by Patty Jansen
Out of all the splendour she could have chosen to highlight, she focused on a dusty, fire-damaged cabinet. Once it had possessed a glass front, but the pane had been smashed long ago. The bed of velvet inside was empty.
It was such a dour and dirty thing that Nellie would not have given it any attention during her previous visit, but there was some familiarity to it. She had seen this cabinet before.
Yes, it used to stand in King Roald’s office—which he never used—and it held the crown and sceptre—which he intensely disliked wearing. The maids would come in once every so often and polish the glass and shake the dust off the velvet.
“Why is this here?” And then the next question. “Where are the crown and sceptre?”
“That’s a good question, isn’t it? A rumour goes around that after the chaos where the King and Queen died, somebody came into the king’s office and took the crown and sceptre for safekeeping.”
“Somebody?”
“No one knows exactly who it was, but it’s believed to be someone from the King’s Guard.”
This, Nellie remembered, had been a group of experienced guards whose task it was to make sure that the laws and agreements were obeyed by both citizens and guards. They had ceased to exist when there was no longer a king.
Gisele continued, “It’s also believed that this person either denied that they had the crown and sceptre or outright refused to hand them to the shepherd when it came to the task of appointing a successor. The law says that in order to be accepted a monarch, the prince or princess must accept the crown and sceptre.”
Nellie continued, “But because they don’t have the crown and sceptre, they can’t appoint a king.”
“That’s apparently part of the reason.”
“The people were told that it’s complicated to find out who has the most right to the throne. It’s even more complicated to make it look as if the people you don’t want to get it don’t have the right.”
Gisele chuckled. “I’m sure that’s also part of the reason.”
They continued into the cellar where the casks of wine were lined up. There were not quite as many as before. Evidently, many of them had been taken to the palace for the banquet.
“The room with all the books and the ruby skull is over there.” Gisele jerked her head to the side.
Nellie knew about that, too.
She shuddered at the thought of the books she had seen.
If there was ever any case for books to be burned, this was definitely it, although she had no doubt that this collection was worth a fortune.
Gisele led the way across the cellar, over a worn tiled floor that felt gritty and uneven underfoot. Nellie had to watch her step, with the too-long habit getting in her way.
The wall at the far end of the low-ceilinged room sported a number of doors, all with heavy metal bolts on the outside.
Gisele handed Nellie the torch. “Here, hold this.”
Nellie grabbed the wooden handle.
Gisele went up to the first door. She pushed up the bolt with a squeak of metal on metal. The door was so heavy that she needed both hands and all her weight to open it, and the dark maw beyond was most uninviting. Gisele stepped inside and came back. “This one is empty.”
She tried the next door which turned out to lead to some sort of pantry with many bottles of strange substances, most of them covered in a thick layer of dust.
The next door however released a wall of foul air when Gisele opened it. Phew.
Gisele didn’t step into the cell, but remained at the door. “Is anyone in there?”
It was too dark to see anything inside except for a small patch inside the door which showed a floor covering of dirty straw.
Something rustled inside.
For a moment, Nellie was afraid that some terrible animal would come out. A big, mean black dog that would turn into the fire dog and escape this cell at night.
But instead, the face of a boy appeared in the opening, like a pale oval in the darkness, his eyes dark, his hair dark and dishevelled. His eyes were wide, and he held his legs bent so that he could run or duck when someone tried to grab him. My, he was filthy.
“Who are you?” Nellie asked.
This boy did not look anywhere near the way she remembered Prince Bruno. The boy she knew had olive skin that browned easily in the sun. His hair was sleek and black. He would smile a lot.
This boy was pale as death, his expression haunted. He was skinny and filthy and didn’t look big enough to be fourteen years old.
He looked around with frightened eyes, and then he dropped to his knees and moaned.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
But this appeared to be part of an act although Nellie didn’t understand what he was trying to do.
Gisele pulled his arm. “Come. We’re taking you out. You’re free.”
First, the boy did not want to get up. Did he even understand her?
Gisele pulled him up by the shoulders. “Ugh. He stinks.”
She got him to his feet, but then he would not walk and it was clear why—his legs were shackled with metal bands, which chafed the skin.
Well, that would complicate matters somewhat.
“Can you talk?” Nellie asked.
He looked at her. A deep feeling of dread went through her. If he had been locked up for all those ten years, would he have turned into another mad prince?
“We don’t have time for this,” Gisele said. She picked the boy up and slung him over her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”
Gisele led the way out of the crypt, leaving Nellie to carry the light and shut the little metal grate behind them. She almost had to run to follow Gisele through the burial room and up the stairs.
Nellie was amazed at how strong Gisele was, but she hauled casks of wine and pretended to be a man.
At the top of the stairs, Gisele stopped so abruptly that Nellie almost crashed into her. She said some words that were most unmonk-like.
“What’s wrong?” Nellie asked.
