Chronicles of the Red King #3: Leopards' Gold

by Jenny Nimmo

  “Why the kitchens?” Petrello protested.

  “It’s a good place to hide. There are cellars.”

  “But, Guan, I don’t think Rigg is hiding. Didn’t I tell you? There was blood on the steps and the wizards believe he was taken. To tell the truth I don’t know what sort of signs I’m looking for.”

  “Oh! Then how —” Guanhamara stopped when she saw the investigator hurrying from the Bell Tower. Putting a hand on his feathered cap, he began to run. “Look! It’s Wyngate. I think he has made a discovery.”

  “It’s grim, by the look on his face,” said Petrello.

  Brother and sister stood half hidden behind a pillar. The door to the Meeting Hall was only two paces away, yet they dared not go closer. They could hear the investigator’s raised voice, but his words were muffled behind the thick door.

  The guard stared at the pillar. He could see Petrello’s shoulder and the hem of Guanhamara’s blue robe. The bell for lessons rang out, but the children didn’t move. All at once the doors opened and the king strode out; his lips were compressed, his eyes troubled.

  A crowd of Knight Protectors followed. Some made for the armory, others went to the stables. The guard began to close the doors, but a solitary figure suddenly walked out. The investigator nodded at the guard, then turned away. He rubbed his chin, his expression puzzled rather than concerned.

  “What has happened, Investigator?” asked Petrello as Wyngate passed.

  “Ah. Petrello.” The man stopped beside the children.

  “Has the bellman been found?” asked Guanhamara.

  Wyngate shook his head. “He won’t be found within the castle. There’s no need for a search now.”

  Petrello was disappointed. He had wanted to find Rigg, to spite Nurse Ogle and prove that he could do something right. “Have you found something, Wyngate?”

  The investigator looked at Petrello and his sister. They could see that he wanted to speak, but hesitated, perhaps because they were children.

  “We swear on our father’s name that we will never speak of what you tell us,” said Petrello.

  “Except to each other,” Guanhamara added quietly.

  The investigator smiled. “You are growing up. Both of you. There are those in this castle whom I could not trust. But I know you would keep your word.”

  They waited, silent and eager.

  “There is a traitor in the castle.”

  Shocked, the children stared at the investigator. They had heard of traitors, but none had ever been found in the Red Castle — as far as they knew.

  “How can you tell?” asked Guanhamara.

  Wyngate touched the jackdaw’s feather in his cap, as if for luck. “There is a window on the second level of the Bell Tower,” he said. “It was not latched. Attached to the central beam of the casement I found threads of a rope that had been tied around it. The window can only be unlatched from the inside. And only someone inside the castle could have tied a rope around that beam.”

  “So Rigg was wounded, and maybe knocked unconscious by a person we know?” Petrello was now more intrigued than horrified.

  “Either that, or the traitor assisted a stranger from outside.”

  “But the guard on watch would have seen,” Guanhamara pointed out.

  “Exactly,” Wyngate agreed. “And so I have had the guard arrested. He is to be questioned by the king and Chancellor Thorkil in the Hall of Corrections. I am on my way there.”

  “Can we come?” Petrello asked, knowing the answer, but unable to contain his curiosity.

  Wyngate smiled. “Of course you may not, cheeky boy. Off to your lessons. You are late.”

  “We were searching for signs,” said Guanhamara.

  “Too late.” The investigator hurried off, calling over his shoulder, “Rigg is long gone from this castle.”

  Petrello and his sister watched the investigator’s birdlike steps across the cobblestones. The feathers in his cap caught a ray of early sunlight and glinted blue, then green, and then the same shade of purple as his flying cloak.

  “I am afraid of Chancellor Thorkil,” Guanhamara said in a low voice.

  Petrello looked at his sister, surprised by her tone. It was unlike her to be afraid.

  “Why?”

  “There is a coldness about him,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to be that poor guard.”

  “Perhaps he’s not so poor,” said Petrello. “Perhaps he is in on the plot.”

