Shaking off her reverie, the Queen’s gaze snapped back to the unfortunate, deranged Rathbone and the royal guards. An admission of her error was unthinkable, and for a moment she was split between executing him just to keep things tidy, and making a great show of clemency and releasing him. Clemency wasn’t quite her style, but the Castle executioner was overbooked as it was. “He’s a physician, you say?”
Arthur bowed quite low, “yes, my Queen.”
The Queen sighed. “Very well,” she said quite loudly, not about to miss this opportunity to make much of her rare mercy. “We are in need of more physicians within the Castle. This young man may well serve the crown better acting in his capacity as a physician, than wasting away behind bars.” Arthur’s eyebrows quirked upwards unexpectedly, and a hushed murmur traveled through the spectators. Pardons were much more exciting than punishments. They saw punishments all day every day.
“Despite the gravity of his crime— Malicious loitering is not to be taken lightly— in this instance, it pleases me that he be freed and released to take up his trade. This is, after all, what is best for my subjects: another Doctor for the Castle.”
In the audience, a few of her subjects glanced at each other doubtfully. It was hard to imagine an emergency dire enough for them to turn to the lunatic on the stand for medical care. Regardless, the Queen had made up her mind, and before he knew what was happening to him, Rathbone was being escorted to the wide doors of the courtroom, and the unexpected daylight seared his eyes.
In the row reserved for the royal family, Lorna Lucretius watched Rathbone exit the courtroom with the utmost fascination. She had seen all manner of men pretend to be insane in hopes of escaping the noose, but the bit about the beast was a particularly inventive touch. There had even been a moment when the Queen herself had looked taken aback, and that was difficult to achieve. It had been a particular stroke of genius, adding mention of the beast. Rathbone must have heard the gossip about that old dungeon. Local folklore told of a beast that had once stalked the darkness, but no one had claimed a sighting in decades.
The Queen sighed. “Who next?”
Arthur bowed. “The Librarian, madam.”
The Queen tsked impatiently. “Again? Show him in at once.”
Lorna could tell from the set of her grandmother’s shoulders that the woman was nearing the end of her patience with the Librarian, and she wondered what the dotty old man had done to try the Queen so. He seemed a largely inoffensive creature. As he hobbled into the room, Lorna yawned and settled into her seat, fully prepared to be bored out of her mind while the old man discussed some new cataloguing system, or perhaps an infestation of insects. She could still remember how irascible he had become during the paper louse infestation of the summer before last. Lorna stifled a giggle at the memory of the paper lice. Dimity shot her a warning glance, but it was the way her stiff-necked grandmother turned and blinked coldly at her that chilled her to the bone. She pressed her lips together and sat back in her seat to listen, hardly expecting to be moved by anything the old man had to say. But as the Librarian restated his complaint, reporting in exact detail the circumstances of the theft of a book from the royal archives, Lorna felt the blood drain from her face.
***
The Haligorn was perhaps least eerie at midday, when the bustle of the market and the cries of the vendors drifted across the Chasm and lent a little life to the tower that loomed still and silent. Seabirds circled overhead, calling a raucous accompaniment to the harsh murmur of the Castle ravens, which roosted in great numbers on the towers and turrets of the castle, though they avoided the Haligorn.
Justine lived for clear days. When the rain came down in torrents people retreated indoors, and the steady stream of traffic on the other side of the Chasm died down to a trickle and finally ceased altogether. Then she was left to read her books by candlelight, or stand by the window and watch the world darken as if it were the end of days. Those days were hard; she had to fight her way through the loneliness and the slow, creeping despair that was always at her back. She had been a prisoner, in one sense or another, most of her life.
