Voice for Princess (v1.1)

by John Morressy

  “Do you expect them to welcome you? You’re here to exterminate them.”

  “They can’t know that. Rats aren’t that smart.”

  “These are magic rats, aren’t they?” Princess whispered impatiently. “You can’t expect them to behave like ordinary rats.”

  Another good point. Instead of reassuring Kedrigern, it troubled him all the more. He could feel something wrong in the very air of Castle Grodzik. For all its taste, refinement, elegance, polish, grace—and whatever else Princess might say of it—Castle Grodzik was an evil place. Something very nasty was going on here. But he could not say what it was, or where it was going on, or who was behind it.

  He fingered the medallion that hung around his neck. On an impulse, he raised it to his eye, and peering through the Aperture of True Vision at its center, he took a quick look around. Everything seemed to be just as it should be. Nothing appeared wrong, and this infuriated him. Something was wrong, and he wanted to know what.

  By this time, they were at the doors of Prince Grodz’s private apartment in the north tower, and it was too late to work a spell without being obvious. Kedrigern thought of doing a quick protective magic for himself and Princess anyway, but he did not. After all, he could not be sure what he wanted to protect against. Assassins? Trapdoors? Poison? No. Perhaps he was being silly. Just because he was away from home, he was not necessarily surrounded by wickedness and danger. He promised himself that he would look into things that night, but in the meantime he would enjoy a good meal and the hospitality of Castle Grodzik. If Grodz was as fastidious about the cuisine as he was about the decor, supper should be a memorable experience.

  Prince Grodz welcomed them himself, with a sweeping bow more graceful than any Kedrigern had yet encountered in this frequently bowing household. He was a large man, a bit soft around the jowls and ample about the waist; fleshy but not flabby.

  Handsome in a way that struck Kedrigern as oily and a bit too studied, Grodz was dressed in a short black robe trimmed with ermine, over a simple white shirt and loose black trousers tucked into high black boots that gleamed like polished salvers. His black hair, long and curling, shone almost as brightly as the highlights cast by the black candles that burned everywhere in the room.

  “Welcome, a thousand times welcome to the beauty and the wisdom of the age,” said Grodz in a voice like flowing treacle. He took Princess’s hand and raised it to his lips, where he held it much too long for Kedrigern’s liking. Flashing a smile crowded with small yellowish teeth, he gestured to a table set splendidly for three, where gold and silver and crystal glittered in the candlelight. “Do forgive me the simplicity of this humble setting. I indulge myself in an evening alone with my most honored guests before the rout arrive and my duties as a host deprive me of the pleasure of your company,” he crooned.

  “It’s exquisite!” Princess cried. “Everything we’ve seen in Castle Grodzik so far has been sumptuous, elegant, luxurious, splendid—in a word, princely.”

  Kedrigern thought of other terms: pretentious, flashy, tawdry, garish—in a word, tacky. He said nothing, merely nodded noncommittally to Grodz.

  “The generous approval of one so beautiful gratifies me beyond utterance, fair lady. But Master Kedrigern is silent. Tell me, Master,” said the prince, turning to the wizard with a look of appeal, “does anything displease or offend you? I will have it removed at once.”

  The thought of Grodz’s having himself pitched out the nearest window was a pleasing one, but Kedrigern did not indulge it for long. Smiling politely, he said, “Oh, no. Everything’s just fine.”

  “Ah, you reassure me, Master Kedrigern. I am unacquainted with the ways of wizards, and for a moment I feared I had committed some gaucherie.”

  “Of course you haven’t, Prince Grodz,” Princess assured him. “Everything is splendid.”

  “Again I thank you, gracious lady,” said Grodz, offering his arm. “It is said by some that the view of the river by moonlight from this balcony has a certain uncommon beauty. Would you care to see it? And you, too, of course, Master Kedrigern.”

  “I’m not much for scenery,” said the wizard.

  “Ah, so. But you are fond of morels, I have learned. And if you lift the cover of that golden dish, you will find sauteed morels of uncommon excellence. I am sure your lovely lady would not object if you sampled them while she and I view the river.”

  “Thank you, Prince Grodz. I love morels, but I don’t often have a chance to enjoy them.”

  “Then indulge yourself, dear Master. They abound on my lands. I will see that you have a generous supply to take home.”