Gisele jerked her head in the direction of the altar.
Nellie peeked around the corner.
A man stood at the table behind the altar, turning the pages in a book by the light of flapping candles.
He had his back to her, but Nellie didn’t need to see his face to know who he was. Out of all people who could have been in the church, Shepherd Wilfridus was the worst.
He held his hands up and muttered inaudible words as if practicing a sermon.
By the Triune, what now?
He hadn’t seen them, so they might have to run. Gisele would have to go first and Nellie would either have to pull the hood right over her head and pretend to be a monk or, better, discard the habit and ask the shepherd some innocent question.
Nellie went a few steps down to put the torch back in the sconce at the top of the stairs. Then she took off the habit and draped it over the boy who clung onto Gisele’s shoulder, shivering.
“I’ll go in and talk to the shepherd,” Nellie said. “You run when he’s distracted.”
If he asked, she could come up with a reason to have been to the crypt, because she used to serve Queen Johanna and she would have a valid reason to visit her grave. If he asked, she could even make up something about why she visited at this time of the day. But the thought of having to deceive the shepherd struck fear in her heart.
She stepped into the church. From the corner of her eye, she could see Gisele sneak away in the shadow of the outer gallery.
Slowly, Nellie walked up to the statue of the Triune, in the same way as when she came here to pray.
She shivered under her clothes. That habit had been so hot, and now the biting cold air touched the sweaty parts of her skin.
The shepherd still had not seen her. But he was accompanied by two altar boys who had definitely seen her. Neither of them said anything; they just stood behind the shepherd holding some objects.
Nellie kneeled and pretended to pray.
By the Triune, one of the boys was holding a bottle that looked like it contained gin. And the other held a bowl. As she watched, the shepherd snatched the bottle and emptied it into a dish on the table. Then the dipped his hand into bowl held by the other boy. He lifted his hand and let a stream of small things drop from his clenched fist. They looked like dried beans.
Then a glow of light emanated from the dish.
And a man’s laughter echoed through the church.
An evil glow of red light consumed the shepherd’s form. Red flames licked at his robe and his hair.
The two altar boys retreated, white-faced, until they stood with their backs against the wall. Both covered their mouth with their hands.
Shepherd Wilfridus dipped his hands into the dish where he had just poured the gin and dropped the beans. He lifted something out and turned around. In his outstretched hands, he held that horrible relic of the ancient church, the ruby skull. Its eye sockets glowed vivid, pulsing red.
He raised the skull and laughed a high, maniacal laugh.
“Look at this!” he shouted. “Look at this.” His voice echoed through the cavernous space.
Then he noticed Nellie. His eyes widened for a moment and then he came towards her, holding the terrible thing.
“You thought magicians from other lands could control us? You thought the dragons and the demons they have sent would be strong enough to defeat us? Look at this.”
He laughed again. By the Triune, he had gone mad.
In the back of her head, Nellie heard Gisele’s words someone has infused the gin with a magical object like an amulet. It can’t be too big of course . . .
Yes it could be big. If you poured out the gin and used a big bowl, you could infuse all kinds of things with evil magic.
The shepherd continued, “They all think we have no power. They all think we are powerless and so they can come in to possess, besiege and disown us. No, I shall be the ruler of this land, and I shall rule all the adjacent lands. There will be no ridiculous fat king with ill-behaved sons and a whore for a wife. There will be no council of pampered nobles who cannot decide because they’re too afraid of their neighbours, their cousins, their brothers and half-brothers and the whole inbred lot. It’s a wonder they don’t all have six toes on every foot. Saardam will be a centre of knowledge. People will come from all the lands to learn about the historical rules. This will be a second Senoza. It will be better than Senoza. I have this power.”
With each sentence, a glow of light pulsed out from the skull.
He had not only gone mad, but he had somehow found a way to control magic.
How else could he do that apart from being a magician?
And not just one of the artisan type, but a really powerful magician?
Nellie scrambled to her feet and retreated into the aisle.
He laughed. “Yes, run, child. Tell the world we will suffer no more fools. No more weak nobles, no more priests trying to curry favour with the masses, no more banquets for the stupid nobles. From now on, I will rule this city.”
He laughed.
A burst of fire erupted from the ruby skull. It leapt into the air, uncoiling as it went, until it landed in front of the altar on four paws. The fire dog.
Nellie ran.
She hadn’t run for many years, didn’t know she still could. But she ran as fast as her legs would carry her, down the aisle, through the pitch darkness of the vestibule, into the biting cold of the night.
Gisele waited outside on the porch underneath the arched entrance. She had set the boy down to catch her breath.
Nellie ran out of the church. “Quick. Quick, it is not safe. We must go.”
Chapter 22
THE DISTANCE FROM the church to the harbour was short but, in the darkness, while carrying the boy, covering it seemed to take longer than ever.
