The Named

by Marianne Curley

  ‘Right, ensuring our true identities remain secure.’

  I glance again in the mirror at the stranger staring back. But I don’t feel any different. I still feel like myself, and of course my eyes haven’t changed at all. I give a little shrug. ‘It’s like playing dress-ups, except this time we actually get to go on a real-life adventure. This kind of dress-up I could get used to.’

  Ethan checks that his sword is securely in place, then takes my hand. ‘Don’t get too excited! We’re not finished yet.’

  He leads me to the middle of the room, where we stand close together directly under a high central point. We’re supposed to have some sort of shower. But Ethan has an amused look on his new face so I’m not taking his meaning literally. After all, we’re already dressed. He gives a barely perceptible nod and both of us are suddenly covered in a sprinkling of brilliantly coloured dust.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask.

  Ethan gives a shake and helps me clear away the excess dust from my shoulders and hair. It disappears at our touch. ‘It’s everything you need to know so you don’t look or sound like an idiot while in the past and give yourself away.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Now what’s your name? And where are you from?’

  ‘I’m Lady Madeline from Dartmouth, a coastal village sitting right on the English Channel.’ I take a breath. ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘It’s your new identity. And I’m your cousin Hugo, Earl Monteblain’s son. Now let’s get out of here. We’ve wasted enough time.’

  ‘Well, sorry, but you really could have told me all these things before now. You are supposed to be my Trainer.’

  He gives me a sharp look of annoyance. ‘They only gave me two weeks, remember.’

  I don’t reply. I was only kidding, and if he couldn’t tell, then that’s his problem. Guys can be so thick.

  We take another stairway, which seems to disappear beneath our feet faster than we can possibly climb the narrow steps. At the top there’s a small square platform. ‘What took you so long getting here?’ Ethan asks again, leading me into another room. This one is modest and quiet-looking, with simple furnishings that create an atmosphere of calm, the centre-piece a lounge suite that forms a square around a softly glowing fireplace.

  ‘I couldn’t get to sleep.’

  We cross the room quickly and Ethan leads me to an open doorway on the opposite side. Beyond its edges I see only darkness and a swirling mist.

  ‘Was it the dream that kept you awake?’

  I vaguely nod, trying to make out some form in the dark mist.

  ‘We haven’t the time now but you have to tell me about it later. OK? Now let’s go.’

  He means for me to step out into that vast nothingness at our feet. I tug him backwards a step to where I feel marginally safer. ‘Wait a minute.’

  He looks surprised, then his face softens. ‘I didn’t explain this part either, did I? Damn Arkarian! How can the Tribunal do this to me? Two weeks!’

  The answer is obvious to me. ‘Because they think you can.’

  He scoffs. ‘If anything, they’re testing me.’

  Glancing around the room, I see that the door we entered by has now disappeared. So there’s only one way out – the doorway with nothing but mist beyond it. ‘Where is this place exactly?’

  ‘The Citadel?’ He shrugs. ‘It’s neither here nor there. You can’t see it in the mortal world, that’s all I know.’

  ‘Is it in space?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Arkarian says it kind of dwells in a place between worlds. But I’m assured it’s the safest place in the universe. It can’t be got to, even though both sides inhabit its interior in their transit stages. The problem is, we can’t stay long ’cause time is immeasurable here, and it’s easy to linger longer than you think with too much time passing in our mortal world.’

  He leads me right to the edge of the open doorway again. ‘Here, look,’ he says, peering into the blank distance. ‘Out there is our destination.’

  ‘I can’t see anything except darkness and fog, but I sense a vast drop below us.’

  ‘It’s only a small step – the same way all new adventures begin. I can’t believe you’d let fear of the unknown stop you.’

  I send him a death-stare before sucking in a deep breath. Finally, we do it together. I keep my eyes closed tight and it feels as if we’ve stepped down from a ceiling to a hard floor. I land and fall, hitting my left side on a cold stone wall. We’re in a torch-lit brick hallway. I scramble up as two armoured soldiers make an appearance at one end of the hall. Ethan glances around and spots a door to our right. ‘Quickly, in here! Let’s work out where we are first, before having to explain our presence.’

