Into The Maze

by Euan McAllen

  Rufus was reunited with his sweetheart. He had crept back into the castle, avoiding all contact, not looking for thanks, not expecting gratitude; only looking for release. The two lovers hugged and kissed and checked each other over for signs of damage. Each was the other’s centre of the world.

  ‘Don’t ever do dangerous stuff like that again!’ demanded a tearful Tilsa. ‘I don’t want you to be a hero!’

  ‘Don’t worry I’m no hero.’

  ‘This isn’t a joke, promise me!’

  Rufus promised, but only on the understanding that they left now, and never returned. There was a new life to be had beyond this corrupt kingdom. He had the means and the opportunity. She agreed to go, then dropped her bombshell: she was pregnant. Rufus grabbed her by the shoulders and stared straight at her, directly into her soul. She became extremely worried - but that only lasted two seconds at most for pure joy exploded across his face. Suddenly this dark day was a glorious day and Rufus refused to stop hugging her, even when she couldn’t breathe.

  ‘No time to lose then,’ she said, panting. ‘I’ll not have my son born here, in this place, to end up a servant of the next crazy king. He’ll be a free man, like his father.’

  ‘What makes you think it’s a boy?’

  ‘I know.’

  Satisfied that they were totally as one, they went off in haste to make preparations - and Rufus had his gold to collect. Seeing the look of pain on the Banker’s face as he counted out the coins was, for Rufus, an extra bonus.

  Gregory entered the castle, having been shaken by the bloodshed he had witnessed. He needed to be sure that Timothy and Esmeralda was safe and well, and to a lesser extent Mozak. Timothy was, Mozak less so. Esmeralda was withdrawn, impatient to leave. Gregory saw a yawning difference between the twins. They were sugar and salt, sweet and sour. One had nothing to hide. The other would reveal nothing to him. They were twins but they were bad brothers too, with the blues. He tried to strike up conciliatory conversation with Mozak but it made no impact. He tried to get close but was repelled. He was told to leave when he asked to see the queen. Mozak did not like him hanging around, hanging on. Gregory was a close friend and confidant of his brother. Gregory had once been closely connected with his mother. He was a threat.

  Gregory left the castle sensing he would never return, and lacking any wish to. He took one last look up at the tower and wished his Anneeni well. He felt sorry for her. She had been broken by strong men - Mozak included. He returned to his cottage with much to think about - this was abruptly terminated when he found his brother lying on the floor in a pool of blood. His brother had been stabbed. The place looked like it had been burgled. Peasants? As Gregory bent down and reached out to help, Foccinni grabbed his collar and pulled him in close to whisper in his ear. He had something important to say before he died, and he knew he was dying, fast.

  ‘Fargo. Your mad monk did this.’

  It was an accusation and Foccinni died before Gregory could defend himself. It was an even worse ending to a very bad day than he could ever have imagined. Looking for something to place over his brother he found the black robe worn by Fargo: the mad monk had discarded it during his search for new clothes. He decided to keep it, and folded it up. Perhaps one day, he would have the chance to hand it back to Fargo, before killing him. He placed an old blanket over Foccinni instead, and apologized, for everything.

  Stevie, a scared witness to what had taken place, was hiding under the table, waiting for the right moment to come out - that right moment being a friendly face and a friendly sound. It took much coaxing from Gregory to persuade him to do so, that and the sound of Timothy’s name if not his voice. Gregory promised him that Timothy would be back soon and all would be good again. Needing to rest, Gregory sat in his chair with Stevie in his lap and took a long nap.

  ***

  Caught by chance in a happy mood, Mozak was persuaded to release his mother. She refused to come down and instead demanded that her cat be sent up. (She needed something to stroke.) The reason she gave was that ‘up here I can see all that is happening, and I want my son to feel guilt, everyday of his life’. Mozak laughed it off. Timothy on the other hand was extremely concerned and paid her a visit, only to be almost violently repulsed - like he was the enemy, not her other son (by her own logic her good son). Again she demanded he must not leave. She sliced off some hair and threw it at him. Next she threatened to cut off a finger. Timothy ignored it all and left, saying goodbye in a quiet, broken voice. With regard to their mother, Timothy wished his brother the best of luck.