All thanks to Cicely, her deranged older sister. The one who saw things. At first, Cicely had been the Queen’s favorite, a spoiled little prodigy. Then, on Justine’s second birthday, Cicely had received a vision of Justine. Whatever Cicely had foreseen, she’d gone straight to the Queen with the news, and Tryphena had forbidden her from telling another soul. Cicely had withdrawn from public life, isolating herself like a mad seeress. As if it wasn’t enough to have one hermit in the family, Tryphena had also locked Justine away, without explanation, seemingly without pity. Justine had grown up in a remote wing of the castle, cared for by hired nurses and sequestered away from everyone, including her parents and many sisters. Even then, the Queen and her wretched manservant had done their utmost to make her as miserable as possible. Any nurse Justine grew too fond of was immediately dismissed and replaced by an unfamiliar face. When she had thought that the isolation couldn’t possibly get any crueler, her grandmother had removed her from the Castle, and relegated her to the Haligorn, a different complex entirely.
She’d had a view of the Haligorn from her last room, and Justine remembered thinking what a lonely building it had seemed, so dark and distant from the clamor of the castle. The Chasm had particularly captured her imagination. No one had ever been to the bottom and back; though attempts had been made. Most expeditions vanished without a single survivor ever returning to the surface. The few who had made it back had all been certifiably insane upon their return, and the Castle commoners had certainly dreamed up some truly outlandish rumors regarding the creatures that lived within the Chasm, and the ghosts that haunted it. Justine had once believed every rumor. Now she wasn’t so sure.
She had only been in the Haligorn a few weeks, but the Chasm, once a source of mystery and terror, was now as familiar to her as the palms of her own hands. Whatever darkness lurked within it had never emerged, at least not in her view. Now, the most interesting thing about it was the road that ran alongside it, and Justine loved to watch the people walk by. Today was particularly busy. Some of the travelers were likely refugees, fleeing homes flooded by the rising lake that Mrs. Tattersall had told her about. The murmurs of war with Blaxton likely weren’t helping either, adding to panic and bringing families farther east, away from the threatened border.
Justine didn’t especially care what brought the people wandering past the Chasm; all that mattered to her was that they walked where she could see them. She was desperate for people, she hungered for people the way others craved food and water, air and light.
Today one in particular caught her gaze. A single figure stood at the Chasm, charcoal gray robes fluttering in the faint breeze as he stood and stared. It wasn’t an unusual place for people to stop, but usually they were staring into the Chasm. This man was staring at the Castle, and something about his figure, taunt with repressed energy, with purpose, caught Justine’s gaze despite his great distance from her window. And somehow, despite the multitude of other people who wandered by, Justine could not tear her eyes from him until he finally stirred and walked away.
***
“Madam, there is a missive from Sir Iordano regarding Blaxton. He has heard a rumor that Blaxton has garnered support during his exile in the East. He seems to think that there may be an army massing on his behalf. Madam?”
Arthur blinked at his mistress, unnerved to see her staring past him as though she did not hear his words. That was unusual, most of the time she hung on his every word as though waiting for him to make a mistake. For a moment he allowed himself to hope that her senility was finally upon her and that she was winding down like an old clock and would finally stop. Just, stop.
“I want Fane.” Her voice was quite low, and he thought he might have misheard her.
“Who, madam?”
“Fane. I want my hunter.”
Her title for Fane had always amused Arthur, in a
sickly sort of way. Anise, the Queen’s eldest granddaughter, was a huntress. She killed animals, birds and beasts of all breeds. Fane stopped human hearts. The word hunter was perhaps technically correct, but assassin would be still more accurate.
“Madam, he hasn’t been to Court in many years,”
“Don’t be inane, Arthur. I know how long it’s been.” The Queen turned to face him fully. There was something about the way she stood that suddenly made her look older than ever before. She seemed grotesquely old, almost staggering under the weight of all of her years. “Rathbone’s arrest was a mistake.” She hesitated, as though what she was about to admit next pained her, but when she spoke next her tone was steady and confident. “There was another man in the square before him. He was the man I intended to arrest.”