  The room is massive and draughty. A fire blazes within a brick fireplace. Brocade drapes hang across an open window and shadows from the fire flicker across the fabric, deepening its emerald green colour. There’s not much furniture except a huge four poster bed with a trunk at its base, a solid wooden desk and chair, and a comfortable-looking armchair before the fire. The whole room smells of smoke and wood.

  ‘Can you believe this, Ethan?’

  ‘Hugo,’ he reminds me in a whisper. ‘Whenever we speak out loud we must maintain our identities. After a while it should come naturally.’

  I understand, and can’t help feeling foolish for having asked the question. Ethan, or Hugo for the time being, has been doing this sort of thing for years, but I can’t hide the buzz I’m getting out of it. ‘Look at this bed!’ I jump into the centre of it and practically sink to the bottom.

  ‘Feathers,’ Ethan says. ‘It’s probably filled with goose feathers. But hey, you’re supposed to be observing only. Don’t touch anything, OK? You could get hurt. And I’m in enough trouble already, so don’t go making more. Whatever you do is my responsibility.’

  He starts to walk around the room, stopping with his back to the fire, fingers linked behind his back. ‘It’s definitely someone important’s bedroom, but not the king’s, nor the prince’s I’d say. From what I can remember from the layout of this place –’

  He doesn’t get another word out as we both hear voices and heavy footsteps outside. They grow louder, then stop outside this bedroom’s door. A few more shared words, and one set of footsteps moves on.

  Ethan and I exchange a quick look. Suddenly, Ethan makes a flying leap to the bed, diving straight for its centre. He lands half on top of me, pinning me to the mattress. ‘What the—?’ Ethan suddenly kisses me. At first it’s a shock, ’cause I’m not expecting this, but within seconds of his kiss everything changes. On some level I know a stranger has entered the room and stopped still at the sight of Ethan and me on the bed, kissing. But on another level there is nothing but Ethan and me. It doesn’t register that we’re in someone else’s bed, even in someone else’s time period. There’s only Ethan kissing me. That’s it.

  But then Ethan jumps off me, pretending to be suddenly aware of our visitor. He staggers apologetically to his feet, dragging me with him. ‘My lord,’ he says, bowing at the waist to the tall man before us. ‘My apologies. I had no idea, when I stumbled into this magnificent bedroom, that it was yours. If you’ll give us but a moment, sir, we will vacate your room and return to the hall where we belong.’

  ‘And you will leave my bed as you found it, unoccupied?’ the tall man asks, one bushy eyebrow raised in obvious amusement.

  Ethan bows his head low. ‘Yes, sir. Most definitely.’

  The man looks me over. ‘How unfortunate for you, lad. What is your name, and that of your … companion?’

  ‘My name, sir, is Hugo Monteblain, and this is my …’ He pauses momentarily, suddenly looking uncomfortable, but then his expression relaxes somewhat. Kissing cousins is not all that unusual in this period of time. He goes on to introduce me, ‘My cousin, Lady Madeline.’

  ‘Well, young Hugo, I would be pleased to oblige you and your lovely willing cousin here, but my time tonight is ti
ght and I must prepare my speech to the council. There is a lot happening in the palace as we speak, and we must hope the result will be a new and rightful king.’

  ‘How goes young Richard?’

  The tall man’s eyes widen slightly. ‘Ah, an ally. The boy sleeps soundly in his bed.’ He looks closely at Ethan. ‘From which lands do you hail? I have many, and yet I don’t recognise your name, though your face, looks familiar.’

  ‘We come from Dartmouth, sir. On the English Channel.’

  ‘Alas, I don’t own those lands. Have we met before?’

  ‘Nay, my lord. I have not had the honour.’

  The man moves to his desk. ‘That’s unfortunate. You remind me of a man I knew once – something around the eyes – he helped me greatly once, a skilled young man who promised to return, but …’ He waves a hand in a gesture of annoyance. ‘I haven’t been given the opportunity to show my appreciation for what he did. It’s as if he never existed.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my lord. Had I made you such a promise, I would most certainly have fulfilled it.’

