The Orphan King (Merlin's Immortals)

by Brouwer, Sigmund

  “I beg your pardon,” Thomas said. It pained him to look at her. Not because she was a freak, but because he remembered his own pain and loneliness. It tore at his heart to imagine how much worse she felt her private agony.

  “How is it you are allowed to visit?” William asked.

  Katherine’s head dipped in shyness. “Every day since your capture, I have brought hot meals to the captain of the guards. I have washed his laundry, cleaned his rooms.”

  “Bribery!” William laughed. “But why?”

  Katherine knelt and set the basket on the floor. “Because of the candle shop. Not once has a person defended me as you both did,” she answered. “Prisoners here do not fare well. I wished to comfort you.”

  Still kneeling, she pulled away the cloth that covered the basket. The light of the candle showed bread. Apples. Chicken. Cheese.

  “These luxuries are more than you can afford,” Thomas protested.

  “Please,” she said, setting the candle holder beside the basket. “Rarely am I treated with kindness. And rarely am I able to return a kindness. This is what I want to do.”

  “Thank you,” Thomas said. Refusing would rob her of dignity.

  “I have little time,” Katherine said. “If it pleases you, Thomas, I wish to speak privately.”

  The jail cell was so small that to accomplish it, she backed up to the cell door, and Thomas had to step within inches of her and whisper lightly enough to keep the sound from going more than a few feet.

  “You know my name,” Thomas said.

  “Your friend Tiny John told me.”

  “Tiny John! He is well?”

  “As long as he continues to avoid the soldiers.” He had to strain to hear the softness of her voice. “Many of the shopkeepers take delight in helping that rascal. They like to see the soldiers made fools of.”

  Thomas pictured Tiny John darting from hiding spot to hiding spot, never losing his grin. “And the girl?”

  Katherine drew a quick breath and turned her head away as she spoke. “The girl truly is beautiful. And you are very handsome. I understand your concern.”

  Thomas silently cursed himself. Here she stood, knowing her hideous face prevented her from competing for more affection. And while she waited, with the only gifts she could afford, the passing stranger betrayed such obvious concern for another with beauty she would never have. Thoughtless cruelty of the worst type.

  Katherine faced him squarely again, but her voice trembled as she whispered. “She has disappeared. But if you ask, I shall inquire for you and search until she is found.”

  “No. Please do not look for her.” He blocked thoughts of Isabelle and measured his words carefully. “We might ask instead that you honor us with another visit.”

  The squaring of her shoulders told him he had answered correctly.

  Besides, he consoled himself, even if Katherine found Isabelle, what good would it accomplish?

  The jailer rapped on the door. “Be quick about leaving.”

  “Tomorrow,” Katherine whispered, taking his hands, “we shall talk of escape.”

  “Escape?” he whispered.

  She pressed a piece of paper into his palm. He closed his fingers on it.

  “Step backward,” she said.

  Puzzled, he obeyed. His heel hit the basket. As he glanced down, he noticed that she nudged the candle with her foot. It toppled into the straw on the floor, and flames immediately leapt upward.

  Waleran shouted warning. The knight jumped to his feet.

  Katherine kicked at the straw and the flames spread.

  As Waleran darted forward to stomp out the flames, she took advantage of the distraction and pressed herself against Thomas, pulling a short sword from beneath her dirty shawl.

  In a flash, he understood and slipped it beneath his own shirt. He stomped the remaining flames out alongside Waleran and the knight.

  “You stupid, stupid girl!” Waleran shouted, whirling toward Katherine. “That could have been the death of us.”

  “Treat her with respect!” Thomas stepped between them, and the man retreated.

  Thomas turned to say good-bye to Katherine, but she had already backed away to the cell door, and the guard was roughly pulling her outside, cursing her for the smoky accident.

  Later, when Waleran was on his side and sleeping with his face to the far wall, Thomas opened the slip of paper that Katherine had given him.

