by Alex Bledsoe
Phoebe said, “Easy, Jack. Wait till the room stops spinning.” Ellis rushed over as if to hug Jack, then caught himself and stood awkwardly until Jack registered his presence. To Ajax I said, “You can put the sword away. The fight’s over.” He scowled at me, then reluctantly slid the sword back into its scabbard.
I turned to Harry. “So why are you here?”
Before he could answer, Jack jumped to his feet. “Where’s Billy?”
“Your friend Billy Cudgel?” King Ellis said with a sarcastic sneer. He snapped his fingers. Ajax stepped out into the garden, and returned with Cudgel. The fat man’s hands were tied behind his back, and a noose was around his neck like a leash. He was sweaty and clearly exhausted. One eye was swollen shut.
“As we were returning, we found him bravely scurrying away,” Ellis said. “On a horse that I’m certain he stole.” Jack glared at his former friend. “What the hell, Billy? Did you set me up for this?”
“I assure you, friend Jack, I didn’t—”
“Oh, shut up. I know better than to expect a straight answer from you.” He turned to Ellis. “You sicced him on me, didn’t you? He was your spy.”
Ellis began to bluster. “I did no such thing, and—”
“What the hell does any of this have to do with rescuing my daughter?” Beatrice demanded loudly, silencing us all. She sat up and glared at us as if we were the stupidest group of people she’d ever seen. I couldn’t really argue with that.
She fixed her glare on Liz. “You knocked me out.”
“If I hadn’t, Tatterhead would have,” Liz said. “Sorry about that.”
Then she turned to me. “And you let that monster take my daughter.”
“I tried to stop him,” I said. It sounded as pathetic as I expected it to.
Harry laughed. “Before you all start beating each other senseless, let me give you the backstory. Sit down, pour yourselves a drink, and get comfortable.”
Beatrice was having none of it. “Not while my daughter is—”
“Your daughter is perfectly safe,” Harry said. “Really. Tatterhead won’t hurt her. Think about it: He came all this way to get her and take her back to Mahnoma. He could’ve ripped every single one of you into tiny pieces of meat, and he didn’t.
Whatever is behind this—and believe me, I want to know as much as you do—it’s not about hurting your daughter. Now, Mr. LaCrosse here is the absolute best person to have on your side for this. I won’t bore you with a list of his qualifications, but I will say if it was my daughter, there’s no one I’d rather have trying to rescue her.”
“He’s got a point,” Liz said to Beatrice. She started to snap something back, then took a deep breath and nodded. Ellis and Jack had moved away, and were huddled together talking. Well, Ellis was talking; Jack was just looking at him, at first skeptically but with gradual softening. I assumed the king was apologizing. Harry said, “Your Highness, Your Majesty, if you’d like to join the rest of us, I think you’ll want to hear this. It involves you, after all.”
Jack and Ellis came over and sat on the bench facing Harry.
He dug through his pack until he found the notes he wanted, then stood before us like a bard preparing to play. I knew he’d find that comparison insulting; after all, bards just made stuff up. Scribes strove for the truth.
“I’m going to tell you a story,” Lockett said. “Save your questions until the end. And your applause.
“Seventeen years ago, Mahnoma and Altura were allies.
The border between them might as well have not existed. And this was deliberate: the old kings had made sure their sons, Ellis and Gerald, grew up together as fast friends. They ran up and down the hills like some of Mummerset’s lambs, pretending to slay dragons and topple evil warlords. They no doubt thought that things would never change, and the summer would be eternal.”
“More matter,” Ellis said dryly, “and less art, okay?” Lockett frowned, then continued. “But nothing is eternal.
The boys grew up, ascended to their thrones, took queens, started families. Both had sons born the same year: young Jack here, and Gerald’s son Mannheim, called Manny. Affairs of state kept the two from as many visits as they’d once shared, but they did manage to find time every so often for extended stays in each other’s court.
