“We had a little bother with the knights, but we took care of it.” Lightning replies. “Right up until the castle guards joined in.”
Gwen rolls her eyes at them both. “You’re aware that this was supposed to be a mission that involved subterfuge, subtlety, in and out quietly?”
“We did.” Filippo says. “Everything went off according to plan. We just hit a little snag on the way home, and we had to have a word with a couple of them.”
“And I suppose this word involved you punching someone in the face? I mean, really, Filippo, after all these years you still start street brawls?” Gwen raises her eyebrows at him.
“We didn’t start it.” Lightning rests her hand on Filippo’s arm.
“Some of the temple thugs were taking their bad mood out on a trader. We just stepped in to stop them. Once the castle guards showed up we got out of there because we’ve no quarrel with them.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t catch our Filippo. He’s not exactly the fastest runner in town, is he?” Gwen asks. “It sounds like they turned out the whole guard for you. How did you escape?”
“We had a little help from a friend.” Lightning winks. “That mad old druid, Godwick, sort of got in their way and slowed them all down. I do hope he didn’t get into any trouble.”
“I am pretty certain that he is fine.” Gwen replies, frowning. “I don’t think there’s a guard in the whole country that could lay a finger on him, unless he wanted them to.”
Chapter 19
“I hope you’re able to tell me what the hell is going on.” The hooded figure indicates a nearby chair as he sits down.
“I wish I knew.” The soldier reverses the chair and straddles it leaning against its back. “It has to be Gracie, and he must have friends.”
“I’ve no idea what he is, but I’m certain we picked the wrong man to use as a scapegoat this time.” He thumps the table with his fist. “They seem to be able to appear and disappear at will, and we’ve no idea how many of them there are.”
“Can we move things forward?” The soldier stretches his shoulders. “If we can finish up more quickly then there’s no way they’ll be able to do anything. Once you control the castle, they won’t be able to unseat you, will they?”
“That’s assuming they haven’t figured out what we’re doing!” He throws his arms wide in exasperation. “This was supposed to be a simple task. A foolproof plan to gain control up here. Instead, it’s turning into a mess.”
“How much longer do you need before we can move to the final phase?”
“With his wife there all the time, things are progressing more slowly than we expected.” He sighs and shakes his head. “The draught is being administered daily, while she’s away sleeping, but I require more time alone with him.”
The monk leans back in his chair before continuing. “At best, we need another couple of days. Do you think we can stop them interfering for that long?”
“I’ve explained to the others, as best as I can, what they might be up against. We’re maintaining full vigilance. I don’t know what else we can do.”
Phineas waits until they all settle down before he begins to speak. They can see that he’s troubled. Flashes of red and purple flicker over the outer layers of his skin as he waits for them to be ready for his news. Finally, they’re in place and settle back to hear what he has to say.
“Thanks to the intercession of our Piper here and the use of the moon mirror we now know what they’re using to keep the prince in his catatonic state, but it’s not good news.” His face looks grim as he takes a deep breath and continues. “He’s being dosed with an extract from a basilisk.”
A stunned silence greets his words. With even the little knowledge they possess about the creature, considered mythical by many, they understand the seriousness of this news.
“Precisely.” He continues looking at their shocked faces. “No human, no Temple Knight could have acquired this. No human would have the skill to create this extract. Wherever this plot reaches to, someone from outside of the human realm has been involved.”
“You mean, one of the Fae has been involved, don’t you?” Gwen speaks. “There’s no way someone from outside of the Otherlands could get to a place where the basilisks live and acquire the items needed to create this extract. In point of fact, someone from our realm would have to be involved in the collection, and in covering up the fact that it had happened, would they not?”
The amount of red flashes across the Phineas’ skin continue to rise as he regards them all. “Yes. Gwen is correct. Someone has broken Fae law to create this plot. Catching them will be nigh on impossible because someone capable of this would have friends sitting high in the Council.”
“Do you think that’s why they blamed the Piper?”
“No. I believe that part of the plot was an accident.” Phineas rubs his temples. “Whichever agent of the humans was involved in implementing things in their realm didn’t realise that the Piper was anything more than what he seems to be.” He shakes his head. “No one from the Otherland, who knows of them, would have been stupid enough to implicate one of the Ravens. They would be aware that the Tavern would automatically come to their rescue.”
“But it does mean that someone on the Fae Council instigated this movement and set the plot in motion, does it not?” Gwen asks.
The others remain silent realising that something of this magnitude is well above that to which they are privy. They can offer no insight. They’re as shocked as Gwen, some of them having spent many centuries in the company of the Fae and understanding the strict rule about non-interference in human politics.
Phineas replies in the affirmative, through gritted teeth. “I’ve yet to inform the Queen of my suspicions, but she won’t be pleased.” He spreads out his fingers on the table. “As ever, there is an underlying faction at the court which is behind this, and which can see no further than the nose upon its own face. They continue to disappoint me.”
“What of the documents, Lord Phineas?” Piper enquires. “Did they reveal anything?”
