by Moore, John
“All right, that’s enough of that, young lady,” he said when he saw the crossbow. “Give that to me.” He held out his hand.
This was a clear invitation to make a sarcastic remark before shooting him between the eyes. Alison refrained from doing either. She merely raised the crossbow and aimed it. This was not due to a gentle, spiritual, pacifistic nature, nor was she feeling an ethical dilemma that prevented solving problems through the use of violence. However, possession of a single-shot weapon pretty much forces you to only use it as a last resort. Once you’ve shot your bolt, so to speak, there’s really not much else you can do except stand around and make small talk. Nonetheless, the rage that she felt whenever she thought of Bussard bubbled up from inside her. It must have shown clearly on her face, for Bussard raised his hands defensively and took a step back.
“What the hell did you think you were doing, Count Bussard, trying to kidnap me? You selfish idiot! Did you think Papa was going to sign over his land as some sort of ransom? Because that’s just crazy. Contracts signed under duress aren’t valid.”
Bussard lowered his hands. “Thank you for that unnecessary legal assessment, Alison. Please try to remember that I am the Justice of the Peace here. A contract is as valid as I say it is. However, I had something a bit more subtle in mind for you.”
The girl’s finger tightened on the trigger of the crossbow. “I have something a good deal less subtle for you.” For a moment Alison forgot all about Roland and Gloria. She thought instead of the families that had been ruined by Bussard, and her own father driven to bankruptcy. Her hands were shaking, which made the crossbow no less threatening. Bussard jumped backward and slammed the door.
He spent a long minute motionless and silent, for there is something about staring at the point of a loaded crossbow that makes the heart beat faster, and not from affection. When he turned around, he saw that Muchluck and Thursby had been standing behind them. “She’s in there,” he said, gesturing at the door.
“We saw,” said Muchluck.
“Go get her.”
“Sure,” said Thursby.
“Of course,” said Muchluck. Neither man made any attempt to move.
“Oh, come on,” said Bussard. “She’s just one girl.”
“With a crossbow.”
“She’s only got one shot. There are two of you.”
“What a totally convincing argument,” said Muchluck.
“I’ve always been inspired by your leadership, Sire,” Thursby added. “If you wouldn’t mind disarming her yourself, just this once, I’m sure I could absorb the technique.”
“Goddammit! I’m giving you an order!”
“Uh-huh. Count Bussard,” Muchluck began to explain, “you know how it is in the dispatches when there’s a big battle and some officer orders one of his men to do something totally stupid? And because of—I don’t know—loyalty or dedication or something, the guy goes and does it? Well, this isn’t one of those times.”
The Count’s face turned red with fury. Just as quickly he calmed down when he saw someone new approach them from the grand staircase. It was Lieutenant Scorn, walking with the stiffness of a man whose back has recently absorbed the impact of a heavy fall. He had already brushed most of the loose mud from his clothes, although they were still stained, and now he was attempting to clean his hands with a handkerchief. “He unhorsed me,” he told the Count. “But the rest of the men drove him off. We’ll catch him and bring him back. I suggest you give him to the Middle-Aged Man of the Mountains, along with the girl. Why are you two still here?” he demanded of Muchluck and Thursby.
The two guards saluted him, apparently just to see him wince slightly from his bruised shoulder as he returned the salute. “Your men believe that this knight has companions who infiltrated the house,” said the Count.
Scorn gave them a disparaging look. “I find that unlikely,” he said. “There was only one man, and we chased him off. I’m talking about our guards who are actually out there, following their orders,” he said pointedly to Muchluck and Thursby. “Nonetheless, since you two suggested it, you can look for them. I want the house searched, room by room. Start downstairs and work up. Get on with it.”
“Quite right, Lieutenant. We will all search,” said Bussard. “We were doing that, in fact, when you arrived.” He slapped his pockets, then gestured at the door. “Lieutenant, I believe I dropped my snuffbox in the hall there. Would you be so good as to retrieve it for me?”
