“A redcap. Nasty little buggers. They hide in the wainscotting, and come out at night to feed on human flesh. They’re particularly fond of children’s flesh.”
Cord began a slow quartering of the room, checking each possible hiding place with the maximum of caution. Jordan was reminded irresistibly of his own search for the disappearing bloodhound, but had enough sense not to smile. He didn’t think Cord was in the mood to appreciate the funny side.
“Why a mallet?” he said finally. “What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned sword or ax?”
“Redcaps are notoriously hard to kill, Your Highness. Fire’s the only thing that’ll do it for sure. That’s why I chased it in here. If worse comes to worst, you can always use your fire magic to fry the little bastard. Got you!”
The two-foot-tall creature shot out from under an armchair and threw itself at Cord’s ankles. Jordan had a brief impression of an impossibly wide mouth crammed with needle teeth, and then Cord’s mallet swung down in a silvery blur and hurled the redcap away. It flew squalling through the air and slammed into an ornamental table, overturning it. The collection of porcelain plates carefully stacked on top of the table cascaded to the floor and smashed into hundreds of pieces. The redcap picked itself up, entirely unharmed, and effortlessly tore one of the legs from the overturned table. It hefted the ironwood leg like a club, and grinned nastily at Cord. Jordan watched sickly as the creature’s mouth stretched almost literally from ear to ear.
The redcap was disturbingly human in shape, but impossibly thin and slender. Its arms and legs were little more than pipe cleaners, but its magical nature gave it unnatural strength and vitality. Cord swung his huge mallet, and the redcap dodged it. The mallet swung on, unable to stop, and demolished a glass display case full of china miniatures. The noise was tremendous. Cord hauled his mallet free of the wreckage, destroying what was left of the glass case, and then had to jump back himself as the redcap wielded its iron wood club. The table leg missed Cord, and sank half its length into the wall, driven into the solid stone like a nail into wood. Cord swung his mallet again, and in order to dodge it, the redcap was forced to abandon its weapon. It skittered away across the floor with Cord in hot pursuit. A centuries-old writing table and an ornamental hat stand fell prey to Cord’s mallet along the way. Still entirely unhurt, the redcap took refuge behind an overstuffed armchair and screamed defiance at him.
A part of Jordan’s mind was busy totting up the damages, even as he drew his sword and moved forward to join Cord. His new access to Viktor’s memories enabled him to remember exactly how much each piece of furniture had cost originally, and how difficult they would be to replace. He had a horrible suspicion Viktor and Roderik would decide this was all his fault, and deduct the cost from his fee.
Jordan decided he’d better do something to help Cord get the redcap, while there was still some furniture left. He chose his moment carefully, leapt forward, and ran the creature through with his sword. The blade punched clean through the redcap’s chest and out its back. No blood ran from the wound. The redcap chuckled throatily, and grabbing the edges of the blade with its tiny hands, began to pull itself along the blade toward Jordan. Its great mouth chomped hungrily in anticipation. Jordan dropped his sword and stumbled back a step. The redcap pulled the blade out of its body and threw the sword to one side. Cord’s mallet whistled through the air, and the redcap was off and running again.
Cord chased the thing around and around the room while Jordan got his breath back. The redcap scuttled under chairs and over tables, hiding in every possible nook and cranny, trying always to make it to the door or to the wainscotting, but somehow Cord was always there first to drive it back. Once Jordan would have sworn the creature actually ran up one of the walls and headed for the ceiling before Cord intercepted it, but by that time he was so confused from trying to keep track of it that he couldn’t be sure what he’d seen. All he was sure of was the continuing rising cost of damaged furnishings.
