by Rod Duncan
Edwin caught the hint of a smile on Gilad’s face. But only for a moment and then he was wearing a scowl again like the rest of them.
“It would not help!” Red growled from his place next to Brandt’s shoulder. “Fairy tales are fit for children. Fact is the realm of men. Do you deny it?”
It was a question Edwin had no intention of answering. “Are your quarters satisfactory?”
Brandt nodded. “Thank you. Yes.”
“If you leave in the next few days, you might be able to make it back home before the passes are blocked.”
“You want this?”
Edwin shrugged. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to negotiate. But it is done.”
Brandt’s head tilted, as if he was trying to find a new angle. “Is that what you came to tell us?”
“I was going to suggest a hunt. But so little time… Perhaps I could at least show you some more of the castle? It would give you more to tell your king when you make your report. I couldn’t take all of you. But…” he let the offer hang in the air.
Brandt stood. Red stepped forwards, also a skinny man, whose name Edwin didn’t know. If he hadn’t been watching, Edwin might have missed Gilad, slipping in behind them. Just those four followed from the apartment. They hadn’t needed to consult and there had been no question from the others. It felt like a clue of sorts. He would think on it later.
Edwin turned right in the passageway and led them away from the grand rooms of state. “We won’t go to the royal apartments,” he said. “After yesterday, you might not be received so well.” He kept his voice light, as if sharing a joke.
Red picked up the humour and smiled. But the skinny man frowned, as if this were bad news.
“What’s your name?” Edwin asked.
“Tomo,” said the man.
A servant’s doorway led to the courtyard. Red and Brandt looked up at the castle walls as they crossed the open space, as if they were connoisseurs of such fortifications.
“Here’s where your food comes from.”
Kitchen staff stood to attention as Edwin led the party inside and between the preparation tables. A hog was roasting next to the fire and the air smelt acrid with burned fat. Then they were out and immediately in through the door of the garrison. He kept up a brisk pace, as if they wouldn’t care overmuch about what they saw. Though he could see the mental effort in their expressions, the conscious noting of details. The size of the kitchen was a clue to the numerical strength of the castle. The number of beds in the garrison, the thickness of the outside walls. From the number of steps in the spiral stair, they’d be able to work out the height of the east tower. The view from the top was breathtaking as ever, but he gave them little time to take it in. Then they were down again, and through the south wall to the outer ward.
He wasn’t permitted to show them the automatic guns. But they could walk around the perimeter of the marshalling yard. “This is where the garrison makes their practice,” he said, moving quickly. “And where new weapons are tested.”
Here and there, faces sneaked a look down on them from high windows.
“What is this?” Brandt asked, gesturing to the ruined mud bricks and hay bales.
“It’s to protect the stonework.”
“From what?”
“From… I…” Edwin made himself frown then turned half away.
They were staring at the pockmarked stonework. Fresh chippings from the stone wall lay scattered around, remnants of the last onslaught from the automatic gun. It was Red who seemed most troubled by the sight. Tomo crouched to pick up a fragment of basalt, its edges sharp. After each test firing, servants gathered what remained of the bullets to be melted down and recast. But some they had missed. Tomo picked a deformed lump from the mess of ruined mud bricks. He weighed it in his hand before standing. Out of the corner of Edwin’s vision, he saw the man slip it into his sleeve.
“What did this?”
“I’m sorry,” Edwin said. “I’m not allowed to speak about it.”
“It was a weapon?” Tomo asked.
It was one of those moments when silence did better work than any words that Edwin might have spoken.
The men were quieter on the way back. Edwin slowed his walk, allowing them time with their thoughts. At the door to Brandt’s rooms, he stood aside to let them pass. But Gilad tarried in the passageway.
“I have a hunger for apples,” he said.
“Then should we return to the kitchen?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Edwin did not.
Brandt had appeared to be the one in whose hands the final decision would rest. And Red was an enemy of the deal. That seemed clear. Conversely, Tomo leaned in Edwin’s direction. But knowing that Gilad was the grandson of the king of Newfoundland changed everything. Young and arrogant, he’d used insolence as a tool, controlling the disastrous meeting of the morning. Yet he’d hung back afterwards to let slip clues. It was not apples he had a hunger for, Edwin thought. Gilad was the key.
They slowed as they crossed the courtyard.
“It is a beautiful castle,” Gilad said.
“Thank you.”
“Beautiful but useless.”
That insulting tone was back. They had come to a halt halfway to the kitchens. None of the servants were in earshot.
“Why useless?”
“You have walls to hide behind but no enemies left to attack them.”
“You mistake them,” Edwin said. “Everything above fifteen feet was built for show. It’s sculpture not defence.”
They both stared up to the battlements and the towers.
Gilad sighed. “If it were you and me, we’d have an agreement signed already.”
Edwin searched the man’s face for signs of insincerity. “What would we agree?”
“I don’t know. We’d find something. But it’s not up to us, is it?”
“What do you want to happen?”
“What I want doesn’t matter. Nor what you want. All we need to think about is what’s possible. The rest…” Gilad turned up his hands, “…the rest is only dreams.”
