Wulfyddia (The Tattersall Trilogy Book 1)

by Steele Alexandra

  To my sweet William: I will honor and treasure you always.

  Your love—

  Tryphena Wollstonely

  Chapter 10

  The argument that followed Mollfrida’s revelation was of epic proportions. Each of them had a different idea of what should be done, and they paused for a moment in a dark hallway to confer with each other in harsh whispers. Lorna wanted to go back to the library and fill in the Librarian, Spencer thought it was time for them to inform the Queen, and Daphne wanted to go straight to the witch’s chambers to confront Felunhala and find out if Melisande had known all along about the Fool’s plot.

  Spencer was vehemently opposed to Daphne’s confrontational plans. “We can’t go to the witch, what if she’s waiting for us to do that? You heard what Mollfrida said! The Fool— I mean, Sansano— he’s working with Felunhala.”

  “Probably Melisande too,” Lorna said dismally.

  “We don’t know that,” Daphne rounded on her sister. “That’s so like you. You’ve never liked Melisande very much.”

  “I liked her.” Lorna said. “Before I found out that her mistress is the Fool’s paramour, and especially before I found out that the Fool is the one who stole the book.”

  “Well, now, this is interesting.” The voice was like ice down Spencer’s back, for reasons he could not articulate. He had never heard it before, but there was something so overtly malicious in the tone that he whirled around to see who had discovered them there. But he knew even as he turned who it had to be, for the shock and horror on the sisters’ faces was unparalleled and he could think of only one person with the power to provoke such terror.

  Fear and knowledge came simultaneously, many long seconds before vision could confirm what Spencer already knew in his gut. Indeed, when he turned it was the Fool who stood before them, and Spencer’s first thought was that he had not remembered how large the man was. He had only ever seen the court jester at a distance, and now, sharing a single lonely corridor with him, he seemed much taller and much broader. He seemed almost to loom above them, and Spencer was not short. The man must have been returning from some late performance, Spencer thought, for he was entirely painted and decked out, and why else would he be in this corridor so late?

  “Princesses,” the Fool nodded gallantly to Daphne and Lorna, then gave Spencer a once-over. “Whoever you are.” He added. There was an air of contained excitement about him, a kind of energy in his movements. He carried a freshly lit torch and did not look tired, Spencer thought, noting it almost idly in the back of his brain while the wheels in his mind began spinning frantically, calculating the likelihood that the Fool had heard their discussion before making his presence known. The Fool’s garb was freshly pressed, and his face paint looked newly applied.

  Like war paint.

  The Fool was not on an ordinary jaunt around the castle.

  “Let’s talk about my book, shall we?” The Fool cut to the chase.

  In this matter, at least, all three of them were on the same page. “What book?” Daphne asked blankly; at the same time Spencer inquired, “what do you mean?”

  “We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lorna asserted.

  “Well, I’m talking about the book that vanished mysteriously from where it was hidden. I’m talking about the book I stole. I want it back.”

  Daphne looked appalled. “You stole a book?” Spencer would never have expected Daphne’s innate theatricality to prove so useful, but now he had to admit that she almost had even him fooled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Princess,” the Fool sighed noisily. “I’ve spent my life humoring your family. Now may I suggest that you humor me?” He reached into his absurd costume, and from between the folds of wildly colored fabric he withdrew a knife.

  “You wouldn’t dare.” Daphne told him, but she took two steps back all the same. “You can’t hurt a royal and get away with it. They’ll torture you until you beg to be executed. Then they’ll kill your whole family.”

  “Not if they don’t know who did it!” The Fool bounced on the balls of his feet, making one of his outrageous faces, now hideously mocking. “And I’ve had years to perfect my acting, little princess. How else do you think I’ve convinced your repugnant grandmother that I live to serve?” He lowered himself into a deep bow, but his head remained up, menacing eyes fixed on them. “Now,” he straightened up, “to business. Where is my book?”

