Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Simon R. Green

  “She mentioned the Blue Moon.”

  “So she did.” Hawk shrugged. “She also claimed to channel Princess Julia, but since Julia is definitely still very much alive …”

  “She’s a witch,” said Chance shortly. “They See too much of the world. Their minds don’t work like ours do.”

  “I don’t think Tiffany’s mind works like anybody else’s,” said Fisher. “It’s a wonder to me she can tie her own bootlaces.”

  “Witches are fairly low-level magic-users,” said Hawk quickly. “Why do they have such a presence here?”

  “The Queen puts great faith in the Sisters of the Moon,” said Sir Vivian carefully. “She has officially asked the Academy to investigate the matter of the King’s death. It seems she doesn’t entirely trust the Magus or his investigation. Can’t think why.”

  “And since Tiffany is quite definitely the most powerful, if not the most experienced, witch the Academy has ever produced, the Mother Witch put her in charge of the investigation,” said Chance. He didn’t sound too happy about it. “She’s barely left the Academy; spent most of her life behind their walls. How we do things in the real world is still something of a mystery to her.”

  “Innocent but powerful,” said Fisher. “A dangerous combination.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Chance. “Much like me, after I left St. Jude’s. Single-sex institutions have a lot to answer for.”

  “How does the Magus feel about this involvement of the witches?” Hawk asked thoughtfully.

  “So far he’s completely ignoring them,” said Sir Vivian, who seemed to have forgotten he wasn’t talking to Hawk. “The Magus has always been very good at not seeing things he doesn’t want to see.”

  “I’m surprised we haven’t seen him yet,” said Chance. “I was expecting him to be there to greet our return. I mean, this whole journey south was mostly his idea.”

  “The Magus is currently attending the Court,” said Sir Vivian, sharing a look with Chance that Hawk caught but couldn’t interpret. “The Magus spends a lot of time at Court these days.”

  “How about the Shaman?” asked Chance. “Another face suspicious by his absence. It doesn’t seem like the Castle without him bursting into other people’s gatherings, to make a speech or pick a fight.”

  “No one’s seen him all day,” said Sir Vivian, frowning. “Which means he’s plotting something again. The Shaman is always most dangerous when he’s not around. That man never chooses a straight line if he can find a more devious one. If I thought I could enforce it, I’d ban him from the Castle, but …”

  “Yes,” said Chance. “But.”

  “He’s much more than he seems to be,” said Sir Vivian. “But then, that’s true of a lot of people here at Forest Castle.”

  “Including you?” asked Fisher.

  “Oh, of course,” said Sir Vivian solemnly.

  Hawk stopped abruptly as something on the wall to his right caught his attention. Fisher followed his gaze and stopped with him. There on the wall before them, nine feet tall, were the official portraits of Prince Rupert and Princess Julia, living legends of the Demon War. Prince Rupert stood tall and heroic, heavily muscled inside formal plate armor chased with gold. A single straight scar ran down the wrong side of his face, and he still had both his eyes. The artist had given Rupert’s face a noble, almost saintly look. Princess Julia stood barely five feet tall, wearing a long flowing gown of midnight blue, with gold and silver piping. Diamonds gleamed brightly on rings and bracelets and necklaces, and her long blond hair was piled up on top of her head in an intricate style. Hawk and Fisher studied the images in silence for a long while.

  “We never looked that good in our lives,” Fisher murmured finally.

  “Right,” said Hawk, just as quietly. “No one’s ever going to recognize us from these. Talk about idealized. No wonder we’re such a disappointment, compared to them.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Fisher. “We’ll soon make our mark. In someone’s forehead, if necessary.”

  And then they both jumped as they realized someone was standing right there beside them. He definitely hadn’t been there a moment before. He had suddenly and silently appeared out of nowhere. While Hawk waited for his heartbeat to return to something like normal, it occurred to him that such a practice could quickly become extremely irritating.

  “Good evening,” said the new appearance. “I am the Magus.”

  “Of course,” said Fisher. “You would have to be.”

