by Aya Ling
"So in order to protect their own interests, they support Renee?" Bran said.
Marcella's face darkened. "The bishop had been asking Mama for more funds to build a larger, grander cathedral in the city center, but Mama refused since the one we have is perfectly adequate, and the money could be used for other more constructive means. I would not be surprised if Renee granted the bishop his request in exchange for a false announcement.
"The aristocrats with conventional ideas would prefer to see Renee ascend the throne. He objected to my attending the Academy, he said girls should be kept in place. And when Mama allowed Andre to come to Riviera, Renee said she was fraternizing with the enemy."
Elaine was not surprised. History textbooks had recorded that decades ago, Tintagel was more powerful than Riviera until the latter colonized the Archipelago. Though she strove to avoid court, she knew there were Tintagel people who wished to restore their former glory, and regarded Riviera more as a threat.
"So right now you plan to enter the castle without Renee's knowledge."
"Yes." Marcella bit her lower lip. "It is better he does not know. If he knows I have evaded his attack, he might harm Mama. I want to ensure Mama's safety before confronting him."
Due to the upcoming spring festival, Bayeux, Tintagel's capital, was prettier than Elaine had remembered. Tintagel, as well as being famous for its delicious cuisine, was also known for its trendy fashion. Princess Arianna herself, while protecting lands from being ravaged by monsters, was also keen to remain foremost in style. Of the few times Elaine had seen Princess Arianna, the latter always displayed an element of Tintagel fashion, whether it may be the latest hair style or necklace, collar or cuff.
The streets and buildings also reflected the Tintagel people's love for beauty and taste. Unlike Riviera, where the houses were neat and well-constructed but also tend to be of the same boring grayish color, here the Tintagel houses were painted in yellow, pink and green. Some of the walls even depicted mural paintings–a good percentage of the Tintagel folk were artists or musicians.
But what really caught Elaine's eye was the flower decorations set up for the spring festival. Pansies, violets and marigolds nodded their heads from wrought iron window boxes, morning glories and honeysuckle curled and drooped over porch railings and fences, baskets of lavender and roses hung below shop signs and lampposts.
If it weren't for the mission of saving the empress and preventing the announcement, Elaine could appreciate the spectacle with lightheartedness. But with Marcella concealed under the carriage seat as they passed through the borders and survived the patrolling soldiers' inspection, she could only sigh and vow to return next time.
The carriage slowed down and then halted. Andre rapped on the door lightly. "I'll get us some breakfast. No, Highness, there's no need to come out. I can handle this."
Between bites of crusty bread and cold water, they discussed the next step of action.
"I want to enter the castle without Renee's knowledge," Marcella announced. "De Lornay's message should have reached him."
Bran took a swig from his water bottle. "How're you going to do it when everyone recognizes you?"
"There's a secret tunnel leading to the castle." Marcella drew a simple map of the Tintagel castle grounds. She pointed to a spot on the hill beneath the castle. "From the gamekeeper's hut, the tunnel will lead to the bottom of the castle, where the dungeons are."
"So the plan is to use the tunnel," Elaine said, her eyes shining with rapt attention. Nothing pleased her more than an adventure. "When do we leave? Now? Or shall we wait until midnight?"
Bran glared. "Elaine, you're not coming."
"Try and stop me."
"Princess." Andre laid a hand on her arm. As usual, his voice and touch were gentle, yet firm. "We're concerned for your safety. After all, your final destination is Linderall. Wouldn't you rather wait for the Linderall protection to arrive?"
Elaine swallowed. For a second, she felt like giving in to show that she did acknowledge his concern. But the rebellious streak in her flared, refusing to be suppressed. That familiar feeling welled up again--no matter how accomplished she was in her studies and inventions, most others valued her face over her work. They still viewed her as a vulnerable girl who should be guarded and protected, not a resourceful young woman capable of taking care of herself.
"If Marcella can go on a dangerous expedition, then so can I," she said steadily. "Besides, how dangerous will this mission be? I am not waging war on a herd of dragons. I am not engaging in an arm wrestle with a troll. I just want to help an old friend. And perhaps I can be of more help than you think."