  As the fool spoke Spencer could feel a strange dizziness blooming in his mind, making his limbs tremble. The man was both threatening two royals and confessing his own theft. Either crime could get him killed. The only reason he would act this way was if he had no intention of allowing them to live. Whether they gave him the book or not, he had every intention of killing them. From Daphne’s deep inhalation to his left, Spencer knew that she had come to the same conclusion. On his other side, Lorna stiffened and drew back from the Fool. In that moment, everyone froze. Then, without discussion, without a word, Spencer and the sisters turned as one, and fled.

  Spencer was lost in the dark maze of the castle, so he followed Daphne, whose flame red hair was all he could see of her as they stumbled down the darkened passage. For a moment, Spencer was naïve enough to hope that would be the end of it, that the Fool would not pursue them and they would escape him without incident. Reality hit him even before he heard the sound of the Fool giving chase. This was now life or death for the Fool. After revealing himself to them, he had to be willing to kill them to keep them quiet. If word reached the queen of the Fool’s behavior he would be dead by dawn. Sansano, long called the Fool, had sealed all of their fates by confronting them. However the night ended, someone had to die.

  Daphne jerked a door open so violently that it swung back and slammed against the stone wall loudly. She whirled around, her wince matching Spencer’s, and gestured wildly for them to follow her. Whatever passage she was ushering them into was even darker than that which they came from, and Spencer had the distinct impression that they were heading down into the depths of the castle. The idea made him uncomfortable, for the lowest levels of Castle Wulfyddia were largely deserted at this time of the night, and they needed people… especially guards.

  “Maybe he’ll go past,” Daphne breathed to him as Lorna closed the door softly behind them. There was a lock on it, a small and corroded bolt, and Lorna slid it into place gingerly, without making a sound. For a moment Spencer panicked that they had locked themselves in with no way out, but there was a dark corridor behind them, and the faintest of dank breezes, all indicating that they had somewhere to flee if it all went to hell and the Fool realized they were hiding. But what passage? The corridor was strangely familiar, but Spencer did not have time to waste on identifying it.

  They crept farther into the darkness, then paused some yards down the corridor, waiting for the sounds that could save them or send them fleeing into the darkness. As the Fool scratched at the door, Spencer clasped his hands together and hoped that the lock would hold. But the fates were not on his side, because suddenly the scratching ceased, and there was a tremendous crash on the other side of the door. There was a moment of silence, and then Spencer’s skin crawled as the door gave a dull creak and swung open. The Fool gave a low, guttural chuckle, and Lorna shrunk back against Spencer as the enormous, lurching shadow of the Fool fell across the stone floor.

  Then Daphne’s hand was in his, and his arm was practically yanked out of his socket, as all three of them went flying down the passage. It was all Spencer could do just to put one foot in front of the other faster than he ever had in his life, and the glow of the Fool’s torch felt like a flame at his back. Daphne glanced over her shoulder as he ran, and her eyes were big and dark with fear. “Lorna,” she gasped, trying to catch a glimpse of her sister.

  Spencer reached back for Lorna. At first he felt only air and was afraid for her, but then he felt her hand grab his palm, and he pulled her along with him. The dark expanse of the hall before them see
med to promise safety, but he could feel the Fool’s flame at his back and he could still see the flash of the blade and almost taste the man’s thirst for blood.

  Then Daphne skidded to a halt in front of him, and he realized that she was trying to open another door, the door into the other passage, the one that they had sworn not to return to. He gripped her shoulder, trying to understand why she was doing this when the Fool was just turning the corner and they were practically leading him to the book. He was terrified at the thought of seeking sanctuary in that dark and abandoned dungeon. “There’s no one down there.” He told her. There was no one to hear their cries for help.

