Bad Prince Charlie

by Moore, John

  Therefore think not to understand yourself, but to understand your brothers and sisters, and your neighbors and companions, that you may be a better friend to them.

  She decided it was time to wrap up this question-and-answer session, board the ship, and get into some more comfortable shoes. She lifted up her arms to the surrounding mountains.

  “Seek to understand the world around you, that you may live in harmony with nature.”

  A light breeze sprang up, causing the front of her thin robe to shape itself to her trim body, and the rest of it to trail out behind her. She let one arm drop to her side and with the other she pointed to the distant peak where the Temple of Matka stood, where the thin blue line of the Organza River traced a path down the green slope, and a white plume marked the spot where the waterfall left Lake Organza. The crowd turned and looked to where she was pointing.

  “Look to the mountains and to the sun, for change will come like a new dawn and the light of knowledge will blind those who close their eyes to it. But let your eyes be opened and you will see the truth.”

  As she spoke these words, a light appeared on the mountaintop, a glowing brightness like the dawn of a new sun. It wasn’t exactly at the place where she was pointing, but it was close enough that she could quickly adjust her pose to make it so, before anyone noticed she was off a few degrees. The light grew into a circle, small at this distance, but so intense she had to squint to look at it. Within the white ball of light a yellow oval appeared, as though a cat’s eye was staring at them. It seemed to go on forever, but in reality it lasted only a few seconds before rising into the sky and fading away.

  Xiao continued to point at the mountain. She felt, before she heard, the murmur of astonishment and awe that came from the crowd. She knew, without looking down at them, that their heads were turning her way, and that shortly every eye would be upon her, for in their minds a miracle had just been performed. So she kept her face composed and relaxed, her expression inscrutable, and gave not the slightest sign that what had just occured was as unexpected and mysterious to her as it was to them. Not so much as a twitch of her lips or a flicker of her eyelids betrayed her thoughts, which were:

  Wow! That was totally cool!

  Then the shockwave hit.

  A well-known bit of medical trivia is that people who are knocked unconcious will show a short period of amnesia. After regaining their senses, they will be unable to remember the few seconds immediately preceding the trauma. The victim of a mugging, for example, cannot recall being struck, or even the face of his assailant, if it happens quickly enough. This is so widely accepted that it is even used by investigators to determine if a purported assault victim is telling the truth or lying.

  Thus Charlie, even after he was able to stand up, could not remember being thrown to the ground. He could remember running from the lake as fast as he could, trying to reach shelter behind a ridge of rock. He could remember the ground heaving beneath his feet, boulders the size of coaches bouncing around like popcorn in a hot skillet, trees with trunks as broad as a doorway shaking and swaying like freshmen at a homecoming dance, and the noise of the bubbling lake suddenly increasing to a tremendous roaring crescendo.

  He could not remember diving for safety behind the ridge of rock or striking the hard ground headfirst. He could not remember the fireball that rose from the lake, the wall of water and mud that accompanied it, the blast wave, or the blistering heat. He rose disoriented, covered with dirt and mud, his head pounding and his muscles aching, and looked numbly around at the toppled trees and the scorched ground. Gradually he became aware of a pain in his left hand. Two fingers had lain outside of the shadow of the rocks. The hair was burned off the knuckles. Blisters were rising on the skin. He grimaced and wrapped the hand in a handkerchief.

  Gradually coherence returned to his brain. He looked first toward the Temple of Matka, thinking to check on Thessalonius. A hard look convinced him he would be wasting his time. The ancient temple had returned to a state of ruin. The walls had fallen again, and the large dome had collapsed. Thessalonius was now buried under tons of stone. Charlie suspected the sorcerer planned it that way.

  Then he looked in the other direction.

  He said, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  He started laughing.

  Eventually he heard Gregory calling to him. “It’s not funny.”

  Charlie thought it was. He wandered to the edge of the newly formed river and sat on the bank, letting all the stress and tension of the summer release itself in a sustained burst of hysterical laughter. It was a long time before he was able to control himself. Even so, when he finally stood up and looked across the river at Gregory’s angry face, he nearly started laughing again. “Hello, Uncle Gregory,” he called. He had to shout to be heard over the sound of rushing water. “Where’s Uncle Packard?”