  Hawk glowered at the Magus to show how unimpressed he was, but he took his hand away from his axe. Fisher pushed her sword back into its scabbard. The Magus was a few inches less than average height, with a round, calm face under a sparse mousey haircut. His eyes were a faded blue, and his mouth held a constant gentle smile. He had an almost absentminded stare, and his gaze tended to drift, as though he was always thinking of something more important. His clothes were at least thirty years out of fashion, and ruthlessly formal, topped off with a huge enveloping cloak of midnight blue, whose top rose up and over the Magus’ head, as though watching over him. He was a man who knew things. Hawk knew this immediately, just from looking at him. There was a low but menacing growl from behind Hawk, and he looked quickly around to see Chappie backing away to hide behind Chance’s legs, his tail between his legs.

  “Bastard!” growled the dog. “You jump out of nowhere near me again, and I’ll bite your bum off!”

  “Chappie!” snapped Chance immediately. “Show some respect.”

  “He smells wrong,” said Chappie defiantly. “High Warlock’s successor, my hairy arse.”

  The Magus ignored both of them with the ease of long practice. “Welcome to Forest Castle, Captain Hawk, Captain Fisher. I’ve been expecting you for some time.”

  “How could you?” asked Fisher suspiciously. “No one knew we were coming instead of Rupert and Julia, and word hadn’t had a chance to get ahead of us.”

  “How do I know anything?” the Magus asked pleasantly. He plucked a long-stemmed rose with no thorns out of nowhere and presented it to Fisher with a slight bow. She smiled slightly, charmed despite herself. Chappie sniffed loudly.

  “Show-off.”

  “I know why you’re here,” said the Magus, his calm gaze drifting over to Hawk. “I can’t think of anyone better suited than you to investigate poor Harald’s murder.”

  “How could he have been killed when he was protected by your magical wards?” Hawk asked bluntly. He could tell the Magus was trying to be charming, but Hawk didn’t feel like being charmed.

  “That is one of the few things I don’t know,” said the Magus, his voice still unwaveringly calm. “Technically speaking, it should have been impossible. No doubt you’ll work out the answer in time. But then, answers aren’t everything. I’ve always been more interested in questions. The truth rarely makes us happy, or even satisfied.”

  “Is that why you’ve been unable to solve the King’s murder?” Sir Vivian asked harshly.

  “Nothing is as it seems,” said the Magus vaguely. “But then, that’s business as usual in Forest Castle. Here, there are secrets hidden inside enigmas, and false faces everywhere.” He smiled at Hawk and Fisher. “I don’t have to tell you that. The past is coming back to haunt and possess the present, and not all old ghosts have been laid to rest.”

  “You know,” said Fisher, “just once I’d like to meet a sorcerer who wasn’t so fond of his own voice. It always has to be riddles and mysteries. What the hell are you talking about? Can’t you say anything open and straightforward?”

  “Very well,” said the Magus. “The Blue Moon is coming back.”

  Hawk and Fisher looked at each other sharply, and then at Chance and Vivian, but judging by their startled faces, this was news to them, too.

  “Would you care to elaborate on that?” asked Sir Vivian.

  “No,” said the Magus. “Follow me, please. Court is still in session, and I’m sure everyone there could use someone new to shout at.”
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  He drifted off down the corridor. Hawk couldn’t help noticing that the sorcerer wasn’t casting a shadow. Fisher gave a start as the long-stemmed rose she was holding collapsed suddenly into a pale pink mist and floated away. Sir Vivian smiled.

  “Just another illusion. You can’t trust anything where the Magus is concerned.”

  “But he does know things,” said Chance. “From the past, the present … and the future. No one keeps secrets from the Magus.”

  “Then why can’t he see who the killer is?” Hawk asked.

  “Good question,” said Sir Vivian.

  They set off after the Magus, heading for the Court. They’d all pretty much run out of things to say, though they had a lot on their minds. Hawk was trying to figure out how he felt about the Magus. For a supposedly firstrate sorcerer, the Magus didn’t have anything like the air of authority that the High Warlock had always had, even when in his cups. The High Warlock had always been a very dangerous man, and everyone knew it. The Magus, on the other hand, was quiet, serene, almost self-effacing. He didn’t look like he had it in him to be threatening. But still, there was something about the man, something almost sinister. As though he knew many things he wasn’t supposed to know. Knowledge can be power, particularly if blackmail is involved. Hawk pondered the implications of that all the way to the Court.

