Sir Jasper was suddenly standing between Catherine and Gertrude. He seemed much larger, and far more terrifying. A dead thing, full of death’s power. He surged forward and enveloped Gertrude, wrapping his unearthly form around her, glowing with an unbearable light. Gertrude screamed with horror and dropped the dagger. And then she stopped screaming and sat down on the floor, not moving, not breathing, staring straight ahead with bulging eyes in a contorted face.
Sir Jasper stepped away from her. His face was cold, but he looked like a man again. Garner came forward cautiously, and leaned over Gertrude. He checked her pulse, looked back at Catherine, and shook his head. The Princess realised she was still holding the chair and put it down. She moved slowly forward to stare at her old companion, and then looked back at Sir Jasper as though she’d never seen him before.
“What did you do to her?”
“I protected you,” said the ghost.
“What did you do?”
“I showed her what it’s like to be me,” said Sir Jasper. “To be dead. Don’t look at me like that, Catherine. She would have killed you. I only did it to save you!”
He held out a hand plaintively, but she turned away, refusing to look at him. Sir Jasper became suddenly transparent, more ghostly. He faded away and was gone.
“What have I brought into this Castle?” Catherine said quietly. “He’s not what I thought he was. Just a funny old ghost, searching for his past. He’s not that at all. And I don’t think he ever was, really.”
“You must excuse me, your highness,” Garner said carefully. “I have to talk to my people, pass on the information that Lady Gertrude gave up. About King William’s true intentions. And, of course King Rufus and Parliament must be told. This changes everything.”
“No!” Catherine said sharply. “Gertrude was right about one thing. A third assassination attempt would be enough to break the marriage and the Peace agreement. I can’t give them that victory. I won’t give my father his war!”
“I’m sorry, your highness,” said Garner, “but I must follow my orders.”
And he left the room before she could say anything else.
• • •
The Sombre Warrior turned round abruptly as Garner came out of the Princess’ suite.
“How the hell did you get in there without me knowing?”
“Don’t ask,” said Garner. “Really, you don’t want to know. There’s a body in there. Lady Gertrude. Have your men go in and get her.”
“Gertrude?” said the Sombre Warrior. “What happened to her?”
“Have the body placed in storage,” said Garner. “There’s always the chance the Necromancer will be able to get something out of her.” He looked steadily into the chalk white porcelain mask. “Lady Gertrude just tried to murder the Princess. On King William’s direct orders.”
“Dear God,” said the Warrior.
“Did you suspect something?” said Garner. “Coming here, to stand guard over her personally?”
“I suspected something,” said the Sombre Warrior. “But not this. Not . . . Gertrude.”
He pushed past Garner and hurried into the suite, not pausing to knock. Catherine was sitting in her chair, looking down at her hands in her lap.
“Are you safe, Princess?” said the Sombre Warrior. “Are you hurt?”
“She really did try to kill me,” said Catherine, looking up at the Warrior like a child. “First with poison, then with . . . that.”
She nodded to the glowing dagger, still lying on the floor. The Sombre Warrior quickly went over, knelt down beside the dagger, and studied it carefully through his mask, then picked up the ugly weapon by the handle with his thumb and forefinger.
“Nasty. I can see all kinds of magics, crawling all over the blade. Powerful enough to cut through even your defences, Princess. This was no mere attempt. Lady Gertrude meant business.”
He called through the open door, and his men came hurrying in. He spoke quietly with them, gave one of them the dagger, and indicated for the others to pick up Gertrude’s body and carry it out. They did so, quickly and efficiently. The Sombre Warrior turned back to Catherine.
“My men will ensure that Lady Gertrude’s body is treated respectfully, your highness.”
“Garner said something about the Necromancer . . .”
“No, your highness,” said the Warrior. “Raven already knows he’ll get nothing out of her. I’ll see that the body is not disturbed. Would I be correct in assuming that this is something to do with her lost love, who died out on the border? Yes. I don’t think any of us took her loss seriously enough. We should have known better. Grief never goes away if it’s nursed. Gertrude held her grief to her because she had nothing else, and in the end it destroyed her. What do you want me to do now, your highness?”
Catherine looked at him blankly. “What?”
“Do you want me to start the preparations for our return to Redhart?”
“No,” said Catherine. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here, with Richard.”
“As you wish,” said the Sombre Warrior. “I’ll get word to him, let him know what’s happened. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” He looked at the two men still waiting by the door. “You. Guard her. From everyone and everything, until the Prince gets here. Understand?”
“We follow your orders, sir Warrior,” one of the guards said carefully. “Yours, and no one else’s.”
The Sombre Warrior turned back to Catherine. “Do you want me to stay here with you until the Prince arrives?”
“No,” said Catherine, so quietly the Sombre Warrior had to concentrate to understand her. “I don’t want anyone with me.”
The Sombre Warrior bowed and left, taking his guards with him. So he didn’t hear the last thing Catherine said.
“I can’t trust anyone anymore.”
