Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Simon R. Green

  The faerie winced. “Do you think you could be a little less premenstrual about this, darling?”

  “I’m pretty sure I used to have an owl on my shoulder,” said the Magus, his eyes far away. “Or was it two ravens? Or perhaps a crow, from the land of the dead. I’ve had to reinvent myself so many times, I sometimes confuse the details. I am large. I contain multitudes. Especially on Tuesdays.”

  “If we could return to more important matters,” said Chance, just a little desperately. He stepped forward beside Hawk and Fisher, gesturing urgently for them to look at the Queen again. “Captains, may I present to you Queen Felicity, Regent of the Forest Land, protector of the Kingdom, mother of the King-to-be, Stephen.”

  “Good to be here,” said Hawk to the Queen. “I just know we’re going to get along famously.”

  Chance winced.

  “Why aren’t you Rupert and Julia?” snapped the Queen, leaning forward on her Throne to glare at Hawk and Fisher. “They have to come back. It’s their duty. They’re needed. I don’t want to be sitting here in a dusty hall, in front of a crowd of half-wit politicians and social climbers, stuck on a wooden Throne while my arse goes numb, but I’m here. Talk to me, Captains. And make it bloody convincing, or I’ll have the Magus turn you into something more aesthetically pleasing. Like a pair of throw cushions.”

  “Well, you could try,” said Hawk pleasantly, not at all bothered by the Queen’s harsh words and manner. “But trust me, it wouldn’t get you anywhere. First, Fisher and I are immune to change spells. Second, we’d kill you before you got to the end of the sentence. We are Hawk and Fisher, and we don’t take crap from anyone. On principle.”

  There were shocked gasps and mutterings from the packed Court. Those nearest Hawk and Fisher and the Magus pushed back hard against the press of the crowd, determined to get further away from any magical unpleasantness. The Queen’s guards had their hands on their swords, awaiting her order to attack. Chance had his eyes shut, and was shaking his head slowly. Chappie was sniggering. The Magus studied Hawk and Fisher thoughtfully, still smiling his enigmatic smile. Surprisingly, Queen Felicity was also smiling. She leaned back in her Throne, flicking ash off the end of her cigarette.

  “At last, someone with balls. I like that. You have no idea how refreshing it is to get a straight answer out of someone round here. Of course, if you’re dumb enough to try it again, I’ll have you executed from a safe distance. I’m not so sure I really wanted Rupert and Julia back anyway. Legends and heroes can be so … unsympathetic when it comes to dealing with everyday realities and people’s little weaknesses. So, Hawk and Fisher, talk to whomever you have to, do whatever you have to, but find my husband’s killer. I want his head on a spike. Whatever else you might discover along the way is probably best kept to yourselves. If you want to get out of this Castle alive. Do we understand each other?”

  “We do,” said Hawk. “I want his head on a spike, too.”

  The Queen glared at Fisher. “What about you? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

  Fisher had been deliberately keeping quiet, not wanting to draw the Queen’s attention. As Julia of Hillsdown, she’d never had much to do with her sister Felicity. There were eight Princesses at the Hillsdown Court, all living separate lives. Partnerships and conspiracies weren’t unknown, sometimes against other sisters, but always from a distance, through intermediaries. It wasn’t wise to get too close to somebody who might be your enemy tomorrow. Or who might disappear today, if the Duke took against you. The sisters followed their own interest, and led their own lives.

  Sophia was very religious, and rarely left her rooms, except to go to Chapel. Althea lived and breathed politics, ignoring her sisters as mere dilettantes. And Felicity was mostly interested in men. There were rumors that the Duke had tried fitting her with a chastity belt, but she’d worn it out from the inside. As the youngest, Julia had been of least use to her other sisters, and so saw less of them than most. Which suited her just fine. She was mostly interested in finding new ways of getting into trouble, perhaps as a way of getting her distant father’s attention. Until she went too far, and the Duke sent her off to die.

  She and Felicity had mostly only even seen each other at a distance. Even so, Fisher was worried Felicity might recognize her, despite the intervening years and her new black hair. She carefully lowered and roughened her voice before replying to the Queen, just in case.

