by Peter David
I glared at her. “I liked you better when you weren’t talking.”
“Yes, I’m sure you did. So will you go with me?”
I let out a long, exasperated sigh. “It’s madness … but all right. Just, for pity’s sake, keep your head down, don’t look anyone in the eye, and stay out of trouble.”
She nodded, and lay back on the blankets spread on the hard floor. As always, I positioned myself as far from her as I could.
And then she said something that made my blood run cold.
“You could move closer, if you want.”
Oh dear heaven, I thought, the last thing I want is for her to form an attachment to me. Out loud, I said, “I’m … fine right here.”
“Very well,” she said, her voice sounding a bit chillier, which was just fine by me. I had no interest in upsetting the status quo between us.
As was my custom, I said, “Good night. Thank you for not burning the pub down.”
Every night that remark had been met with silence. Tonight, however, she replied, “You’re welcome.” And before I could say anything else, she added, “And thank you for handling that … man. I would have done it, you know. I was going to …”
“Yes, I know. And you probably could have.”
“Thank you. But what you did … it was very brave.”
“Is that what it was?” was my only response. I guess it really had been brave … because it was so bugger-all stupid, and if there was one thing I’d come to realize, it was that bravery and bugger-all stupidity went hand in hand.
Chapter 18
I stood over the corpse of the fallen dreaded Warlord Shank, a bloody sword in one hand and his head—still dripping from the severed neck—in my other. “That,” I crowed, “is what happens to the enemies of King Runcible of Isteria!”
Everyone in the great room gasped in amazement and fled before my burgeoning wrath. The only one left there was Entipy, who made loud fluttery noises about how wonderful I was. Then the phoenix flew in through the window, its great wings stirring the tapestries on the wall and knocking over candlesticks and flowery ornaments before settling down in front of us. Then we climbed on its back and flew home.
It was a very pleasant dream, and one that I awoke to with startling regularity over the next several days. I wondered if my ” destiny” was calling to me, but then came to my senses and decided that it was insanity tempting me instead. There was absolutely no way that I was going to stick my neck out at the banquet and make some sort of strike against the warlord. First, the odds were that I would fail. Second, if I did succeed, I’d never make it out alive. And third …
Well, there wasn’t a third, really. I hadn’t seen much point in dwelling on it beyond that.
I did feel the need to caution Entipy, somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred times, that we had to be as cautious as possible. Just because we had agreed there was risk involved, that didn’t mean we couldn’t find ways to minimize that risk.
“You may hear them say things about your father,” I warned her, “or your mother. Or even about you. Insulting things, false things. It’s not uncommon for people who are celebrating to curse the names of their enemies, since it’s something they all agree upon and it gives them a degree of satisfaction that they can ‘get away’ with it since the person being discussed isn’t present.”
“I know,” she said.
I continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “You cannot let anyone notice that this bothers you in any way, shape, or form. It will attract attention, and that would be bad. Not bad as in inconvenient, or naughty, but bad as in fatal.”
“I know,” she repeated more forcefully. “Apropos, of the two things in this world that I do not care about the most, the first is my parents, and the second is what people say about them. As for what they might say about me—they don’t know me. And even if they did, well …” She shrugged. “What do they matter?”
It seemed a fairly positive attitude to take. I could only hope that she abided by it.
The only other thing that made me nervous, as I’m sure you can surmise, was the comment about how the warlord tended to dismiss members of his staff rather permanently. Still, if I managed to keep my head low and not dispatch a guest with a skillet, I had no fear that I could avoid any serious problems. I only hoped that Entipy could be counted on to do the same. She was basically something of a wildblade, and having such a person guarding one’s back is more than enough to make one very, very edgy.
Marie’s disposition had improved not only toward me, but also toward Entipy. The princess maintained her usual reticence around the pub, but Marie eased up on her somewhat as well … probably because she believed that Entipy and I were lovers and therefore the new air of courtesy she was affording me extended to the princess. To that end, on the Sunday of the job, she even lent us a Heffer … an extremely long-haired horse that was specially bred for the harsh climes of the Outer Lawless regions. Having been given directions, we set off for the castle of the dreaded warlord.
I sat up front on the horse, Entipy behind me. She had her arms draped around me casually in order to hold on. She wasn’t doing anything untoward beyond that, which relieved me no end. Her affections were not something I particularly wanted to deal with.
“I didn’t burn it down,” she said abruptly. The castle was visible in the distance, or at least the upper towers were. The rest of it was obscured behind a great wall ringing the entire structure. We weren’t anywhere close to sunset, but there was a gentle red glow suffusing the horizon.
At first I didn’t know what she was talking about. I thought she meant the castle, and then I figured she was referring to the pub. I said nothing, and the only sound to be heard (other than the distant noises of revelry) was the steady clip-clop of the Heffer’s hooves.
“The retreat. Where the Faith Women lived. I didn’t burn it down.”
I wasn’t sure which was more surprising to me: that she’d brought it up out of the blue at all, or that she was claiming not to have done it.
