by Darren Shan
At first I don’t, but then, in the external wall, I spot a small yellow lock.
“There,” I say, pointing with a trembling hand.
Inez beams, but when I don’t move, she frowns. “Go on, do your thing.”
I shake my head. “That wall overhangs the edge of the cliff. If it’s a borehole like the one below, we’ll fall to the ground if we step through.”
Inez stares at the wall, then at the cliff edge. “You can reach the lock if you lean forward,” she says.
“So what?”
“Why position it there if it was a death trap?”
I frown. “Maybe it leads to another zone.”
She makes a growling noise. “Open it.”
“But it’s a waste of time,” I argue. “We should check the other rooms.”
“Just do it,” she snaps.
I shuffle back towards the cliff edge, muttering foul things beneath my breath. When I’m close to the edge, I consider putting my hooks on, so that I can grip the earth with my feet, but then Inez pops up behind me and grabs hold of the back of my trousers. I lean forward and stretch out my fingers to explore the lock. It’s like the one I accessed from the vine, and a borehole opens less than a minute later.
“Have you got a firm hold?” I ask.
“Firmer than you deserve,” Inez says icily.
I almost bite at her, but she’s only irritated because she’s drained. Holding my tongue, I poke my head through the borehole... then pull back with a yelp.
“What is it?” Inez shouts. “What’s wrong?”
I stare at her wordlessly. With a scowl, she pushes me aside and leans through the borehole, more confident on her feet than I am, not requiring assistance. She’s smiling when she withdraws. “Look again,” she says. “It’s nothing to be scared of.”
I glance at her dubiously, but poke my head through the borehole. Logic tells me I should be gazing out over Cornan, or into another zone, but instead I’m peering back into the small room. I can’t see the clifftop, or Inez, or even my lower body — the room seems bare. I give my left leg a shake, and watch dumbly as nothing moves where I can feel it moving. “This is crazy,” I whimper.
“No,” Inez corrects me. “This is the Merge.”
Her voice echoes through the borehole, as if drifting my way from a distance.
“I can’t see you,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says, “but I bet you can feel me.” She pinches my bum.
“Hey!” I shout. “How would you like it if I did that to you?”
“I’d punch you,” she laughs. “Now get a move on.”
“What do I do? Throw myself through?”
“Yes,” she says, and when I hesitate, she pushes me.
I yell as I topple forward and land awkwardly on the floor. I start to complain, but there’s nobody to complain to. Then, as I’m picking myself up, Inez comes flying through the borehole and crashes into me, knocking me down.
“Why didn’t you get out of the way?” Inez huffs, shoving me aside.
“Why didn’t you call before you crossed?” I retort.
We glare at one another. Then our glares turn to grins. The overlap’s behind us. The cliff has disappeared. We’re in the Cuckoo’s Nest. Against all the odds, we’ve made it, and in time for the vote.
Watch out, royals — here we come!
SEVEN — THE PRINCESS
31
INEZ CRAWLS TO THE nearest wall and sits against it, eyes shut. I close the lock, to make sure no one stumbles through the borehole and over the edge of the cliff, then drag my aching body across the room and slump beside her. A few minutes pass, both of us too drained to speak.
“I can’t believe we did it,” Inez finally says.
“You didn’t think we could?”
She shakes her head without opening her eyes. “I was sure we’d fail.”
“I’m glad you didn’t tell me that before we started,” I huff.
“It wouldn’t have mattered. We had to try.” She opens her eyes and taps my leg. “And now we have to make one final push. We’ve done amazingly to get into the Cuckoo’s Nest, but we haven’t swung the vote yet. Next we have to –”
Before she can finish, the door swings open. We look up, startled. It’s a guard. He isn’t very old but his hair is almost completely grey. The four red stripes on the right shoulder of his black jacket make me suspect he’s highly ranked.
As the guard eyeballs us, a younger guard steps up next to him. He’s wearing the same coloured jacket but has only one stripe. “I told you I heard something,” the younger guard says.