  The family feast came and went like a piece of tragic theatre. With the exception of the Prince Regent all those that sat through it did not want to be there, and they had to pretend to share his mood of celebration. For some reason Lady Jane was present; perhaps to keep Lady Agnes on her toes, to remind her that she had to be better than the competition. A place had been set for the Dowager Queen just in case she changed her mind. She did not. An invitation had also gone out to Rufus and a place set. He also did not turn up. That did disappoint Mozak. On the other hand it was probably best that staff and employers did not mix socially.

  Mozak was unsettled: he was happy and sad, and kept bouncing between the two states, out of control. He had an enormous appetite tonight. The others did not. They picked at their food and mostly passed the time watching the Prince Regent stuff himself as he feasted on the food and the souls of those around him. He had entered manic mode and everybody else just had to hang on for dear life. He kept inviting them - telling them - to enjoy, eat up.

  ‘For tomorrow we may die’, he joked at one point.

  The joke fell flat.

  Each person took a small bite whenever his eyes fell on them to keep the Prince Regent happy, afraid of what he might do if he stopped having a good time. Timothy did most of the required talking while Helmotti contributed little and Esmeralda said nothing. Lady Jane was completely lost in it all. She knew something was wrong but didn’t want to know.

  Lady Agnes suffered the most: Mozak told her to ‘entertain’, ‘liven things up’, ‘be a good hostess’. But when she couldn’t raise her own spirits let alone those of others around the table he turned on her and called her a waste of space, a flirt, no true lady. She wanted to leave the table but he denied her that pleasure. He wanted her broken in, tamed, like a new horse. Lady Jane felt sorry for her. She too wanted to leave the table.

  Out of the blue and stamping his fork for silence Mozak boasted he would pass a decree. He had stitched the words together inside his head and now wanted to practice them on his captive audience:

  ‘The castle must never again be left unprotected. The king must always have an armed forced at his disposal. Therefore every man in ten, one fit and able to fight, must be donated from each estate, for the period of one year, to be permanently assigned to the service of the king. He will be housed in a new garrison, to be built adjacent to the castle. This new force will only take orders directly from the king.’

  A curious Helmotti had a question, for which Mozak had a good answer, which pleased him no end.

  ‘What about the smaller estates? What if they don’t have the manpower to fulfill the quota?’

  ‘Then they must pay someone else to provide that man instead, else pay a penalty to me - to the king.’

  While Mozak filled his mouth and implored those around him to do likewise, Gregory buried his brother in the garden, and cried. Was this the end of their family? He did not really know. Soldier on, he told himself. Soldier on.

  Afterwards, alone together, Helmotti, Timothy and Esmeralda all agreed on one thing: they would be gone tomorrow before the hangings started. Helmotti promised to inform Gregory. While in her ivory tower Queen Anneeni, happy now that she had the place to herself - and her cat - thought only one thing: ‘someone should hang for this’.

  ***

&nb
sp; That night, a drunk and joyous Prince Regent dragged an equally drunk - but much depressed - Lady Agnes Aga-Smath into his bed.

  ‘Make me feel better,’ he said. It was a command.

  She complied, though she no longer felt the compulsion to hold his hand, let alone any other part of his body. He held her body instead. In bed the Prince Regent ruled supreme. He was the king of the bed. The one silver lining in her thundercloud was the realisation that she had lost weight and as a result her breasts stood more prominent. Good breasts could capture a good man. Had her mother told her that?

  That night, spending his last night in his royal bedroom, Timothy wrote a farewell letter to his brother, not caring if it got read. It just had to be written, much like a bill had to be paid. Esmeralda watched as each and every word appeared on the page, transfixed. And Mutz was with them, spending time revisiting old times as a temporary relief from his needy, clinging cousins.

