by Alex Bledsoe
“Demand all you want,” Kay said. “But you’re guests here, not rulers. Another treasonous outburst like this, where you openly advocate bypassing the king’s law, and you can easily become prisoners.” He turned and walked back toward me.
“Don’t you dare accuse me of treason!” Shortridge yelled. “I am a lord of Grand Bruan!”
Kay dismissed him with a wave, but his face was grim as he approached me. “Listen, we’ve got to get you out of sight.” He nodded toward yet another door. “Follow me and try to look nonchalant.”
This wasn’t another kitchen antechamber, but one of Nodlon Castle’s private lounging areas. It was empty, and through the windows I saw the moon full and bright over the ocean.
Kay lit some lamps, and light from the tiny wicks reflected from myriad polished surfaces. Used as a refuge for the idle rich during tedious ceremonies, the decor was lush and sumptuous, redolent of fat bottoms and wheezing bosoms. The lingering smell of expensive cologne masked a subtler odor of sweaty desperation and decay, the common scents of any castle.
Kay opened the liquor cabinet, selected a really top-class vintage, and fished a corkscrew from a cluttered drawer. “This situation is way too close to getting out of hand,” he said as he poured our drinks. He downed his in a single swallow. “I’m going to go get Marc.”
“You’re leaving?” I said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll assign someone to protect you. As long as you stay out of sight, you’ll be fine. And once Marc gets here, you should be able to leave with no difficulties.”
“So where is Marc?”
“At his main castle in Motlace. If I leave now and ride all night, I can be there well before dawn. Once he hears what’s going on, he’ll want to come sort it out himself.”
“You sound pretty sure of that.”
Kay grinned wearily. “I am.” He nodded at one of the tapestries. “Do you know anything about him?”
The woven picture showed a man in hugely complicated regalia riding an equally decked-out horse across a flowered field. He carried a sword nearly as long as he was tall. At the far right of the image, apparently his goal, stood a woman with downcast eyes and a multipointed crown. Despite the artistic license, I recognized her as Jennifer Drake.
I looked more closely at the king’s face, visible beneath his open visor. It was square-jawed and handsome, with long hair flowing from beneath his helmet. His beard was short and neat, and his eyes half-closed in either communion with the spirit world, or boredom. His lips were unnaturally red, a stylistic element I’d seen on a lot of Grand Bruan tapestries. “Just what I’ve heard back home.”
Kay poured himself another drink. “He’s the reason I have this job. He lived with me and my family in secret until he was fifteen and claimed the crown. We were raised as brothers. I used to make sure no one picked on him when he was little, and then after he put on six inches and fifty pounds the summer he turned fourteen, he made sure no one picked on me.”
“Is he as honest as they say?”
“He’s the best man I know. And I’m completely serious. Marc always tries to do the right thing, and he’s smart enough to know what that is.”
One tapestry showed Marcus on one knee, presenting a ring to Jennifer. Her dress had a train long enough to cross the channel separating Grand Bruan from the mainland. “How attached is he to his queen?”
“Watch the two of them together and you’ll be lucky to get away without a toothache.”
“So you want me to just sit around and wait for King Marcus to ride in and save the day?”
“It won’t be all bad, I promise. I’ll make sure you get a room stocked with liquor for three.”
“Who are the other two?”
He grinned. “There are no other two. And once Marc is on the scene, everything will be all right. You’ll see.”
I sipped my drink and nodded, wishing I had his confidence. King Marcus Drake might be as spotless as Kay described, and I sure hoped he was. But as anyone who’s ever polished armor knows, nothing attracts bird shit like a clean, shiny surface. And the buzzards were already gathered around us.
chapter
SIX
Left alone in the swanky lounge, I suddenly realized just how badly my hand hurt. My fingers would barely flex at all, and the swelling reached the second knuckles. I must’ve been really angry to throw such a clumsy punch. And the damn manacles hadn’t helped.