“Indeed, they did. One of our archivists remembered the script and the language in which they were written, and was able to read them. It seems that your enemies are not the followers of this one god after all.”
“Really? Let’s check the facts.” Lightning says, her face expressing innocence as she counts off on her dark fingers. “We found the documents in a hidden room, inside their temple. The main access is from one of their offices. We have constantly been pursued by their knights. Their so-called healers are caring for the prince.” She waves the four fingers at him. “You can see why we might think they have a hand in this, can’t you, my lord?”
Phineas relaxes a little and chuckles. “I can indeed, but you’re wrong.” He leans back, folding his arms. “It seems that the temple themselves are also being deceived, and on a grander scale than you realise. I doubt they’d believe you were you to present this evidence. Only the cult members are capable of reading it and, whatever translations you offered, they’d simply deny it.”
“What cult might that be?” Piper draws his dagger, balancing it with ease on the tip of his finger. “Please, provide me with full names and locations for all of them. I shall see that they trouble us no more.”
Wildcat sits with a huge grin on her face, nodding approvingly at Piper’s words. “Count me in.”
“And that’s exactly why I won’t be providing you with any such list.” Phineas says. “Yes, they implicated you in their plot and you do deserve your vengeance, my dear Prince Cadwallader. However, it should not extend to the killing of hundreds of men — at least not yet, anyway.”
Wildcat leans her elbows on the table and licks her lips. “Hundreds? So, how many of them do we get to kill?”
“Currently very few.” Phineas points to the vellum sheets. “Even though we’ve read these and now almost understand what’s going on, the documents don’t name names. These records use coded names for
the participants. No one is mentioned by their actual title, or lineage. We know the extent of their plot, but we still have no idea exactly which ones are involved or, indeed, how they came to have contacts with Fae that could provide them with their poisons.”
“He’s right, unfortunately.” Piper reaches over to touch Wildcat. “We can’t just go around killing people indiscriminately, much as I’d enjoy watching these plotters suffer, dear heart. We have to make sure that the right people suffer. If we go around slaying innocents, then we’re no better than the evil we’re supposed to fight.”
Wildcat slumps back against the bench. “You’re no fun either.”
Gwen laughs. “And that, my dear sweet Wildcat, is why we always send you along with someone else on most of your adventures.”
“I’m not a monster, I’m a hunter. I just prefer simple clean solutions to problems and I’ve found, over the years, that dead men do actually tell no tales.” She winks.
“Yes. I’ve been privy to most of your discoveries along that line.” Gwen shakes her head and thrusts her finger at the documents. “That aside, since we have no names, we have no bad men to kill, do we?”
“Can we guess who some of them might be?” Piper asks. “Surely a plot of this depth can’t have been kept completely quiet.”
“Well, according to the documents this other sect is using the temple as a front for their own advancement.” Phineas taps a five-pointed star symbol on the parchment. “They pay lip service to Christianity and its beliefs.”
“So not Fae then?”
“Goodness, no.” He laughs. “This cult is run by a family of humans.”
“One family?”
“One large, magical family. The Ravens are not the only humans ever to be gifted with power, and theirs is hereditary.” He shakes his head slowly. “Them, and their competing bloodlines.”
Cat mouths the word ‘Bloodlines’ and twists her lips outwards.
“So how do they operate?” Piper is frowning.
“They worm their way into important positions within Temple ranks to carry out their own plans — which seem to be related to another deity.”
“Some other fake God?” Piper frowns. “Isn’t one fake God enough for them?”
“That is the thing, my dear Piper. Their other god may not actually be fake.” Phineas looks troubled. “Also, they mention another phrase we don’t know the meaning of. It says it’s a ‘Mask-Walker’. Whatever that is, they’ve created it as the main part of their plan.”
After Phineas has finished his explanation he’s met by silence from all those assembled the table. Waiting to allow them to digest what they’ve been told, he leans back in his chair and sips his now cold beverage.
Gwen sees him grimace and insists on taking the mug from him and going to the kitchens to fetch something fresh and hot.
Piper is the first to break the silence. “So, the reason these documents were written in a dead script in a dead language is that they were written by the followers of a dead god?”
“It would appear that the rumours of his death have been greatly exaggerated.” Phineas accepts a new steaming mug from Gwen and sips some of the hot liquid gratefully.
“But I thought you said the gods don’t involve themselves in mortal affairs?”
“Well, in the strictest sense of the term, they don’t. In their day-to-day contact with humans I suppose there must be some involvement.” He puts the fresh mug on the table. “The pact that prevents direct interference doesn’t stop them having that type of contact. The rules are quite complicated and are enforced by others from their time, before The Fall.”
“I thought nothing was known about it?”
“Very little. There are a few manuscripts which have survived, in the possession of our archivists. We’re not certain how accurate they might be, but what they tell us is all that we know. Very few of the Fae who lived at that time are still alive.”
“It was that long ago? Don’t Fae lived forever?” Wildcat’s question echoes the thoughts of the others.
