Hell's Chimney

by Derek Smith

  He groaned inwardly. The dress of a widow.

  Her son too was in black: cloak, leggings and shirt. A sword showed under the cloak as if he needed it, even with a tied prisoner and armed guards. He was taller than his mother, thin and lanky. His hair was blonde and straight, his face white, with pink showing through. His lips thin and pale, and down the left cheek a long scar from below his eye to the corner of his mouth. It gave him a fighting look, added to by his central missing tooth. But neither were won in battle, Toby knew, but from a childhood accident when he fell from a rope swing.

  The Queen stood over Toby with Councillor Higgs and the lantern. The later solemn, his droopy chops attempting to roll off his face. Toby expected no sympathy there, he had never liked him. He caught the Queen’s eye – what mood was she in? She was changeable. It was possible, he thought. Besides, no matter what, she must know it wasn’t him.

  ‘The guard has confessed,’ she said.

  This threw Toby, his tongue and lips struggled to respond.

  ‘Your confederate,’ she went on. ‘Under torture he told us everything.’ She shook her head and smiled sadly. ‘He told us how you came back secretly, how he distracted the other guard…’

  ‘He’s lying,’ Toby at last said.

  ‘I’ll cut his throat, Mother,’ exclaimed Zeke, rushing forward, hand on his sword.

  She held her son’s arm. ‘No need, dearest.’ She turned back to the Toby. ‘The truth is in the boot and the thumb screw,’ she said. She looked to the Councillor. ‘The man is dead – is he not?’

  ‘He is, Your Majesty. He died on the rack.’

  ‘One less to draw and quarter.’

  Toby’s neck ached from looking up at her. Her sternness, her solidity, her black – and Higgs who wouldn’t know a jest if it hit him on the nose… This was all true! His father was dead. Murdered.

  ‘I didn’t do it, Your Majesty,’ he said just audibly.

  She widened her eyes. ‘And the guard lied?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘And the dagger we found under the cushion in your room?’ shouted Zeke into his face, the spit causing Toby to shut his eyes.

  He could hardly breath. The more they said the worse it was… He began to shake, trembling from head to foot. Bound, he could not stop himself.

  Zeke grasped him tightly by the nose.

  ‘Tell us about the bloody footprint in the hallway outside your father’s chamber from your shoe?’ he yelled as he twisted Toby’s nose.

  ‘I was out riding,’ screamed Toby.

  Zeke cracked him round the face with a gloved hand. And as his head swung, Zeke hit him on the other side. His eyes filled with tears, his cheeks stung. While he was still rocking, Zeke grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back.

  ‘It is only because my mother is soft you will not be tortured,’ he hissed, inches from his face.

  ‘I am innocent!’ he screamed in red pain.

  With a push, the Prince released him.

  ‘See?’ said the Queen to her Councillor, ‘How he will deny to the grave.’

  ‘I would never have believed this,’ said Higgs shaking his grey locks. ‘You shame us, boy.’ He waved a teacherly finger. ‘You shame our very country.’

  Toby’s head was lowered like a penitent. What could he say to them that wouldn’t get him kicked?

  ‘I tried to be your mother,’ said the Queen wearily. ‘My son tried to be your brother. But your rudeness, your hostility, your hatred were boundless. I tried again and again. I loved your father. I wanted to love his son…’ she stopped in a sob. ‘And now I am a widow.’

  She dabbed her eyes.

  ‘Let me kill the rat,’ exclaimed Zeke, striding around kicking straw. ‘Let me stick him. Let me smash his brains against the wall.’

  ‘I am innocent,’ said Toby feebly, drool dribbling down his chin.

  ‘I have lost my dear husband,’ sighed the Queen as if she had not heard. She wiped away the tear rolling down her cheek. She straightened, sniffed, her weeping over, and held a hand on Toby’s head like a high priestess about to bless him. ‘These are crimes so hateful, that I can only pity you.’ She flicked at one of the guards. ‘Untie him.’

  ‘Mother! No!’ exclaimed Zeke.

  The guard looked in bewilderment, not knowing whom to obey.

  ‘Do as I say,’ insisted the Queen.