“I never doubted you,” the older guard grunts and clicks his fingers. More guards spill past him, into the room, and spread out. I count eight, ten, twelve, all armed.
“So,” the young guard says, eyeing us from where he’s standing in the doorway, “whose head are we going to chop off first?”
“Wait a minute,” I yelp.
“Silence,” the guard barks, drawing a sword.
The older, grey-haired guard hasn’t drawn his weapon. He’s studying us warily, assessing his options.
“Our orders were to execute intruders on sight,” the young guard says.
“Quiet, Havel,” the older guard tuts. “I’m thinking.”
He continues to stare.
Havel awaits his commander’s decision, but when a minute passes, he clears his throat. “Dragoslav... our orders came from Farkas.”
“And his advisors,” Dragoslav growls. “Dukes Edward, Noah and the rest, always close at hand, telling our royals how to direct us.”
Havel gulps. “I don’t like it either, but he’s our king. We do what he tells us.”
“I know,” Dragoslav sighs, “but I resent it, especially when execution might not be called for. They look like a pair of lovers who snuck away for a quiet kiss.”
“Lovers?” I splutter.
Havel waves his sword at me. “I warned you to be silent!”
“We should question them,” Dragoslav says. “They might be staff.”
“They’re not wearing staff insignia,” Havel says.
“Maybe they have an explanation for that,” Dragoslav says. “And if they don’t, if they’re here to disrupt proceedings, I want to know how they got in and if there are more of them around.”
“I’d agree with you any other time,” Havel says, “but Farkas specifically told us not to question anyone we found, but to...” He makes a choking sound.
Dragoslav sighs, then scowls and prepares to sic his troops on us.
“I’m here on official business,” Inez halts him, and gets to her feet.
“You’re a guest?” Havel asks sceptically.
“No,” she says.
“You have an invite to the vote?” he sneers.
“No.”
“Then how can you be here officially?”
Inez ignores him and focuses on Dragoslav. “Take me to the throne room.”
Havel laughs with disbelief. “She’s deluded.”
“Why should I?” Dragoslav asks Inez, sounding genuinely curious.
“I’ll tell you why,” I growl, stepping up beside Inez.
“Not now, Archie,” she says with surprise and a hint of fear — she’s afraid I’ll say something to derail us.
“It’s OK.” I smile at her encouragingly. “I know.”
“Know what?” she says, confused.
“Who you are.” I lower my voice. “What you are.”
Inez stares at me blankly, but the time for charades is over. Inez is more than capable of speaking on her own behalf, but she shouldn’t have to. Someone of her standing should have an underling announce her presence.
“It’s a good job you held your men in check,” I tell Dragoslav. “There’d have been hell to pay if you’d let them stab and slice.”
“Really?” Dragoslav says with a hard smile. “And just why are you so important, my arrogant little loudmouth?”
“Me?�
� I sniff. “I don’t matter a damn. But her...” I take a step away from Inez and wave a hand in a vaguely regal kind of way. “I’m surprised you don’t recognise your own princess.”
“Archie...” Inez groans.
“My name’s Archibald Lox,” I tell the astonished guards, “and I serve Princess Ghita, who has come to cast her vote.”
With that, I bow low to Inez and wait for everyone else to follow suit and pay their respects to my friend and travelling companion... Inez Matryoshka... Ghita... the missing princess.
32
THERE’S A LONG SILENCE.
Then the guards do the last thing I was expecting.
They laugh.
I stare at them as they howl with laughter. It’s like I’ve cracked the funniest joke they’ve ever heard.
“Why are you laughing?” I shout.
“Foolish boy,” Dragoslav chuckles.
“As if we wouldn’t recognise our own princess,” Havel hoots.
“She travels a lot,” I say weakly.
“Certainly,” Havel agrees. “She’s not well-known by the public. But we’re palace guards, you idiot. We work directly with our royals. Did you think the princess never came here?”
I blink at Havel, lost for words.
“Oh, Archie,” Inez sighs.
Dragoslav stops laughing. “Unless she’s in disguise,” he murmurs, and the others stop laughing too.
