Bad Prince Charlie

by Moore, John

Oratorio, in uniform, holding his helmet under his arm, bowed low from across the room. He paused a moment to warm himself at the fireplace, then took the seat next to Rosalind. “Good evening, ladies. Ah, three more months of this, and I’ll have completed my service to the crown. In the meantime, how pleasant to have your company at the end of a long watch. Have you eaten yet?”

  “We were just starting.”

  “I wonder if I could get an omelet,” said Rosalind.

  “No,” said Catherine. “Not in Damask.”

  “Unless you want dried eggs,” said Oratorio. “And you don’t.”

  “Oh yes, I’d forgotten that you don’t have eggs in Damask. Some sort of curse, right?”

  “Not a curse,” said Catherine. “More like a spell that went awry.”

  “And in truth, we can have eggs. You can have duck eggs or goose eggs, if you want them badly enough. It’s the chickens that don’t survive here.”

  “All due to a sorcerer named Thessalonius,” said Catherine. “He eventually turned out to be pretty good. In fact, he is now the Royal Sorcerer for Damask. But this was many years ago, when he was just starting out.”

  “He killed all the chickens?”

  “He drove them out of the country. He was actually trying to drive the snakes out the country. He heard about someone else doing it in some other land, and he thought it was a good idea. But he made a mistake somehow, and instead of driving out the snakes, he drove out the chickens.”

  “Well, it was a good idea,” said Rosalind. “I don’t like snakes. Ick.”

  “Eventually he did figure out how to drive away the snakes,” put in Oratorio. “Then he had to let them back in again.”

  “Goodness, why?”

  “Rats,” said Catherine. “Snakes eat rats and mice, so the vermin were infesting the granaries. Ground squirrels, too, eating the crops when they were still young shoots. It turns out we needed snakes. So a properly humbled sorcerer, sadder but wiser, had to reverse his big spell and let them in. No doubt there’s a lesson there for us all.”

  Rosalind thought this over. “If he could reverse the spell that drove out the snakes, why couldn’t he reverse the spell that drove out the chickens?”

  “A quick thinker,” said Oratorio. “I like this girl.” Rosalind gave an involuntary little wiggle. “Because,” he continued, “Thessalonius didn’t know what his mistake was when he drove out the chickens, so he didn’t know how to reverse it.”

  “Thus no omelets,” finished Catherine. “No soufflés. No egg salad. No popovers.”

  “No cakes,” said Oratorio. “No custards. And worst of all, no eggnog.” He attempted to put on a tragic expression. “During the winter holidays, we have to drink our brandy straight up.”

  Rosalind patted his hand. “That must be terribly difficult for you.”

  “It is indeed. But we’re tough in the guard. We can deal with hardship. Plus, every autumn we have the chicken festival, where cartloads of cold fried chicken and hard-boiled eggs are brought over the mountains. Everyone picnics in the parks.”

  “But still, no eggs, or cakes, or custards, or chopped liver, or chicken soup. I’d think people would be pretty mad. Why did the king keep him on?”

  “He didn’t just keep him on, he promoted him. No one knows why, but Thessalonius and the king were pretty close. And then, when the king died, Thessalonius disappeared.”

  “Really?” said Catherine. “I didn’t know that.”

  “No one has seen him in weeks. Packard and Gregory gave us orders to keep an eye out for him.”

  “He might just be in mourning somewhere. What about Bad Prince Charlie? Why do they call him Bad Prince Charlie? Is there a story behind that?”

  “Yes,” said Catherine severely. “I gave him that name. He treated me in the most ungallant manner. He betrayed my trust.”

  Rosalind looked at her, wide-eyed. Catherine wore a grave expression, and she twisted her napkin in a fretful manner. The blond girl looked at Oratorio, who was leaning forward, listening, and back to Catherine. This was new to him. She said, “Don’t hesitate, girl. Tell us about it.”

  “He invited me to dinner. You must remember, this was when I was young and innocent.”

  “And you’re not young and innocent now?” asked Oratorio.

  “Alas, no.” Catherine sighed. “Years of sorrow have left their mark upon my careworn cheek.”

  “He asked you out to dinner . . .” prompted Rosalind.