  Toby watched. He wanted to wipe his chin. He’d seen these mother-son battles many times. She would win.

  ‘But, Mother, please…’ Zeke cajoled. ‘He needs to suffer.’

  The Queen shook her head. ‘Don’t argue with me, dearest. I know what’s best.’

  Zeke stamped his foot and bit his lower lip. Then turned away.

  The guard had laid down his spear and crossed to the prone youth. He took his knife from his belt.

  ‘Your last hours,’ she intoned to Toby, ‘should be spent in prayer. Beg forgiveness for your patricide. Be on your knees to God.’

  The guard cut the wrist bonds. Toby wriggled his hands, twisted his wrists as the guard worked on the ankle ropes. He wiped his chin on his sleeve. He sucked his swollen fingers, he licked his red wrists.

  A cry of agony escaped from the Queen.

  ‘Turn back the sun!’ she wailed. She covered her face in her hands. ‘Take us back 24 hours when I woke with your father…’

  Zeke ran in and kicked Toby in the chest even as the ankle rope was falling away. He fell back on the straw, winded.

  ‘I’d like to torture you myself,’ snarled Zeke, one foot on Toby’s chest like a victorious wrestler. ‘Hour on hour until you begged for death. And then we would really begin.’

  ‘Believe me,’ gasped Toby, ‘on my honour, Your Majesty…’

  Councillor Higgs stepped forward. ‘Patricide forfeits all claim to honour.’

  The Queen nodded.

  ‘Poor child, poor child,’ she murmured. ‘Leave him, dearest.’

  Zeke dug deep with his heel, then stepped away reluctantly. ‘Mother, let me smack the lies out of him… Please.’

  She shook her head. ‘It is not seemly.’

  Zeke threw his arm up in rage. ‘Why did I bother to come – if you are going to mollycoddle him!’

  With an anguished sigh, he strode out of the cell.

  The Queen called after him, ‘Dearest…’ She stopped and shook her head with a long sigh. Then flicked at the guards and indicated the door. The gaoler and the guards quickly marched out, taking most of the light with them. Higgs looked to the Queen for direction. Her attention was on the prince in the straw, rubbing his chest between massaging his ankles and wrists.

  ‘I will not speak with you again,’ she said.

  Toby tugged at her robe like an infant. ‘I am innocent. I swear it.’

  ‘Enough, I think,’ said Higgs to the Queen.

  She nodded at the old man. ‘I had to see him.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I could not believe. Barely a man…’

  ‘I understand completely, Your Majesty.’

  ‘I still do not believe…’

  They were walking to the door, leaving Toby in shadow.

  ‘Evil is beyond belief, Your Majesty.’

  Higgs stepped out first and waited in the corridor. Zeke had already gone, his stride ringing on distant flagstones. The Queen lingered in the doorway, the light behind her. She was complete blackness, a spectre in a long robe.

  ‘I shall see you for the last time at noon,’ she said. ‘Make the most of your final hours.’

  She turned and walked out of his sight.

  The door slammed shut.

  Chapter 4

  Earl Gomm shuffled down the wide stairway, shivering.

  ‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’

  He carried a candle. With his other hand he held his dressing gown to him, beneath it could be seen the hem of his night-shirt and below that his bare legs. He wore a night-cap with a tassel and bed-socks.

  In the
wide hallway were two men. One was in night attire with a lantern. Plainly his sleep had been disturbed too. The other wore outdoor dress, a hat in one hand at his side, a coat to the knees and riding boots.

  Earl Gomm joined them. He put his candle on a sideboard and clutched at his upper arms.

  ‘It’s icy,’ he exclaimed.

  ‘There’s a thick frost, my lord,’ said the man in outdoor gear.

  Frost patterns covered the windows of the hallway. The wood surrounds were dark stained, two portraits of overdressed men were cast in shadow.

  ‘Winter’s early,’ shivered Earl Gomm. He shook himself, sleep still heavy in his eyes.

  ‘I am sorry to disturb your sleep, sir.’ The man stamped his cold feet.

  ‘Not as sorry as I am to be disturbed. Your hammering would have woken the devil.’

  ‘I could get no response, sir.’ He was rubbing his red hands.