Fire, thought Jordan desperately, Cord said the redcaps hated fire. He palmed one of his flare pellets, and was surprised at how few he had left. He’d have to be careful how he used them until he had a chance to make some more. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, waited for his chance, and then nicked the wax coating of the pellet with his fingernail and threw it at the redcap. The pellet broke open on contact with the redcap’s chest, and burst into flames. The redcap howled with pain and fear, and tried to beat out the flames with its bare hands. Cord’s mallet swung down and around while the creature was distracted, and sent the redcap flying backward into the suite’s main fireplace. The tiny creature slammed into the blazing logs and coals and shrieked horribly. For a moment it scrabbled helplessly among the flames, and then it exploded into a dirty smoky gas that shot up the chimney and disappeared. The last echo of its screams died away, and the suite was suddenly quiet, save for the crackling of the flames in the fireplace. Cord reversed his mallet and leaned on it, grinning at Jordan.
“Nicely done, Your Highness. I was wondering how long it would take you to lose your temper and blast the little swine with your fire magic. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go. The steward needs me.”
And he was out the door and gone before Jordan could think to mention the mess Cord had made of the suite. He’d seen battlefields that were less messy. Jordan sighed, and shook his head resignedly. At least the bedroom door had been shut, so he still had somewhere intact left to sleep. He retrieved his sword and sheathed it, thought about making a start about cleaning up the mess and thought better of it, and then spun around suddenly as he heard the door open behind him. It was only Cord, frowning slightly. Jordan took his hand away from his sword.
“Forgot to ask while I was here, sire; have there been any outbreaks of the Unreal in this part of the Castle? We’ve had sightings practically everywhere else.”
“Nothing here,” said Jordan. “Apart from the redcap.”
“No unusual visitors in the past hour or so?”
Jordan decided not to mention the Monk. Things were complicated enough as they were. “There was a young boy who’d got separated from his mother, but that’s all. One of my guards is looking after him.”
“Oh yes?” said Cord. “That wouldn’t have been Wee Geordie, by any chance?”
“That’s right. Do you know him?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Good. I sent him over to the steward. Maybe you can help her find the lad’s mother.”
“I already know where she is, sire. In the castle cemetery. She and Wee Geordie have both been dead these past two hundred years. You should feel honored, sire; Wee Geordie doesn’t show himself to many people. He’s one of the rarer ghosts in Castle Midnight. Quite well documented, though.” Cord frowned, his scarred face set and grim. “He was nine years old when he died. Now he’s spent two centuries wandering through the corridors, lost and alone, searching for his mother. Poor soul.”
Jordan looked at Cord blankly. “But he was real, solid … he held my hand.”
Cord raised an eyebrow. “This is Castle Midnight, Your Highness.”
“Of course,” said Jordan quickly. “I’ve been away from home too long, that’s all. Everything’s fine here now, Cord. You can go.”
Cord bowed formally and left, closing the door quietly behind him. Jordan sat down heavily on the nearest intact chair, shaken at how close he’d come to giving himself away. Of course the real Viktor wouldn’t have been surprised about the ghost; he’d probably grown up surrounded by the things. The Great Jordan, on the other hand, had never seen a ghost before in his life and would be just as happy if he never saw another one. And yet, Wee Geordie hadn’t been exactly frightening … he’d just seemed shy, worried, and lost.
Jordan frowned. Maybe Geordie didn’t know he was dead, and a ghost. How could a child that age ever really understand what had happened to him? All he would know for sure was that his mother had apparently gone off and left him on his
own, surrounded by strangers. Jordan shuddered, strangely touched by the young ghost’s fate. Two hundred years … no child should have to suffer such a thing. There must be something he could do to help. Maybe the steward could do something … Jordan’s frown deepened. He couldn’t afford to ask such a thing; it would be totally out of character for Viktor. The prince wouldn’t have given a damn if he’d met Geordie. He’d probably have put the boy out of his room on the end of his boot, in fact. Jordan stared broodingly at the wall in front of him. No, he couldn’t get involved. It was too dangerous. Word would get around. Questions would be asked.
But Geordie had trusted him. No one had trusted Jordan in a very long time.
