Into The Maze

by Euan McAllen

  ‘You’re trapped.’

  ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘This place corrupts.’

  ‘No it doesn’t.’ By now Mozak was spitting out his words.

  With each exchange they were drifting apart again and it was making Mozak feel fed up.

  ‘I want to go, get out.’

  ‘Back to that village?’

  ‘I don’t know. Back Outside possibly.’

  Inside, thought Mozak. That place is inside. Get it right.

  ‘You must stay. I need you here. How will I cope without you?’ He tried to sound upbeat.

  ‘Need me? You don’t need me. I’m a complication.’

  ‘But only if you make it so.’

  ‘A month ago I didn’t exist so how can you say you need me now? Here?’

  Mozak had no answer to that and lapsed into silence. His brother followed suit. They were stuck, at an impasse. Mozak could not go. Tascho could not stay.

  It grew dark. Shadows crept towards them then began to consume them. Mozak wanted to head back indoors. He tapped his brother on the elbow.

  ‘Come on. We’ve been out here - in here - too long.’

  But Tascho would not move. He would not answer. It was like he had ceased to function. Mozak tried again, and again. He shook his lifeless brother but Tascho refused to shift. He just sat, limp. Mozak gave up. He had had enough.

  ‘Sod you I’m leaving, now.’

  With that he got up and started walking, only to be surprised: Tascho got up and followed.

  ‘That’s more like it. Come on.’

  He led the way back to the entrance and the outside, only to discover that Tascho was not with him.

  ‘Damn it Tascho!’

  His patience had run out but he could not leave his brother in there, perhaps lost again. He turned back and retraced his steps, cursing as he stumbled and bumped into hedges along the way. Upon reaching the centre again he saw his brother sprawled out on the ground by the bench. He had no time for this.

  ‘Get up!’

  But Tascho did not respond.

  ‘Enough for one day! Get up!’

  Mozak kicked him but got no response. Tascho was dead to the world. Then Mozak saw blood on his brother’s head. Tascho had knocked himself out.

  ‘Damn it!’

  Mozak did not need this. He did not want this. He fought his way out again and went and summoned help. He watched his brother being carried away - more angry than worried. He wanted to scurry off back to his bedroom and dive under the pillow but, feeling duty-bound, he instead accompanied his brother to the Infirmary. There he made his feelings very clear to the Royal Doctor.

  ‘If he dies you’re dead.’

  The Doctor nearly had a heart attack. Mozak also nearly had a heart attack but for a completely different reason: there was his father Bizi - still king? - at the far end of the room; under guard, under sedation; looking like a crippled, broken man. Mozak had to look away. He had to run away. Unable to face his mother with the news he had a message delivered to her instead. Let her sob and grieve. Let her deal with it all.

  Meanwhile deep inside the heart and soul of the castle Helmotti - now king Helmotti again - sat on his throne again, in charge again, but with his previous inner turmoil brewing again - that which had once nearly broken him in his previous life. He sat bored as lords form a long queue to step forward, kiss the royal ring on his finger, and swear allegiance. From his point of view the faces had aged - or been replaced - but nothing had changed.

  ***

  A furious banging on the door pulled Gregory out of a good, well-earned sleep. It did not stop. Cursing and falling into a foul mood he dragged himself out of bed and went to investigate the intrusion. Dawn was still breaking! If it was his brother or that miserable God-infested priest he would smack him and send him packing. In the main room Esmeralda was sat upright with her blanket pulled up tight around her. He told her to stay put and not be alarmed. For a moment she thought it was Breamston - come to claim her, reduce her, spoil her - and then she remembered where she was, and where he was, and what lay in between. But it did nothing to allay her fears. Something awful was happening. She just knew it.

  Gregory opened the door, ready for a fight, only to be stumped and staggered: it was Queen Anneeni, alone and looking like she too had just been dragged out of bed. There was no escort, no protection. She pulled back the hood which covered nearly all her head. Had she come seeking sanctuary? Was she about to lose her head? What possible assistance could he give her? But immediately it was all made crystal clear: Tascho had had an accident and was in the Infirmary.