  ‘Well, you have woken the house. What’s your news?’ Before the man could respond, he turned to the other man. ‘Benjamin – let’s have a fire in the sitting room. And hot water and lemon for myself and this man.’

  Benjamin nodded and shuffled off.

  ‘We’ll soon have you warm,’ said Earl Gomm rubbing his palms. ‘What’s your news? And I withdraw the hot drink if it’s not important.’

  The man chewed his lower lip for a second or two, thinking how to phrase the difficult words he had to convey. This was his third visit that night and there’d been shocks enough at each household. But there were no easy words.

  ‘The King is dead, sir.’

  Earl Gomm staggered against the sideboard, almost knocking the candle over.

  ‘How, who, when…?’ he burbled. ‘This cannot be true.’

  ‘In the afternoon, sir,’ went on the messenger. ‘Murdered. Stabbed in the back by his son.’

  Earl Gomm’s hands had gone to his head, he twisted around in his incoherence. ‘I cannot believe this. The King. Murdered. By his son.’ He stopped his dance. ‘Which son? Prince Toby?’

  The man nodded. ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘This is madness. I always liked the boy.’ He rocked against a wall, which barely supported him. ‘The King dead. Murdered.’ His hands again clutched his head. ‘What is going to happen to us all?’

  ‘The Queen now rules,’ said the messenger.

  ‘God bless her,’ said Earl Gomm. Breathing heavily, he was lifting himself against the wall. ‘Thirty years of peace we’ve had. Now what?’

  ‘The Prince is to be beheaded tomorrow…’ The man halted and corrected himself, ‘Today, at noon. The Queen requests your attendance.’

  ‘I shall be there.’ His heart was beating rapidly, his hands supporting him against the wall. He was seeing the battlefield where he’d been wounded as a young man in the War of Succession. Where he nearly died. Friends and relatives had not been so fortunate, including his own father. Thirty years ago.

  ‘How do they know it was the Prince?’ he said weakly.

  ‘He’d had an argument with his father and the Prince left in a temper…’ the messenger hesitated. ‘I don’t know the details sir, but a guard, a confederate of his, confessed under torture. A bloodstained dagger was found under a pillow in his room…’ He paused for an instant. ‘I can tell you no more.’

  Earl Gomm held up his hands. ‘That’s enough. Too much. Far too much.’ He steadied himself and stood unsupported. ‘Thank you. I am sure it distresses you giving such terrible news.’

  The man nodded.

  ‘Stay for some breakfast,’ went on Earl Gomm.

  ‘It must be speedy,’ said the man. ‘I have four more visits yet.’

  Earl Gomm clapped his hands. ‘Benjamin! Benjamin!’ he yelled. ‘Here at once.’

  The old manservant came running from a side room.

  ‘Wake the servants. Everyone. Wake the family. The night is over.’

  Thirty minutes later, the family were seated round the large table in the dining room. A fire was blazing in the hearth though the room was still chilly. A candelabra was in the middle of the polished oak table and other candles had been placed round the room. The long drapes had been drawn but it was still dark outside. A thick frost blocked the window, like the jewelled web of a giant spider.

  The family were dressed but half asleep. They were clutching mugs of warm milk. Earl Gomm had already told them the news. He was in the black robes of mourning; the rest of the family had simply picked up the clothes by their beds.

  ‘The carriage is being made ready,’ he said. ‘I must leave in thirty minutes.’

  ‘Have you spoken to the servants?’ asked Countess Gomm.

  He shook his head. ‘Barely. I’ve had the odd word with Benjamin. And I dare say he has given them some garbled version. I’ll leave that to you, my dear.’

  She nodded.

  Martin, his son, said, ‘I’d like to come with you to the execution, Father.’

  Earl Gomm shook his head. ‘Important as it is, I want you here. You must wake the priest. Everyone on the estate. There must be a service for the King. Everyone must attend.’ He turned to his wife. ‘You must make sure all the household goes, everyone – every kitchen boy and girl, every stable hand. All suitably attired. Any black they have, worn. You must make up ribbon for armbands.’

  His wife nodded. She was already calculating. Thinking about clothing for everyone and the ribbon.

  ‘What shall I do, Father?’ said Orly, his daughter.