She pulled out her dart slinger. She met their eyes squarely, her gaze challenging, defiant.
"What is this weapon?" Marcella said.
Elaine explained the mechanisms, showing Marcella how to load the darts through the access door and how to fire darts by pulling the trigger.
"Even though I built it to hold twelve darts, it tends to jam if you put more than ten inside, so don't overload it."
"Amazing." Marcella's eyes gleamed as she turned over the gun between her long fingers. "It would be an honor indeed, Elaine Leventhorpe, if you would accompany me on the mission to rescue my mother."
Bran looked skywards and heaved a deep sigh.
The gamekeeper's hut was similar to the one they had in Riviera, built of timber and oak and stone. When Marcella rapped on the door, it creaked open.
"Highness!" a loud, hearty voice greeted them. "How're you here, eh? Been ages since you last returned."
Vernon was a stout, stocky man, well into his forties with bushy black hair, a thick beard and hairy arms. From the picture books she read, Elaine wondered if the gamekeeper had troll blood in him. She had never seen someone with so much hair. He lounged in a chair, feeding a huge eagle with bits of dried meat.
"I have a request," Marcella said, drawing herself up to her full height. "I need to use the tunnel."
The dried meat fell on the floor. "The...the tunnel?"
"Yes. It's an emergency."
"And those people with you?"
Marcella paused. "They come with me. They are my friends."
Vernon looked at them–Andre nodded at him and recognition dawned in his gaze.
"I will explain everything to you later, but now there's not enough time," Marcella said. "Trust me."
"Very well," Vernon let out a deep breath. "Follow me, Highness."
He led them to the bedroom, which contained very little apart from a huge double bed and a chest. Vernon squatted, laid his huge hands on one side of the bed and pushed it into a vertical position. Elaine drew in a gasp. Half of her amazement was due to Vernon's monstrous strength in lifting the entire bed, while the other half was due to the iron trapdoor beneath it.
Vernon grasped the round handle on the trapdoor and opened the door. "Here you go, Highness."
"Thank you." Marcella adjusted the sword on her belt. "Mention this to no one, and I'll see that you are well rewarded."
They started down the trapdoor. Marcella said nothing, but she struggled while trying to climb up with one injured arm, wounded when De Lornay kidnapped her, so Andre lent her a hand. Elaine had no problem handling the rickety ladder. Bran's foot slipped once; fortunately he caught the ladder in time.
The tunnel was dark, damp, and musty. Elaine felt around her and cold, slimy stone met her touch. With a tiny yelp, she sprang away and bumped into Andre. He steadied her, his strong, warm arm circling her shoulders for a moment before letting go.
"Anyone have a torch?" Andre said.
"I've matches in my pocket," Marcella said. Elaine helped her take out the matchbox and struck a match. The light was small, but it was like a drop of water in a desert. Holding it carefully, Elaine made to proceed down the tunnel when she felt a hand on her sleeve.
"Allow me." Andre stood before her, clearly intending that he would go first.
A rush of warmth flooded her cheeks. "All ri
ght." Elaine handed the match to him. "Be careful, a small draft could snuff it."
"Stay close to me."
Elaine was only too happy to obey.
Andre led the way, warning them now and then of stray rocks or puddles. There was no sound except for their boots on the ground, and occasional trickling from the leaking ceiling. As they walked on, the initial sparkle of excitement and adventure faded away. Elaine rubbed her hands together to keep warm.
And finally, the end was in sight. Faint, yellowish light glowed ahead. When they drew closer, they discovered that the light came from a large hole over their heads. This time there was no ladder.
"I will go first," Andre said. "Highness, I insist. Your arm is injured; it is safer this way. The same goes for you two."
"But I want to–" Elaine began, when Bran jabbed her arm and gave her a warning look. Marcella did not look happy, but she nodded. "Go."
