Fable: Edge of the World

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Fable: Edge of the World Page 17

by Christie Golden


  They went to the bar and knocked on the door. No one moved to answer it, but there was a child’s giggle from behind the door. Page let out a sigh of relief.

  “Thank goodness,” she said as Timmins turned the knob on the door. “I thought those hobbes were the village children and the parents had been—”

  The words died in her throat. Before them were sprawled at least a dozen corpses. Some of them looked like they had been burned. Others had scratches on them, but no other signs of violence; still others looked as if they had been … chewed on.

  And Page suddenly realized that it hadn’t been a child who had been giggling.

  “Nymphs!” she shouted. She pulled out her pistol and Timmins readied his rifle. Both of them looked around but saw nothing.

  Another titter, as if there was a jolly good joke going on, and they weren’t in on it.

  And then Page spotted one, perching in the rafters. Its huge black eyes stared down at her, its wings moving slightly, its head cocked as if in curiosity. A soft, ethereal glow surrounded its green, bark-textured form.

  Timmins blasted it with his rifle. It squealed, more in indignation than pain, and dropped to the floor.

  The others attacked, wings buzzing in anger. It was almost impossible to target them, as they darted back and forth, sometimes transforming themselves into small orbs of glowing light that were impervious to attack, other times hurling little blasts of fire that exploded into thornbushes.

  “Retreat!” shouted Timmins. Page needed no second urging. She raced out the door, Timmins at her heels. As soon as they were clear, he slammed the door shut and leaned on it as angry nymphs made soft, small thuds against it.

  “Let me hold the door!” Page shouted. “You go find something to prop against it!” With her wounded arm, she wouldn’t be able to lift anything. Timmins nodded and a moment later returned with a small bench, which he wedged against the door under the knob.

  “That won’t hold for long,” he warned.

  “It doesn’t have to,” Page said. “Let’s get out of here!”

  There was nothing left for them in the town. The adults had been slaughtered, and the malevolent nymphs had changed the children of Blackholm into hobbes. They had no choice but to flee this place and hope that the next town offered more hope and less horror.

  Laylah had awakened shortly after Page and Timmins had escaped. They had locked her in Page’s cell, and the guard on duty had himself been locked in the loo. She had to wait until the morning shift came in, and of course by then, the two miscreants had made a clean escape.

  She was devastated, and angry, and later, when Reaver had offered her his deepest sympathies and asserted that he would immediately have Wanted posters printed, she had told him, “Offer a high reward.”

  How could Page do this to her? And furthermore, why, if she was as innocent as she had claimed? Laylah had no doubt as to Timmins’s guilt, especially not when Reaver had related how he had “caught that yellow-livered coward red-handed in Blackholme. Hmm … that’s a colorful anecdote, don’t you think? I rather like it.”

  He had cautioned her that now was not the time to show compassion. “The whole of Albion knows what a kind soul you are,” he said. “But you must prove that you have a stout heart as well. Everyone will be watching what you do next. You must demonstrate beyond a shadow of a doubt that any acts of treason against you, or your council, which now consists solely of me, will not be tolerated. I suggest a round of lovely and graphic executions.”

  “No,” Laylah had said. “I will execute no one without a fair trial. My husband would never do such a thing, and neither will I.”

  He had sighed. “Scruples,” he said. “Such annoying things. As you wish. Then we must content ourselves with showing Your Majesty’s untouchable power in other fashions.” Angry, wounded, and eager to prove that she could rule just fine without traitorous babysitters, Laylah was more than willing to implement several of Reaver’s suggested policies. She extended the curfew in Bowerstone that had gone into effect the day after Page and Timmins had escaped. Guards were recalled from distant places in the kingdom, sent there to watch for any appearance of the darkness, and instead reassigned to patrol the roads between towns. She raised the taxes on everything that came into and went out of Bowerstone.

