The Midnight Man (The Mancer Trilogy Book 2)

by Alan Scott

“Sire, you are truly a genius,” said Gideon in awe.

  “I know. Now, let’s just finalise some of the finer points of this campaign. Are you joining us, Mother?”

  “I will always be by your side,” said Joanna Harris as she stepped into view from the far corner of the room.

  “What!” exclaimed Gideon.

  “How?” queried Miriam.

  “Do you really think I would kill my own mother?” asked the Midnight Man in disbelief. “What sort of fiend do you think I am?”

  Wisely, Gideon and Miriam kept their mouths closed.

  “She was merely a decoy,” explained Joanna Harris as she stood next to her son. “There are things out there that want to hurt my poor son. I hear them talking in the wind.”

  “But now my mother can work behind the scenes, unnoticed,” smiled the Midnight Man as he hugged Joanna.

  “I will protect my son. No one will ever hurt him,” hissed Joanna, showing her fangs.

  “And what is more dangerous than a mother looking after her child?” smiled the Midnight Man.

  “What about her?” asked Gideon, pointing back to the corpse.

  “She had her five minutes of fame. Throw her on the scrap heap,” shrugged the real Joanna Harris.

  ***

  In the city of Deep Lake

  Queen Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd sat in the throne room looking bored, as yet another merchant - or was he landed gentry? - declared his loyalty to her, but begged to have his taxes reduced. To her right was Confessor Vember, and to her left were Chamberlain Marc Aslo and Rab Cregg.

  “Do you believe in God?” Queen Amanda cut in.

  “Sorry, your Majesty?” asked the man before her.

  “I asked do you believe in God?”

  “Yes, I do,” replied the man.

  “Do you believe that I am doing God’s work?”

  “Em, yes, your Majesty,” came the confused reply.

  “Then why do you question my will? I fully understand that the heretic, Rebecca Rothgal, has brought this God-blessed kingdom to its knees. I fully understand that our people need time to heal and pray.”

  “You are a wise and kind ruler.” The man bowed his head.

  “However, the people must understand that there is no quick and easy fix. They must understand that they must toil harder. They must do as God demands.” Amanda stood up. “Leave. Leave and ponder my words. We all work to the same goal: the greater glorification of our Lord God and the banishment of the abominations, the unclean, the impure, the mutant, and the deviant from our lands.”

  There was muttering from the crowd in the throne room.

  “ALL LEAVE!” shouted Amanda. “Your Queen demands it!”

  “Yes, your Majesty,” replied the saddened merchant (for that is what he was), as he bowed and walked backwards away from the throne and his queen. The crowd quickly emptied the throne room.

  Amanda stood unmoving as she watched the people flow from the chamber. She ignored the number of glances thrown at her from a number of disheartened or puzzled courtiers. As the last one left, she asked, “Do they not understand?”

  “A ruler’s lot is a lonely one,” said Chamberlain Aslo, “for only they, via guidance from our Lord, can see the big picture.”

  “I fear what you say is true,” said Amanda.

  “But you have the inner strength, my lady, to shoulder the burden,” added Confessor Vember.

  “Oh, yes, I have,” replied Amanda, her eyes burning with fanaticism, “for I have God on my side.”

  Rab Cregg remained silent as he listened to the conversation. “Maybe,” he thought, “it is time for me and my family to leave Deep Lake.”

  ***

  Archbishop Frances Peak sat quietly and patiently in the main meeting room of the palace of Deep Lake. To pass the time, he was looking out a window, watching the small white clouds race across the bright blue sky, his face calm but serious. Behind him stood Deacon Brown, hands clasped behind his back and eyes downcast.

  The pair turned their heads as the door opened and Queen Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd, Confessor Vember, and Rab Cregg walked in. “You are early, your Grace,” called Amanda, as she rushed to the Archbishop, knelt, and kissed the offered ring on his right hand.

  “Your Majesty,” Peak responded.

  Standing, Amanda turned to Rab. “You may leave us, Master Cregg. We will talk later.”