“You didn’t,” I said, sounding skeptical.
“No, I didn’t,” she repeated.
“The Faith Women seemed to be under the impression that you did.” I didn’t even bother to mention the demented smile that she had flashed, which came across—to me, at least—like someone who was extremely dangerous and certainly capable of torching anyone or anything that offended her.
She did that little shoulder shrug of hers. “I can’t help what they think … or what you think.”
“You can tell me what happened.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t. I just … wanted something to pass the time.”
She was silent for a time. I guess she was considering it. Finally she said, “I didn’t cause it. I just … didn’t stop it. I hated the Faith Women.”
“Why?”
“Because they hated me.”
“Why did they hate you?”
“Because I’m better than they are. People always hate people who are better than they are.”
That one struck a little closer than I would have liked, but I tried not to show it. Instead I said gamely, “Then by that logic, you hated the Faith Women because they were better than you. At least, that’s one possible interpretation.”
She shook her head with assurance. “No. Sometimes you just hate someone because they’re cretins.”
“Ah. I see. And you can distinguish one kind of hatred from the other?”
“Of course. Can’t you?”
“All right,” I said, not wanting to get much further into a topic that made me quite that uncomfortable. “You hated each other. But you didn’t burn the place down.”
“No. Instead I prayed to the goddess for help.”
“Which goddess would that be?”
“Hecate.”
I knew the name instantly and was not especially cheered. “Hecate. Isn’t she a sort of goddess of dark magic?”
“She’s
been known to be,” Entipy replied in a calm, neutral voice that only chilled me more.
“Have you an interest in weaving?”
“No. Just in making people suffer.”
I couldn’t quite determine whether she was serious. What I did know for certain was that I didn’t want to ask.
She seemed to be waiting for me to make a further inquiry. When I didn’t, she continued, “I prayed to Hecate that she would deliver me from the Faith Women. She answered me twice. First she sent me Tacit. He could have taken me out of there. But Hecate found a cat’s-paw with too pure a heart, because he urged me to remain until the proper time. He kept saying he had a sense of destiny.” She said those last words with what I could only term as “disdain.” It was the first time in our somewhat odd association that she had spoken of Tacit in less than glowing, even reverent terms. I took silent pleasure in that, even though I knew in my heart that Tacit had been correct, and the only reason he wasn’t fulfilling that destiny was because I had interceded. “But then Hecate chose to answer my prayers a second time,” Entipy went on. “I was in a study, deep in prayer. There were candles by the window, and suddenly a strong wind came in, blew the shutters wide, and knocked the candles onto the floor. The wind came from nowhere, the shutters should have held, and when the candle fell, it should have gone out. But none of those things happened. What else could that be but divine providence?”
“Coincidence? Bad luck? I’ve had a ton of it and it wasn’t at the hands of gods.”
“Are you quite sure about that?” she asked.
I started to reply and then fell silent. Truth to tell, there’d been quite a few times where I felt as if the gods were out to get me.
Taking my silence for assent, she said, “I stood there and watched the flame from the candle start to spread across the carpet. I watched the winds fan the flames, and watched as they leaped to the drapes. If I shouted an alarm, the Faith Women could likely have stopped it. But I didn’t. I simply let nature take its course.
“The Faith Women eventually smelled the smoke, felt the heat. They ran in, saw the entire room being consumed, and saw me standing there. One of them looked at me and kind of shrieked, ‘Gods … the flames are in her eyes.’ Which they probably were, reflected there, but I certainly must have looked nicely demonic.
“To this day, I’m not entirely sure why they didn’t just leave me there. One of them grabbed me, slung me over her shoulder, while the others scrambled to find water and bring the blaze under control. But it was much too late; the flames were already licking at the second story of the building, which just happened to be the library. When the books went up, well … between those and the dried wood of the structure itself, it was just a matter of time.”
“And they just assumed you’d started it.”
“Of course.”
“And you did nothing to change their minds.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, squire,” she said lightly, sounding more cheerful than I’d ever heard her, “it’s always best to let people think you’re more than you are than less. Give people a reason to like you … and they’ll take advantage of you. Give people a reason to fear you … and they’ll fear you.”
“I see. So when you become queen, you plan on a reign of terror.”
“Oh yes,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Has it occurred to you that those who reign in terror usually die in pain from the blade of an assassin?”
I felt her shrug behind me. If she had considered it, it certainly didn’t trouble her especially. “If things become too dire, I can always pray to Hecate. Although there are some who say that, in one person’s lifetime, she’ll only answer prayers three times. And she’s answered mine twice so far. So I’ll continue to worship her, just to stay in her good graces. But if I’m looking for her to actually grant me something—like the death of enemies or something like that—then obviously I’ll have to save it for something very special.”
I didn’t even want to consider what someone as twisted as Entipy might consider “special.” Then a thought occurred to me. “Why did you tell me? Aren’t you worried that I might wind up liking you?”
“No. You hate yourself too much to like anybody.”