  Gregory pointed toward the mountain road, where soldiers were starting to filter back up, staring wide-eyed at the fallen trees and scorched earth. “Packy twisted an ankle. Tried to outrun the earthquake and got thrown from his horse. Everyone else had the sense to get down.” He looked at the river. “Well, that was a waste of magic and effort. Sorcerers! Who can understand them? All that planning and research—and expense—for nothing. Your father was an idiot.”

  This time Charlie really did start laughing. “You still don’t get it, do you, Uncle Gregory? Come on, look!” He pointed to the mountain, where a crack thirty yards wide had appeared in the granite. “It goes right through the mountain! Six miles of solid rock split right through!”

  He waited until he saw the light of understanding appear on his uncle’s face. Then he laughed again and did a little twirling dance step. “Sunken roads! I thought they were sunken roads. But they were irrigation ditches! Your brother was a genius, Uncle Gregory.” Some of the soldiers had appeared behind Gregory. Charlie waited until they were at the banks. From his vantage point, safely on the other side of ninety feet of rushing water, the prince was able to smile at them cheerfully. “Dad found a way to bring the Organza River to Damask. Irrigation ditches. That’s what this river flows into now. The harvest is saved. The farmers have all the water they need.”

  “To hell with the harvest!” snapped Gregory. “What’s wrong with you, Charlie? I thought you were on our side. We could have all retired in luxury. Now we’re back where we started. We’ll still just be minor nobles stuck in a provincial little country.”

  “Yeah, too bad,” said Charlie, with no trace of sympathy. “Worse, you’ve got a country with a future, now. You’ll have to start ruling responsibly. Whoever runs the country, that is. Jason, or Richard, or yourself, or Fortescue. No more strip-mining and clear-cutting. You’ll have to start thinking about the long term.”

  “You’re under arrest,” screeched Gregory. “As far as the people of Damask are concerned, you’re still a tyrant and you’re still deposed. We’re taking you back to stand trial.”

  “Come and get me.” Charlie picked up a pebble and tossed it in the turbulent river.

  “We’ll send men around the other side of the lake. You won’t get away. And when you’re in jail awaiting execution, you can think that you’ve given them a country that’s now worth fighting for. We were giving them a peaceful occupation. We wanted to avoid a war. Now there will be fighting and it’s your fault.”

  “Look behind you.”

  Gregory turned around. The soldiers who had been standing behind him were now running to the trailhead.

  “They’re going back to their farms. They won’t fight. As long as they have their land, they don’t care who rules Damask.”

  He waited while his uncle watched the soldiers disappear. “And neither do I. I’m out of here. Give my regards to Packard and Catherine, Uncle Gregory. It’s been a great summer. Ciao.”

  He walked away from the river without a backward glance, taking a leisurely stroll past the temple ruins, around the other side of the lake, climbing over the trunks of fallen trees, stop
ping once to wash his face and arms in the cool water. He was feeling rather pleased with himself. Damask had water and a future. A terrible weapon had been kept out of the hands of men like his uncles and General Fortescue. Granted, that wasn’t Charlie’s doing. His father and Thessalonius had planned out the whole thing. But Charlie thought he’d helped things along, with his rationing plans and anticorruption campaign and public works projects. No one had been killed, either. Charlie figured he could take credit for that, too.

  Now his role in the plan was over. He was footloose and free, with no responsibilities. The sun was setting, the evening star was out, fireflies were starting to flicker, and the air was gradually filling with the sound of crickets and night birds. A light breeze made rippling motions in the grass. All and all, it was one of the most pleasant evenings Charlie could remember and he enjoyed it thoroughly, until Fortescue’s men caught and arrested him.

  The night before Fortescue was due to return to Noile, Catherine slipped out of her tent, camouflaged by a dark green traveling cloak. Under it she hid pitcher of water and a muffin.