  He thought it was strange that she assumed he could read. Equally strange that she could read. And even more strange, the contents of the note.

  You will find paper and quill hidden beneath the food to allow us to plan escape. Be cautious of what you say in front of the other prisoner. I learned from the guards he was brought into this prison only hours before you arrived.

  Hours later, Thomas stared at the ceiling of the dungeon cell, deep in thought. He’d been given a weapon. But how could it help?

  Part of his mind idly noted each new drop of falling water. Water. Thomas swallowed and licked dry lips. Water. He remembered how each morning the sour taste of sleep seemed so peculiar. Water. A new realization startled him.

  He ran idea after idea through his mind. Then, much later, he spoke.

  “Escape!” he whispered hoarsely. “I know how we can escape!”

  On his back, eyes closed, William muttered, “Let me sleep. It’s the only escape I have.”

  “Escape!” Thomas said again.

  Waleran stirred from his patient perch near the hole where rats fled. “What’s that you say?”

  Thomas grinned at Waleran in response, then stepped across the dungeon cell and shook the knight. “Escape!” He looked over to Waleran. “Yes! I said escape! I think I have an idea.”

  “Lad, you’ve become delusional,” William said. “Tell me how you got there. I’d like to join you.”

  “Not a delusion.” Thomas grinned at Waleran, then at the knight. “I have decided many things. One is this.” He paused and took a deep breath. “William, I need you to trust me completely. I need that trust to ensure our escape plans will not fail.”

  William nodded.

  “Katherine will return. She made that promise. I will give her a message with instructions for John to retrieve the gold and give her enough to bribe the captain of the guards to leave the door unlocked.” Thomas paused. “We will need on that day the excellence of a knight who can fight as no other.”

  William warned Thomas with a glance. “Where do we find such a knight?”

  “Trust me.” Thomas added urgency to his voice. “Pledge your fighting skills on my behalf and you will be rewarded with the gold I have already earned.”

  “You have me thoroughly puzzled, Thomas,” William said, giving a warning glance to indicate Thomas should shut his mouth in front of Waleran. “I have no skills to demonstrate. The sword and chain mail I stole from a knight.”

  Thomas ignored the warning in William’s voice. “Come, come.” He laughed. “Such modesty.” He grinned again at Waleran. “He is a knight.”

  Waleran’s jaw dropped. So did William’s. Each, Thomas had no doubt, for a different reason.

  “Yes. A knight!” Thomas said. “Something no other person in Magnus knows. And his fighting skills will lead us to safety.” He gestured impatiently at William. “Please. Impress us with your swordplay.”

  “You are a fool,” William growled. He lurched to his feet and wiped sleep from his eyes. “There is no sword in this prison cell.” He yawned and shook himself awake, much as a dog shakes water.

  “No?” Thomas pulled the short sword Katherine had given him from his shirt and handed it to William.

  Waleran gaped at the sight.

  “Yours,” Thomas said to William. “Hide it in the straw until the day we need it.”

  “You cannot believe in God. Not if you tell me He is a God of love,” Thomas insisted in a low voice.

  “Why is that?” Katherine replied calmly.

  Thomas welcomed the sound o
f her voice. Katherine’s sweetness banished the darkness. With every visit each morning since Katherine had first walked into the cell, Thomas learned how her voice was so expressive that he did not need to read her face to enjoy their discussions. He hardly noticed the bandages around her head. Moreover, her presence gave such gentle calmness that he wanted to speak of things he had shared with no living soul since the death of Sarah.

  “It is hard to believe,” he said, “when there is so much evidence that your God does not love anyone.”

  They did not talk of escape, because whenever she held his hand to bid hello upon entering the cell, they exchanged notes of paper to plan escape. Later, he’d decided, he would ask the questions that burned. How was it she could read? How did she know he could read?

