Bad Prince Charlie

by Moore, John

  “Countries don’t have freedom of religion because people want freedom of religion,” Charlie explained to him. “They have freedom of religion only when there are enough competing religions that it keeps any one of them from gaining enough power to trample the others. The faithful themselves are opposed to religious freedom.”

  “Then why give it to them? Your Highness, if I may make a personal observation, you don’t seem to have a friend in this country. Surely it cannot be pleasant to be so widely hated.”

  “I don’t care what other people think of me,” said Charlie, but his voice faltered toward the end of the sentence. It wasn’t pleasant. But he couldn’t explain his reasons to Pollocks.

  He continued to work through the long summer days, stopping only for the occasional visit with Catherine.

  She must be lonely, he told himself. And bored. Certainly, she had a spacious suite, but she was all alone in there, except for the constant attendance of her personal maids. And Rosalind, of course. And visits from Oratorio. And her other friends. And members of her various clubs, charities, and societies. And the steady stream of visits from Damask’s nobility, who called frequently to pay their respects and console her over her loss of liberty. In fact, Charlie had to book as long as three days in advance to get an appointment. But he visited as often as he could. Because, he reminded himself, she was obviously bored and lonely.

  “It’s all going to plan,” Catherine told Charlie. “Stop looking so worried.” They were in her chambers. She pushed a teacup into his hands. Charlie sipped it without tasting it. Catherine had just finished hosting a meeting of the Damask Ladies Garden Society. They filed out as Charlie entered, each one giving him a look of hostile disapproval. Charlie took it stone-faced.

  “It needs to go faster,” Charlie said. “Our food stocks are too low. What is Fortescue doing? Autumn is almost here. If he waits too long, there will be snow in the passes and he won’t be able to get food over the mountains.”

  “Scone?” asked Catherine. Charlie shook his head. “Toast? Charlie, autumn is a long way off. Fortescue has to make certain that conditions are stable inside Noile before he takes his army out of the country. And over here, the people aren’t going to revolt until they have a leader to inspire them. Packy and Gregory are working on it. Give them time.”

  “I just don’t want them to suffer any longer than they have to. People who are malnourished are more susceptible to disease. If we get an epidemic through here we’ll be in serious trouble.”

  “They’re hungry, Charlie. They’re not starving. We’ve all been through bad times in Damask.”

  “I don’t like to see people hungry, either.”

  “I don’t like to see you hungry, Charlie. Have some toast.”

  “No, thanks.”

  Catherine stood beside Charlie and put her arm around his waist. An electric shiver went down his spine. She was wearing white sandals and a flowery summer dress. It had ruffles along the bottom and lace across the bodice. It looked very light and cool. The prince felt very hot. “Charlie,” she said gently. “There are a lot of people out there. And you’re only one man. Skipping your own meals isn’t going to feed them.”

  Charlie sighed. “I guess you’re right.” He allowed her to lead him to the tea table, where he spread some cream on a scone with his new dagger. She stood beside him and stroked his chest while he ate it.

  “We have a plan. You’re doing everything you can—Charlie, what’s this?” Catherine undid a button and slipped her hand inside his black silk shirt. Charlie felt her fingers move across his chest. Her fingers were warm. The whole room felt warm. “A gold chain? Why Charlie!” Catherine gave a merry little laugh. To Charlie it sounded like notes from a silver flute. “I never figured you for the type of man who wore jewelry.” She twisted the chain around her little finger.

  Charlie swallowed some tea. “The High Priestess of Matka gave it to me.”

  Catherine’s hand stopped moving. “Really?” she said. “The High Priestess?”

  “Um, right,” said Charlie, with the sudden feeling that he had said something wrong.

  “You beast!” cried Catherine. She let go of the chain and threw herself to the floor as the door handle clicked. “You beast! I’ll never marry you! Never, do you hear! I don’t care what you do to me!” She lay in a heap, sobbing brokenheartedly as a maid entered. Silently the girl cleared the cups and rolled away the tea table, all the time looking coldly at the prince, who stood dumbly with an ornate dagger in one hand and a prostrate girl at his feet. As soon as the maid left and the door shut firmly behind her, Catherine bounced to her toes. “How does she do her hair?”

