by Adam Carter
“And how would you propose I do that, my dear?” Darkthorne smiled.
“Oh, I don’t know. Send her on an errand or something?”
“Hello?” Tarne said. “Standing right here?”
“I believe that was the problem,” Shalla said icily.
“Heather,” Darkthorne said without turning to her, “be a dear and find something else to do.”
“Jagrad, I really ...”
“Find someone else to bother, I should have perhaps said. Be a good little witch and go crucify a cat or something.”
Tarne set her teeth firm. “I am not a witch, and even if I was, witches do not crucify cats.”
“I wouldn’t know, I’m not a witch,” Darkthorne said.
“Fine,” Tarne said, turning upon her heel. “Do whatever you want, and don’t come running to me afterwards, moaning about whatever trouble you’ve got yourself into this time, because I won’t care.”
Tarne made a point of slamming the door on her way out.
“Charming girl,” Shalla said, smiling into Darkthorne’s eyes. “Just where did you pick up that one?”
“About to be burnt at the stake. I saved her.”
“Whatever for?”
“Well, they were burning her because she was a witch.”
“No, I meant whatever did you save her for?” She played her fingers up his arm then, very slowly. “But enough about her, let’s talk about us, shall we?”
“I have an idea,” Darkthorne said. “Let’s dispense with the talking entirely.”
Shalla’s smile only seemed to broaden, for now it encompassed her eyes also. “Best idea I’ve heard all day, my Lord.”
*
Kiel and Sparky did not head for the casino, much to the disappointment of the latter. Instead they stayed within the house’s grounds, searching for anything suspicious, although after half an hour they were forced to admit, however reluctantly, that they were getting nowhere.
“Perhaps the answer may be found at the casino,” Sparky suggested hopefully.
“We’re not going gambling,” Kiel told him, “and that’s final.”
“Who said anything about gambling?” Sparky protested. “I was talking about poker.”
“Fascinating as this might be,” Tarne said, stepping into sight, “what does it have to do with Shalla and Darkthorne?”
“We’ve had a look around,” Kiel said, “although there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of people about. There were two people in the courtyard before, if you noticed them, and since then we’ve spotted another two. We haven’t much else to report.”
“What have they had to say for themselves?”
Kiel paused. “Well, we were trying to keep a low profile, Heather.”
Tarne sighed. “Sara, there’s trying to keep a low profile, and there’s keeping so far away from everyone else that you might as well not be doing the job.”
Kiel watched Tarne turn around and called out to her, “Where are you going?”
“To talk to somebody, where else?”
Kiel and Sparky ran to catch up, and they all entered the corridor lined with the carpet. Tarne approached one of the doors chosen entirely at random and pounded upon it. Perhaps a light rap would have better suited her needs, but certainly it did nothing to sympathise with her mood.
Tarne waited a few moments, although no answer was forthcoming.
“Well that sure accomplished a lot,” Kiel muttered. “Shall we try the next door down?”
While Tarne was considering her available options, there came a thunderous beat from down the corridor, and they realised (after they recovered from the initial shock which had made them all literally jump in the air) someone was hammering on the front door.
“Think we should answer that?” Tarne asked playfully.
“I think we should find the back door,” Sparky said nervously, moving to back out of the corridor.
Tarne grabbed him by the shoulder, however, and turned him, pushing him towards the main door. “Come on, Sparky, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Likely the same place as my sense of humour at times like these.”
They approached the front door and Tarne drew the bolt across. The door opened to reveal six men wearing battered armour and angry scowls. They carried swords and knives at their belts, and any idiot would have been able to recognise them for the city constabulary.
“We haven’t done anything wrong,” Sparky yelped. “We’ve only been here five minutes.”
“True,” Kiel told him, “but you did pick pockets all the way here, didn’t you?”
“Jeez, want to say that any louder, Sara?”
