by Martin Ash
‘But they are defenceless, man! Give them swords and they will be able to aid you if those things come again tonight.’
‘Or murder my men and attempt to escape.’ He grinned humourlessly, and said with mock sincerity, ‘Sorry, Master Dinbig. I take your point, but the decision really isn’t mine to make. You sure you won’t have some cheese?’
He cocked his head slightly, wrinkling his nose and testing the air. He turned to the sergeant-at-arms. ‘Catch a whiff of anything, Obal?’
The sergeant sniffed, frowned. ‘No.’
‘Ah, must be my imagination. It’s early yet, of course. They’re still quite fresh.’ Monsard looked back to me. ‘In your experience, Master Dinbig, how long does it take till a body starts to stink? I’m wondering when to take them down. I thought maybe that was what was putting you off the cheese. But I might be wrong. Reckon it’ll be a day at least before they start to get high.’
I could contain my indignation no longer. ‘In certain cases, Monsard, the putrefaction begins long before a person is deceased. I’m in little doubt that it’s your own foul reek that’s bringing offence to your nostrils, as it does to mine.’
Monsard rose with a snarl, kicking back his chair. His sword sang from its scabbard.
I stepped back, fearing I’d gone too far, spreading my arms. ‘You would slay an unarmed man, Captain?’
His face was flushed, his eyes ablaze. It struck me that the answer to my question was an undoubted ‘yes’, so I added, ‘And one who is employed expressly in the service of your liege-lord?’
Monsard spat a gobbet of cheese and bread onto the floor. ‘Take care how you tread, Merchant. Your employment here is of short duration.’
My anger had not yet died. Unwisely I added fuel to the fire. ‘I trust your word was good and that permission was forthcoming from Lady Sheerquine for my wares to be delivered to your home, as your good wife requested?’
Monsard’s lip curled and the sword shifted in his hand, but I knew now that the moment had passed. Happy as he would have been to skewer me there and then, reason had the better of him.
‘You’ll find the gowns are most exquisite upon Mistress Cametta. They are not inexpensive, I have to admit, but they are the finest, which I know you are only too happy to purchase for a woman as lovely as she. And with such exceptional taste, too.’
For a moment I feared I’d misjudged him, for he took a half-step forward. But he stood glowering, held back like an enraged mastiff on a chain, and came no further.
I backed into the door way. ‘Good morning, Captain. Sergeant.’
~
I will admit my heart was pounding as I left the guardhouse. I made my way to the cellar. A well-armed guard of six still stood nervously back from the barricaded door. An occasional low, rumbling growl came from within, and a mephitic stench filled the passage. It made me gag as I entered, but the unfortunate guards seemed to have grown inured to it. They reported no further violent activities since last night. They continued to push raw flesh under the door every few minutes, to be devoured at a formidable rate.
I returned to Hectal’s chamber. There was no answer to my knock. I called softly, then louder. Still no sound, so I tried the handle, but the door had been bolted from the inside. I wondered about going down to the entrance to the secret passage behind the statue and entering Hectal’s chambers via that route. But if he was still in his room, or happened to come in and find I’d taken advantage of this privileged knowledge, he might take offence. Urgency aside, I didn’t want to risk alienating him, so I discarded the idea.
But why had he shown me this passage? Simply for amusement? No, that was not Hectal’s way.
I mused on this as I passed on along the corridor. Marshilane, Moonblood’s maid, came from a side passage. She jumped nervously when she saw me, then, realizing who it was, recovered herself.
‘Oh, sir, excuse me. I was wanting to ask you…’ Her pudgy cheeks were the colour of oat-paste, and dark rings encircled her eyes. ‘Am I allowed to clean up in Mistress Moonblood’s room yet?’
‘I’d prefer not for the present, Marshilane. If you don’t mind.’
‘Very good, sir. It’s just that I don’t like leaving it like it is, with the bed being like that, and – ‘
‘I understand, Marshilane. It must be distressing for you. But it would be a great help to me if it could be left just a little longer.’