Andre grasped the side of the hole and hauled himself onto the floor above. What seemed like a long hour to Elaine ticked away until his face appeared in the hole.
"All right up there?" Marcella whispered.
Andre held out his hand. "There is a problem."
Marcella leaped up and with her good hand, she dangled on the side of the hole. Bran pushed, Andre tugged, and she made it to the floor above. Then Elaine went up. She would have climbed through by herself, but the hole was beyond her reach. Bran grasped her waist and boosted her higher; Elaine held out her arms and Andre caught her, bringing her with him. Bran came last. He was not as swift as Andre, not being of an athletic build, but he climbed through without difficulty or aid.
Stone walls surrounded them–moldy, ancient-looking walls with cobwebs in the corners. Filthy straw covered the dirt floor. It smelt even worse than the tunnel--rat droppings, ashes, rotten meat were strewn on the floor, and the oil burning from a torch added to the unpleasant smell.
A heavy iron door with a barred window was the only way out, apart from the hole in the floor. Marcella strode to the door and tried to push it open. But it did not budge.
"Damn!" Marcella wrapped her hands round the bars and shook the door. A shiny new padlock rattled on the door's window.
"Save your strength, dear cousin," someone drawled.
Prince Renee. Malicious glee reflected in his eyes; Elaine wondered how Effie could have described him handsome. He smirked and wagged a finger at Marcella. "Don't bother trying. That padlock is recently bought."
Marcella's eyes were on fire. "Where is my mother?"
"Oh, she's safe enough, resting in her bedroom," Renee grinned. "Though I suggest you stay down here. I've arranged for enough men to guard her."
"How did you find us here?" Andre said. While he faced Renee, his right hand was concealed behind his back and pointed towards the hole, indicating the rest of them to flee.
Renee laughed. "I knew there was a chance De Lornay would fail to abduct my cousin, so I arranged a code with him. If he succeeded, he was to send a lock of her hair; if not, the necklace she wore. And I suspected she'd try to sneak in the castle as soon as possible. Go ahead, go down the tunnel," he said, addressing Elaine and Bran. "Good luck opening the door on the other side. Vernon has blocked it; he sent word to me by his eagle when you started down the tunnel."
Marcella was shaking with rage. Elaine had never seen her so moved–she used to joke with Felipe that his sister was as emotionless as her brother Ralph. "You did all this to Mama, just for the throne?"
"Under Salome's rule, we have grown soft, weak, passive," Renee snarled. "We should stop entertaining those traitorous foreign notions and concentrate on restoring Tintagel to the great nation it had been twenty years ago. Since Felipe will not do it, I will. It's for the good of this country."
"You fool," Andre said softly. His hands were clenched in fists. "Do you think you could succeed? Do you truly believe every Tintagelese shares your perspective?"
Renee shrugged. "Some people's views are not worth much. Particularly common-borns who are more loyal to the neighboring country than our nation. Or a princess who spends half of her time abroad in the company of a foreign nation's warriors."
"Better than a cold-blooded bigot who'd poison his own aunt for political power," Marcella said, her voice full of fury.
Renee laughed, a cold, cruel laugh, showing a row of pointed teeth.
"I thank you for your kind description of me, dear cousin. However, next time we meet, you may want to alter your words when you're kneeling in front of the new king. If you have the strength to kneel. However strenuous your Academy training was, I wonder how you would fare for a week in this dungeon."
Marcella bristled. Andre's knuckles were white; he looked like he could drive his sword through Renee.
"Today I shall announce my rightful inheritance to the throne," Renee said. "You see, people have been wondering if Felipe chose to remain in bright, sunny Amaranta. It's far more pleasant than dealing with piling debt and negotiating cross-border trades. They won't be too surprised to see me replace him."
"What a martyr you are to volunteer," Marcella said through her teeth.
"The empress agrees. She has changed her will and named me as the new successor."
"She signed the will? She couldn't have--"
"Oh yes, she did. With a little help from a special drug, she'll sign anything."
"You rotten, despicable, incorrigible..."
