Once In a Blue Moon

by Simon R. Green

The First Minister and the Leader of the Opposition were already shaking their heads.

  “Already thought of that,” said Henry. “We can’t risk it.”

  “We have to get Richard and Catherine married as quickly as possible so we can sign the Peace agreement,” said Peregrine. “Once they’re wed and the agreement is signed, Catherine will no longer be a target. Hopefully.”

  There was a long pause as they all stared at one another, hoping someone else would come up with some great idea to save the day . . . but when that didn’t happen, they drew themselves up and bowed briefly to one another, and left Laurence Garner’s secret room. The door closed quietly but firmly behind Peregrine, Henry, and the Seneschal. Peregrine turned back and opened the door and looked inside, but Garner and his room were already gone, back on their never-ending travels around the interior of the Castle.

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” said the Seneschal. “I have to attend the King.”

  “How is he?” said the Peregrine. “After the . . . strains of today?”

  “Better than usual,” said the Seneschal. “The sheer number of crises has actually been good for him. Keeping him . . . alert.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing, I’m sure,” said Peregrine smoothly.

  “Just have to hope it lasts,” growled Henry. “The sooner we can put Richard on the throne, the better.”

  The Seneschal regarded the two politicians coldly. He knew how they really felt about Rufus and Richard. “You’ve never given the Prince his due,” he said. “Shame you can’t manage to get anything done around here without him, isn’t it?”

  “Richard won’t sit on the throne for long,” said Peregrine. “We’ll see to that.”

  “You mean Parliament will see to it, don’t you?” said the Seneschal.

  “Parliament will do what we tell it to do!” said Henry.

  The Seneschal smiled. “You see? You do know how to think like Royalty.”

  “And what will you do then?” said Peregrine, just a bit spitefully. “When you don’t have a King or a Prince to follow around?”

  The Seneschal allowed his smile to widen just a little. “Maybe I’ll go into politics.”

  He turned his back on the both of them and sauntered unhurriedly down the corridor. Peregrine and Henry watched him go with equal loathing, and then they turned and strode off in the opposite direction.

  “Give me some good news, Henry,” Peregrine said tiredly. “I could really use some good news.”

  “Well,” said Henry, “at last it would seem that Richard and Catherine have . . . bonded. So we won’t have to drive them to the wedding ceremony with swords at their backs after all. Which did seem a distinct possibility, for some time.”

  “I can’t wait till they’re married,” said Peregrine. “William could still call the whole thing off if he sees these attacks on the Princess’ life as an assault on his honour. If he decides we can’t keep his daughter safe, he could demand that she be returned to Redhart, so he can protect her properly. And we couldn’t allow that. The Peace agreement would collapse.”

  Henry looked at him thoughtfully. “Would you really hold Catherine captive? To influence William’s behaviour?”

  “Well,” said Peregrine, “not as such . . .”

  “You need to talk to your man, the Sombre Warrior,” said Henry. “See what he knows.”

  “Where do you think we’re going now?” said the First Minister.

  • • •

  Not all that long afterwards, the two politicians stood outside the Sombre Warrior’s door, and Peregrine knocked briskly. There was a long pause, and then the Sombre Warrior jerked the door open. He was wearing his chalk white porcelain mask and a full set of leather armour, and he had his sword in his hand. He looked the two men over, glanced up and down the empty corridor, and then lowered his sword but didn’t put it away. He stepped back, inviting his guests in with a brusque nod of the head. Peregrine and Henry did their best to walk in as though they owned the place, but they both jumped a little as the Sombre Warrior slammed the door shut behind them and locked it. The Warrior strode back into the middle of the room and turned to face Peregrine and Henry. He still hadn’t put his sword away.

  “How may I serve you, my masters?” he said. He didn’t remove his mask. Peregrine knew what lay beneath it, but Henry didn’t. The Sombre Warrior was pretty sure there was a lot Henry didn’t know, that Peregrine knew. Even the closest of associates kept secrets from each other in politics.