  ‘Come. Now. To the Infirmary. Tascho needs us. He has had an accident.’

  His mood switched and his body twitched and behind him Esmeralda fought the urge to jump up and approach the queen for more information, and to make a request.

  ‘Let me get dressed. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  ‘Be quicker.’

  As Gregory headed back to his room Esmeralda did jump up and rush towards him.

  ‘Tascho is ill? Please, I must see him.’

  The Queen was not pleased on seeing the girl from the village. She did not want her near her son. She did not want her stealing one of her sons.

  ‘She stays here.’

  Gregory took Esmeralda’s hand. ‘Sorry.’ And carried on.

  After he walked out and closed the door behind him Esmeralda collapsed into the nearest chair, still gripping her blanket which she began to chew on. It was like she had been struck on the head.

  Outside Queen Anneeni made her feelings clear.

  ‘Keep that peasant girl away from my son. He is to marry Lady Agnes Aga-Smath.’

  Gregory did not to respond, preferring to remain neutral on this matter.

  At the main entrance to the Infirmary, Queen Anneeni pushed aside the guard who dared to stand in her way and stormed on in. Upon sight of her son, his head bandaged, she rushed towards him and fell to her knees beside the bed; head down, hands clenched together as if to make prayer. She took his hand which made him open his eyes. Tascho had not been asleep, just thinking, or at least trying to.

  ‘Is my baby alright? Speak to me.’

  Tascho was forced to say something to calm the woman down.

  ‘I’m well mother, don’t fret.’

  ‘Your head is bandaged!’

  ‘It’s just a bump. I tripped. I’ve had worse.’

  ‘Is the doctor looking after you?’

  ‘Yes he’s been very good.’

  ‘How long must you stay in here?’

  ‘A day or two he said - lots of sleep and I’ll be fine he said.’

  ‘You don’t look well to me. It’s been a tough time for you - and me - for all of us.’

  Suddenly his mother wanted to confess everything and anything but Tascho was having none of it.

  ‘Yes mother. Please mother, this talk is wearing me out.’

  Tascho wanted to be left alone. He looked up at Gregory who was towering down over his mother. Gregory got the message and moved in.

  ‘Come my queen, let’s leave him be. He’ll be fine.’

  He touched her shoulder in an attempt to persuade her to get up. ‘Let’s give him some space.’

  His words made sense - they always did - and slowly Queen Anneeni rose to her feet, reconnecting with her sense of decorum and royal detachment from events happening around her - at which point the Royal Doctor rushed into the room. He had been shaken from his sleep and was flustered, and bleary-eyed. He did not look well. He felt required to speak, to show that he was on top of the situation.

  ‘He’ll recover in no time. Just a bump on the head. Just needs lots of sleep.’

  He then made the mistake of tr
ying to comfort the Queen by sounding upbeat.

  ‘Don’t worry, your majesty, he won’t die.’

  It had the opposite effect and the Queen exploded.

  ‘Don’t you dare be smug with me! If he dies you die!’

  While the retreating, thunderstruck doctor made a grovelling apology she caught sight of Bizi laid out at the far end of the room and was disgusted.

  ‘And get him moved out of here! Immediately! I don’t want that man near my son! Understood?’

  The doctor did not understand. ‘Understood your majesty.’

  Gregory did understand.

  ‘Calm yourself. And leave him alone.’

  ‘I can’t, he’s my son! I lost him once. I can’t lose him again!’

  ‘I meant the doctor.’

  For that unwanted piece of advice Gregory received a foul, dirty look of rebuke and the Queen stormed out - though constantly stopping every few steps to fix her sights firmly on her son. On reaching the door she paused and waved. Tascho raised his arm and waved back, hoping now that she would just go. She did, but she had to tear herself away to do it.

