Trouble in the Forest Book Two

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “There is still time. We know they’ve been here,” said deSteny.

  “Oh, yes. And out-smarted us,” Sir Humphrey growled. He watched Bishop Tilton rise and fell silent while the blessing was intoned. “Amen,” he said with the rest. “The town has made money from the Fair—that’s something. Our merchants have been suffering by lack of business, they say.”

  “Is it enough?” deSteny asked, pondering his own question as scullions brought in more drink and fresh wheaten trenchers into which they ladled a fragrant fish stew. Nottingham surely needed the Fair, and the event had been quite beneficial, so Sir Gui would not have much basis for complaint, even if there was no capture of vampires. He sipped at his hot wine before picking up his spoon and beginning his meal.

  “Well, what do you think, Sheriff?” Sir Humphrey asked as he chewed vigorously at his food.

  “About the Fair?” DeSteny considered his answer carefully. “I think the Fair isn’t over yet.”

  “No,” Sir Humphrey admitted, plucking out a small fish bone with his thick fingers. “But this is the last night. By tomorrow most of the Fair-goers will be leaving. And at least Sir Gui’s father has come, no matter how belatedly.”

  “Though he keeps to his chambers,” said deSteny.

  “He is a man of austere habits,” said Sir Humphrey. “But the Fair, deSteny, the Fair—has it succeeded as we planned?”

  “It may still let us flush out those undead beings from our midst,” said deSteny. “If that happens, the Fair will be all any of us could have hoped.”

  “We haven’t managed that yet, but, as you say, the Fair isn’t over yet.” Sir Humphrey took a deep draught from his tankard.

  “And therefore it is possible we may still have the chance to triumph,” said deSteny, knowing it was a forlorn hope.

  “Not much of one,” said Sir Humphrey, and had another long drink of mead.

  “Then they’ll have won, and Nottingham will suffer for it in many ways,” deSteny said heavily and reached for the tankard of hot wine. He wanted to drink away his dejection, but dared not do it until the Fair was well and fully over, so he contented himself with a single long sip and then continued with his meal. What had he missed? he asked himself. What had he overlooked? No answers came to him, and gradually he began to chastise himself for the reckless attempt he had made.

  A young harper in a player’s half-mask and motley had come into the Great Hall and, in the raucous confusion, strove to tune his instrument. He finally achieved a good enough pitch on the strings to begin playing a tune and singing, his small voice not carrying very far.

  “What’s that young puppy wailing about?” Sir Humphrey asked, nudging deSteny with his arm.

  “I don’t recognize it. Something about ancient heroes and ...” He tried discern the lyrics, ending up shaking his head. “No. I can’t make it out.”

  “Strange fellow,” said Sir Humphrey, and spread a swath of butter from the tub along the crust of his trencher. “Most players are, you know.”

  “They have their lives, as we have ours, each shaped by the tasks to be performed. Your life would not accommodate what they do, so they have their own ways, that they may entertain us when we are at our leisure. It suits their work, as your life suits yours,” said deSteny, and felt something stir in the far recesses of his mind. He sat a little straighter, and turned to watch the harper more closely.

  “Speaking of that,” said Sir Humphrey, taking a long draught of mead, “one of my men found a dead whore in the barn of the Spotted Horse, where these players had stayed until recently.”

  “A dead whore?” DeSteny felt the cold finger of apprehension run down his spine. “Tell me.”

  Sir Humphrey shrugged. “Just recently dead, perhaps no more than two or three hours—pale as whey where she wasn’t beaten.”

  “When was she found?” The question was strained.

  “It was reported shortly before I came here; she was found not long before that, or so I was told. The Watch came upon her in their rounds of the stables. She was in a stall, they told me, like a discarded rag. That’s what comes of not keeping to the brothel, of going beyond the protection of the master. She must have gone with her companion to that place for privacy, and he took advantage of their seclusion to do away with her. They took her to Saint Felix of Dunwich, the nearest church. She is lying there now.” Sir Humphrey shook his head. “A bad business, killing whores.”

