by B. J. Beach
He muttered under his breath. “You could at least have provided a privy.”
While he was considering relieving himself at the side of the road, thus breaking the strict moral code instilled during his formative years, he noticed a subtle change in the quality of the light. He chuckled as he imagined his guiding entity in an indignant huff. Quite gallantly he decided to bear with his discomfort a little longer. It was only when he realised it actually was getting dark that he concluded it had nothing to do with him at all. The blue-white haze was settling quickly down into deeper shades of blue and purple, obscuring his view of the road until visibility was reduced to just a few paces.
He was about to try his dark-sight spell, uncertain whether it would work in this extraordinary place, when he saw a light up ahead, shining steadily through the gloom. Spurred on by the welcome sight he hurried towards it. The purple dusk had deepened to indigo, as he found himself standing in front of Harrel and Vana’s neat little cottage. His experience with the realistic but unreal Symon’s tower had taught him a thing or two. Confidently he let himself in, took a quick glance round then dashed across to the kitchen and out into the back yard and the privy.
He shot a thought out into the night as he released a great sigh of relief. “Better late than never I suppose.”
The other’s tone was almost apologetic. “It’s one of those things that we have no need for you see. Just one of those little details that gets overlooked occasionally. “
“I thought you were infallible.”
“That’s a belief we try our utmost to cultivate, but, contrary to popular belief our infallibility is a myth. That’s why we very rarely intervene. We might give something a little tweak now and then, but on the whole we leave well alone. There’s more than one chapter in history that is the result of some really first class blunders on our part. Despite that, I think we’ve managed to give a good account of ourselves, and we trust you’ll do the same. Keep your wits about you from now on. This is going to be quite different.”
Karryl frowned. “In what way different?” There was no reply.
He wandered inside and closed the door. Leaning back against it he gazed fondly at the familiar things around him. He knew now, that this was only a picture brought to life, that Vana and Harrell would not be here, and in all probability no-one would come knocking at the door to give the whole thing authenticity. He decided to enjoy it anyway. The last few years had been busy ones for him, and he hadn’t been able to get home as often as he would have liked. Dismissing a pang of regret, he poured water from a large ewer into the sink and vigorously washed his hands and face before going into the comfortable main room of the cottage. This time there was not such an abundance of food on the table, although he was relieved to see that besides the various meats and vegetables there was a plate of his favourite savoury pies. He didn’t bother to look out of the window. His plate filled, he sat in his usual place to eat, although for a moment he was tempted to sit, just this once, in Harrel’s place. His meal finished, Karryl compromised and made himself comfortable in Harrell’s fireside chair to enjoy the warmth and go over a few things in his mind. Feet resting on the foot-stool, he leaned back, closed his eyes, and began a mental review of everything that had happened so far.
CHAPTER FORTY
He woke to a fire which had burned down to a few dimly glowing embers, and there was a distinct chill in the air. Rubbing his eyes he silently berated himself for dozing off then sprang to his feet, instantly alert as his attention was caught and held. While he had been sleeping, something in the room had changed. Although basically the same, with the same familiar furniture, it was the walls which had undergone an almost complete transformation. The front door was no longer there, the space it once occupied now filled by a blank stone wall, unfurnished and undecorated. The long window which looked out over the garden was also gone. A closed door now filled its place in the wall.
Karryl stepped away from the hearth, and looked round the chimney breast towards the kitchen. That now had a different door and it too was closed. It was only when he turned away from the kitchen that he noticed a third closed door set in the wall opposite the window, where the dresser used to stand. Slowly he walked round the room, examining each door in turn. All three appeared to be made of heavy dark wood, solid and strong, with a large, polished brass doorknob. Each was locked, with no sign of any keyholes. After several unsuccessful attempts at each door, a dreadful truth began to dawn on him. Unless he could find a way to open at least one of the doors, it seemed he was trapped.
He murmured to himself. “Well, this is a fine state of affairs, and no mistake.”