Arthur thought pityingly of the poor, gibbering surgeon and his tormented eyes. Poor man. Well, he wasn’t the first to fall in a trap thoughtlessly laid for someone else by the Queen. Arthur felt a pang of guilt at his own role in the man’s arrest, but reminded himself that he was a victim in this too, as they all were. Still, he wondered how the man would fare, struck by lunacy as he was and turned out suddenly onto the streets.
The Queen was still watching him for some reaction, so Arthur cleared his expression and blinked back at her. “So, Fane, Madam?”
The Queen wheeled around, turning her back to him. “The man I was thinking of must be caught. It is extremely important to me, and Fane has never failed me before. Summon him here. At once.”
“Winter is coming, madam, and as you know he dwells in the Ice Mountains now. It may be some weeks before he arrives.”
“Send for him.” The Queen’s voice was cold and imposing. She remained with her back firmly turned to him as he bowed and then backed slowly out of the room.
Chapter 5
The widow who ran the boarding house seemed unflatteringly reluctant to rent him a room. Rathbone was insulted, as he considered himself a highly desirable tenant. Surely she could have done worse than a promising young surgeon.
He was too distracted, too lost in his own mind, to see the slime that he tracked onto her carpets, to catch the hysterical note in his voice or see the faintly fevered flush of his brow in her drawing room mirror. His coat was covered in grime, his face bruised, his hands blackened and his fingernails as jagged as his nerves. Indeed, it was lucky that he was a physician, or she might have turned him out onto the street then and there. But he was a doctor, and so the aged landlady reflected for a moment, reclining on her settee with her dog on her lap. The little creature was the love of her life, and it was usually quite sweet-tempered, so she was surprised when the animal took one look at the young man and snarled at him most definitively.
Rathbone watched the mongrel with slowly rising panic. He had never minded dogs before, but this animal was positively vicious, and every flash of its teeth brought him back to his eternity in that cell, to his brush with a creature so evil, so unholy…
“Very well.” His new landlady’s voice filtered through the visions of chaos and violence that clouded his mind, reminding him that he was in her living room, not back in that cell.
“You won’t regret it,” Rathbone assured her, attempting to replicate what had once been one of his warmest smiles. Now it only made the dog’s hackles rise.
As the landlady took the dog into her arms and pulled herself to her feet, Rathbone spared a grimace in the mongrel’s direction.
Watch yourself, my friend.
Despite the little hellhound, Rathbone was quite satisfied with his new apartments. The house was attractive, and he had a garret room to himself, which suited him. The boarding house was on the outskirts of town, and he could see both the walls of the keep and the ancient oaks of the forest from the windows of his room. It was an ideal location. He wasn’t too close to the castle, no, not too close, but close enough. He was close enough to settle the matter, close enough to strike. Far enough that perhaps he might be able to sleep at night without that hot, rank breath at his neck.
Rathbone lit a lantern, and then shuttered both of his windows, closing out the daylight and the clamor of the street below. He would require peace and quiet for his work. All he needed was a little peace and quiet and the beast would be his.
***
Light visited the dungeon like an unwelcome stranger as the door creaked open, admitting Daphne with her torch and sending the rats squeaking and shaking into the shadows. The subterranean chamber was carved of roughly cut black stone, and there was a stench in the air, as though something had been rotting quietly down there for centuries. A mix of boot prints and scuffmarks disturbed the thick coating of dust on the floor.
Spencer shifted uncomfortably in the doorway. “Why do we have to hide it here?” He asked again. The royal sisters were a mystery to him. Why they had come back for the book in the first place was puzzling enough, but their insistence that he join them in their search for a suitable hiding place for it was particularly mystifying.
“Because, this is the last place anyone will look for it.” Daphne answered.
“And because Daphne actually believes that insane doctor and wants to see the beast for herself.” Lorna put in confrontationally. She looked as uncomfortable as Spencer felt. Her arms were crossed tightly in front of her chest and she lingered near the doorway as though she might make a run for it at any minute.