“Ellis’s queen died in childbirth—sorry for bringing it up, Your Majesty—so when he went to visit Gerald, he went alone, leaving Jack behind because of his schooling. The visit was fine, everything was normal, until Ellis announced he had to leave. He missed his son, and his kingdom required his attention. Gerald asked him to stay, but Ellis politely refused. Then Gerald’s queen, Sylvia, asked him, and Ellis agreed to stay another week.”
Ellis’s brow creased with the pain of this memory. “It doesn’t sound like much, does it?” Lockett continued.
“But that was the spider, and Gerald was sure he saw it in his cup.”
Clancy raised his hand as if he were in school. Lockett smiled and said, “Yes?”
“What does that mean, about the spider?”
Lockett turned to me. “Mr. LaCrosse?”
“It’s a superstition,” I said. “Some people believe you can poison someone by slipping a spider into their drink, but the poison only works if they actually see the spider.”
“Exactly,” Lockett said. “Gerald’s spider was the fact that his best friend since childhood had refused his entreaties, but given in to his wife’s. That could only mean one thing: the two were having an affair.”
Ellis started to protest, but Lockett held up his hand for silence. “It was absurd, to be sure,” the scribe continued. “But that didn’t make it any less deadly. Gerald attacked Ellis and tried to kill him, but Ellis escaped and returned to Altura, where he sealed the borders. Gerald took this as an act of war, and both kingdoms began massing armies.”
And that, I thought, was when I got involved. That was the war I was looking for that day I found Isadora. The war that never happened.
“But before he could devote his attention to war, Gerald had to deal with his treacherous queen. He put her on trial before his court. His nobles, bless them, stood up to him and told him he was out of his mind. In response, Gerald sent for a sorceress, one who could ferret out the truth no matter how well it was hidden. ‘For if you hide the truth, even in your hearts, there will she rake for it,’ he told everyone, to scare them into cooperating. And that’s how Opulora enters the story.
“She’s by far the most mysterious person involved in this tale. I have it on good authority that she was once childhood friends with Queen Sylvia. I don’t know if Gerald knew this, or if he just didn’t care, given her reputation. She was known as an unerring truth-seeker who had toppled kingdoms before, and would no doubt do so again. And so Gerald had her visit Sylvia, use all manner of spells and sorcery to compel the queen to tell the truth, and then report it to him before his court.
“And she did. I have her exact words here: ‘Sylvia is chaste; Ellis, blameless; Gerald, a jealous tyrant.’ Then she made a prediction that no one, at the time, understood: ‘And the king shall live without an heir, if what is hidden is not one day uncovered.’ “Now, I know what you’re thinking: Gerald had an heir, Prince Mannheim. And that was true at the time of this announcement. But later, probably no more than an hour, the young prince fell to his death trying to scale the outside of the prison tower and rescue his mother. He’d been raised on tales of brave knights and noble warriors, remember. So when his father refused to accept his mother’s innocence, even after Opulora pronounced it so, Manny did what one of his heroes would have done.”
“He was ten years old,” Ellis said sadly. “A wonderful boy.”
“And his death broke Gerald out of his delusion. He saw that he’d been mistaken, and that his jealousy had led to something horrible. He forgave the queen at once. But it was too late, because seeing her son die, she killed herself, rather brutally.
“And so King Gerald, left without a que
en or an heir, went mad. Opulora quickly became the public face of his rule. He’s gotten better over time—for those first few years, no one saw him at all—but everyone believes he’s still mad, and she’s still in charge.”
I thought about the way Gerald reacted when she appeared during our visit. Apparently he thought she was in charge, too, although he was starting to chafe from it.
“But there’s still that prophecy, about something hidden being uncovered. Opulora claimed it came to her in a vision, and she didn’t know what it meant, either. Certainly the king had no other legitimate children, and the Mahnoman Charter forbids bastards of either sex from ascending to the throne.
And there things sat, until you and Miss Dumont showed up at the castle.”
“Us?” I said in surprise.
“What did we do?” Liz added.