“This castle was built on dreams.”
“It’s too solid for that. Dreams vanish in the morning.”
“But don’t you know, I’m a magician? I can make things happen.”
Now it was Gilad examining him, with a half-smile, as if it might have been a joke.
“What deal would you like?” Edwin asked.
“I should like peace between us. And trade. And some of your new weapons.”
“It’s hard to trade when there’s such difficult country between us. But if we could take land further south, the road would be open year-round.”
“You’re talking war, not trade.”
“One thing leads to the other.”
“It’s a war we couldn’t win. We’d be crushed.”
“Not with our weapons.”
Gilad shook his head. “I’d like those apples,” he said.
So they walked again, side by side, to the kitchens. Then to one of the storerooms behind it. Edwin pulled a sacking cover off a barrel, revealing red apples packed in straw. He picked one for himself and one for Gilad. The skin was cool and waxy to the touch.
“They’re fresh in from Newberg,” he said.
Gilad took a bite. The sound was as crisp as if it had been fresh-picked. “My gods, but that’s a fine thing,” he said, when it was swallowed.
“Apples might get bruised on the journey. But cider travels well enough,” Edwin said. “When there’s a road.”
“Nice thought. But it’ll take more than apples to have Newfoundland go to war.”
“What, then?”
“Something written. Get the easy parts down first. Peace and goodwill between brother kings. That sort of thing. Then something about trade. We’ve not much to offer. Whale oil, perhaps. And whalebone. You can send us that cider in return. When the road is open. It doesn’t matter what the trade is. It’s a symbol.”
“An
d weapons?”
“Those we’d be happy to receive.”
“In exchange for helping in our war?”
“You call it ‘helping’. Red would call it ‘pricking a sleeping giant’. You want us to attack the Gas-Lit Empire. Why would we choose such an action?”
“Because you believe you’d win.”
Gilad nodded. “Red knows what battle is like. You tell him he’s going to fight and he’s going to look at the land. He’s going to count his enemies. I don’t even know how many men he’s killed. But he won’t step into a fight if he thinks it can’t be won. That’s why he’s still alive. For the rock of Newfoundland to take on the entire world…”
“With our weapons,” Edwin said.
“Weapons you won’t show.”
They stepped away from the barrel and out of the storeroom. Edwin wasn’t sure if he or Gilad had begun the walk back, or if they had each decided to set off in the same moment.
“Why are you helping me?” he asked.
“Perhaps it was that wall you showed us. Such ruin! You might have had servants do it with hammers for all I know. But even if it was a trick, it was a clever one.”
“I’ll bring paper and pens this afternoon,” Edwin said. “We’ll find words that don’t offend your people or mine. Writing them down won’t hurt.”
Gilad smiled. “Signing them might.”
Elated, Edwin climbed the spiral stairs. At last he had something hopeful to bring to his sister. Though she was set on defending the Gas-Lit Empire, her fate had become tangled with the politics of Oregon. If his own place were secure, he would be able to protect her.
But as he approached the top, he caught a murmur of men’s voices. He peered around the edge and saw the king standing before the Room of Cabinets, together with Janus and two guards. One was on his knees in front of the door, turning the tumblers of the lock.
Edwin stepped out into full view. “May I help you?”
“Ah,” the king said. “Where were you?”
“The marshalling yard.” Janus would have known that full-well.
“We couldn’t find you and… Well, the room must be searched like any other.”
The guard stopped working the tumblers and stood, not meeting Edwin’s eyes.
“This room is private.”
Janus said, “We can’t make special cases.”
“It’s my room!” Edwin snapped. Knowing his mistake a fraction too late.
The king’s face darkened. “Whose room is it?”
“I’m sorry, sire. Everything is yours.”
“Then open it, sir! Open it now!”
CHAPTER 30
Elizabeth listened to the voices outside. With her ear to the door, every word became clear. She’d studied the tumblers of the lock and knew the number of permutations. Unless they’d been given the combination, it might take days to crack. Nor could they easily gain access by force. The door had been made of thick oak and banded with iron. The king might think twice before using explosives against his own castle.
But then she heard her brother’s voice and her heart lurched inside her chest. Edwin couldn’t refuse his king.
She stepped to the ottoman. It had hidden her before. But it would be one of the first places they’d look. Even the cabinets would give up their secrets. There was nowhere in the room they wouldn’t find her. Then all would be revealed: her presence, Edwin’s duplicity, the trickery of a conjuror. If they called her a spy, she’d be locked in one of the cells, waiting for winter to freeze her. If they called her a magician, she’d be thrown from the battlements. Either way, it would be the end for both of them.
Even a low chance was better than none. She threw a travelling cloak over her shoulders, pulled the hood low. With her right hand she took a chisel and with her left hand dipped into the pot of chalks on the workbench.
The door tumblers were turning. She lunged for the corner of the room, putting herself where the opening door would hide her. As she flattened herself to the wall, she drew the chalk across her face, feeling the dust of it sticking to her cold sweat. Warpaint, of a kind. Not a disguise. Rather, a distraction, in case they did glimpse her face, to stop them catching the similarity between brother and sister.