  “You and your plots,” Guanhamara said with a laugh. “How you love intrigue, brother. But I want to hear what the guard says. Come on!” Lifting her hem, she began to skip across the courtyard.

  Petrello looked around nervously. Children were commanded to go to their schoolroom as soon as they heard the second bell. But today knights and courtiers hurried past, hardly glancing at the truants.

  “Come on!” hissed Guanhamara. She ran into one of the courtyard’s shadowed cloisters and Petrello followed her.

  “Where are you going, brother?” The shout came from behind them.

  Petrello looked back. Tolomeo came racing up to him. His face was flushed, his shirt and tunic all awry, and he was breathing heavily.

  “I’m not telling you where I’m going,” said Petrello, “unless you tell me where you’ve been.”

  “I can’t!” Tolomeo said emphatically. “I’m very sorry but I promised….” He clamped his lips together.

  “Who did you promise?” Petrello persisted.

  “Stop arguing and hurry up,” called Guanhamara.

  Petrello didn’t want to attract attention. He barely raised his voice to say, “Tolly’s here.”

  Guanhamara turned and hurried back to them. “Good,” she said. “Tolly, you can tell Friar Gereint that Petrello and I are on an errand for the king.”

  “Are you?” Tolly was impressed.

  “We were,” said Petrello.

  Tolly frowned. “Why won’t you tell?”

  “We’re wasting time.” Guanhamara tapped her foot. “Tolly, we’re trying to find out why the guard didn’t see Rigg, the bellman, being abducted.”

  “Was he abducted?” Tolly’s eyes grew round. “Can I come with you?”

  “If you tell us where you go every morning,” said Petrello.

  Tolly buttoned his lip. Guanhamara sighed and said, “We’ll miss everything if you don’t hurry. And who’s going to make our excuses to Friar Gereint?”

  “We’ll think of something,” Petrello said quickly. “Well, Tolly?”

  It was Tolly’s turn to sigh. “I might tell you after we’ve done whatever it is you were going to do.”

  “We’re going to the Hall of Corrections.” Petrello turned to see Guanhamara pacing ahead of them. She stopped and looked back at the boys, putting a finger to her lips.

  “I knew this would happen,” whispered Petrello. “There’s a guard outside the hall and he’s looking straight at us. We’ll never get past him.”

  Guanhamara took a few steps toward them. “We just need to slip inside. The steps to the next floor are right behind the door, and see, it’s still open. They must be waiting for someone.”

  “How do we get past the guard?” Petrello nodded at the man.

  “I know him,” said Guanhamara.

  “And so … ?” Petrello noticed that the man was now frowning at them.

  “And so I know that he’s the best and proudest rat-killer. He can’t resist them. I’ve heard him boast that his tally is seven hundred and fifty-three.”

  “Must we find a rat?” Tolly wrinkled his nose.

  Guanhamara stared hard at her brothers. Petrello had never seen such an expression on her face. She looked both expectant and somehow defiant. “I did something yesterday. Something I’ve never done before. In two minutes I shall repeat it.”

  Tolly and Petrello didn’t know what to say, or what to expect. They watched their sister stare at the guard’s feet. They heard her murmur. The sound was tuneful but came from deep inside her throat; her li
ps were barely parted. They followed their sister’s gaze. Tolly gave a light gasp and Petrello grabbed his arm. There, sniffing at the man’s boots, was the biggest rat they had ever seen.

  “A-a-a-a-agh!” The guard lifted his foot. The rat leaped. The guard brought down his pike. “A-a-a-a-agh!” he roared again. The rat ran and the guard gave chase.

  “Now!” Guanhamara plucked at her brothers’ sleeves and ran toward the door.

  Petrello found himself racing after his sister, his head full of questions. How did she do it? Was the rat flesh and blood? Could it be killed? He slipped through the open door and up the narrow steps, his eye on the hem of his sister’s gown, fast disappearing up the winding steps. Tolly came panting behind him.

  They reached the empty room above the Hall of Corrections. Guanhamara tiptoed carefully across the floor to the other end of the room. She knelt down and beckoned her brothers. They were not so light-footed. Even though they walked on their toes, the boards creaked under their boots. But the king’s deep voice in the room below drowned out almost every other sound.

