Dark Jenny

by Alex Bledsoe

  I thought of Mary lying dead beneath Nodlon Castle. I said nothing.

  “It’s got this whole model of Motlace, the king’s main castle, all made out of crystal,” the boy continued. “It covers the whole floor of the cave, and if you peek in the windows, you can see little scenes of the king and queen and all the Knights of the Double Tarn.”

  “It really is something,” the father agreed. “I can’t imagine having the patience to do it myself.”

  “Does Cammy live there alone?”

  “You sure ask a lot of questions,” the little boy asked.

  “That’s how I find things out.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  “All kinds.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like that you’re a really curious little kid.”

  His father smacked the back of his son’s head. “With the manners of a damn billy goat. Stop pestering people.”

  Throughout, Jenny remained silent, the brim of her hat pulled low ostensibly against the rising sun. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the back of the wagon seat. I thanked the farmer and his son, and we clattered off in opposite directions.

  We followed signs down a narrow road to a clearing in front of an immense rock outcropping. At its base was the dome-shaped cave mouth shaded by an awning. Nearby stood a small stone cottage. Smoke curled from the chimney, and in the dawn lamps glowed through the windows. Seems somebody got up early.

  I stopped the horses with an extra-loud “Whoa,” so that Kern would know we’d arrived. “Stay here for a minute,” I told Jenny as I hopped down. Just as I reached the cottage door, it opened.

  A portly man with thick, wavy gray hair and a beard that covered his cheeks almost to his eyes peered out at me. He was clad in a baggy, multicolored tunic that hung almost down to his knees. He wore no pants or shoes. He held a long-stemmed pipe in one hand, and I saw he was missing most of his right middle finger; all that was left was a stump out to the first joint. The tapestries at Nodlon had captured his likeness, but they gave him more reserved dignity than the man before me possessed.

  I smelled burning giggleweed; rather than getting up early, he seemed to have forgotten to put out the lamps the night before. Giggleweed did that to people.

  “Hey, man,” he said genially. “I’m afraid you’re too early for a tour today, but come back closer to noon and we’ll be open for business. Here.” He flipped a coin-like token at me. “Tour’s on the house. Peace.”

  “We’re not here for the tour,” I said, and ungracefully caught the token with my left hand. “We’re from Blithe Ward. Elliot Spears sent us. I’m Eddie LaCrosse.”

  “Hello, Cameron,” Jenny called from the wagon.

  The big man squinted his red-veined eyes toward her. His expression changed instantly from benign curiosity to guarded acknowledgment, and a lot of his haziness vanished. “Dark Jenny. Last person I expected to see on my doorstep first thing in the morning.”

  She took off her cap and shook her long hair free. “I’m sorry to impose on you, Cameron, but I need a place to stay for a while. Elliot was called to Nodlon Castle; he should be back to pick me up within a week at the most.”

  “You mean a place to hide,” Kern said.

  “If you prefer.”

  Kern puffed on his pipe and regarded her with the skepticism one might give a wild horse that seemed suddenly resigned to the bit. “And why should I get my feet muddy in your swamp again?”

  “Because your hands are still dirty from the last time,” she fired back.

  He remained motionless except for the smoke that swirled around his head. I politely kept my distance; as tired as I was, the last thing I needed was a contact high. After a long moment he replied, “Well, then, I guess I should be a more gracious host. Come in.”

  Inside the little cottage a low fire smoldered in the hearth and something simmered in a pot hung below the mantel. It rekindled my gnawing hunger. Neat shelves sported dozens of little knickknacks, and obscure vellum books lined one wall. Two lutes and a hurdy-gurdy leaned against a chair. A closed door indicated a private bedroom or study.

  I dropped Jenny’s bag near the door and gratefully slipped the scabbard from my back. I had to kick a woman’s discarded shift aside to prop the sword against the wall. Other articles of clothing, the residue of past meals, and general clutter covered most of the flat surfaces. Kern’s magic apparently didn’t extend to housekeeping.

  Kern said, “Whoa, man. You seem to be injured.”

