They had moved on to discussing the guests at the castle before Althea did anything but eat and listen.
Then, she said: “That doctor’s a pushy one, isn’t he?”
There were several knowing smirks and one contemptuous snort from an upper maid who should have been above such a noise.
“Investigating the prince’s curse, he is,” said one of the footmen. “Important old buzzard, ain’t he?”
“Self-important, more like,” said the upper maid who had snorted.
“Nan’s in the right,” said one of the kitchen maids. “I heard him say as how it had to be a woman that put the curse on him. Said they were all spiteful-like, the accidents, and it must have been a woman that done ‘em.”
Althea looked rather amused. “Is that so? I suppose that accounts for the questions he flung at the scullery maid this morning.”
One of the footmen said wrathfully: “If he’s been upsetting Betsy again, I’ll have a few words to say to the steward about it!”
“Oh well, at least it’s not another girl,” said a kitchen maid. “It’s a cryin’ shame, all those dead girls. The curse ain’t gonna harm him, now is it?”
“We can only hope!” said the footman.
Althea sipped tea thoughtfully. “So no one else is willing to try and break the curse?”
“Such a shame!” said one of the upper maids. “It’s so romantic! Imagine being married to the prince!”
“Imagine breaking every bone in your body or being boiled on the inside while being frozen from the outside,” retorted the maid called Nan. “You imagine that, Cinna! Anyway, it’s not romantic, it’s disgusting. One little floozy after another trying to force her way into the royal family.”
“Jumped up little trollops,” agreed another voice. “Why should they think themselves good enough for the prince, I’d like to know! Who are they? Who are their families?”
“I still think it’s romantic,” said Cinna. “None of this hoity-toity them and us: it’s a chance for any girl to make a name for herself.”
Again there was that snort of derision, but the little maid pressed on, undeterred: “What’s more, Nan, if I wasn’t such a coward I’d try for myself, so I would! Just think! To be queen!”
“What about the enchantress that’s visiting?” said a kitchen maid, setting a fresh plate of bread on the table. “Do you think she’s trying for the prince? She’d have a good chance, that one.”
One or two curious pairs of eyes turned toward Althea, who was still sipping tea, and the upper maid called Nan said: “You’re maid to one of the guests, aren’t you? Is the enchantress your mistress? You didn’t say.”
“Oh no!” said Althea, in a friendly fashion. “I’m the enchantress. I’m here to break the curse.”
Day Four
That girl! thought Markon; that headstrong, careless little imp of trouble and worry, should be thoroughly shaken! He’d gone to bed with his annoyance and woken with it still fresh in his mind. He hadn’t intended to tell the whole court that Althea was there to break Parrin’s ‘curse’, but once she’d told the staff in the upper kitchen, it didn’t really matter what he’d meant to do. The story would be around the castle faster than the smell in a slaughterhouse on a hot day. What was worse was that he’d not heard from Althea all morning. He hadn’t been able to get to his library, either, since midweek was always set aside for Hearings until at least noon. Anyone suing for justice or appealing for a pardon could apply to the castle and be seen on midweek day: a task which Markon usually found interesting if not particularly heartening. Today it seemed long, tortuous, and particularly galling.
His annoyance simmered all through the midweek hearings and flared again when Althea didn’t show up in the library to report at noon either. Annerlee’s body had just been discovered when he left the midweek hearings, and though Markon had already known about it, the reminder was unpleasant– lying to his seneschal about it more so. When that interview was at last finished he hurried to the library again, only to find it still empty of Althea. What was she up to now?
Markon had just sat down in some irritation to eat a light, late lunch when his steward knocked on the door to announce that Doctor Romalier would like to see him on a matter of some urgency. Anticipating Markon’s curt denial of any wish to see the doctor, his steward added: “I understand it has something to do with the curse, your majesty. I believe it may be important.”
Markon checked the impatient retort that rose to his lips and after a moment’s fed-up silence, said with a faint smile: “All right. Show him in.”
But when Doctor Romalier entered, he was not alone. Markon, who wouldn’t have been surprised to see Pilburn the emissary with him, was surprised to see one of his own court magicians with the Doctor. Doctor Fenke, his venerable old beard jutting with as much importance as Doctor Romalier’s, nevertheless looked unusually worried.
Both men bowed and discreetly waited for Markon’s steward to close the door.
Then Fenke said solemnly: “Your majesty, Doctor Romalier has apprised me of a serious situation. A very serious situation indeed.”
“That’s very kind of him,” said Markon, looking from Fenke’s important, serious face to Romalier’s important, smug one. “Was it something he felt uncomfortable discussing with me?”
“Not uncomfortable, your majesty,” said Doctor Romalier smoothly; “But as a guest here I felt that your majesty would prefer to have a Montalieran opinion as well.”
“A Montalieran opinion on what, exactly?” Markon demanded. He felt that the day would have been less irritating had he simply stayed in bed, where he could have had the felicity of brooding over Althea’s wrongdoing in peace.