EIGHT
MANY THINGS, RETURNING
Prince Christof, putative heir to the Redhart throne, and Malcolm Barrett, Champion to the Redhart King, came running down the corridor that led to King William’s Court from different directions. They both stumbled to a halt before the closed double doors, and then leaned on each other heavily, as they struggled to get their breath back. The armed guards on duty outside the doors did their best not to stare, whilst making it very clear through stern faces and body language that they had been ordered not to let anyone pass. Because they really didn’t want to have to say it out loud, to the King’s son and the King’s Champion, if they didn’t have to. Christof and Malcolm paid the guards no attention at all. They had other things on their minds. When they both finally felt they had their breathing under control again, they straightened up, stood back, and looked at each other.
“This is not good,” said Christof. “In fact, I would have to say that this is so far from good that I can’t even see good from where I’m standing. I have been summoned to appear before my father many times before, for many reasons, but never at this late hour of the evening, never in such a peremptory way . . . and never with such a brutal sense of urgency.”
“Can’t be a standard session of the Court,” said Malcolm. “Not at this hour. Can’t even be an emergency session, or I’d have been briefed about it. Do you have any idea what this is about?”
“Haven’t a clue,” said Christof. “Which is, I suppose, a clue in itself, because I always make it a point to have someone of my own among the King’s people, to warn me in advance about Bad Things Happening. If only so I can get my excuses properly in order.” He did his best to force the stress from his voice and his face and assume his usual languid poise. “No doubt dear Father will get around to telling me what it is, in his own good time.”
Malcolm managed a small smile. “But you don’t think it’s likely to be anything good.”
“You don’t need to keep good news secret,” said Christof. “No, Mal. This is going to be really bad.”
“Then why were you in such a hurry to get here?”
“Because usually when
it’s this bad, you just want to get it over with as quickly as possible.”
They both looked fiercely at the guards, on general principles. None of the guards would meet their eyes. Christof looked at Malcolm.
“Have you heard anything from Catherine since she arrived at Forest Castle?”
“No,” said Malcolm. “Not a word, directly or indirectly. Not even an Arrived safely, nothing to worry about. Which is worrying.”
Christof looked past the increasingly nervous guards, at the closed double doors. “Perhaps that . . . is what this is all about.”
Malcolm scowled. “If everything was going well, the King would just have announced it, in passing, as part of regular Court business. Something like this—a private Court session in the dead of night—can only mean something somewhere has gone seriously wrong.”
They both looked round sharply as the Prime Minister, Gregory Pool, came puffing down the corridor towards them. Nature had never intended anyone as large as the Prime Minister to run, but he’d clearly been doing his best. He’d been reduced by lack of breath to a ponderous shuffle, and when he finally stumbled to a halt before the Prince and the Champion, he was wheezing so hard he couldn’t get a word out. His face was an alarming shade of purple, and his eyes actually bulged from their sockets, like those of a frightened horse. But he got himself back under control surprisingly quickly, then launched into an outraged speech that he’d clearly been rehearsing in his head all the way to the Court.
“Bloody King will be the death of me! Summoning me to attend him at Court, at this hour of the bloody night, without even the slightest hint of courtesy! No If you please or The urgency of the situation demands . . . Oh no. Just a soldier banging on my door and a written command to attend the King! Right now! Dear God, my heart feels like it wants to leap right out of my chest . . . It’s times like this I think the Forest Land had the right idea. A constitutional monarchy, followed by a republic, as soon as possible. Bloody Royals! No offence intended, Prince Christof.”
“None taken, I’m sure,” murmured the Prince. “Bloody King, indeed. Though I do have to wonder”—and here he stopped, to let his eyes drift meaningfully in the direction of the guards—“whether this might have something to do with the little get-together we all had, after our audience with the King. Where we discussed matters most private and most secret . . .”
The Prime Minister looked at him warily. “Nothing was said in your rooms that I would be dismayed to hear repeated before the King!”
“Well, quite,” said Christof. “I think all of us present were very careful about what we did and did not say to each other.”
“But we did meet together, in private,” said Malcolm. “And now we’ve all been called here, to meet with the King, in private.”
“General Staker’s not here,” said Gregory Pool.
“No, he isn’t,” said Christof.
They broke off again, as the Steward Elias Taggert came hurrying down the corridor to join them. He wasn’t running, as such, but he looked as though he might have liked to, if his dignity would have allowed it. As one of the youngest Stewards ever appointed to the post, Elias was always very much concerned with his dignity, in public. So he walked briskly forward, covering quite a lot of ground in the process, before slamming to a halt before the others. He looked coldly at the guarded doors.
“I was in there, for a while,” he said. “Just the King, and me. In an empty Court. This is not good, gentlemen, not good . . . Things are happening, decisions are being made, to which I am no longer privy . . . And if he isn’t talking to me about them, who is he talking to? He only called me in to convey a message to the sorcerer Van Fleet . . .”
“What does the King want with my brother?” said the Prime Minister immediately.
“I don’t know!” said the Steward. “It was a written message that I was expressly forbidden to even look at! That he should say such a thing to me . . . The King has always trusted me before! Always! I am his Steward, his voice and authority . . .”
“The letter?” prompted Christof.