To distract myself while I waited for my room, I looked over some of the other tapestries. One especially held my attention. It showed Marcus Drake as a teenage boy, pulling Belacrux from the tree where it had been embedded awaiting the island’s true king. Behind him stood a younger but still recognizable Bob Kay, and watching over all this was a tall, husky man with a wide-brimmed hat. This would be Cameron Kern, who’d guided Drake’s career from birth. His powers were so legendary as to be ludicrous: he could tell the future, turn the tide of battle, fly through the air, and transform into any animal he wished. He’d once magically caused an entire fleet of invading ships to burst into flame.
If he could’ve really done those things, of course, then he would’ve seen it coming when the king dismissed him and sent him packing. The rumors surrounding the reason were just as outlandish.
Another tapestry showed the Drakes’ wedding ceremony, suitably exaggerated to include thousands of well-wishers outside the castle. Both king and queen looked young and idealistic, and again I spotted someone I recognized: Thomas Gillian, in armor and cape, waiting his turn to be knighted.
A pair of secondary figures caught my eye. They were depicted inside the castle, which gave them status, but far to the back of the witnesses. One was a small, dark-haired woman with enormous blue eyes, in an elaborate black gown that looked funereal. Beside her was a boy of about five, also black-clad and somehow more disturbing.
I held a lamp closer to these two. Their woven shapes were barely six inches tall, but the detail was extraordinary, so that the faces had the individuality of real life. Something about the boy seemed familiar to me, even though I’d never been to this island before. I couldn’t place it, though, before a firm knock preceded the opening of the door.
Thomas Gillian entered. He carefully closed the door behind him, then locked it. He put his back against it, stood at ease, and said, “Sir Robert has put you in my charge.”
“What precisely does that entail?”
“Where you go, I go. I protect you and, if you get out of line, restrain you. Up to, and including, execution.” He said all this with absolutely no emotion.
“I guess I better behave, then.”
“It would be in your best interest. Sir Robert has sent for the doctor to tend your hand, and she should arrive shortly.”
The thought of seeing the dark-haired doctor again improved my mood. “Well, that’s something. Kay opened a bottle; would you like a drink?”
He shook his head. “Given that someone has already tried to poison me once today, I think I’ll stick to my own sources of refreshment for a bit.”
Someone knocked softly at the door. Gillian unlocked it and stepped back.
Iris Gladstone entered. The dead room suddenly jumped to life. Or maybe it was just me. She said, “Hello, Tom. I’m here to check on Mr. LaCrosse’s hand.”
“Hi,” I said.
She pulled off her coat, revealing a sleeveless tunic and skirt. To hide what those clothes revealed beneath a shapeless white coat seemed criminal.
Gillian relocked the door and assumed the exact same position. His eyes grew glassy, as if he were a million miles away. I knew better; he saw and heard everything. To Iris I said, “Working late?”
“Boy, nothing gets past you, does it?” She yawned and stretched, displaying far too many curves for a man in my weakened condition to endure. She ran her hands through her hair. “I had to examine several of the honored guests for various maladies brought on by the stress of their confinement. Alas, they’ll all live.”
“Sur
vival is a courtier’s main skill,” I said. Watching her spread the contents of her bag on a side table was more enjoyable than it should’ve been.
She looked up and smiled. Having recently been dazzled by Queen Jennifer, I felt qualified to say that the royal grin paled next to this one, at least for me. She said, “I should probably offer to stitch your head back on since I bit it off before. Mary told me how you stuck up for her.”
“Don’t mention it.” I gestured dismissively with my injured hand. The movement made it throb anew, and despite my best efforts it showed. It also rattled the chain between the manacles.
Iris turned to Gillian. “Tom, can you undo these?”
Gillian shook his head. “Sir Robert was explicit.”
Iris’s eyes narrowed. “Tom, I’m a doctor, and I’m here to treat this man’s injury, which I can’t do if it’s halfway covered by these shackles. You can lock him up again as soon as I’m done, but for right now, I’m telling you, take them off.”