  ‘You, my dear, will help Martin inform the estate. We are all in mourning. Have the flags at half mast. Take off these clothes and find your blacks. We are loyal subjects.’ He waved a severe finger. ‘Never let it be said otherwise.’

  ‘What’s the Queen like?’ said Orly.

  ‘When I have spoken to her – she has been charming. But I have only known her as the King’s consort.’

  ‘Is she as beautiful as they say?’ asked Orly.

  Earl Gomm nodded. ‘She is. I have never seen a more beautiful woman…’ He stopped for an instant, a thin smile escaped. ‘With the exception of your mother…’

  Countess Gomm shook her head rapidly. ‘You’ve picked a strange time for your flattery.’

  The smile had gone from Earl Gomm. Smothered as inappropriate. ‘I don’t know what she’ll be like as head of state.’ He gazed round at them all. His wife, his son, his daughter – only the toddler was not here. How vulnerable they were. His wife knew. She had grown up in the war – but his children knew only peace. Heaven help them.

  Quietly, he said, ‘We are loyal subjects of the Queen. She is our monarch. Express no disloyalty. Express no doubts. I did not say those words earlier. She is the best of Queens. God save Her.’

  ‘God save Her,’ they repeated after him.

  Orly caught Martin’s eye. She had heard the fear in her father’s voice and was not used to it. He was the protector. He was the Lord of the estate and the family. Nothing could go wrong with him in place. He was her safety, the foundation of her life.

  But a murder in a high place had cracked those foundations.

  Chapter 5

  Toby was in the straw, lying sideways, his knees clutched to his chest, shivering. There wasn’t enough straw to get completely under it, and by trying to pull it over, he would draw it off somewhere else. He had given up trying. His teeth chattered, his body shook. He wanted the night to end, he wanted it to go on forever. He was enveloped in misery.

  But the cold could not be ignored. It had sunk through to his bones. He rose stiffly and began thrashing his arms, lifting his knees and twisting about. In the dark he hit a wall, turned rapidly back and did the three and a half paces to the wall opposite. He turned and did it again. He could not see the walls he was meeting; they met his outstretched fingers. Then he circled the cell. A rapid walk in the dark. He was brother to all the others, in all these dungeon cells, walking round and round, seeing nothing, trying to keep warm, filled with hopelessness.

  Who had killed his father
? The answer took no working out. The instant the question was posed, the response was hurled like a lightning bolt. Her. The Queen had killed him. This was no mystery. Who else could it be? The Queen had planted the dagger under his pillow. She or Zeke; it didn’t matter. They were in it together. Easy enough to smear blood on a shoe and put a print outside the King’s chamber. And to torture a guard until he screamed out that he was Toby’s accomplice. And in case he should change his mind, rack him until he died.

  Easy.

  To wear widow’s weeds. To weep on cue. And to chop her stepson’s head off to clear her son’s way to the throne.

  Easy as cutting bread.

  He stopped walking, feeling dizzy, and leaned against a wall. She had the kingdom. She had the succession. Zeke would rule after her. Find him a wife, breed from him – and she would go on forever.

  His forehead rested against the damp wall. He wanted to howl. How long was this night? It seemed as if he’d been born in the dark and would never come out of it, like an insect under a stone. He had lost his eyes at birth. There was no light. He continued circling, like the other blind men in their cells, walking time away, a hand scraping the wall to make contact with something solid.

  Why had she come to see him? It wasn’t necessary with all the trumped-up evidence against him and the guard screaming his name… Why?

  To show him she could, perhaps that was it. And her untying him – that was her being merciful. She needed a witness. So she brought Councillor Higgs. He will tell of the visit and Toby’s wickedness.

  Claiming innocence to the end.

  What could be more wicked?

  He tottered, almost overcome with dizziness. And in an instant felt very afraid. The darkness was full of demons. He had lost himself in the space. Where was the door? Where was the window? He was filled with panic, his heart beating in his ears. Was there a door? Was there a window at all? Out of the darkness, a red thing with pointed teeth, a barbed tail and a trident was coming for him. He closed his eyes. It was still there. He had left his cell. This was the anteroom of Hell.