Grand Vizier of Krar

by W. John Tucker

  She preferred to spend her lonely times on the sunlit terrace at the top of the castle’s tower, Citadel Tower. Except, as now, when she was thinking about her mother, brutally murdered soon after Memwin had been born. At times like these she would challenge the stony cold and yearn to feel her mother’s warm arms draw her in with love and security. Could she remember that warmth? She had no clear memory of it; yet somehow she felt sure that her mother had held her and that the warmth of that embrace lived on within her.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a faint sound. The citadel staff would always call ahead so as not to frighten her. There was rarely any sound to be heard in this room unless she made it herself. Not even the mice would come up here.

  She listened carefully but could hear no repetition.

  She felt lonely again. She was used to being lonely but she now had a great joy in her life. Who would believe how things had changed so dramatically for her just eleven days ago? That was when she met Blan. She knew that Blan was a very distant cousin, via Black Knight of all people, but Memwin liked to think of her as being closer than that. After all, Blan was Memwin’s first real friend and the nearest she had to an aunt or big sister.

  There was that noise again, perhaps a little closer. She turned her head slowly from side to side as she strained her ears, but the sound she thought she had heard did not repeat.

  Memwin looked across the room at all the playthings that had been brought to her by well-meaning people ever since she could remember. She was a polite child by nature. In that respect, as in many others, she took after her mother. Memwin always tried to show her appreciation for the toys that the Ducal Council gave her. However, the only things she really felt for in that room were the few trinkets that had belonged to her mother and, of course, the new item that had arrived yesterday.

  Memwin studied her new toy. On the outside it looked like a raised stage set against one of the walls of the room. It was rectangular. Flat on top, it stood half a fathome off the floor, and it reached some seven paces out from the wall and twelve paces along it. It had been delivered yesterday morning and installed under Blan’s direction and supervision. Indeed, Blan had designed it and arranged for the most skilled craftsmen in the land to build it. Then Blan had spent all the rest of yesterday teaching Memwin how to play with it.

  What a day that had been! Memwin had never had so much fun.

  Inside the toy was a labyrinth, so cunningly devised that only a great intelligence could find the various ways through it from entrance to exit. Of course, if Memwin became lost in there she need only raise one of the panels above her to get out. There was also a safety measure in that the roof panels could be quickly unlocked and removed from outside. The game was for Memwin to work out all the different ways of getting through the maze from the entrance to the exit without having to raise a roof panel to get out. Memwin was thrilled by the challenge.

  She heard the noise again, much closer this time. Her scalp tingled.

  In just a few respects Memwin took after her infamous father. To those who had seen him, her face unmistakeably identified her as his offspring. Also, hidden beneath the outward softness of her childhood, she more than matched Black Knight in her steely willpower, her remarkable intelligence, and her instinct for survival.

  Memwin spun around in time to see a tall, lean and, to her, evil-looking man standing at the door.

  “Borckren!” Memwin gasped. She had never seen Borckren and knew only the allegations against him: that he had murdered her mother; that he would have murdered Memwin as well had the midwife not sacrificed her own life to save her. However, Memwin felt that this man must be Borckren, an ogre ever-present in her imagination and now come into her real life.

  “Wrong!” the man sneered. “I am Craskren, Borckren’s twin brother. You escaped me at Western Point but you will not escape me now.”

  Craskren looked around to check that there were no other exits to the playroom. Then he shrugged a small bow over his shoulder and fitted an arrow.

  Without even pausing to scream Memwin ducked under a table and scurried straight across to the labyrinth entrance. Snatching a toy trumpet from another table, she dived into the labyrinth and closed the door just in time to hear the thud of an arrow hit the outside. The labyrinth was made of thick, hard timber and no arrow, sword or spear would easily pierce it.

  “Now you are trapped!” Craskren called out jubilantly. “Now I will hunt you at my leisure and you won’t be able to run past me down the stairs. My brother and I will have one less contender for the crown of Krar once our father and aunt are gone.”

  Although she had not yet solved the puzzle of the labyrinth, Memwin had already worked out how to move within it in more or less the direction she wished. For now it provided a temporary shelter, but she needed to call for help. The toy trumpet was all she had that might make enough noise to be heard beyond the room. She felt that her own tiny voice would be swallowed up before it reached the door.

  After finding her way into the middle of the labyrinth Memwin reached for a roof panel. She paused. If the panel hinge was toward the wall, the opening would be toward the door. Her trumpet call, reflected off the smooth underside of the panel, might then be more easily heard on the staircase outside. However, that would also expose her to Craskren’s arrows.

  She took the risk. Finding another panel which seemed to have its hinge on the wall side, she pushed up with her head and one arm. Then she blew the trumpet with all the breath she could muster.

  She had allowed only the bell of the trumpet to appear above the level of the roof and yet an arrow came at her from Craskren straight away. He was already half-way across the room.

  Memwin ducked just in time. Even so, the arrow skimmed the top of the labyrinth and struck the raised underside of the panel near her wrist. It stuck there. She tried to withdraw it after the panel fell back in place; the arrow was stuck hard. She gave up trying after just two quick tugs. She could not afford to stay in one place.