She looked at me with wide, frightened eyes. ‘What’s happening here, sir? Last night… it was terrible. Two of the kitchen staff lost their lives outside in the yard. And there were others.’ She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘It’s horrible, sir. We’re all so afraid.’
‘I know.’ I had no words to offer comfort. ‘Marshilane, have you been into the nursery this morning?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Have any other of the household staff?’
‘No. There’s hardly a soul about. They’re all too frightened.’
‘Do you know who put Redlock’s crib back in there?’
‘I didn’t know it was there, sir. I thought it was burned.’
‘And something else has been taken away,’ I said, recalling the bloodied pillow case that Lady Sheerquine had dropped.
‘I’m sorry, sir. I can’t help you.’
She went on her way, and I stood gazing out of the window. The two corpses swung lazily in the distance. With revulsion I saw a dark shape clinging to Elmag’s shoulder, pecking at her face. Guards patrolled the walls. The parade-ground was now clear; a squad of soldiers marched towards the closed gate. A pair of hounds were visible, one sitting in the shade of a wall, and another, liver-and-white, ambling slowly across a courtyard.
I called to the retreating figure of the maid, and strode after her. ‘Marshilane. That hound down there: is it Rogue?’
She squinted through the window. ‘Looks like him, sir.’
‘He seems quite attached to Moonblood, from what I’ve seen.’
‘Oh yes. He’s a soppy old thing. Used to be one of his lordship’s best hunting-dogs. Too old for it now, though. Moonblood always makes a big fuss of him.’
It was a long shot. I dashed back along the corridor to Moonblood’s room, took her torn night-robe from the bed and stuffed it inside my tunic. I cursed again that I had no weapons. The sword I’d taken from the wounded soldier last night had been removed from my chamber, presumably by Radyerd. It seemed unlikely now that Lady Sheerquine was going to grant my request to have my own weapons returned to me. I patted my belt. At least I had that now.
Downstairs I had a servant direct me to the castle’s master-of-hounds, and after some wrangling secured a collar and long leash. I found the old dog in the sun-drenched courtyard, stretched out in the shade of a laburnum bush.
‘Rogue.’
An ear twitched, half lifted, then fell again. I repeated his name. This time the ear lifted and an eye half opened. I squatted beside him and ruffled his head. The old dog raised himself and snuffled. Then he caught the familiar scent of the night-robe and began to whine, pushing his nose excitedly against my tunic. I slipped the collar over his head.
‘Moonblood, Rogue. Yes, that’s right. We’re going to find her.’
We went through the castle and out into the gardens at the rear. I had no clear idea where to commence the search, but the castle itself seemed the wrong place. Literally soaked as it was in Moonblood’s scent, I could only expect the old hound to lead me around in circles. And the certainty was growing within me that Moonblood was not going to be found anywhere within the castle precincts, but had gone – or been taken – from Ravenscrag, out into the forest. So I made for the dell where she had recently spent so much of her time, in the hope that there Rogue might pick up a trail or a trace that would lead me further.
In the orchard I took the night-robe from my tunic and showed it to Rogue. He sniffed at it, then his whines turned to excited little barks. ‘Go, Rogue. Find her. Find Moonblood.’
Nose to
ground, Rogue started to run back and forth across the grass. Within seconds he had found a trail, and with a triumphant baying set off straight towards the river. I followed, gripping the leash and holding him back.
As I’d expected, Rogue led me straight to Moonblood’s dell. There, to my disappointment, the trail seemed to end. Rogue snuffled back and forth, whining, pawing sometimes at the ground, but he found no way that led out of the dell – at least, not one that bore Moonblood’s scent. I let the dog have free rein for several minutes, while I sat a little distance from the water’s edge, gazing at the cliff and the forested heights beyond. It was then that I thought I saw a flicker of movement, a shift high up in the green that was not the motion of breeze among the leaves.
An animal, perhaps. I stared hard until my vision began to blur. Then, just as I looked away, I saw it again. A glimpse of movement – and this time I was certain: a figure, garbed in green, had slipped away beneath the trees!