I was glad she said that, because it removed whatever danger there might be that I might start to relax my guard or like her a bit more. The only reason I didn’t knock her off the horse and leave her behind was because we needed the nine sovs her presence was going to bring at the castle.
The event was already in full swing when we got there and reported, as we’d been instructed, to the castle steward. The contrast between the cold outside and the warmth inside was most impressive. From the upper halls where the celebration originated, we could hear laughter and merriment, and the thrumming of musical instruments and the sound of dancing feet. It was curious. In hearing the dreaded Warlord Shank described, I’d heard him made out to be a virtual incarnation of evil. In fact, all of his followers were likewise ostensibly irredeemably evil. But apparently one can be evil and yet, when celebrating, be indistinguishable from everyone else.
Sometimes I wondered which category I fell into. And oftentimes I stopped wondering because I didn’t really want to know.
The steward looked me up and down disdainfully. “Yer uh cripple!” he said in disgust.
“Yes,” I said. There didn’t seem to be any other reasonable response.
“Ken yuh work?”
“As long as the work doesn’t entail extended jaunts, or flashes of dazzling footwork necessitated by complex choreography.”
He stared at me blankly. “Wha’?”
“Yes. I can work.”
“Fine. Upstairs wi’ yuh, then. And no eatin’ enny of th’ serious food. Yeh can have some bread if yuh want.”
The noise from the main hall become almost deafening as we drew closer. We stood outside the main double doors a moment, as I steadied my pounding heart. We were walking into the heart of enemy territory for the princely (and princessly) sum of nine sovs each. Somehow I always thought my life would be worth more than that. On the other hand, somehow I always knew that it wouldn’t. I pushed open the doors and a virtual wall of sound slammed into us. People were talking with one another at dazzlingly high volume, most of them—by my guess—with serious amounts of alcohol already in them. A band consisting of pipers, drummers, and a harpist was in the center of the room on what appeared to be a section set up for dancing. And dancing there most definitely was, people grasping each other’s hands and spinning in a circle. That certainly seemed the most pointless kind of dancing to me. All that work, just to wind up back where one started? One might simply have stayed there in the first place and saved the exertion.
But all of that was secondary. What struck me most about the great hall was the décor. It was furnished in a style that I could only term “Early Atrocity.”
Bleached bones, presumably of former enemies, decorated the walls and, not only that, had been incorporated into much of the furniture. The legs of the main dining table were genuine legs; the armchairs, I’m sure you can guess. There were tapestries, but they consisted mostly of depictions of slaughter, slaughter everywhere. Women being raped, children being tossed onto fires, men being crucified. All of it, a celebration of the worst sort of brutality. Suddenly the line of demarcation between the festivals of good and evil became that much clearer for me. When good is celebrating, you don’t have an overwhelming urge to run screaming into the night. Well … unless a mime is performing.
I became more panicked than ever over the notion of being found out, because I could have no more pronounced reminder of where we were than the furnishings of that place. I kept imagining being discovered as a squire for King Runcible, in service to his daughter, who was standing to my immediate right. If that happened, my buttocks would likely be pressed into permanent service as an end table. Unfortunately, the hall was quite brightly lit. Would that it had not been so, for I would have li
ked nothing better than to have my vision of this chamber of horrors severely limited. I looked over at Entipy to see how she was handling it.
Nothing. Face impassive. She was studying some of the tapestries, assessing them with considerable dispassion.
“If someone gets butchered that severely,” she finally said, “there’s much more blood than they’re showing here. These aren’t terribly accurate.”
“Oh, of course, and maidens cavorting with unicorns is accurate,” I muttered.
“Yes, it is.”
“There are no unicorns,” I told her, “despite whatever Tacit may have told you about his upbringing. And if there were, they’d try and skewer you just as surely as any other creature of myth.” I pointed toward a table at the far end that appeared shorthanded. “I think they need help there. Come on.”
We started to thread our way through the dance floor, and I have to admit my fantasy life took an upswing. For some of the noblewomen, you see, were considerably drunk and even more considerably liberal in their … willingness, shall we say. Naturally I would have been happy to take advantage of them in a moment, but I had other matters to attend to.
We stepped behind a food station that had a ham the size of a two-year-old child, and I started carving it. In slicing it, I envisioned the throat of every person who had ever done me an injustice. Unsurprisingly, the cutting went very briskly. Entipy then served out the newly cut meat to anyone who wandered by.
I have to say, the ham smelled delicious. At one point I looked at Entipy, who—as we’d been told was permissible—was eating two pieces of bread, one atop the other. But then I saw juice dribbling down, soaking through the bread slices a bit. “What are you doing?” I demanded.
“I stuck a few small slices of ham between two pieces of bread in order to hide it,” she said cheerfully, obviously pleased with herself.
My taste buds recoiled at that. Taking something as juicy and palatable as meat and sticking it between two pieces of bread seemed a rather repulsive way to eat anything, not to mention an insult to the meat. At the very least it was highly abnormal. But if there was one thing I’d learned about the princess, it was that she was blissfully untroubled by such things as abnormality. Still … the ham was tempting …