  Craskren leapt onto the top of the labyrinth, drew his sword and started levering at the edge of the closed panel. He cursed when he discovered that the panel was somehow locked. He did not know the simple unlocking procedure. Meanwhile, Memwin had already crawled away to another part of the labyrinth.

  Foiled for the time being, Craskren quickly resumed his position between the labyrinth and the door. He readied himself, another arrow to his bow, while he pondered how he could force his intended victim to abandon her shelter.

  After a while, he cautiously approached the labyrinth and found its entrance and exit. He blocked each with a heavy table. Then he collected all the paper, cloth, wooden toys and small furnishings that he could find and piled them against the sides of the labyrinth before splashing them with lantern oil. He was aware that the child might try to escape through a panel like the one she had opened before, but he was determined to make sure she would not get far. He would stop her with an arrow before finishing her off with his sword.

  Craskren had been ordered to capture Memwin; Black Knight wanted her as a hostage to use against the Ducal Council. However, the spy was determined that she would not survive. Unlike his missing twin, Borckren, he cared about his relationship to Black Knight and how it might give him the chance of becoming king one day. He intended to report that Memwin had died in the confusion when agents of the Ducal Council tried to prevent her capture.

  Once his trap was in place, Craskren started the fire. It quickly spread around the labyrinth.

  2

  Blan heard the horse ride up at a gallop, then the messenger dismount and knock urgently at the door.

  “A message for Grand Vizier Blancapaw, Countess of Western Point,” the man called through the door. “I was told that I would find her at this address in Tantport.” Blan already knew that the names ‘Tantport’ and ‘Nantport’ were used interchangeably; something to do with the fact that ‘Ta’ and ‘Na’ had sounded the same in ancient Proequan, although the r
uling family had always been called ‘Tant’, never ‘Nant’.

  “Sorry, Arnapa, I had to tell them where I was,” Blan apologised, as she hurried to the door, “but I said nothing about it being your house.”

  “Of course, Blan, but don’t let the messenger see me here. I would rather keep my connection to this house as quiet as possible in case there are enemy spies roaming about.”

  Arnapa slipped into another room as Blan opened the door to the messenger.

  “Highness!” The man handed Blan a sealed envelope. He saluted and immediately mounted his horse and rode away.

  “Highness too?” Blan complained after she had locked the door again. “At least they have stopped calling me Princess.”

  “Strictly speaking, you are a Princess of the House of Cankrar but you are not a Highness,” Arnapa explained. “The man should have called you Excellency, not Highness. The Grand Viziers of Arctequa and the two southern kingdoms were called Highness, whereas the Grand Viziers of the western and eastern kingdoms were called Excellency. So the man made a reasonable mistake. He was well educated to know that a Grand Vizier of Arctequa would be Highness but he was not so well educated as to know that you should be called Excellency.”

  “Goodness me, I don’t blame the poor man for making that mistake. How do you know all this, Arnapa? Is it something taught in Spy School? Praalis told me some of the protocols but he never mentioned that.”

  “I learnt it in my childhood,” Arnapa admitted softly. “I’ll tell you about it one day.”

  Blan looked up from the envelope and studied Arnapa for a moment. It was plain to see that the recollection of something in her past had just moved Arnapa to sadness. Blan also saw that it was not the right time to question her about it.

  “Well, whatever they like to call me, I’m still just Blan,” she said. “I asked my father if he would accept the office of Grand Vizier as he rightfully should. He doesn’t want it. He said that he would find it too stressful; that I am young enough to grow into the job, whereas he would find it too difficult to change his ways.”

  Despite feeling in need of a holiday after her recent exploits, Blan had been very busy during the week after the battle at Western Point. She had spent most of her time liaising between Arnapa and Nightsight who were planning an attack on Austra Castle, Kem and his team who were manufacturing explosives and flammables, and Praalis who discussed with her every aspect of the plans being laid and thereby helped her focus on how she could contribute. She had been on a two-day trip with Arnapa and local guides to the jungles beyond Proequa River to collect medicines needed for the mission to Austra Castle. The medicines were also needed more immediately: Blan was still taking a variety of concoctions to repel the parasites she might have picked up in Panners Stream.

  Before the arrival of the messenger Blan had just made the finishing touches to a relief map of Austra County, using the recollections of Arnapa and Praalis together with old maps found in Citadel Library. This would be used to help plan the attack on Austra Castle.

  Blan broke the seal on the envelope and read the message inside. Her face clouded.

  “What’s the matter?” Arnapa felt Blan’s change of mood and reflected her concern.

  “It’s a message from Tor. He says that the last of the rogue bands from the invasion force have been rounded up, except for the spy who escaped at Flowerpecker House. Tor asked Nightsight to find the man. Nightsight has so far been unable to do so. However, he did get a brief glimpse of the man in the distance and says that he looks remarkably like Borckren. When this news reached him, Praalis urged that I be informed at once.”

  “Why do you need to know? There must be many men who look a bit like Borckren.”

  Blan thought for a moment.