  “I’m Fisher. I work with Hawk. We’ll find the killer. It’s what we do. And we’re very good at it.”

  “And we don’t need threats to motivate us,” said Hawk.

  “You don’t speak to the Queen that way, dammit!” snapped Sir Vivian.

  “Sure we do,” said Hawk. “We’re here to find a murderer, not bow and curtsy and kiss hands. We’ll do whatever we have to to get at the truth, and we won’t take piss off and die for an answer, no matter who it comes from.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” said the Queen. “Most of this bunch take seventeen paragraphs and a non sequitur just to ask if they can leave the room. They wouldn’t last five minutes in the Duke’s Court. There’s a lot of questions that need answering about my Harald’s murder, and I haven’t been able to get straight answers out of anyone. Of course, I’m just the Queen. Maybe you can do better. If anyone’s evasive, feel free to give them a good slap. Two if they’re a politician.”

  Hawk smiled and nodded, and looked slowly around the packed Court. The courtiers looked back, nonplussed. Openness and sincerity weren’t something they were used to seeing in Court. If only because if everyone spoke the truth about how they felt in public, there’d probably be a bloodbath. Hawk had been away a long time, but he had no trouble spotting patterns among the courtiers. There were political groupings, family clusters, and all the usual cliques, most of them busy glaring at each other or cutting each other dead with raised noses and averted glances. Some things never changed. Hawk looked back at the Queen, who had just emptied her wineglass and was studying Hawk and Fisher with a bitter smile.

  “I sent my Questor out in search of two living legends, and he comes back with a pair of scruffy-looking thugs. Typical of the way things are going these days. I need thugs, because we seem to have left the days of heroes behind us, and all we have left are … politicians. The way of the future, they tell me. Not much of a Kingdom for my son to inherit. The Forest Land isn’t what it was. I should have stayed in Hillsdown. All right, it was a dump, but it never had any pretensions of being anything else.” She raised her glass again, realized it was empty, and pouted sulkily.

  “Where have all the heroes gone? Did they ever really exist? I don’t suppose they’d have had much time for the likes of me, but I would have liked to have met a real hero, just once. If only because he might have seen something in me.” She shook her head suddenly. “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just the Queen. And I’m having a very bad day. Someone get me another drink. Are you sure there aren’t any execution warrants for me to sign? That always cheers me up.” She shifted uncomfortably on the Throne. “Jesus, tonight this oak is hard on the bum. Someone bring me another cushion, right now. Who the hell’s idea was it to have a wooden Throne anyway? I live in fear of splinters.” She broke off, and glared ominously at the courtier heading out of the crowd toward her. “And what the hell do you want, Sir Martyn?”

  The courtier came to a stop beside Hawk and Fisher and smiled dazzlingly at the Queen. He was dressed in the very latest Southern fashions, bright and gaudy as a peacock’s tail, right down to the pink wig, pale blue eye makeup, and several heart-shaped beauty spots. But he still carried himself like a fighter, and the sword at his side was anything but ceremonial. He bowed to the Queen and smiled graciously at Hawk and Fisher in the most patronizing way possible.

  “My apologies for intruding on your … soliloquy, Your Majesty, but I think I speak for all your Court in saying that we require more information on your chosen investigators’ background. We don’t know them. They could
be anybody. One can quite understand that the legendary Rupert and Julia might not wish to return to a Land where so much has changed in their absence, but at least they were known. These, forgive me, riffraff, are hardly suitable for such a delicate undertaking. I mean, you can’t expect the quality to answer inquiries from grubby little people like this.”

  “And you are … ?” asked Hawk politely.

  “Sir Martyn of Ravenslodge. I speak for continuity. Tradition. The unbroken line of aristocratic authority and achievement. And I can assure you, no one of any substance will be answering any questions from you or your compatriot until we have strong and compelling evidence of your derived authority, and written confirmation that you will observe confidentiality where necessary.”