  Grodz ushered Princess to the balcony. As soon as they were out of sight, Kedrigern lifted the golden lid of the chafing dish and savored the warm aroma that curled up to greet him. He closed his eyes and sighed. Sauteed morels were a weakness of his, enjoyed all the more because enjoyed so rarely. He began to think better of Grodz. Underneath that oily exterior, he must be a splendid fellow. It was outrageous the way gossip could defame a decent man. And even if he were a consummate swine, sauteed morels atoned for a staggering quantity of sin.

  Kedrigern took up a crisp round of bread and spooned a generous helping of morels on top. He bit into it, chewed it slowly, savoring the delicate taste, and moaned softly in sheer delight. Finishing, he took another round of bread, topped it in similar fashion, and consumed it in two bites. A third and fourth helping followed. Then, as he raised the fifth morel-heaped slice of bread to his lips, a chill ran through him. He felt his limbs grow instantly numb. He tried to cry out, but his voice failed him; his paralyzed fingers could not work even a simple spell. Helpless, he crumpled to the floor.

  His mind was alert, but his body was devoid of all sensation. Drugged, he thought; and a chiling memory returned, of vague and shadowy rumors about Castle Grodzik that he had so casually dismissed. Husbands and wives entered, the stories said; and if the wife attracted the eye of the prince, no more was heard of them. Kedrigern knew that he had been an absolute fool. Overconfident in his magic, he had never considered the possibility that he might somehow be prevented from using it; but a wizard who cannot speak or gesture is as helpless as a baby.

  He lay in impotent rage for a time, and then he heard Princess cry his name and rush to his side. Grodz raised her, leaned over Kedrigern, and said, “Some poisonous mushroom was mixed with the morels. The cook will pay for this.”

  “But what about Kedrigern? What can we do for him?!”

  “I will have him taken at once to my bedchamber. My personal physician will attend him.”

  “Oh, my poor Keddie! Can he save my Keddie?”

  “Your husband will be up and about by morning, fair lady. If not, the physician will be flayed along with the cook.”

  “Flayed? Prince Grodz, you mustn’t…,” Princess said, shocked.

  “One must keep up standards. Otherwise, workmanship becomes shoddy. If you will permit me, Princess, I will summon men to bring your husband to my bedchamber.”

  Princess knelt beside Kedrigern, took his face in her hands, and gazed down on him with tear-filled eyes. He could not even blink to catch her attention. She kissed his forehead, and pressed her cheek to his. He heard her sobs, and he could do nothing.

  Grodz returned with two sturdy, sullen-looking men. “This is Master Kedrigern, a great wizard and an honored guest in Castle Grodzik,” he told them. “He has suffered a mishap with the saute’ed morels. He is to be conveyed at once to my chambers and placed in the bed of Prince Vulbash, do you understand?”

  They understood. They lifted Kedrigern by shoulders and ankles and carried him from the room. The last sounds he heard were Princess’s muffled sobs and the comforting voice of Prince Grodz.

  As they made their way from the apartment, Kedrigern began to reconsider. Certainly, Grodz was doing his best to make amends. Cooks did make mistakes; especially with mushrooms. Rumors could not be trusted. And aside from the paralysis, he did not feel all that bad. Perhaps he
had judged Grodz too hastily.

  Then he became aware that they were going down, and had been going down for some time, flight after flight of stone steps.

  Down, not upward to the prince’s bedchamber. Kedrigern began to feel very bad indeed.

  Somewhere deep below the castle the stairs ended, and they entered a dark cel where the wizard was placed none too gently on a table, like a slab of meat. A torch flared to life somewhere out of his line of sight. He heard his two bearers settle into creaking seats, sigh with relief, and catch their breath.

  “Heavy for a slim one, isn’t he?” a voice observed.

  “It’s the drug. Makes them go all limp.”

  After a brief silence, the first voice said, “Time to get the bed of Prince Vulbash ready for the next guest.”

  The other gave a snuffly, sniggering laugh. “This one’s been a long time coming. They’ll give him a good welcome.”

  “It’s either feast or famine down there.”

  The two were again silent. Then the first speaker rose, to the relieved creaking of whatever he had been seated on, and said, “Let’s be about it, Jegg. Sooner we start, sooner we’re done.”