  “Who?”

  “The High Priestess, silly. What was she wearing?”

  “Nothing that I can remember.”

  Catherine stepped back, folded her arms, and looked at the prince with narrow eyes. “Is she pretty?” she asked, in a way that clearly indicated there was a right and a wrong answer to the question.

  “Oh, I suppose some men would find her attractive.”

  “Humph.” Catherine mused on the reply. “The Temple of Matka has been around for a while. I guess the High Priestess must be pretty old by now.”

  “She’s nearly retirement age.”

  “Ah. Well, then.” Catherine buttoned Charlie’s shirt back up, seeming to let her fingers linger over his skin. “It’s a pretty chain, Your Highness, and very thoughtful of her, I’m sure, but I really don’t think gold jewelry suits you. Just one woman’s opinion, of course.”

  “I value your opinion,” said Charlie, who had never worn jewelry and did not think any of it suited him.

  “Have you considered silver? I think silver looks so much better on a man, especially a man with dark eyes and dark hair.” She reached up a hand to stroke Charlie’s hair. Charlie thought his heart was going to burst.

  “Perhaps,” she continued, “we could go shopping together in Noile and I could help you pick some out.”

  “In Noile?”

  “When this is over, of course. I expect to spend some time in Noile. You’ll be banished from Damask, but you can still go to Noile. I know you’ll be studying in Bitburgen, but surely you’ll have time to visit.” Both hands were stroking his hair now. Her green eyes, wide and beguiling, looked into his. “You will come to see me, won’t you?”

  “I won’t be returning to Bitburgen right away,” he said, although up to this moment he had been planning to do exactly that. “I was going to spend some time in Noile myself. I—um—have business there.”

  “Wonderful! It’s a date then.” She gave him a brief hug. All too brief, in Charlie’s opinion. “Pollocks tells me he’s trying to get you interested in the theater. Do you like opera? They have a wonderful opera company in Noile. I’d love to introduce you to it.”

  “I’d like that,” said Charlie.

  “We should also see the . . . oh!” This was in response to another knock at the door. In a flash Catherine was across the room, her face flush, her hair disarrayed. “You animal!” she hissed, as Oratorio entered the room. “Is there no limit to your depravity?”

  “Um, Sire?” said Oratorio, trying to give Catherine a sympathetic look without letting Charlie see it. Catherine waited until the knight had his back to her, then began giving Charlie seductive smiles.

  “What do you want?”

  “The wizard Jeremy sends a message. He said they did what you asked. He said that you said it was important and that you wanted to know right away.”

  “Hmmm? Uh, right,” Charlie told him. He was finding it hard to concentrate. Catherine had her lips parted and was running her tongue over her teeth. Charlie forced his attention back to Oratorio. “Collect Pollocks and tell him to meet me there. Don’t let anyone else into the wizard’s tower. And you,” he told Catherine, doing his best to keep up the pretense, “you’ll submit to my will, or else. I’ve been patient so far, but my patience is not without limit. Ha-ha!” He finished with what he ho
ped was an evil laugh. Catherine’s face showed nothing but anguish. Until Oratorio left the room. Then she blew Charlie a kiss and shut the door.

  The prince bounded up the stairs to the sorcery labs, turned the corner to Thessalonius’s office, and came to an abrupt, and astonished, stop. The stone around the door was sintered and cracked from heat. The heavy wooden door was charred around all four sides, with a blackened hole burned clear through where the lock was once set. A puddle of cooling brass was all that remained of the bolt. The brass hinges, although twisted, were still intact, and the door sat cracked an inch open. Oddly enough, at least to Charlie’s mind, there was no trace of smoke, or even a burned smell. Down the hall he could hear a woman crying.