  “My wife and I were Guard Captains in the city port of Haven,” said Hawk, still ominously calm. “We’ve investigated a great many murders in our time.”

  “Haven?” queried Sir Martyn, not quite openly sneering, but still pronouncing the word as though it was a small scuttling insect. “Never heard of it.”

  The Court muttered loudly in agreement. It was clear that while they might have sat still for questioning by living legends, they had absolutely no intention of being interrogated by nobodies. Particularly when they all had pasts, secrets, and motivations they’d prefer not to discuss at all. Hawk sighed quietly. Just once, it would have been nice if everyone could have been reasonable, but … When in doubt, fall back on the tried and tested ways: intimidation, sarcasm, and open brutality. He glared about him, and under that cold determined gaze the courtiers quickly grew silent again. They knew a predator when they saw one. Hawk turned his eyes on Sir Martyn, who, to his credit, didn’t flinch one bit.

  “Raise a hand against me, sir, and my people will cut you down,” he said flatly.

  “Then we’ll just have to kill them, too,” said Fisher easily. “We are completely impartial. We have no political, religious, or social preferences. We hate, loathe, and despise everyone equally. And you can move that hand away from your swordhilt right now, because if you don’t, we’ll take it away from you, and make a kebab out of you as an example to the others. We may not be living legends, but we’re the most frightening thing you and yours will ever see.

  “You can’t threaten us all!” said Sir Martyn, but he didn’t sound quite as sure as he had. There was something about Hawk and Fisher, something in their calm voices and cold eyes, that told him they meant every word. They had to know they were facing impossible odds, but everything about them clearly said they didn’t give a damn.

  “We can do anything,” said Hawk. “Because we don’t care about anything but the truth.”

  “And to hell with whoever gets hurt in the process,” said Fisher. “You’re politicians and aristocrats. You’re all bound to be guilty of something.”

  “Your Majesty!” Sir Martyn turned entreatingly to the Queen. “I appeal to you!”

  “No, you bloody well don’t,” said Queen Felicity cheerfully. “I like them with a lot more meat on. And you always were too smarmy for my tastes, Martyn. And you’ve got some nerve appealing to me for support, when I know damn well you and your treacherous friends have been plotting to have me replaced as Regent, so you’d have more direct influence over Stephen’s upbringing.”

  Sir Martyn turned reluctantly back to Hawk, his hand well away from his sword. “Captain Hawk, be reasonable—”

  “Sorry,” said Fisher. “We don’t do reasonable. Now be a good little politician and fade back into the woodwork before you lose your deposit.”

  “You’re very good when it comes to intimidating chinless wonders like Martyn,” said a new voice. “But not all of us are so easily browbeaten.”

  Hawk looked around quickly. He knew that voice. It had been twelve years, but he knew that voice and always would. And sure enough, a familiar figure came striding out of the crowd to confront him as Sir Martyn retreated. Still lithe and muscular despite approaching middle age, head held high and moving with a calm grace that bordered on arrogance, the man Rupert had known as Rob Hawke came to a halt before the Throne. There was gray in his hair, and age and good living had softened the harsh features, but Hawk knew him immediately.

  Rupert and Rob Hawke had passed through the Darkwood together, fought demons side by side, guarded each other’s back, risked their life for the other without a second thought. Rob Hawke was one of the few surviving real heroes of the Demon War, knighted afterward by King Harald for his services to the Land. A warrior who’d impressed Rupert so much, he took Hawke’s name for himself when he went south. He was also possibly the only man here to have seen Rupert with his scars and eyepatch, if only briefly. If anyone here would recognize Hawk as Rupert, it would be this man. Hawk did his best to stand at ease, unmoved, and met his old companion’s gaze steadily.

  “And you are … ?” he asked.

  “Sir Robert Hawke, Landsgrave. I speak for Reform. And I don’t intimidate easily.”

  “I know,” said Hawk. “I’ve heard some of the songs about your exploits in the Demon War.”

  “Believe everything you’ve heard,” said Sir Robert. “And after the long night, there’s not much left that scares me anymore.”