  “Did you know there was to be an attempt on the Princess’ life this morning?” Peregrine said bluntly.

  “Of course not,” said the Sombre Warrior. “Do you really think I’d allow anyone to harm my Princess? And no, before you ask, I have no idea who is behind these attempts. Or I’d give you his head myself.”

  “Do you know of any Redhart spies hidden inside this Castle?” said Henry.

  “No one here has contacted me,” the Sombre Warrior said carefully. “But then, they must know I’d never stand by and allow the Princess to come to any harm. For any reason.”

  The two politicians studied the Sombre Warrior for a moment. They were used to dominating people, just because of who and what they were, but it was clear from the Sombre Warrior’s voice and stance that while he might serve them, he really didn’t give a damn who and what they were. He was a soldier, and a killer. He would do what he was told, but the reasons behind it were none of his concern. And in some things he would not be moved at all. Quite suddenly, Peregrine and Henry felt as though they were trapped in a room with a large and very dangerous wild animal. Trained to useful purpose but not in any way tamed.

  Henry looked at Peregrine. “I can’t believe you’ve had such a highly placed spy in William’s Court all this time.”

  “Years,” Peregrine said loftily. “He’s been my man for years. I own him. Isn’t that right, Warrior?”

  “Of course,” said the Sombre Warrior. His voice from behind the porcelain mask was completely calm.

  “Are you happy to be so used?” said Henry.

  “Happy?” said the Sombre Warrior. He left the word hanging on the air for a moment. “I am content to serve.”

  “Are you comfortable here?” persisted Henry.

  “These words have no meaning for me,” said the Sombre Warrior.

  Henry looked at Peregrine and shrugged. “It does move a man to think if we have him, inside Redhart . . . who might King William have, here? Which trusted and highly placed individual might even now be plotting new crimes against us? Or the Princess?”

  “Don’t waste your Parliamentary mode of speech on me, Henry,” said Peregrine. “And always remember the first rule of the spying game: never trust anyone.”

  “You trust me, don’t you?” said Henry.

  “Of course I trust you. Do you trust me?”

  “Of course, Peregrine.”

  And, honours satisfied, they both bowed briefly to the Sombre Warrior, who moved over to the door and unlocked it. Henry eased quickly past the huge figure. He couldn’t help noticing the Warrior still hadn’t put his sword away. Peregrine made a point of taking his own sweet time leaving, but both he and Henry were relieved to be out in the corridor again, when the door slammed shut behind them.

  The Sombre Warrior locked the door, and put away his sword. He took off his mask and turned to face the mirror on his wall. And using certain prearranged magic words, he forced a contact between him and his distant master, William of Redhart. His reflection disappeared abruptly, replaced by the angry, cold-eyed visage of King William.

  “You damned fool,” said the King. “You were told only to use this for real emergencies!”

  “You don’t think this qualifies?” said the Sombre Warrior just as coldly. “Two separate attempts have been made on your daughter’s life! Three, if you include the attack on her carriage, on the way here. This was organised. You had to know about it. But you never told me anything!”

  “Because I knew yo
u’d react like this,” said the King. He sighed heavily. “They weren’t real threats; Catherine was never in any real danger. Not with all the extra magical protections I had placed on her before she left Redhart.”

  “You planned this all in advance,” the Sombre Warrior said slowly. “This is all happening at your orders.”

  “Of course,” said William. “The poison would just have made her sick, the knife would just have wounded her. We needed an excuse to break the Peace agreement. Who knew Prince Richard would be stupid enough to jump in front of an assassin’s knife? Still, it doesn’t matter. We have arranged for another attempt, through another agent. And then, whatever happens, we’ll have the pretext we need to bring Catherine home again. And sink the Peace agreement once and for all.”

  “But . . . why?” said the Sombre Warrior. “Why break a Peace you worked so hard to bring about?”

  “You are not cleared for matters of high policy,” the King said sternly. “All you need to know is that a King must do whatever is best to preserve his Kingdom.”

