

  “What's that?”

  “This cell isn't even locked. Check the others.”

  “Right,” said Mazhev as he yanked on the next door and found it unlocked.

  “Kurun! Look.”

  “Kurun c'hoarier koukou! Lock them quick!” shouted Budog as he yanked at his keys.

  The prisoners were already out their doors, converging on them.

  “They'll kill us, sure!” cried Mazhev as he ducked the swing of one of them and jumped behind a cell door, locking himself in. He stepped back from the door, out of their reach as they turned on Budog.

  Budog scattered the emaciated men with a bloodcurdling yell as he charged them head on. He fled to Mazhev's cell door and implored him to unlock it.

  Mazhev shook his head at the sight of the crazed mob closing in again.

  Budog jerked at the door in frenzied desperation.

  Mazhev relented but his hands were trembling so badly that he dropped the keys.

  Budog grabbed them up just in time to lose them again as he was pulled over on his back. At once he was securely pinned.

  “Fetch me that wine, fellows!” cried the prisoner sitting on his chest. They rammed the bottle into his mouth violently enough to take out two teeth, and he either had to swallow or drown, so swallow he did along with his teeth.

  In a chorus of scuffling and laughter, the prisoners flung Budog into a cell across the room.

  “Come on, boys,” cried the man with the flagon. “Time to eat. We've got entertainment, too. We can watch that one whimper, while this one dies from the poisoned wine.”

  “Sounds good to me, Bernez,” said a gnarly one.

  “Herri!” shouted another as he champed his mouthful of the roast hog. “This banquet's from paradise.”

  Budog clutched at his throat as he gagged and retched and bled at the mouth.

  “Yer right, Denez,” said Herri, wolfing down brown bread still warm from the oven.

  “Try this, Remont,” said another.

  “Hey,” said Mazhev, speaking out from his cell. “How would you know if the wine was poisoned or not?”

  “Because, half-wit, the witch said so,” snapped Bernez, as he flung a hateful look at him.

  Budog sat up from his pile of vomit with a whimper of despair as he overheard this. He was already feeling panicky from his short breath and his heart was pounding in his ears. He staggered about on his knees in the filthy straw, holding his head and wondering how much longer it would take for him to die.

  From his cell, Mazhev could see the prisoners immersed in their gluttonous revelry, while across the room he could see Budog through the bars as he toppled onto his cheek to writhe in convulsions before lying still. “I'll get you stinking kaochioù ki du!” he shouted.

  The inmates erupted into a chorus of hoots and jeers at the sound of him as they gobbled down the last of what was on the table. In the next moment, they had unlocked the dungeon door and fled, leaving him to stare at Budog's corpse and to wait for Demonica to return. “I'd like to fix her, too!” he wailed. “Maybe Yann-Ber had it right about her all along,” he thought. “She's the Pitmaster's own.”

  ***

  Demonica nodded and smiled coolly at Remont's account of what happened in the dungeon after she had locked the door. “I'd love to have seen it,” she said, “but when one is pressed for time he must do without a pleasure or two.”

  She held out her hand for the keys. “You're all free to go, but if I ever see any of you again you'll be seized and executed. If either of the guards in the dungeon sees you again, you won't get that much consideration, I'm sure. Therefore, get off this island now if you value your pitiful lives.”

  The prisoners bowed low then scrambled to rise and flee.

  Demonica sighed. “Budog and Mazhev's antics have wasted all kinds of time I don't have right now, and it had better not happen again,” she muttered. “They were loyal and obedient until they got into my wine. It's a lot of work and trouble finding thugs mean enough to do what I want without them turning on me.” She could not let them think she was lax or stupid. They had to be punished and shown that there could not be a next time. With a resolute sigh she headed for the dungeon. She wanted to be there when Budog discovered that he wasn't dead.

  ***

  “As you can see Samuel, this is 'way better than cats or puppies,” said Spitemorta as she yanked out the rapier from the bound man at her feet.

  Samuel smiled in reply as he looked her over.

  “Well, I'll leave it in your capable hands to dispose of all this trash,” she said with an airy wave at the corpses of her arsons, as she turned to whisk away.

  Samuel grabbed her by the arm, swinging her to a halt. “What, exactly am I getting out of this, besides the thrills?” he said.

  “Big mistake Samuel. I won't tell you again.”

  “A thousand apologies, Your Majesty,” he said, letting go as if she were a smoldering st
ick.

  “He was always a bad one. Maybe he won't do,” she thought as she cocked her head. “I need a trusted chief aide-de-camp, Samuel,” she said, “but perhaps I misjudged you. Perhaps you aren't up to it.”