Scorn gave him a curious look, then opened the door. The Count, Muchluck, and Thursby all stepped to one side as he entered. They heard the twung of a bowstring, followed by the thunk of a falling body.
Bussard turned to the two guards. “Now go in there and get her.”
Roland found the door that the maid had indicated. It was heavy, it was secure, and it was locked. He’d have to come up with something heavy to break it down or something long and stiff to pry it open. First he had to know if it was the right door. He knocked on it gently, softly calling, “Princess? Princess Gloria?” There was no response. He repeated the knock and call again, both louder this time. Still no response. He decided to bring up Alison and have her guard the door, while he searched for tools.
He went back down the hallway, down the side stairs, and found the Alison trying to whack Count Bussard over the head with the crossbow. One of the Count’s uniformed guards was trying to restrain her. Bussard had both arms in the air to ward off the blows.
None of the three noticed Roland until they heard the rasp as he drew his sword. “Let her go.”
Thursby didn’t have his sword drawn, and both of his hands were full of struggling girl. He yanked Alison around so that her body was between him and the point of Roland’s sword. “Drop it, kid, or I’ll break her pretty little neck.”
“I don’t think so. Let her go, or I’ll run my blade through the Count here.”
“Give her to me,” said Bussard.
“Don’t think so,” said Thursby, not taking his eyes off Roland.
Roland saw his calculating look and interpreted it correctly. “Forget it. You’ll have to let her go to draw your sword, and I’ll run you through before you can get it out. If you don’t let her go, I’ll kill the Count here. You’ve only got one hostage, and there are two of you.”
“I can do the math,” said Thursby.
“I could swear I’ve had this conversation before,” said Bussard. “He’s an amateur with an ornamental sword, Thursby. Give the girl to me and kill this idiot.” His confident tone was belied by the fact that he was edging around behind Thursby while he spoke. “Ow!” he finished, as Alison kicked him in the ankle.
“You know, Sire, you’ve got a point,” said Thursby. He suddenly swung around and shoved Alison into Bussard’s arms. Then he faced Roland, arms akimbo, hand away from his sword, and said, “All right, come and get me.”
Roland hesitated. It was a mistake, but it was understandable. The guard in front of him was defenseless, and the Count was struggling with Alison. He should have just lunged immediately, but he suspected something was wrong. He was right. Just when he made up his mind to attack, he felt the point of a sword prick his back.
“Okay, kid,” said a voice behind him. “Now drop it.” It was Muchluck, who had run up the main staircase to the third floor, and back down the service stairs, to cover Roland from behind.
Roland gritted his teeth, but dropped his sword and raised his hands. Thursby drew his own sword and stepped forward to collect Roland’s. Alison momentarily stopped struggling. Bussard grabbed a handful of her hair and turned her head around.
“So much for that,” he said to her. “I had the notion of keeping you here in my castle, but now I don’t think I’ll bother. The Baron’s line ends tonight.” When she tried to kick him again he twisted her arm and bent her head forward.
“Let her go, Count Bussard,” said Roland. “She had nothing to do with this. Your evil plan for the princess will never work. The king will .
. .”
“Oh shut up,” the Count told him. He let go of Alison’s head. Keeping a tight grip on her arm with one hand, he drew Roland’s visiting card from his pocket and waved it in the air. “Roland Westfield? Of Westfield Bakeries? And you dare to call me evil? You sell sliced bread! Little children eat that stuff.”
“That’s hardly a fair comparison . . .”
“Bring them to the roof and chain them up,” Bussard ordered the two guards. “You know what to do. We’ll leave them for the Middle-Aged Man of the Mountains. By morning our problem will be gone.” He pushed past them and went up the side stairs, apparently either not sharing Roland’s reluctance to use a servants’ entrance or simply finding it more discreet not to lead prisoners at sword point through the middle of the house.
Roland clenched his fists. Muchluck saw this movement and jabbed him again. “The first one of you who tries anything, we’ll kill the other one.” He looked at Thursby holding Roland’s sword, with its jeweled hilt, and took a good look at the scabbard buckled around Roland’s waist. It was edged in silver and held a few jewels also. Muchluck removed it, while carefully keeping his eyes and sword point on Roland. “Now move along.”
