by Martin Ash
I went out quickly into the corridor. The door was locked. I banged hard on it. ‘Blonna! What is the matter?’
From inside came a pathetic cry. ‘Help me! Please!’
I shouldered the door. There was no chance I could batter it down. ‘Blonna, it is me, Master Dinbig! What’s wrong?’
Her voice now came from close on the other side of the door. ‘Oh, Master Dinbig! What’s happening? I’ve had no food or water. Last night I heard such screaming and terrible noises. I saw fighting out in the courtyard, and there was green light. And now there’s nobody about. I’m so frightened.’
‘Calm down, Blonna. It’s over. I’ll find someone immediately to open your door. Just wait.’
I went downstairs, scouring the halls and corridors until I came upon a steward scurrying nervously towards the kitchens.
‘The key to Blonna’s cell, next to the nursery – where will I find it?’
‘Not sure, sir. You may have to ask her ladyship.’
‘Where is she?’
‘I think in her office.’
‘Take me there, please.’
The fellow led me back, down a passage, to a door a little way past the Great Hall.
‘Wait,’ I told him, and knocked.
‘Come.’
Lady Sheerquine sat at a desk, a ledger spread before her. She stared without expression as I entered, the merest compressing of her lips her only movement.
‘Master Dinbig. What is it?’
‘I require the key to Blonna’s cell.’
Her gaze was implacable. ‘For what reason?’
‘The girl is innocent, yet she has been imprisoned there for two days. Today she has not been given food or water. She witnessed the horrors of last night from her window, and heard the screams. There’s no longer a guard upon her door, nor anyone she can speak to. She is scared witless.’
Lady Sheerquine considered just an instant, then swivelled upon her chair to face a row of heavy iron key-rings that hung from numbered hooks set into a board upon the wall. ‘This one, I think. Yes.’
She took the key-ring and passed it to me. I handed it to the steward. ‘Go at once. Release Blonna. See that she is fed and bathed and taken good care of.’
The man hesitated, looking nervously to Lady Sheerquine. A small frown clouded her brow but she nodded stiffly. ‘Do as he says.’
‘Is there something else, Master Dinbig?’ enquired Lady Sheerquine when we were alone. ‘I have work to do.’
‘I wish for the return of my sword and knives. I was lucky to have survived last night. Unarmed, I may not survive another like it.’
Her attention was on the ledger. Her elegant white forefinger, moving across a row of figures, was still for a moment. ‘I don’t think that will be possible.’
‘It must be made possible, if you wish me to complete my commission.’
Lady Sheerquine looked up again, her lips tightly pursed, nostrils flaring. ‘I will give the matter due consideration, but, Master Dinbig, please remember your station. You’re in no position to make demands or threats. Now, is there anything else?’
I fumed in silence. ‘How is Lord Flarefist?’
‘No better than can be expected. He is asleep at present.’ Her eyes were downcast once more.
‘I’ve discovered more about the bane,’ I said.
A tiny hesitation. ‘Indeed? I’m pleased to hear it. Perhaps you will now move swiftly to a resolution of Ravenscrag’s plight.’
‘I doubt that it is within my power to do that. But I am intrigued by what I’ve found. Tell me, what do you know about the Shadownight?’
She paused, but seemed unwilling to meet my eyes. ‘Nothing, beyond the fact that reference is made to it in the bane. And that is the truth.’
‘And of giants?’
Her hand gave a tiny twitch on the open page of the ledger. ‘Giants?’
‘Moonblood claimed to have met a giant. You knew of it.’
‘A fantasy. There are no giants.’
‘Where is your daughter, Lady Sheerquine?’
Lady Sheerquine drew back, raising her head. Her pupils were pinpoints. ‘Are you implying that I know? Be assured, I do not.’
‘My spawn will be about you and among you forevermore,’ I quoted. ‘but you will not know them, nor will they even know themselves.’
She stared at me; a muscle high on one cheek had developed a sudden tic. ‘So it is written.’
‘It has no particular relevance for you?’