Her voice grew firmer and louder as she spoke, so that by the end she was almost yelling. Gillian showed no reaction, but after a moment he picked up a padded barstool and crossed the room. He gestured for me to sit. When I did, he unlocked the manacle around my right wrist, then relocked it to his own. He stood right beside me, again as still and quiet as a statue.
Iris shook her head, laughed, and held out her hand. “Okay, let me see that broken battering ram of yours.”
She turned my hand palm-up. “Wiggle your fingers for me.” I did, though the movement was minimal. “Okay, I don’t think you broke anything, but they’re jammed up awfully good. Did no one ever show you how to throw a punch?”
“I’m self-taught. And impulsive.”
“Be careful who you admit that to.” She met my eyes, and the playfulness left her. “I need to straighten them out, and it’s going to hurt. Do you want something for the pain?”
“No. I need to keep my wits about me.”
She grinned with one side of her mouth; it was adorable. “Well, at least they shouldn’t take up much room.”
She turned her back to me and put my free arm under hers. I could smell whatever lavender concoction she used on her black, silky hair. She held my wrist with her left hand, and my index finger with her right. “All right, here’s one.”
If someone had driven a metal rod from my fingertip straight up my arm, it would’ve hurt less. The crack sounded like a sledgehammer hitting a rotted board. “That wasn’t so bad,” I squeaked. Sweat stung my eyes.
“Now two,” she said without a pause. The pain was less intense, if only because I wasn’t over the first one yet.
“Can I ask you something?” I croaked.
She wasn’t one to be distracted. “Sure. Now three.”
I was basically on fire from my right shoulder on down and gasped, “Do you know anything about poisons?”
“They’re bad for you, as a rule. Last one. And this little piggy went … snap.”
And, boy, did it. “Oh, we’re done?” I said casually. I wasn’t sure it was audible outside my own head.
“Wipe your eyes,” she said as she released my arm.
After a couple of deep breaths, I realized my hand actually hurt a little less and I could move my fingers a lot more freely. I slumped on the stool and said, “What about specific ones?”
“Specific eyes?” She poured me a drink from the decanter Kay had opened earlier.
“Specific poisons.”
She test-moved my fingers and seemed satisfied with the results. “You’re a sword jockey, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Do you disapprove?”
“Everyone has to do something. Right, Tom?”
Gillian raised one eyebrow. For him it was the equivalent of a burst of laughter.
Iris asked me, “So what poisons were you interested in?”
“Just one. Shatternight.”
She didn’t pause to think. “Acts very rapidly. Boils you alive inside. No known antidote. Distinctive odor. And it doesn’t grow on this island.”
“And it’s what killed that knight at the banquet.”
She frowned, and a stray lock of black hair fell over her forehead. “How do you know?”
I used my shackled good hand and brought out the apple. Gillian did not resist the movement. I held it for Iris to sniff. She said, “That’s it, all right. You’re a man of many talents.”
“Especially when it comes to things that might kill me.” I’d encountered shatternight where it grew wild, deep in the forests of Oconomo, and once narrowly avoided getting dosed with it. “So where on Grand Bruan would someone get shatternight?”
“Beats me. It has no medicinal value. And it would have to be brought from the south, across the channel, because it won’t grow in this climate. Plus it loses its potency pretty rapidly once it’s been picked, I believe.”
“So whoever poisoned these apples would have been outside Grand Bruan in the recent past, correct?”
She cocked her head. “You came from outside Grand Bruan, I believe, didn’t you?”
“True. But I’m not the murderer.”
She glanced at my shackles and deadpanned, “That’s a relief.”
She took my injured hand and lightly massaged my fingers. Her touch was strong, sure, and yet delicate. Since I couldn’t really seduce her with Gillian standing right there, I continued to talk about work. “I met Queen Jennifer earlier. Are you on good terms with her?”