  They eventually came to a halt before huge closed double doors that led into the Courtroom. By tradition no one was allowed entrance to the Court once the doors were closed, without express permission from the Throne. Raised voices could clearly be heard from behind the doors, rising and falling in angry chorus. Hawk had a sudden strong sensation of déjà vu. He’d stood here once before, as a much younger Prince Rupert, waiting to be allowed into Court, to learn what his future would be. In those days, many people had had power over him. Or thought they had. Most of those people were long dead now, but even so, Hawk felt an unfamiliar uncertainty run through him, like a cold breath of his past, from memories he’d never been entirely able to forget.

  “They’re all in there,” said the Magus, studying the closed doors as though he could see right through them. “The Queen, the Landsgrave, the Duke … all the would-be movers and shakers.”

  “The Landsgrave?” asked Sir Vivian. “I wasn’t aware he was even back in the Castle.”

  “He’s been speaking, on and off, for some time,” said the Magus. “Sir Robert always did have a lot to say. Unfortunately, so does everyone else. And they’re all too busy fighting to be heard to listen to what anyone else is saying. No wonder they never get around to deciding anything. I often wonder if I should change them all into birds. At least then they’d make a pleasant noise. See if you can do anything with them, Captains. Someone has to. Before the bad times come.”

  “So you keep saying,” growled Sir Vivian. “But until you’re prepared to be more specific about the nature of this threat, you can’t blame us for not taking you too seriously. If I want my future told, I’ll ask a witch to read the tea leaves in my cup.”

  “Patterns can be seen in many places,” said the Magus. “As above, so below. Nature reflects the supernature. I see many things. Luckily not all at the same time. The future is constantly shifting, shaped and determined by the decisions we make every day. But some things are inevitable. Magic is going out of the world, but that, too, could be changed. Nothing is certain in this world, not even death, in some circumstances. Right, Captains?”

  Hawk and Fisher, who had died once in a bloody cellar deep under the city of Haven, said nothing but thought much.

  The Magus gestured lazily at the closed doors with a limp hand, and they flew open, swinging inward as though the huge slabs of oak were weightless, crashing back against the inner walls. The great reverberating sound silenced the acrimonious roar of the Court for the moment, and the Magus led his party forward into the shocked silence. The packed crowd drew back to form a wide aisle for the Magus to walk down. It seemed no one wanted to get too close to him. Hawk and Fisher followed after him, looking about them to see how much the Courtroom had changed in their absence. The vast, spacious hall looked much as they remembered, perhaps a little cleaner, illuminated now by modern gas lights rather than the fox fire lamps of old. The last of the evening light was falling through the gorgeous stained-glass windows, most of it falling on the raised dais at the end of the hall, on which stood the ancient Forest Throne, carved in its entirety from a single huge block of oak. The Magus stopped some distance short of the Throne and slipped his cloak from his shoulders. He then walked forward, leaving the cloak hanging unsupported on the air.

  “Don’t get too close to the cloak,” the Magus murmured to those courtiers nearest. “I haven’t fed it recently.”

  He stopped directly before the Throne, and bowed courteously to the imperial figure sitting on it. Queen Felicity acknowledged his presence with the merest inclination of her crowned head. The Magus gestured for Hawk and Fisher to approach, and they did so, giving the hanging cloak a wide berth. They could feel the eyes of all the Court upon them in the continuing strained silence, but did their best not to show it. Regardless of what authority they might or might not have, they still understood the importance of making a good first impression.

  “Your Majesty,” said the Magus easily, “may I present to you Captains Hawk and Fisher, from the south, authorized by Prince Rupert and Princess Julia to investigate the terrible murder of your dear departed husband, the King.”

  Hawk and Fisher smiled at the Queen on her Throne, and nodded briefly. Strictly speaking, they should have bowed low, or even knelt, but Hawk and Fisher didn’t do things like that. Besides, it was important to get off on the right foot. Hawk studied the Queen openly, as she studied him.