  Jeremy came up behind him. “He really didn’t want anyone to get in there,” the wizard said. “That was one hell of a protective ward. Tweezy said it was much stronger than anything he used before. There must’ve been a lot of energy bound up in it. When it finally cracked, all the energy was released. At least, we hope it was all released. We haven’t tried to go inside yet.”

  “So it could be hazardous? You want me to go in first?”

  “Well, Your Highness, it was your idea. But no, I merely wanted to point out the danger.”

  “Who is that crying?”

  “Tweezy, Your Highness. She’s not hurt,” he called, as Charlie took off down the hall at a run.

  At the laboratory door he could hear Evelyn’s voice. “Tweezy, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It will grow back in no time. It will look just as good. Maybe better.” He pushed the door open. Evelyn was bending over the younger girl. Tweezy was sitting in a chair, looking at herself in a hand mirror. Her face was streaked with tears. The mass of blond curls now looked like a scouring pad that had been used to clean a cast-iron pot after a meal of black bean stew.

  “It’s summer,” Evelyn continued. “Short hair is nice in the summer. It’s so much cooler. And easier to take care of.”

  Tweezy cried harder.

  Jeremy caught up with Charlie. “She wasn’t hurt, Your Highness. There’s a little redness, but it will fade away by tomorrow. Mostly she was just frightened. We rolled her in a blanket and put it out right away.”

  “You were expecting this?”

  “No, but all professional sorcerers must know first aid and emergency preparedness. Safety is our number one priority.”

  “Uh-huh.” Charlie put a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and pulled him back down the hall. “There’s a salon in town, isn’t there? Kind of an expensive, ritzy place? Not just for hair, but other things. Manicures and facials and all that girl stuff?”

  “Are you thinking of Tiffany’s Soirs, Your Highness?”

  “Maybe. They also sell these kind of weird fizzy bath bombs that all the babes are crazy about?”

  “Yes, that’s the place. Tiffany’s Soirs Salon for Women. I know the name because Evelyn and Tweezy talk about it all the time. Of course, they could never afford to go there.” He shrugged. “I offered to show them how to make fizzy bath bombs right here in the lab for a few pence, but they said these were different.”

  “Right.” Charlie reached into his pouch and came up with a handful of silver shellacs. “Send her there. Hair style, makeover, the whole works. In fact, send them both there. Give them the day off with pay.”

  Jeremy took the coins and looked at them with astonishment. “Why, Your Highness, this is extremely generous. I know the girls will be very happy. Tweezy will forget all about her fright when she hears this. I know they won’t be able to thank you enough.”

  “Uh, no. This isn’t from me. Tell them it’s a gift from Lady Catherine.”

  Jeremy looked surprised again, but said, “Even better. They love Lady Catherine.”

  “Everyone does,” Charlie said with a faint smile.

  Down the hall, Charlie heard footsteps. Pollocks stopped at the door to Thessalonius’s office, and was trying to peer through the crack. “Your Highness, are you in there?”

  “Pollocks, wait!” Once again, Charlie ran down the stretch of corridor. “Don’t go in yet!” He skidded to a stop in front of the Faithful Family Retainer. “I’ll go in first.”

  The older man gave him a disparaging look. “Good Lord, what an ego. Very well, Your Highness, I shall stand aside while you have the honor.”

  Charlie gently prodded the door with his foot. It swung open about a quarter of the way, and then stuck. He craned his head to look inside, but saw only a section of stone wall and a bookcase. Cautiously, he slipped a foot inside. He heard a rustle and snapped his head around. Jeremy was standing behind him with a fire blanket.

  The prince turned back and slid his entire body through the door. He looked around. The others heard him say, “I don’t believe this.”

  “What?” Pollocks and Jeremy said together. Charlie stepped aside to let them come through.

  “This. This is a sorcerer’s private office? What about, you know, the sorcery stuff? The racks of little bottles with strange homunculi growing inside? The window with the brass telescope and the astronomical instruments? The ancient scrolls? The mortar and pestle, and the bubbling black cauldron, and the raven in a cage?”

  “I suppose every sorcerer has his own style,” said Pollocks.