“Not forever. Some few still survive, but they will not speak of it. They’re bound by a vow they took, with many others, that certain things must not be spoken of, ever again. That time was cataclysmic and chaotic. The world almost ended in the upheaval. Measures were put in place to ensure that it could never happen again.”
“So this supposedly dead god is breaking the rules?”
“No. That’s the problem. If the rules were being broken, as you label it, then someone would know and the fail-safes would operate.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “No. This smells more of manipulation, than direct involvement, by one we thought perished during The Fall. If we were wrong about that, we may have been wrong about other things.”
“So, is it their plan to kill the prince and, if so, why have they kept him in this catatonic state for so long?”
Gwen purses her lips before speaking. “Lindy up at the castle has spoken with others there and gathered information and apparently there is some little-known law. It governs the transfer of power from prince to prince. Should someone hold the position of Regent for one moon or longer, during a time of illness of the incumbent prince, they’ll automatically take over the role — should the actual prince then die.”
“So, they’re deliberately keeping him ill to place his brother in charge of the state? Doesn’t that indicate that his brother is the main beneficiary of this plot and therefore that’s who we should be looking at?” Lightning asks.
“David? At the centre of some plot to make him the prince? I’m sure we’ve covered this before.” Piper can’t contain his laughter.
“Maybe he’s just a really good actor.” She says in response to his outburst. “What if he has you fooled like you thought you had them fooled?”
He thinks quietly his eyes flickering, running through all his interactions with the prince’s younger brother. “I just don’t see it. He couldn’t act that well for that long. I’m sure he’d have slipped up at least once.”
“Well, if that’s the case, who else benefits?” Gwen asks.
“It must favour the temple in some way since that’s where this hidden cult operate from.” Piper taps his thumb under his chin. “I’m really struggling to see the connection here. What benefit do they gain from this, other than the fact that they’re able to persecute those following the old ways?”
“From what we can determine, the plot probably involves placing David in charge and making the One God the only accepted religion for the people.” Gwen’s face looks thoughtful. “It might just be about power.”
“Isn’t that a little bit of a tawdry reason for all this subterfuge?” He asks.
“My dear Piper, after all these years, haven’t you realised that everything with humans comes down to wealth, power or sexual activities? They don’t seem to care about anything else.”
Her eyebrows turn sharply downwards, folds of skin meeting at their centre.
“Assuming all the members of this cult are human, then gaining influence over a whole Kingdom could be exactly what they’re looking for.”
“So, all we have to do is storm the castle, beating up the guards and any knights who might get in the way. Kidnap the prince’s body. Escape with him, holding him somewhere for three or four days until the basilisk venom wears off, and hope that when he wakes up he thinks we’re on his side. Then we can put everything to rights.” Wildcat pauses for effect. “Yes, that sounds like it’ll work. Let’s get going then.”
“Well, I admit that when you put it like that it does sound a tad more difficult.” Piper says. “Although, I must admit for addressing the basic concept of the problem, it’s a pretty good plan, old girl.”
Wildcat laughs and slumps back into her seat. “Does anyone have any ideas that might be better than mine.” She pauses once more. “Please? I know we’re not the world’s greatest at planning but, let’s be honest, the day someone listens to one of my plans things really have gone astr
ay.”
“What you really need is some way to wake him up faster.” Comes the suggestion.
“Yes, indeed, that would be excellent. Unfortunately, from what our dear Fae friends have told us, there actually isn’t any sort of cure for basilisk venom other than letting it run out of the system, so to speak.” Piper frowns. “Wait a minute. Who said that?”
They turn to their left to see an old man sitting in a wooden chair at the end of the table, which was most certainly not there earlier. He’s smoking a long pipe, with the brim of a pointed hat pulled down over his eyes.
“O ye gods.” Lightning’s shoulders shake as she laughs. “It’s like a wizard walked out of a storybook. When did you find that ridiculous hat?”
The occupant of the chair sits upright and pushes the brim of the hat back. His eyes twinkle as he smiles at them. “Really? I thought it was a good look — very…” He pauses for a moment, “very erudite.”
Gwen walks over, hearing the startled conversation. “How do you keep getting in here?”
“The answer to that question, dear hostess, lies in the question itself.” The old druid replies. “It all just comes down to a basic understanding of exactly where ‘here’ is.” He grins, obviously pleased with himself, his rosy cheeks reflected in his twinkling eyes. He points with the end of his pipe. “Did I mention that the door was open?”
Sure enough, they turn to see the same sunny vista, across the Tavern, through a doorway that shouldn’t exist.
“Oh, not again.” Gwen looks him over. “I think the whole outfit’s a bit much, and what on earth are you smoking in that pipe?” She sniffs the heady fumes rising from it.
“Oh, I am sorry, how rude of me.” He proffers the pipe to her. “Here, do have some. It’s absolutely the best. I grew it myself.”
Gwen places the flat of her palm against the pipe bowl and gently pushes it back in his direction. “I’m sure you did, Old Father, and I’m equally certain that I’d be flat on my back if I had more than one puff from that thing.”
The Wrong Scapegoat: A Mythic Fantasy Novel (Ravens of the Morrigan) Page 27