  “Yes, your Majesty. What do you wish me to tell Banker Stone?”

  “Banker Stone? – oh, yes, the meeting. Tell her I will see her and you at three o’clock this afternoon in this room.”

  “As you command, your Majesty.” Rab bowed as he left the room.

  “I thought our meeting was not until this afternoon, your Grace.” Amanda looked thoughtfully at Peak as she made her way to a chair and sat down.

  “Your Majesty, I bring dark news.”

  “What is your news, your Grace?”

  “The creature known as the Midnight Man has returned to these lands.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. An event as significant as this does not go unnoticed by those who know where to look.”

  “Then we shall be ready for him!” Queen Amanda declared. “The battle may be hard, but we have God on our side and we will fight this abomination.”

  “Good and strong words, your Majesty, but I fear they are only words. We need good and strong men, and the means by which to support them in battle.”

  “Do you doubt the men of the Twin Kingdoms?” asked Confessor Vember.

  “I think their loyalty is split, Confessor Vember. I think that, as long as Rebecca Rothgal lives, this kingdom will remain divided.” Frances Peak took a deep breath. “Do not underestimate the Midnight Man or his Brethren of the Night. To defeat him, we cannot be divided. Rebecca Rothgal must die, and soon.”

  Amanda closed her eyes for a moment as she composed herself. Opening them, she said, “As God commands, Rebecca Rothgal and her slut companion, Prue Carnagie, will die within the week.”

  “How?” asked the Archbishop.

  “A very public execution. They will be hung, drawn, and quartered,” stated Queen Amanda.

  “Messy,” said Deacon Brown.

  “Maybe a simple beheading?” suggested Peak.

  “No. A clear statement must be made. The people must know that she died a traitor’s death and that I am now in charge.”

  “You are the queen, your Majesty,” Peak sighed.

  “Yes, I am!” declared Amanda. “Yes, I am.”

  Archbishop Frances Peak stood slowly, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Amanda, we face one of the greatest threats to our land at a time of great unrest and turbulence. We cannot afford to make mistakes or alienate our people.”

  “With God’s help...” began Amanda.

  Peak held his hand up for silence. “With God’s help, you must rule with wisdom and understanding. Kill Rebecca, prepare your forces, rule your people wisely, and get ready to engage a most deadly foe.”

  Amanda rushed to the Archbishop and dropped to one knee. Grabbing his hand, she kissed his signet ring. “I shall be the model of a wise queen, your Grace, and I will defeat this evil that threatens our Lord’s land - as God is my witness.”

  “Do not disappoint Him,” said Peak as he headed for the door, followed by Deacon Brown.

  Queen Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd fervently shook her head. Archbishop Peak waited at the closed door until Deacon Brown reached out and opened it. Both men then left, silently.

  “Get out!” commanded Queen Amanda to Confessor Vember.

  “Your Majesty,” said Vember as he bowed and made his way out of the room.

  Still on her knees, Amanda clasped her hands together and tears ran down her face. “Thank you, my Lord, for giving me this weighty task. I will not fail you. I will prove my worth to you.”

  ***

  In the guardroom of the cells below Deep Lake’s castle, Corporal Caldecote and Private Cyril Rainspout were
playing cards. “I’ll take another two,” said Cyril.

  “You must be bust now!” declared Caldecote, as he gently tossed two cards, face down, to Cyril.

  “Nope!” declared Cyril as he picked up the two cards. Sucking his teeth, he added, “I’ll add another four coppers.”

  “Damn you, Cyril,” sulked Caldecote as he matched his colleague’s bid. Looking at his own cards, Caldecote mulled over his options. “I will take one,” he said slowly, as he dealt himself one card. Looking at it, he stated, “I will raise you five coppers.”

  Rainspout continued to suck his teeth. “I’ll take four.”

  “Are you insane, Cyril? No one takes four cards.”

  “I’ll take four cards,” repeated Cyril.

  “Stupid bloody idiot!” declared Caldecote as he dealt four cards. “Right, you must be bust now.”