  It took two days to walk from Lake Organza to Noile Harbor. Charlie spent the time in manacles and leg irons. They gave him nothing to eat and precious little to drink. At night they chained him to a tree, so that he could not even lie flat. He was groggy and nearly delirious from exhaustion and lack of sleep. Catherine took off her cloak and spread it over him. She was wearing a simple dress of plain, unbleached linen. Her long red hair was tied back with a bit of ribbon. He thought she had never looked lovelier. She held the pitcher of water to his lips while he drank.

  “Bradley doesn’t like you,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “General Fortescue. He’s angry with you.”

  Charlie looked at the manacles on his wrists. “You know, I had a wild hunch that might be the case.”

  “You’ve upset all his plans. He was really counting on getting that Weapon of Magical Destruction.”

  “He told me.”

  “I saw the fireball.” Catherine tore a piece of the muffin and put it in his mouth. “It didn’t look so dangerous. I mean, it was awe inspiring, but it wasn’t what I’d been led to expect.”

  Charlie swallowed the muffin. “It was big enough. It exploded under a couple of hundred feet of water. An air-burst would have been plenty enough to destroy a city. I’m not sure, but I think Thessalonius used it to trigger a fault.”

  “It was nobody’s fault, Charlie.”

  “Not that kind of fault. A geologic fault.”

  Catherine looked blank. “Well, it wasn’t your fault. That’s what I told Bradley. It wasn’t your plan. It was your father’s plan. He manipulated you just like all the rest of us. Bradley didn’t accept it. He said you did a pretty good job as prince regent and that’s why it’s important to put you out of the way.”

  “That reminds me. What happened to Oratorio?”

  “He slipped across the border. He and Rosalind are on their way to Bitburgen. It turns out they’d been planning this for a long time. She said she was reluctant at first, but she talked it over with him and he persuaded her to do it.”

  “Elope with him?”

  “Join a sorority.”

  “Right, right. What about Pollocks?”

  “Fortescue has him.”

  “Damn.”

  “Pollocks tried to take all the blame. He told Bradley that he was in on the whole plan and you knew nothing. All you did was run the public works programs. Bradley just decided to hang you both.”

  “Pollocks is taking this Faithful Family Retainer business too far.”

  “Charlie, listen to me.” Catherine lowered her voice and leaned in close to him, so close her breasts brushed his chest. Two days ago this would have had his pulse racing. Now he barely paid attention. “Charlie, I can get you out of here. You still have the best claim to the throne of Damask. I’ll make the nobility realize that with viable cropland, they don’t need Fortescue. We can still negotiate with them.”

  “Uh-huh. And if you manage to get me into power, how many people would I have to murder to get you on the throne of Noile?”5

  “Only four. No more than five.” She saw Charlie’s expression. “Possibly only three,” she amended hastily. “Dammit, Charlie, your own life is on the line. You’re worth more than three of them. Besides, if we got into power, we could do things that would more than compensate for a few executions.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, build schools and stuff. You know. I’m sure there’s lots of things we could do.”

  “Can you help Pollocks to escape?”

  Catherine shook her head sadly. “No. He couldn’t move fast enough. And Bradley is determined to hang him as a spy.”

  “Then my answer is no.”

  Catherine sighed. “All right, Charlie. I did my best.” She held the pitcher of water to his lips again. “Drink up. It will be hot tomorrow. You’ve got a long walk to Noile and then a short one to the scaffold. Bradley wants you hung in a public square and then your body left strung up for a few days for everyone to examine. He says that’s the best way to prevent an imposter from appearing later and making a claim to the throne.”

  “Very practical. Despicable, but practical. I’m sure you two will get on very well together.”

  Catherine rose to her feet. “We probably will, Charlie. But I gave you your chance. My conscience is clear.” She walked off into the gloom. “Goodbye, Charlie.”

  Charlie didn’t say goodbye. He just watched the pale dress fade away into the darkness. He looked up, to where moonlight was filtering through the leaves of the tree, and wondered if this would be the last moonlight he’d see. Then he turned over on his side and tried to sleep.