  “Yes. He sent a carriage for me. It was quite a nice restaurant. We were dining out on the terrace, late in the evening. He poured chilled wine into my glass. It was a warm summer night and I was a bit heated. I drank it down quickly, perhaps too quickly.”

  “Oh dear.” Rosalind knew where this was leading. She glanced sideways at Oratorio to see how he was taking it. The young soldier looked stern.

  “There were so many distractions. The moon shining on the terrace, the warm breeze bringing the scent of roses, a trio of musicians playing romantic airs. There were multiple courses to the meal, and several different wines. He kept filling my glass before it was empty. It was so hard to keep track of how much I drank. But I thought I could trust him.”

  Oratorio and Rosalind nodded gravely.

  “My head began to swim. The candles seemed but a blur of light. The waiters cleared away the dishes and brought out the dessert tray. As if from nowhere, a snifter of brandy appeared in front of me. I told him I didn’t want it. I’m sure I told him. But he urged it upon me. That final, after-dinner drink pushed me over the edge. I could no longer think clearly. And it was then, when my defenses were down, my protective instincts stripped away, that Charlie took cruel advantage of my weakness.”

  Oratorio’s lips were set in a grim, tight line. Rosalind seemed struck with horror at what she was about to hear. “Oh, Catherine!” She leaned across the table, her voice dropping nearly to a whisper. “Surely he didn’t . . . no . . . not Prince Charlie . . . not what I’m thinking!”

  “I fear it’s true.”

  “You mean—he ate your dessert!”

  “Yes!” The red-haired girl gave a heartfelt sigh. “And it was chocolate, too!”

  Oratorio stood up. “Cute, ladies. Very clever. I admit I was taken in. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be off.”

  The girls laughed. “Now don’t be mad at us, Oratorio. We were just having some fun.” Rosalind patted his chair. “Sit with us, Oratorio. Our food is just arriving.”

  “Oh, I’m not angry, Rosalind. I’ll be back a little later, if you’re still here. But now I have a duty to perform. I must deliver a message to our Bad Prince.”

  Charlie walked through the hallways in something of a daze. He had spent a long evening with his uncles, mapping out a strategy. Now his brain was reeling from information overload.

  He would not actually be crowned the king of Damask. Instead he’d rule as prince regent. He had talked it over with his uncles and all had agreed that was the best plan. “It’s so much harder to depose a crowned king than a regent,” explained Packard. “There’s a mental barrier that people just don’t want to cross, no matter how bad you are. So we’ll stall for time while you whip the country into shape. We’ll tell them we’re planning a big coronation ceremony.”

  “We’ll do it at the chicken festival,” said Gregory. “When the carts come over from Noile, it will provide a cover for Fortescue to move his people in.”

  Charlie was more interested in Catherine.

  “She’s a good choice,” said Gregory. “The House of Durace have always been contenders for the throne. Well, you know what a new king does when he takes a disputed throne. His first move is to arrest all the other potential rivals. If they’re adults he executes them, and if they’re children he locks them up in a tower.”

  “Hold it,” said Charlie. “I am not going to arrest some child and lock him in the tower.”

  “No, of course not. But Catherine’s a good choice. She is a candidate for the thr
one, both here and Noile. In a distant way, perhaps, but she’s still a believable choice.”

  “Of course, if you do want to grab a kid,” said Packard, “I wouldn’t object to that little pestilence Allen Durace. What with practicing with his drum set outside my window . . .” Both Charlie and Gregory glared at him. “It was just a suggestion,” he finished.

  “Catherine is tremendously popular,” continued Gregory. “And very well connected. She has friends everywhere. So, of course, people will be very upset when we spread rumors that she is being cruelly mistreated at your hands.”

  “Especially when they hear that you’re—ah—forcing your attentions on her. To take her virtue will make you seem particularly fiendish.”

  “I want to be quite clear on this. You’re going to tell people that I’ll be—um—ravishing Catherine Durace?”

  “Well, we have to choose our terms carefully. If a man is really good-looking, it might be called ravishment. If he’s one of the nobility, it’s considered seduction. If he’s a commoner, it’s just rape. But any way we go, her supporters will read between the lines and be outraged.”

