Once In a Blue Moon

by Simon R. Green

  “Could he be lying?” Richard said quietly to the Necromancer. “Or holding something back from us?”

  “He can’t lie with this level of compulsion on him,” said Raven. “But you have to ask the right questions . . . And I don’t know how much longer I can hold him.”

  “Too late!” said the corpse, and once again everyone cried out and fell back as the body collapsed into rot and decay, falling apart before their eyes. Raven sighed and shook his head, and everyone else looked at one another and didn’t know what to say.

  Raven finally bowed to King Rufus. “I have done all I can, Sire. You have a serious traitor in your midst. But you already knew that.”

  “Did I?” said the King querulously. His eyes were vague again. He clutched at the Seneschal’s arm. “Take me out of here. I don’t like it here. I don’t want to be here.”

  And while the others clustered round the King, and comforted him as best they could, Raven the Necromancer quietly left the room. Out in the corridor, he raised his eyes to the heavens.

  “You’d better get here quickly, Grandfather and Grandmother. The Forest Land has great need of Prince Rupert and Princess Julia.”

  SIX

  SECRET MEETINGS, SECRET PEOPLE

  The Stalking Man went walking through the corridors of Castle Midnight, and no one saw him. A tall, broad, fleshy man, dressed in long crimson robes with a bloodred cape and hood, he strode swiftly through crowded places, and no one knew he was there. He passed by Lords and Ladies, guards and servants, and some of them even stepped back to let him by, without ever realising or remembering.

  Leland Dusque, the Stalking Man. The wrath of Hell in the world of mortal men.

  He descended through long passageways and pillared galleries, and came at last to the very private door of a very private room, tucked away in a deep, dark part of the Castle where no one ever went without very good reason, or very express permission from the King himself. The armed guards on duty at that door saw the Stalking Man coming. Saw him come drifting forward out of the gloom, like a ghost soaked in blood and gore, saw his wide eyes and feral smile . . . because the Stalking Man allowed them. The two guards stood paralysed with fear until he was almost upon them, and then they fell back with almost indecent speed, scrambling to get out of his way. They were the King’s own guards, sworn to serve him with their lives and their deaths, but they wanted nothing to do with this. The King had told them the Stalking Man was coming, told them to expect him, but nothing could have prepared them for the awful reality of the Stalking Man, the Devil’s Agent, the Emissary of the Gulfs.

  The guards stayed well back as the Stalking Man strode right up to the closed and locked door. He took hold of the heavy brass handle, and the guards heard the slow, steady sounds of the lock unlocking itself. Because no door and no lock could keep him out, or block his way. Just as no one could do him any harm, as long as he walked in Hell’s way.

  He pushed the door open and walked through, and it closed itself behind him and locked itself again. The Stalking Man looked steadily around him, taking in all that the great open room had to offer, and he smiled slowly. The single far-reaching chamber at the base of Castle Midnight had been fashioned and decorated to resemble a great underwater grotto. A huge swimming pool, deep and wide, lay sprawled out in a great display gleaming white tiles, with a simple walkway surrounding it. Walls and ceiling had been made over to resemble a great stone cavern, the dark false stone painted with endless scenes of whales and octopi, mermaids and undines, and all kinds of water goddesses, laughing and sporting with one another.

  The air was heavy with steam, rising from the waters of the swimming pool, which were heated by hidden jets of blazing marsh gas. Condensation ran down the textured walls in endless streams. The air smelled of languorous perfumes, and left the taste of salt on the lips. It was like walking through a sybaritic dream, a personal indulgence, one man’s expensive and very private pleasure. The Stalking Man smiled; he did so love to see men give in to their temptations.

  King William was floating on his back in the middle of the swimming pool, his great naked body rising and falling just a little in the embrace of the heated water, his face at peace, his iron grey hair floating around his head. Without his blocky ceremonial robes and his heavy crown to bear him down, he actually looked several years younger. His eyes were half open, staring dreamily up at the faux stone ceiling, painted over with a single great display of naked sea nymphs disporting themselves with one another.