  “Raise you ten coppers.”

  “Easy money. Your ten, plus,” Caldecote smiled, “a silver.” Sitting back, Caldecote smirked at Cyril. “Well?” he asked.

  Cyril sucked his teeth, thoughtfully, and rubbed his jaw. “One card.”

  “What the hell are you doing? One card? Here’s one bloody card. You have to be bust! There is no way in hell that you can have…” Caldecote stopped talking as Cyril pushed towards the pot all his coins. “All in,” stated Cyril.

  “No, you cannot have...” said Caldecote in disbelief, as Cyril started to lay down his cards. “You have...”

  “…the perfect Saint and Sinners hand,” finished Archbishop Frances Peak.

  “Your Grace,” Corporal Caldecote surged to his feet, “I did not hear you enter.”

  “Apparently not,” replied Peak as he turned to look at the still-seated Cyril, who was laying out his perfect hand. “Does greed keep him seated?”

  “Eh, no, your Grace; he’s an Atheist,” answered Caldecote.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, your Grace.”

  Both men turned to look at Cyril, who had completed laying out his cards. Having finished, Cyril stood up, turned to the Archbishop, snapped to attention with a salute, and roared, “SIR!”

  “Thank you, Private,” said an unfazed Peak.

  “SIR!”

  “Corporal.”

  “Yes, your Grace?”

  “I require a few moments with Rebecca Rothgal.”

  “At this time of night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mmmm...”

  “I am not going to harm her, Corporal. I just wish to talk.”

  “Just talk?”

  “Just talk,” confirmed Frances.

  “Let him in, Corporal.” Rebecca’s face appeared at the barred grill in her cell door.

  “Are you sure, ma’am?” Doubt dripped from every word.

  “Yes, Corporal.”

  “Very well, ma’am.” Caldecote moved to the door, unbarred it, opened it, and stood to one side. “Your Grace.”

  “Thank you, Corporal,” said Peak as he walked into the cell.

  Corporal Caldecote closed and barred the door before turning his attention to Cyril. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

  Cyril shrugged his shoulders as he sat back down. “Winning at cards.”

  “Let’s have a look at those cards,” demanded Caldecote as he peered over this friend’s shoulder.

  As per tradition, one of the cards was left face down. Without hesitation, Caldecote reached down and flipped the card. “Shit, Cyril, are you sure?”

  Cyril sucked his teeth as he considered his reply. “Yes.”

  Both men looked at the card. It was the Chalice of Blood card, more commonly known as the ‘bucket of blood’ card, but among those that had served in the army, it had a different name – Soldier’s Bane, for it was normally their blood that was spilled by the bucket load.

  “Fuck!” declared Caldecote.

  ***

  “Care to take a seat, Frances?” asked Rebecca, indicating a seat by her small table.

  “Thank you, Rebecca.” Archbishop Peak took the offered seat. “And how are you, Prue?”

  Prue Carnagie remained in the shadows. “As well as can be expected, Frances.”

  “Oh, yes, I did hear that your husband punished you for your deeds.”

  “If you mean by punishing me that he beat me within an inch of my life, then yes, he punished me for my sins.”

  “At least you acknowledge that you sinned, Prue.” Prue remained silent.

  Turning his attention to Rebecca, Frances continued, “Your mother had a saying - what was it again, Rebecca?”

  “Duty to the kingdom always comes first,” replied Rebecca.

  “Ah, yes; duty to the kingdom always comes first. Do you believe in that saying, Rebecca?”

  “Yes, Frances. I have lived my entire life by it.”

  “That is good. Are you willing to die by it?” Archbishop Peak looked directly into Rebecca’s eyes.

  “The kingdom always comes first.”

  Archbishop Peak reached under his cloak and produced a bottle of wine. “I have made my way here in relative secrecy because we need to talk, Rebecca.” Peak opened the bottle before pulling two mugs towards him, which were sitting on the table. Frances peered into the mugs.