  As the days crawled by, Laylah withdrew into herself more and more. She no longer appeared daily to settle disputes, nor did she even leave the castle. She cloistered herself in her room, seeing only Reaver and Barrows, who brought her food, and, of course, the faithful Rex. She had expected being without her husband to be difficult, and ruling in his stead even more so. But she had never expected the horror of betrayal.

  She was listlessly stirring sugar into her tea one afternoon when Barrows knocked on her door. Rex was looking at the scones with pleading eyes, thumping his tail hopefully on the floor. “Enter,” she called.

  “Madame,” said Barrows, “Mr. Reaver is here to see you.”

  Laylah sighed. “Show him in. Oh, and Barrows, tell the cook to feed Rex. He’s being a bit of a beggar today.”

  “Of course, my lady. Come on then, Rex, time for supper.” The dog pricked up his ears at the word “supper,” rose, and happily trotted to the door just as Reaver entered. Rex growled, but otherwise did nothing, following Barrows as Reaver swept off his top hat gallantly.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, and sat opposite her at the small table.

  “What’s happened now, Mr. Reaver?” Laylah tried to rouse herself to interest as she poured him a cup of tea. He accepted with a nod of thanks.

  “Well,” he said, “we’ve heard rumors of an insurrection in the Mistpeak area.”

  She stiffened. “That’s quite impossible,” she said. “Sabine is a friend, and more than loyal to Albion and my husband. Your informants, I think, are too eager for their pay and are making up stories.”

  “Possible, possible,” he agreed. “But I would suggest sending several soldiers up there just to be certain.”

  “They’re the closest to Samarkand,” Laylah pointed out. Something was stirring to wakefulness inside her. Something wasn’t … right. “Why would they choose now to alienate me? We’re the ones who’ll be protecting them if the darkness crosses the mountains.”

  Reaver threw up his gloved hands in an exaggerated gesture of puzzlement. “Who can comprehend the mind of a Dweller?” he said plaintively.

  “No,” said Laylah. “I won’t insult our friend like that.”

  “Then at the very least, I’d like for you to sign this,” Reaver said, handing her a parchment and sliding the inkwell and quill on the table over toward her.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing that you need concern your head with. Just a trifling adjustment to the current workers’ composition, schedule, so forth and so on. I know how all this wearies you.”

  “Thank you, I think I will read it,” Laylah said.

  “I really don’t think you need to—”

  “I do, Mr. Reaver, and in case you’ve forgotten, I am the one ruling this kingdom.” Her eyes fell to the parchment and landed on the words “child,” “twenty-hour shifts,” and “no further compensation for unfortunate incidents.” She looked up at him—and saw a pistol staring her in the face.

  “I am rather sorry to inform you, Your Majesty, that, actually, I am the one ruling this kingdom,” Reaver said.

  Laylah’s eyes widened as fear shot through her. Even so, her hand dropped down to her thigh—and the pistol she always kept in a pouch there.

  “You can’t be serious,” she said. Her voice quivered only a little. “You wouldn’t dare kill me.”

  “Please put those lovely hands on the table right now, my dear,” Reaver said, “and of course you are right.” Without blinking an eyelash, he aimed his pistol at the closed door and fired. There was a sharp cry from Barrows on the other side. Laylah opened her mouth to scream, but somehow he had closed the distance between them and had her pinned to the fl
oor, his hand over her mouth.

  “You will do exactly as I say,” he said. “I have plenty of bullets, and there are several dozen servants in the castle, are there not?”

  Her eyes widened still further, and she nodded. “Good girl,” he said. He lifted his mouth from her hand and moved away, permitting her to rise. In the brief time it took her to do so he had already reloaded the pistol. “I knew you’d see reason. Now. I understand there’s a certain—Sanctuary that your husband likes to visit. You will take me there at once.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His eyes went cold, and for the first time, Laylah truly saw the darkness in the man. Oh, if only she had believed Page and Timmins! “I quite enjoyed playing my little games with you, Your Majesty, but the hour grows late, and I am sure you are tired. Barrows?”

  The door opened, and Barrows, unharmed, entered. Laylah couldn’t believe it. “Barrows,” she whispered. “You serve him?”