  Thessalonius’s office was as clean and spartan as a military barracks on the morning of an inspection. In the middle of the room was a plain desk of light wood. In the middle of the desk was a sheet of foolscap, a quill, a penknife for sharpening the quill, and a tightly capped bottle of ink. On the corner was a lamp. The desk held nothing else.

  The rest of the room was storage. The wall to the left of the desk was solid bookshelves. The books stood up straight by themselves, without bookends. Only a few of them looked old. Thessalonius seemed mostly interested in the latest editions. In back of the desk a pair of windows looked out on mountain peaks. A stretch of low shelves under the windows held scrolls, each tightly rolled up, each in its individually labeled cubbyhole. The wall to the right was taken up with floor-to-ceiling filing cabinets. Leaning against them was a rolling ladder for reaching the highest drawers.

  And that was it. There was nothing magical about the place, nothing that indicated it belonged to a renowned sorcerer. Charlie stepped deeper inside the office and turned to look at the wall behind him. His eyes caught a few tiny holes in the mortar, and a few places where the stone seemed a slightly lighter shade of gray, but aside from that it was blank and featureless. He slid open a desk drawer, then opened all of them. All were empty.

  “I just . . .” The prince paused to collect his thoughts. “I’ve been away for a few years, but I just don’t remember Thessalonius being this kind of a neat and methodical guy.”

  “He wasn’t,” said Jeremy. “Then all of a sudden he got into these modular storage systems. He spent days looking through catalogs from some Nordic kingdom and taking measurements. And this was the result.”

  “I don’t know,” said Pollocks, turning around slowly. “There’s nothing really wrong with it. It just seems that magic and Scandinavian blond furniture don’t go together.”

  “I preferred the natural beeswax finish myself, but this is what he chose. It all arrived in pieces. We spent weeks sanding and staining and assembling it. By the time we added up the total cost, he could have purchased finished furniture for the same price.”

  “What did he do with all his sorcery things?”

  “He moved his equipment and experiments into the main lab, where they really should have been anyway. But Evelyn insisted that we get rid of the raven. She said it was trying to eat her caterpillars.”

  “Evelyn really likes those caterpillars, eh?”

  “We all have our hobbies.”

  Charlie let him talk while he circled the room and looked at the shelves carefully. The drawers and scrolls were carefully labeled, but the labels were all numbers and abbreviations, so they were no clue to the contents. There must be an index somewhere, he thought. Aloud h
e said, “Jeremy, did he have any special equipment for predicting rain?”

  “Just the basic equipment, like we have in the lab. Thermometers, barometers, wind speed indicators, and crystal balls. The same stuff all weathermen use.”

  “Hmm. All right, Jeremy. Thank you for your help. Pollocks and I need to spend some time in here. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  Jeremy nodded and withdrew. Charlie said to Pollocks, “He’s gone.”

  “Thessalonius?”

  “He packed up and left. He didn’t plan to come back, either. He tidied everything up and took all his personal belongings. Look.” Charlie pointed to the squares of light gray on the front wall. “He took his diplomas and certificates.”

  “Then what are we looking for, Your Highness?”

  “Whatever we find that looks important,” said Charlie, not wanting to commit himself to more than that. “Some clue to his whereabouts. Some indication of what he was working on. Any of his weather predictions. Antidotes to poison.”

  “Antidotes to poison?”

  “It’s a long story. Never mind. We’ll do the filing cabinets first. You start from that end and I’ll start from this end.”

  Both men pulled open cabinets simultaneously. Each grabbed a handful of files, lifted them out, flipped them open, stared at them in disbelief, and then looked at the other with resignation. Charlie put his back in the cabinet and slammed the drawer shut.

  “They’re in a foreign language,” said Pollocks. “Not one that I can read.”

  “I know,” said Charlie. He untied one of the scrolls and spread it on the desk. He gave it a quick glance and let it curl back up. “I should have expected this. It’s Chaldean. The ancient tongue of Babylonia. The standard language for sorcery, magical notation, and recipes containing eye of newt and tongue of dog.”

  “Can it be translated?”