  Charlie ran a finger around the inside of his collar. “But Catherine has agreed to this? That I can—um—take advantage of her charms? You are quite, quite sure?”

  “We’ve explained everything to her. She promised her total cooperation. Like you, she knows that in the end, this will be best for the people of Damask.”

  Charlie stopped at the corridor leading to his bedchamber. He leaned against the wall. The people, he thought. Can’t forget about them. I’ve got a lot of responsibility now. Still, it was difficult to stay focused on his duties, because it was hard to get Catherine out of his mind. A mental picture of her laid back on satin sheets, her hair spread across a pillow, kept intruding on his thoughts. What I need is a good night’s sleep. Things will sort themselves out by morning. He looked down the hallway, but decided to seek out the king’s bedchamber instead. “Might as well get right into the role.”

  The king actually had a suite, with a reception area, an office, a bedchamber, a dressing room, and a sitting room. Courtiers and official visitors went through the reception area into the office, which connected to the bedchamber. Castle staff and private visitors went through the sitting room into the dressing room, which also connected to the bedchamber. A pair of windows looked over a courtyard, another pair looked over a cliff-top view of Damask. Charlie went into the sitting room and immediately said, “Gagh.” He crossed the room and threw open a window, then opened a second window. Aloud he said, “The whole place stinks of tobacco and cheap wine. Why didn’t the servants air it out?”

  “I don’t smell anything myself,” said a man behind him.

  He was of late middle age, dressed in loose and badly fitting mourning clothes, his hair inclining to gray, his body inclining to fat, and his face prematurely lined in that way that results from decades of excess tobacco and booze. In fact, he was smoking a pipe and nursing a bottle of fortified wine as he spoke. He was sitting in an armchair with one leg crossed over the other.

  “I don’t doubt it,” said Charlie. “Pollocks, that’s you I’m smelling, dammit.” He crossed the room, took the pipe and bottle from the older man, and flung them out the window. There was a distant tinkle as the bottle crashed on the cliffs. “What are you doing here?”

  The man looked regretfully out the window, then turned his attention to Charlie. Somewhat stiffly he rose to his feet and bowed. “It was my duty and pleasure to serve as the king’s Faithful Family Retainer during his reign, and now I offer my services to you, my liege.”

  “You’re calling yourself a Faithful Family Retainer? I thought you were more like his drinking buddy. Which, I grant you, meant putting in a lot of long hours.”

  “I admired your father for that. It is easy to make good decisions when you’re sober. It takes a real statesman to rule when you’re plonked.”

  “I see. Pollocks, I’m trying to remember. You’ve served my family since I was child. You were my father’s closest associate and boon companion. You knew my mother well. And in all those years as my father’s advisor, did he ever, even once, actually take any of your advice?”

  “I am pleased to tell you that no matter how badly impaired the king’s judgment became, he always retained enough sense to ignore my advice completely.”

  “Good for him. Well, thanks for the offer of service, but, in truth, I’ve made plenty of bad decisions all on my own, and I’m sure I can continue to do so without your help. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day and I’m going to turn in.”

  “Good idea, Sire. It’s a long, steep ride, and we’ll want to get an early start.”

  “What? Long steep ride to where?”

  Pollocks pretended surprise. “Why, to the Temple of Matka, of course. It’s a tradition. Upon taking power, the ruler of Damask visits the High Priestess of Matka, and learns what fate she foresees for the country.”

  “It’s not a tradition. The country hasn’t even been around for a hundred years. That’s not long enough to call something a tradition.”

  “Someone has to start traditions,” said Pollocks, one of the few people in the kingdom who had no problem contradicting a king to his face. “Your father paid his respects to the High Priestess and so did his father. The people here worship her. They will have more confidence in your rule if you visit and learn the future of Damask.”

  “Pollocks, you would be surprised at what I know about the future of Damask. I expect to be very busy in the days to come. I will have better things to do than listen to some crone spout a lot of gibberish.”

  “It’s not gibberish. She’s made some amazing predictions. Thessalonius consulted her.”

  “Yeah, where is Thessalonius anyway?”