  With a heavy heart Gregory looked down at the bruised and battered boy; the boy he had raised, protected, educated, encouraged, consumed and now thrown to the wolves. He saw a baby’s face smiling up at him - the same baby he had raised to be a man. Had he done a good job? Was that Tascho smiling or Timothy? Did it matter either way? He wanted to get Timothy out of here, out of this place, away from the castle. Impossible, he knew that. Tascho would not leave his brother or his mother. The consequences of his decision to bring Tascho home threatened to throttle him. Gregory felt like the sickest man in the room. He extended his hand, wishing for a handshake and Timothy extended his. When they make contact Gregory felt a rush of blood throughout his body. In his mind it was the ultimate sensation. The grip was strong and that was a good sign.

  ‘Take care.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Plenty of sleep - not too much thinking - just sleep.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘You know where I am.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Having run out of things to say Gregory took his leave. On his way out he made a point of avoiding all sight of the other royal patient. As far as he was concerned Bizi could die a horrible death.

  ***

  After a belated breakfast Mozak rode out to the cottage. He had to be the one to break the bad news to Esmeralda. He jumped from his horse full of spirit and energy and demanded entrance - in total contrast to his brother who was laid out flat and deenergized. He felt in control, on top of the situation. He felt good about himself: he had saved his brother, rescued him; no one else.

  But when the door opened to reveal Esmeralda standing sad, Mozak realised straightaway that he had been beaten to the post. The girl already knew: it was broadcast loudly across her face. He was extremely disappointed - and that was broadcast across his face. But all was not lost: Esmeralda invited him in and begged him to tell her everything. He did not have much to tell: Tascho had knocked himself out; probably tripped over in the dark. What more was there to say? He did not think to ask how she was. He wondered if she would be in such a state had it been him.

  ‘I have to see him,’ she cried. ‘I have to see him.’

  Why? thought Mozak.

  ‘But she would not let me.’

  ‘Who?’ he asked.

  ‘The Queen.’

  That made sense, thought Mozak. ‘Not to worry. I’ll take you.’

  Delighted by his promise, Esmeralda wanted to jump into Mozak’s arms. She didn’t, but her struggle to refrain was clear so he stepped forward, opened his arms and invited her in. She accepted, thanking him for his offer as he held her close. And then he hugged her. Esmeralda did not protest. She even seemed to like it, respond to it - in his mind as any girl should. But she held on to him for far too long and allowed him to tighten his grip. The innocence of the moment was transformed into something serious by the passing of too much time. When she wanted to let go she found she couldn’t. Mozak was not having it. She would not look him in the eye - something he was desperate for her to do, to consummate the union. Instead she pretended that it was Timothy holding her. Right now Esmeralda needed such a fantasy to sustain her.

  Mozak felt no struggle, no resistance as he went in for the kill of the kiss. The girl was limp: limp in mind as well as body. Had she given up as well as giving in? No matter. He kissed her: it was a struggle, targeting his lips on hers, for there was no cooperation, no movement on her side towards him but he got there in the end. And it was worth it - at least for him.

  ‘Was that good?’ he asked.

  ‘I supposed so.’

  You supposed so, he thought. Thanks a lot. He decided not to force a second on her. After the momentary exhilaration the first had left a sour taste in his mouth.

  The thought of Timothy marrying Lady Agnes had struck her down and reminded her of the bare, basic, brutal fact: she was just a poor village girl with nothing to offer; she could never have a prince. But then again this prince here wanted her now. She had nothing and she wanted something, so let it be Prince Mozak. He was the next best thing. Perhaps if she tried hard enough she could think of him as that sweet soft Marcus. Her memory was perhaps playing tricks: had Marcus ever been sweet and soft?

  Esmeralda could only return a blank stare. There was a hole in her face where there should have been life - the vibrant life-force of a young, wild, passion driven girl on the verge of womanhood. It was the face of surrender. Mozak pushed her away. He did not want to be holding a corpse. He deserved better than this. He felt second class. He stepped away and Esmeralda sat down as if to await his next move, his next intrusion into her life. She could have her prince, all she had to do was submit. But still she had to see her true prince.