Iris answered the question as casually as I asked it. “As good as anyone, I suppose. As long as you do your job and don’t make any mistakes, she’s easy to get along with. If you screw up, though, she’ll eat you for lunch. Right, Tommy?”
As expected, Gillian did not comment, and I didn’t look up to see if he raised an eyebrow. I said to Iris, “That sounds kind of harsh.”
Her face, serious and so focused, was starry-night beautiful. “I’ve attended her during her miscarriages. That sort of thing brings out a woman’s true nature. Hers isn’t terribly pleasant.” Iris looked down suddenly. “Forget I said that, will you? That was confidential doctor-patient information.”
“It’ll go no further unless it absolutely has to.”
Iris smiled wryly. “You’re good, though, you know that? I’m not easy to draw out.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Do you think she’s capable of killing someone with poison?”
“Jennifer? If you mean does she have the resources, yes, of course. If you mean as a person … no. Not like this. Not watching them die. If she truly planned to murder someone, she’d arrange it to happen far away from her. But being bad-tempered isn’t the same as being amoral.”
“Lots of moral people have been murderers.”
Iris laughed. “You are cynical, aren’t you?”
“I’ve seen a lot of people’s true natures, too.”
“Well, if I were you—and I realize that’s saying I’d suddenly be stupid enough to punch one Knight of the Double Tarn in the face while I was under suspicion of murdering another one—I wouldn’t waste my time looking at the queen. I’d look around her, for someone who wants to make her look bad. And who doesn’t care if someone dies to do it.”
Her theory matched my own, a sure sign that she was brilliant as well as beautiful. “You think that was the main reason? Not to kill my bodyguard here?”
She snorted. “Tom could be killed anywhere. No offense,” she asided to him. “He’s a soldier. But to kill him here, under the queen’s nose, using the queen’s gift, clearly means they want to implicate…” Iris paused, then smiled. “Now come on, you can do it…”
I grinned at her teasing. “The queen?” I closed my fingers gently around hers.
She glanced up sharply, and for a moment I was afraid I’d crossed a line. Then she smiled. “Ah, Mr. LaCrosse,” she said almost wistfully. “I’m flattered.”
“And interested?”
She looked down almost guiltily. “Yes, and interested.”
“No but. Except that you are, after all, a prisoner. And my patient.”
“I’m very patient.”
She chuckled. “And if you’re here tomorrow night, we might be able to pursue it.”
“Why tomorrow night?”
She looked up at Gillian. “Turn the other way for a second, Tom.” I felt him do as she asked. She released my hand and put her forearms on my shoulders, her wrists crossed behind my head. She stepped so her body was against mine and her face close. Since she was standing, I had to look up at her, which I certainly didn’t mind.
She said quietly, “Because right now it’s late, I’m exhausted, and my feet hurt. And even though I’ve worked on you, you’re going to be in some real pain soon.”
I started to protest, but she continued, “And since I do want to see you tomorrow to check on your hand, perhaps—and that’s not a promise—we can arrange something less professional. If you’ve managed to clear your name by then.”
“Are you this hard to get for all your patients?”
She laughed and tossed that bothersome lock of hair from her face. “Mr. LaCrosse, I work around eligible young men every day, and you’ve gotten farther than any of them ever has.”
“She’s right,” Gillian said calmly, and we both looked up in surprise. He still had his back to us.
“Besides,” Iris continued, “no one in Grand Bruan would have dared punch Dave Agravaine in the face, even though he’s needed it for a long time. I admire that, and I like you. You’re funny.”
She paused, and her voice took on a low, sultry quality I recognized, although it never failed to surprise me a little when it was directed at me. She leaned even closer and said too quietly for Gillian to hear, “Tomorrow, we’ll see what happens. For tonight—”
She touched her lips to mine. I followed her lead and kept it soft, gentle, respectful. No tongues. But she did nip my bottom lip a little as she drew back.
“—I prescribe bed rest and sweet dreams.”
My own voice was a little ragged, and not from pain. “I always do what the doctor orders.”