  Samuel continued looking her over, just as he had been before he grabbed her. “I'm your man,” he said resolutely. “I'm definitely your man.”

  “Good,” she said with a nod at the bodies in the room. “Then, be about your business.”

  He turned to do her bidding as she went to her bower to bathe.

  Once she was as clean and fresh as a newborn babe, she dressed for supper and turned her bloodied gown to ash with a wee flash of sorceress fire before sallying forth to the dining hall. “That went right well, actually,” she thought as she was seated at the great table.

  She sipped at the wine after her taster nodded that it was safe. “I wonder how long it will be before the citizens begin clamoring for retribution?”

  ***

  Demonica swept into the dungeon and looked about. “You idiots!” she shrieked. “See what you've done? I thought I could trust the two of you, and the moment my back was turned you stole from me. Then you let all my prisoners escape. I ought to behead you or send you to one of the mines as slaves.”

  “If it pleases you, mistress, Budog's already dead,” said Mazhev, as he rolled his eyes up from where he held his head in his hands.

  “Fool,” she scoffed, making a few signs in the air. At once Budog groaned and heaved himself up onto his hands.

  “I have to return to Goll at once with the scrying globes, though I don't see how I can possibly leave you two fools in charge when I'm gone. I think you should both remain in these cells until I return.”

  “Yes mistress,” said Mazhev, humbly, “but you wanted us to take money and a reply to Smole and to make sure your orders were carried out.”

  “So I did,” she said as she waved her hand, releasing them from their cells. “So see to it. But get this: you've made the only mistake I'll ever allow. Is that clear?”

  They both nodded solemnly.

  “Good. I'll see you when I get back,” she said as she stepped out the door and was gone.

  ***

  Demonica unwrapped the Heart and studied it. How she wished Razzorbauch had trusted her enough to teach her what he knew about it. It wasn't until Myrtlebell had tried to blast her out of the sky that she even knew that it could be used alone. “Very good that

  Spitemorta knows none of this,” she said, standing up to pace about on the carpet of the dais. “I'll have to make certain that she goes on thinking that I know everything there is to know about using the Heart and the Staff. And there's nothing for it, I'll just have to learn as I go, so here goes.” She knelt on her carpet and struggled to heave a pannier full of scrying globes over each shoulder. She held forth the Heart and made signs in the air as she chanted her traveling spell.

  The next thing she knew she was tottering under the weight of twenty five scrying globes in the middle of her apartment in Castle Goll. She let the panniers slide off her shoulders at once as she caught her balance. She let out a triumphant breath of relief, carefully rewrapped the Heart and slid it inside her kirtle.

  The guard at the throne room told her that Spitemorta was having supper and had given orders that she was not to be disturbed. She went straight to the dining hall. When the guards at the door tried to bar her from going in, she flung her fingers at each of them at once, turning them to cinders as two columns of purple smoke roiled to the ceiling.

  Spitemorta stood up indignantly as she burst into the room. “Must you mess up the doorway when I'm trying to enjoy my meal, Grandmother?” she said as she sat back down, glaring.

  “I've something to show you,” said Demonica, with a trifling shrug.

  “Now?”

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  “All right,” said Spitemorta agreeably. “Let's see it.”

  “My room,” she said, turning on her heel and speeding out.

  “Grandmother! I'm eating!” shouted Spitemorta, flinging her bread and smacking her knife onto the table as she sprang to her feet to follow.

  ***

  Spitemorta stared at the bed full of catoptrolite scrying globes and then at her grandmother. “What are they?”

  “Skinweleriou. You wanted a way to control the citizenry. This is it.”

  “You're going to have to explain.”

  “Oh you'll see, Spitemorta,” said Demonica with a Cheshire smile. “This and much more.”

  Chapter 83

  Hebraun collapsed onto the goose down settee beside Minuet in their private parlour. “I thought you'd already knitted a blanket, sweater, cap and booties for the baby,” he said, glancing aside at her.

  “You've been paying attention,” said Minuet. “And I certainly did, but they were all blue.”

  “So, you suddenly don't like blue?”

  “Oh Hebraun. You know that blue is for newborn boys. What if it turns out to be a girl?”

  “Well, she'll no doubt look cute as a button in blue.”

  “Certainly, but the best dressed newborn baby girls wear pink.”

  “Do they? Who says so?”

  “Well everybody.”

  “So, if you give Lukus and Soraya gifts that are blue and they have a girl, whom everyone must see in pink, then they won't let us be grandparents?”