  “No doubt,” said deSteny. “Do you know who she was?”

  “One of Alcott’s girls—Diana or some such fanciful name. No doubt she had another before she took to whoring.” Sir Humphrey broke off more of the upper crust of his trencher and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing vigorously.

  “Duana,” said deSteny, as much to himself as to Sir Humphrey.

  “Aha! So you know who she is!” Sir Humphrey winked. “I knew you had more than sop in your veins, Sheriff. Don’t worry. Alcott will soon find another to replace her. You needn’t repine.”

  DeSteny could think of nothing to say in response to this, so he drank another sip of his hot wine and looked for the serving pages to bring the next course. His neckband felt unusually tight and his mouth was dry.

  The young harper continued to sing, his voice not carrying through the din of the guests. Nothing daunted, he kept on steadily, plucking the strings energetically, his own chin seeming insubstantial beneath the large hooked nose and angular brow of his half-mask. He glanced up at the High Table once, his eyes glittering in the dark recesses of the painted wood. His voice became a little louder.

  “So long the sweetest touch shall be

  The kiss that you bestow on me,

  So long, so long I swear that I

  Shall ne’er have cause to weep and sigh.”

  “Not very inspired,” said Sir Gui from his place next to Prince John.

  “He’s young,” said Prince John. “Give him a few years and a broken heart and his lyrics will improve.”

  Sir Gui laughed unnecessarily loudly and called for more Rhenish. “I had no notion you had so much wit, Your Grace; a very good observation,” he said with a show of enthusiasm that made deSteny wince. “A pity my father has not joined us to hear it.”

  “Nor had I such a notion,” said the Prince wryly, and glanced at deSteny with a hint of a nod.

  Another group of serving pages came into the Great Hall, all carrying spits on which were a number of roasted birds—fat hens, crisp-skinned ducks, small geese, succulent partridges, and pheasants—which they slid off the spits with forks, giving one bird to each guest, and adding to them a thick sauce made from the minced giblets of the various fowl. At the High Table, the fare was peacocks in saffron and swans basted in honeyed wine.

  DeSteny accepted the peacock, and began to disjoint it, using his knife to cut through the ligaments. “Sir Gui has out-done himself.”

  Sir Humphrey laughed as he went to work on his swan. “It’s as well by me. I haven’t dined so well since King Richard left for the Holy Land.”

  Just this mention of the Crusade left deSteny feeling empty, bereft, and dishonored. The fowl before him lost its savor, and his dawning enjoyment fled. With numbed fingers he picked at the yellow meat and tried to summon up some pleasure in the evening. Striving to speak without obvious apprehension, he said, “It would be better if we had those creatures in hand, under lock and key and holy writ.” He longed for a good reason to leave the banquet, but knew he could not find it, so he tarried over his food, giving only half his attention to Sir Humphrey’s remarks.

  “So it would,” said Sir Humphrey. “But how are we to do that?”

  “I haven’t a notion,” said deSteny, and gave his partial consideration to the harper, who was now recounting the adventures of a bold knight facing the Saracens. It was all of a piece, he thought. He had failed in th
e Holy Land and he had failed now, and he would not be allowed to forget either failure.

  How Hood made Ready

  to Play on the Eve of All Saints

  MARIAN had got into her costume—a Saracen princess—and was helping Scarlet fix the scenery in place while Hood once again tested the two wires that would guide the arrows to their target. Morrain had just finished his work on the platform beyond the curtain and was sitting down at the edge of the back of the stage, his head between his knees.

  “We should have had more than that girl; we could have lured her companion to us as well,” said the Red Friar with an angry snort of laughter. “All she did was whet our appetite.”

  “You will be sated soon enough,” said Hood with supreme disinterest. “There are a dozen men and more for each of us.”

  “Do you really think they’ll allow us to drain them without protest?” asked Scarlet.