He sighed unhappily. More and more, Jordan was coming to the conclusion that he didn’t like Viktor at all. On the stage, he’d always played his aristocratic roles as honorable men, noble and heroic. In reality, he was finding them to be devious, treacherous, and even openly evil. Jordan scowled. He didn’t like the way his thoughts were running. He was here to do a job, not make character judgments on his employers. He’d worked for scum before, in his time, and it had never bothered him as long as their money was good. At Castle Midnight he was acting a part, nothing more, and being bloody well paid for it. Jordan sighed heavily. He was tired, and his head hurt. He’d think about it again in the morning. Things might seem clearer in the light of day.
He heaved himself up out of his chair, but before he could take a single step toward his bedroom, the air tore open before him, and out of the shimmering gap stepped a man with no face. The gap disappeared with a grating roar. Any other time, Jordan might have been impressed. As it was, the faceless man was just another damned visitor who stood between him and his bed. Jordan sank back into his chair and glared at the faceless man.
“What the hell do you want?”
A thin flat wound opened at the base of the blank face to make a mouth. “I have a message for you, from Prince Dominic.”
Jordan watched as the wound closed and disappeared. “Out of all the uninvited guests I’ve had this evening, you have got to be the most repulsive and the least welcome. I can’t think of a single thing Dominic might have to say that couldn’t wait till morning. Now beat it, or I’ll have you exorcised.”
“I’m not a ghost.”
“Keep annoying me, and that could change suddenly.” Jordan glared firmly at where he imagined the eyes should be in the blank face, but the newcomer showed no signs of being intimidated. Jordan sighed wearily. “All right, get on with it. But keep it short, or I’ll heckle you.”
“Prince Dominic sends his regards. He bids me tell you that you now have twelve hours in which to leave Castle Midnight. Stay here one minute longer, and you will be killed. You’re playing in a dangerous game, actor. Whatever they’re paying you, it isn’t enough. Leave while you still can. This is the only warning you’ll get.”
The world split open and swallowed up the faceless man. The air in the suite shuddered as he vanished, as though at a minor roll of thunder. Jordan closed his eyes. Did everyone in Castle Midnight know he was an actor and an impostor? Certainly it seemed both Lewis and Dominic at least suspected the truth. Presumably they weren’t sure yet, or they’d have exposed him at Court. Jordan scowled unhappily. If they did have any real proof against him, the sensible thing to do would be to get out while he still could. But if Lewis and Dominic were just guessing, his sudden departure would be all the proof they needed. They might even send a company of guards after him to drag him back to Castle Midnight to answer questions. Always assuming Viktor’s people didn’t try to kill him for running out on them. And either way, it would mean giving up all hope of his fifty thousand ducats. Jordan felt very strongly about those ducats. He felt he’d earned them.
No, he was going to have to stay put, at least for the time being. Dominic’s threat had to be at least partly bluff. Jordan relaxed a little as he thought it through. Roderik had assured him he was perfectly safe in the suite, and when he had to leave it he’d have Gawaine and the others to protect him. On the other hand, all that protection hadn’t done much to keep out the apparently endless stream of visitors he’d had all evening. Didn’t anybody sleep in this castle?
There was a knock at his door.
Jordan jumped to his feet and stared at the main door, his head down like a cornered stag. His hand twitched beside his sword hilt. “I don’t care who it is!” he yelled. “I don’t care if you’re my long-lost rich uncle from Hillsdown, a ghost looking for his missing head, or a phantom with piles, you can all go to hell! I am tired and I don’t want to be disturbed! Now beat it or I’ll fricassee you!”
The door swung open, and the Lady Gabrielle Howerd walked in. “Really, Viktor, is that any way to talk to your own sister?”
Jordan ignored her and glared at the lone guard standing outside his door. “You’re not making any friends here, you know. This is not helping your career at all. If one more person comes through this door, I am going to do something extremely unpleasant to you—probably involving boiling oil and a funnel!”
He slammed the door on the heavily perspiring guard and turned back to face the Lady Gabrielle. “All right, you’re here. I take it you’ve got a message for me. Everyone else has. Take a seat. If you can find one.”