Renee pretended to clean his ears. "Your Majesty to you, cousin. Ah, I believe it is time for the announcement. Excuse me; my presence is required."
He smiled, waved and departed. Marcella hurled a hail of insults and curses, but his back disappeared, his boots echoing on the stone floor. Andre darted over and ran his hands over the iron door, pushing and pulling. It didn't budge.
They were trapped in the dungeons. Empress Salome was poisoned and heavily guarded. And the person who caused this nefarious deed was going to be pronounced king in a few hours.
"He will not succeed," Andre said. "The people will not believe him."
"The lords will," Marcella sank on the floor with a grimace. "Unless they do not mind paying higher taxes, they will support that scumbag."
An image of the count and countess flashed in Elaine's mind. They would probably prefer Renee. But now, the most important thing was to escape. Her gaze fell on the heavy lock on the door.
"We can expose him. Let them know what will befall you if you oppose him."
"But how are we going to leave?" Marcella said. "He's leaving us to rot down here. Today might be the last day we ever see daylight."
"No it isn't." Elaine walked to the door and started inspecting the padlock. "Bran, bring my knapsack."
From the knapsack, she lifted out her trusty lock picking kit–more advanced and impressive than the one she carried when she was twelve–and started to work on the lock. Several seconds was all it took. A few clicks and Elaine withdrew her steel picks.
"Andre."
He laid his palms on the door and pushed. Slowly, it swung open.
"You..." Marcella looked at Elaine as though the latter sprouted wings. "That was clever."
"Not really." Elaine tried to conceal her glee; it was no small feat to have the formidable Tintagel princess look at her in wonder and awe. "Actually, I designed that lock. I'm pretty sure it's one of the models I sold last year. See, the door's old and rusty, but the lock is new. The old one must have stopped work–"
Andre took her hand in both of his. "Thank you," he whispered.
Elaine blushed and looked down. She was grateful that the light in the dungeons was dim enough so no one could see her blushing. But even if they did, it wouldn't matter.
"Now what?" Bran said. "We can't go back through the tunnel. That giant's waiting on the other side."
"The most important thing is to save Mama," Marcella said impatiently. "Even if that despicable scoundrel has guards around her, I must rescue her."
"If Renee knows we've escaped, the first thing he w
ill do is use her to threaten us," Andre said. "We must formulate a plan how to get past the guards without alerting him."
"Disguise?" Bran said, pointing at Elaine's cap.
"Not enough resources for that," Andre said. "And for Marcella, it would be doubly difficult. Everyone in the castle recognizes her."
Elaine twisted her fingers. "Where is the empress imprisoned?"
"That toe rag said she was in her room. Unfortunately, it is ten floors from the ground."
Elaine ran to a corner and began to haul the sack that Andre was carrying on his back–the sack that contained her precious portable flying machine.
"Here, we can give this a try." She started pulling out the parts–the gas-powered cylinders, the leather straps, the belt, the parachute. "Andre, help me put them together."
"What are you doing?"
Elaine grinned, her eyes gleaming. "Have you heard of the Leventhorpe flying machine? I guess not; it hasn't even debuted at the Exhibition yet. But it shall make its debut in the Tintagel castle. Today."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
"Andre, I'll need you to take it in the air. Fly to the empress's room–unless her window has iron bars like this door? No? Right, so you can smash the window and enter her room. Get her out–I built the wings to bear the weight of two grown men so it shouldn't be a problem."
"You're crazy," Bran said, shaking his head.
Elaine grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."
She finished putting together the machine. Marcella stared wordlessly; her mouth half open.
"This...can fly? Are you certain?"
"On my word as one of Riviera's best inventors," Elaine said with a toss of her head. "Press this button here to release the gas. You will shoot into the air. Use the handle here to control where you turn. And worry not–I have attached a parachute on the back. If anything happens, you can activate the parachute and float to the ground."
"I can go," Marcella began, but Andre stopped her.
"Highness, it is better I go. You should go to the announcement. The people will listen when they see you."