  “Yeah.” The cast felt looser around my wrist as I held it up.

  He leaned close and squinted at it. “One of the royal healers did this. You mentioned Nodlon Castle; is this Iris Gladstone’s work?”

  I nodded.

  “She’s a good healer.” With a wink he added, “Bit of a looker, too, or at least she used to be.”

  “So how have you been, Cameron?” Jenny asked as she came inside.

  He shrugged. “It’s a lot quieter here than at court.”

  “I’ll bet.” She ran her fingers through her hair in an unsuccessful attempt to tame it. “Do you hear from court much?”

  He shook his head. “Not a word. Marcus and I have nothing to say to each other.”

  The door to the other room suddenly opened. I reached for my sword but checked myself when I saw the new arrival. Despite the manners drilled into me as a boy, I confess I stared.

  It was a beautiful young girl with wavy golden hair and big blue eyes. But she was a giant, almost as tall as Marcus Drake. Yet she was built perfectly to scale, so that she took your breath away even as you worried she might step on you. She wore a too short towel tied under her arms and nothing else, which gave a clear view of many tattoos. She gasped when she saw us, tried to pull the towel in ways it wouldn’t go, and cried, “Whoops!”

  “Hey, baby,” Kern said. “We’ve got some guests. Didn’t you hear the wagon?”

  She looked out the window and giggled. “Gosh, there is a wagon out there, isn’t there? Wow…” Clearly Kern wasn’t the only smoker in the house.

  “It’s okay,” Kern said. “Amelia, this is Mr. LaCrosse. And this is Jenny.”

  The girl looked down at Jenny with the practiced eye of one used to evaluating rivals. “Jenny,” she repeated. “You look familiar.”

  “She gets that a lot,” Kern said quickly. “She has a generic kind of face.”

  “I’m an old friend of Cameron’s. I need somewhere to stay for a few days, and I knew he wouldn’t mind.”

  “No, he’s a very kind man.” Amelia’s eyes flashed to Kern. “Cammy, may I speak with you for a moment?”

  He sighed, followed her into the bedroom, and closed the door. Over the crackling fire, I heard their muffled, insistent voices. To Jenny I said, “That’s not his daughter, I take it.”

  “No. Young enough to be, but no. He’s always liked his girls … impressionable.”

  At last the door opened, and Amelia emerged in a robe cinched at her slender waist. Her voice was calm and reasonable now, and her smile gracious. “We just needed to discuss some things in private. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions before. You both can stay as long as needed. Anything we have is yours.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be leaving,” I said. “My job was just to get her here.”

  “Well, you’re certainly welcome as long as you’d like.” Amelia turned to Jenny. “If you’d like to join me, we have a hot spring in one of the caves. I was on my way over there. It’s a great way to relax after a long trip, or”—Amelia glanced at Kern with a lascivious little smile—“a long night.”

  To my surprise, Jenny nodded. “That would be very nice. Thank you.”

  “Good. I’ll get you a towel, and we’ll leave the men to talk.” Amelia gave Cameron a quick kiss as she went back into the bedroom, and he patted her behind through the robe.

  chapter

  TWENTY-ONE

  Kern closed the door after the two women left and gestured to a chair. “Had to
explain that Jenny wasn’t an old girlfriend. Amelia’s a bit territorial. Sit down, man, stay for a spell.” He chuckled. “That’s a wizard joke. But seriously, you look like you could use some low time before you rush off.”

  I started to demur, but the cushions looked too comfortable to resist. When I sat, I sank so deeply that I feared I’d fallen into a trap. But Kern plopped into his old chair and put his feet up on a battered ottoman.

  He held the pipe in my direction. “Do you partake of the weed?”

  “No, thanks. My head’s naturally fuzzy most of the time.”

  He laughed. “Without the fuzz, I might jump off that big rock out there and land splat in front of the cave.” He picked up one of the lutes and noodled idly on it. “Memories can slip up on you if you’re not careful.”

  “You seem happy now.”