  Tolly and Petrello reached their sister and knelt down beside her. She nodded approval and pointed to a gap between the floorboards directly in front of her. The inch-wide space ran for several paces before the boards closed up again.

  Guanhamara lay full-length on the floor, her eyes pressed to the gap. Petrello found it hard not to laugh. His sister was something of a spy; she had obviously done this before. He lay on the floor, his head touching hers, his feet in the opposite direction. There was a soft bump as Tolly dropped down beside him. Now all three had a narrow view of the room below.

  The king was out of sight, sitting at the far end of the room. Lord Thorkil couldn’t be seen, but they could hear his voice. However, when the prisoner was led in by two soldiers, they stood directly beneath Petrello. He couldn’t see the prisoner’s face, but his helmet had been removed and his bald head looked familiar. The soldiers pushed him forward and then stood behind him.

  “John, you know why you are here?” said the king.

  John bowed his head. “I’m told that Rigg, the bellman, has been taken, Your Majesty.”

  “Were you asleep, John?”

  There was no reply. The prisoner remained with his head bowed, his hands clasped before him.

  The silence lasted so long, Petrello raised his head. He found himself looking into his sister’s eyes. Guanhamara shrugged. Was the man in a trance?

  “I asked you a question, John.” The king’s voice was stern, yet patient.

  “I was not asleep, Your Majesty.”

  “We’re glad to hear it.” This voice had a high, brittle quality. There were several slow, precise footsteps on the flagstones below, as though someone wanted to give John time to think. Petrello put his face to the gap. He made no sound, but the man who had just walked into view looked up. Lord Thorkil’s eyes were a bitter gray. Petrello tried hard not to blink. Could the chancellor see the three pairs of eyes peering down at him?

  Lord Thorkil turned his gaze on John, the guard. “Your post on the south wall commands a view of the Bell Tower, does it not?”

  “It does, my lord.” John’s voice was dry and fearful.

  “So how is it that you failed to see anything unusual outside the tower earlier this morning?”

  “I … I …” John hung his head. He wriggled his shoulders as though trying to escape invisible bonds.

  “Perhaps you did see something, John,” said the king. “Are you too afraid to tell us?”

  John’s head came up. He was the same height as Chancellor Thorkil and looked directly into his eyes. Petrello couldn’t see either of the men’s faces, but he sensed that a look passed between them, a look unseen by the king.

  “It is true….” The guard’s voice quavered. “I witnessed a dreadful act, but I was threatened with my life not to divulge what I had seen.”

  “Tell us, John.” Lord Thorkil’s voice was now smooth and persuasive. “Don’t be afraid. You know that the king is just.”

  Words now tumbled out of John. How he had seen two men approach the tower, how a high window had opened, and a rope, thrown by one of the strangers, had been caught by someone behind the window and tied to a beam.

  “And did you not think to alert us at this stage?” The king paced across the floor and now stood beside the chancellor.

  John squirmed and hung his head again. One of the soldiers prodded him in the back, and he murmured, “I could not.” Then, clearing his throat, he added, “I had been warned to look the other way, but I was curious to see … how it would be achieved.”

  “So, you knew what was going to happen?” said the chancellor. “And did you see Rigg being taken?”

  John nodded miserably. “He was tied to the rope and lowered. He was unconscious, his head bloody. As they carried him away, the Vanishing began, and I was in the air — I saw nothing more.”

  The king stood very still. He rubbed his head, touching the crown. He seemed reluctant to ask other questions, yet all three children lying above knew what those would be.

  “Who warned you? Who threatened you?”

  John wrung his hands. He stared at the motionless chancellor, and then looked away.

  “Tell us, John,” the chancellor said evenly.

  After a long pause, the desperate prisoner blurted, “Your son, Your Majesty.”

  The king’s hand fell to his side. “You lie!”

  John shook his head, almost like a dog shaking water from its coat. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I do not lie.”

