He strode back, stepping on the messenger's other hand as he passed. He swept up the marble staircase and was aware of Malthus trailing along in his wake. He turned and glared at the man. 'What do you want?' he snapped.
'Umm . . . I come to attend your royal highness,' said Malthus. 'To prepare you for—'
'I'm a big boy now, Malthus. I'll see to myself.' He started away, but then paused as a thought occurred to him. 'The soldier who just brought the message . . ,'
'Yes, sire?'
'I think he should be rewarded for bearing such good tidings, don't you? See that he's promoted to the rank of Captain. With immediate effect.'
'Very well, sire.'
'And send him to join our expeditionary forces in the swamps of Dysenterium.'
'Er . . . but, your majesty, that's hardly . . .'
'Hmm?'
Malthus swallowed hard. He knew well enough that King Septimus was not a person who tolerated having his decisions questioned.
'That's actually very convenient,' said Malthus brightly. 'I understand that the last captain just died of some festering infection in his guts.' He turned away and went back down the stairs to break the good news to the messenger, who was kneeling below, whimpering in pain as he inspected the crushed and broken fingers of his hands.
Septimus meanwhile had a pressing engagement. He reached the top landing, and instead of turning right for his chambers, he headed left into a rarely used part of the palace. He strode along a dimly lit corridor looking for Magda.
He found her in her chamber, leaning over a table, pouring some foul mixture into a receptacle made from an upturned human skull. She was intent on her work and Septimus was in no mood for niceties, so by way of greeting he launched a kick at her skinny backside, sending her tumbling across the table and scattering her latest experiment all over the floor.
She turned like a beast at bay, an expression of anger on her wizened old face, her one good eye glittering with malice as she bared the few brown stumps of teeth left in her mouth. She lifted a gnarled, liver-spotted hand to make a hex sign at her assailant. Then she recognized who had just kicked her and all the malice went out of her in an instant. She attempted an unconvincing smile. 'Your majesty,' she croaked. 'This is an . . . unexpected pleasure.'
'The pleasure is all yours,' he assured her, leaning across the table and fixing her with a look of profound anger. 'You stupid malodorous old hag! I've just spoken with a messenger. Princess Kerin lives!'
'Ah.' Magda could not conceal a look of dismay. 'He is sure?'
'Positive. It seems she survived the attack by Brigands and a later one by a pack of lupers, all thanks to the intervention of two travellers.'
'Travellers?' Magda sniffed suspiciously. 'What travellers?'
'How should I know? Two super-warriors, by the sound of it. Two interfering nit-wits.' He paced around for a moment in silent agitation. T take it you had no hand in the business with the lupers?'
'No. Not a bad idea, though. Wish I'd thought of it.'
'Well, it would have been to no avail, thanks to these two meddling do-gooders, who no doubt I will now have to welcome with open arms. Oh, it makes me want to vomit! All that time in preparation! Trust me, you said. It can't fail, your majesty! Well, it did fail, and I'm no closer to getting rid of my one rival for the throne! I should have followed my instincts and had her killed here in the palace.'
'But, my lord, that would have been a terrible mistake. Never forget that she is the people's princess. They love her. The slightest indication of anything nefarious and they would rise against you!'
Septimus sighed. She was right, of course. One of the really annoying things about Magda was that she was generally right. It was the main reason he hadn't had her boiled in oil years ago. It was she who had pointed out that anything that befell Princess Kerin must happen away from the palace, when Septimus was not present to invite suspicion.
It was she who had persuaded him to send Kerin off to visit Queen Helena of Bodengen, under the pretext of marrying her off to her son Rolf. It was Magda who had sent one of her minions into Brigandia to spread word of a vulnerable carriage that would soon be crossing the plains, carrying rich pickings. And it was Magda who had arranged for a fiendish potion to be given to the guard of honour in their nightly ration of wine; one that would incapacitate more than half of them, meaning that the caravan would have to head for home with its troop of guards well under fighting strength. And the lure that would ensure she would risk a quick return? Her seventeenth birthday party. There was no way such a spoiled brat would risk missing that.
The whole scheme had taken months to prepare and weeks to execute and now, because of the interference of two unknown warriors, it had all come to nothing. King Septimus felt like spitting; and indeed, he did just that, right in the corner of Magda's room.
'Oh!' he said. 'Is there nothing I can do? Can nobody rid me of that accursed child?'
Magda was rubbing her gnarled old hands together, as though trying to clean them. 'Perhaps, sire, if you would allow me another chance—'
'I think you've had quite enough chances, you malignant old boiler! You remember what I said when you undertook this task? That if you failed, your miserable life would be forfeit.'