The door opened. Just in time she raised a hand to stop it slamming into her forehead. Booted feet marched into the room. Four men, she thought. Or five. She was holding the door handle now, to stop it swinging back.
“It must be me to search!” That was her brother’s voice.
“I’ll do it,” came another, soft as putty. That would be Janus.
“You will work together.” The third voice carried irritation. A man who expected his words to be obeyed. The king. “Start in that corner.”
The footsteps and voices moved deeper into the room, further from the door. There was a grating sound, something heavy being dragged over floorboards.
“It’s delicate,” Edwin cried.
Elizabeth took a deep breath, readying herself, then sidestepped from her hiding place, took in the guardsmen and the others. All had their backs towards her. But as she lurched for the open doorway, one of the guards turned, saw her, shouted.
She ran. Full tilt. Along the corridor. She was slinging herself down the first flight of stairs when they burst from the room behind her. She couldn’t outrun them. Down one flight, taking three steps at a time, then four, stumbling out into another passageway, sprinting. Startled servants dived out of her way.
She was in the next spiral stairway before the chasing guardsmen were out in the corridor. They wouldn’t know which direction she’d gone, but the scattered servants would point the way. It might have won her a second or two.
She was approaching the jail, now. The guard standing by the door seemed unsure. But he let her pass. She’d turned the corner when a whistle started blowing somewhere in the castle. Then other whistles joined in, calling their shrill alarm. Guards would be closing and barring both of the castle’s gates. She ducked into a doorway and found another spiral staircase. This time she climbed, slowing to a walk, trying to drag enough breath into her lungs. The whistling subsided. But now everyone would be on their guard. She emerged into a familiar passageway. Janus’s rooms were just ahead.
The handle of his door wouldn’t turn. It was locked, of course. The corridor was still empty. She backed up and launched herself, lifting her foot to kick at the last moment. Wood splintered in the frame, but the door held firm. The echoes died.
They’d be on her any moment. She tried the door next to Janus’s room and blessed the saints when it opened to her touch. Pulling off the cloak, she wiped it across her face, scrubbing away the chalk. Then she bundled it tight and flung it through the window. She needed a mirror. But that is the reason for practice. The thousand repetitions, all in preparation for the one time when there is no chance to check.
Changing back to appear like Edwin had taken perhaps fifteen seconds. She opened the door, stepped out. The corridor was still empty but footfalls were approaching at a run. She stood tall as they rounded the corner: the king and two guardsmen, with Janus just behind. And at the very back, her brother.
He saw her. And she saw him. He turned and disappeared back around the corner, just as recognition was showing in the king’s eyes. And confusion. He looked behind himself as if searching for Edwin at the back of his party.
She strode out towards them, emphasising the male gait. “He’s been here,” she said. “He must have gone into Janus’s room.”
“How did you get here?” the king asked.
“Back there,” she gestured vaguely behind them. “I turned and came the other way, trying to cut him off.”
Janus stared hatred at her. “You were with us!” he said, stepping closer.
Misdirection. The art had been so drummed into her as a child that it was second nature. She turned to the door and pointed: “Look!”
They did. Even Janus. The doorframe was cracked where she’d tried to kick it in. “I
heard him slamming it,” she said.
The king pointed to the lock. “Open it!”
One of the guards tried. Failed.
The king turned to Janus. “Do it.”
Janus shook his head. “If it’s locked, he can’t have got in.”
“You said he’s a magician,” Elizabeth offered. “He got through the walls of the castle. He even got into the Room of Cabinets.”
Janus’s eyes flicked from place to place, seeking escape. Out came the key. He turned it in the lock and seemed about to open the door himself. But one of the guardsmen pushed him out of the way and entered first, pistol drawn.
The room seemed comfortable rather than luxurious. Muted colours but fine quality. A wide bed. Yet not conspicuously wide. Two cupboards. A chest of drawers. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood. Three strongboxes along one wall, each banded with iron. A small brass padlock hung from the central one.
“There’s no one here,” said Janus. “I told you.”
The king pointed to the floor. One of the guardsmen got down on his knees to look under the bed, sword at the ready. The other opened the cupboards and swung his arm around between hanging clothes. Elizabeth considered the window. It could have been just big enough for someone to climb through. She opened it, got her head out and looked directly down to the walkway that led to the cells, fixed precariously to the wall below. And there was the cloak she’d thrown: caught on a plank, the wind tugging it into a flag.
“I know how he escaped,” she said.
For Edwin – the real Edwin – the panic of the search and the chase had given way to an awful dread. Seeing his sister outside Janus’s room, he knew it was over. They were both going to die. For a fraction of a second, he’d stood, dumbly, expecting to be seized. It was instinct rather than thought that saved him: the backward step, then one to the side, putting him around the corner of the corridor and out of sight. In the seconds that followed, he couldn’t understand why no one had come after him. He listened to their voices and footsteps moving away.
No one would be fooled by Elizabeth’s poor impression of his voice. They would hear the burr of resonance coming from her chest rather than her throat. They would see the narrowness of her chin. He clenched his teeth, waiting for the inevitable shout of discovery.