  Barrows smirked. “Yes, Majesty. I’ve already told everyone not to worry—that you were cleaning your pistol and it went off. Best do as he says, my lady. There are plenty other servants here who aren’t in his pocket.”

  “Good job, Barrows. Now, please make sure no one disturbs Her Majesty for the next little while. I’m guessing the Sanctuary isn’t too far. I shan’t kill you—I need you a bit too much—but Barrows is right. There’s such a plethora of hostages I could choose from. Now. Take me to the Sanctuary, or we shall have to pay them a very unpleasant visit.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jasper often felt as though he were the luckiest butler to ever live. Apart from that unpleasantness with King Logan, which was all eventually resolved quite satisfactorily, he could look back on his long life without complaint. He’d served the old king well and been treated well in return. And Jasper was utterly certain that part of the reason the current king had turned out as well as he had was due in no small manner to Jasper’s care of him as a child and young adult.

  Now, his care of the young king had been rewarded in a manner that made him feel joyful every day. No longer a mere butler, even a butler to a king, he was the keeper of the Hero King’s Sanctuary. The place was intoxicating—every day, Jasper learned something new. And he had something he didn’t know he craved—solitude. It was lovely having visitors now and then, mind you—while the king had been adventuring, the young Hero had returned frequently but briefly. And the lovely Queen Laylah had come a few times since her husband departed for war, often bringing him his favorite treat—peach cobbler from the kitchen. While the confection was always best with fresh peaches, he found the dried ones available during the winter an adequate substitute.

  Tonight, something had been bothering him and he found himself rising from his rest. Donning his slippers, he padded in his nightclothes and cap to the three-dimensional map of Albion, wondering what had prompted him to do so.

  He started violently when he heard Her Majesty’s voice. “Jasper? I’m so terribly sorry to wake you.”

  Somewhat disoriented, the butler glanced about, wondering where the deuce Laylah was hiding, then belatedly realized she was speaking to him through the Guild Seal. He cleared his throat, feeling himself blush slightly with embarrassment.

  “Not at all, not at all, Your Majesty! As it happens, I was already awake. Is all well?”

  “Oh, yes, quite well, but there’s something I need to check on in the Sanctuary. I was hoping you’d put the wards down so I could enter. I’m afraid I won’t be bringing cobbler, though, not this time of year, so I’ll have to make up for the inconvenience with something else later.”

  He opened his mouth to remind her that she could come and go as she liked, and also that one could prepare cobbler with dried fruit—

  Oh, dear.

  He hurried back to his room and began throwing on his clothes as he spoke. “Of course not, what a silly thought, peach cobbler in the winter, please don’t worry your lovely royal head about it. I’ll have everything ready for your arrival.”

  He hoped she would pick up on what he was saying—that, as he and the royal couple had once discussed, if anyone other than Laylah knew about the Sanctuary, Jasper was to pack up the most essential items and flee. He was no fighter; all had agreed this was how he could best serve.

  “Excellent. I’ll be there in a few moments.”

  “Lovely, Your Majesty, it’s always a pleasure to see you no matter what the hour.” He winced. Had that been too much?

  No matter. He grieved to leave the lovely queen in possible peril, but he had his orders. He threw the Book of Heroes and a few other key magical items into a bag and hurried to the map. Where should he go? There was so much more the king would miss if it fell into the wrong hands. Maybe he should pack more.

  His mind was a total blank. Suddenly he stood up straight. “Shake it off, Jasper!” he told himself sternly. “You have been butler to three kings. You know the politics as well as Their Majesties do.”

  He focused on Mistpeak Valley, realized it was too late to grab a proper overcoat, and activated the ring that contained a piece of the Guild Seal.

  “How charmingly dramatic this all is!” Reaver exclaimed. “Descending into a chilly tomb, activating a hidden lever, a weeping angel giving you the Guild Seal …” He feigned a shiver. “You did well with Jasper. I think I shall enjoy having him serve me.”

