Sebastian Darke: Prince of Fools

by Philip Caveney

  She seemed unconvinced by this. 'Perhaps you're worried about tonight,' she said.

  'Well . . . yes, you know how it is. New venue, new audience. You never really know what to expect.'

  'I suppose you've appeared in lots of grand places.'

  'Oh . . . a few,' he agreed; and hoped that she wouldn't ask him to name any of them.

  'Are all jesters like you?' she asked.

  'I don't know. I've never met any. Apart from my father, of course. And he was human.' They sat there in an uneasy silence for a moment, staring at a painting on the end wall, which appeared to depict a group of jubilant soldiers setting fire to a temple, while in the background a line of priests were being lined up for execution. Princess Kerin seemed to be waiting for something, and once again Sebastian experienced an irrational desire to kiss her; but he told himself that it was hardly his place to be kissing princesses. He turned to look at her.

  'Princess, may I ask you a question?'

  'Of course.'

  'You promise you won't get angry?'

  'I can't say until I've heard the question, can I?'

  'No . . .' Sebastian looked down at his feet for a while, noticing how scuffed and worn his boots were. Then he took a deep breath. 'Your uncle . . . King Septimus. Do you . . . Well, do you trust him?'

  'Of course I do!' She stared at him. 'Why do you ask?'

  'Well, only because . . . some people would say that he might enjoy being King of Keladon and . . . he might not want to hand power over to somebody else. Even his own niece.'

  She grimaced. 'Yes, but Uncle Septimus has always known that he would rule only for a time, just until I was old enough. There was never any question. And after my parents died he was so kind to me, so thoughtful . . .'

  'Umm . . . yes. That was the other thing. I hope you don't mind me asking, but how did your parents die?'

  The princess stared at him for a moment as though she was shocked by his question. Perhaps nobody had ever dared to touch on the subject before. Sebastian realized he was once again in danger of upsetting her, but it was too late to with?draw the question. Princess Kerin seemed to think about it for a long time before she answered.

  'They were murdered,' she said in a very small voice. 'They were given poisoned wine to drink.'

  'And it never occurred to you that perhaps your uncle—?'

  'It didn't even happen here,' she interrupted him. 'But in Bodengen. They were guests of King Valshak, who was the ruler at that time; they were there to approve an alliance between our two countries. At the feast somebody gave them poisoned wine and they were dead in moments. Uncle Septimus wasn't even with them – he was back here at the palace and learned of their death at the same time as I did.'

  T see.' Sebastian felt quite wretched now for having voiced his suspicions.

  'My parents came home in two coffins. I was thirteen years old at the time. We mourned them and buried them, and Uncle Septimus was declared King until I was of age. His first act as monarch was to declare war against Bodengen; a war that lasted until recently, when Queen Helena came to the throne. Now Uncle Septimus is keen to revive the alliance that was planned all those years ago. Which is why my first act as monarch will be to marry Queen Helena's son, Rolf.'

  Sebastian stared at her. 'What?' he said. 'Rolf? Rolf with the missing teeth and the sloping forehead?'

  She nodded, not looking him in the eyes. 'Yes,' she said. 'That Rolf.'

  'But . . . you aren't going to go through with that, are you? I mean, you said yourself that you didn't like him.'

  'What has that got to do with anything?' she asked him crossly. 'Do you think I have any say in the matter? Marrying him will be my duty, performed for the good of my country.'

  'But that's terrible!' Sebastian got up from the bed and paced around the room in agitation, hardly believing what she had just told him. 'My mother always says that there's only one reason to marry somebody and that's because you are in love with them.'

  Princess Kerin sighed. 'That's all well and good for ordinary people,' she said. 'But for ones like myself, nothing is ever as straightforward. Besides, as I told you the other day, I don't believe in love. The only people I ever cared for were taken from me when I was a child. There's nobody else in the picture.'

  Sebastian frowned. 'Maybe you haven't looked properly,' he said.

  She sat there for a long time in silence, regarding him with those deep green eyes. Then she got up from the bed, came over to him and kissed him gently on the cheek. 'For luck,' she said.

  There was a silence and they stood there gazing at each other, as something unspoken passed between them. Sebastian knew in that moment that she did feel something for him, but that it would almost certainly never come to anything.

  'I'd better go now,' she said. 'Here, Tiddles, good boy!' The boobah climbed obediently back down the bedpost and jumped onto her shoulder. She started for the door, then hesitated for a moment and looked back at him.

  'You know,' she added, 'I prefer it when you are telling your jokes and stories. It's so much less complicated.' She smiled sadly. 'I'll see you tonight.' She went out of the room, closing the door behind her. Sebastian stayed where he was for a moment, gazing at the door, hoping . . . perhaps expecting that she would come back again.