“A remould?” Havel says, squinting at her.
“Speak up, girl,” Dragoslav barks. “If you claim to be our princess, we’ll summon an unraveller to verify the truth.”
“Of course she’s the princess,” I say, but I’m starting to doubt myself, because Inez’s true face has already been revealed.
“No I’m not,” Inez says, shooting me an apologetic look. “I don’t know where you picked up that idea. If that’s the reason you’ve been helping me...”
“No,” I say quickly. “But you really aren’t Princess Ghita?”
“Me, a princess?” she snorts.
I stare at Inez dumbly and feel a blush rise up my throat to my cheeks. I was so sure. She had to be the princess. But, looking back, what did I base that on? Inez never said anything to imply that she was royalty. Nobody else did either.
“I want to throw myself out a window,” I wheeze.
“Don’t be silly,” Inez says. “I just wish you’d told me sooner, so that I could have set you straight.”
I smile at her sheepishly. Then Havel says, “Now that we’ve established that she isn’t the princess, let’s get back to answering the first question that I asked.” When I stare at him stupidly, he taps the tip of his sword on the floor. “Which one of you will we behead first?”
“Neither,” Inez snaps, and there’s a welcome fire in her eyes. “I told you I was here on official business.”
“And he told us you were Ghita,” Havel crows. “I wouldn’t believe a word either one of you says.”
“That’s why you’re stuck on a single stripe and always will be,” Inez retorts, and Havel’s jaw drops. Before fury can take the place of shock, Inez faces the serious looking Dragoslav. “I know where Ghita is.”
Dragoslav’s eyes widen and Havel’s jaw drops another few centimetres.
“No,” Dragoslav breathes.
“Yes,” Inez says.
“I don’t believe you,” the guard growls.
“You must,” Inez insists.
“Why?” he challenges her.
“Because you’re lost if you don’t,” Inez says, then looks around at the rest of the troops. “Your realm’s about to be turned. As palace guards, you’ll have to obey the orders of the royals, which means you’ll have to obey the orders of the SubMerged. You’ll be tasked with killing their enemies, but those people will be your friends, family, comrades. If you disobey, you’ll be judged an enemy as well, and those who are your allies today will be told to hunt you down.”
Inez steps closer to Dragoslav, who doesn’t take any defensive steps. The other guards don’t react either.
“Do you want to execute Havel if he defies the SubMerged?” she asks, then turns to Havel. “If Dragoslav resigns and you’re promoted, will you cut off his head?”
“Never,” Havel mutters, but casts a worried look at his commander.
“You’d have no choice,” Inez says. “To serve the royals is to obey them.”
“I’d step down first,” Havel says weakly.
Inez cocks an eyebrow. “Abandon your duty? Renege on the vow you make every ten years, to serve until death?”
“You know a lot about us,” Dragoslav says thickly.
“I’ve been lucky to count some palace guards as close friends over the years,” Inez says. “I know you’re incredibly loyal. Most of you will stay on, even though it means becoming murderous monsters.”
Inez steps up even closer to Dragoslav. Their noses would be almost touching if they were the same height. “Tell me I’m wrong,” she whispers.
Dragoslav says nothing.
“I can prevent this,” Inez says in that same soft tone. “I know where the princess is. If we work together, you and I can swing the vote.”
“How?” Dragoslav croaks. “Even if it’s true that you know her whereabouts, the vote can’t be postponed. It happens within the next few hours.”
“Trust me,” Inez says. “I’ve risked everything to come here. So has Archie. We wouldn’t have taken such a gamble if we didn’t believe that we could help.”
Dragoslav gulps. I think he’s regretting his four stripes. He probably wishes that someone else had to make this decision. But, as the ranking officer, the call is his, and it might be the most vital call of his life.
“If you’re lying,” he says, “and I disobey the order of my king, my head will join yours on the floor of the throne room.”
“I know,” Inez says.
“Even if you’re telling the truth,” he continues, “Farkas might have me executed regardless of anything else that happens.”
