The captain of the troop reined his equine to a halt and sat for a moment gazing sternly down at the people around the fire.
'What is your business here?' he demanded. 'This land belongs to King Septimus. Anyone wishing to travel across it must first pay a tax of— Good grief!' It had taken him a few moments to recognize Princess Kerin, but when he did, he reacted with evident shock. He jumped down off his mount and went down on one knee before her.
'Your highness!' he gasped. 'What are you doing out here with these ruffians? If they have harmed or frightened you in any way, by my oath, I swear they shall live to regret it!'
Princess Kerin stood up and did her best to look regal – not easy, when her face was dirty and her fine dress was caked with dust and blood.
'Fear not, Captain Tench,' she said. 'These men are heroes: they saved me from an attack by Brigands.'
'Brigands?' Captain Tench looked across the clearing at the heap of luper bodies, which Sebastian and Cornelius had stacked up the previous night. 'They are the hairiest Brigands I've ever seen.'
Cornelius laughed. 'Oh, the Brigands were the other day, back on the plains.' He pointed to the lupers. 'Those fellows dropped by for supper last night. But there wasn't enough to go round so we had to be robust with them.'
Captain Tench stared at the little warrior for a moment, as though he didn't much like what he saw. But he bowed politely. 'The kingdom of Keladon is clearly in your debt, sir,' he said. He stood up and pointed to one of his men. 'You! Ride with all speed to the city and let King Septimus know the joyful news! Speak to nobody else on your way there. Tell the king that his niece was attacked but has been saved.'
'Yes, sir!' The soldier whipped up his mount and galloped away through the trees.
'We shall act as escort to take you safely into the city,' announced Captain Tench.
'Excellent news,' said Cornelius. 'And I wonder, Captain, could you spare a man to drive the princess's carriage? I've had more than my fill of those frisky Brigandian equines and would like to ride alongside my good friend, Mr Darke.'
Again, Captain Tench bowed respectfully. 'As you wish.' He turned back to face Princess Kerin. 'Your highness, if you will allow me, I will escort you back to your carriage, where you may prepare yourself to greet King Septimus.'
'Yes, of course.' Princess Kerin looked rather regretfully at Sebastian, as though she sensed that something was over between them. 'It's been quite an adventure,' she said and he knew that she was telling him that it was now time for her to go back to being a princess again. Sebastian could almost feel an invisible barrier coming down between them. He thought how he had held her in his arms as she cried, and felt sad that they would probably never share such intimacy again.
'Perhaps it isn't over yet,' he ventured hopefully; and she rewarded him with a fleeting smile.
'Perhaps.' She turned away and allowed Captain Tench to take her arm and lead her back to her caravan.
'So,' said Sebastian, trying to sound positive. 'It looks as though our troubles are over.'
'Oh, I hope so,' murmured Cornelius, gazing thoughtfully across the fire at Captain Tench, who was shouting orders to his soldiers. 'I do hope so.'
A few hours later Sebastian's caravan emerged from the cover of the last few trees and he and Cornelius finally had a clear view of the city of Keladon.
It nestled against the side of a hill, within the shelter of the high stone walls that encircled it. A tight cluster of white painted houses, temples and villas seemed to huddle close together for security, rising in irregular steps on the steep incline that rose to the base of the king's palace. This magnificent edifice, hewn from glistening white marble, rose stark and austere from the midst of the surrounding habitation. Most imposing of all was the spire, which thrust sheer upwards from the very centre of the building, until it seemed to touch the clouds. From its very top fluttered the royal flag, a huge silk pennant featuring the royal insignia of two prowling lizards.
The scale of it all was quite unnerving. Sebastian swallowed and told himself that very soon he would be attempting to earn a living in Keladon by telling jokes. There was part of him that wanted to turn the caravan round and head back home, but he knew he couldn't do that. This was his, and his mother's, last hope.
He glanced at Cornelius and saw that the little man was gazing up at him thoughtfully.
'You seem troubled,' he observed.
Sebastian nodded. 'It's a big place,' he said. 'Jerabim is a sleepy little market town, nothing like this. I suppose it's just nerves.'
'You have every right to be nervous,' said Max mournfully, plodding slowly onwards. 'I've heard your routine.'
'Oh, thank you, that's certainly boosted my confidence,' said Sebastian.
Cornelius chuckled. 'Take no notice of him,' he said. 'He's just a prophet of doom.'
'He's got a point though. Nobody seems to like my jokes. Apart from Princess Kerin, of course.'
'Well, that's not a bad start,' said Cornelius. If you only ever have one fan, it's best to have one who has good connections. Use her as a starting point and see if it will grow from there.'