  The man nods, his eyes shifting from Ethan to me.

  I know I’m not supposed to say, do or touch anything, but I just can’t resist this one opportunity. ‘Perhaps the young man in question will yet return, my lord.’

  Ethan’s grip on my hand tightens. He doesn’t want me attracting attention to myself. That’s the idea of an observation-only journey, he had told me earlier.

  ‘It’s been many years, Lady Madeline,’ the man replies sadly, sitting down heavily at his desk.

  It’s our cue to leave. Ethan bows again, asking whether the man requests anything from the kitchens. The man complains about his own manservant being lazy but doesn’t take up Ethan’s offer.

  Outside the door I can’t help squealing out loud. Ethan throws a hand over my mouth, grinning at me.

  ‘Quiet! Do you want to get us both killed before this mission is half finished?’

  ‘Who was that? Do you know? He carried such an aura of magnetism.’

  He floors me when he says, ‘John of Gaunt. Couldn’t you tell?’

  ‘I’m a C student, remember?’

  He snorts loudly. ‘Not for long!’

  Chapter Twenty

  Ethan

  Isabel is completely enchanted. It doesn’t take me long to realise she’s born for this life. As soon as we return home we’ll work hard at mastering her psychological skills. Healing we already know will be one of her main talents. But so far nothing else has revealed itself. There’s still time, if we carry out this mission successfully. There’s just this premonition I can’t get rid of tonight – a prickling of my consciousness, a gut feeling something’s wrong, or going to go wrong. Maybe I’m just nervous about having Isabel along, being responsible for her and all. I don’t want her to get hurt, and I feel our training has been way too inadequate. But there’s something else worrying me too. It’s as if I’ve picked up some sort of stomach bug; an uneasy queasiness is kicking in and there’s a strange lethargy starting to shoot through my limbs, making each step more difficult than the last.

  I try to put these weird sensations aside while I figure out exactly which wing of the palace we’re currently roaming. Recalling Arkarian’s holographic sphere, and considering the location of John of Gaunt’s bedroom, I finally get my bearings. Our destination is not far at all, but we’re on the wrong floor.

  As we head for the winding stairwell, I hear Isabel take in a sharp breath. I think it must be nerves kicking in, but then she says, ‘Back there in John of Gaunt’s bedroom … you know when—’

  She stops suddenly and it hits me what she’s trying to bring up – the kiss I stole from her on John of Gaunt’s bed. I swallow hard as an uncomfortable feeling swamps me. I hope she didn’t get the wrong idea. I mean, I really like Isabel, and the time we’ve spent together has been the best couple of weeks I can remember. Is there something wrong with having a girl for a best friend? That’s how I feel about Isabel right now. I’m not sure if there could ever be more. Maybe one day, when I get over – I can’t believe where my thoughts have taken me. I was about to say Rochelle. I’m over Rochelle, well and truly, so why the sudden stab of pain?

  I take a deep breath and choose my words carefully. The last thing I want is to hurt Isabel’s feelings. ‘Um, that kiss, you mean?’

  She nods.

  ‘I’m really sorry about that. We needed an excuse to be found in that room. I didn’t have time to discuss it with you first. I hope you didn’t mind.’

  She flicks her hand at me with a casualness I hope she really feels. ‘No, of course. I knew that.’

  We pass the room where the council is meeting. The faint sound of muffled voices can be heard through the thick double doors. Soon John of Gaunt will make an appearance, stating his reasons why his ten-year-old nephew should be the next King of England.

  ‘Why does John of Gaunt not want the crown for himself?’ Isabel asks, changing the subject.

  ‘I doubt anyone would support him if he did. Nobody wants him to have more power than he already has. He’s incredibly wealthy in his own right, with more lands and titles and earldoms than any other noble to date. And his sights are set on other titles yet to come.’

  It’s late, and if John of Gaunt is correct, the young prince will be fast asleep when we make an appearance. And as long as Arkarian is on cue, we’ll arrive before the would-be assassin.