Gabrielle looked around at the shattered furniture, and raised an elegant eyebrow. “Been throwing another of your parties, Viktor?” She picked up one of the overturned chairs, tested the seat carefully, then put the chair down facing Jordan and sat down on it. She smiled brightly at him, and laced her fingers together in her lap. “I don’t have any particular message for you, my dear. I just thought you and I should have a little chat. It’s been four years since we last saw each other, and a great many things have changed since then.”
“So they have,” said Jordan. He sat down on his chair and smiled politely at her. You call her Gabby, said a quiet voice in his mind, a memory he’d acquired from Viktor. It’s a pet name between you. You could have been very close, if you hadn’t both been so ambitious and competitive. “I had a visit from your husband earlier on, Gabby. He seems a solid enough sort. Quite decent, in his way.”
“He’s an honest man,” said Gabrielle. “Father thought well of him.”
Jordan grinned. “What did Dad have to say about your marriage?”
“I don’t use language like that,” said Gabrielle primly. “ He came around, eventually. Which is more than can be said for Lewis or Dominic.”
“Stuff them,” said Jordan. “From what I can tell, William’s made a good enough Regent. But he shouldn’t have proclaimed the Rite of Transference. It’ll cause more problems than it solves.”
“Perhaps,” said Gabrielle.
“I liked the way you took care of those Unreal birds at Court,” said Jordan. “It must have taken quite a bit of nerve to just stand there and trust to your magic to see you through.”
Gabrielle smiled gratefully. “Thanks for noticing. People tend to forget I’ve got air magic in my own right. They tend to think of me either as Malcolm’s daughter, or William’s wife.”
Jordan looked at her thoughtfully. “As I recall, you were never much of a one for little chats, Gabby. Why don’t you just say whatever it is straight out? I’ve had a long day and a longer evening, and I’m really not in the mood for subtlety.”
“Your time in exile has sharpened your wits,” said Gabrielle approvingly. “I’m glad some good came of it. You want it straight; fair enough. Our time is over, Viktor. The present royal line simply isn’t worthy to sit on the throne of Redhart. Lewis is degenerate, Dominic is insane, and you … to be honest, Viktor, you’ve never really shown any interest in what being king means. It was always too much like hard work for you, and duty and honor were just words.
“The Unreal is stronger now than it’s ever been, and it’s fighting to break free from Castle Midnight. Redhart needs a strong king on the throne, to hold things together and put down the Unreal. The Rite of Transfer
ence could give us such a king. Providing you and our brothers don’t interfere. I’m sure William had already told you that Lewis and Dominic have declared war on each other. Don’t get involved, Viktor. Their troops and my husband’s guards are more or less evenly balanced, but if you and your forces were to join the fighting, there’s no telling what might happen. You would almost certainly be killed, along with all your people, but the damage would have been done. Stay out of it, Viktor. For all our sakes.”
Jordan studied her thoughtfully. Gabrielle’s face was flushed, and her eyes were burning with an almost disturbing intensity. Without knowing how or why, Jordan knew she was holding something back. Important as this obviously was to her, there was still something she wasn’t telling him, something that burned beneath her calm and reasonable words with the red sullen glow of obsession.
“For all our sakes,” he said finally. “Tell me, Gabby; would it really matter to you at all if I was killed?”
Gabrielle’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. “Perhaps. Just a little. You used to be a fairly likable sort until that bitch Elizabeth got her claws into you. And you did keep quiet when William and I first got engaged. If Dad had found out we were cousins by Blood, he would have banned our marriage. I couldn’t have stood that. William is everything to me, and always has been. You knew about our Blood, but you never said a word. We owe you one for that. But in the end, I have to be more concerned about the kingdom. A civil war is destructive enough at the best of times, but with the Unreal poised to break loose at the first opportunity, a civil war now would be madness. I need to know your answer, Viktor. Never mind what you told William, tell me the truth.”
“It’s yours,” said Jordan. “And it’s the same answer I gave your husband. I’ll stay neutral if I can, but I doubt very much if Lewis and Dominic will let me. I’ll have to fight sooner or later, to protect my life if not my claim to the throne.”
“You could always leave.”
Blood and Honor (Forest Kingdom Novels) Page 19