“Van Fleet read it, and then threw me out of his rooms,” said the Steward. “He didn’t look at all happy. Now here I am, back again, waiting to be called in and given new orders, like a dog at the hearth! Something new must have happened, something vital . . . but damned if I know what.”
“Is the King . . . angry about anything?” said Malcolm.
“I don’t know,” said the Steward. “But he certainly seemed . . . very serious.”
Christof gave his full attention to the guards, and several of them went pale. Whenever the Prince looked that thoughtful, it was always dangerous for someone. It meant Christof was considering some really unpleasant new punishment. “Guards,” murmured Christof. “Is there anyone inside the Court at present, with the King?”
The guards looked straight ahead, hoping not to be noticed. They were all sweating. Christof picked out the most senior guard and walked steadily forward till he could place his face right in front of the guard’s.
“I am Prince Christof, son of the King and heir to the throne of Redhart. This is no time to be making enemies, guard. The King may have ordered you to say nothing, but you will have noticed that he isn’t here right now and I am.”
“The King is within, your highness,” said the guard, staring straight ahead. “There was no one else with him, when he commanded us to close the doors and seal off the Court to all entrants.”
Christof smiled at the guard. “You see? That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
“No, your highness.”
“Shut up.” Christof turned away, to look steadily at his fellow summoned guests. “It has occurred to me, this might be something to do with my banished brother.”
They all looked at the Steward, who shrugged uncomfortably.
“I haven’t seen or spoken with Prince Cameron since I was sent to speak with him,” the Steward said carefully.
“And how was dear Cameron?” said Christof. “Any change for the better?”
“I couldn’t say, your highness,” said the Steward.
“No,” said Christof, “I’m sure you couldn’t.”
And then everyone looked round as the huge double doors swung suddenly inwards, opening on their own. The guards looked at the doors, and then at each other, and it was clear from their pale and heavily perspiring faces that this was nothing to do with them. Christof pushed past them and strode through the opening doors with his head held high. Followed quickly by Malcolm, Gregory Pool, and the Steward. The moment the last of them had passed through the doors and into the Court, the doors immediately started closing again. Still moving entirely of their own volition. Which was a new thing for everyone, and entirely without precedent, and therefore worrying. Whenever a King is responsible for something new, and unannounced, it’s time for everyone to worry. It means he’s been thinking, which rarely means anything good for anyone. The guards waited for the doors to close, and then took up their positions again, standing closer together for comfort.
• • •
Inside, the Court was entirely empty. Not a courtier or a politician or a celebrity anywhere to be seen. Which was also unprecedented, and therefore worrying. The ancient glowing spheres that normally lit the entire Great Hall had now come together to hover above the throne, bobbing up and down on the air and surrounding the throne with a light almost too bright to look at. While leaving the rest of the Court to darkness and shadows. The four summoned men walked a little more closely together, almost unconsciously, as they strode steadily through the great Court, the only sound the echo of their own footsteps. They were all careful to keep their backs straight and hold their heads high. They all knew better than to appear weak or uncertain before the King, or even one another; that would be dangerous. But still, the four men stuck close together, on the grounds that there was some safety to be found in numbers. The great empty space of the Court seemed to press in around them from all sides at once, s
ilent and menacing, as though it knew something they didn’t. That its cold, dead presence was more significant than theirs. As though . . . the King preferred the cold dark to their company. There was something wrong about the King. They could all feel it, even if none of them could put it into words just yet. But none of them slowed their pace, or let the respectful smiles slip from their lips, even for a moment. Such things could be dangerous. Finally, the four men came to a halt before the throne, and they all bowed low to King William. Who leaned back on his throne, smiling coldly at them, like a gore crow on a newly raised cairn.
“Welcome, my friends,” said the King, in a voice that held no friendliness at all. “I have summoned you here, just you few, because I have received an important communication from the Sombre Warrior, in the Forest Land. I have to inform you that there have been three, fortunately unsuccessful, assassination attempts on the Princess Catherine since she arrived at Forest Castle. Two attempts at poison and one open attack with a knife.”
For a moment Malcolm couldn’t get his breath. It was like someone had punched him in the heart. All the colour dropped out of his face as his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the King.
“Who?” he said harshly. “Who would dare . . . ?”
“I understand your feelings, my Champion,” said the King. “If you will allow me to continue . . .”
Malcolm nodded quickly, recognising the warning in the King’s voice. He realised he’d taken a step forward, and now he carefully stepped back again, to rejoin the others. His hands had clenched into white-knuckled fists, and the only expression on his face was a cold and brutal need to strike out at someone. And perhaps only Prince Christof noticed that the sheer rage burning inside the Champion seemed to have left no room for any other emotion, like concern for the Princess Catherine’s condition.
“Given that my daughter has only been present in the Forest Court for two days, and already her life has been endangered three times, it is clear to me that the Forest King is incapable of proper security measures. Or perhaps he just doesn’t care enough to do a proper job. It doesn’t matter. I have no choice but to declare the arranged marriage cancelled. The Princess Catherine must return home at once, where I can ensure her safety. The Peace agreement is no more.”
Once In a Blue Moon Page 45
