Red Death

by Jeff Altabef

  He wasn’t like Eamon; he didn’t waste his time paying attention to the common people, the simpletons who were of little use to him. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have noticed Cattie in a hundred winters.

  He would be happy to rid himself of her, that was plain, but when they talked last night, the sparkle in her eyes caused him concern. She had intelligent eyes, and he doubted whether she had fully bought into his charms.

  She wanted to believe that he liked her, and maybe that would be enough. He knew convincing people of things they wanted to believe was easy. But if she told someone else about his plan to kill Dermot or their meeting together this morning, he might have a tricky time extracting himself from that mess. They didn’t call his brother Dermot the Just for nothing.

  At least he had Cormac. If events turned particularly sour, he could blame everything on him.

  He rounded a corner and saw Cattie standing by the Stables, the only wooden building in the Stronghold. She wore a blue cotton dress with yellow flowers scattered across the collar and the hem. It looked new and probably cost her all of her savings, which he took as a good sign—she wanted to impress him. She also wore a leather cloak over the dress to guard against the morning chill that nipped in the air.

  He forced a smile as he stepped toward her. “What a promising day for our adventure. Did anyone see you?”

  She shook her head.

  “So no one knows we’re headed off this morning?”

  “I’ve kept it a secret just like you asked.”

  He studied her for a second and thought he detected a slight tremor in her eyes.

  Is she lying?

  He couldn’t tell, and the brightening sky meant he needed to hurry. Soon the Stable Master would arrive and that would spoil everything. He had not choice now but to see through his plan. “Great. I’ll be back in a second with our horse.”

  He ambled inside the Stables and found Cormac’s favorite horse—a gray colt. He saddled the steed, made sure to don the hood on his cloak to hide his ponytail, and swung on top of the large animal. From the drawbridge, the guard would mistake him for Cormac in the dim light of dawn, so if asked, he’d think Cormac took Cattie from the Stronghold.

  He rode out of the Stables and lowered his hand to Cattie. “My lady, let us take our adventure.”

  Cattie smiled and he lifted her light frame in front of him so she could ride sidesaddle. He kicked his heels into the horse’s sides and the animal galloped away from the Stables, through the cobblestone streets, and out the drawbridge.

  The Stronghold still slumbered due to last night’s festivities and the early hour, so he passed no one on his way out, which meant that at least this part of his plan had worked.

  Cattie turned her head to face him. “Where are we going?”

  “To Whitewater River, my lady.”

  He pushed the horse to a fast gallop, found the trail that led to the water, and raced another few minutes to a little-used bend in the river. Here the water narrowed and turned decidedly rough, as white caps splashed over rocks.

  He slowed the horse to a stop and dismounted. “This spot is perfect. No one will disturb us.” He offered his hand to Cattie, who eagerly took it, so he helped her from the horse.

  He added as much honey to his voice as he could muster. “So, Cattie, tell me more about yourself. Do you have any family?”

  She frowned. “I thought you were watching me. Didn’t you notice my sister, Maeve?”

  He bit his lip. He didn’t want her to have family, someone who might miss her. He deserved some good luck for once. “Maeve, of course. I was just making conversation. I’m a little nervous.”

  “You’re nervous?”

  He nodded and lowered his eyes toward the ground. He could playact if necessary.

  “There’s no reason for you to be nervous, my prince.” She stepped toward him, but before she could touch him, he heard the sound of a crow behind a weeping willow.

  He smiled. Just in time.

  Cormac emerged from behind the tree and took long looping strides toward them.

  The color drained from Cattie’s face. “Why is he here?”

  “You didn’t think I was going to let you get away with blackmailing me, did you? I mean, the thought of you and me together turns my stomach.”

  Cattie reached inside her cloak, pulled out a sharp dagger and held it to Fintan’s chest. She caught him completely off guard as she pushed the tip of the blade through his shirt and nicked his skin.

  He lifted his hands in the air and Cormac stopped.

  “Stay away from me,” the girl yelled. “I’ll stab him if you take another step.”

  Cormac looked between the two, his mouth slightly open. Finally, his gaze settled on Cattie and he shrugged. “Okay, don’t do anything stupid. We just wanted to scare you a little.”

  “Right. I’m not a fool.”

  The gray colt snorted and stomped its hooves at a small snake in the grass.

  Cattie glanced at the horse, and the half-second distraction did her in.

  Fintan snatched her wrist, bent her arm behind her back, and twisted.

  She let go of the dagger, which fell harmlessly to the ground.

  “That’s two days in a row a girl has wanted to kill me. I must be losing my touch.” He pushed Cattie toward Cormac with a hard shove.

  She fell to her knees and glared at them with angry eyes.

  Fintan sidled next to Cormac. “Tell me the truth, and I’ll let you live. Did you tell anyone about our plans, or about our little meeting this morn?”

  Cattie shook her head. “No one. I told no one. I can keep a secret. I won’t tell anyone about your scheme. I can help if you want.”

  Fintan wanted to believe her, but he didn’t. She spoke too quickly and had a mischievous gleam in her eyes. He nodded at Cormac, who unsheathed his longsword and placed the tip at her throat.