“That’s a real possibility,” Inez says.
“It’s a lot to ask of a man.”
“But you’re not a man,” Inez says, and when he looks at her oddly, she clarifies. “You’re a palace guard, and you owe as much to a princess as you do to a king. If you can restore Ghita by sacrificing yourself, you will.”
Dragoslav breathes out through his nose. “I’d only risk my life if I believed you truly know where she is.”
“That’s the crux of the matter,” Inez agrees. “You’ll trust me or you won’t. I’ve said all that I can.”
And she falls silent.
Dragoslav considers things, and I know our lives will end here if he decides he can’t place the vague promise of a stranger above a very clear order from his king. I think about what I want my last words to be, but as I’m searching for something suitable to say, Dragoslav addresses his troops. “Sheathe your swords.” They obey instantly. “Pat them down for weapons.” They do a quick but very thorough body search of us, relieving Inez of her knives. When Dragoslav is satisfied, he points a finger at Inez and says curtly, “Come.”
And, as unlikely as it looked a few minutes ago, defying the odds as we have every step of the way on this long and testing adventure, we find ourselves being marched through the palace to our final destination, where our destinies will be defined — the throne room.
33
THE CORRIDORS ARE LINED with guards, staff and visitors, all eager to be among the first to learn the outcome of the vote. They stare at us curiously as we’re led along by Dragoslav and his team, but nobody says anything until we arrive at the ornately gilded doors of the throne room, where a burly guard with a curling moustache and six stripes on his shoulder stops us.
“What’s up?” he grunts at Dragoslav, eyeing us suspiciously.
“I need to take this pair inside,” Dragoslav replies.
“Guests?” Six Stripes frowns.
“No,” Dragoslav says.
&nb
sp; The burly guard’s eyes narrow and he takes a step back. “I can’t allow –” he starts, but Dragoslav interrupts.
“I’m risking my neck by demanding entrance with these outsiders. You know I wouldn’t do that unless I felt it was imperative.”
Six Stripes looks troubled. “I appreciate that, but rules are rules. If you tell me what this relates to, maybe I could...” He stops when Dragoslav shakes his head.
“If I explain, you’ll be complicit,” Dragoslav says.
Six Stripes looks at Havel. “Are you with him on this?”
“Yes,” Havel says grudgingly.
“You vouch for the strangers?” the guard presses. “You guarantee that they don’t pose a threat to the royals?”
“I can’t do that,” Havel says, “but they’re not carrying any weapons – we removed them – and I don’t believe they’re here to cause harm.”
Six Stripes hesitates, then sighs and steps aside. “On your head be it,” he says to Dragoslav. “But only you and the boy and girl.”
“Fine,” Dragoslav says, then strides forward as the doors swing open, Inez and I a few steps behind.
The throne room is massive and packed with dignitaries. There are rows of pews on either side, the gap between them forming a wide aisle up the centre of the room. A few elderly or frail people are sitting, but most of the guests are on their feet in the areas to the sides, listening to a woman as she makes a speech.
The speaker is standing in front of a small stage at the end of the aisle. There are four plain, wooden chairs on the stage. Three are occupied. I recognise Queen Pitina, dressed in a blood-red gown. I guess that the man sitting next to her is King Farkas. He’s a brown-haired, bearded gentleman, and is wearing a fancy suit studded with crosses and medals, and a pair of wire spectacles. The other king, sitting next to the unoccupied chair with a gloomy expression, must be King Hugo. He’s not what I expected, a young, fair-haired man in black leathers, the sort that motorcyclists wear, cradling a silver crash helmet in his lap.
We wait while the woman drones on. I cast a look over the guests huddled to the sides of the pews. There seems to be a mix of Merged and SubMerged on both sides, judging by those who look glum and those who are grinning. I spot Kurtis near the stage, with a large, stout, red-haired man who must be his uncle, Duke Noah. Next to them stands a man with dark hair, wearing a black overcoat with lots of jewels pinned to it — Duke Edward, who was with the queen when she came to the show.