Walking slowly round the room one more time, he examined the walls then tried the doorknobs again. They remained firm and unyielding. He sat down at the table and munched his way through a small meat pie, his gaze travelling round the room to each door as he gave the problem some very serious thought.
The answer didn’t arrive in a flash of inspiration. Rather, it crept quietly out of a miscellany of ideas milling round in Karryl’s brain, and waited to be noticed. Its moment came, and Karryl smiled as he caught and examined it.
He thought out loud. “That could work. I haven’t needed it so far, but there’s been nothing to say that it won’t.”
He stood up and crossed the couple of paces to the door behind him, the one where the dresser used to be. Running his fingers over it, he studied it carefully. There were no hinges visible, so he was almost certain the door would open towards whatever lay behind it. Karryl took a pace backwards and drew in power. Almost overwhelmed by the strength and intensity of the force which surged through his body, he immediately suppressed it. Trembling slightly, he sat down again on his chair. He turned round and stared open-mouthed at the still closed door. Amazed and baffled, he shook his head, wondering what could possibly be beyond if that much power were needed to open it. The only other time he had experienced such an accumulation had been in the city of Vedra, when he had linked with Magnor and Areel to recover the medallion.
Deciding to change his technique, Karryl stood once again in front of the door. Since he had first learned to draw power, he had always pulled it and held it, using what he wanted then simply letting it subside. It always worked, and Symon had never advised him otherwise, but Karryl was becoming increasingly aware that things were changing and that he too, must change. He began to draw power, but instead of pulling it in to himself like a net full of fish, he opened himself to it and let it fill his mind and body. Although it took only seconds, he was astounded at the feeling of invincibility it gave him. For a long moment he enjoyed its strength and companionship until, conscious of the danger inherent in such a course of action, he took control.
With the consummate ease born of familiarity, he let the precise pattern of the ‘door open’ spell flow unerringly from his mind. Maintaining a gentle hold on his power, he waited. The door remained steadfastly shut. Undeterred, he flicked a dismissive hand at the obdurate door and crossed the room to the kitchen. Carefully repeating the procedure, he experienced a moment of deflation when this door also stubbornly refused to open.
Not entirely convinced his magic was going to prove totally ineffective, he moved across to the third door and stared at it. “One last chance,” he thought, “then I’m going to have to think of something else.”
He briefly toyed with the idea of enhancing the spell with the one to ‘reveal’. Just as quickly, he decided against it. With a totally unnecessary and dramatic gesture he focussed the spell on the door. With a loud click, the door swung open just enough to admit a gust of warm wind that swirled around his ankles. With a grimace of satisfaction Karryl stepped up to the door and gave it a gentle shove with the toe of his boot. Silently it swung wide, and he leaned forward to peer through. The sight which met his eyes both stunned and intrigued him. He couldn’t have said what he was expecting, but he knew this wasn’t it.
CHAPTER FORTYONE
Anyone wh
o was sleeping as Jack approached the palace would have been rudely awoken as the discordant carillon of the cart’s iron-shod wheels shattered the pre-dawn silence. Pulled up in a corner of the stable yard at the rear, out of sight of the entrance and the stable-lads’ quarters, Jack turned and checked that the chest was still securely fastened. The spymaster leapt softly down and padded, silent as a cat, across the yard. In a deeply recessed doorway he reached up and hooked his finger into a tiny concealed bell-pull. He leaned on the wall to wait. About five minutes later a yellow light flickered and flared through the fanlight above the door. Well oiled bolts sighed softly back into their sockets. The door opened just wide enough for Jack to slip inside, then it was closed and bolted behind him.
Despite being clad in dressing gown, night cap and slippers, Jobling was as punctilious as ever. “Good morning, Master Parry. Am I to conclude that your mission was successful?”
The candlelight cast deep shadows on Jack’s face, making his answering grin positively demonic. “Indeed you are Jobling. Please get word to the Lady Evalin, and inform His Majesty as soon as he rouses. I’d be best off outside, keeping an eye on the prize. Don’t want him escaping now we’ve gone to all this trouble, do we?”