Roland reluctantly followed the Count to the third floor, followed by Muchluck, followed by Alison, followed by Thursby, who was now carrying two swords, the crossbow, and Alison’s handbag. They turned a few corners, until Bussard stopped at a narrow door. Unlike the rest of the castle doors, which had crystal knobs and sported contrasting paint and trim, this was painted plain white, with a simple black iron bolt and no other trim. The Count put his hand on the knob. He tossed a key to Muchluck. “Get the other girl and bring them all up. I’ll go out and watch for him. When we see him coming, we’ll leave them there and withdraw to safety.”
The guards nodded and marched Roland and Alison to the end of the hall. Muchluck ordered them to stand with their hands against the wall, then stood guard behind them while he let Thursby unlock the door. The two guards fumbled around a bit with keys and swords and handbags—Thursby was reluctant to hand over the jeweled sword to accept the key—but eventually got into position to grab Gloria if she tried to run away. Roland noted it was indeed the same door he had knocked on—the maid had not lied to him. Such is the power of gold. “Don’t move,” Muchluck warned him again. But even if he had a plan, Roland had no time to act on it. For Thursby unlocked the door.
The handle twisted out of his fingers like a coiled snake. The door was flung open and a fist shot out and punched Thursby square in the middle of the face. Thursby fell on his back with a thump. Terry came out of the room with a leap like a mountain stag. He kicked Thursby in the head and turned around quickly enough to parry a thrust from Muchluck. It was the only thrust the guard got a chance to make. Roland tackled him from behind. They both went down to the floor. Terry kicked away Muchluck’s sword and put his point to the guard’s neck. Roland got up, took his own sword and scabbard back, and buckled it on, while Alison stooped and grabbed Thursby’s sword. Thursby sat up and put his hands to the sides of his head.
There followed a long period of panting while everyone got their breath back.
“Are you two okay?” said Terry. “Did you find Gloria?”
“No, Sir Terry.” said Alison. “How did you get here? What happened to the other guards?”
“I drew them off into the woods, lost them there, and doubled back. They’ll be back soon, though. Where is the princess?”
“We thought she was in there with you.”
Terry shook his head. “No. I saw her on the balcony when I rode past, but when I came back she wasn’t there. She waved a banner to signal me, though. And she left a rope for me to climb up. That helped me get in.”
Roland pointed at the open door. “The count said she was in there. And one of the maids told us the same thing.”
“Well, she isn’t.” Terry looked down at Muchluck, who was spread-eagled on the floor. He lifted the point of his sword a little bit so Muchluck could shake his head.
“The count also told us she was in there.”
“Maybe she escaped on her own,” said Alison. “Went down the rope and ran off while the guards were chasing you.”
“No,” said Terry. “There was a fight on that balcony, some sort of struggle. I’ve seen enough fight scenes to recognize one.” He pointed through the open door. “She used the table to break down the windows herself, but then she fought with someone outside.” He looked at Muchluck again. “Where is the count?”
It took another prod with the sword for Muchluck to answer. “He’s on the roof. He is expecting us to bring her up.”
“Let’s go.”
Back down the hall they all went, this time the two guards being prodded along by the three rescuers, until they came to the door where they had left Count Bussard. It was unbolted and open, and it contained yet another set of stairs, apparently leading to the roof. They were wide enough for one person, while maybe a second could squeeze by if they both turned sideways. Terry looked up. It was a steep flight, with another door at the top. The door was cracked open—he could see a bit of light alongside it. He turned to Muchluck. “Is that door made of iron?”
“The count had it reinforced after he started meeting with the Middle-Aged Man of the Mountains.”
“What’s up there?”
Muchluck and Thursby exchanged glances. “I’m not sure,” Muchluck said. “Something bad. The Middle-Aged Man of the Mountains doesn’t like strangers. If anyone ever went up there with the Count, it was always the Lieutenant.”