“During my investigations this morning, I chanced to come across some rather clever monitoring magic,” said Romalier. Incredibly, he seemed to be getting smugger by the minute. “It’s a style I often see used in espionage work, your majesty: a listening spell placed somewhere of interest and trailing back somewhere that the magic user can hide away and listen at will.”
“I see,” said Markon slowly. He was beginning to have a very bad feeling about this, and it wasn’t because of the espionage magic. This smelled for all the world like a setup. “Where was the listening spell placed?”
“We’ve just now traced it here to your library,” said Doctor Fenke apologetically. “As a matter of fact, I can see it over there, your majesty. It’s webbed up behind your desk.”
Markon threw an instinctive glance over his shoulder, but didn’t really expect to see anything. Nor did he.
“Can you dismantle it?” he asked.
“Of course,” said Doctor Fenke.
Doctor Romalier, smoother than ever, suggested: “Surely it’s best to follow it to its source first, your majesty?”
Markon looked at the Doctor for a long thoughtful minute before he said: “Lead the way. I’ll come with you.”
He wasn’t at all surprised when the two Doctors led him directly to Althea’s suite. If it had been anyone but Doctor Fenke—old, set in his ways and entirely honourable, if slightly stick-in-the-mud-ish—Markon would have suspected that Doctor Romalier had paid for his second opinion. As it was, he could do nothing but tell his steward, whom he had also brought along with the distinct suspicion that he would be needed, to fetch Althea from whichever part of the castle she was presently occupying.
“Bring her courteously,” he added. His steward, with the gleam of intelligence in his eye that had caused Markon to appoint him in the first place, nodded.
“Your majesty, what if she escapes?” said Doctor Romalier in dismay. “Surely a squad of guards in magic-resistant armour would be more appropriate!”
“Appropriate for what, exactly?” enquired Markon gently. “Starting a war with Avernse? Dishonouring a lady who has had nothing proved against her as yet?”
Doctor Romalier huffed a little, and at last said: “Will you not enter the room, your majesty? What are we waiting for?”
“We’re waiting for the enchantress,” said Markon, more gently still. “We’re showing ourselves to be gentlemen and not boors. When the lady hears the charges she’ll let us in without reservation.”
Both doctors looked dubious, but neither dared to say any more. This happy state of silence continued until Markon’s steward appeared once again, Althea a step behind him and walking swiftly. There was a gleam of interest in her eyes that turned to wariness when she saw the two doctors beside Markon, and he fancied he saw them narrow slightly.
“I understand you wish to speak with me, your majesty,” she said formally, curtseying.
Markon saw Doctor Romalier open his mouth to speak, and said quickly: “Doctors Romalier and Fenke have discovered an espionage spell in my library that leads back to your rooms. I told them that you’d be happy to open your suite to us in order to clear yourself.”
“And so I am,” said Althea, though he thought she looked rather shocked. Her eyes weren’t on the floor, but he was certain that she was thinking very quickly indeed. She opened the doors for them, her eyes following the same line of sight as the two doctors, and all three of them gazed in silence at the dressing table across the room, where Althea’s combs were set out.
“You see?” said Doctor Romalier in triumph. “The spell is grounded in that comb! What have you to say for yourself, enchantress?”
Althea studied the comb in silence, and Markon wondered if it was just his imagination, or if she really had grown paler.
“Well?” demanded Doctor Romalier. “Well, enchantress?”
“Steady on, Romalier,” protested Doctor Fenke uncomfortably. “Give the enchantress a chance to breathe.”
Markon, with a sour edge of dismay beginning to curl in his stomach, said: “Can you explain this spell, lady?”
“Certainly,” said Althea. There was a lightness to her blue eyes that Markon wasn’t familiar with, and he wasn’t quite sure what it meant. “This isn’t human magic, Doctors. It’s fae magic. But don’t take my word for it: see for yourselves.”
Doctor Romalier’s eyes bulged. “What? That’s impossible!”
Doctor Fenke, fumbling eagerly with a pair of circular, ground-glass spectacles, said excitedly: “I never would have thought to check! Egads! She’s right, Romalier! Look at this!”
“I can see perfectly well from here, thank you!” snapped Doctor Romalier, fending off the comb as Doctor Fenke thrust it under his nose.
“Fancy that! Fae magic! Who would have thought, eh? Well, this certainly clears the enchantress of any wrongdoing, I’m glad to say.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Althea primly.
“On the other hand, it opens up a rather more dangerous proposition,” remarked Doctor Fenke. He didn’t look as though the prospect was unpleasant: Markon got the distinct impression that he was still immensely excited. “It seems that you’ve got a fae running around your court, your majesty.”
“Come now, it’s a little previous to be making that sort of judgement!” protested Doctor Romalier. “A fae in the Montalieran Court?”
“Doctor Romalier,” interrupted Markon; “I assume that you’ve also absolved the lady of all wrong-doing?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking– it does seem that– and if it really is fae magic–”
“It is!” said Doctor Fenke in surprise. “You can see it as well as I can, man! Can’t think why we didn’t check in the first place.”
“Well, I don’t really see how the enchantress can be responsible,” said Doctor Romalier reluctantly.