  Queen Felicity was tall, fashionably slender but with a heavy bosom, and showed the world a sharp bony face under a thick mop of blond hair, in ringlets so tightly curled, they just had to be artificial. Her face was powdered so pale, it seemed like a mask, while her lips were a vivid scarlet. Her eyes were cold and knowing, and her tight-lipped smile was openly cynical. She was smoking a cigarette in a long dark ivory holder, Southern style. Her other hand held a cut-glass goblet, half full of wine. She was dressed fashionably but formally, her long golden gown studded with pearls and polished semiprecious stones. The ancient, simple crown of the Forest line was almost hidden in the thick blond curls. Her scarlet fingernails looked long and sharp enough to rip someone’s throat out. Armed guards stood on either side of the Throne. They looked tense, as though expecting a threat at any moment.

  Hawk was still wondering exactly what he should say to the Queen, when there was a sudden interruption. A tiny figure, no more than nine inches high, fluttered swiftly through the Court, bobbing over the heads of the courtiers, some of whom ducked and gasped, until finally the figure settled elegantly onto the Magus’ left shoulder. He smiled at her fondly as she sat down, arranging herself comfortably. Hawk gasped despite himself as he realized he was looking at a winged faerie. She was spindly thin but normally proportioned, with a cloud of jet black hair over a pinched face and pointed ears. Her wide translucent wings held all the hues of the rainbow, shifting and sliding like the colors on the skin of a soap bubble. She wore a black basque, fishnet stockings, and heavy black eye makeup. She grinned at the Magus.

  “Hello, lover. Miss me?”

  “Always, my dear.” The Magus beamed at her and then turned to Hawk and Fisher. “Captains, allow me to present to you that darling of the dark, mystical marvel and leader of fashion, Lightfoot Moonfleet, last of the faerie kind to dwell in the world of mortal men.”

  “Hello, darlings,” said Lightfoot Moonfleet. Her voice was quiet, but quite distinct. Her smile was impossibly wide, and her dark eyes sparkled brightly. “Always good to see new faces at Court. The old ones can be terribly dull. We haven’t had a decent scandal in ages.”

  Hawk was delighted at the sight of her, so much so that words stuck in his throat. No one had seen one
of the wee folk in years; certainly decades, maybe centuries. People were always reporting sightings, but it usually turned out to be the moon or shooting stars. It was common belief that the faeries had been extinct for ages.

  “Delighted to meet you,” he managed finally. “Are you really the last of your kind?”

  “The very last,” said Lightfoot Moonfleet. “My kind walked sideways from the sun long ago, out of history and into legend, in the place where shadows fall. Our time is over, sweetie. Magic is going out of the world, whether it wants to or not, and there’s less and less room in your organized and scientific world for monsters and miracles and mysteries. And the faeries were magic. I only stayed behind because the Magus needs me. Whether the poor dear will admit it or not.”

  In a moment too fast for the human eye to follow, she suddenly grew in size, shooting up to fully seven feet tall, towering over Hawk. He would have liked to fall back, but his legs didn’t feel strong enough. Full size, her blatant sexuality was overpowering, almost crackling on the air. Her dark eyes smoldered, and her crimson mouth curved in a wicked smile. Her skin was pale but perfect. She smelled strongly of rose petals and honey, with an underlying hint of pure animal musk. She reached out and took his chin in one petal-soft hand, and he felt his breath catch in his chest.

  “Of course,” said Lightfoot Moonfleet, “I’ve always had a weakness for the strong, silent type. And I do so love a hero.”

  And then she shrank rapidly back to her previous size, flying quickly back to the Magus as Fisher’s clenched fist swept through the place where her head had just been. Fisher recovered her balance in a moment, and glared at the wee winged faerie, back on the Magus’ shoulder again.

  “We are married,” Fisher said coldly. “No trespassing. Or I’ll make your wings into doilies.”

  The faerie shrugged prettily. “Understood, sweetie. I was only just testing the waters. I was always taught people should share their toys.”

  “You so much as flutter in his direction again,” growled Fisher, “and they’ll be using what’s left of you for a pipe cleaner.”