by Chris Tookey
“Morgana?” said the dwarf. “She won’t come out of her room. I haven’t seen her for days.”
“Is she indisposed as well?” asked Artorus.
“She isn’t disposed to see anyone, if that’s what you mean.”
“Perhaps, in that case, you will allow us to come in.”
“Are you really sure you want to do that?”
“Look here, dwarf, we have not ridden across the northern moors of Atlantis for the good of our health. We wish to see the Empress. Go and see to it immediately!” ordered Prince Artorus.
“I told you, she won’t want to be disturbed.”
“Excuse me, sire,” murmured Osprey to the prince, “but perhaps I might be of assistance.”
“I recognise you – and you,” said Fortunatus, spotting Osprey and Wyrd. “You came here to help the Empress with her memoirs.”
“We did,” admitted Osprey, with what he intended to be a friendly smile.
“You should never have come,” said the dwarf. “It’s because of you that all this happened.”
“All what happened?” inquired Osprey.
“You don’t want to know,” said Fortunatus. “If you lot have got any sense, you’ll ride away from here right now.”
“Are you threatening us?” asked Artorus.
“I’m not threatening you. I’m telling you that you don’t want to be here.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, dwarf,” said Artorus. “As heir to Atlantis, I am entitled to go wherever I choose and stay wherever I care to.”
“Well, take it from me,” said Fortunatus, “you don’t want to be here after nightfall.”
“I thought you said,” replied Artorus sarcastically, “that the Empress would be unavailable to visitors until after nightfall.”
“I did.”
“Then we shall wait until dusk, spend the night here and return to Castle Otto in the morning.”
“You may do the first two,” said the dwarf. “But it’s my opinion that you’ll be hard put to manage the third.”
“What are you trying to tell us, Lucky?” asked Wyrd.
“It’s not my place to tell you anything, sir,” replied the dwarf, edgily. “It could be that I’ve already said too much.”
“Where is everyone else?” asked Wyrd. “This place was teeming with life a few weeks ago, and now it seems deserted.”
“Now it’s just us dwarves and the two ladies,” replied Fortunatus. “Everyone else has… gone.”
“How do you mean ‘gone’?” demanded Artorus.
“I mean they’re not here.”
“Where have they gone?”
“They haven’t gone anywhere.”
“Pull yourself together, dwarf,” said Prince Artorus. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Oh yes I am,” replied Fortunatus. “It’s just that you’re too ignorant to know what I’m talking about. Mind you, that’s probably just as well.”
Prince Artorus flushed angrily, and for a moment Wyrd thought the prince was about to lean out of his saddle and cut off the dwarf’s head. Osprey must have thought much the same, for he threw out a restraining arm and spoke to Fortunatus.
“Fortunatus,” said Osprey, “I think it would be best if you were to do the prince’s bidding. Alert the Princess Morgana to our presence and see if she will come to greet us. If not, we shall wait until nightfall to see the Empress. I am sure that, were she aware of the prince’s arrival, she would already be ordering a banquet.”
“That’s true,” said Fortunatus. “Though you may find that her ideas of hospitality have changed a bit since you were last here.”
“Is she no longer partial to a banquet?” asked Osprey.
“Oh, she’s very fond of a feast,” replied the dwarf, with a curiously twisted grin. “How many are there of you?”
“Excluding the common soldiers, four of us,” said Prince Artorus. “Osprey and Sir Uther, whom you have met, and Sir Ector, my second-in-command. The rest of my men can be catered for in the servants’ quarters.”
“And how many of your men are there?”
“Twenty in all,” said Sir Ector. “Have you anywhere to put our horses?”
“The stable block is over there,” said Fortunatus. “You can take your horses there, but you’ll have to feed and water them yourselves.”
“Have you none of your own horses?” asked the prince.
“We did,” said Fortunatus cagily, “but they’re gone.”
“Gone where?” asked the exasperated prince.
“If you must know,” replied Fortunatus, “we ate them.”
“You ate your own horses?” Sir Ector sounded scandalised.
“They were extremely tasty, and much better than the alternative.”
“Which was?”
“Eating each other.”
Wyrd and Osprey looked at each other in alarm. What could possibly have driven the dwarves to the point of cannibalism?
“Look here, Plucky, or whatever your name is,” said Artorus, “I have no intention of dining tonight on horse or dwarf. Are you sure you have enough food to give us a feast this evening?”
“Oh yes,” said Fortunatus, with a sly smile. “Now we have.”
“And the Empress will be pleased to see us?” asked Wyrd.
“Oh, she’ll be pleased to see you, all right,” replied Fortunatus. “The question is whether you’ll be pleased to see her.”
***
Wyrd, Osprey, Prince Artorus and Sir Ector were shown to their guest rooms by Eructicus, whose flatulence was more unpleasant than ever. It wasn’t clear what he had been eating, but his belly was visibly rounder and the smells emanating from him were stronger and, regrettably, meatier than a few weeks before. If the dwarves had been eating their horses, Wyrd guessed that Eructicus had digested more than his fair share.