  ‘I must see Tascho, will you take me to him? Now? Please?’

  Mozak looked away. He hated being used. He said nothing and walked out in protest, ignoring the noise behind him. If she was hurting then good - for he was hurting. About time she hurt - if only a little - for he was hurting a lot.

  ***

  Tascho opened his eyes. Now it was Esmeralda staring down at him, looking both sweet and sick at the same time. It made him feel good, then bad. She said something but he could not bring himself to talk back, though he was perfectly capable of talking. And there was Stevie! Stevie had jumped up on to the bed and was now trying to lick his face. Esmeralda held him off. Tascho tried to turn away but there was nowhere to turn to - even if he could make his head turn. Good Stevie, he thought. Good Esmeralda, he thought. He saw Gregory hovering again in the background, always in the background. Good Gregory, he thought. And with that - that being too many thoughts - he pretended to fall back into sleep.

  Tascho opened his eyes. Now it was the one and only, the indestructible, armour-plated Lady Agnes Aga-Smath; come to check that her man was still worth marrying no doubt. She said nothing but her look came across as sincere, even heartfelt, which he found unsettling. Again he closed his eyes and pretended to fall back into sleep. The pretence did not last long and he fell into a deep, delicious sleep - a sleep temporarily free of trouble. Tascho might suffer with his soul from time to time but meanwhile next door his father Bizi suffered with soul, body and mind. There was not a piece of him left undisturbed: no delicious dip into sleep for him to escape to.

  ***

  Back at the castle, in the throne room, Helmotti - king again bar the paperwork - sat with weary resignation as his concentration was hammered and his attention span stretched to the limit by an audience with a small but needy selection of nobles. Things had soured at the start when the Chancellor had made a great show of presenting the Royal Seal to him.

  ‘This is yours now.’

  ‘This is Bizi’s. He sti
ll has mine,’ said an unimpressed Helmotti as he turned it over and over in his hand like it was a fake. ‘He stole it.’

  Next, he had to sit and listen to, then deliberated over, a dispute between two nobles - knob heads both of them, he thought. But duty was duty. A flock of shameful sheep, the property of one, had, for the third year in a row, been grazing on land owned by the other, despite the many warnings. The aggrieved wanted it stopped, and compensation. He wanted the new old king to do something. The owner of the sheep complained that his neighbour had never bothered to maintain the fences, and made no use of the land. Sheep roamed. Sheep did not recognise legal boundaries. Sheep sniffed out the best grass and ate it. That was what sheep did. Get used to it.

  The king put up his hand, saying ‘enough, no more complaining!’ The king had made his decision: the man with the land was to keep one sheep in every twenty as compensation for the intrusion and insult; but also he was to put in place adequate fencing by the end of winter. If the sheep still wandered across the land in the meantime, tough, that was what sheep did. Get used to it.

  Laughter rippled around the room: the king had made a good joke. Bizi had never made a good joke, only bad ones - though he himself had been a good joke. The two noblemen retreated, bowing, satisfied with the verdict but dissatisfied that the king had turned their dispute into a joke. Others clapped: what a clever king; what a sharp king. For Helmotti the respite was short-lived: the Chancellor wanted to discuss the problem of King Bizi. Still king Bizi? thought Helmotti. What does that make me?

  Helmotti wanted to give his head a rest, go lie down, but the Chancellor had other ideas. He began his battering with a history lesson in ancient law and precedent with regard to the present day situation, which was awkward to say the least. Lord Fucho joined in and battered Helmotti with the logic of self-preservation and the public demand for clarity. Helmotti had to deal with the problem of his brother. Bizi had to be dealt with severely, and legally. There was no soft option. There could be no fudge. The kingdom required stability and clarity. Civil war was the nightmare scenario which none of those present wanted: the far-flung corners of the kingdom - those faraway places which those in the room had few dealings with - were always looking for an excuse to avoid taxes.