She shook her head, eyeing me coldly and, I thought, apprehensively.
‘The corruption is complete,’ I continued. ‘Through the power of the woman’s sin and the woman’s wound, it shall be born.’
‘You should have been an actor, or a cleric, Master Dinbig. I’m no expert, but your powers of memorization seem not unimpressive, and you deliver with a certain conviction.’
‘I intend to get to the very bottom of this matter, Lady Sheerquine, just as you have demanded. I need to satisfy myself that I understand the words of the bane unequivocally. I intend to leave no stone unturned.’
Two tiny spots of colour had appeared high on Lady Sheerquine’s pale cheeks. ‘There may be nothing to understand.’
‘Oh, I believe there’s much to understand. And after last night, surely you can have no possible doubt about that?’
‘I do not know, Master Dinbig. You will appreciate that this is a time of tremendous stress – for myself and all at Ravenscrag. We all live in fear.’
‘Myself not least.’
She nodded, closing her ledger and busying herself with objects upon her desk. ‘Yourself not least.’
I felt thwarted. I’d been close to something, had again touched an exposed nerve, had penetrated Lady Sheerquine’s near-impenetrable armour. But within seconds she had regained her composure. She remained rattled, I was certain, but in control.
‘My lady, how fare your “guests”? Were any harmed last night?’
‘They were not molested in any way. They are understandably somewhat… fidgety, shall we say, but that is all.’
‘I would recommend that you free them. Condark’s troops are surely not far away now.’
‘They will not be freed, Master Dinbig. Not until their innocence is determined beyond all reasonable doubt.’
‘You have murdered Irnbold and Elmag. Will you murder still more?’
She fixed me with a gelid stare. ‘Be more prudent in your choice of words, sir! It was not murder that was done. We believe with good reason that they were the instigators of this iniquitous business. Their power is now gone.’
‘Do you believe that? Truly?’
‘We shall know soon enough. If it proves to be the case, as we hold, then the others will be released.’ She placed her hands flat upon the desk, rising. ‘As it happens, the order was given by my husband, without my knowledge. Had I been aware of it I would not have permitted the executions.’
She swept up a key from her desktop and moved to the door with a rustling of cotton and a heady waft of winter-geranium. ‘I have other business to attend to, Master Dinbig. As, I have no doubt, have you.’
Passing through the doorway I stopped, directly before her. ‘What in your opinion, Lady Sheerquine, is the significance of the bane’s reference to “corruption”, and to “my spawn” who “will not even know themselves”?’
Her green eyes flickered uneasily. Her chin lifted high and her breasts rose and fell. ‘I’ve puzzled over it, Master Dinbig. As have others. No conclusive interpretation has ever been arrived at.’
I nodded. ‘Tonight, I think, we shall learn more, though by then it may be too late to be to our advantage. Indeed, I hold out little hope for our survival, if the truth be told. And from what I’ve now discovered, even in death there may be no escape.’
I stepped through the door.
‘Master Dinbig.’
I turned back. Lady Sheerquine stood pressing the iron key to her marble chin, her brow knitted i
n thought. With deliberation she said, ‘It is an unusually complicated and dangerous business that you are involved in. I wish for nothing more than your success, for you cannot doubt that I wish to see Ravenscrag freed from this dreadful curse, and my children returned to me unharmed.’
‘Quite so.’
‘It has struck me, however, that there are numerous and complex strands and facets to this matter. Not all, I am sure, will reward closest scrutiny. My advice to you – considering that the bane is indisputably manifest – is to focus your efforts exclusively on the lifting of the bane, rather than spending precious time on a fruitless search to understand its provenance and precise interpretations, which are in any case obscure and unreliable. Do you understand my meaning?
‘Absolutely.’
‘Good. Then that will be all.’
~
‘What do you make of her, Yo?’
‘She is an impressive human female, Master.’
‘That she is. But she is not being entirely open with me.’
‘I feel that she withholds, Master. There is conflict, as if she wishes to give, wishes you to succeed, and yet at the same time fears it.’