“Right.” Terry looked up the stairway again. “Well, now is your chance to satisfy your curiosity, because you two are going up first. Don’t get any great ideas, like thinking you can dash through the door and slam it behind you. We’re not stupid.”
“Dashing onto the roof,” said Muchluck, “and especially closing the door behind me, is the farthest thing from my mind.”
They went up the stairs in a line. Muchluck leaned ever so gently against the door and tried to peer through the crack. He put his ear to the metal and listened. Finally he rapped on the metal, two soft taps. He said, “Count Bussard?”
From the other side of the door came a great flapping sound, a long whoosh and flutter, as if of huge wings.
“Run,” shouted Muchluck. He grabbed the handle and pulled the door shut. Outside they heard the vicious scraping of claws on metal. The handle turned under Muchluck’s fingers. He grabbed it with both hands and leaned back, putting all his weight into keeping the iron door closed.
“Gloria!” shouted Terry. He charged up the stairs, knocked Thursby down, and climbed over him. He reached the top step, knocked Muchluck aside, turned the handle, and pushed on the door.
And hit the ground as Thursby pulled his feet out from under him. Muchluck grabbed the handle and pulled on it again. “Are you crazy? Don’t open the door!”
“Gloria is out there!”
“And we’re in here, and that’s where we’re staying!”
Roland came to Terry’s aid and tried to pull Thursby off him. Thursby kept his grip on Terry and tried to kick Roland down the stairs. He lost his balance and tumbled into Roland, taking Terry down with him. Alison ran back down as all three men tumbled their way to the bottom.
Terry dug his way out of the pile first and ran back up. By now the noise had stopped. Muchluck was sitting on the top stair. He moved aside to let Terry pass. Terry went through.
He found himself on the flat top of a mansard roof. A wooden platform had been built outside the door, reinforced with thick beams, as if to take a heavy weight. Some of the beams had eyebolts driven into them, and some of the bolts had chains and shackles attached. A cast-iron stand held a lamp and a signaling mirror.
The shackles were empty. The platform was empty. The roof was empty. Count Bussard was gone. Not completely gone. His head remained, but even that was in less-than-pristine condition. Of Gloria there was no sign.
&nb
sp; For six hundred years every legal textbook in the Twenty Kingdoms has described the case of Sir David of the Five Dragons vs. The Kingdom of Lacunae, or Five Dragon Davey as he later came to be known, and even later than that, simply Five-DD. It happened that the Kingdom of Lacunae was involved in a civil war, with King Hansen (Hansen the Arrogant) battling his cousin Allen (Al the Termagant). With the castle under siege by termagantic forces, King Hansen sent his family, under military escort, into hiding, to a mountain redoubt he had secretly constructed for just such an eventuality. Situated in a narrow chasm, concealed in the side of a cliff, strong and impregnable, it had waited for years, silent and empty, for just such an emergency. Unfortunately, during those long years, dragons had moved into the area.
According to legend, a single soldier escaped to tell the tale. Torn and bleeding, he staggered into a remote village and described how the entire party had been devoured by a colony of dragons, except for the Princess Gina, who alone had made it to the safety of the redoubt. He even told the tale in rhyme and died after gasping out the final couplet. This was a fairy-tale kingdom, remember. Things like that happened.
By the time the story reached the royal palace, King Allen was in power, Hansen and most of his court were dead, and nobody left alive was quite sure where the hiding place had been, or even if it really existed. Nor was anybody particular eager to find it. The war was over. There was a lot of rebuilding, replanting, reconstruction, and reconciliation going on. The new king wasn’t eager to have an heir to the throne around, stirring up trouble. Besides, if the story was true, the girl was dead by now anyway.
Or so everyone thought. Until the day that Sir David was called to the palace. The new king was sitting behind a desk piled with stationery. The people were now calling him King Al the Usurper and he had just finished getting his letterhead and business cards reprinted. “Davey,” he said. “You gotta find Princess Gina for me.”