  A dozen naked young women, or perhaps more properly girls on the very edge of womanhood, played happily in the water around him, careful to maintain a respectful distance from the floating King. They moved lithely and easily through the steaming water, with a minimum of effort, laughing and giggling and splashing one another. They were perfect and beautiful—nobility’s daughters, rich men’s daughters, all of them volunteered for the King’s pleasure by their ambitious parents.

  The Stalking Man stepped carefully forward, to stand at the very edge of the pool, and said the King’s name. Not his title or any of his honorifics, just the name. William. The King lifted his head out of the water just enough to see who had addressed him, and then he smiled slowly as he recognised the Stalking Man. Not many men smiled when they saw him. The King rolled slowly over in the water and swam to the far end of the pool with long, powerful strokes. The naked girls swam quickly after him, laughing and crying out like so many birds of paradise. King William grabbed the edge of the pool and hauled himself up and out, along with a great surge of steaming water. He rose majestically to his feet and then just stood there for a moment, organising his thoughts, entirely unself-conscious in his naked state. He nodded once to the Stalking Man, and then strode over to the single chair set out for him. Not sufficiently impressive to be a throne, but still richly fashioned enough to be worthy of a King. He stood before his chair and stretched slowly, his joints making loud complaining noises. Two of the naked girls hurried forward to rub him dry with thick towels. William worked his muscles slowly, enjoying the simple pleasure of being dried, and then dismissed the girls when their hands began to take liberties with his body. He took a towel from one of the girls and slapped her across the backside as she departed, giggling. William wrapped the towel around himself, sat down on his chair, and gestured for the Stalking Man to come and stand before him. The King looked fondly at the dozen naked girls, now sitting together at the edge of the pool, chattering happily.

  “My little fishies,” he said. “My own precious indulgences. Sometimes I think this is the one place where I can really relax and just be myself. Surely I don’t need to explain sin and temptation to you, Leland? That’s what got you where you are today.”

  “Indeed,” said the Stalking Man, in a rich, rotten voice, like fruit that’s spoiled but still tasty. “I know all about the pleasures of the damned. But are you sure we’re really private here? I went to great pains to be sure I arrived unseen and undetected.”

  “Don’t worry about my little fishies,” said the King. “They never remember anything they see or do in this place. A simple security spell, to prevent gossip and . . . repercussions. Don’t tell me you disapprove, Leland.”

  “You’re not the first King to keep his own private seraglio,” said the Stalking Man. “As long as you remember it takes a strong man not to be ruled by his own weaknesses. I’m just amazed you’re not up to your knees in bastards.”

  “Another useful spell,” said William, just a bit coldly. “The Royal line must be kept pure, to sit on the Redhart throne. We may not have access to the old Blood Magic anymore—that ended when Good King Viktor wiped this Castle clean of the Unreal—but the line must be maintained, just in case the Unreal and the Blood Magic should return. I do take my responsibilities seriously, Leland.”

  “Why have you summoned me here, William?” said the Stalking Man.

  “You never can bring yourself to use my title,” said the King. “Is it because we’ve been friend
s for so long?”

  “No,” said the Stalking Man. “It’s because I serve a higher master.”

  “You’re here because I have need of you,” said the King. “But first, indulge me. Answer a question for me.”

  “If I can.”

  “Are you of the High Magic or the Wild Magic?”

  The Stalking Man smiled briefly. “Nothing so limiting. My power comes from the Lord of Darkness.”

  King William frowned. “The Demon Prince?”

  “Hardly. He’s just a Transient Being. Much lower down on the food chain. I am the real deal, William, and don’t you ever forget it. I am the wrath of Hell and the Vengeance of the Pit. Because there has to be a balance.”

  King William sniffed loudly. “I’ve never understood all that. How can you be a balance to the Walking Man when there hasn’t been one since Jack Forester gave it all up to be a monk?”