  “We have to,” she said as the door swung open before them. “This other passage dead ends soon. It’s the best we can do.” They ducked inside and fled down that eerie passage to look for a hiding spot amongst the empty cells and piles of old rubbish. Ahead of them loomed the large wooden door behind which they had hidden the book. At that moment some instinct, stronger even than Spencer’s desire to hide from the Fool, brought him up short. He was unwilling to lead the Fool to the book. He could not explain why the matter was of such desperate importance to him, he knew only that there was a pounding in his chest that warned him away from that door. He obeyed the instinct and caught Daphne by the shoulder. A cart stood against one wall, between two empty cells. It was full of fresh hay, proof that the cell block was on its way to being reopened. Spencer pointed, words beyond him as he couldn’t quite catch his breath and he could still hear the Fool advancing behind him. Daphne hesitated a moment, her frightened gaze going from his face to the cart before they slipped behind it with Lorna in between them. Spencer could only hope that the Fool would continue down the passage, possibly giving them a chance to double back and run the other way, towards safety.

  But somehow the Fool seemed to know that they were hiding. He laughed heartily and stared around the room, drawing the knife back as if to strike at air, and Spencer’s heart sank like a stone in his stomach. They were doomed. The Fool began to stalk around the edges of the room, laughing to himself, peering behind a large black pot that had probably been cold for hundreds of years. “No one here,” he stage whispered, just loud enough for them to hear. “So where are they?” he spun the knife in his hand, almost unconsciously, as if practicing one of the tricks that he performed for the court. He kicked the pot over and moved on to the next item. Spencer began to shake. At the same time, one thing became perfectly apparent to him: if they could not run, they were going to have to fight. His fists clenched, veins bulging with the determination that unexpectedly flooded his system. He glanced to the side, and saw Daphne had taken hold of a stone that had come loose from the floor, and her knuckles were white with the force of her grip on it. The look that passed between them was one of understanding. For once, they were in complete agreement. Spencer’s muscles bunched as he tensed, and the Fool grew ever nearer.

  Suddenly, he felt the spirit. Surrounding them, enveloping them, a flowing presence that swept across his skin and ruffled his hair and left him feeling like they were not alone. He felt Lorna’s arm jump under his grip, and knew that she too sensed the woman’s arrival. He turned ever so slightly, afraid that even the slight shift of his head might make a sound, and stared at Daphne, but he couldn’t tell whether the older princess had sensed the arrival of the spirit.

  The Fool was definitely oblivious. He continued his tour of the room, kicking straw piles that looked large enough for them to hide behind, brandishing his knife so that the shadow he cast looked positively devilish. He paused occasionally to swat the air when he walked through a cobweb; His movements were erratic, violent, unrestrained. This was the other side, the jerky, uncontrolled side that he never allowed the courtiers to see, the side of him that was not dead and impassive, but instead alive, raging and bloodthirsty. It was terrifying, and even as Spencer found himself looking for a weapon, there was that faint scent in the air, of roses and earth and sweetness and rot.

  Suddenly there was a sound, a footstep. At first Spencer thought that it must have come from the Fool, but Sansano was standing stock still, his head cocked to one side, listening. Someone was coming! Spencer’s heart leapt in his chest, and his fingernails dug into his palms as he hoped, hope against hope, that someone was coming to help them.

  There were several footsteps, he realized, soft and faint, as if two or three people were walking. Then there was a whisper, and Spencer had to turn to look at Daphne, because he could have sworn that it was her voice which was whispering. No, Daphne was staring at him, and then the next whisper sounded like Lorna. The footsteps sped up, and the third voice was a boy with a soft clear tone. It was his own voice, he realized. The three voices sounded almost exactly like the three of them, except that there was a strange, faint echoing quality to them, as though they were speaking from across a great distance.

  What was happening? Then Daphne gripped his hand, because the Fool had pivoted, and was turning this way and that, searching for the source of the whispers. For a moment Spencer gripped Daphne’s hand back, practically hard enough to break it, because he thought that the whispers would lead him to them. But no, instead the Fool followed the sounds across the chamber, and with every whisper, every footstep or rustle of clothing or soft murmur, he grew closer to the wooden door behind which they had hidden the book.

  It was with shock that Spencer realized, as the Fool leaned forward and pressed his ear against the door to listen, that Sansano thought that they were on the other side of the door. Now, wild hope made him even shakier as a strange, sick smile stretched across the Fool’s face. The beast reached down for the door knob, his knife clutched tight in the other arm, which was tense with the promise of violence, and as the Fool turned the knob this way and that, there was a faint click and Spencer’s eyes widened as the door opened to the Fool, allowing a burst of stale, cold air into the room. The breeze seemed to take shape, dancing around the chamber, whistling between the bars and making the cobwebs sway.

  Sansano gave a grim laugh and stepped over the threshold, his knife flashing. Spencer squinted, trying to make out what lay on the other side of the door, trying to understand what could possibly be making those noises, but then another breeze ruffled his hair, soft, soothing and familiar. He turned to Daphne, a gasp on his lips, suddenly realizing who was behind the noises, who had unlocked the door, who was trying to save them.

  But the gasp was a mistake, and the Fool, just a few steps within the new passage, heard him. Terror came back, clenching his chest in an iron grip as the fool whirled, his face hellish with rage. The knife came up, his eyes widened. And then a great gust of wind tore through the room, howling past them and rushing against the door, which gave a great, mournful creak and then slammed shut with a resounding bang.

  In the incredible moment that Spencer and the two girls turned to each other, smiling unsteadily, eyes wide with hope, he heard the Fool give a great curse, and Sansano could be heard trying the knob again and again, trying to free himself. Lorna started to whisper something, but Spencer covered her mouth, afraid that the Fool might somehow be able to free himself. But Daphne shook her head, wide eyed. “She did this,” Daphne whispered. “She helped us.”

  “I knew she was trying to,” Lorna said, pushing Spencer’s hand off of her face.

  Daphne’s smile was like a beacon, but as relieved as he was, Spencer couldn’t quite ignore that subtle click-click coming from the round door, where the Fool kept unsuccessfully trying to open the door that had closed on him. Nor could he forget that the ghost had just locked the Fool in with the book. Lorna looked up at him and followed his gaze, and her own expression darkened.

  “Daphne. Daphne!” She tugged on her sister’s sleeve.

  “What? What?” Unexpectedly, Daphne leaned forward and closed her sister in an enormous hug.

  Lorna was nearly knocked over by the force of her sister’s embrace, so she reached back for Spencer’s hand, and somehow he found himself drawn
into the hug, until they were all standing there in the center of the abandoned chamber with their arms around each other.

  Daphne broke the hug first, leaning back, all traces of a smile gone from her face. “We should go,” she said, and Spencer could see fear written plainly on her face. He wondered what would happen to the Fool beyond that door. Daphne obviously had some suspicions, and Spencer wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what she suspected.

  Daphne shook her head, as though trying to banish some disturbing thought or image from her brain. “He’s locked in there. Even if he finds the book he won’t be able to leave with it. We should go get help.” But her last word was barely audible, for as she finished speaking there was a second sound. At first it was unidentifiable, like a strange rumble deep in the earth, but then Spencer realized. It was a growl. A long, low growl, so very loud and so very deep that he couldn’t imagine what sort of beast it came from. Spencer looked to Daphne, but for once in her life she was speechless. The growl sounded again and her lower lip trembled slightly.

  That was when the Fool cried out. His scream was shrill and horrifying, a shock after how confident and threatening he had been only minutes earlier. Now he sounded like a child confronted with his worst nightmare. After that first cry there was total, deafening silence, and then they heard another sound, whispering, as though he were praying or begging or trying to appease whatever it was that had terrified him so.

  Daphne swallowed, looking sick to her stomach; there was a strange feeling in the air. Spencer saw Lorna looking up, and knew that she felt it as well. It was a strange sense of… satisfaction? The spirit was content. He could feel it, taste it in the air around them. As the growls continued and the Fool’s pleading grew louder, Spencer could feel the ghost’s relief.

  “No!” The fool’s shout was jarring and sudden. There was a bang from the other side of the door and then they could hear him beating his fists on the door. “No! No! Noooooooooooooo!” The growls became snarls, his cries turned incoherent, and then there was a sound more disturbing than all the others put together, a dull crunch crunch that reminded Spencer of the noises that his cat back at the Haligorn made when she caught some wild creature, a mouse or young bird, and devoured it whole.