  “Are you sure you didn’t tell Maeve or anyone else?”

  Tears formed around the edges of her eyes. “Leave my sister out of this.”

  He smirked. “I don’t know, Cormac. I’ve heard tell of a Maeve at the Stronghold who is quite beautiful. Maeve the Magnificent, some of the men call her. Maybe I should pay her a visit tonight. I’m sure I can get her to talk and tell me all her secrets.”

  “You’re a monster and a coward.” She spat on Fintan’s boots.

  “That’s just not nice.” He kicked his foot and sent the spit flying. “Since you won’t tell us what we want to know, I guess we’ll just have to kill you.”

  He smirked at Cormac. “What do you think? Shall we kill her or give her another chance to tell us the truth?”

  “Kill her.” He plunged his sword into her throat.

  Cattie clutched her neck, but she could do nothing as blood seeped through her fingers. Her eyes still fired brightly, but the light faded and she fell face-first to the ground.

  Fintan felt anger bubble up inside of him. “Why did you do that, you idiot? She hadn’t told us the truth yet.”

  Cormac shrugged. “You said we should kill her. That was the plan. You said that was the plan this morning.”

  Fintan ran his hands over his face and tried to steady his breathing. “I thought we would threaten her a bit so she’d crack, you moron! Now we don’t know if she told anyone.”

  “Oh. You should have said something to me. You can’t blame me for that. I’m not a mind reader.”

  Fintan groaned. Scotty the Snake would return with the poisonous berries in a couple of days. This secret would have to last until then. Once he became king, no one could touch him. Even if Eamon suspected he had killed Cattie, he’d make sure his brother would do no more than suspect.

  “Did you give the note to Shane to hand to the Master at the Nursery?”

  Cormac nodded. “He wasn’t happy waking up so early, but he did as I told him.”

  Fintan grinned. Shane would keep a secret unless Fintan wanted him to talk. Then he’d say that Cormac h
ad written the note and given it to him to pass on. Fintan wrote it in Cormac’s chicken scratch and even misspelled a few common words. The note said that Cattie was headed to the Outpost. The Master of the Nursery should believe it came from her, but if Eamon investigated, it would be easy for him to point at Cormac as the culprit.

  “Shall we bury her?” asked Cormac.

  Fintan looked at the morning sky and then the fast moving river. “Let’s throw her in. The river will take her away. We should head to the Feasting Hall and breakfast before we’re missed.”

  The two wrestled with Cattie’s body and tossed her as far toward the middle as they could. She landed with a splash and the current swept her lifeless body down river.

  Fintan clapped Cormac on the shoulder. “I brought your horse. You can ride him to the Stronghold. I’ll wait here for a few minutes, and then I’ll take the other one back.”

  The plan had gone reasonably well. At least he was rid of Cattie, although he wondered whether Maeve knew the truth.

  What shall I do about her?

  ***

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  Chapter 26 – Piers

  Piers studied the last remaining bite of his breakfast. The forkful of eggs stared back at him until he summoned his willpower and choked it down a moment before the bell rang. It was a sin to waste food, and even though he’d only grabbed a meager portion of scrambled eggs and a few apple slices, he had difficulty finishing the meager meal.

  He glanced down the table and found every plate wiped clean as usual. No one wanted to be caught sinning. Sinning was never a good idea, even a small sin—no sins were small in Eden.

  Piers ate amongst the novices at long, crowded tables, the seating close. Arms and legs bumped into other arms and legs, but today Piers had ample space, as though a contagious disease had infected him.

  Ordinarily a talkative bunch, the novices usually discussed the day ahead or some theological issue, and Zeke could always be counted on to blather away about something. Either he prayed or he talked and talked and talked. The two Great Silences the Priests celebrated each year seemed physically painful for him. The other novices avoided him on those days, knowing their presence made the temptation almost too much for him.

  No Great Silence was required today. Zeke ate with his head down, silent as a mouse.

  Piers caught his eye for a brief moment.

  Zeke smiled weakly in return, and averted his eyes back down to his clean plate, as if he had never seen the plain white plate before and its plainness fascinated him.

  Being branded the brother of two traitors made Piers notorious, dangerous even, as if traitorous behavior flowed in his blood and could be transmitted as easily as the Red Death. The other novices seemed to have decided on silence and space as the best ways to deal with him. He briefly wondered if they had a meeting about it or whether they all came to the same conclusion independently.

  It didn’t bother him much; Aaliss and Wilky had to deal with much worse. Besides, this situation would only be temporary. Once he proved their innocence, he’d find some way to get them back safely and things would return to normal. At least that’s what he told himself. He had to vindicate them. As the oldest, it was his responsibility.

  He stood with the rest of his table and followed the wave of humanity into the main Compound. He moved stiffly, his ribs aching, his arm still sore, his mind exhausted, and his spirits low. After returning to bed last night, he had lain awake lost in a tumult of thoughts, his mind racing from one idea to the next, never settling down long enough for slumber.