“It doesn’t seem the best idea. To hide a stolen book in a prison, I mean,” Spencer qualified, because Daphne seemed to take offense. “I still think you should give it back to your grandmother.”
“Are you mad?” Daphne rounded on him. “That’s the last thing we should do. I don’t know about the provinces where you were raised, but in the castle we don’t treat theft lightly.”
“But you said you found it. You said you had no idea it was stolen.”
“We didn’t.”
“So you shouldn’t be punished, then, should you?”
“You don’t know our grandmother.”
“Is it because of where you found it?” Spencer guessed. “Maybe you went somewhere you weren’t supposed to?”
“We’re not telling you where we found it.” Lorna cut in immediately. She seemed even more nervous than before.
“Why not?” Spencer persisted.
“It’s somewhere secret.” Daphne said, “one of our favorite hiding places. We can’t tell you, otherwise it won’t be a secret anymore and then we won’t be able to use it.”
“Well, it sounds like someone else has already found your hiding spot. Whoever stole the book must have left it there for a reason.”
“Can’t we put it somewhere and leave?” Lorna snapped. “Someone could come down here at any minute.”
“I don’t think so. They reopened the wing just for Rathbone,” Daphne said. “Grandmamma wanted him isolated.”
Spencer couldn’t imagine what the man must have gone through, alone all night suffocating in this horrible place. The sisters had filled him in on the tale of the unfortunate Rathbone on their way down to the dungeons, and after seeing the place where the man had passed the night, he wasn’t the least bit surprised that the physician had been babbling by the next morning. It was horrifyingly claustrophobic down here, just cell after cell, and then, at the very back of the chamber, a single wooden door. Spencer stared at it and felt something cold travel down his spine. He realized suddenly that it was fear. “What’s beyond that door?”
Daphne and Lorna shared a furtive glance, and Daphne giggled slightly, a little hysterically. Lorna only looked upset. “That’s where the Beast came from— or so the doctor said.” Lorna was beginning to regret telling her sister Rathbone’s story. If she hadn’t, it would never have occurred to Daphne to set this little melodrama in the recently reopened cellblock. “It’s just a story though. Stop snickering Daphne. We’re supposed to be hiding the book.” She found this latest debacle of Daphne’s particularly stupid. Daphne glared at Lorna as if she could read her si
ster’s mind, her pretty face screwed into a hateful expression.
“Well, where do we hide it?” Spencer stared at the dungeon around them. “I know this sounded like a good idea at first, but I don’t know. I mean, it’s a prison. It’s not exactly going to have a lot of hiding places, is it? I mean the whole point of a prison is that everyone stays exactly where they’re supposed to be, in plain view. Nothing is supposed to be hidden in a prison.”
“Don’t be so dull,” Daphne ordered, coughing slightly over the dust in the air. “This place is hundreds of years old. You can’t tell me that there isn’t one good hiding spot in here.”
“All I see are cells, and we can’t hide anything in those. As that poor doctor found out, they’re back in use.”
“What about behind that door?” Daphne suggested. Her tone was deliberately casual. She might as well have dropped ice down his spine. His undeniable mistrust of her, combined with his vehement dislike of the dungeon, made him more than reluctant to venture beyond the door.
“Daphne,” Lorna sighed loudly. “Why must you always push?”
“It’s in my nature,” Daphne snipped. “How about it, Spencer? Should we seek a hiding place back there?”
She had a way of discerning exactly what frightened him, and then forcing him into close quarters with his fear. It was disconcerting how she seemed to enjoy witnessing his turmoil. “Why don’t you go find a nice hiding spot and leave Spencer and me alone?” Lorna piped up.
But Daphne ignored her sister, and Spencer couldn’t help himself; he wanted to know where the book would be hidden. “The door’s probably locked,” he said instead.
Daphne feigned surprise. “If it was locked how could the beast come through?”
“There is no beast, and you should stop repeating the ranting of a madman.” Lorna argued.
Wulfyddia (The Tattersall Trilogy Book 1) Page 5