  Petrello looked up and once again found himself gazing into his sister’s frightened face.

  “I have six sons, John,” said the king. “Three of them are children. Which of my three elder sons do you accuse?”

  John squirmed. He looked at the chancellor and then at the floor. “Prince Amadis,” he mumbled. “He threatened to set his wolves on me.”

  Petrello was so shocked he sat bolt upright, bumping into Tolly, kneeling beside him. Guanhamara was sitting now and frowning in disbelief. Of all their brothers, Amadis was their favorite, and the one least likely to threaten anyone.

  The children’s sudden movements made a rustling and a scraping, but the atmosphere in the room below was now so tense, no one seemed to notice the sounds above their heads.

  Guanhamara mouthed the words, “Not Amadis. It can’t be.”

  Petrello pointed to the other side of the room, where the steps began. He wanted to run and warn Amadis, but his sister shook her head. There were footsteps below them. The king was leaving the Hall of Corrections, followed by the chancellor, the prisoner, and his guards.

  “What will our father do now?” asked Tolly.

  The others couldn’t answer him.

  We must warn our brother.” Tolly jumped up and ran to the steps.

  Petrello followed. “He’ll be with the Knight Protectors.”

  “You two run.” Guanhamara shooed them with her hands. “I’ll investigate. Why did that guard lie?”

  Petrello looked back. “He was afraid of the chancellor. A look passed between them, and the guard went kind of tense. Didn’t you see?”

  “I’m not sure.” Guanhamara scratched her forehead. “I’ll tell Wyngate. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Why not go to our father, Guan?” said Tolly. “He surely can’t believe that Amadis is a traitor.”

  “Maybe. Run now, and get to Amadis before the chancellor’s men.”

  Tolly and Petrello raced down the steps and across the courtyard. The stables covered a large area close to the South Gate. The grooms were busy saddling horses for the chancellor’s men, who stood in groups talking in low voices. They turned to stare at the boys when they entered the stables.

  “Why are you not in the schoolroom?” said Chimery, a lean fellow with lank gray hair and a deeply lined face.

  “We have permission from the king,” said Tolly, “to … to …” He floundered.

  Chimery
clicked his tongue and turned back to his comrades. The boys made out the words “brats” and “spoiled,” but the men’s voices were too low and hurried for them to hear any more.

  Although the chancellor’s men were not Knight Protectors, Lord Thorkil was a distinguished knight himself, and had personally trained an elite force of ten fighting men. They didn’t share the Knight Protectors’ easygoing, boisterous lifestyle, nor did they wear the bright colors favored by the other knights. The chancellor’s men were clad from head to toe in gray, from darkest charcoal to palest ash. Others in the castle called them the Gray Men, though never to their faces.

  While the Gray Men were badgering the grooms, the boys quickly saddled their ponies and trotted out of the stables. As they cantered through the East Gate, Tolly asked, “What did you think of the rat, Trello?”

  “What did I think?” Petrello grinned. “I thought, so that’s our sister’s endowment: making creatures out of air. And then I thought, at last she can defend herself against Olga and Lilith.”

  Olga and Lilith were their older sisters. Lilith was sixteen, Olga three years younger. People joked that Lilith’s sister stuck closer to her than her own shadow. They both had truly unpleasant talents.

  It was early spring, and green buds were appearing on the ancient trees. But the air was still cold. Not far from the edge of the forest, the boys found Urien, a small, stout knight who always seemed to find himself left far behind the others. His mare was old, but Urien wouldn’t part with her. He said that she had always carried him home safely.

  “Which path did our brother Amadis take?” Petrello asked Urien.

  Urien turned about in his saddle. “Edern went that way.” He pointed east. “Peredur, that way.” He pointed south. “Borlath followed him. Mabon, the archer, he went west and so did Ilgar and Edwin. But, um, I saw Amadis riding, um” — he pointed north — “that way.”

  “To the mountains,” said Petrello.

  “Yes, it would be,” Urien agreed.

  “To speak with the eagles,” said Tolly. “Eagles can see more than earthbound creatures like us.”