Crown of Three

by J. D. Rinehart

  He stopped, listened. The faint sound of snoring rose over the soft crackle of embers in the brazier. Following the sound, Gulph made his way to the far end of the row of cells, where a short corridor led to a small, boxy room. Drapes embroidered with hunting scenes hung from the iron walls, a crude attempt to make the room seem homely.

  In the middle, sprawled on a sagging chair, was Blist. With both hands he clasped an empty beer bottle to his enormous belly, which shook as he breathed. His head was tilted back and his mouth was wide open, revealing black and yellow teeth. Brown drool had run down his cheek, staining the shoulder of his jacket.

  I was right. That snoring is really loud.

  Gulph edged closer. Blist’s huge bunch of keys dangled from his belt, clear to see and within easy reach. The black key that opened the door to Prince Nynus’s cell jangled softly against its neighbors.

  Crouching beside Blist’s chair, he cupped his left hand underneath the keys, then closed the fingers of his right hand completely around them, holding them still and muffling any sound they might make.

  What next, Pip? he thought, wishing his friend were here beside him.

  Pip’s response was no more than an echo in his head. But imagining she was with him in this awful place gave Gulph the strength he needed.

  “Remember what I showed you?” Pip seemed to say. “Back in that village in Isur, when we needed coins to buy bread?”

  Gulph remembered only too well. The Tangletree Players had spent months traveling through Isur before they’d been caught up in the fighting and captured. Some days the audiences had been appreciative, and they’d eaten well. Most of the time they’d been close to starvation.

  I remember. A vivid memory came to Gulph: the day when Pip had shown him how to pick the pockets of the wealthy, distracting them for long enough to dip a hand in a money pouch or lift a purse from a belt.

  “It’s all about speed and silence,” said Pip’s voice. “Rehearse the move in your head, then just do it. Above all, be confident.”

  With his right hand still holding the keys tightly, Gulph studied the clasp by which they were attached to Blist’s belt. If he turned the key ring just so, and pulled it thus, the clasp should open smoothly.

  The snoring stopped. Gulph’s blood turned to ice as Blist shifted his tremendous bulk on the seat, leaning so far sideways that Gulph was convinced the jailer would fall off the chair, squashing him flat. The bottle jerked, squirting warm beer into Gulph’s face. The chair teetered, two legs off the floor, on the verge of tipping completely over.

  Then it rocked back. Blist’s belly sagged, and the snoring started again, louder than ever.

  Quickly, Gulph reached forward with his left hand and seized the clasp, turning it just so, and pulling it thus. The thick metal parted, a spring contracted, and, with the faintest of clicks, the bunch of keys was released.

  His fist closed tight on his prize, Gulph rose smoothly and, without looking back, made his exit. All the way down the corridor, he was convinced Blist would wake, discover the keys were missing, and come rampaging after him. Never mind the queen’s orders; if the jailer found he’d been robbed, he’d tear Gulph limb from limb.

  But the snoring continued, fading a little as Gulph ascended the spiral tunnel leading to Nynus’s cell. Plunging the black key into the lock, he opened the door to find Nynus waiting for him on the other side. The young prince was hopping from one foot to the other. In his arms he carried a pile of books.

  “I knew you’d do it!” Nynus exclaimed. “I knew it!”

  “Shh! And don’t count your eggs before they’re laid. We’re not out yet. What are you doing with those books?”

  “I can’t leave them behind. What will I read?”

  “Where we’re going, you won’t be doing much reading.”

  “Why? Where are we going?”

  Gulph convinced Nynus to leave all the books except one (a thin volume he clung to with fanatical devotion), then led the boy back down the tunnel until they reached a narrow side passage. Gulph ducked his head inside and sniffed.

  “This way,” he said.

  “Really?” said Nynus. “There’s a dreadful smell.”

  “Exactly.”

  The passage was short, and opened into a small chamber filled with the stench of rotting meat and sewage. Moonlight filtered through a large grille in the ceiling, illuminating a low wall with a square door set in the middle.

  “What’s behind the door?” said Nynus, clutching the book to his chest.