“Thank you so much,” said Althea. “Would you all mind if I dismantle it now? I’m rather uncomfortable with it being here in my room.”
“Go ahead, go ahead,” Doctor Fenke said affably. “I’d very much like to see you work, lady.”
But Althea’s eyes had flicked up to meet Markon’s, and it wasn’t until he nodded that she took the comb from a sulky Doctor Romalier, whose assent was also grudgingly given.
Doctor Romalier may have been grudging, and he may have been outspoken in his dismissal of enchantresses in general and Althea in particular, but Markon noticed that he watched her with narrowed eyes for the entire operation. To Markon it seemed as though all Althea did was scrape the back of her thumbnail against the tines of the comb, back and forth, back and forth: but the two Doctors were spell-bound.
When Althea said: “There we go,” and tossed the comb back onto her dressing-table, all three of them jumped, each of them to some extent mesmerised.
Doctor Fenke was the first to recover himself. He said: “Well, if that’s all, I think we’ve trespassed on your good nature long enough. That was a first-class unworking, madam! First class!”
“Not at all inferior,” said Doctor Romalier coldly. “I’ll walk with you, Fenke.”
They withdrew together, leaving Markon and his steward to hear Althea’s sudden: “Well, that’s interesting! You’d probably better stay.”
“What’s interesting?” asked Markon, indicating to his very surprised steward that he could leave. The man did so, his face struggling between proper reserve and faint approval.
“The espionage magic isn’t the only fae magic in the room.”
“What?”
“Someone—some fae—has dropped a very nasty bit of magic on my bedside rug,” said Althea. “No, don’t come closer, for all I know it could be a sticky one. Throw me an apple, will you?”
“Hungry, are you?” said Markon dryly, but he threw her one of the apples from the fruit bowl by the window. “What are you– oh.”
Althea tossed the apple into the centre of the rug from a careful distance, a flash of red against blue that changed to a flash of cream against blue and then shattered in a cascade of porcelain apple shards.
“Not very nice,” said Althea, observing the mess. “Still, that seems to have gotten rid of it, so it can’t have been a very high level fae.”
“I’ll have you changed into a different suite,” said Markon tightly. “If you hadn’t–”
“If I hadn’t stirred things up, I wouldn’t have to change suites?”
Exasperatedly, Markon said: “You wouldn’t be in danger!”
“Yes, but just think! There were two different kinds of nasty magic in my suite. Two. Unless we’re dealing with a very disturbed person, it seems obvious that in this situation at least–”
“–there are two people involved.”
“Exactly,” said Althea, smiling at him. “One of them wants to implicate me in espionage; another wants to make it look like I’ve been taken by the curse as well.”
“What else did you get up to today?” asked Markon, sitting down absentmindedly on Althea’s plump couch. Rather to his disappointment she didn’t join him: she sat on the bed instead, her back as straight as ever but her arms folded comfortably on the footboard.
“I was looking for Doors,” she said. “Nothing to make anyone try to discredit me via espionage. And honestly, I don’t think it was Doctor Romalier, either.”
“Don’t you?” said Markon. “I’m not so sure.”
“Well, neither am I, if it comes to that. And he was awfully angry when he found out it was fae magic instead of human.”
“But that could just be Romalier being the pleasant human being he is,” nodded Markon, following the thought that Althea had left unsaid. A blaze of what if flashed across his mind, and he added slowly: “Or it could be that someone told him what to expect, and he felt that he’d been made a fool of. He was certain that the magic would be yours.”
“He was, wasn’t he?” said Althea, after the barest possible pause. “That’s an interesting possibility. Oh! How odd: one of my combs is missing.”
“The one that was used in the espionage magic?”
“No. It’s a set of three. One is still missing: my favourite.”
Markon, unsure if he should be commiserating or grasping a point, said: “Who took it?”
“Well, that’s the question,�
�� she said. “Things like combs are usually taken because of what they have more than because of what they are.”
“You think they wanted your hair,” said Markon, after far too long in thought.
Althea gave him a pleased little nod that made him feel he’d been particularly clever. “Exactly. I think that’s how the victims are being targeted. Which brings me to the issue of Doors between here and Faery.”
“Did you find any useful ones?”
“Not useful so much as interesting,” said Althea thoughtfully. “You won’t like it, I’m afraid.”
“Won’t like what?”
“There are quite a few Doors through to Faery around the castle. At least one for every girl that was injured or killed or taken. Someone has been opening them quite regularly. The ones I found are mostly dormant or dead by now, but a few are still active, and even the dead and dormant ones weaken the barriers between here and there.”
Markon’s breath hissed between his teeth. “You mean eventually fae could come through uninvited?”
“Yes. Whoever is bringing fae through and attacking these girls doesn’t understand the danger of what they’re doing.”
“Where were the Doors?” asked Markon. It occurred to him that very few people in the court had access to all of the castle; similarly, the servants were contained in their paths of back stairs and serviced rooms, each set occupying its own orbit. The position of the Doors might prove useful in determining to which particular set of people the perpetrator belonged.
Twelve Days of Faery Page 4