  He knew what he had to do. He had to break into Wilky’s lab and use the password and username that Wilky had left for him. The how, however, baffled him. How was he going to steal a key to the Labyrinth? Only researchers, Guardians, and Monks had keys. He prayed on it, but Jacob sent him no answers, leaving him with nothing but his own ideas, as deficient as they were.

  Someone shoved him and he sputtered forward, almost losing his balance as his feet tripped over each other. When he steadied himself, he balled his hands into fists and spun to find the culprit, but all he saw were bland expressions and Edenites eager to start their day. He scowled at no one in particular and resumed his trudge to religious studies class, his limp slightly more pronounced than it had been a moment earlier.

  He reached the open classroom door on the first floor of the Compound and peered into a long windowless room.

  Three Clerics taught the group of novices from a raised platform at the end of the room. All three were Blood Relations, with gray hair, long years of study, and ample helpings of arrogance. They wore the simple white robes of Priests with the black slash, but they added gold piping to their robes so everyone knew their elevated status.

  Piers had quickly distinguished himself as a star student among his peers, often held out as the ideal. He had a near perfect photographic memory. Wilky was the only person he knew who had better recall, and he suspected Wilky’s gift extended beyond the written word to every aspect of his life. He’d asked Wilky about it, but his brother could not explain it.

  He always said the same thing: he saw the answer.

  Still, Piers’s extraordinary gift allowed him to remember every chapter and verse from the Book of Jacob and every other religious text. His photographic memory, combined with a highly intelligent mind, made him a rising star in the academic world—the one place he felt special.

  Before he entered the classroom, the hair on the back of his neck stiffened. He surveyed those around him. Nothing looked unusual, the faces familiar, but he couldn’t shake his uneasy feeling. He had never realized it before, but eyes were always watching you in Eden—whether they belonged to Priests or Monks or government officials. He knew of only a few places where one could truly be alone.

  Just when he thought he might be mistaken, he spotted Sarah, the tall red-haired Monk from the previous night, grinning at him. He realized instinctively that his happiness was inversely correlated to her happiness, and she looked practically giddy.

  His stomach soured.

  “Good morning, Priest.” She grabbed his arm and dug her nails like talons into his flesh. “You’re not attending class today. The High Priest would like a word with you.”

  He shook his arm free and forced confidence into his voice where none existed. “What a pleasure to see you again, Sarah. I wondered when we would next meet.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, I think we’ll see much of each other from now on. I’m thinking about furthering my religious education, and I think you should be my personal Priest.” She pushed him toward the circular staircase that led to the Parsonage.

  After a difficult climb, Piers waited outside the High Priest’s office. The Parsonage buzzed with activity—Priests and government officials moved with urgency and purpose.

  Eden Day was fast approaching. All five thousand Edenites would descend on the Compound for the daylong festivities. The outdoor religious service would begin at midnight, attendance mandatory. Great bonfires would light the night sky until morning. The High Priest and the President would stand on a vast platform to officiate the services, with the High Priest playing the starring role.

  Eden Day was the only day during the year when the Priests relaxed Eden’s many rules. The Sacred Drink flowed like a river as the Edenites celebrated the gift of life and the joys of living, and the feasts were exorbitant. Numerous tournaments, sporting activities, and festivities lasted well into the next night. Virtually no sin was unforgivable on Eden Day, and from the activity in the Parsonage, it looked like the planning for this year’s feast was extensive.

  Finally, the heavy office door swung open and Sarah emerged, looking sullen. She waved Piers in and shut the door behind him, leaving Piers and the High Priest alone.

  A plate with a half-eaten breakfast sat on the side of the High Priest’s desk, steam still spiraling up from the dish.

  Piers’s spirits sank as he moved toward the desk. He’d hop
ed that the Monks wouldn’t report his nocturnal adventure, but now he chided himself for his stupidity. He should have known that they would report him. He had no friends here.

  “I understand you had trouble sleeping last night. I’m told you went for a rather long stroll and ended up in your siblings’ apartment.” The High Priest spoke in short, curt words, and he twisted the large gold and ruby ring he wore on his pinkie finger. The rubies formed an elaborate capital J, which functioned as Eden’s symbol and flew on the flags above the Compound—flags Edenites hoped only they would ever see.

  “Yes, your Grace. I wanted a photograph of my brother and sister to remember them. I should never have left without your permission.” He lowered his gaze to the highly polished black and white floor.

  “No, you should have come to me!” Perhaps the High Priest’s voice sounded angrier than he wanted, because he paused, pressed both of his beefy hands flat, rested the fingertips against his lips, and continued more softly. “You need to be careful, Piers. Your brother and sister are traitors. If you continue with this bizarre behavior some will doubt your loyalties. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

  “No, your Grace. No one should worry about my loyalties. They are pure. I am, as always, your humble servant, sworn to live in the service of Jacob.”

  “Wonderful.” A smile spread across his round face. “For now I want you to work in the Orchard. Report to Father Luke at once. A little manual labor might help you sleep at night.” He dismissed Piers with a wave of his hand.

  Piers bowed low and turned to leave the office. He headed down the spiral staircase slowly, lost in thought. He swung past the rear doors of the Compound, squinted against the bright sun, and could see the edge of the well-developed grove of apple trees in the distance.