  But time passed and she didn't return. So he walked over to the desk, remembering the message for his mother. He reached for the pull-cord and rang the bell to summon the servant.

  Magda was still peering out of her chamber window when the king came storming back in and kicked her up the back?side a second time. She turned with a yelp, terrified to see that the anger he had displayed previously had been just the beginning. Now he was absolutely livid.

  'My face hurts!' he growled, staring down at her.

  'I beg your pardon, your majesty? I'm afraid I don't—'

  The king lifted two fingers to point at the corners of his own mouth. 'It's where I've been grinning like an imbecile,' he said. 'Being nice to that brat of a princess. Giving her a very expensive gift, which I had intended to keep for myself; and worse, welcoming those three . . . filthy tramps down

  there. One of them was a jester. You know my history with jesters, Magda. But no, I had to greet him with open arms!' He began to pace up and down, his face set in an expression of total revulsion.

  'Your majesty, I think I—'

  'And if that wasn't bad enough, I had to watch my champion being knocked down by some short-arsed warrior who doesn't look big enough to be let out of sight of his mother!'

  'If you would just—'

  'And finally . . . finally . . .' The king was now so incensed that Magda half expected to see steam coming out his ears. 'Finally, I have to stand there like a fool, while demands are made upon me by a . . . a' – he could hardly bring himself to say the word – 'a buffalope! A stinking, filthy fleabag of a beast which thinks it can treat me as some kind of servant. I mean, what is the world coming to? Have I gone mad?'

  He was leaning forward over Magda now, his face purple, his teeth bared, his eyes bulging. He had never looked angrier or more terrifying. She was almost too afraid to say anything, but was more fearful of the consequences of not convincing him that she could rescue the situation.

  'Your majesty, if you would just allow me to speak . . .' she ventured.

  He folded his arms across his chest and stood there waiting. 'Well?' he asked her.

  'I . . . I realize how much it must have cost you to be agree?able to those people. But you managed it very well. And now everyone in your court has seen you welcome them.' She lifted a skinny finger and waved it in the air. 'So the foundation of our little deception is in place.' She began to edge towards the door. 'And it simply remains for me to find the weak spot; the opening we shall exploit to make the people think that the strangers are evil.'

  King Septimus scowled. 'And how exactly will we achieve that?' he asked her.

  'Er . . . well . . . at this precise moment, your majesty I'm not too s
ure of that final element.'

  'You what?'

  The anger was bubbling back to the surface and Magda very wisely decided to make herself scarce. 'But I will be sure just as soon as I have spoken to the jester!' She was going out of the door now, moving with surprising speed for one so ancient. The king glanced around quickly and noticed a heavy bronze drinking goblet on a nearby table. In one swift movement, he scooped it up and flung it after her, through the open doorway. He was rewarded with a dull clunk and a gasp of pain. The goblet clattered unseen onto the stone floor, but after a slight pause he heard the old woman hobbling away down the staircase.

  Septimus scowled and prowled over to look out of the window. The people had moved away from the palace steps now and were drifting back towards the marketplace. With some satisfaction, he saw that the messenger who had brought him the news of Princess Kerin's survival was sitting on the steps, cradling his head in his injured fingers. No doubt news of his 'promotion' had just reached him. King Septimus couldn't be sure, but from up here he got the distinct impression that the man was weeping like a child.

  It wasn't much but it lightened the king's mood considerably . . .

  CHAPTER 17

  THE ROYAL STABLES

  After the servant girl had collected his letter, Sebastian found that he couldn't relax and he began to feel more and more nervous about the evening's performance. So he made his way downstairs and asked one of the guards to direct him to the royal stables.

  It was behind the palace, set in the midst of some beautiful lush gardens, where more of those incredible fountains splashed their never-ending supplies of water into stone basins.

  The stable gates were open and Sebastian went in. On either side of a broad, straw-covered avenue, rows of spacious stalls held some of the most splendid-looking equines he had ever seen: proud, spirited creatures with finely arched necks and flared nostrils. He was just thinking that they made odd stable partners for Max when he heard the familiar doleful voice droning away from a stall down at the far end of the building. It was merely a matter of following the sound, which got progressively louder as he approached.

  ' . . . so there I was, facing down two huge lupers, both of them slavering at the jaws and ready to tear me to pieces. But they had reckoned without my inbred courage and determination. A twist of my horns and a kick of my back legs and they ran whimpering through the forest, completely vanquished.'

  Sebastian ducked his head round the entrance of the final stall and saw Max, lounging on a bed of deep clean straw. His words were directed at a small and rather fat mule, who just stood there looking at him blankly.