‘My feelings precisely!’
‘She has a secret.’
‘Indeed so. And it must be a great secret if her fear of confiding is greater than her fear of the bane.’
‘Do you know her secret, Master?’
‘Not yet – but I think I may be close. Aha! What’s this?’
A shadowy figure moved in the gloom of the corridor up ahead, then scuttled across the passageway and was lost from sight. I moved up, warily, close to the wall. Approaching the place where the figure had vanished, I spotted a recess housing an imposing stone statue of a former Ravenscrag lord.
‘Who’s there?’
There was no reply. I moved closer, again cursing the fact that I was deprived of a weapon. I leaned gingerly forward, peering around the statue into the dark at its back. A face appeared, so suddenly that I jumped back in fright. There was a cackle of laughter.
‘Hectal!’
Lady Sheerquine’s stunted twin came forth, chuckling madly, and performed a brief bourrée in front of me. ‘Hectal! Hectal!’
‘What are you doing there?’
‘Here? There? Hectal everywhere! Hee-hee!’
He ceased dancing and scratched his armpit. I found I was looking at him in a new light. Here was a shade who had returned out of its time in the hope of saving Ravenscrag. For its service it had suffered a lifetime of idiocy, the pain of a twisted body, had been shunned by all – or almost all – and no doubt tormented, and presumably was tolerated only because of family connection. This shade knew nothing of its purpose in life, except perhaps glimmerings, flashes of insight which it could not properly communicate to others.
‘Hectal…’ I began, but Hectal raised his forefinger to his lips.
‘Sssh!’ He looked left and right along the corridor, then beckoned with his finger and stepped back behind the statue. There was a heavy grating sound. I squeezed into the space between statue and wall and made out an opening, just large enough for a man to enter. Hectal was nowhere to be seen.
I pushed myself closer to the opening. I could make out a dim orange luminescence within. Hectal’s face reappeared, and he beckoned again. ‘Come.’
I stooped low and entered, to find myself in another narrow, secret passageway, which branched to left and right and was lit by a torch set in a bracket on the wall. Hectal braced himself against the stone block, which had swung inwards, and pushed, sealing the entrance. He sniggered like a schoolboy in a conspiracy, then reached for the torch, put a cautionary finger to his lips again, and made off along the secret way.
The passage was as narrow as that which linked Moonblood’s chamber with the nursery, and was likewise filthy with an accumulation of dust and cobwebs. It twisted and turned, and climbed sharply by stone steps, so that it became obvious we were ascending to a different floor. At length Hectal paused. He put his ear to what was revealed in the torchlight to be a rough wooden panel. Then, with a grimace of satisfaction, he pushed against the panel, which slid back.
Hectal passed through, and I followed. We were in a bedchamber, unfamiliar to me. It was untidy, dusty, cluttered with bric-à-brac and motley collections of junk and miscellany, much of which was damaged. Plainly it had not been swept or cleaned in an age. I looked at the bed and the furniture, then crossed to a window, trying to get my bearings.
‘Hectal, is this your chamber?’
Hectal nodded vigorously. ‘Hectal’s.’
I eyed him pensively for a moment. Quite suddenly I’d realized that, in our last conversation, in his own infuriatingly cryptic way, Hectal had revealed to me that he knew something of Moonblood’s fate. “Gone to a woman,” he’d said. And earlier: “You won’t understand her fate, nor know the blood.”
‘Hectal, you were right again. You knew. Your “somethings”… You understood. Moonblood, she has gone to a woman.’
The corners of his mouth drooped. ‘Moonblood. Ah, Moonblood.’
‘Do you know more, Hectal? I think you do. I know you do, but maybe you don’t know how to tell it. Is that it?’
‘More somethings.’ He screwed up his face, crinkling his brow and scratching his bald head.
‘Moonblood has gone to a woman,’ I said. ‘But where? Where is the woman?’
‘Ah, Moonblood. Moonblood. Hectal tried.’
‘Tried what, Hectal? To help her? To guide her?