“Indeed not, Master Parry. However, His Majesty is in fact awake. As soon as I am appropriately attired I will inform him of your arrival and despatch a messenger to the Lady Evalin.”
Jack rubbed his hands together and turning to the door, quickly slid back the bolts. “Close this behind me Jobling, and get things organised as quick as you can. It’s a mite nippy out there.”
Jobling bowed his head slightly in acquiescence. Out in the darkness, Jack waited to hear the sliding of the bolts. As the light of Jobling’s candle disappeared, he darted back across the yard to the cart. After unhitching the horse, he had been tempted to keep it company in the steamy warmth of the stable but had thought better of it. Instead, with an empty grain sack wrapped around his shoulders he climbed into the bed of the cart and settled down to wait. From there he could keep an eye on his hard won prize.
The arrival of the Lady Evalin in the stable yard at first light was something of a relief for Jack. Not only was he chilled to the bone, he was beginning to have trouble with his prisoner. The Naborian had quite clearly regained consciousness. For the last half hour or so, the heavy wooden chest which kept him confined had taken to rising about half a dozen hand-spans above the bed of the cart. It would then hover for a moment or two before crashing down again. After the last occasion, Jack’s finely honed instinct for self-preservation had prompted him to remove himself to a place of comparative safety on the driver’s seat, when the chest had landed perilously close to his feet in a shower of spiteful wooden splinters. Evalin peered over the side of the cart just as the crate began another of its mid-air perambulations.
Raising an eyebrow she gave Jack a humourless smile. “I’m thinking the poor fellow might be wanting a little assistance Master Parry.”
Jack looked at the hovering crate and grinned. “Seems to be doing all right to me, as long as he doesn’t get any higher. Leave him long enough he’ll wear himself out.”
Evalin’s reply was brisk and assertive. “Not a bit of it. Now, will you be coming down and drop the side of the cart? Then stand behind me, and keep that knife of yours handy. As a last resort, you understand.”
With a certain amount of misgivings, Jack reached into the bed of the cart and retrieved the heavy canvas bag. He placed it carefully on the ground beside Lady Evalin before unfastening the cart’s side board and positioning himself behind her. She stared long and hard at the hovering crate. With a sound like breaking glass the two heavy padlocks which secured it burst apart. The lid flew open. Jack stood loose and easy, his knife already comfortably balanced across the palm of his hand. The joints of the crate sundered and it collapsed flat onto the bed of the cart. Freed from his confines but still hanging horizontally in mid-air, their captive began to twist and thrash, his enraged bellowing muffled by the thick cotton bag in which his head was enveloped. With a mime of lifting and carrying, Evalin guided him away from the cart and lowered him, none too gently, onto the cold stone sets of the yard where he continued to bellow and squirm. Her voice ringing with authority, she uttered a string of words in a harsh, guttural language. The Naborian froze in mid squirm.
She turned to Jack. “Now let us discover what it is you have caught Master Parry. Not the biggest fish in the pond maybe, but I’ll wager it’s one of the deadliest.”
Quickly, Evalin crouched and removed the black cloth bag, flinging it to one side. She stood to look down at the face it had covered. Dark, slightly slanted eyes glared malevolently over high cheekbones. The nut brown skin bore tattooed symbols snaking down either side of a thin-lipped mouth which seemed permanently set in a contemptuous sneer.
Suspecting something was not quite right, Jack moved closer. “That’s not the man we captured! The one we bagged didn’t have those tattoos, and his skin wasn’t so dark. What’s happened?”
Evalin kept her blue eyes locked on their captive’s dark ones as she replied. “He will have cast a glamour to make himself less conspicuous. Now it has faded and you see him as he really is.”
She stood perfectly still, her gaze remaining fixed on the man’s eyes. Their malevolent expression slowly gave way to cold fear. Briefly, the fear gave way to pleading, then the eyes glazed over and the eyelids fluttered closed.
Clenching her fists, Evalin turned away. “Damn! Damn! Damn!”
Jack moved to stand beside her and looked down at the motionless form. “Is he dead?”