  'I don't like to boast,' continued Max, 'but we buffalopes are known for our tenacity; and my family more than most. Why, it's said that even at a young age, I was able to—'

  Max broke off as he registered the sound of a polite cough from behind him. 'Ah, here's my young master now!' he said. 'Osbert, may I introduce Sebastian Darke, Prince of Fools and King of Jesters?'

  The mule looked over at Sebastian and bared his teeth in a goofy grin. "Allo!' he said. 'Osbert much pleased to meet jester man!'

  Max gave Sebastian a knowing look. 'Osbert's not the most erudite of companions, but he's the only one here who's actually deigned to talk to me.' He nodded his horned head at the stalls further along the building. 'That lot are all far too stuck up to give me the time of day,' He huffed. 'It's their loss,' he added.

  'Their loss,' echoed Osbert. 'Posh twerps.'

  Sebastian smiled at Max. 'So how have you settled in?' he asked. 'I trust your dinner was up to scratch?'

  'Can't complain,' admitted Max, sounding almost disappointed at the fact. 'They serve a very nice oatmeal with bee's-gold sweetening; and plenty of fresh fruit. Mind you, after that journey, I deserve a bit of feeding up.' He glanced at his companion. 'Osbert has been showing me how things are done around here. He's the army mascot, apparently.'

  'Me army good-luck charm,' said Osbert, with evident pride. 'When soldiers march on parade, Osbert go too. It bad luck if anything happen to Osbert. So me well looked after!' Saying so much seemed to have momentarily exhausted him. T go lie down,' he concluded and strolled out of the stall.

  Max gazed after him for a moment, then lowered his voice considerably. 'A nice enough fellow but not much going on in the old noggin. Doesn't have a lot to say for himself.'

  'Unlike you,' observed Sebastian. 'I think that as I came in, I heard the unmistakable sound of you blowing your own trumpet.'

  'Well, you have to make your own entertainment here. It would be a long day indeed without any conversation.'

  'Perhaps.' Sebastian gazed around the interior of the stables. 'I must say, this is rather grand. Better appointed than our house back in Jerabim. I don't suppose you know where they stored the caravan, do you? I need some fresh clothes for this evening's performance.'

  'It's along here.' Max got back to his feet. 'I'll go with you.'

  'Oh, don't disturb yourself,' said Sebastian mockingly. 'I wouldn't want you to strain anything.'

  'You're developing a sarcastic streak,' said Max disdain?fully. 'It is ill-becoming in one of such tender years.' He led the way out of the stalls and Sebastian followed. 'Feeling confident, are we?' asked Max. 'Only I rather like being here – I wouldn't want anything to happen that might change it—'

  'I'm sure I'll be fine,' said Sebastian grimly. 'But thanks for your vote of confidence.'

  'Now stop taking everything as a personal affront. I was only saying . . .'

  They had reached a large storage bay at the far end of the stables, and there stood Sebastian's caravan.

  'Here it is, safe and sound,' announced Max. 'It's lucky I'm so close. I've been able to keep an eye on it.'

  'Hmm.' Sebastian wasn't convinced. He noted that the wooden tailgate was down – he was sure it hadn't been when he'd left it. Sure enough, as he came nearer, he heard the soft sounds of movement from within, and one hand went instinctively to the handle of his sword. He stepped onto the tailgate and peeped inside the jumbled interior. A short, cloaked figure was bent over a container of props, searching through its contents with two gnarled hands.

  'Who are you?' demanded Sebastian angrily. 'What are you doing in my caravan?'

  The figure jolted round, revealing an ancient, wizened face, one eye no more than a white sightless blob. As Sebastian stared at it, the face broke into a hideous, gap-toothed grimace, which was probably intended to be a smile, but which in the gloom of the caravan's interior was absolutely terrifying. Max gave a snort of fear and shrank back from the steps. Sebastian began to pull his sword from its sheath, but paused as the creature spoke to him.

  'Fear not, young master, it is only I, Magda, adviser to King Septimus.'

  'What do you want here?' asked Sebastian.

  'The king bade me come down and, er . . . ensure that you have everything you need for tonight's performance.'

  Sebastian was unconvinced. 'If that's the case, wouldn't you have been better off coming to my chambers?' he said.

  'Oh, well, I . . . thought I'd find you down here . . . making preparations.' Magda's spindly fingers gestured at the various props and costumes that hung in the crowded interior. 'I must say, you have a fine collection of equipment. I couldn't help noticing this.' The fingertips brushed against the side of a large upright wooden cabinet that was secured against one wall.

  'Oh, the disappearing cabinet,' said Sebastian without enthusiasm. 'Yes, my father used that in his act, but I—'

  'You are a magician?' Magda seemed quite excited at this news.