  The Stalking Man shrugged. “There’s always a Walking Man, somewhere, so there always has to be a Stalking Man, somewhere. I don’t understand the rules either, William. I just follow them. Because the Great Game is being played out at a much higher level than you and I will ever understand.”

  “I never understood why you wanted . . . this,” said the King.

  “You know my history and my tragedy,” said the Stalking Man. “That’s all you need to know. Now, what is it you want, William? Why call me here so urgently, to this private place, for this very secret meeting?”

  “Because there’s going to be a war,” said the King.

  “I thought you wanted peace,” said the Stalking Man. “You worked hard enough to hammer out an agreement. Gave up your only daughter in marriage to the enemy. Do you fear now it was all for nothing?”

  “There are more forces arrayed against the peace than anyone anticipated,” the King said carefully. “I have to hope for peace, but prepare for war. There has already been an attempt on my daughter’s life. If she is killed I will have vengeance, even if it soaks both our Lands in blood.”

  “I sold my soul for vengeance,” said the Stalking Man. “For the death and destruction of those who did me wrong. I held their still beating hearts in my hands, and found it wasn’t worth it. But you won’t listen to me, because you’re a King and you don’t have to. You will go your own way and to hell with everyone else. So here I am, William, always ready to support a war.”

  “Even when it’s for an honourable cause?” said the King.

  The Stalking Man laughed softly. “When is war ever honourable? It’s always about power and politics, wealth and pride. All you Kings invoke Honour and Land and Ancient Rights, but in the end it always comes back to the pride of men. I don’t care about causes, except as means to an end. I only care about blood and slaughter and destruction. The piled-up dead and the burning cities, and women weeping for men they will never see again. I walk this earth to make Humanity suffer. Reasons are irrelevant.”

  “Then you will be a soldier in my army,” said King William. “One of my secret weapons, to turn the tide in my favour.”

  “Only one?” said the Stalking Man. “What other secret weapons do you have, William?”

  “If I told you, they wouldn’t be secret, would they?” said the King. “I must have powerful secret weapons, to back up my army. Forest Castle still holds powerful, even legendary, weapons in its Armoury. Everyone knows that. But I will put my faith in powerful men, not blades. Starting with you, Leland.”

  “An honour, William,” said the Stalking Man, bowing mockingly. “Call for me and I will be there. It’s been a long time since one of my kind went to war. I wonder if a new Walking Man will appear to face me . . . That would be a glorious battle!” And then he stopped, and considered for a moment, before looking King William in the eye. “You know why I threw away my soul, William, in return for the power of retribution. You know what I did for hate’s sake, and what I have done since, for Hell’s sake. I have always wondered—knowing who and what I made of myself . . . why have you let me roam free?”

  “Because I always knew I might need you someday,” said King William.

  “Ah,” said the Stalking Man. “I knew it couldn’t have been anything as small as friendship.”

  “It is the prerogative of Kings to do terrible, necessary things to preserve their Kingdoms,” said the King.

  The Stalking Man nodded slowly. “Because we were friends, once . . . I will push the limits of my bonds to say this: you do know it’s far easier to call up the forces of Hell than to dismiss them? I will fight in your war, William, set my teeth in the throat of your enemy . . . but you will have no say in what I will do, or how I will do it. You can let loose an arrow, but once it is free of the bow you have no control over where it will fly. I will kill and I will conquer, but only in Hell’s name.”

  “Why, Leland,” said King William, “I never knew you to be so eloquent.” He considered the Stalking Man thoughtfully, for a long moment. “How did we end up here, old friend? These aren’t the men we intended to be . . . I remember you, in better times. It does . . . pain me, to see you like this. Do you have to be the Stalking Man all the time? Is there ever any peace for you?”

  “I didn’t want peace,” said the Stalking Man. “And see what has become of me. A wise man would draw a moral from that.”

  “Leland . . .”

  “I have power now! And greater men than you have knelt and sobbed before me, begging for mercy, before I killed them anyway. Don’t you pity me, William. Don’t you dare. You’re just a King. The Lord I serve rides on the backs of dead Kings, and bathes in their tears.” He leaned in close, suddenly, to whisper in the King’s ear. “I know why you’re doing this, William.”