  “Nothing in my life,” he continued with intensity, “shows such a God. My parents were taken from me—killed by pestilence—before I was old enough to remember them. Then Sarah—my nurse, teacher, and only friend—gone before I was eleven years of age.” Thomas struggled to keep his fists unclenched. “Surely if this God of yours existed, He would have been there in the abbey when all human love failed me. He was not. Instead, there was only corruption by the very men pretending to serve Him.”

  He described his years in the abbey and the crimes of the four monks.

  “And outside of the abbey,” he continued, “a land where most people struggle to live day by day, servants to the very few and very wealthy earls and lords. Beggars, cripples, disease, and death. There is nothing good in this life.”

  “Thomas, Thomas …” Katherine placed a cool hand upon his.

  He shook free. “And you,” he blurted with anger. “How could you be so cursed if God truly loved.?” Then he realized what he was saying. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice.

  “Do not trouble yourself,” Katherine said. “I am accustomed to the covering of my face.” She touched her bandages lightly. “This is not a curse. It is only a burden. After all, our time on earth is so short. And God is more interested in our hearts and souls than in our appearances.”

  She moved her hand away from her face and held it up to stop Thomas from protesting. “Think of a magnificent carpet, Thomas. Thousands and thousands of threads intertwined in a beautiful pattern. No single thread can comprehend the pattern. No single thread can see its purpose. Yet together, they make the glorious entirety.” She continued with controlled passion. “You and I are threads, Thomas. We cannot see God’s plan for us. My scars, your loneliness, the beggars’ hunger, and the paths of men in war and peace all lead to the completion of God’s design.”

  “How do you know with such certainty?”

  “God grants you peace when you accept Him.”

  Thomas shook his head slowly. “I wish I could believe.” His voice rose with passion. “When I left the abbey, I left all pretensions to God. I shall not return.”

  His statement left a silence between them.

  On the other side of the dungeon, William sat in a slouched position, ignoring them. Waleran squatted and waited with breadcrumbs for the rats to visit.

  The silence between them nearly became uncomfortable. Thomas decided to ask the question he had delayed from fear.

  “Tiny John. Did he succeed?”

  “Yes, Thomas. I have made the arrangements.”

  Gratitude swept across him, warming him against the chill of the cell. For the first time since her visits began, she replaced in his heart, for a moment, Isabelle’s beautiful face and haunting eyes.

  “Then it is nearly time,” he murmured. “Spread the legend among the villagers.”

  Katherine nodded. “When is it,” she murmured in return, “that you wish to escape?”

  “In six days,” Thomas said. “On the eve of the sixth day from now.”

  When the jailer opened the door to send in a visitor, Thomas expected to see Katherine.

  Instead, it was Isabelle.

  He felt the quickening of his heart.

  When she extended a hand toward him, he stood from where he’d been sitting in the straw and moved away from William and Waleran. He allowed her to lead him into the far corner, and she moved close to him, standing on her toes to put her face close to his.

  “Thomas,” she said. “I have deceived you. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “I trust you had good reason.”

  The cell was so small that at all times the dripping of the water could be plainly heard. Thomas guessed that William and Waleran could overhear every word above a whisper. He hardly cared—it felt so good to see Isabelle.

  “Deception was my protection,” she said. “I have secrets and need to stay hidden from pursuers.” She held both his hands and continued to transfix him with a deep gaze. “Perhaps you will protect me?”

  “I am in prison.” But he smiled, showing confidence, not fear.

  “You are capable of much,” she said. “I know this. You will escape.”

  “Who are your pursuers?” he asked.

  She squeezed his hands and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. Then she stepped back and watched him. “Trust me. When the time is right, I will tell you everything.”

  Slowly, he nodded.

  He had much more to ask, but the guard interrupted by opening the door and informing them that the girl had been given all the time she’d paid for.

  With a final soft kiss on his cheek, she walked away.

  Isabelle, he thought, touching his cheek. Isabelle.

  Thomas recognized the voice echoing in the dungeon hallways long before he could understand the words.

  William stopped his silent pacing. “That’s—”

  “Our pickpocket friend,” Thomas finished.