  “I think they will do whatever we want of them. The Bishop is the only one to worry about, and that’s already been arranged. Hasn’t it, Scarlet?” Hood was icy with sarcasm now.

  “Oh, yes. I know what I am to do and I will do it,” he said firmly. “Just as the arrows on the stage are loosed, I shoot the Bishop, twice, to be sure. In the heart. Then no one will stand between us and the banquet.”

  “A lucky thing for us that Sir Gui doesn’t like priests and monks,” said the Red Friar.

  “Exactly. In the confusion, we should be able to accomplish our ends, and handsomely.” Hood grinned.

  Ramsay poked his head in through the curtain. “The back’s braced,” he said to no one in particular, and withdrew again.

  “What about the women in the gallery?” Marian asked Hood “Not all of them will be in a dither. A few will run for help.”

  “Morrain will bolt the doors so that they cannot leave without coming through the Great Hall,” said Hood smugly. “Like game to the nets.”

  “If you are so certain of this,” said Morrain, lifting his head and sighing, “then why have you taken so many precautions?”

  “In case something happens to reveal more than we want before we are ready,” said Hood. “It would suit none of us to have to fight our way out of here, even if half the guests are a little drunk.”

  “It will make their blood the sweeter,” said the Red Friar, and turned away in self-disgust.

  “Aye, that it will,” said Scarlet.

  Alan stuck his head in through the side of the curtain. “They have been served roasted fowl. Next comes pork and lamb, and then venison and beef. The ale is making the rounds, and so are the mead and hot wine.”

  “It shouldn’t be too long now,” said Hood with satisfaction. “Are the chairs and other properties ready?”

  “All ready,” said Marian, who was pulling on her half-mask with its attached wig of elaborate raven locks.

  “You don’t have to don that yet,” Scarlet said, amused.

  “With Sir Gui not four yards away, it is safer, I think,” said Marian.

  “Wear it, then,” said Hood, making no excuse for his abrupt manner. “Morrain, go secure the door to the women’s gallery. Be careful and do it quietly. We want no alarms raised.”

  Morrain moved as if his limbs were bearing invisible weights, but he did as he was told, taking care to leave the Great Hall as unobtrusively as possible.

  “Do you think he will succeed?” Scarlet asked. He had just taken off his long tunic and was reaching for the elaborate robe that he would wear as Sir Balzidor.

  “If he doesn’t, he had best run for his life,” said the Red Friar, who would be the Sultan of the East. He had a flowing robe of saffron and green over his arm, and an impressive turban thrust under his arm.

  “You speak true,” said Hood with flat conviction. “He will do it because he must not fail. Nor will any of you fail.”

  “So you say,” Scarlet dared to counter him.

  “You know it is so.” Hood rounded on him. “You cannot imagine what can become of those who displease me.”

  “Oh, yes I can,” said Scarlet. “I’ve conversed—as much as anyone may do—with the Old Ones. They bear your wrath to this day.”

  “Keep in mind that they may yet have more among their number,” Hood warned him. “Even vampires have blood to be drained.”

  “You will do as you decide,” said Marian, intervening before their jostling could become a real argument. “In the meantime, we have a play to perform. And our pleasure to take of them when we are ready.”

  “Yes,” said Scarlet, paling as if he had just realized he had almost stepped over a precipice.

  “Very good,” said Marian, and adjusted the broad girdle of gold braid that went around her hips. “When we are safely in the forest, then you may wrangle as much as you wish. Here you put us all in danger.”

  “True enough,” said Scarlet, and tugged his robe on.

  “Do you think that it will be a difficult shot, to kill the Bishop?” Marian asked Hood.

  “No. The fool’s at the High Table, and he is in white. He is like a wax candle, as clear a target as any in the room. The Prince is in dark colors against the dark draperies behind him—if he had to be shot, it would not be so easy a thing.”

  “Should we perhaps shoot him as well?” Scarlet asked.