“Gentlemen,” Tarne said with a broad grin, having heard every word just spoken and praying against prayer that the half dozen men had not, “and what can we do for such fine soldiers this day?”
“You can cut the fake smile, honey,” their leader, a scar-faced barrel-chested veteran, growled. “We want your mistress, and we want her now.”
“Firstly, honey,” Tarne said, emphasising the noun with slightly more venom than she had intended, “I don’t have a mistress. And secondly, I’m not sure I like the way you talk to women.”
There was polite laughter from the men. “You think I should respect you?” their leader said. “Just go tell Madame Shalla that Captain Hektes is here to see her. Just like he promised.”
“You want her, you tell her,” Tarne said.
Hektes seemed surprised. “You mean you’re inviting us inside?”
“Depends. Are you vampires?”
“Uh, no.”
“Then come on in.” She opened the door wide for them and strode off ahead down the corridor.
“You sure about this?” Kiel whispered to her as she passed.
“No, but a distraction’s a distraction, yeah?”
Kiel dropped into line beside Tarne, although while Sparky was deciding what he should himself be doing, the captain thumbed a finger towards the door. “You beat it now, son, and the mood I’m in I’ll forget you were ever here.”
“Yes, sir, Mr Captain, sir,” Sparky said, and promptly flitted out of the door.
“Three guesses where he’s headed,” Tarne said.
“So,” Hektes said then as he followed the two women, “anywhere my men might be able to wait while I speak with Shalla myself?” There were several grunts and laughs from the soldiers at this.
“Like I care,” Tarne said. “I’d let you wait in one of these rooms, but I have no idea what’s behind any of the doors.”
“Bed chambers,” Kiel said. “Sparky and I opened a few of them while we were searching the place.”
“Bed chambers?” Tarne said, stopping to look at her. “What, how many of them?”
“All of them.”
Tarne blinked. “Then we’re ... you mean Madame Shalla is ... oh lordy lord. No wonder we haven’t seen any men around here. Hey!” Tarne said, suddenly realising something as she rounded violently upon Captain Hektes, “that means you’re all thinking that Sara and I are ... are ... Well you can get that thought out of your dirty little minds right now!”
“Better than being accused of being a witch, Heather,” Darkthorne laughed, and Tarne decided that never had there been a moment where she had wanted more to kill him than now. He faced six officers of the law and told them to their faces that she was some form of witch. She found she almost preferred the alternative.
“Jagrad,” Kiel said, for Darkthorne had entered the corridor, arm in arm with Madame Shalla, “these men have come to see Madame Shalla. I think it’s time we left them to it.”
“Nonsense, dearie,” Shalla scolded her lightly. “Lord Darkthorne shall deal with this matter in his own unique way.”
“Indeed,” Darkthorne said, puffing out his chest. “Have at ye, scoundrels,” he shouted, drawing forth his sword.
“Not that unique way,” Shalla said quickly, pushing his sword down and smiling once more. “I meant talk to them?”<
br />
“Talk to them?” Darkthorne shrugged. “Sure, if you think it’ll do any good.” He coughed. “Knaves, it is time to take your leave of this honest establishment and commit your violence elsewhere. This house is under the protection of Sir Jagrad of Darkthorne, and any who wish these simple people harm mean to deal with me also. Now back, vile abominations of filth and gaudy steel, or feel the wrath of a Darkthorne.”
Captain Hektes stared at him open-mouthed for several moments. Tarne sighed. “Pay him no mind, Captain, that’s just the way he is. Come along, Jagrad, time for us to go.”
“Your time is expired,” Hektes said, directing his words to Shalla, having taken the option of doing what most people do when they are confronted with something they do not understand: he ignored it. “Do you have an answer for his Highness?”
“I do,” Shalla announced. “I have prepared this letter for the king.” She proffered a hand-written note sealed in wax and signed with her own seal. “If you would deliver it to him, he shall have his answer.”
“Is it favourable to his Highness?” Hektes asked.