  More creaking, and a great weary sigh, and the other man said, “Right enough, Thubb. Is anyone around to help us?”

  “The other boys are all busy.”

  “I hopes we can manage. That lid gets heavier each time.”

  “We can handle it, Jegg. Come on.”

  Kedrigern, flat on his back staring at the shadowed ceiling, could see nothing of the goings-on around him. He listened carefully, for the brief conversation had stirred a fragile hope.

  His immediate problem was to stop Thubb and Jegg from doing whatever it was they intended to do. He had no clear idea what or where the bed of Prince Vulbash was, but he was certain that it was not a place he wanted to be; he had a feeling that it involved rest of a permanent nature. He had to avoid it, and in his present state only an act of concentrated mental power could help him.

  Unfortunately, mental enchantment was his weak point. As an apprentice, he had enjoyed working with his hands, and concentrated on gesticulatory magic. His advanced study had introduced him to incantations and verbal spells. Mental enchantment was a field he had left almost unexplored—and now it was all he had.

  He heard much grunting and muted swearing, and the squeal of a rope in a pulley. Stone grated on stone. Grunting again, louder. Kedrigern gathered all the force he could and directed it to the object being raised by the two men, tripling its weight for a split second.

  That was sufficient. He heard a great ringing crash. The room shook, and there was a howl of pain.

  “Me back! Me back’s broke, Thubb! I told you we needed help!” cried the voice of Jegg.

  “Easy, now, it’s just a strain,” said his companion.

  “I can’t straighten up, you fool! I’m ruined for life! If Prince Grodz sees me like this, he’ll toss me into Vulbash’s bed with his own hands!” Jegg whined, his voice a mixture of pain and terror.

  “The prince wouldn’t do that, Jegg.”

  “Of course he would! And he’d probably throw you down with me!”

  Thubb was silent for a moment, then he said, “Let’s get you out where I can take a look at you. Maybe I can do something.”

  “Zinch, over in the west dungeon, is good with back problems. Can you help me over there, Thubb?”

  “What about this one? We didn’t get the lid open enough to drop him down.”

  “He’s not going anywhere, is he? They’ll come up and get him before long. They’re hungry enough. Come on, Thubb.”

  Kedrigern heard footsteps, and then the slamming of a huge door, and then there was silence. He did his best to move, but his body was inert. He was able to shift his eyes slightly, and blink, but voice and body were still lost to his control.

  He heard scuffling, and squeaking, and low small voices. There was a scratching sound nearby, and then he felt a weight on his stomach, and on his chest, and suddenly he was looking in the beady eye of a large gray rat.

  “Why don’t we ever get a nice fat one?” said a little voice near his head.

  “He’ll do. He’s on the slim side, but he’ll do,” said another.

  “What do you think, Fred? Is he all right?”

  “Looks fine to me.”

  “You want to watch out for poison. That time they threw us the poisoned one, we lost some good chaps.”

  “You’re always worrying, Jerry.”

  “Well, you can’t be too careful. Why didn’t they chuck this one down to us, like the others?”

  “One of the jailers hurt his back. You heard him yell.”

  “All the same, it looks funny to me.”

  “Oh, shut up and eat your dinner, Jerry!”

  The rat on Kedrigern’s chest had been silent all this time. He sat on his haunches cocking his head this way and that, studying the wizard closely as he rubbed his forepaws together in a way that reminded Kedrigern unpleasantly of a man washing his hands before tucking in to a hearty meal.

  “Here, now. Just a minute,” said the gray rat. “I think I know this bloke.”

  “Introduce us, Alf, and then let’s fall to,” said a tiny voice, and general laughter followed.

  The gray rat silenced the merriment with a glare. “If this is the man I think it is, he can help us.”

  Kedrigern’s heart gave a leap.

  “Who is he, then, Alf?” a rat cried.

  “Yes, Alf, tell us who the fellow is!” demanded another.

  “He’s Kedrigern of Silent Thunder Mountain, that’s who he is! He’s a wizard!” Alf announced triumphantly. “He saved my brother Mat and all his friends from the barbarians!”

  “Here, now, Alf—how can you be sure he’s the one?” a rat asked.