  “What, because of Amelia? Oh, she does her part, that’s for certain. Would you believe she was considered a hideous freak in her home village? Just because she was tall. The boys made fun of her and wouldn’t be seen with her in public, although plenty of them snuck off with her in the dark. I found her crying by a lake, about to slit her wrists with her father’s sword.” He puffed some more. “She responds to kindness like a mistreated dog. And I don’t mean that the way it sounds. Once I convinced her my affection was genuine, she became the most loyal partner you can imagine. I won’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

  He took another long drag from his pipe. “And she introduced me to giggleweed. Cheaper than ale, and I can grow my own stock. No fermenting needed, just a dry place to hang the leaves.”

  “Good for you both, then.”

  His eyes grew more unfocused. “But as bright and shiny as she is, she’s no match for the real darkness. I’ve got a lifetime of it, and if my head clears too much, it all comes back.”

  It occurred to me that, given my own darkness, I might be looking at myself in thirty years. Before I could follow that thought too far, Kern said, “So how did you get mixed up with Dark Jenny?”

  “Why do you call her that?”

  “Because she’s afraid of the light.”

  I told him the story, again leaving out the personal bits with Iris. At the last moment, I also left out that the queen was a moon priestess. I had no reason to keep it a secret, but I’d learned not to ignore those sudden cosmic hints. Kern listened with half-lidded eyes and gradually stopped playing, so that when I finished, I was afraid he’d fallen asleep. But then he said, with surprising venom for one so apparently mellow, “Megan.” He struck the strings so that they punctuated it with a sharp jangle.

  I jumped and said, “I beg your pardon?”

  “Megan Drake. She’s behind this. She’s pulling Ted Medraft’s strings. Elliot knows it, he just doesn’t like to gossip.”

  “The king’s sister? I thought she was banished.”

  Kern smiled. “The strings are attached to her apron, and they stretch a long way. She’s Medraft’s mother.”

  “So Dread Ted is the king’s nephew?” I said, trying to sound as if I didn’t already know.

  He cackled. “Yes. And Thomas Gillian may be his father, which is proof that a good man always has at least one bad decision in him. She wanted him to marry her and tried to rope him into it, but once he got to know her, he ran like the wind. A hoot, isn’t it? You need a chart just to keep track of it all.” Kern took a long draw from the giggleweed pipe, let the smoke out through his lips, and drew it into his nose.

  When he made no comment for a long time, I risked asking, “Did you leave the king’s service because of all this?”

  “The king knows why I left. And I know. That’s enough.”

  “Was it because of the switch with the Jennys?” I pressed.

  He began to pick the strings again. “No. That was even my idea. Marc knows nothing about it, and if he ever found out, he might execute us all. But it’s all his fault anyway. I warned him ahead of time that Jenny, the one you brought here that he first fell in love with, wouldn’t make a suitable queen. She gets stage fright. She gets audience fright. Her backbone has the consistency of a boiled noodle.”

  That seemed an unduly harsh assessment of the woman I’d got to know on the ride here, but I didn’t point it out.

  “Jennifer, though, she has a spine. She’ll look you in the eye and tell you what she thinks, which is what a king needs in a queen. When I learned of her existence, and of the difference in the two sisters, I met with them and Elliot and made them swear to secrecy. Elliot left to bring Jenny to the wedding and instead brought Jennifer. No one knows the truth except the four of us.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Kern frowned again, shook his head, and put the lute aside. “You know, you’re right. Someone has to know. Someone’s trying to provoke this into coming out. Show that Marcus is such a fool he never noticed the switch.”

  “Who would gain by it?”

  “I don’t think this is about monetary gain. This has the smell of personal grudge. Which leads me back to Megan Drake, the bitch. And witch.”

  “Could she have arranged the poisoning at Nodlon?”

  “Good God, she could arrange snow in July.”

  “Because she’s a moon priestess and knows magic?”

  He sat up suddenly and thrust one long, big-knuckled finger in my face. I saw the bristly white hairs growing from the creases. “Magic? Don’t tell me you believe in that nonsense?”

  “I have an open mind.”