  “If I’m right,” said Gulph, “freedom.”

  He pulled the handle and the door swung open, revealing a black abyss. Impossible though it was to believe, the smell grew ten times worse.

  “Ugh!” said Nynus, his voice muffled as he clamped his hand over his nose and mouth. “What is it?”

  “Sewage pipe. I spotted it from the roof.” Gulph paused. “Wait. Listen.”

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “That’s what worries me.”

  Gulph strained his ears, hoping he was wrong. But he wasn’t. The snoring had stopped.

  “I think . . .”

  He stopped as sounds finally began to filter down the passage: shouts, the drawing of swords, the hurried thud of footsteps.

  “Blist’s woken up!” Gulph wished he’d had the presence of mind to take only the key to the Black Cell, and not the whole bunch.

  “He might not be coming this way,” said Nynus.

  They listened. The sounds of the commotion grew steadily louder.

  “Or he might want to check his most precious prisoner first,” said Gulph.

  Before Nynus could respond, Gulph shoved him into the sewage pipe. Then, holding his breath, he swung his legs over the lip of the hole and plunged after him.

  The descent was fast and foul. The pipe’s interior was smooth and coated with greasy liquids that lubricated his passage down to the ground. Gulph didn’t like to think what those liquids were. He just kept his hands pressed to his chest, closed his eyes and mouth, and fell.

  The pipe spat him out into a pool of noxious sludge. As he landed, Gulph slapped his hands down on the surface of the foul-smelling liquid, to stop his head from going under. Waves rolled lazily to the pool’s far side, where a bubbling whirlpool drew the sewage down into some unseen outlet. Overhead, the Vault of Heaven was a huge nest of knitted iron, perched impossibly on its wooden stilts. Torches darted to and fro behind its woven walls: the hunt was on.

  “Over here!” What seemed to be a monstrous brown troll was crouched on the edge of the pool, its misshapen hands reaching out for Gulph. “Before you’re sucked under!”

  The troll wiped a hand across its face, revealing the familiar features of Prince Nynus, otherwise unrecognizable beneath his coat of dripping sludge. With his other hand, he grabbed Gulph’s collar and helped him clamber out.

  “I lost my book.” Even through the filth, the look of desolation on the young prince’s face was clear to see. “It was a story about a good king and an evil wizard. It was my favorite.”

  “We’ll get you more books,” said Gulph. He tossed Blist’s keys into the sludge, where they landed with a sticky plop and sank from sight.

  Prince Nynus grabbed Gulph’s hands. To Gulph’s astonishment, he seemed to have already forgotten the book and was laughing, his teeth bright against the noxious brown slime still covering his face. Gulph found the boy’s lightning changes of mood dizzying.

  “You’re right!” Prince Nynus cried, leading him in a clumsy imitation of a waltz. “We’re free! We did it. You did it. I’ll never forget this, Gulph. Never!”

  Gulph couldn’t imagine how it must feel to taste freedom after ten whole years in a cell. He knew they had to keep running, get away from the sewage pool before the guards caught up with them. But for now he let the prince spin him around, filthy and stinking beneath the watchful crescent moon.

  CHAPTER 6

  Keeping to the shadows, Gulph and Nynus crept t
hrough the winding streets of Idilliam. Timber-framed buildings loomed over them, their upper stories leaning in so far that their roofs almost touched. They passed workshops and stores, and humble homes; everywhere the windows were unlit and the doors were closed against the night. Jagged rooflines sliced the moonlight into knife-thin beams, through which the two boys flew like ghosts.

  At first, Gulph was content to let the prince lead the way, but it soon became apparent that Nynus had no more idea of where they were than he did.

  “I think we might be lost,” said Nynus, halting at the edge of a little square where seven narrow streets met. In the middle of the square was a well. A bucket swung from a rusted chain, squeaking in the silence of the night. “I can’t believe how much the city’s changed since Father put me away.”

  “Don’t you recognize anything?” said Gulph, glancing anxiously back over his shoulder.

  “Yes. No. Sort of. It’s just that half the windows are boarded up, and all the gutters are leaking. And everything’s so filthy.”