  Fortescue knew, as well as any general, the importance of pomp and circumstance, and putting on a good show for the masses. Thus he stopped his troops outside the city of Noile and had them change into parade uniforms, with polished buttons and sharp creases. They had waving banners, horses with curried manes and oiled harnesses, and mules with—well, there really wasn’t much you could do about the mules. But it was the effort that counted. The former prince regent of Damask was left dirty and unshaven, to increase his humiliation.

  Fortescue had been tempted to ride into Damask as a conquering hero, but that wasn’t the story that had been created. He wasn’t supposed to conquer Damask, he was merely supposed to be sending a few troops to help maintain order. Besides, it was more important to get back to Noile, his main power base, before people started asking questions. No one was going to miss the Organza River. Noile didn’t need the water, and it had always been a flooding problem. But when a river like that suddenly stops flowing, someone is bound to take notice.

  He sent the cavalry ahead, to blow their horns and prance through the streets and generally let people know there was going to be a parade, so they had a chance to come outside and line up for it. He let the first of his troops enter next, then the band, blowing some splashy show tunes, to get the crowd in a festive mood. He followed the band on a spirited charger, waving his hat. An open carriage followed, holding Lady Catherine Durace (she was always popular in Noile). A few wagons followed the coach, with Bad Prince Charlie dragged along in chains behind the second wagon. And then the rest of the troops and the rest of the wagons.

  He had done this plenty of times before. His army was well-rehearsed when it came to victory parades. They knew how to put on a good show. So it was quite a disappointment that no one came out to see them.

  Fortescue called a halt to the procession three blocks inside the west gates. He called one of his officers over. “Where the hell is everyone?”

  “Don’t know, sir.” The officer looked nervous.

  “Where’s the city garrison?”

  “Don’t know, sir.”

  Fortescue looked back. There were, of course, soldiers from the city garrison manning the gates. “Bring me one of those guards.”

  There was a
delay while the officer turned his horse back to his troops and found a sergeant. He double-timed him over to the gate, found the ranking guard, and ordered the sergeant to order the guard to return with them to Fortescue. The general tried to hide his impatience. When the soldier arrived Fortescue smiled at him warmly and said, “Good morning, Corporal.”

  “Sir!” The corporal saluted.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Down at the Market Square, sir!”

  “Very good, Corporal. And why is that, do you know?”

  “Because the High Priestess of Matka is there, sir!”

  Fortescue nodded, as though he was expecting this. He was surprised though. He thought the High Priestess of Matka was to have sailed off days ago. The most likely explanation was that her ship had been delayed. He could understand why people wanted to see her. It was a bit disconcerting to have his thunder stolen, but on the other hand, he also wouldn’t mind posing her a few more questions before she left. He was about to dismiss the soldier when the man added:

  “She saved us from the demon, sir!”

  This gave Fortescue pause. He’d been on plenty of inspections during which low-ranking soldiers, and even high-ranking officers, under the pressure of meeting their commander-in-chief, nervously blurted out something nonsensical. Probably that was all he just heard. Under normal circumstances he’d smile understandingly, dismiss the soldier, and send him back to his ranks feeling like a damn fool.

  No. Probably not. Fortescue was a good judge of men. He looked down at the corporal and realized that this man was not nervously babbling, that he thought he’d contributed useful information. Fortescue wanted to know more, but he wasn’t about to listen to an explanation from an enlisted man, in the middle of parade, with his officers surrounding him and his bride-to-be looking on. He’d find out about this later. He dismissed the man and told the cavalry officer, “To the Market Square.”

  They hardly got started again when a troop of soldiers came around the corner, and they were a disturbing sight. There was nothing really wrong with them. They wore the uniform of the city garrison. They were in proper dress and formation. But the uniforms looked like they’d been slept in, and the formation was a little off, as though the men were distracted, and every one of them had an expression of wild excitement. They stopped when they saw the parade. They looked over the band, the carriages, the wagons, and Fortescue himself. And then, without a word among themselves, they rushed over and surrounded Bad Prince Charlie.