  “Stop teasing me,” giggled Minuet.

  “I'd never tease you, darling,” he said with twinkling eyes amidst his dead serious face.

  She knew, of course. “I guess it does seem silly, but, this is our very first grandchild,” she said as she put aside her knitting. “It doesn't seem possible. Just yesterday I was knitting for Lukus, Hebraun. And the day before that, Rose. I certainly don't feel like a grandmother.”

  “Nor do you look it my sweet,” he said, with admiration in his eyes, before looking away with a sigh. “On the other hand, I'm not only beginning to feel it, I'm beginning to look it. Grandfather that is. Old.”

  “I've never heard you say such a thing before,” she said with wide eyes as she brushed back a strand of hair from his cheek. She knew that the talk flying 'round the kingdom was getting much worse, particularly since it was now fall and no cure had been found for the blight affecting the kingdom's crops. She bit her lip. “Surely everyone knows that if it comes to it, the grain in the crown's bins will be distributed to them to see them through the winter, right?”

  “That was today's discovery,” he said with a haunted look. “It's all tainted. It has some kind of strange powdery mildew growing on it, every bushel of it.”

  “That evil, evil woman!” she cried, springing to her feet. “Even Ugleeuh was never so vile.”

  Hebraun rose and put his arm around her. “We've no proof that Spitemorta has done anything, Minuet. You know that.”

  “And we're not going to get any, either. Not for magic. There'll be no physical traces at all. She'd had to have been caught in the act. This is a very dry year. There's no way that any granaries could possibly spoil on their own. They checked the wheat?”

  “Yes, right after the barley...”

  “And the rye?”

  “Yes...”

  “Millet?”

  “Yes. And the bean stores are the worst of all.”

  “So, it's been done.”

  “It looks that way, said Hebraun. “The only option left to us is to purchase enough grain from our allies to survive the winter, it seems.”

  “And hope that Spitemorta doesn't get wind of it.”

  “Well, someone with magical abilities could keep watch over the new stuff, now that we know.” He sank back onto the settee. “I hope your father returns soon, Minuet. I'm beginning to think Niarg won't survive without his help.”

  Minuet rubbed his shoulders. “You'll manage, love, you always do. Everyone's upset right now, but when it comes to it, they'll remember how you've always stood by them and seen to their needs even above your own.
You'll see.” Minuet always made him feel better.

  “You know,” he said, with a new twinkle in his eye, “you'd make some lucky fellow a mighty fine wife, my lady. Would you marry me?”

  “Oh I would, sir,” she said with a laugh, “except that I'm already married to the finest man I've ever known.”

  “Well, he's a lucky fellow.”

  “Yes, and I'm a lucky woman,” she said pulling him onto his feet. “Now, I think it's time you got some rest, love.”

  Hebraun did not argue. He followed her, certain that if left to his own devices he could sleep for a week.

  ***

  “Won't be long now,” said Lukus, as he stood on the forecastle of the T.M.S. Sea Sprite with Rose and Fuzz, watching as they were drawn alongside the quay on the Jutland side of Oyster Cove. “We merely have to cross the Jutland Mountains and we're there.”

  “Merely is a good two days, Lukus,” said Rose, as a bevy of terns hovered beyond the gunwale, checking to see if one of them might toss out a bucket of slop.

  “Yea, pity there's no magical underground river here, aye Rose?”

  “Don't worry, little brother,” she said, putting her arm around him, “we'll get you there before the baby's born.”

  “And if you don't, are you going to explain it to Soraya?”

  “Of course not,” said Rose as she let go of him to slip under Fuzz's arm.

  “So much for family support,” said Lukus.

  Razzmorten appeared from below, leading the unicorns. “I think it would be best if we bought another unicorn or two here in Oyster Cove before we try to cross the mountains,” he said, as he handed Mystique and Starfire's reins to Rose and Lukus. “We're bound to make much better time if we do.”

  Everyone was in certain agreement with this, and they set off at once to inquire around about unicorns as soon as they were on the pier. Before they had decided how to split up to do this, Razzmorten spied a lanky golden haired Elf who shook his head when he asked him about purchasing unicorns, but pointed to a small fishing village down the coast.

  “Galor, back there, said that no one on the cove breeds unicorns, since everyone is a fisherman,” said Razzmorten, dragging his fingers through his hair before replacing his hat. He was careful not to disturb Tafflu, who was sleeping inside. “However, he said that an old pysgotwr (to use the old term) down the coast a league in Fen by the name of Kie sometimes has unicorns to sell.”