It was gone in an instant. My thoughts flew back to the afternoon I had lost my wagon on the approach to Ravenscrag. I’d thought I’d seen someone then, standing beneath the far trees, watching.
I shielded my eyes and scanned back over the spot, but I saw nothing more, although whoever was watching me might still have been there, hidden from view. The cliff forbade climbing up to investigate further, and it would have been fruitless anyway. My watcher would have been gone before I had ascended even ten feet.
I called Rogue to me and we returned to the castle.
Chapter Twenty-Six
On the way back I found myself pondering on the secret passage that Hectal had just shown me. At the point where I’d entered behind the statue, I recalled, it led off in two directions. One way took us to Hectal’s chamber, but where did the other lead?
Was this the way Moonblood, and possibly Redlock too, had been spirited from the castle? Was that Hectal’s reason for revealing it to me?
To take Moonblood, conscious or otherwise, the short distance from her own chamber to Hectal’s without being seen would have been relatively simple. But to get her from there out of the castle in similar circumstances would have presented tremendous problems. A secret way to some unknown destination was surely the answer.
With Rogue still on his leash I strode back through the galleries and passages of old Ravenscrag, until I reached the statue where I had come upon Hectal. I slipped behind, running my fingers over the rough stone, searching cracks and crevices, seeking a handle or catch that would open the hidden door. I found nothing. I put my shoulder to the stone and pushed. Nothing budged. But Rogue was not indifferent to the place. He sniffed eagerly around my feet, whining and pawing at the stone. I grew more certain that I was on the right track.
For minutes I searched and strained in vain, seeking the means to enter that dark byway. At length I could only conclude that the entrance was one way and could not be opened from outside.
I had to find Hectal!
Frustrated, I stepped back out into the corridor. Darean Monsard was leaning against the opposite wall, watching me with hostile bemusement. One of his men stood alongside him.
‘Looking for something, Master Dinbig?’
Rogue gave a low growl.
‘Yes, as it happens, Captain. I’m looking for Ravenscrag’s children, in full pursuance of my commission.’
‘And you think they may be hiding behind one of the statues, do you?’
I was keen that Monsard did not learn about the existence of the passage. I said quickly, ‘I was simply acting on the wild hope that Rogue here might be able to track down Mistress Moonblood. As we passed along this passage he showed interest in something around here. I think now it may have been simply a rat.’
‘There’s been a pestilence of vermin around Ravenscrag lately,’ Monsard said sourly. ‘We’ve eliminated some, but I don’t think things will improve until we’ve rid ourselves of every last one.’
It seemed politic in the light of things to allow him his little jibe without without riposte. With Rogue at my heel I went on my way, conscious of Darean Monsard’s eyes boring into my back.
Upstairs I knocked again at Hectal’s door. Again there was no reply. I tried the handle once more, and was surprised this time to find the door unbolted. I opened it a crack, softly calling Hectal’s name, then peered inside. The dog, Rogue, pushed in, clearly aroused by the smells of the place. I entered and closed the door behind me.
A cursory glance around the chambers affirmed Hectal’s absence. I went to the panel in the wainscot which gave access to the secret passage. Rogue, beside me, became suddenly excited, pressing his nuzzle to the base of the wood and whining and scratching like a mad thing.
She had gone this way!
I sought around the edge of the panel. My fingers found something cold and hard protruding from the top of the wainscot. It moved slightly to my touch. I pressed. Something gave with a satisfying click.
The panel had shifted; down one edge a crack had appeared, large enough to insert my fingertips and pull. Slowly the secret entrance opened.
Drawing the door back, I was unable to keep a firm grip on Rogue’s leash. As soon as the opening permitted, he pushed through into the passage. The leash jerked from my hand and he was gone, vanishing into the dimness behind the wall. I called after him urgently, though I dared not raise my voice high. It was no use. The scurrying pad of his paws diminished into the darkness.
Swearing, I pulled the panel back. It was pitch black within. I searched Hectal’s chamber and found an oil lamp, went cautiously back out into the main corridor and lit it from a bracket, then returned. I eased myself through the opening and into the passage, and set off after the hound.