Magda's good eye had turned the colour of panic, but she never faltered in her reply
'I . . . do remember, your majesty, of course. But you see, I think perhaps now the tide is finally turning in our favour.'
He gave her an irritated look. 'Meaning . . . ?'
'Two strangers, sire, soon to arrive here in Keladon. Strangers can be a useful commodity.'
'I haven't the faintest idea what you're on about,' he growled.
She gave him a twisted smile. 'Strangers can be blamed for certain things. Since there is nobody who knows them and can vouch for them, people are often willing to believe the very worst about them – if you catch my drift . . . ?'
'Magda, if this is an attempt to play for time—'
'Oh no, your majesty! But please, let me get the measure of these two great warriors. I think I will be able to find a solution to our little problem soon enough.' She began to pace around the room as she warmed to her theme. 'You, for your part, must welcome them as conquering heroes. Spoil them, let them want for nothing, indulge them in their every desire!'
'And why would I do that, exactly?'
'Because then it will be all the more shocking when they turn and bite the hand that has fed them!' She cackled as only a hag can cackle.
'Oh, very well,' said Septimus wearily. 'We'll try it your way. But I mean it this time. No more chances. If you don't deliver on your promises, I swear you will feel the edge of the executioner's axe. And not with your thumb.'
Magda fluttered her eyelid and tried to keep the relief out of her voice. 'Of course, sire. Your humble servant, as ever.' She bowed low and stayed in that position until Septimus got bored with standing there and swept out of the room. Only then did she straighten up, placing a hand on her aching backside, where the king's boot had undoubtedly left quite a bruise.
She was all too aware of the vulnerability of her position. She would have to conclude this matter once and for all if she wanted to live. She had been threatened by King Septimus several times before; but this time, she felt sure, he really meant it. She started at the sound of a mighty trumpet fanfare from out in the courtyard and limped to the window to watch the arrival of the two heroic strangers and the rescued princess.
Even before the caravan had entered the gates, her devious mind was drawing up a plan of action . . .
CHAPTER 13
IN KELADON
The mighty iron gates of the city swung silently open and Max hesitated for a moment before a slap of the reins against his haunches urged him forward.
The caravan moved slowly inside, passing the fierce-looking, heavily armed warriors who guarded the gates. Some of them stood at floor level, others were ranged at intervals on a wooden platform that jutted o
ut from the top of the encircling walls, ready to repel any attack that might be launched against the city. Off to one side stood the mighty timber mechanism that opened and closed the gates. This was operated by two massive buffalopes, chained into leather harnesses. Max snorted at the sight of them and gave the creatures a friendly toss of his head.
'Lovely day!' he observed, but they either didn't hear him or were in no mood to make conversation, so he moved on.
Ahead lay a broad avenue, flanked by long rows of merchants' stalls selling fabrics, spices, cooking utensils, tools, weapons – everything you could possibly think of. Crowds of people milled back and forth around the stalls, many of them throwing suspicious looks at Sebastian's caravan, some yelling out jocular greetings at the prospect of some entertainment. Prosperous-looking businessmen in richly jewelled cloaks strolled around trying to look important. Women in full-length dresses, many of them modestly veiled, walked a respectful distance behind their menfolk. And children – great gangs of ragged, dirty-faced urchins – were running here and there as they tried to beg coins from the populace.
Princess Kerin's carriage came into view and everything seemed to freeze. The people stopped what they were doing and bowed their heads in a gesture of silent respect. Many of them even went down on one knee as she passed by. It was clear that she was held in very high esteem. Once the carriage had moved past them, they fell into step behind it and followed, curious to see what this was all about.
Sebastian had never seen so many people together in one place before. Jerabim was a sizeable market town, but nothing like this. As he looked left and right, beyond the merchants' stalls, he saw that scores of labyrinthine alley?ways led off between the ranks of tightly clustered buildings and he glimpsed shadowy figures moving in there; dark shambling creatures that seemed to hide from the glare of the sun. Sebastian had an impression that there were two parts to the city – the grand, gleaming aspect that was presented to the world; and a darker, more sinister part that hid in the shadows and waited for the unwary.
Strange discordant music spilled from a cafe as they passed by, and he saw many prosperous-looking men sitting under a roof of vines, smoking huge pipes which passed into gleaming metal bowls. A small orchestra was playing and a woman was dancing on a stage, her lithe, sinewy body gleaming beneath a shimmering layer of oil. She moved with a strange, hypnotic allure and Sebastian noticed that the eyes of every man in the cafe were riveted to her as though they were under some kind of spell.
The caravan moved on, leaving the cafe behind, and they rounded a slow curve in the road. Now a really awesome sight lay directly ahead of them at the far end of the avenue. The road inclined steadily upwards to the marble palace of King Septimus. Even at this distance it looked impressive, its marble columns shimmering in the sunlight, its massive curved archways and gold minarets like something out of a fever dream.