  Laylah did not reply. In the frantic trip from her chambers to the tomb where the Seal was kept, she had been racking her brain trying to think how to warn her friend. She was fairly certain he had understood her, but she wouldn’t know until they materialized in the Sanctuary

  “Now,” he said, “tell me how this works.” When she did not reply, he sighed. “I thought we had reached an understanding. If you don’t tell me how this works, we march back to the castle and I start executing chambermaids and groomsmen.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. To obey him would be the ultimate betrayal of her husband. To defy him would be to murder innocents. But to unleash him on the Sanctuary, especially if Jasper had not been able to escape with the more precious items—it would give him yet more power. And how many innocents would die then?

  “I grow weary of your balking,” he said, with an edge to his elegant voice. “Choose, or I shall choose for you.”

  Courage stiffened her spine. She had betrayed the location of the Guild Seal, but so far, all she had done was warn Jasper. She could still protect the Sanctuary from this monster. She felt a smile curling her lips as she spoke.

  “The Guild Seal is bound only to my husband, Jasper, and to me. Before that, it was bound to my husband’s father, the king. You can’t enter it unless I take you there. And I am never going to take you. I will kill myself before I let you use me.”

  He seemed not to have heard her last impassioned statement. “Bound to the old king and the three of you, eh? Not by blood, obviously. By loyalty and love, then. Obviously I don’t have that. But now here’s a fair question—is it bound to the king because he is a king … or because he is a Hero?”

  He reached over, grasped the Guild Seal, and with a blinding flash of light, they both disappeared. An instant later, they were in the Sanctuary—a Sanctuary mercifully empty of Jasper. Reaver turned on her, giving her a mock bow.

  “Clever girl. You managed to warn the old fellow, didn’t you? Well done. Even though I obviously do not need you to operate the Guild Seal, I think I shall keep you around for a while longer. You may be very useful indeed.” He looked around, marveling. “This place is extraordinary! Although your husband needs better taste in tailors,” he said, as he eyed some of the costumes on mannequins with distaste. “However, the quality of these weapons make up for that. I can’t wait to supplement my armory.”

  Laylah wished she had used the pistol on herself. Anything not to have to watch this evil, smug dandy behaving in so proprietary a fashion with her husband’s most precious items.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Reave
r said. “I did tell you if you didn’t cooperate, someone would suffer. I gather this map will take me wherever I need to go in a jiff. Let’s go back to Bowerstone, and you get to select who I’m going to kill.”

  They materialized inside the castle. Laylah’s legs nearly gave way when she saw seven chambermaids and footmen sitting on the floor, each one of them bound hand and foot and staring up at her in pleading silence. Only Reaver’s steel-like hand on her arm kept her from falling. They were overseen by the smirking Barrows.

  “Welcome back, Majesty, Mr. Reaver,” he said. “I’ve assembled some of the staff as you requested.”

  Something inside Laylah broke. “Please,” she whispered. “I won’t thwart you again. Just don’t harm these people. They’re servants, not in any position to do anything for or against you. Don’t harm them!”

  “Ah,” Reaver said, “but you see, they are in a position to do a great deal for me. As long as I hold them hostage, I have, as you say, a guarantee that you won’t thwart me again. However, I think it incumbent upon me to prove that I am not the old softie that my employees make me out to be. I will pick someone if you don’t, rest assured. You do understand I’ve got to be certain of your cooperation.”

  How could she live with this? How could she pick an innocent to die? Who deserved life most, and who was she to determine it? She looked at the elderly footman Robertson, the shy, mousy young kitchen girl Daisy, at Mary and Chester and …

  “I have made my decision. I may choose any of the assembled domestics, correct?”

  “Quite correct.”

  “I have your word that you will not gainsay my choice?”

  He put his hand to his heart. “I do have my own code of honor, Your Majesty. Choose someone to execute, and I shall execute him or her.”

  Slowly, she turned and locked eyes with Barrows. “I choose him,” she said.

 

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