I could no longer hear Rogue. I made my way through the darkness, down the rough stone steps, onto the level, deep into the building. I calculated that I must have passed the location of the second entrance, behind the statue, though I’d not noticed it. The passage went on, descending gradually, leading me deeper beneath the old castle.
Presently I perceived a change in the substance of the walls of the narrow tunnel. Stone blocks gave way intermittently to natural rock, then dark soil, shale and compressed silt. Pale roots formed into tangles in walls and ceiling. Sometimes they twisted down and brushed against my face or shoulder as I pressed forward. In places tarred cedar timbers, ancient and cracked, shored up the walls and roof. I guessed I was now beyond Ravenscrag’s outer ramparts, and still the secret way went on. It was stuffy, airless; I had begun to sweat furiously. The flame in my lamp grew weak and thye notion came to me that I might suffocate and die down there. I reassured myself: Rogue had passed this way, for there was no alternative other than to turn back. Therefore it led somewhere. And it was surely the route by which Moonblood, and perhaps her baby brother, had been taken from the castle.
The gradient of the passage started to rise gradually. I made out the faintest glimmer of grey light somewhere ahead of me. Suddenly I was faced with dense vegetation covering and blocking the way – but it was through this that daylight glimmered. Cautiously I pushed it aside and climbed from the tunnel.
I stood in cool green shade of forest, sucking in deep draughts of air. The trees, towering above me, cut out most of the sky. The ground rose sharply ahead of me. Looking back I could glimpse fragments of Ravenscrag’s highest turrets through the green.
I doused my lamp and concealed it beneath a hazel bush. The vaguest path led off into the trees, and for want of an alternative it was this that I now took. It meandered without apparent aim, climbing, dipping, skirting huge boulders and the boles of ancient trees. The vegetation was harsh and dense; I was soon drenched in sweat again. The shade became intense, the canopy blocking the sky, save for occasional bright stabs of sunlight piercing the foliage and creating dancing patterns on the forest floor. I stopped from time to time to catch my breath and listen. A hush lay over the greenwood, disturbed only by the soft sough of a warm breeze through the leaves. No birds sang, no beas
t seemed to stir. Of Rogue there was no sign.
I began to fear I’d taken the wrong path, though at the tunnel entrance there’d seemed no alternative. I was deep in the forest now, and quite possibly lost. The track had withered away. Incautiously I had neglected to leave markers of any kind that would help me to find my way back. The chances of finding the path again were not high.
Push on, or try to go back? I hesitated, unsure. ‘You are Zan-Chassin!’ I reminded myself. If needs be I could exit my flesh, rise above the forest canopy and pinpoint my position relative to Ravenscrag. Wiping the sweat from my brow I struck on.
I bent beneath the vine-covered trunk of a great fallen oak. Before me was a small glade where foxgloves and helleborine clustered. A little rill trickled to one side. I stopped, panting, and leaned against a rock.
A sound behind me!
I whirled, ducking instinctively. A dark shape leapt from the fallen oak.
‘Hee-hee!’
I staggered back. ‘Hectal!’
He stood before me, beaming madly, scratching.
‘Hectal, I’m lost. Is this the way to Moonblood?’
‘Moonblood!’ hissed Hectal excitedly. ‘Moonblood!’
‘Can you take me to her?’
He looked troubled.
‘I must find her, Hectal. I must.’
Hectal stared beyond me, seeming puzzled, then moved quickly as if to traverse the glade. As he made to pass in front of me there was a sudden swift, breathy whining sound, and a muted thud. Hectal staggered sideways as if struck by an unseen blow. He collided with me and slumped limply into my arms. A hot flood of wetness spilled over my hands, pouring from his neck which had been split open like a soft fruit. From the wound protruded the stub of a crossbow bolt.
Hectal’s weight had thrown me off balance. As I stumbled back a second bolt whizzed past my ear and zinged off the rock behind.
I dropped to a crouch, my eyes scouring the forest. A glint of something metallic through the trees! I dragged Hectal into the shade of the rock and put my fingers to his neck. There was no pulse.