Wyrd noticed that they were escorted not up the front staircase but the back one. At the top of the stairs sat Erecticus, idly scratching his crotch. He smiled at Wyrd in a way that might have been intended to be friendly but was instead immensely creepy. Wyrd wondered why Erecticus was sitting on the landing. It was almost as if he was on guard.
Wyrd had no sooner unpacked his few belongings than there was a knock on his door. When he opened it, he half-expected – or half-hoped – to see Morgana, in a state of enticing undress. Instead, it was Osprey.
“Uther,” said the wizard, “something is not right here.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Prince Artorus has many splendid qualities,” said Osprey, “but sensitivity is not among them. Nor is curiosity.”
“I seem to remember a time,” replied Wyrd, “when you would have had me executed for expressing similar thoughts.”
“That is in the past,” said Osprey, looking anxiously over his shoulder. “Something about this place suggests to me that we may be in the gravest danger.”
“Me, too. But what kind of danger?”
“Did you not feel that we were being warned that something has happened to the Empress?”
“Yes, but what can have happened to her? You don’t think she’s been transformed into some kind of axe-wielding maniac?”
“This is not the kind of thing that should be spoken about in corridors,” said Osprey. “May I come in?”
“Please do,” said Wyrd.
Osprey no sooner entered the room than he crossed to the window. Outside it, like all the windows of the Villa Honoria, was a garland of garlic and a cross, to repel vampires. Osprey opened the window and sniffed the garlic. Whatever he smelt seemed to satisfy him, for he closed the window and turned to face Wyrd.
“What are you doing?” asked Wyrd.
“Checking the garlic. It’s real.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“When Fortunatus started talking about the Empress only being available after nightfall, I wondered if she had become a vampire,” replied Osprey. “But there is too much garlic here, and too many crosses, for that to be the case.”
“That’s a relief,” said Wyrd.
“Is it?” asked Osprey. “It might not be. It might be that the Empress has become… something worse.”
“What kind of thing?”
“A thing of which I would rather not speak,” said Osprey.
“You’re sounding just like Merlin,” said Wyrd. “Look, I’m old enough to be told the truth.”
“Are you?” asked the wizard. “For if what I fear is true, none of us is likely to see tomorrow.”
“Didn’t Lucky warn us of that?”
“Yes, and that is why you and I have some investigating to do.”
“Well, I don’t want to sit round here, just waiting for whatever nightfall brings.”
“Neither do I,” said Osprey. “The first thing for us to do is to find Morgana.”
“You think she’s being kept prisoner?”
“It’s possible,” said Osprey. “It’s also possible that Fortunatus spoke the truth when he said she refuses to come out of her room. In which case I’d like to know why.”
“You think she’s frightened of something?”
“Conceivably.”
“Perhaps she needs rescuing – like a damsel in distress?”
“From my limited knowledge of the lady Morgana,” said Osprey, “I’d say she is a damsel well capable of looking after herself. I suspect that our salvation, if we are to achieve it, may involve her rescuing us, rather than the other way round.”
“Maybe,” replied Wyrd. “But how do we get to see her?”
“I believe that her bedroom is on the opposite side of the villa, at the top of the back staircase.”
“How do you know that?”
“It is the second-best bedchamber in the villa,” replied Osprey. “I believe you already know where the best bedchamber is.”
Wyrd blushed at the memory of his hours of passion with the Empress Honoria.
“So, you think that Morgana will have the second-best bedroom, and it will be a near mirror-image of the Empress’s.”
“Precisely,” said Osprey.
“So, you think it’s at the top of the back stairs,” said Wyrd.
“Yes.”
“Which is where Erecticus was on guard.”
“Indeed.”
“He’s not going to let us just knock on Morgana’s door, is he?”
“I think not.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I think this is one of those occasions,” said Osprey, changing shape, “when wings are required. Hop on my back.”
Rather than fly round the villa, where they might have been observed through any window, they flew over the top of it. They judged where the window of Morgana’s room was likely to be and flew down to look through it.
“Do you wish me to hover?” asked Osprey.
“I’m not sure if there’s much point,” said Wyrd. “I can’t see in. There’s something on the inside of the window. It’s like silk. But it’s patterned, with holes. I can just see through parts of it.”
“As I feared,” said Osprey. “A spider’s web.”
“You’re right,” agreed Wyrd, peering into the room. “But… hold on, I can see something. The whole room is criss-crossed with spider webs, and in the middle there’s a shape. It could be human.”
“Morgana?”
“I can’t see. Osprey, can you use your beak to tap on the window?”
Osprey did just that, and Wyrd strained his eyes to see if the sound had an effect.
“The shape… It’s turning round, very slowly, as if it’s suspended in the centre of the room. And…”
“Yes? What? What?” asked Osprey, irritably.
“It is Morgana, but she’s all trussed up, like a fly in a spider’s web. She’s hanging there. She’s seen us. And I think she’s trying to say something. But her mouth is covered with all this spidery stuff, like silk.”
“We must break into her room,” said Osprey. “Hang on!”
But before the wizard could do anything, there was the sound of a whoosh and the unmistakable sound of arrows penetrating plumage. Osprey let out a gasp and then a groan, as he and Wyrd fell twenty feet or more to the ground.