He didn’t attempt to walk for himself; he just whimpered and hung onto Gisele’s neck.
Nellie kept looking over her shoulder to check if the fire dog was coming. But it wasn’t. The shepherd seemed to have been so engrossed in whatever magical victory he had achieved that he hadn’t even noticed that somebody had removed the prize prisoner out of the crypt.
But now she wished nothing more than to reach the safety of the barn.
She had never done anything like this in her life. Disobeying the shepherd, stealing things from the church, sneaking around after dark. Not wearing a bonnet outdoors. All things she would have despised even as recently as a few months ago.
She was doing this to let truth and justice prevail.
She was doing this to prove her father was right.
And to prove that neither she, nor Madame Sabine, nor Wim or anyone in the palace had killed Lord Verdonck. Here was the magician powerful enough to put magic in gin. Shepherd Wilfridus would have visited the palace often enough to know Lord Verdonck loved his gin and needed only have placed the poisoned bottle in his room. The shepherd hated Lord Verdonck because he stood in the way of the church’s influence on the Regent.
The shepherd had chosen the Regent not as someone who would not upset surrounding nations, but as someone just strong enough to hold the position but weak enough to be controlled and replaced when the time was right. Replaced by someone from the church, just as the Most Holy Father Severino was not only the head of the Belaman Church, but ruled the city of Senoza.
The harbour was unusually quiet. The platform stood ready for use tomorrow, seats and benches all ready. The boats lay moored along the quay, dark and silent, with not a breath of wind rippling the water.
All the women came rushing to the door when Nellie and Gisele came into the barn.
Gisele put the boy down in the straw in the barn. He stared at the dark water.
The women all gathered around him, making comments about how skinny he was.
Hilde said, “Is that him? Is that Prince Bruno? He doesn’t look like much.”
“Oh my, he is filthy,” Agatha said.
“Let me take those shackles off first,” Gisele said.
She extracted the hammer from the pocket of her habit and with a few deft blows, dislodged the metal pin that held the two halves of the metal band around his ankles together. They fell apart with a clang.
The skin underneath was raw.
Nellie shivered. How could anyone do this to a young boy?
Gertie got a bucket of water from the rain barrel at the back of the barn. She came back followed by the white horse.
At the sight of it, the boy scrambled up, his eyes wide.
“Don’t worry, we won’t hurt you.”
“Give him something to eat,” Nellie said.
Koby ran to the table and cut a chunk of the bread.
She reached out to the boy. It struck Nellie that the two were similar in age, but Koby looked so much healthier, even if she had been without a proper home for most of her life.
He seemed hesitant at first, reaching out for the bread, but not quite touching it. Maybe because of their similar ages, he seemed to connect with her.
She pushed the bread to him. “Come on, it’s yours.”
“Me?”
It was the first word he said. Nellie was relieved that he spoke. She’d heard horrible things about children mistreated for most of their lives.
“Yes, take it.”
He snatched the bread out of Koby’s hands as if he still couldn’t believe it, and bit into it as if fearing someone would take it away again.
What had been done to this poor boy?
“How long did they lock you up in there?” Nellie asked.
Bu
t he looked at her with a hazy expression, as if he didn’t understand what she was saying. He was busy chewing.
“If I were locked in there, I wouldn’t be able to tell the time,” Gisele said.
True. From the way Gisele crossed her arms over her chest, and from her guarded expression, Nellie wondered whether she’d had a similar experience. Nothing about Gisele’s life was simple or nice.
They all watched while the boy demolished the bread and then ate another piece.
While he ate, the uncomfortable silence lingered. What could you say to someone who had been so mistreated for so long and who clearly didn’t remember Nellie from when she had helped look after him.
She asked if he wanted tea. He gave her a blank look, but water, he did want. He drank awkwardly, with water spilling over his cheeks.
She told the women, “Get him clothes, get him cleaned up.”
While the other women scrambled around to find him something suitable to wear, Nellie sat down next to him on the mattress.
He was obviously much older than the boy she remembered, but now she noticed familiar features in his face, the set of his eyes, the fullness of his mouth. He had the eyes of his eastern trader father, but the nose and freckles of his mother, Queen Johanna. A chill went through her again. This boy’s life had been stolen from him. His mother was dead; his father had fled.
“I’m Nellie,” she said.
He turned around and looked at her, his eyes searching.
“Do you remember being in the palace when you were little and the woman who looked after you and took you into the garden? That woman was me.”
He frowned.
“We had a lot of fun together, walking in the garden and catching frogs.”
Nellie thought of those wonderful days, and she had often wondered about what she would do if she could go back and live it again, knowing how close they were to disaster.
“Nellie,” he said.
“Yes, that’s me.” She wondered if he remembered those days at all. He’d only been four. “And your name is Bruno.”
“Bruno,” he repeated, his tone empty, as if he didn’t remember his own name.
Who knew what the monks had called him for most of his life.