“I have no idea,” Lockett said. “But as soon as you left, she summoned Billy Cudgel, and he headed off for Altura.” We all turned to look at the bound fat man. He said nothing, only stared at the floor in defeat. Jack walked over to him and said quietly, “I thought I knew you, old man. You were the friend I always dreamed of having. But now I’m wide awake; no dreams left.”
“Jack, I—”
“You will be silent,” Ellis commanded, “or you will be dead. Ajax?”
The bodyguard drew his dagger and laid it against Cudgel’s throat, although he’d have to do a bit of cutting to reach anything vital under those jowls. Cudgel sagged in on himself, thoroughly defeated; or, at least, doing a good job of acting it. “That tongue of yours has done quite enough damage,” Ellis finished. Then to Lockett, he said, “Please continue.” Lockett said, “I’d noticed over the years that Cudgel was always around when a certain kind of trouble broke out, so I followed him here, assuming there’d be a story at the end of it.
But instead of doing what he was hired to do—follow Mr. LaCrosse and Miss Dumont—he began ingratiating himself with Prince John. He seemed to think he could talk his way out of things with Opulora, if she asked what he’d done to earn his money. Again, that’s not out of character for him. And so Opulora decided on the direct approach, and sent Tatterhead.”
“But what,” Glendower said, “has this all got to do with my granddaughter? She’s no missing princess, is she?”
“Not that I’ve ever heard,” Lockett said. “There’s a rumor that Queen Sylvia was pregnant when she died, but I haven’t been able to confirm it, and even if she was, she was certainly nowhere near giving birth. Her baby died with her, if it ever existed.”
“And Opulora?” I asked, remembering the glass beads in the baby blanket. “Did she have a baby around that same time?”
“Not that I’ve found any trace of,” Lockett said. “So we don’t even know,” Beatrice said with a mix of anger and annoyance, “why she’s gone to all this trouble to kidnap my daughter.”
I realized we had an untapped resource right there in the room. I went to the bound soldiers and removed the gag from the older one. “Your name is Strato, right?”
He looked up at me and slowly nodded. “If you don’t mind my asking, how in the world do you know that?”
“You were here sixteen years ago, when I first brought Isadora to town. Your commander was ordered to kill her. Right?”
“So that was you,” he said.
I nodded. “Who gave him that order?”
He thought it over. He’d heard all Lockett had said, and knew if nothing else, there were too many secrets at work. He said, “King Gerald.”
“Directly? Or through Opulora?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was the baby?”
“Honestly, no one ever told us. We were in prison as deserters because we didn’t want to fight with Altura. I mean, my wife was Alturan.”
“And you came back to look for her five years later, didn’t you?” I pressed.
He blinked in surprise. “How did you—?”
“I’m really good at my job,” I said, not seeing any need to mention Glendower’s earlier story. “Who sent you then?”
“Opulora. She said . . . she knew the baby hadn’t been killed by the bear, and this was the closest town.”
“But you didn’t find out anything?”
“I didn’t look that hard. I mean, I asked around, but . . .
wherever that little girl was, it was better for everyone if she stayed there.”
I nodded. I was seeing a pattern, which wasn’t the same thing as having answers, but was better than nothing. “Now . . .
how did you find us?”
“I didn’t. Tatterhead did. He said he’d smelled her on you, and could follow your scent.”
“He could smell her on me after sixteen years?”
“He’s not a human being,” Strato said with a shrug. I looked a question at Liz. “Maybe,” she said. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“It does explains some things,” I said, not entirely willing to accept it myself. I recalled the glass beads hidden in Isadora’s baby blanket, and the way they glowed like the ball Opulora used on me, and that Tatterhead used on the girl. “We did mention to Opulora that we were coming this way.”
Lockett, practically bouncing with excitement, said, “So, Opulora sent Billy Cudgel here, where he buddied up with Prince Jack, having no idea that Jack’s girlfriend was the very girl he was supposed to find by following you two.” He turned to Cudgel. “Is that right? Was it right under your nose the whole time and you didn’t even know it, you greedy old leech?”