  They stood and looked at each other in silence for a long while. Two men who had once been closer than brothers, but had grown apart in such different ways. The years had not been kind to Sir Robert. Up close he looked a lot older than his age, and there was a harshness to his face, as though he had been much beaten about by life. He looked more like the father of the man Rupert had once known. Hawk couldn’t help wondering if he’d changed that much, too.

  “We’re here on the authority of Prince Rupert and Princess Julia,” he said carefully. “And we have the backing of your Queen. Do you defy them?”

  “Not necessarily,” said Sir Robert. “Not just now. I’ll give you enough rope to hang yourselves. But tread carefully, Captains. There’s a lot going on here you don’t know about. There are secrets within mysteries, and not everyone’s truth is the same. Not everyone is always who or what they appear to be.”

  Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, unsure whether that was a hint of recognition or not. Certainly nothing in Sir Robert’s face or gaze suggested that he recognized Rupert and Julia. Perversely, Hawk felt almost disappointed. How could Rob Hawke have forgotten him so completely, after all they’d been through together?

  Sir Vivian stepped forward to fix Sir Robert with his icy gaze. “You seem to know so much about this tangled situation, Landsgrave. Perhaps you would be so good as to suggest how it should be investigated?”

  Sir Robert shrugged. “You know my feelings on the matter, High Commander. I’ve made no secret of them. The only way to get the truth is to question everyone, from the highest to the lowest, under a truthspell.”

  “That would take months,” said Sir Vivian flatly. “And besides, it would be a deathly insult to all those of standing who had given their word they knew nothing of King Harald’s death, sworn it on their name and their blood and their honor. And besides, who would you trust to administer such a truthspell anyway? The Magus? I don’t know of anyone in this Court or out of it who trusts him entirely. The Shaman, with his well-known prejudices? Or perhaps some Academy witch, chosen at random? No, given the circumstances of the murder, no magic-user can be trusted. It’s clear to me, and to anyone who’s studied the matter, that the King’s murder must have involved some use of magic. There’s no other way the assassin could have reached him, past my guards and the Magus’ wards. No, the first step to getting anywhere has to be the rounding up and imprisoning of all the magic-users currently infesting this Castle, and put them all to the question under a truthspell.”

  “Any magician powerful enough to get past the Magus’ wards would have no trouble shrugging off a truthspell,” said Sir Robert patiently. “And besides, magic has become too integral a part of our society. The Castle and the Land couldn’t function without magic-users. We can’t affor
d to antagonize them. It makes much more sense to vigorously interrogate all of your compromised guards, who continue to swear they saw and heard nothing of the King’s murder, even though they were right outside the room when it happened! We could always replace them with the more independent members of our armed forces.”

  “You might be willing to place your trust in foreign mercenaries,” said Sir Vivian. “But then, your commitment to the Throne has always been dubious at best. My people remain. They are the only ones who know the Castle and its people well enough to be able to investigate this matter thoroughly.”

  “As always, we remain opposed,” said Sir Robert. “The old versus the new.”

  “Honor versus practicality,” said Sir Vivian.

  “Why don’t we get right down to it?” asked Sir Robert. “With the King, regrettably, gone, this is the perfect opportunity to change the system. We can put aside the monarchy, which serves only itself, and replace it with a more democratic system that serves the people.”

  “King Harald stood fast against any real changes while he was alive,” Sir Vivian pointed out. “And I support what remains of his family. Your words, however, sound more and more like a motive for murder. Did you tire of waiting for change, and decide to start the process yourself with Harald’s death?”

  Both Sir Robert and Sir Vivian had their hands on their swordhilts now, and imminent violence crackled in the air. Sir Vivian’s guards moved quickly forward to support him, and just as quickly stern-faced courtiers emerged from the crowd to back up Sir Robert. And then Queen Felicity cleared her throat, and everyone stopped and turned to look at her.

  “Harald never allowed anyone to go armed in his Court,” she said coldly. “And it’s temper tantrums like this that explain why. Sir Questor?”

  Chance stepped forward. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  “Do you still serve the Throne and your Queen?”