  “Only water,” informed Rebecca.

  Peak poured the water out of the mugs. “The Midnight Man has returned, Rebecca, and it will be extremely difficult to beat him. We will need a united country.” Picking up the wine bottle, he filled both mugs and pushed one across the table to Rebecca.

  “One country under God?” Reaching out, Rebecca picked up the mug and raised it in salute.

  Peak picked up his mug and also raised it in salute. “Only He has the power to stop him.”

  Both took a deep drink.

  “I could have stopped him,” stated Rebecca.

  “No, you couldn’t. Most of the country hates you and you are tarnished by your involvement with the werewolf, the deviant, and the unclean.”

  “They saved us at the Battle of Light.”

  Peak shrugged. “People have short memories and need someone to blame during bad times.”

  “Without the Dev’ver, Chosen, Twe’ver, and Mer’ver, we would have lost to the forces of the Undead.”

  “The common man does not care, Rebecca,” said Peak with a sad smile. “The Church spends millions each year to remind people that they should worship the One True God. We have thousands of people every day preaching the good word, telling people of the greatness of God, and still people blame us for the world around them and deny His existence.

  “All the common man cares about is food in his belly, low taxes, to have an uneventful life, to have someone to blame when it all goes wrong, and to have something more powerful than him to turn to when problems do arise. Ironically, that’s normally the Church.”

  Peak took a drink and looked thoughtfully into his drinking vessel before continuing. “The two wars we have fought over the last five years have devastated this kingdom. The common man has suffered and he is blaming the werewolf, the deviant, and the unclean. He is pouring his frustrations, fears, and rage into his hatred of these things...” Frances lifted the beaker and swallowed the entire contents, “...and they hate and loathe you, Rebecca, more than anyone else, at this moment in time.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Surely your people have seen the signs.”

  “They had warned me,” confessed Rebecca, “and I knew it was bad. However, I never thought for a million years that Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd would overthrow me.”

  “That was bad foresight on your behalf.”

  “No, it’s just your secret service was better than mine,” Rebecca angrily replied before finishing her wine in a single gulp.

  “More wine?”

  “Please.”

  Frances refilled the vessels.

  “Why did you back her, Frances?” asked Rebecca.

  “As I said - you were tainted and Amanda has deep faith.”

 
“Maybe too deep?” hinted Rebecca.

  “Maybe,” agreed Frances, “however, she is the best hope we have of defeating the Midnight Man. The people will rally to her, once...” Frances gave a weak smile.

  “Once what?” queried Rebecca.

  “Once you are dead, Rebecca. We cannot give your few supporters any hope; otherwise, there will be civil war. Everyone must rally to the crown.”

  Rebecca stared into the middle distance, unseeing, for a long moment before whispering, “Duty to the kingdom always comes first.”

  “Yes, both your grandmother and mother have made great sacrifices to create and then protect this land. You must follow their example.”

  “NO!” declared Prue. “Don’t listen to him, Rebecca. He is asking you to just lie down and die.”

  “How?” asked Rebecca.

  “Sorry?” said Frances.

  “What?” said Prue.

  “How am I to die?”

  Peak drained his mug again. “You and Prue are to be hung, drawn, and quartered.”

  Prue went pale and sank to her knees. Rebecca took a sip of her wine. “You did not come here to tell me that. Why are you here, Archbishop?”

  “Your brother, Dark Storm - he must not interfere.” Peak leaned forward onto the table. “For the good of the kingdom, you must die and your brother must stay away.”

  Rebecca Rothgal took another sip of her wine and then looked at Peak with hard unemotional eyes. “I have three conditions.”

  “Name them.”

  “One - Prue Carnagie must be set free. Two - those that work for Chestnuts must be allowed to leave, if they so wish. I know Amanda hates my organisation for some reason. Three – Corporal Caldecote and Private Rainspout are allowed to take the Sorenson Sword to a safe place.”

  Peak looked thoughtfully at the tabletop. “Items one and two are easy. Item three, sadly, is impossible.”