When Wyrd came to his senses, he was lying in bed. Sir Ector was sitting at the other end of his bed, staring lugubriously into a chalice full of steaming liquid.
“Ah good,” said Sir Ector, “you’ve come round. Thought you would. Here, try this. Not too sure what it is, but it’s hot and wet.”
Wyrd took the chalice and sipped at its contents. It tasted awful, but he could feel it refreshing him.
“What happened?” asked Wyrd. “Did the dwarves shoot us down?”
“Ah,” said Sir Ector. “No, it wasn’t the dwarves actually. It was me.”
“You? Why were you shooting at us?”
“Well, obviously I didn’t know it was you and the wizard, or I wouldn’t have shot you.”
“So, who did you think we were?”
“Not sure, but being a military man I tend to shoot first and ask questions later. So here I am, asking questions, as it were.”
“How’s Osprey?”
“Not too bad. I shot him to bring him down, not to kill him. He’s complaining a bit about his shoulder, but he’s not in too bad a way. How’s your head?”
“Aching.”
“I’m not surprised. You hit the ground with one hell of a wallop.”
“So, why did you shoot at us?”
“I thought you looked suspicious.”
“We were trying to see the Princess Morgana.”
“Oh. And did you?”
“She looks as if she’s being held prisoner in her room, but she’s hanging there in a network of spider webs. It’s almost as if she’s a fly waiting to be eaten.”
“I thought that dwarf at the gate was trying to warn us of something,” said Sir Ector. “Perhaps there’s been some kind of infestation. I’ve noticed a lot of spider webs around the place. I suggested to one of the other dwarves that the place needed a spring clean, and he just laughed at me.”
“What time is it?” asked Wyrd, suddenly.
“It’s getting dark,” said Sir Ector. “If you’re up to it, we’re meant to be meeting the Empress for some kind of banquet in a few minutes.”
“I’m not sure if I have much of an appetite,” said Wyrd.
“Nor me,” said Sir Ector. “There’s something about this place that makes me feel queasy.”
“How do your men feel?”
“That’s another funny thing,” said Sir Ector. “I went to look for them, and they’ve vanished.”
“But there’s twenty of them. They can’t just vanish!”
“You’d be surprised,” said Sir Ector gloomily.
Just then, there came the long, low boom of a gong.
“What’s that?” asked Sir Ector.
“It’s a gong,” said Wyrd. “We’re being summoned by the Empress.”
Downstairs in the banqueting hall, everything was much as it had been on their previous visit: a low circular table of massive dimensions, groaning with food, with seven small sofas for the dwarves and four more for the guests. Five of the dwarves were already seated, as Prince Artorus, Wyrd, Sir Ector and a limping Osprey entered the room, with one arm in a sling.
“So glad you could join us,” said Fortunatus, indicating to each of the guests where they should sit. “Would Your Majesty care to sit here, next to the Empress?”
Prince Artorus pointed at the gap next to him.
“Where is the Empress?” he
asked.
“She will be with us shortly,” said Avarus, who was eying the food on the table with barely disguised greed.
“Mucus and Punctilius will be, ah, wheeling her in,” said Fortunatus. “In the meantime, would you mind giving up your weapons? The Empress is sensitive to having sharp points around her.”
Sir Ector muttered as he was relieved of his sword, and Prince Artorus was reluctant to let go of his. Wyrd told Sollicitus that he had left his sword upstairs, as he had. Osprey remarked that he didn’t have a sword and, when it was suggested to him that he might like to give up his staff, he gazed at Sollicitus with such menace that the dwarf mumbled an apology and let him keep it.
Hardly had the swords been taken from the room than the double doors opened and in came Mucus and Punctilius, pushing a curious, crystalline trolley on wheels. Inside it lay the body of the Empress Honoria. Her face was unchanged from the cool, elegant, older woman who had introduced Wyrd to the wilder pursuits of the bedchamber. But her body was four times its previous size, a bloated monstrosity, covered by what looked like a velvet tarpaulin.
“By the gods!” Wyrd let out an involuntary oath. “What has happened to her?”
“I did try to warn you,” said Fortunatus, “but you wouldn’t listen. The Empress is not… as she was.”
“Was she always that size?” asked Prince Artorus.
“That is a recent development. The Empress is very, very demanding when it comes to food. She needs a large amount, you see, and it is our job to bring food to her.”
“What kind of food does she need?”
“Oh, human food,” said Fortunatus, “such as you see before you. Please, sit down. The Empress will be waking soon. She would wish you to start before the food gets cold.”
Each table setting already had a bowl of steaming soup, and the dwarves wasted no time in tucking into the hot, crimson liquid.
“What is this?” asked Wyrd, sniffing suspiciously. “Tomato?”
“I think not,” said Osprey. “It looks to me more like blood.”
“Correct!” said Fortunatus cheerily. “And not just any blood.”
“What do you mean?” asked Prince Artorus. “Explain yourself.”
“It is the blood of your own troops,” said Fortunatus.
Sir Ector had just swallowed a mouthful of soup and now coughed and spluttered as if he was about to bring it straight back up.