  He and Timothy exchanged final thoughts and goodbyes. They wished each other all the best, and happiness in their new homes. They had come a long way, they agreed; from out there to in here; from one crazy world to one cruel world; but no regrets, both agreed; no going back, both agreed. Mutz wished Esmeralda good luck and squeezed her shoulder dry with one final big heartfelt sorry. It made her very shy. She was a kid again.

  That night the Hermit sat and stared blankly into space as he worried about the new Mozak, the new Prince Regent. Gregory did likewise, and more. He counted out the last eighteen years of his life but ended up with zero: he had nothing to show for it. That night, Rufus counted out his gold coins, again and again, and used them to form a long line of gold across the table. That night the King’s Secretary and the King’s Chancellor both hoped that things would settle down, into a new rhythm of state control. That night Lady Parmina and Lady Tarmina argued late into the night over who their cousin fancied more.

  ***

  The next day - the last day for a select few - Helmotti and the Hermit awoke in the dark, and were agreed: this was the only way forward. Before dawn Helmotti broke into the bedroom of the Royal Librarian and woke him up (gently) whilst holding a knife (firmly) to his throat. The muddleheaded man recognised him, and was too busy trying to work out why he was suddenly an enemy of the king to resist in anyway. He became angry: like his brother, this king had never shown respect for the learned or interest in what they did, which was to learn lots and then allow others to learn a little about what they now knew. The Royals had always despised those endowed with a good education. Spluttering with indignation he was frogmarched to the King’s Library where he was made to unlock the Map Room, after which he was bound and gagged and left to fume, in denial of his own pointlessness.

  Helmotti entered the Map Room like a road sweeper entering a dirt infested cathedral. Nothing had changed, not even the dust. In this room the dust was king, not the king. There in front of him lay the ancient map: a limp looking, apologetic piece of rolled up parchment; held in place by a long leather strap and sprinkled with dust. It had much in common with a well made cake, and was just as enticing. But if you tried to consume it it would blow your brains out. Helmotti picked it up carefully - like it was the arm of a new born baby - and wrapped it up inside a piece of thick cloth. Then he left in a hurry, apologizing to his captive on his way out and telling him not to feel responsible in anyway for this disaster. He would look at the map later, much later, and would be the first to do so in a very long time.

  Extremely satisfy with his parting shot, the Hermit met up with Timothy and Esmeralda in the kitchen and there they ate breakfast, in silence, before gathering up provisions for the journey ahead. No one said goodbye to the ex-prince or the ex-king. No one wished them luck and good speed. No one took pity on the poor peasant girl. No one asked who she was. There were no final words of advice, or caution, or contempt from the Secretary or the Chancellor. And they were pleased for that was the way they wanted it: to slip away quietly; to shed their current skins and renew.

  Esmeralda was excited again - the most excited. She just wanted to get going, get to somewhere where she could start a home. She had a new adventure again, but this time on her terms. She had her man with her, her perfect man. Life ahead would be tough but with hard work and dedication she would make it perfect. No more girl talk. With full stomachs and full bags and heads full of anticipation the three left without caring, without noticing, without forgiving; but their departure was noticed, and noted.

  Prince Mozak watched them go from his window - careful not to be seen - while his mistress lay abandoned on his bed, in stasis, awaiting his next command. She wanted to say goodbye to Esmeralda, and say sorry, but permission had been refused. She wanted to say goodbye to Timothy, and say sorry, but had not dared to ask. She wanted to say goodbye to the Prince Regent but the Prince Regent would not let her leave the room. The letter had not been read. Mozak refused to read it. It would end up locked away in the King’s Library. He had promised himself to read it when he was king - a promise he might break. Timothy could not help but look up at his brother’s window, wondering if he had read the letter.

  At the main gate, Esmeralda broke into a run, refusing to see the gallows. She would not be held back. She urged the others to keep up but they declined and she was forced to stop, wait and wind down. A spring in her step was not allowed. The timing was not right. Timothy held back. He did look at the gallows and decided he had to make one last visit to the Infirmary, promising to meet up with the others at the cottage where Gregory was hopefully awake and waiting.

