Sebastian Darke: Prince of Fools

by Philip Caveney

  'You call that living? Serving a master you don't respect? Somebody who you know is evil.'

  Malthus shrugged. 'I admit, it doesn't sound like a dream job,' he said. 'But it's still an improvement on having my head stuck on a pole. I'm sorry, Mr Darke, but there it is.' He turned to leave.

  'Wait!' said Sebastian, getting up from the bench and walking over to the bars. 'At least do me one favour. Take a message to my buffalope, Max, in the royal stables. Tell him what's happened to me.'

  'He'll know soon enough,' said Malthus. 'The king has organized a free feast for everyone who attends the execution tomorrow. Roast buffalope is always very popular at such events.'

  Sebastian stared at Malthus. 'Oh no!' he said. 'Not Max. He's done nothing wrong. Why would anybody hurt a poor dumb animal like him.'

  'Not exactly dumb,' said Malthus, walking back along the corridor. 'He's an animal that can speak and who knows who he might talk to? You honestly think the king is going to risk him blabbing?' He turned back towards the stone steps. 'Guard! Let me out, please!'

  'Malthus, wait! Come back – please!'

  But Malthus climbed the steps up to the heavy wooden door and didn't pause to look back. The door opened and slammed shut behind him. Sebastian returned to his bench and slumped miserably back down on it, his head in his hands. Somehow he felt worse about Max than anything else. He would be terrified when they led him out to be slaughtered. He was a brave and noble companion. All right, so he did tend to complain a lot, but even so . . .

  And then Sebastian thought about his mother and he wondered how long it would take for the news to reach her that her only son was dead. Perhaps she would never learn of his fate, but would wait for his return through all the long, lonely years, until old age carried her away.

  It was no use. He couldn't hold back the tears any longer and he was just glad that there was nobody around to see him crying.

  CHAPTER 22

  SLENDER HOPE

  Once again Princess Kerin seemed to be floating in a deep, warm lagoon, drifting lazily along, propelling herself with the occasional flick of a foot. Above her she could see the rippled surface of the water and knew that if she reached up one hand, she could break through to the air above. But she felt so warm, so sleepy, she had no energy to rise up through the depths.

  Then a sound came to her – a voice, oddly familiar, but shattered into a series of incomprehensible noises by the weight of the water in her ears. She made a supreme effort and propelled herself upwards. Her head broke the surface and she lay still for a moment, blinking uncertainly around her.

  She wasn't anywhere near a lagoon. She appeared to be lying on straw in some kind of wagon, rough wooden walls rising on four sides of her. She tried to sit up, but didn't seem to have any strength in her arms and legs. Instead, she managed to turn her head to one side and felt the gentle touch of air on her cheek. She was inches from a small knot?hole in the wood and through the hole came that familiar voice, easier to understand now that she had temporarily shrugged off her unconsciousness.

  ' . . . all I'm saying, Osbert, is that it shows you how little he cares about me. I mean to say, he actually threw the thing at me, bounced it right off my head! All right, so it didn't exactly hurt, but it's not nice to be treated like that.'

  'Max?' Princess Kerin struggled to align one eye with the hole in the wood. In the gloom beyond, she could see a huge horned head, nodding as it continued to speak.

  'How would you like it, Osbert, if one of your soldiers marched in here and bashed you on the head with a—?'

  'Max!' Princess Kerin managed to find the strength to put some urgency in her voice. She saw the buffalope flinch and turn his head to look towards the wagon.

  'Who's there?' he asked.

  'It's a ghost!' cried another voice. 'Osbert not like ghosts! Osbert leave!' There was the thud of small hooves on the ground outside.

  'Osbert!' chided Max. 'Don't be silly, it's just—' He broke off, puzzled, and moved closer to the wagon. A moment later his warm wet nose was snuffling at the knothole. 'Who is that?' he asked suspiciously.

  'It . . . is I . . . Princess Kerin . . .'

  'Princess? What on earth are you doing in a—?'

  'No time!' gasped Princess Kerin. 'Can't stay . . . awake . . . drugged.'

  'Drugged? This is an outrage! Who would do a thing like—?'

  'Max! Please listen! They have kidnapped me. They are taking me to . . . to Brigandia. They are going to sell me as . . . a slave.' Princess Kerin could feel a fresh wave of un?consciousness sweeping towards her like a wave, threatening to swamp her once again. 'You must tell . . . Sebastian,' she whispered. 'And Corn . . . Corn . . . eli—'

  And then the warm wave crashed down over her and she sank once again, deep beneath the surface of the lagoon, into a sleep from which she could not escape.

  'Princess? Princess, speak to me! Who has kidnapped you?'

  Max stood there looking at the cattle wagon in agitation, wondering if he had the strength to smash through the wooden walls. But what would be the point if the princess was drugged? She wouldn't be able to help herself. No, he needed to find Sebastian, but even that was no easy task. For a start, somebody had closed the stable gates for the night; and even if he could get out of here, a buffalope could hardly go wandering through the palace looking for his master.