  The knight squinted and opened his mouth to ask a question but was interrupted by the clanging of a key in the cell door.

  “Horrid fiend!” the guard shouted. “I hope they tear you into pieces!”

  A bleeding hand shoved Tiny John into the cell. He stumbled but did not fall. The door slammed shut.

  Tiny John surveyed his new home with his hands on his hips and grinned. “Barely nicked him, I did,” he explained. “If only my teeth were bigger, I’d have bitten those fingers clean through.”

  William shook his head in mock disgust.

  Waleran moved closer, not bothering to hide a puzzled expression. “Who are you? And what did that soldier mean, ‘I hope they tear you into pieces’?”

  “I’m John the potter’s son. Some say I’m a pickpocket. But don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “But this tearing to pieces …”

  “Oh, that.” Tiny John waved away the question. “He was right upset, he was. Losing a chunk of his finger and all.” He paused to elaborately spit his mouth clean, then grinned. “I begged him not to throw me into this cell. Told him these two”—Tiny John gestured at Thomas and William—“were unforgiving about some jewelry I’d lifted and that I was sure to be killed if he threw me in the same den.”

  Waleran scowled. “These two would kill you?”

  “Of course not,” Tiny John said in amazement at Waleran’s stupidity. “But how else could I make sure the guard would put me among my friends?”

  Waleran sighed.

  Tiny John continued in the same cheery voice. “I’m here now, Thomas. Right at eventide as requested. ’Twas no easy task running slow enough for the soldiers to catch me. Especially with so many of my village friends trying to help me escape.”

  “Right at eventide as requested?” Waleran repeated. He looked to Thomas for help. “He wanted to be captured?”

  Thomas casually scratched his ear. “I promised him he would be out tonight.”

  “Tonight? But you told me the escape is tomorrow!” Waleran blurted.

  Thomas ignored that and placed both his hands on Tiny John’s shoulders. “The villagers expect an angel?”

  “Some believe. Some don’t. But all wait for tonight.”

  “Angel?” Waleran interjected. “Toni
ght?”

  Thomas did not remove his gaze from Tiny John’s face. “And Katherine has spread word among the villagers?”

  “They wait for angels,” Tiny John said. “No other legend could prepare them so.”

  “Angels?” Waleran almost stamped the ground in frustration.

  Thomas removed his hands from the boy’s shoulders. “Well done, Tiny John.” Then he faced Waleran. “Yes. Angels. Surely, as one born in Magnus, you recall the legend?”

  Waleran opened his mouth and snapped it shut.

  William was quick to notice. “Thomas,” he said sharply, “what is it you know about this man?”

  Waleran edged away from them both.

  Thomas replied with a question. “Do you not think it strange that one who claims to have been in this cell ten years remains so strong and healthy?”

  “The rats,” Waleran said quickly. “They provide nourishment when I tire of their friendship.”

  “Draw your sword, please, William,” Thomas continued in a calm tone. “If this man opens his mouth to speak again, remove his head. The guards must not hear him shout for help.”

  As a fighting man, William had magical quickness. Almost instantly, Waleran faced the prick of a sword blade pushing against the soft skin of his throat.

  “Explain,” William told Thomas in a quiet voice. “I do not care to threaten innocent men.”

  “Waleran is a spy,” Thomas said. “Each night, as we lay in drugged sleep, he leaves the cell and reports to his master.”

  “Drugged sleep?”

  “Drugged sleep,” Thomas repeated. He thought of the mornings he had licked his dry lips and stared at the ceiling. “I believe it is a potion placed into our water each night at supper.”

  “That explains why you asked me not to drink tonight.”

  Thomas nodded. “Also, these fetters. I began to wonder why we were not manacled to the walls, as is custom. But Waleran needed to have freedom of movement. We would have suspected too much if we were bound in iron and he were not. Ask him if he was placed in this cell hours before our arrival, or years as he claimed.”

  William added pressure to the sword point. “Is the accusation true? Are you a spy?”