  Gulph stared at Nynus’s sludge-caked clothes. Nynus stared back.

  Both boys burst out laughing.

  A man dressed in rags emerged from a doorway and stumbled across the square, muttering to himself. With every step, he took a swig from an earthenware jar. When he reached the well, he leaned over the stone parapet and vomited into its depths, then continued toward the boys, drinking as he came.

  Gulph pulled Nynus into a dark alley beside a stone-walled building, out of the man’s sight. A sign on a door read, LAUNDRY. Beneath it was a smaller sign, hastily handwritten. It said, CLOSD TIL FURTHR NOTIS. From somewhere nearby came the sound of running water. As the drunk staggered past, Gulph realized the man was talking not to himself but to the jar of liquor.

  “Terr’ble times,” mumbled the man. “Terr’ble. Still . . . I’ve got you. M’only friend. You and me. Terr’ble times.” Cradling the jar like a baby, he disappeared into the night.

  “Come on,” said Nynus, tugging Gulph’s sleeve.

  “Wait.” Gulph ventured to the end of the alley, where a broken pipe jutted from the side of the laundry building. Water poured from it in a steady stream and ran down a gutter set deep in the cobbled ground.

  Stepping under this impromptu faucet, Gulph allowed the water to soak him, rubbing away the sticky sewage clinging to his clothes and body. By the time he’d finished, he was cold and not exactly clean.

  At least I feel human again.

  “We need a proper plan,” he said as Nynus took his turn under the water. “We’ve run away from the prison. Now we need to decide what we’re running toward.”

  “What do you mean?” said Nynus, scraping muck from his robe.

  “You said it yourself. Idilliam is a mess—and every member of the King’s Legion will be after us. Why would we want to stay here?”

  Nynus shook his head. “I’m not leaving on my own. My mother always said that if you cross the Idilliam Bridge, you take your life in your hands. The world outside is wild.”

  “It’s not so bad. And you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be with me. And my friends.”

  “What friends?”

  “The Tangletree Players. They must be somewhere in the castle. If we can find them, we can all escape the city together. If we can only get over the bridge and back to Isur, everything will be all right.” Gulph hesitated as the frown deepened on the prince’s face. “I’m not saying it isn’t hard, trying to make a living out there, but at least we’ll be free.”

  Nynus stepped out from under the water, dripping.

  “Stop this talk, Gulph,” he said. “Stop it now. We’re going to see the queen. Both of us.”

  “The queen? Are you crazy? She’s the one who had me locked up in the first place.”

  “But not me. My mother loves me, Gulph. She sent you to help me, and when she finds out you actually helped me escape . . . well, she’ll love you, too.”

  It was tempting to believe him, but Gulph was unconvinced. Had Queen Magritt really foreseen this, or had she put Gulph in the cell simply as a plaything to keep her son distracted?

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “You said your friends are in the castle,” said Nynus, clapping his hands on Gulph’s narrow shoulders. His grip was uncomfortably tight, but Gulph endured it. “My mother is there too. So, you see, we’re going the same way. We have to stick together, Gulph. We simply have to. That’s what’s brought us this far.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “So you won’t leave me?” The prince’s grip tightened further, his fingers digging painfully into Gulph’s flesh. “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Gulph followed Nynus into the square. Jumping up onto the well’s low parapet, the prince scanned each of the seven streets in turn.

  “This one!” he said at last, pointing down one a little wider and straighter than the others. At the far end rose a high stone wall: one of the ramparts of Castle Tor. “I don’t know why I didn’t spot it before. I’ll bet you anything you like the castle hasn’t changed. Come on.”

  Beaming, Nynus trotted down the street toward the castle. Gulph trudged behind. While they’d been in the alley, the moon had set, robbing the world of its silver light. In the east, dawn was beginning to paint the sky red, the color of approaching fire.

  • • •

  The castle wall was a vast, rising shadow. While Nynus stared up at the bleak slate-colored stonework, Gulph searched in vain for a doorway.