  The entire length of the hallway is empty. Unchallenged we reach the door to the prince’s bedroom. Where are his protectors? The palace guards? Cautiously I push open the door. No one appears to be about, which is strange considering this ten-year-old child will soon be king.

  ‘It’s so quiet,’ Isabel comments, as we move further into the semi-dark bedroom.

  An elderly woman, obviously a maid or nanny, spots us from where she sits huddled, stitching a tapestry by the fire. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  ‘Our names are not important. We’re here to protect the prince. Where are the guards?’

  ‘They were called away but a moment ago. They promised to return shortly.’

  No sooner does the woman speak than a figure swathed in a long crimson cape enters the room from the adjoining dressing room. ‘State your purpose for sneaking around the prince’s bedroom!’ he snaps at us.

  His arrogance is off-putting. Who is he? My instinct says he’s the assassin, pretending to be someone important. When we don’t answer, he yells, ‘Get out! I demand you leave the room now!’

  ‘We’re here to protect the prince,’ I call out, fighting a growing nauseous feeling.

  ‘By whose order?’

  I hesitate only a second. ‘John of Gaunt’s.’

  The old servant woman looks from the hooded man to me. ‘Well, I don’t recognise any of you, so how about you all get out of here and leave me to my peaceful stitching? Or will I have to call the king’s soldiers?’

  The second her words are out, the hooded man leaps across the room at her. His foot connects just once, but it’s enough to send the old woman flying backwards.

  Isabel runs to her side.

  The sleeping boy’s eyes flick open as the hooded man quickly grabs a pillow from the bed and throws it over the prince’s face. The assassin is attempting to smother the prince right before our very eyes!

  ‘Hugo, hurry!’ Isabel calls out to me. At least she hasn’t forgotten that as an observer she must not intervene. ‘Why aren’t you doing anything?’

  But I’m having serious problems of my own. For some reason I feel suddenly numb and semi-paralysed, unable to run or even walk. My stomach is roiling while my head is heavy as rock. The room starts swimming before my eyes.

  ‘Hugo? What’s wrong? You look like a ghost.’

  Doubling over now with pain shooting through my entire body, I realise what must be happening. ‘Someone … I think someone is trying to wake me. I can’t move.’

  The old woman scowls at me as if I’m nothing
but a piece of garbage left out for the palace cats. Getting to her feet, she runs into the hallway, screaming for help. Returning quickly, she throws herself at the assassin. He tosses the old woman fiercely backwards and she hits her head on the corner of a desk, sliding to the floor unconscious.

  ‘Hugo, what do we do? I can’t just stand and watch! You must let me help!’

  The young prince, now fully awake, is struggling for all his worth beneath the strong hands of the caped man. I manage to get up, working through the pain and heavy-limbed sensations, and draw my sword.

  The assassin turns to face me in combat but seeing how unsteady I am on my feet, decides not to draw his sword. He merely whacks me with an extended elbow, sending me reeling backwards to the floor. I try to get up again, but my stomach heaves and suddenly empties out with violent force. When I get a second’s relief from the intense vomiting, I look up and see everyone staring at me, even the assassin and the prince.

  ‘Oh, God, Hugo! Can I do something?’ Isabel asks.

  The most I can manage is to shake my head as drips slither from my mouth to the floor.

  While the assassin is momentarily distracted, the young prince moves, scrambling across the huge bed. But the assassin dives for him, slamming him back against the mattress, and starts smothering him again.

  Isabel, eyes wide and wild-looking, leans over me. ‘Sorry, Hugo, but one of us has to act.’ She reaches for my sword and, with two hands clasped tightly around the hilt, raises it in front of her. With a fierce war cry she charges at the assassin.

  The assassin, forced to let go of the prince, groans and spins around, clearly annoyed at having to draw his own sword and the two of them fight while the boy looks on.

  ‘Go on,’ I say to him, nodding at the door, ‘get out of here! Save yourself, Your Highness!’

  The prince comes over to me, avoiding the mess around him with careful steps, and squats beside me without taking his eyes off the duelling pair. ‘My coin’s on her.’

  Increasing pain shoots through my stomach and into my chest, my body lunges forward and the prince jumps back.