'It's even more beautiful than I had supposed,' murmured Cornelius. 'Imagine how rich the king must be to have a palace like that!'
Sebastian nodded, but made no reply. He was feeling very small and insignificant at this moment. What had he been thinking of, coming here? What hope did he have of gaining the patronage of such a mighty king? The best thing for him to do right now would be to turn the caravan round and head for home.
Cornelius must have sensed his terror. 'Cheer up,' he said. 'You'll be fine! Just remember, believe in yourself.'
Sebastian forced a smile and nodded; but he didn't have any faith in his own abilities, not one shred.
As they drew closer to the palace, an unseen bell started tolling, and Sebastian could now see the fine green lawns that surrounded the building and the huge stone fountains, from which water cascaded in a magical, unending supply. He had never seen their like before. In Jerabim, where water was regarded as a precious commodity, such a thing would have been unthinkable.
Finally, after what seemed an age, they pulled to a halt at the bottom of a short flight of stone steps, which led up to a broad sweep of gleaming courtyard. As they did so, a group of armed soldiers wearing deep red cloaks came marching through the palace doors and ranged themselves in a line across the doorway. They pulled out their swords and held them crossed over their breastplates, ready to use them at the slightest provocation.
'The Crimson Cloak,' whispered Cornelius. 'The king's bodyguard.'
Then, through the palace entrance filed a whole crowd of illustrious-looking people: men and women, the lords and ladies of the royal court, dressed in rich brocade and soft, brightly coloured velvet. Many of the men wore turbans and the women were veiled with fine, translucent fabric. Everyone wore jewels at their necks and on their fingers. The large group divided itself in two with practised ease and moved left and right, where they stood inspecting the new arrivals with disapproving looks on their faces. Sitting up in the caravan, Sebastian remembered that his jester's outfit was torn and dirty and spattered with blood. He wished he'd thought to change into something more presentable before entering the city.
Now a shrill fanfare echoed through the still air and six bearded warriors came out through the doors, blowing on golden trumpets. They also split into two groups and ranged themselves left and right behind the lords and ladies.
'What a performance!' said Sebastian.
'Quiet!' snapped a voice, and he glanced up to see Captain Tench, still sitting astride his equine a short distance away and looking at him in a very surly manner. 'Climb down from there,' he added and Sebastian and Cornelius did as they were told. As Sebastian turned back to face the palace, he saw that one more figure was moving out through the open doorway.
It was a tall, lean man dressed in a splendid purple gown, over which, despite the heat, he was wearing a thick fur robe. At the sight of him, every one of the lords and ladies went down on one knee, and he strolled between them with all the arrogance of a man who is well used to such subservience. He came forward to the edge of the steps, and his bodyguards parted and shuffled to either side to allow him to pass. He stood there, his hands on his hips, looking down at Sebastian and Cornelius, a questioning look on his thin, pale face.
Sebastian felt an instant twinge of dislike. Perhaps it was his elf intuition working overtime, but he thought that King Septimus had one of the most untrustworthy faces he had ever seen.
Cornelius immediately dropped to one knee and slammed a chain-mail-clad elbow into Sebastian's leg, prompting him to do the same. The king seemed happier with this state of affairs. He gazed left and right, as though looking for somebody.
'Where is my niece?' he asked.
'Here, Uncle!' Princess Kerin appeared in the doorway of her carriage, and Sebastian saw that she had taken the opportunity to change her clothes. She wore a beautiful red velvet gown and a fine jewelled tiara that glittered in the sunlight. She stepped down from the carriage and walked across to climb the steps that led up to the courtyard. As she passed Sebastian, she glanced down at him and he could have sworn that she slipped him a sly wink, but it was so fleeting, he might simply have imagined it. She walked over to her uncle and gave him an elegant curtsy.
'Your majesty,' she said.
'My dear niece! How wonderful to see you safe and well on this most special of days.' The king came forward and embraced Princess Kerin, holding her to him for a moment and then releasing her. He turned to face the crowd that was gathering around the edges of the steps and raised his voice to speak to them.
'People of Keladon,' he cried. 'May providence be praised! Our much-loved princess has been safely returned to us on the very day that she reaches seventeen summers. Just one more year and she will be your queen!'
This announcement was met by a huge roar of approval from the rapidly expanding crowd. The king turned back to Princess Kerin and spoke in a quieter tone. 'After hearing of your misfortune, I have done nothing but chastise myself. How could I have been so stupid as to allow you to be placed in such a dangerous situation? Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?'
Sebastian Darke: Prince of Fools Page 10