  “There’s no way in,” he said, returning to the prince’s side. The sun was rising, dispersing the gloom around the rampart, and he felt anxious and exposed. The only thing stopping him from fleeing the city right now was the certainty that his friends were still trapped inside the castle.

  “Up there,” said Nynus, pointing to a small window set high into the wall. Yellow candlelight flickered inside it. “I think that’s my mother’s private quarters.”

  “How does that help us?”

  “We can climb up there.”

  Gulph ran his hands over the stone wall, feeling the deep pits and crevices of its age-worn surface. “I could probably do it. But what about you? I still say we should look for . . .”

  But Nynus had already clambered on top of a pile of logs stacked against the wall. Spitting on his palms, he started climbing up hand over hand. The prince’s speed surprised Gulph; his clumsiness worried him.

  “Slow down,” said Gulph, beginning his own ascent. “Let me lead.”

  He climbed past Nynus, not thinking about what he was doing, content to let his clever fingers and toes find their own holds in the wall. It was just like when he was performing for a crowd: his mind stopped thinking altogether and his body simply did what it had been built to do.

  Soon he was thirty feet off the ground, with a dizzying view across the city. To the south rose the High Peak and the bridge over the chasm, with its promise of escape.

  Never mind all that, Gulph. Just keep climbing.

  “Watch me,” he called down, pitching his voice as softly as he could. “Put your hands and feet where I do.”

  He’d just begun to believe they were going to make it when he heard a yelp from below. He looked down just in time to see Nynus’s hands detach from the wall. For an instant the prince seemed to float, his pale face staring straight up at Gulph, suddenly terrified.

  Nynus fell.

  He hit the pile of logs with a splintering crash. The logs scattered, spilling the prince to the ground and rolling across the cobbles toward a nearby tavern. They struck the hitching rail and clattered to a halt, tangled like ninepins.

  “Nynus!” hissed Gulph. He scampered back down the wall. “Nynus! Are you all right?”

  “Do you think anyone heard?” Nynus groaned.

  Gulph was already at his side. Before he could answer, two men appeared from the shadows. They wore bronze armor overlaid with crimson tunics—the colors of the King’s Legion—and carried long broadsword
s. The swords were unsheathed, and shone despite the darkness.

  “Who goes there?” said the first legionnaire, brandishing his blade. Leather boots creaking, his companion strolled around behind the two boys, cutting off their escape.

  “We’re sorry,” blurted Gulph, quelling his panic. “We’ll, uh, clear up the mess.”

  The soldier regarded the scattered logs. Each was the size of a small oak tree. He snorted and strode toward the two boys.

  Every nerve in Gulph’s body was screaming. We should have gone to the bridge when we had the chance, he thought, wondering if they might be able to lose the soldiers in the maze of alleys behind the tavern.

  “Don’t you know who I am?” said Nynus, planting his hands on his hips.

  Gulph stared at him, horrified. He’d been hoping the soldiers wouldn’t realize they were the ones who had broken out of the Vault of Heaven.

  The legionnaire’s smile turned to a look of confusion. Then his companion cried, “By the stars, Tomas—it’s them!”

  Without waiting for the first soldier to react, Gulph bolted toward the tavern. He’d gone two steps before a strong hand closed on his collar.

  “Well, doesn’t this save us a runaround?” said the legionnaire called Tomas.

  Gulph struggled, desperate to escape, stopping only when his captor held a sword blade under his nose.

  “Don’t give me reason to kill you, little one,” said the man. “No one would miss you—you’re not the one who’s a prince.”

  Gulph had no choice but to let his body go limp. The disappointment was bitter in his mouth—they’d been so close.

  The other legionnaire gripped Nynus’s arm. Gulph and the prince were marched around a corner and through a narrow doorway, Gulph wincing as Nynus continued to babble.

  “Think about what we can offer you,” he said. “I am Prince Nynus, the son of the king and the rightful heir to the crown of Toronia. Let me go—let us go—and you will be well rewarded.”

  “Be quiet, boy,” said Tomas.

  The legionnaires led them through winding passages, stopping when they reached a small room where haunches of meat hung from metal hooks. The room was cold and filled with the faint, sweet smell of curing meat.