  “I cannot allow the Princess to come to harm,” said the Sombre Warrior.

  “Allow?” said the King. “Allow? You don’t get to have an opinion on this! You will do as you are told! Follow your orders, or I will reveal your true identity to everyone. And then . . . where could you go, where could you run? You have served too many masters, my Warrior, and no one loves a traitor. Stay where you are. Do not leave your room until this final attack on my daughter is over. And then there will be war.”

  “You said I would be contacted by another of your agents, here in the Castle,” said the Sombre Warrior. “I haven’t heard anything, from anyone. I should have been consulted on this . . .”

  “Don’t sulk, Warrior,” said the King. “It doesn’t become you. You never did have a head for politics. I’ve sent one of my hidden people to talk to you. Listen to him. Follow the orders he gives you. And never presume on your position again.”

  His face disappeared from the mirror, and there was only the Sombre Warrior, staring at himself. He slowly replaced his porcelain mask, in anticipation of his visitor. He sat down on his only chair, suddenly tired. When did his life become so involved, so complicated? With so many conflicting responsibilities? He had thought that when he was back in the Forest Land, back home again . . . he might actually be able to put aside his mask. Give up being the Sombre Warrior and take up his old life again. Go looking for whatever remained of his family. But he couldn’t. He should have known he couldn’t even hope to do that, because he wasn’t that man anymore. That man died out on the border.

  One thing he was sure of: the Princess Catherine needed him. Needed him to protect her, now more than ever. He didn’t trust King William’s magical protections. The Sombre Warrior had no respect for his masters, William or Peregrine. But he had always admired the Princess. For being free and proud and ready to defy anyone who thought they had authority over her. All the things . . . he had never been.

  There was a knock at his door, and the Sombre Warrior made sure his mask was firmly strapped in place before he went to answer. And there, waiting patiently outside in the corridor, was a face the Sombre Warrior knew. The minstrel, Clarence.

  “The King sent me,” Clarence said politely. “And I think we both know which King I mean. What was I supposed to . . . Oh yes. Red meat is good meat. Stupid phrase. Practically screams I’m up to no good. Invite me in, please. It wouldn’t be good for either of us if we were seen together. Questions would be asked.”

  The Sombre Warrior stood back to allow Clarence to enter, and then shut and locked the door behind him. Clarence looked around the spartan room and turned up his nose.

  “This is the best they could find for you? Hardly worthy of such a famous warrior.”

  “You’re my contact?” said the Sombre Warrior. “But you’re Prince Richard’s closest friend!”

  “He wants to be a hero,” said Clarence. “And what better way to become one than in the heat of battle? So many opportunities for the Prince to show his true worth . . . And I want a war, so there will be great deeds and marvellous battles for me to write songs about.”

  “That’s it?” said the Sombre Warrior. “That’s all you want?”

  “Well, the money does help,” Clarence admitted.

  “Never trust a minstrel,” said the Sombre Warrior.

  “There is to be one more attack on the Princess,” Clarence said briskly. “Very soon now. You are ordered, by King William himself, to do nothing. I have been told to assure you that the Princess will never be in any real danger. In fact, if she really has got all the protections in place that she’s supposed to have, no one short of the Demon Prince himself could get anywhere near her. We should all be so safe.

  “There. That’s the message. Stay put till you hear the shouting, and then run to the Princess’ suite so you can be righteously angry in public and demand she return home immediately. What could be simpler?”

  “What indeed?” said the Sombre Warrior.

  Clarence waited patiently until he was sure the huge figure had nothing more to say. “Very well, then, I must be going. Unless . . . I don’t suppose you’d be prepared to sit down and talk with me about all the amazing exploits you’ve been involved in? I’m always looking for good new material for my songs. I could write something seriously thrilling about your . . . Ah. I see. Bad timing. Perhaps another . . .”

  He bowed hastily, waited for the Sombre Warrior to unlock the door, and then left as quickly as dignity would allow. The door locked itself behind him. Clarence stood for a while in the corridor, recovering his composure, considering where his life had led him, against all his expectations.