  He was just pondering the dilemma when the main gates at the top of the stables creaked open. Two men entered and came walking up the central aisle towards the wagon. One was short and hunched, with dirty hair and a scruffy beard. The second was a huge, cruel-looking man with a shaved head and a long drooping moustache. He pointed into one of the stalls.

  'Hitch up those equines,' he said, 'and be quick about it. I want to be on our way as soon as possible.' He noticed Max standing by the wagon and gave him a suspicious look. 'What's that ugly brute doing there?'

  Max opened his mouth to say, 'Look who's talking!' But something prompted him to keep quiet. The man looked hard, dangerous, capable of anything. So Max just stood where he was, gazing back at him. The man's companion emerged from the stall, leading two heavy equines by their halters.

  'Oh, it's just an old buffalope, Master Kasim. I wouldn't worry about him.'

  But Kasim wasn't so easily persuaded. 'I'm not so sure. Some of them can talk, you know.'

  The little man laughed dismissively. 'I've encountered a few who've managed to pick up the odd word, but nothing you'd write home about.'

  Kasim shook his head. He reached for the curved scabbard at his side and slid out his sword with a bright hiss of steel. 'Better not take the risk,' he said. 'It won't take a moment to make sure he never speaks again.'

  Max swallowed hard but tried to keep his expression blank. If this man suspected for a moment that he could understand every word, he was finished.

  'I don't know if we should kill him,' argued the little man. 'This is the royal stables. He might be a favourite of the king.'

  'What, a stinking old creature like that?' Kasim was studying Max's expression, as though searching for any sign of recognition. 'What would the king want with a buffalope?'

  The little man shrugged. 'He's in here, isn't he? There must be a reason. Most of the common livestock are kept out in the stockades.'

  'Hmm.' Kasim held out his sword until the point was inches from Max's throat. 'Well,' he murmured in a soft, silky tone, 'what do you say, Mr Buffalope? Can you talk?'

  There was a long silence while Max steeled himself for what he knew he had to do. It was almost more than he could bear, but it was a necessary deception if he was to live long enough to help the princess. He opened his mouth and let out a long, stupid sound.

  'Mooooooooo!' he said.

  The two men stared at him for a few moments; and then they both burst out laughing.

  'Oh yes, a real intellectual,' chuckled Kasim. T don't think we need to worry about him.' He slapped Max across the rump with the flat of his sword and Max put his head down
and trotted away towards the end of the stables, where he noticed that the men had left the door open. He glanced back and saw that they were busy hitching the equines up to the wagon. He edged forward and peered out of the open doors, across the stretches of carefully tended lawns at the back of the palace. This was his opportunity, he decided.

  And he stepped out into the night.

  As Cornelius approached the mighty wooden gates of the city, the voice of a lookout on the walls above called down to him.

  'Who goes there, friend or foe?'

  'Friend!' shouted Cornelius, reining in Phantom and gazing up to the parapets. 'Captain Cornelius Drummel of the Crimson Cloak.'

  There was a long silence and Cornelius wondered at the wisdom of riding straight up to the gates like this. Supposing the king had issued orders to have him killed on sight. But no, he reasoned, most likely the ambush had been arranged in secret. King Septimus would not want many people to know that he had betrayed his newest recruit.

  After a few moments the voice shouted back, 'Enter, friend,' and the doors creaked slowly open. Cornelius gave Phantom's flanks a light squeeze and the pony took him on inside.

  A big ruddy-faced officer stood at the gates, smiling at him. 'You're out late,' he observed. 'Everything all right?'

  Cornelius nodded and indicated his bloody shoulder. 'Had a bit of a dust-up with some Brigands,' he said. 'One of them sliced my shoulder. I had to treat them very severely'

  The officer grinned. 'Made short work of them, did you?' He chuckled, then looked dismayed. 'Oh, look, sorry, I didn't mean . . .'

  'That's all right,' said Cornelius. He was about to say some?thing else but was interrupted by the sound of a creaking cattle wagon approaching out of the darkness, pulled by two powerful equines. A couple of villainous-looking men were sitting in the driving seat, and as the wagon approached one of the men, a bald-headed ruffian with a drooping moustache, waved a piece of paper stamped with the king's royal seal. The officer nodded and waved the wagon through, but stared after it with a look of distaste.

  'It seems they'll let anyone into Keladon these days,' he muttered. 'Those two are Brigands, if I'm not mistaken.' He waved to the men who tended the buffalopes harnessed to the machinery that operated the gates. The men turned the beasts round and set them walking in the other direction, causing the gates to swing shut again. Cornelius caught a last glimpse of the cattle wagon bumping speedily away into the night.

  'Where are they off to at this time of night?' he muttered.