'But what if it doesn't?'
'It will if you believe in yourself.'
Sebastian frowned. 'But . . . how is it done, Cornelius? Take you, for example. You never let anything get the better of you. You're brave and courageous, and yet you're so . . . so . . .'
'Small?' suggested Cornelius.
'Well . . . I wasn't going to say that but . . . now you mention it . . .'
Cornelius laughed. 'Self-belief is such an important thing,' he said, 'particularly in your line of work. If you don't think a joke is funny, how can you expect anybody else to?'
Sebastian shrugged. 'I don't know,' he admitted miserably.
'But think of it this way. You set off from your hometown and found your way through hills and forests. You fought a bunch of Brigands and, though badly outnumbered, you drove them away. Only last night you faced up to an attack by a pack of blood-thirsty lupers and emerged victorious—'
'Yes, but Cornelius, that was because you were there!'
The little warrior shook his head. 'Yes, I was there, but I didn't see you standing idle, Sebastian. You were in the thick of it. You gave as good as you got.' Cornelius paused and gave Sebastian a sly look. 'And a decent fighter I may be, but I don't have what it takes to stir the heart of a princess.'
'What?' Sebastian stared at him. 'Oh no, that's . . . we just . . .'
'Believe me, I saw the way she looked at you back there. I don't have much experience of that kind of thing, but I think I know a smitten woman when I see one.'
'That's ridiculous,' murmured Sebastian. 'Me . . . and Princess Kerin? I don't think so.' He laughed, but Cornelius just sat there with a knowing look on his baby face.
'We'll see,' he said; and left it at that.
They continued on their way in silence, each lost in his own thoughts as they covered the last few miles to the city of Keladon.
PART TWO
CHAPTER 12
TO BE A KING
Septimus studied his expression in the gilt-framed mirror. He was practising a look of profound sorrow but it kept coming out all wrong. On his thin, mournful face, framed by two long waves of lank black hair, the result was more like a look of severe constipation.
'Bother!' he snapped and tried it again, screwing up his eyes and turning his thin lips down at the edges. Any time now he expected a messenger at the gates to tell him of the awful tragedy that had befallen his niece. He knew that the entire court would be watching him as he received word and he couldn't allow a single person to suspect that the news was rather less of a surprise to him than it might have been.
That's if they had murdered her, of course. Septimus was worried that they might have taken her hostage and would be demanding a massive ransom for her safe return: that would complicate matters considerably. But Magda, who had cooked up the whole scheme, had assured him that Brigands were far too th
ick to think of anything like that. They would certainly kill her; possibly even cook and eat her; but putting together a ransom demand would require somebody who could actually write – not a likely occurrence in Brigandia.
Out in the courtyard, trumpets sounded, announcing the arrival of a messenger. Right on cue! Septimus had one last attempt at a sad look in the mirror and then told himself that if all else failed, he could just cover his face with his hands and pretend to be weeping.
A high-pitched voice sounded out in the corridor. It was his personal assistant, Malthus.
'Your majesty! An urgent message from Captain Tench!'
Septimus smiled triumphantly.
Good! He had spoken to Tench that morning, in front of plenty of witnesses, voicing his concern at the lateness of Princess Kerin's return. Evidently Tench must have discovered something: hopefully the scene of a massacre. Septimus turned away from the mirror and swept imperiously to the door of his private chambers.
'Open,' he said; and the two minions who stood guard outside the door swung it open for him, to reveal Malthus, standing there looking pale and concerned in a crimson jerkin and a pair of pale-green tights.
'Your majesty,' simpered Malthus, in that familiar irritating whine. 'A messenger from—'
'Yes, yes, I heard! Lead on, Malthus. Oh, I do hope nothing has befallen that sweet child, particularly on this day of all days. Her seventeenth birthday . . . I've even bought her that special present and everything. I trust you've been looking after it, Malthus?'
'Yes, your majesty, I've just given it some fresh nuts.' Malthus turned and scurried down the huge curve of the marble staircase. Septimus followed, ignoring the rows of uniformed men who lined each side. He descended to the huge marble-floored forum, where the messenger waited patiently on one knee, surrounded by the various lords and ladies of the royal court, all of whom were studying the king as he descended the stairs.
That was the problem with this place. Hardly anything ever happened in private; and Septimus knew that ever since the death of his brother and his wife, there were many who had their suspicions about his involvement in that little misadventure. Not that any of them had proof, of course. All the co-conspirators who had helped bring the former king's reign to an early end had been silenced for ever.