  “Nightsight has exceptional vision,” Blan said at last, “and he said that the spy looked remarkably like Borckren, not just a bit like him. We know Borckren is dead, but could he have a brother or even a twin? If so, I fear for Memwin. Borckren has been accused of murdering Memwin’s mother and of attempting to find Memwin to kill her. Could there be a brother or twin with the same idea in mind? For all we know, this twin, if that is what he is, might have been the real murderer of Memwin’s mother.”

  “But surely Black Knight would want to capture Memwin as a hostage, or perhaps convert her into a protégé, rather than kill her,” Arnapa argued. “I know that Black Knight is evil and I truly don’t know of what importance it is to him that Memwin is his daughter, but it is not his style to kill a valuable hostage without some advantage coming from it. Killing Memwin would not weaken the resolve or capacity of the Free Alliance. Nor would it give Black Knight what he craves, which is the domination of living people.”

  “Black Knight has no interest in killing Memwin, yet a twin of Borckren might have another agenda,” Blan replied.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Arnapa could see that Blan was resolved to go.

  “No. You have urgent business here. I would be grateful, though, if you would ask the signallers to warn Zeep and Neep that Memwin is in danger.”

  With than Blan ran outside, mounted Plashanette and rode as fast as she could toward the citadel. Plashanette seemed to sense the urgency and galloped faster than Blan would have guessed the mare capable.

  3

  Memwin could smell the smoke as it quickly invaded the labyrinth. She took off her tunic and held it over her mouth and nose. She would have to escape soon or she would start coughing. Then Craskren would know exactly where she was. It would not take him long to figure out how to open up the top of the labyrinth. That is, if she did not suffocate first.

  Before Blan came into her life Memwin had been used to spending long hours alone in the dark, her tears unseen and her weeping unheard. She was now somewhat hardened to darkness and loneliness. However, it was panic that she now felt rising in her chest as she tried to think what to do next. She suppressed the panic. Nobody was there to help her; not yet. In this moment it was all down to her to help herself.

  She moved as close as she could to the wall, as far away from the fire as possible. She slowly raised the panel above, just a little until she could peer out. Fortunately, the smoke was also obscuring Craskren’s view of the top of the labyrinth. He had not seen the movement yet. She lowered the panel gently and paused for thought, to plan her moves.

  The choking smoke was now starting to penetrate her makeshift mask. She felt an overwhelming desire to survive. She didn’t care about being a duchess; she didn’t care about her cold, stony home; and she didn’t even care so much about the risk of injury. She just wanted to live. She wanted to see her dear Blan again. She wanted to remember her mother or, rather, how she imagined her to be. She wanted to toy with her mother’s jewellery, not for its value or importance to others but for what it meant to her. She wanted to see the green lands and the blue waters, the flowers and birds and insects, to have friends to talk to, books to read, and to learn more about herself, the world and people around her. She would even have liked to see if her father could be reformed, although there seemed little hope of that. She wanted to survive. She was determined to survive.

  Memwin moved closer to the fire where the smoke was thicker, holding her breath. She quickly raised the panel above and blew her trumpet, aiming for the door. She immediately dropped back down and scrambled away from the smoke, taking a deep breath through her tunic. She tried the same stunt again in another part of the labyrinth.

  Craskren was now hampered by the smoke. He did not react in time to shoot the girl when she popped up unexpectedly so near the flames. His arrow again skimmed the top of the labyrinth, too late to strike the panel while it was still raised, and bounced off the stone wall.

  When the child appeared suddenly again ten paces along, he nearly got her. He was quicker this time and the arrow struck the panel as it was falling back in place.

  The arrow stopped the panel from closing fully. He leapt onto the labyrinth and wrenched the panel
away, just in time to see the girl’s foot disappear into another compartment. It was too cramped down there for him to follow, so he fitted another arrow and waited.

  The smoke was starting to get the better of Memwin. She was exhausted and she realized that she could not survive in there very much longer. She had no choice but to risk everything.

  Several seconds passed as Craskren watched, every fibre of muscle tensed, ready to pounce. Then a panel just five paces away shot up and the girl jumped out into the thickest pall of smoke.

  Craskren leapt down to the floor and ran into the middle of the room to get his best shot at the child. She was now a clear target. He raised his bow with calm certainty and shot her as she jumped off the edge of the labyrinth.

  4

  Blan did not dismount Plashanette until she reached the very stairway itself. Shocked officials and their applicants leapt to the side as she galloped through the citadel, into the hall and right up to the stairs. They were too steep for Plashanette. Blan dismounted and charged up the steps, oblivious to pain or any thought of the cramped muscles she would later endure.

  By the time she reached the Council Chamber she was pleased to hear heavy footfalls rapidly gaining on her from behind. Her quick ears informed her that this could be none other than Zeep and Neep in hot pursuit. Sure enough both these powerful women soon appeared by her side.

  “A stranger has been seen in the citadel,” Neep exclaimed as the two heralds passed Blan. There was little need to say more. The danger was clear to them all.

  Just at that moment they heard a shrill noise, like a blast from a small trumpet, in the distance above. Blan knew exactly what it was and what it meant.