  “Mat described him to me a dozen times. And look here, around his neck. It’s a medallion of the Wizards’ Guild! This is Kedrigern, right enough.”

  Angry crowd noises rose all around, and Kedrigern’s spirits faltered. Despite Alf’s enthusiasm, wizards did not seem to be popular with his fellow rats.

  “Kedrigern knows more about counterspells than any other wizard alive, you silly nits!” Alf cried, rearing up and waving his forepaws dramaticaly. “He can change us back into men!”

  “Can we trust him, Alf? It was a wizard turned us into rats, you know,” someone said.

  “You can trust Master Kedrigern,” Alf said firmly, and Kedrigern silently blessed him for his excelent judgment.

  “Look here, Alf, before we gets our hopes up—is he alive?” another rat asked.

  “Of course he’s alive. Look at his eyes. And do you smell the sauteed morels? That’s how Grodz slips them the drug. He’ll start coming round in a few hours. Meanwhile, we’d better get him to a safe place before the jailers come back. The end cel is empty—we’ll take him up there. Jerry, you get the rest of the gang. Bob, you bring up a few rags and bones to scatter around, so’s the jailers won’t get suspicious,” Alf said briskly, in the manner of one who is accustomed to command.

  In a very short time, Kedrigern was gliding smoothly down the dimly lit passage, supported on the backs of two score husky rats. It was a much more comfortable way to travel than the method of his descent, and the rats were far more solicitous of his bodily well-being than Jegg and Thubb had been, but his mind was still in a turmoil. He had no idea how long he had been helpless; it was surely more than an hour. According to Alf, he could expect to be paralyzed for several hours more. And what was to become of Princess in that time?

  She was innocent and trusting. She would be defenseless against the smooth and practiced guile of Prince Grodz. Magic might have protected her, but by her own admission, Princess had not yet mastered serious spelling. She would lack that instinctive sureness of touch, the instantaneous choice of just the right spell for the situation that came only with experience. Maybe she could run.

  There was no point in fighting—she was agile, but
not strong; Grodz could easily overpower her and force his wicked will upon her. Even now… no, surely not until after supper, Kedrigern told himself…not even Grodz was that depraved. If anything, he would delay, savoring her helplessness, watching and waiting, leering and sneering, as the gentle dove fluttered ever nearer the cruel snare.

  If Grodz savored his victory long enough, Princess might be rescued before the worst had befallen her. And if not, then Grodz would answer for it; and his answer would be long and complicated, Kedrigern promised himself that.

  Under Alf and Jerry’s supervision, Kedrigern was deposited on a stone shelf in a dark, empty cel. Foul-smelling straw was heaped over him to conceal him from view, and then there was nothing for it but to wait. Alf perched near his ear. In a subdued voice, he explained the situation at Castle Grodzik.

  “I know you won’t care to wait around and listen to me once you’re up and about, Master Kedrigern,” said Alf, very sensibly, “so I thought I’d tell you what’s going on here while we’re waiting.”

  “Tell him about that rotten wizard, Alf,” said a thin little rat angrily.

  “All in its proper time, Jack. You see, Master Kedrigern, we were brought here under false pretenses, as I daresay you and most of the others were. We were just finishing up a wall-and-moat job for Martin the Inexorable, way up to the north, when Grodz’s messenger came and made us a staggering great offer if we’d come and do some very confidential work for the prince. Secret staircases, hidden passages—that sort of thing.”

  “We’re very good at that, sir,” said a large, placid rat at Alf’s side. “Done a lot of it, we have.”

  “Right you are, Dan. Anyway, down we came to Castle Grodzik, and we worked on this place for three years. It was just after Prince Vulbash the Kindly had dropped out of sight and Grodz taken over. We installed some of the neatest secret corridors and hidden entrances you’ll ever see, Master Kedrigern, and we were right proud of our work. Then when we asked Prince Grodz for our pay—”

  “Rotten stinking wizard turned us all into rats!” Jack blurted.

  “That’s the truth, Master Kedrigern,” Alf said soberly. “For a time we tried to harass Grodz into changing us back and giving us our money, but he was too much for us. He’s a cruel, hard man, Grodz is. He drove us down here, down into the pit where he had flung poor old Vulbash, and put that big stone slab over it. For a while, we thought we’d starve down here. It was bad times.”