  “I haven’t seen him.” This statement was immediately followed by a knock on the door. Charlie went to open it but found that Pollocks had smoothly passed him and opened the door for him. Charlie half expected to see Thessalonius. Instead, he found himself face to face with a slim young man in a guard’s uniform. “Sir Oratorio of the Royal Guard,” announced Pollocks.

  “Great,” said Charlie. “I’ve been prince regent for three hours and already here’s a young nobleman looking for favors. Sorry, not tonight. I’m tired. Come back tomorrow.” He firmly removed Pollocks’s hand from the knob and pushed the door closed.

  “Prince Charlie, I’m Oratorio. Don’t you recognize me? We were students at Bitburgen together.”

  Charlie opened the door again and studied the guard’s face. “No, I don’t. You’re saying we were classmates?”

  “Um, no, Sire. We didn’t share any classes but we saw each other a few times. Um, freshman orientation? The homecoming dance?”

  “Sorry, no.

  “Rush night? The big pep rally?”

  Charlie shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Come back tomorrow during regular office hours. Good night.” He shut the door firmly and turned into the room. “Pollocks, why are you still here? I don’t need . . . Wait a minute.” He did an about face and opened the door again. The guardsman was leaving with a dejected air. “Come back. Let me think. Oratorio. Fraternity type, right? You got drunk at the homecoming dance, tried to drive a four-in-hand into the ballroom, and got it jammed in the front doors?”

  Oratorio reddened. “Your Highness, I wasn’t the only one who . . .”

  “Didn’t you get arrested for dressing in women’s clothing and trying to sneak into the girl’s dormitory disguised as a housemother?”

  “That’s not exactly what . . . I can explain . . . you see . . .”

  “Yeah, okay, I remember you now. What is it you want?”

  Oratorio came to attention. “Prince Charlie, I must tell you that I saw your father.”

  “We all saw him. Lovely funeral. Good embalming job, if you appreciate that sort of thing. Very natural looking.”

  “No, Sire. I mean tonight. On the ramparts. I saw hi
s ghost.”

  “Of course. You saw his ghost. On the ramparts. Yes, I see.” Charlie looked at Pollocks and rolled his eyes. Pollocks gave an imperceptible nod back.

  “It’s definitely him, Sire. And it’s not the first time he has appeared. Other men have seen him also.”

  “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Talk to my secretary in the morning and we’ll see about getting in an exorcist. It’s the door down the hall. Don’t come to this one.”

  “No! Your Highness, the ghost wants to speak with you. He has something to tell you.”

  “Then wait here.” Charlie went into the bedchamber, where he found a small writing desk. He opened a drawer, removed a pot of ink, a quill, and square of foolscap, then dipped the quill in the ink. Returning to the sitting room, he handed the quill and paper to Oratorio.

  Oratorio took them. “Um, what is this, Sire?”

  “Pen and paper. If you see another ghost, take a message. I’m going to bed.”

  “I think the ghost expects you to speak to it yourself. He seemed very agitated. I’m sure it’s important.”

  “Oratorio, I didn’t care much to converse with my father when he was alive. I certainly don’t intend to do it now that he’s dead. Now I’m tired. If I don’t get a good night’s sleep, I get irritable and short-tempered.”

  “I guess you don’t sleep much,” Oratorio muttered. He knew Charlie mostly by reputation, and the prince was reputed to be short-tempered and irritable most of the time. He stood there for a long minute, still foolishly holding the quill, while Charlie turned his back and walked to the open window. Pollocks opened the door again, and the two men, with backward looks at the prince regent, stepped out together. Before they could close the door, Charlie spoke again. “Wait. Come here, both of you.”

  Pollocks and Oratorio exchanged looks, then quickly joined the prince regent at the window. Charlie pointed to the courtyard below them. It adjoined the dining hall, and was meant for eating outside during pleasant weather. Now it was lit by a handful of torches. It had a few tables, a nice view of the mountains, and rows of pots along the walls, where one of the cooks was growing spices. Two young women, wrapped in long coats, were walking along the perimeter of the courtyard, examining the potted herbs and discussing their contents. Charlie pointed to one of them. “That’s Catherine Durace, correct?”