  'Who knows?' said the officer. 'But we'll all sleep better in our beds for their absence.' He nodded at Cornelius's bloody shoulder. 'You'd better get over to the surgeon's tent – get a dressing on that shoulder. Looks nasty.'

  'Later,' said Cornelius. 'First I need to speak to my friend, Sebastian Darke.'

  'The jester?' The officer grimaced. 'You a friend of his? I wouldn't mention that to anyone if I were you.'

  'Why ever not?'

  'Well, you've been away, so you won't know.' The officer moved closer and lowered his voice as if to impart a secret. 'He spirited Princess Kerin away, didn't he? Made her vanish into thin air, just like that! Nobody knows what's become of her.'

  Cornelius glared at the man. 'What are you babbling about?' he snapped.

  'The jester. He's some kind of dark magician. The king's had him thrown into the dungeons. He's to be executed tomorrow morning.'

  'By Shadlog's beard! I hope you jest with me!'

  'No, I wouldn't joke about things like that. I'm trying to change my shift. Haven't seen a good execution in ages.'

  'Where are the dungeons?' demanded Cornelius.

  'I'll take you to them,' said a voice in the shadows to his left; and the officer snapped suddenly to attention and saluted. Cornelius turned his head to see Captain Tench riding towards him, his face expressionless. 'I appreciate that the jester is a friend of yours and you'll doubtless want to speak to him before he is . . . dealt with.'

  Cornelius studied the man's gaunt face for a moment and didn't trust what he saw there for an instant. But he decided to play along. 'That's very kind of you, Captain,' he said.

  'Not at all. I was going that way.' He started off along the avenue and Cornelius nudged Phantom forward to catch up with him. The two men rode together in silence for a while.

  'Looks like you've been in the wars,' said Captain Tench at last, looking down from his saddle.

  'Nothing I couldn't handle,' replied Cornelius calmly. 'Bunch of skulking cowards, lurking in ambush. It seems somebody wanted me out of the way.'

  'Really?' Tench raised his eyebrows. T can't imagine why.'

  'Perhaps some kind of treachery is afoot,' suggested Cornelius.

  'Treachery?' murmured Tench, as though unfamiliar with the word. 'How do you mean?'

  'I mean, perhaps some sneaking rat wanted to do some?thing underhand. Without my interference.'

  Tench made no reply and they rode on in silence until they reached the palace courtyard. Tench dismounted and hitched his equine to a rail. Cornelius did likewise and turned to stroke Phantom's muzzle.

  'I'll be back soon,' he whispered. Then he turned to Captain Tench, who led him across the stone flags to the main doors of the palace. A couple of armed guards saluted Tench and swung back the doors. Cornelius and Tench stepped through and their boots clumped on the smooth white marble floors.

  'I'd say you're overestimating your worth,' said Tench at last. 'What could you possibly interfere with – a little fellow like you?' He led the way through an arched opening and down a long flight of steps.

  Cornelius let the remark pass. 'Perhaps somebody thought I might try to help Sebastian,' he suggested.

  'Help him? What, to make the princess disappear, you mean?'

  Cornelius chuckled and shook his head. 'Let me tell you something,' he said. 'I know Sebastian pretty well. He wouldn't have the first idea how to make a person vanish. At least, not by magic or witchcraft.'

  'But everybody saw it happen!' protested Tench. 'The whole court was there. He put her into a magic cabinet and she vanished into thin air. Then he was unable to bring her back again.'

  'If that is what truly happened, then somebody else must have been involved,' said Cornelius. 'Sebastian adores the princess; he'd never allow any mishap to befall her.'

  They had come to a long low-ceilinged corridor. Tench allowed Cornelius to go ahead of him and pointed to a solid wooden door at the far end of it.

  There's the entrance to the dungeons,' he said. 'Golon!' he yelled. 'Open the door. The jester has a visitor.'

  There was a sound of footsteps scuffing up another flight of stone steps on the far side of the door. Then a huge bolt was drawn back and the door creaked slowly open. An ugly unshaven face peered out at Cornelius.

  'Isn't it a bit late for visitors?' growled Golon irritably. It was evident from his bleary eyes that he had just been woken from sleep. Cornelius noted a sour smell of wine on his breath.

  'Not at all,' said Captain Tench, who was still standing behind Cornelius. 'It's never too late for new customers.' There was the sudden rasp of steel as Tench's sword was unsheathed. Cornelius turned round calmly. He was not at all surprised by the turn of events. Indeed, he had been expecting something like this. 'The little man will not be visiting the jester but sharing his cell,' said Tench. 'And tomorrow we'll have a double execution.' He appraised Cornelius for a moment. 'We might need to tell them to get a smaller axe.'

  Cornelius gazed up at Tench in disgust. 'It's as I thought,' he said. 'You knew about the ambush. You probably organized it.'