  “You should never have led me into the Darkwood, Richard,” he said quietly. “I could have forgiven you anything but that.”

  • • •

  Prince Richard stood unhappily in Princess Catherine’s suite, looking around him and wondering what to do for the best. He’d escorted the Princess safely back to her quarters, along with a whole bunch of heavily armed guards, and then arranged for them to stand guard outside her door, and up and down the entire length of the corridor. He’d got Catherine seated in a comfortable chair, with a glass of brandy in her hand. She’d been fine all through the banquet, but as soon as it was over all the strength seemed to just run out of her and she started shaking. Delayed shock. Richard and Gertrude quickly bustled her away from the Great Hall before anyone else could notice, but Catherine hadn’t said a single word since. Richard tried again to persuade her to drink some of the brandy. It was excellent brandy, very good for shock. Or at the very least, it would take your mind off it.

  He stood back to let Lady Gertrude fuss over the Princess, chatting comfortingly and making sure Catherine had everything she needed. Richard roamed around the huge suite, carefully checking everything in turn, looking for anything that didn’t belong, or even just seemed out of place. Making sure everything was as it should be. He finally came back to Catherine, to let her know everything was fine, and that she was as safe as safe could be. But Catherine didn’t seem to hear or see him.

  She just sat there in her chair, staring straight ahead of her but clearly seeing nothing. Still holding the brandy glass in her hand but showing no interest in it, for all of Gertrude’s encouragement. Lady Gertrude kept shooting annoyed glances at Richard, indicating that in her opinion the best thing he could do was get out and leave Catherine to her, but Richard was damned if he was going anywhere while Catherine was in such a state. He was used to seeing her as strong and resilient, but three assassination attempts in under twenty-four hours had caught up with her. He crouched down before her, placing his face right in front of hers, and talked quietly and calmly to her, as reassuringly as he knew how. It took a while, but he persevered, and finally her eyes focused on him. She smiled slightly.

  “You saved my life,” she said quietly. “I am grateful; really. It’s just . . . I’m having trouble coming to terms wi
th the fact that my own people, in my own country, want me dead. Are ready to murder me, to bring about a war no sane person wants. And no, Richard, there’s nothing anyone can do for me right now. I need time on my own. To think. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Richard smiled as encouragingly as he could, and stood up again. “All right. You know best what you need. Get some rest. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed. And drink your brandy. It’s good for shock.”

  “I haven’t got shock,” said Catherine, with a hint of her old spirit.

  Richard grinned. “You haven’t tried the brandy yet.”

  Catherine tried another smile for him, but it was clear her heart wasn’t in it. Richard smiled at her, nodded to Gertrude, and left the suite. All the guards in front of the door, and up and down the corridor, immediately slammed to attention. Richard nodded absently to them, and then stared thoughtfully at the closed door to Catherine’s suite. He was still having trouble coming to terms with the fact that he had nearly died at the Tourney. He could still feel the knife slamming into his chest, all the way up to the hilt. He didn’t remember falling. Didn’t remember Catherine catching him and holding him in her arms as he bled out. He only sort of remembered Jack Forester bringing him back. He shuddered, suddenly. If Jack hadn’t been there . . .

  He’d been stunned to discover afterward that Jack was family. That he had in fact been saved by the son of Rupert and Julia. Richard supposed it only made sense that the son of two such legends should be able to work miracles . . . He felt seriously tired, worn out, and much in need of a quiet lie-down for a while. He looked up sharply at the sound of approaching footsteps. And there, coming towards him, was his good friend Peter. None of the guards challenged him. They all knew Peter Foster. Some had served with him out on the border, in one campaign or another. Peter crashed to a halt before Richard and nodded sternly.

  “Right,” he said. “I have been thinking.”

  “And drinking, from the smell of it,” said Richard, amused. “Oh hell, I was supposed to join you in the beer tent, wasn’t I? Sorry. Been one hell of a day . . .”