Cudgel grumbled, “If I answer, you jarring rough-hewn clotpole, this hedge-born death token will open my windpipe.”
“Oh, this is going to a great story,” Lockett said with delight.
Beatrice got right in his face. “Listen to me, scribe. You may be used to considering people just notes on vellum, but that girl is more important to me than my own heart, and I’d appreciate it if you’d show a little respect.”
“The more interesting question,” I said, “is why King Gerald wanted her dead in the first place. Who is she?”
“And why does Opulora want her back now?” Liz said. “Whatever the reasons behind this,” I said, “it’s still pretty clear that Tatterhead is taking Isadora to Opulora.”
“Then we’re going after them,” Beatrice said firmly. “Yes,” I agreed. “We are.”
Lockett grinned. “I can’t wait to see how this ends.”
Chapter
TWENTY
It was all I could do to keep the entire population of Mummerset from coming with us.
They took this whole thing personally, especially the idea of another nation kidnapping one of their own for hazy but probably nefarious purposes. Not to mention, it had ruined the one fancy dinner they were likely to get all year. People were pissed. And while the idea of having a band of forty or fifty men was appealing, the fact that they were basically only trained in sheep-shearing and manure shoveling dimmed my enthusiasm. I’d led amateurs into battle before, and I knew what would happen when they met up with professionals. I had no desire to see that much blood in one place, ever again.
They waited outside in the garden, milling about and getting more and more angry. A lot of them were women; in this community, no one had any illusions about how strong women could be, and after seeing them hack apart Arcite back in the day, I understood why. Much of their anger, no doubt, had its roots in their panic when Tatterhead first appeared. Nobody likes to remember moments of cowardice. Still, they weren’t up to this, and I had to make them understand that.
I went out to see them. Before I could speak, they began peppering me with questions.
“When do we go?” one demanded.
“Does Glendower have swords for us?” asked another.
“Will there be plenty of ale?” asked a third, the first sensible question.
I held up my hands for silence. “Look, Mr. Glendower appreciates your interest, but really, we need trained fighters, not eager amateurs.”
The crowd grumbled.
“Okay, okay,” I said, pretending to soften. “Maybe you’re not so—Boo!”
I said it in my battlefield voice, the one that began deep and high in my throat but used all the power of my lungs so that it came out as a deep, loud bellow. The crowd leaped back as if they’d been choreographed. A few people screamed.
When they’d settled down, I said seriously, “Everyone who jumped needs to go home. Really. It’s no reflection on your courage, just your experience. If you jump in a garden, you’ll piss yourselves in a battle, and I don’t have time to train you otherwise.”
A moment of silence followed, then with lowered heads, everyone turned and left. In moments the garden was empty.
I turned and found Liz watching from the doorway, arms crossed. “I wondered how you’d handle that. Not bad.”
I kissed her. “Did you jump?”
“I’ll never tell,” she said.
We agreed to leave at first light the next morning. Barking at Tatterhead’s heels seemed pointless, since we knew his destination and we were reasonably sure Isadora was safe. It would give Jack, Beatrice, and me time to rest a little and recover from our head blows. I didn’t sleep much, but having a goal and a strategy to come up with was more restful than you’d think.
When Liz was asleep, sometime after midnight, I slipped out of bed and went barefoot downstairs into the dining hall. The chandelier was still lit, but the candles were almost gone. The stones were cold and damp against my feet. The debris from the fight had been cleaned up, and place settings were ready for breakfast, which someone would probably begin cooking in a couple of hours. I wondered if it would be Gordon.
I went to the window and stared out at the night; a shooting star sailed across the sky and disappeared behind the trees, in the same direction Tatterhead had gone.
“Dining on ashes?” a female voice said quietly.
I turned. Beatrice stood in the doorway. She wore a robe cinched tight against the night’s chill, tight enough to let me know she wore nothing beneath it. She joined me at the window and I fought valiantly not to look below her chin.