  The Hermit wished him luck with Bizi, adding that fathers and sons rarely got it right. And during all this the Dowager Queen was spying on them. She had the perfect view from an imperfect space. The Dowager Queen, all powerful in her new setting, refused to wave, refused to cry, refused to regret. The Dowager Queen did not do such things. The Dowager Queen had to show dignity at all times. She had to be above it all. She refused herself.

  Later in the day, when the others were long gone, and no one was watching, and no one cared, Rufus and his sweetheart would sneak away, avoiding all attention - but leaving her sister in shock. They had a donkey to carry their few possessions - and Tilsa. Their dreams they would carry themselves for no one must know of them. In time - much time - Mozak would discover Rufus gone and resent the fact that he had set off on an adventure without him.

  The Castle did not spit any of them out. It had lost its grip. And those it held on to, it constantly spat at.

  Timothy did not understand why he made himself visit the Infirmary again, but was not prepared to fight the decision. In the hope that his father would recognise him? So he could say farewell? Or not recognise him so he would not have to, or could? He crept inside, not wishing to disturb, and on into his father’s room, wishing to do exactly that. His father was asleep but not alone. His grandmother, well awake, stood in his way. She would not let Mozak near her baby boy. She threatened to hit him. Timothy had to leave before he hit her.

  ‘It’s Tascho!’

  ‘Mozak!’

  ‘Forget it.’

  And with that Timothy left. He was out of the door in a flash, duty done even though there was nothing to be done. He caught the others up well before they reached the cottage, which surprised them, forcing him to explain. It was a bad idea, he confessed as Esmeralda took his hand. She would not let go of it until they were safely back inside.

  ***

  At the cottage they found a subdued Gregory waiting for them, ready to leave, as was Stevie. He could not be held back and catapulted himself at Timothy. In the Maze they would remain close again.

  The Hermit pointed at the rolled up piece of black cloth which Gregory had tucked under his arm.

  ‘Is that his?’

  ‘Yes. He left it behind after killing my brother. I buried Foccinni last night. I have no family left here.’

  That
announcement left them stunned, lost for words. Esmeralda held on tight to Timothy’s hand and Helmotti trawled through his memories for any of Gregory’s brother. He could not find any.

  ‘I’m going to give it back to him when I find him, covered in his own blood.’

  Those cold, near frozen words were the impetus to get moving, moving on towards the Maze. They were all in a hurry. Timothy wanted his old self and his old God back. He wanted Tascho gone. Let the Castle have him. Let Mozak have him. Esmeralda wanted her space back. No more living in the shadows of others. The Hermit had his living to get back to: one based on peace and quiet; and simple, uncomplicated thoughts - thoughts mainly free of people.

  Out of sight of the cottage, Gregory turned and waved goodbye. The child inside Esmeralda had to ask him what he was waving at.

  ‘At the Castle,’ replied the Hermit.

  ‘No, at my cottage,’ replied Gregory.

  They approached the entrance gate seeing no one on guard. The siege had put pay to that. They were free to simply wander on in, without questions or checks or hassle; there to wander free, to roam a while until forced to choose. This way or that? Unlike the Outside and the Inside, the Maze welcomed all. It was complicated but it was empty: no God here demanding worship; no king or queen to salute; no false prophets; no religious intolerance; no manipulation or suppression of the masses; only what you made of it.

  Stevie ran on, like he had to be first, but stopped at the wall, unable to enter alone. He barked. He hated having to wait. The human travellers caught him up then stopped to catch their brains. One of them was going back inside for the first time. She noted the occasion almost like a coming of age, a coming out party. This time it would be different, better, she told herself. The Hermit had two sets of memories: one for in there; one for out there. One set he would love so dearly to discard, destroy, but knew that was impossible. He was stuck with them, just as he was stuck with his younger self. They were what made him. Timothy was simply relieved. A weight had been lifted. He could work to redefine himself again.