Septimus frowned. It was hard work being evil but the rewards were high. He enjoyed being King immensely and had no intention of allowing that situation to change, not while there was still breath in his body. He reached the bottom of the staircase and looked down at the soldier who had been entrusted with the bad news, a big, handsome lout of a man whose name Septimus didn't know, but who looked none too bright.
'Speak up, man,' said Septimus. 'What news have you?'
'Your majesty, I come from Captain Tench with an important message.'
'Yes, I know that. Get on with it.'
'He urged me to come straight to you and to speak to no other.'
'Yes, well, very good, you have done exactly that.'
'No, sire, I have failed in that matter.' The soldier looked rather crestfallen. 'On my way in through the gates, a merchant asked me what time of day it was and, without thinking, I replied.'
Septimus glared at the man. 'Yes, well, that hardly matters, you idiot! What exactly is the news?'
'Oh yes.' The soldier cleared his throat. 'Your majesty, just a short distance outside the camp, I . . . that is, we . . . that is, the troop commanded by Captain Tench, of which I am a member—'
'Oh, for pity's sake! Could you please get to the point?'
'Of course, your majesty. I was attempting to do so.' He cleared his throat again. 'Just a short distance outside the palace, we came upon the scene of a massacre . . .'
Yes! Septimus had to restrain himself from punching a celebratory fist into the air, but managed to keep his expression grim.
'A massacre, you say. Oh no, please tell me that my beloved niece was not present.'
'She was there, your majesty. I saw her with my own eyes.'
'Oh, woe!' cried Septimus. He slapped a hand against his forehead and rolled his eyes heavenwards. 'Oh, that such a young and fragile beauty should have been snuffed out so prematurely!'
'Er . . . your majesty, she was—'
'No, don't tell me! Spare me the awful details of her untimely demise.'
'It was more the demise of the lupers, your majesty'
'The lupers?' Septimus glared at the man. 'What lupers?'
'The ones that attacked the caravan.'
'Lupers attacked the caravan? But . . . what of the Brigands?'
'Brigands, your majesty?'
'Yes. Didn't you say that she had been attacked by—?' Septimus checked himself with a jolt of alarm. No, nobody had actually mentioned Brigands. Bad move. He was aware of the eyes of the courtiers burning into him. 'Oh, lupers! You know, I could have sworn you said Brigands. They, er . . . they have a similar sound, do they not?'
The soldier was staring up at him blankly. He clearly didn't think so. But Septimus pressed on regardless.
'Now then, let me get this straight. You're telling me that Princess Kerin . . . my poor beloved niece . . . has been killed by lupers?'
'No, your majesty.'
Septimus winced. He glared down at the man. 'Then what the blue blazes are you telling me, you imbecile?'
The soldier flinched. 'Your majesty, I am telling you that Princess Kerin was attacked by a pack of lupers—'
'Yes, yes, so she was ripped to shreds! That's terrible, terrible!'
'My lord, she wasn't harmed. She has survived and is alive and well.'
'Oh, the tragedy, the . . . the . . .' Septimus's face went through a whole series of contortions as he tried to find an appropriate expression for the news. He initially went for the look of sadness that he had been practising upstairs. Then, realizing it was totally wrong, he tried for one of relieved delight, baring his teeth and popping his eyes; but judging by the way the soldier flinched away from him, what he had actually managed was an expression of total insanity.
'Alive?' he screamed. 'Alive! I . . . I can hardly believe it!' He looked around at the courtiers, aware now that his eyes were filling with tears of frustration. 'Look at me!' he cried. 'I'm so pleased I'm actually weeping tears of joy!'
He returned his attention to the messenger. 'So how did the . . . how did my beloved niece come to survive?'
'She was rescued, your majesty. By two travellers. The self same men who rescued her from the Brigands you spoke of.'
Septimus felt like kicking the man in the teeth, but this really wasn't the time or place. 'I spoke of no Brigands. That was you!'
'Er . . . no, your majesty. I spoke of lupers; you—'
'So where is my niece now?' bellowed Septimus, drowning out the irritating whine of the man's voice.
'She approaches the palace, your majesty, under armed escort. And, of course, bringing her saviours with her.'
'Oh, then I . . . I must make ready to . . .' He clenched his fists and made an effort to control himself. 'To receive them,' he hissed. He walked past the messenger, taking the opportunity as he did so to 'accidentally' stand on the fingers of the man's hand, feeling a satisfying crunching sensation under his foot. He addressed the court. 'Make ready for a celebration!' he announced. 'My niece, your future queen, is shortly to be returned to us, safe and well, on this most special of days . . . her birthday. We will meet them in the courtyard with all due pomp and ceremony. Now I must away to my chambers to, er . . . umm . . . dress for the occasion!'
Sebastian Darke: Prince of Fools Page 9