“Do you mean will your head roll if he doesn’t like what he reads?” Shalla smiled, and in that smile Tarne could see all the characteristic deviousness she hated so. “Do not fear,” Shalla continued, “for the problem is as good as solved.”
Darkthorne took the note. “I do not trust pigs such as these with the delivery of such an important letter. If this note must reach the king, then it shall be by mine own hand that it does travel.”
“As you say,” Shalla said, backing away a step.
Hektes regarded him a moment. “You really a knight then or what?”
“What?” Darkthorne asked. “I mean yes, of course I am a knight. Well, sort of anyway.”
“What?” Tarne asked. “I thought you were a knight, no ‘sort of’ about it.”
“Well,” Darkthorne said, “my father was a knight, back when he had land, and I inherited the title of Lord of Darkthorne, so I, uh ...”
Tarne shook her head. “Brother.”
“The man is a cad,” Kiel laughed. “Well I never.”
“Come, ladies,” Darkthorne said, pushing past them both and heading for the door. “It is bad policy to keep a monarch waiting.”
The soldiers led Darkthorne, Kiel and Tarne through the streets of Bastelle, marching at a quick pace and making their presence known to all through the steady tramp-tramp of their feet. These were men who were soldiers and wanted the world to know about it. They clearly had nothing else going on in their lives.
They made it to the palace shortly and the three travellers marvelled at how grand it all was. It was a large, dome-shaped building with several rising turrets and long, defensible parapets. There was a high wall surrounding the palace, which would keep all intruders at bay, and the foremost of these walls held a massive set of double gates. It was to this that they were herded and, once Captain Hektes had rather too loudly announced their presence, the gates were opened wide and the captain marched boldly in, followed by the others. Darkthorne and his group were taken to the doors of the palace itself, through richly carpeted hallways, all guarded by sentries or else empty suits of armour whose vacant eyes stared out from beyond the grave, and soon enough they were led into a great hall which could easily have fit in several dozen ordinary houses. The hall was filled with people, all richly garbed and chattering away with nothing better to be doing with their time. Upon the walls there rested great statues and carvings of people and animals. The windows were wide and tall that they might allow in maximum light, as though this hall was the residence of worship for the city, although there were many braziers and candlesticks dotting the hall also. The floor was formed of solid stone, yet this too was almost entirely carpeted, with a finer crimson train of carpet heading down the very centre of the hall and towards the far end. It was here that two thrones were perched, although only the one was currently occupied.
King Callum III was an honest-looking individual, although he no doubt just had that kind of face. His beard made him seem friendly, but there was a certain sadness to his eyes that could not be denied. Tarne wanted to go over and hug him, although decided such was perhaps not the best idea.
Captain Hektes approached the throne and bowed grandly. “Sire, may I present Sir Jagrad, Lord of Darkthorne, and his whores.”
Tarne and Kiel both wanted to murder the man, although Darkthorne laughed solidly and took a single step forward, bowing also to the king. “Your Highness, there is such a sense of humour in your man the captain that I find this court already to have a jester.”
“At least he’s sticking up for us for once,” Tarne muttered aside to Kiel.
“They are not women of derogatory pursuit,” Darkthorne continued, “for the one is a barbarian cannibal from the mountain wastes, and the other is a practising witch who ever defies being burned at the stake.”
“Why do I bother?” Tarne grumbled.
“Lord Darkthorne,” King Callum began, “although of course we extend only the fondest of greetings towards you and your, uh, entourage, we find we are at something of a loss as to your purpose here.”
“Well, I ... that is ... I haven’t the foggiest, sire.”
There was a tense silence within the hall, and then they all heard Tarne’s near-silent prompting as though she was screaming to the heavens. “The note, Jagrad?”
“But I have just remembered,” Darkthorne said, producing a rolled-up piece of parchment from his belt, “that I have been charged with the presentation of this note to your person.”