  And then he straightened up, turned his back on the King in a swirl of bloodred robes, and left the private room. He walked unseen back through Castle Midnight, and where he went then . . . nobody knew.

  The King watched him go, stone-faced, and didn’t turn away until the door was shut again and the Stalking Man safely gone. The King let out his breath then, in a long, slow sigh, and allowed himself to relax. He turned to look at his precious pool, and only then saw the bodies of his little fishies, lying facedown in the water, every one of them quite dead. Because you do not summon the Stalking Man without paying the price.

  • • •

  Some time afterwards, King William went for a walk in his ornamental gardens. He wore his finest ceremonial robes, and his crown, and wherever he went in the gardens the gardening staff bowed low to him and hurried to get out of his way. Unlike his daughter, King William had never taken much interest in his gardens, and rarely went there. He had them only because he inherited them, because they had belonged to his father and his grandfather before him. He saw to it that they were maintained to the highest standard, because it was expected of him and because if he was going to have ornamental gardens, then by damn they were going to be the best and most magnificent ornamental gardens ever, and a rebuke to all lesser gardens in lesser Lands.

  In fact, it had been such a long time since he’d walked through his gardens, that William honestly didn’t remember when he was last there. Before the children were born, certainly. Much of what he saw and encountered was new and strange to him. Catherine had loved the gardens so much that he gave her control over them as soon as she was old enough to oversee things without constantly running to him for advice. She seemed to have taken to it with great enthusiasm. He wished he’d known before she’d left. He would have liked to have complimented her on what she’d achieved here.

  For a moment he seemed to see Catherine running merrily across the wide lawns, a wild, free spirit in her simple boyish clothes. But it was just a thought and a wish, gone the moment he looked at it directly. The King strode along, past flower beds and hedges and goldfish ponds covered with floating lily pads, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his head down, thinking. He wondered whether Catherine would ever forgive him when she finally found out all the things he’d done in Re
dhart’s name. He had used her . . . because that was what Royal offspring were for. Royal children were born to be bargaining chips, weapons, even sacrifices . . . There was power in being King, but there was helplessness too, sometimes, in the things you had to do. Because the Royal line must continue . . .

  And then, finally, William looked up and realised he’d reached the place he’d been heading for all this time, even if he hadn’t consciously admitted it to himself.

  The Standing Stone rose tall and jagged before him, a barely human shape carved out of stone that was ancient before Castle Midnight was even dreamed of. There were those who said a pagan god slept within its stony embrace, or perhaps a devil. The God Within, that was what the people called it. Sometimes his guards caught people sneaking into the grounds to worship at the Stone, or sacrifice before it, or leave presents for it. Old traditions die hard. The King looked at the Stone, and the Stone looked back. If there was a power in it, what could he do to call it forth, to help him in his war? Would he let it loose on the Land, whatever it was? And if this was, as he suspected, the last remaining fragment of the Unreal in Castle Midnight . . . might it be enough to restore the Unreal in the Castle? And make him strong enough to take on the Stalking Man, after he was no longer needed? One monster to set against another?

  The King looked at the Standing Stone for a long time, thinking many thoughts, and then he turned his back on it, without saying anything, and walked quietly away.

  • • •

  Elias Taggert, Steward to King William in Castle Midnight, went running through the corridors, summoned most urgently by his King. But when he finally reached the Court and the guards threw the great door open for him, and he hurried in . . . he was astonished to discover that the Court was empty. Given the almost peremptory urgency of his summons, the Steward had assumed it must be some emergency meeting of the Court. But the whole Great Hall was empty, apart from King William sitting silently on his throne, solemn and brooding, like one of his own gargoyles. The Steward noticed immediately that while the King was wearing his finest ceremonial robes, he wasn’t wearing his crown. Which meant this was to be no official meeting. Whatever was decided here, whatever orders were given, no record was to be kept. The Steward strode quickly through the empty Court to approach the throne, his rapid footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet.