Vincent glued himself to the opposite corner wall as Walter bowed and walked passed, Vincent clearly out of his view. The soft shuffling of the manservant's feet slowly went out of earshot, and only then did Vincent right himself, turning the corner and into the corridor. A pity it was the only way to the barracks. Vincent did not particularly wish to run into Richard.
He was just a horse-length away from Richard's door, keeping a wary eye on it, when it swung open, startling him. He froze, not out of fear, but hoping to go unnoticed as a tall form hoisted a knapsack onto her thin shoulders in front of him and turned down the hallway going the same direction as Vincent. It was clearly Richard.
She did not look over her shoulder, which could have easily revealed to her Vincent's presence, but instead was too preoccupied and continued in a rush down the hallway. Opening the door to a separate room, she slowly stepped inside and vanished from Vincent's sight.
He cautiously followed her and softly turned the knob to the door she had so gingerly closed. Counting to ten and simultaneously weighing his options, curiosity got the better of him, deciding it would be worth her expression to expose himself; especially since, last they were in each other's company, they weren't exactly exchanging purity rings. He could almost see her scarlet face of embarrassment as he opened the door brazenly, only to see and empty room.
Puzzled, he walked into the center of the study. There was no sign of her. There were mountainous bookshelves, no doubt more collections of history books in The Regent's possession, but no sign of a fair maiden. That man was fascinated with books. Vincent spied on a simpler bookcase, catching his attention as he noticed it was filled with short children's books. Some were even grammar booklets with the scribbled writings of a child. Vincent guessed it was a Matthias's writing, but these were not the famous history books that The Regent would have in this study.
Remarking on a small corner of the rug that had been upturned at the corner of the bookcase, Vincent suddenly grinned. It was a secret passageway, and Richard had just moved it. It was easy enough for her, since the children's books were lighter in weight, and thus easier to move. Placing both hands on the end, the shelves groaned softly as he was able to push it to the side and find an entrance tunnel. The steps led downward.
Vincent made no time of it hauling himself downstairs, but he made sure that his boots clanked gently. It wasn't until a couple of minutes had passed by that a fork came into sight. But from what little light a torch in the distance gave Vincent, he could tell which way Richard had gone, because there were no torches lining the walls.
Following her light, he noted that the stairs gave way to a level tunnel. The pathway was almost to the lowest levels of the castle, and that meant one thing: the dungeon. Looking down at the same time his senses were assaulted with the stench of urine and worse, Vincent noticed that he was trudging through the castle's sewer. Clever girl, Vincent thought, though more than mildly disgusted that his polished boots would need a clean-up again. Unsure whether or not to turn back and inform Pip, the one man who would not question why he was down there in the first place, Vincent suddenly heard Richard's whisper trail down the tunnel.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"Yes, my father is the one who needs attention. He's starving." The male voice was bitter and grieving at the same time.
"Here, I brought a knapsack filled with food, and here…" Vincent could hear Richard plop the bag down and begin to pour liquid into a chalice as he neared the opening.
"Lady Richard, I don't know how much longer the guards are going to be before they return from their midnight stock run."
"It's alright. I made sure that the cook would not have enough provisions for all of them tonight. I'm sure that the delay in their usually punctual return is for the senior officer scolding him right now."
"How?" the male voice sounded astonished.
Vincent could hear the askew humor in her voice as she answered, "Let's just say that someone left the barn doors open, and the hounds made off with a few tasty bits of meat from the larder. The rest is simply...collateral."
There was a pause where Vincent made the last corner and peeked his head through to see the dungeon. A malodorous room, it packed cellmates in like beans in a can, and if the stench of urine, sweat, and excrement didn't turn stomachs, then the decaying corpses next to them would. The room was fairly large and had a tall ceiling, but the iron bars only extended halfway. A few benches were lying around for sore guards to rest their feet, but there were no other homely touches. Neither would there be for the infamous torture room next door with the hooks, cages, heated prods, and stretching boards. The cells were empty of any living men, but for two brandished traitors and a lady sitting on the opposite side of the bars, feeding them food.
For a moment, Vincent felt for Lord Victor and Lord George. There were few who could empathize in being brandished a traitor.
Very few, indeed.
Too bad it was a fleeting moment, Vincent thought, turning on his heels to head back up.
But when he noticed Victor reaching for Richard's hand, and their fingers intertwined within the iron bars, it took every ounce of control not to enter the room and stir up some feathers. Vincent thought the better of it, hoping to one day use his knowledge of this secret against her in their game of minds.
"You will get out with your life," Richard promised.
Victor squeezed her hands supportively, making slow circles on the tops of her hands with his thumbs, "That you would risk punishment to feed us is enough to fill my heart with hope, my lady. If I die, it will be with a belly full of food."
"Shh," Richard handed him another torn piece of bread, "We just have to seek out the truth. I know people who could investigate this. I know there is someone who doubts it was you. It cannot be just me."
Vincent glanced down knowingly, wondering if God himself had placed the words in her, or if Richard knew all along of his minor investigation. Perhaps she was thinking of asking him, even if she did not know of the advancements he made in rooting around by himself. He had told no one, and, as far as Vincent knew, no one was informed of what he had done.
"Confound it," Vincent murmured as he blindly made his way back up the filthy tunnel and staircase in the dark. If his liberator wished it done, then he would make it so. There were many guilty things he could do that would not weigh on his conscience, but ignoring what Richard wanted was not one of them. He was indebted to her, not matter how much he wished the circumstances reversed.
Erzsébet rushed to open the large wooden double doors to her husband's chamber. Who could possibly be calling at this ungodly hour?
She heard the hinges creak in protest, but the door gave way to five large men in full plate armor, shields, helmets, and all garb appropriate for a ceremonious welcoming in full capes. Each of them looked down at her and bowed graciously without hesitation. Two were tall with short haircuts. One of the tall had a surprisingly long tattoo across his face and black eyes to match the rictus grin Erzsébet was now receiving. The other tall man stood completely reticent and stoical, as he chewed on a single straw of hay. A smaller, more boyish looking young man smiled pleasantly. He had the demeanor of a cat, though Erzsébet could not explain why. The lithe one in the back was donning a tight-fitting shirt and ripped pants, and the only one with a shoulder-length haircut. He had four sets of spectacles all fused together, the glass circles in front smaller than the ones that widened in the back. The pudgiest, who wore full plate armor, took a step forward, marking his superiority over the men behind him.
"My Governess, Lady Erzsébet, the Teutonic Knights are at your disposal. The Regent of Hungary ist informed of our agreement, yes?" he pressed.
Deciphering what he was saying from his thick Germanic accent, Erzsébet's mouth floundered open and closed for a moment before forming a fragmented statement, "Of...course..." she was about to call out when her husband's familiar hands fell onto her shoulders.
"I trust you w
ill appreciate the accommodations we have made for you…" The Regent trailed his ending to induce an introduction.
"Mein men simply call me Herr Major," the pudgy, small one waved a hand and a sealed writ slapped into his palm instantly as Herr Major handed it to The Regent. "This is Doc," he pointed to the lithe man with spectacles, "Linda," he waved to what Erzsébet now realized in horror was a woman with the large tattoo and sociopathic grin, "Schrödinger," the cat-like boy bowed his head, "Captain," the man biting the straw curtly nodded, "…and this ist Lady Rip," he parted the men to reveal a sixth person: a beautiful young maiden in full-gown attire with ebony hair nearly down to her knees, one strand in particular coiling in a circle around the front of her cherub-like face.
She curtsied, "Speaking as Envoy to the Teutonic Knights in the north, ve are pleased to be of assistance. Ve must apologize for our tardiness, but the winter snow settles, irrespective of however quickly ve tried to arrive."
"Come, please," The Regent motioned for them to enter, "Let me fill you in."
Pip jogged to keep up with Vincent's quickening pace. The Wallachian had trail-blazed a path for himself, Pip, and Costel, as they weaved in and out of the streets downtown. Shaking off the last of a hangover, Pip focused his discrete grip on Costel's arm as they walked in the wake of Vincent's pathway. People sensed that the group traveled with a great sense of purpose and steered out of the way, consciously or not. The market was just beginning to bustle with work as dawn approached, the sun peeking in the form of misty morning rays of light through the thick foliage of the tree line in the far distance. It could not have been a more beautiful sight with freshly fallen snow, but for the fact that people had to first dig themselves out of the snow and pave a pathway along the streets for business to even begin. Nevertheless, villagers faced their toil with cheerful alacrity as the morning started to wake.
"Sir," Pip shook his head again, rubbing sleep off of his eyes, "Why exactly are we-"
Vincent turned his head, though he made no effort to slow his break-neck pace, "We are running late!"
Pip swallowed the remainder of his question and shrugged to Costel, whom he'd met only moments before. Costel refused to make eye contact, which forced a sliver of suspicion to cut across Pip's conscience. It was strange that Vincent woke him halfway into the night, but what Pip was trying to wrap his head around was why they were dragging the owner of a local tavern they had frequented all the way back to the castle. And for what were they late? The day to even begin? Pip still felt cheated out of a good night's rest.
It wasn't until they were nearly upon the main gate that Costel began to pull back on Pip's grip.
"If you show my face, if people recognize me, if something happens, then I could be beheaded."
Vincent turned his head slightly in recognition that he had heard what the old man said behind, "You will be unharmed. All I ask is for you to take a good look-that's it."
Pip arched an eyebrow. "Why would you want him to-"
"For identification," Vincent interrupted again, this time carving his path through the last of the villagers and onto the castle grounds.
The group peeled off to the side of the castle wall and surreptitiously made their way to the edge of the drawbridge, so as to avoid the massive army entrenched out in front. Servants and guards from within the castle were already walking in and out of the grounds to fetch any last things, making two armed men and an older man in cloth look rather inconspicuous.
Vincent nestled them off to the side but remaining on the edge of a small grassy knoll that placed them high enough to see everyone. Pip could see the regent, his wife, Lord Rodriguez, and William talking to both Lord Ulrich of Eczing and Lord Ulrich, Princely Count of Celje. The Lords' combined army was about to break off from this post and head to Austria to save Prince Ladislaus, constituting a 'farewell' for good luck and fortune along the road, and, of course, a safe trip home.
Vincent nodded for Pip to release Costel and pointed to where the regent and his court were standing.
"Sir, what is going on?" Pip could not refrain anymore.
Costel stood between them, though he seemed more focused on identifying someone in the distance than overhearing anything on which Pip needed clarification.
Vincent waved another man over from the crowd, though this man did not blend in as easily. Robed in heavy wools, a dark-colored cowl, and black beady eyes that nervously shifted from person to person, Pip could recognized him as the castle apothecary. Vincent pointed to the crowd, but more specifically, to where the regent and his court stood.
"Sir," Pip pressed, "What the f-"
Vincent shushed him with his gauntlet, "We wait."
The knight sighed into a pout as he crossed his arms and impatiently shifted from foot to foot. He focused, instead, on the faceless soldiers of the army folding their small tents and strapping things to their horses, readying the caravans of food and supplies they would need for the journey, as well as stocking up on anything the castle could spare to provide them. It was a controlled chaos: people rushed around, but they had orders to carry out and a purpose. There were jobs to do and work to be done before everyone was corralled into the long march ahead.
It almost made Pip long to be in a band of brothers, or a team of people to go out and seek glory for their country. His nose crinkled. Well, maybe he didn't want to do it for his country. Maybe just for himself. Glory and riches and wealth for himself. That should do.
"Yes," Costel nodded solemnly, "Yes, that's him."
The apothecary also began to nod, "That one. That one there."
Pip followed their gazes to what he thought could be one of the Lord Ulrich's, though the distance the group was from the target impaired his vision.
Vincent took hold of both of their shoulders in a vice grip and bent down to whisper in between them, "Check. Again."
Both men withered away from his tight grip and looked back. When they nodded with certainty and turned to Vincent, his demeanor had contracted. His shoulders sagged, his face drooped, and his stance confined, as if he hated the presence of every person in contact around him.
"This…" Vincent ran a hand through his hair, turning his back to the army as they began to form ranks, "This could mean civil war."
Pip jerked forward and almost slammed his hand onto Vincent, "What?!"
"I promise you, Sir, Lord Ulrich of Celje is the man whom I lent the book to for a week or so," the apothecary stated.
Costel chimed in, "And I saw both men in my tavern conspiring in hushed whispers over the long table in the back for hours."
As if noting Pip's presence for the first time, Vincent turned around and removed his hand from his mouth, "The regent will not believe me…but he may believe you."
Pip stifled a roar as he asked one last time, this time grasping Vincent's shoulders and looking directly into his eyes, "Sir. What. Is. Going. On."
"Knight, you must take Costel to a guest room in the castle and assure that a guard is posted outside of his door at all times. Zargo," Vincent called; the apothecary walked up to him, "You will wait until Sir Pip summons you to the regent. I want both of you to inform our leader of what you've seen."
Costel frowned, "If we are planning to hang both Lords, then we might wish to hurry. They are both saddling their horses as we speak and are about to embark on a much glorified journey to save Prince Ladislaus."
"He's right. It might be easier to take them down now than when they return as honored heroes," Zargo pointed out.
"No!" Vincent herded the group closer and closer to the drawbridge, "We cannot risk such a scene, and not when the Prince truly does need saving. If we affront the Lords now, and are successful in charging them with treason, the consequences and repercussions of it will wrack the Kingdom into shambles. We need their army to succeed, we need the true king on the throne, we need them to come back and assist with the Ottomans when they emerge triumphant, but most of all, we need stability."
"In the hands
of murderers?" Pip caught on, "Sir, I'm all for divide and conquer, but not when it's my own damn side. We need their forces here. If we can depose them and place the regent in charge of this massive force, then that could give us the advantage in numbers that we need in order to slay the Ottoman Army. Let's do this now!"
Despairing and torn between doing both, Vincent looked from one man to the next. Both sides had such valid points that their truth nearly rang in his ears. Pip's armed hand itched to draw his sword, especially if it meant cutting down the tyrants who nearly murdered William. Vincent noticed and shook his head gravely.
"No. Sometimes, one must do what is smart, not what is right. Taking the Lords' army and leaving them in disgrace is powerful, but so would be the turmoil that arose from this action. Letting Lord Ulrich of Eczying and Lord Ulrich of Celje retrieve the Prince would save thousands more than compared to losing thousands from deposing them right now. By revealing they are traitors, we self-inflict a horrible gash onto the Kingdom, one that it will not be able to patch quickly enough to face the oncoming barrage of Ottoman hits. Hungary will have bled out before She even sees the first battle, for we all will have killed each other in what could likely be a civil war," Vincent concluded, "Should their treachery come to light."
Vincent's two witnesses lowered their heads and agreed quietly. Pip stood, too silently enraged to agree but recognized privately that Vincent was correct.
The Wallachian turned to the knight and tiredly patted his hand on Pip's back, "Come. I do have much to tell you, for when I leave, you will be leading this investigation."
Pip swallowed, "And…when, exactly, do you leave?"
Vincent sighed, forcing a strained smile to split his cracked lips, "Tonight."
William watched Richard race around their adjoined room as she flung things into her open knapsack. Letting out a frustrated sigh, William glanced out the window and to the lowering sun.
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