“The note,” Callum said. An aide took it from the knight and handed it to the king. Callum unfurled it and read quickly, then went back and re-read the content. “Excellent,” he enthused. Even his eyes seemed to brighten somewhat, Tarne was pleased to note. “Our spirits are lifted this day. Hail, Lord Darkthorne, for this man is good beyond his measure.”
“Hail, Lord Darkthorne,” the chant from all the gathered knights arose. “Hail, Lord Darkthorne.”
Tarne tried to maintain her smile, and muttered aside to Kiel, “What the hell’s he managed to get us into now?”
“I’m not a cannibal.”
“You’re not too quick either, are you?”
“Sire,” Darkthorne said, his face one massive grin, “while I do not refute your claims of my greatness, I fear I do not yet fully understand the reasons for your obvious jubilation, since I am not familiar with the content of the letter.”
“You must know the content,” the king said, “although perhaps not the wording. It says,” and he began to read, “‘The bearer of this note is Lord Darkthorne, son of Darkthorne.’ Well that much is a tad obvious even to us. Anyway, ‘Darkthorne, son of Darkthorne. Agreed has he to the undertaking of the task set to myself, that he might bring happiness back to the lands and the sun back to the skies of Bastelle. Signed, Madame Shalla.’” The king smiled upon Darkthorne once more. “We should very much like to hear your plans for this matter.”
“Plans?” Darkthorne blinked.
“Plans are best kept secret, Highness,” Kiel said quickly, stepping forward, “lest evil ears hear them.”
“Quite right,” Callum agreed. “But where shall you begin your search?”
“Here,” Tarne said, stepping forward also now.
“The palace?”
Tarne could see this was the wrong answer, so said, “With information. The only way to complete any task is with superior knowledge, so we must know everything you can tell us about the, uh, assignment.”
“Much you already know, of course,” the king said.
Tarne nodded. “Although in my ... uh, in Lord Darkthorne’s experience, it is better to review the events totally, lest there might be one simple clue as yet overlooked.”
“Very thorough.” The king sounded entirely agreeable to the notion. “Very well, the story begins two moons ago. A vicious and unprovoked attack was made upon our borders by the vile marsh barbarian
s and their obscene occult ways.”
“You were attacked by a religion?” Tarne asked, instantly wishing she hadn’t. “Sorry, please continue.”
“How gracious of you to give us permission. Anyway, Bastelle was beset, and our troops fought valiantly, pushing back the evil hordes; and eventually the good prevailed and the wicked oppressors were forced from our borders. There was much celebration that night, although soon did we realise that something was amiss, for the daughter to the throne could be found nowhere.
“A grand search was immediately commissioned, although turned up nothing. It quickly became deduced that the princess had been kidnapped during the raid.
“The search continued, and a very strong lead took our soldiers to a building occupied by Madame Shalla and her ... ah, employees. It was clear that she knew something of the disappearance of the princess, so was given but one moon in which to provide an answer, else she would face public execution. And now she has sent you, Lord Darkthorne, and you shall return for us the Princess Aurellia, else take Madame Shalla’s place upon the block.” He laughed heartily. “A good day indeed. Hail Darkthorne.”
“Ooh err,” Darkthorne said. “I really think you’ve made a ... an excellent decision,” he said when he noticed the king scowl. “How much of a head start do ... I mean, how long do we have to find the princess before our execution?”
“Your execution, Jagrad,” Tarne said. “Don’t go dragging me into any of this, you know I never liked that woman.”
“Two days,” the king said. “Two days and an answer we must have. Else we shall become angered.”
“And we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Darkthorne asked.
“Are you mocking the royal we?”
“Sure.”
“... ly not,” Tarne finished for him, taking him by one arm even as Kiel took the other. “We shall have your answer for you, sire, within two days.”
“Then depart at once. Hail Darkthorne.”
“I think I liked that part,” Darkthorne said as the three of them left the throne room post-haste. Once they were back upon the street, Tarne rounded upon him.