Evalin nodded and looked up at the rapidly lightening sky as if seeking something. “Yes. Indeed he is. The misbegotten varmint willed himself to death before I could get anything useful from him. All I could glean were mostly images of evil rites and vile creatures, although I did see a face I will most assuredly recognise if I should see it again.”
Jack stepped forward to cautiously prod the corpse with his toe. “He was the one then?”
“Indeed he was.”
“What shall I do with the body?”
Evalin moved to stand in front of him and looked into his rather baffled and bemused face. “You’ve done your part Jack. This is mine to deal with. No doubt you’ll be having a strong stomach?”
The spymaster nodded mutely. Evalin moved to stand about two paces from the deceased, motioning that Jack should do the same. Facing the body she held her hands out in front of her, palms forward, and began a low and mellifluous chant. Gradually she raised the pitch while maintaining smoothness of tone. After a few moments Jack was forced to rub his eyes in disbelief. The body appeared to be sinking into the ground beneath it. Shot through with lurid reds and streaks of black, a purplish blue nimbus swirled and eddied over the spot. Stone sets shifted and lifted to surround their gift like the rigid petals of some enormous stone flower. Evalin continued her chant. The corpse sank lower and lower until the moment when she reached a high pure note which rang like a silver bell through the still morning air. As it gradually diminished the thick rectangular stones slowly reset themselves with a soft grinding sound, dropping into place one by one. All that remained was a thin scattering of soil, and one stone which had turned completely black.
Jack took a tentative step forward and stood over the spot. “Pardon me for saying Milady, but he didn’t seem to have gone very deep when the stones closed over him. Suppose the bones work their way up in a few years time? They could give somebody a right nasty turn.”
Evalin picked up the Naborian’s bag then walked over and placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “Your fears are unfounded Jack. The spell I used was very strong. He will go on slowly sinking into the ground for weeks, shredded by stones and pulped by rocks until he is no more than a tasty meal for the worms. Now, get you away. Vailin and I will see you at the palace when you have broken your fast.”
Ruefully, Jack looked at the black stone before giving her a weak smile
of resignation. “I don’t think I’m really all that hungry.”
With a respectful nod to Lady Evalin, he hurried out of the yard as the first rays of sunlight struck the nearby rooftops. A short while later he was letting himself in to the small cottage he rented not far from the docks. Despite having a well stocked larder, Jack decided he definitely wasn’t hungry. After washing his face and changing his clothes he made do with a small tankard of ale then set off once more for the palace. As he made his way up the long narrow street he caught the sound of someone running behind him. He stepped back into a doorway as a man and woman sped past, their faces glowing with exertion and joy. The man paused briefly and turned round.
Running backwards, he called to Jack. “The children are awake! They’re alright! The children are awake!”
A lump arose in Jack’s throat and he choked back an involuntary sob. After taking a moment to gather himself he continued on his way as he recalled something his old master had once told him. “Remove the head of the serpent, remove its power.” He smiled grimly at the thought.
* * *
Tilly Bardon had been sitting by the fire, mending her husband’s shirt when the sound reached her ears. It was almost like a kitten mewing, but soft and faint. She stilled her needle and listened. Suddenly the shirt was on the floor. Reels of thread bounced across the hearthrug as she tore across the room and fell to her knees beside the crib.
Bright blue eyes blinked and twinkled briefly, closing tight as the tiny mouth opened wide in a gummy yawn. Disbelief, wonder and relief washed one after the other across Tilly’s tired face. She reached into the plain home-made crib and gently lifted out her two-month-old daughter to hold her close against her breast and shoulder. Tiny pink fingers clutched at the soft fabric of her shawl as Tilly stroked her baby’s wispy blonde curls. In her chair by the fire, she unbuttoned her blouse and wept joyful and copious tears as unhesitatingly her infant began to suckle. Young Tilly neither knew nor cared that all over Vellethen infants and children of all ages had begun to stir as the first rays of the new dawn had fallen on the weathered stones of the palace stable yard.