  “Be careful your brains don’t fall out, then. It’s got nothing to do with magic, anyway. She’s a goddamned zealot, that’s what she is. Drake banished her religion from the kingdom, and she wouldn’t go along with it, so he banished her as well. Now she wants to bring his kingdom down to prove that her high-and-mighty moon goddess won’t take that kind of insult. She’d leave a trail of corpses from the south shore to the north if it helped her cause.”

  Now I was glad I’d kept the queen’s religion to myself. I wished my source for this other information wasn’t a giggleweed-addled old man living in the middle of the woods, because suddenly a lot of things made sense. Charging the queen with murder might very well bring out her secret status as a moon priestess: in the hearing before the trial by combat, anyone of sufficient rank could ask anything. If Kern was right, Megan Drake would most certainly have someone positioned to raise the issue publicly. Even if the queen denied it, the seed would be planted, and if the king himself was shown to be married to a moon priestess, then he could not very well enforce an edict against it. Especially if it also came out that his queen wasn’t who everyone thought she was. It was a double layer of potential treason, and kingdoms had crumbled for far less.

  “Everyone calls you a wizard,” I pointed out.

  “Of course they do, because everyone is a moron. You know why they think I know magic? Because I understand cause and effect. And first principles. And a whole lot of other simple rules that explain pretty much everything, but that the general population is too willfully stupid to comprehend. Pay attention, really pay attention, and there aren’t many secrets.” He pointed the pipe stem at me. “Like you. You know what I know about you?”

  I gestured he should tell me.

  “You’re from Arentia. You were once in the military. You normally wear a beard.”

  “I could see how you’d pick up all that.”

  “Wait, I’m just getting warmed up. You lost the love of your life at a young age, and you feel responsible for it. You have a large sense of fairness, a real taste for violence, and a weakness for lost causes.” He grinned smugly. “How’d I do?”

  I said nothing and kept my face as neutral as the sudden surge of outrage, annoyance, fright, and shame allowed. If this wasn’t magic, it was close enough.

  He picked up the other lute, but did not play. “I know Megan Drake is behind this because I paid attention to her, too. And for a lot longer than I’ve known you. I know what her mind is like, and I know what’s in her heart. I don
’t need magic to know that, it’s simple observation, seeing what people do as opposed to what they say. Marc takes people at their word, and that’s why he…”

  Kern stopped, looked surprised at his own vehemence, and sat back in the chair. He exhaled slowly and began to play a soft, minor-key tune.

  I knew I could be verbally poking a sleeping bear when I prompted, “‘Why he’ does what?”

  “Nothing, man,” Kern said, his eyes closed. “I spoke out of turn. Marc and I know why Marc and I don’t talk. No one else needs to. Water under the bridge, smoke up the chimney, sands through the hourglass.”

  I wanted to shake the old man until he told me, but first I’d have to escape from the chair. “That’s okay,” I said. But it wasn’t.

  Before I could really pursue it, the door opened and Amelia entered again, dominating the room with both her size and her beauty. She was clad in nothing but her tattoos and the steaming water beading on her skin. Her hair was slicked back and lay in a loose braid down her spine. “We need some wine,” she said, not giving either of us a glance.

  She knelt beside the wine rack, picked out a bottle, and left, but not before giving Kern a kiss that would curl a bald man’s hair. As she closed the door, she glanced at me, giggled like a child, and winked. It reminded me to close my mouth.

  There was a long moment of silence.

  Finally Kern shook his head and whistled appreciatively. “Wow. A man’s got to die of something, right? What were we talking about?”

  This was my chance. “Marc’s judgment of people. Or lack thereof.”

  Kern looked puzzled. “Really? I was talking about that?”

  “You were. You said because I knew about the two Jennys, I should know everything.”

  He picked up his pipe and puffed away. The room’s air looked like fog over a swamp, and I had the overwhelming urge for something baked and sweet. It took all my strength to concentrate. At last he said, “Marc was fifteen when he won the crown, you know. That’s pretty young. He was a brilliant tactician and warrior, but a man’s judgment isn’t fully formed by that age.”