Tears suddenly welled in his eyes, and coursed freely down his worn cheeks. ‘Moonblood. Moonblood.’
‘You love her, don’t you, Hectal? She was your friend.’
He nodded. ‘We love her.’
‘We? Who do you mean, Hectal?’
‘Want to help Moonblood. Keep her from woman.’
Yes, I understood. Hectal had known. Through the ravages of his bedevilled mind he had still somehow held to the knowledge that Moonblood’s transition from adolescence to womanhood held powerful implications, for her and for Ravenscrag. He had wanted to prevent that. Or perhaps he had simply wanted her to remain a child.
What would be the consequences of her initiation? What did it mean for her, and for Ravenscrag? And in his desire to help Moonblood, had Hectal been involved in her kidnapping?
‘Who else, Hectal? Who else loves her and wants to help her?’
Hectal merely stared at me with anguished bemusement.
‘I have to find her,’ I said. ‘Somehow. I believe it’s vital. And I have to do it before Shadownight.’
Hectal started at the word, and now his eyes were wide with fear. ‘The Shadownight,’ he hissed.
‘It’s tonight, isn’t it?’
He nodded. I wanted to take hold of him and shake him, so convinced was I that he had the information I sought. But he had withdrawn into himself. He sat on the edge of his unmade bed, wrapping his arms about himself, biting his lip and regarding me with mistrustful eyes. I tried, but could draw no further word from him.
At length, in frustration, and feeling that if I badgered him he would withdraw further, I decided to leave.
‘I’ll come back, Hectal. In a little while. Please think about what I’ve asked you. I want to help Moonblood, just like you do. And Ravenscrag, too. But I need your help. Together, I believe we may be able to find her.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
I left the main wing of the castle. Outside I was dazzled, the bright, hot sun coming as a stark contrast to the cool gloom indoors. My skin was sore, though mildly improved on the previous day.
I crossed the parade-ground, trying to avoid looking at the bodies of Irnbold and Elmag which still hung from their gibbets. A few workmen and lackeys were now in evidence; outside a man with a hand-barrow was taking away the dead ravens, while another shovelled sawdust over the stains they had left.
My bodyguards, Bris and Cloverron, were still quartered in the loft over the stable. I was relieved to
find them unharmed, but they were edgy, afraid, in fact.
‘We saw a lot from the window last night, sir,’ said Bris. ‘Never seen anything like it. We were afraid those things would come in here, and we had nothing to protect ourselves with, bar a couple of pitchforks. What were those monsters?’
‘Conjurings, creations of some deranged potent dabbler in dark magic.’
‘But they were real?’
‘Enough to have created mayhem, spilled blood and taken lives.’
The two men exchanged nervous glances. ‘We’d feel happier if we had our weapons.’
‘I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not optimistic. The creatures are dwellers of the night, however. I think you’re unlikely to encounter them during daylight. Now, I want you to take a message to Mistress Cametta. Find out firstly whether she suffered harm or distress last night, and – ‘
Bris was shaking his head. ‘We’re confined here. Can’t go anywhere. Didn’t you see the guards outside?’
I swore. A pair of Ravenscrag sentries had been slouching on their pikestaffs near the stable door, but I’d been too preoccupied to pay them much heed. I left my men and marched straight to the guardhouse. Captain Monsard lounged at a table with his sergeant-at-arms, taking bread, cheese and ale.
‘Captain, I require that my men be permitted their freedom. I need their services.’
‘Can’t do that, Master Dinbig,’ said Monsard, his cheeks full. ‘My orders are to confine them to their quarters, and that’s where they’ll be until I get orders to the contrary. Have some cheese.’
I eyeballed him for a moment but it was plain I would get no joy. I fought down my anger. Monsard swigged a draught of ale, then belched and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
‘I’ve requested that my own weapons be returned to me. Has Lady Sheerquine passed word to you?’
‘I’ve received nothing to that effect.’
‘And my men’s weapons?’
‘Are under lock and key.’