  “I’ve said no, and I haven’t changed my mind. Nor will I. It will be hard enough to have the soldiers of the Church after us, but to have the soldiers of the Crown as well ... No,” said Hood as he reached for his costume—that of King of the West—and added, “the Bishop is dangerous to us—everyone who serves the Other Cause by vow is—so they must be disposed of, but not at the cost of bringing great wrath upon us. Not that they aren’t bad enough: so long as they have the power of those two wooden sticks, then we are helpless before them.”

  “And there is only the Bishop to concern us?” Scarlet asked.

  “Neither Morrain nor the Red Friar saw any other clergyman come into the Great Hall. Who shall stop us? Kill the Bishop and claim the prize unimpeded!” Hood had kept his voice low, but it felt as if he had shouted.

  “That we will,” said Scarlet, and devoted himself to dressing while he listened to the merriment beyond the front curtain.

  Donat emerged from the driver’s box of the wagon, saying to Hood, “A pity we must leave this behind. It could be refitted and used again.”

  “We’ll get another one in good time,” said Hood, and dismissed Donat with a single nod. “You know what to do.”

  “Yes,” said Donat, and was gone.

  At last, when Scarlet had put on his half-mask and taken up his staff from which the gold paint was flaking, he dared to address Hood again. “What of Donat and Ramsay—will they be with us? Will they join us in our attack?”

  “Of course. They’re going to make sure no one can get into the Great Hall until we’re ready to leave.” Hood folded his arms. “You think I am so reckless not to have accounted for our departure as well as our arrival?”

  “I didn’t say so,” Scarlet protested.

  “No, but you thought I was so lax that I allowed myself to enter what could be a trap without assuring our escape.” Hood shook his head. “You have no faith in me.”

  “But I do,” Scarlet protested, anxious to show his faith in Hood. “You have had my fealty since the hour of my death.”

  Hood laughed. “Of course I have,” he said.

  “Then shouldn’t this mean that I have proven myself to you? Haven’t I been your vassal and your devoted—” He stopped and shrugged. “You will think what you want to think.”

  “I know you are driven by appetite, as we all are,” said Hood, and waved his hand to indicate he would say nothing more on the subject.

  So for the next little while he and his troupe worked in silence, paying slight heed
to the noise in front of the curtain. Rich odors of roasted meats filled the air, and the men became rowdier as they continued to drink. At one point half a dozen of the men on the long benches burst into unmelodic song, laughing as they roared out the salacious lyrics, only to quiet abruptly when Bishop Tilton rose to remonstrate them for their lack of decorum.

  “They’re all in fine fettle,” said Marian. “My father’s board often resounded with such songs.”

  Hood scowled at her. “Why do you say so? That was in your life before now. It means less than nothing to you.”

  She lowered her head. “I know. But I cannot forget.”

  Scarlet felt a touch of sadness for her. “Your uncle wasn’t cut of that cloth, was he?”

  “He was a man without jest, without joy except for acquisition.” She shrugged. “He was glad to see me pledged to Sir Gui. And now that I have the opportunity to observe my intended bridegroom, I realize the whispers were true, and I must wonder what my uncle expected, beyond an advantageous title.” The shine in her eyes was brittle.

  “Just as well that you’re one of us,” said the Red Friar. He began to wrestle his Sultan’s robes over his head.

  “Oh, yes. I would not have liked to live the life that they would expect of me, spinning and tending herbs while Sir Gui disported himself with pageboys; no wonder his father will not attend this feast,” said Marian with a single gesture that expressed her separation from all that in her past.

  They finished the last of their readying and took their places for the beginning of their play. It was some little time before Sir Garland came to tell them that the meal was over and the entertainment should begin.

  “Where is our harper?” Scarlet asked in his most polite manner.

  “He is sitting at the end of the dais of the High Table. Do you want him?” Sir Garland, who, for the sake of his name, wore a wreath of late-blooming flowers on his head, nodded in that direction.