Questors

by Joan Lennon

  As Lady Mary moved to join the other Prelates, the children were shocked to see how rumpled they’d all become. Lord Metheglin, Lord Bullvador, Lady Vera, Lady Mary, Lady Beatitude – they all looked haggard and hollow-eyed and… diminished.

  The Council members, for their part, barely recognized the three children in the battered, wild-haired figures before them now. They were the same people of course, but they wore their tattered, exotic finery with a difference. Lady Mary was distracted enough to begin to say, ‘My, how you’ve grow –’ when someone else exploded into the room in a flurry of grit and gale.

  It was Alpine Cordell.

  ‘Where have you been?!’ bellowed Lord Bullvador.

  ‘It’s him!’ cried Kate and Mrs Mac, immediately pushing the children behind them.

  ‘You’re late,’ said a voice that no one quite recognized.

  And Lady Beatitude stepped away from her colleagues and joined the Secretary. All the crazy vagueness fell away from her like a sloughed skin and her pretty features hardened.

  ‘I told you to get rid of them,’ she grated. ‘You didn’t. And you’ve got sand in your hair!’

  The man stiffened. ‘Field work can be trying, Preceptor,’ he said, but she was already turning her shoulder to him.

  ‘It isn’t important,’ she said.

  ‘Preceptor. Your humble servant.’ His bow expressed many things, but humility was not one of them.

  ‘Why is he calling her that?!’ Kate turned to Mrs Macmahonney, eyes wide.

  ‘Bea!’ shrilled Lord Metheglin. ‘What’s going on!?’

  ‘Oh, really.’ Lady Beatitude turned her face insolently towards him. ‘You don’t need me to spell it out for you, do you?’

  There was a sharp intake of breath, then, ‘Don’t overplay your part, dear,’ said Lady Mary quietly. ‘It’s not… professional.’

  The colour drained from Lady Beatitude’s porcelain skin and then flooded back again.

  ‘Heaven forbid,’ she said, tight-lipped. She flicked a finger at Cordell. ‘Call up the Lady Mary’s Questors’ file.’

  A gesture – and the hologram appeared in the centre of the chamber in all its original beauty, the figures luminous with qualities and virtues, the lines of light that joined them glowing. The whole image spun slowly before them in its stately dance.

  ‘And then along came our Bea, loopy harmless Bea, who had been overplaying her part for years and years, to work a little magic of her own.’ Lady Beatitude’s voice was harsh. It grated on them.

  ‘What did you do?’ demanded Vera.

  ‘What did I do? As I remember, I did very little… Cordell – my Questors’ file.’

  A shadowy image of Lady Beatitude stepped away from the Prelate’s body, moved forward and silently dipped its hand. The figures bleared, the colours muddied…

  ‘But – but you could have no idea what effect that would have!’ Lord Metheglin was shocked. ‘They could have had any number of physical or mental defects. You couldn’t possibly have known how they’d turn out!’

  Beatitude smiled. ‘Except for one thing,’ she said. ‘I knew they wouldn’t be perfect. You needed perfection. I just made sure you didn’t get it.’

  She turned her head and looked at the three.

  Looked into the three…

  It was horrible. Without warning she was inside their heads. She was jury and judge, and there was no appeal. They were being considered down to the depths of their being, tested – and found wanting. Her contempt for them was so complete, so debilitating, so bleak…

  ‘Oh, well, if it was perfection the old dears were after, thank goodness loony Bea did stick her finger in!’

  It was Mrs Mac, in a loud stage whisper. Lady Beatitude jerked, turned on her with a hiss – and the three Questors drew ragged breaths, alone in their heads again. They huddled closer.

  Lady Beatitude sneered, but didn’t renew the assault.

  On Alpine Cordell’s lips there might just have been the flicker of a smile as he removed the hologram.

  For a moment no one spoke. Then, ‘Tampering with the children was not an isolated act, was it?’ said Lady Vera. She addressed Cordell directly, as if she couldn’t bring herself to speak to Beatitude.

  Again the flicker.

  ‘No. Oh no. The Preceptor’s activities began much, much earlier,’ he said. ‘Then, some time later, my… recruitment took place. Lady Beatitude felt there were too many dimensions for one to direct, though, interestingly, diverting energy from the balance did not prove all that difficult. And the Worlds… cooperated a good deal.’

  ‘What?!’

  Cordell nodded. ‘Oh yes. It was in their natures! Trentor, for example… it was bound to throw up some sort of character like the child Frederick. All that institutionalized autism couldn’t fail to produce results. Kir, having two separate sentient species, muddied the waters a little. Once we ascertained which to concentrate on, however, the path became clearer, though not having multiple nostril pairs made it tricky at first to grasp the dragons’ attention. And Dalrodia – well, with a caste system like that, there was very little to do. It was simply a rotten apple ready to fall into our palm. I believe I just made a joke.’

  No one seemed able to speak at first, or to meet each other’s eyes.

  ‘You tipped the Worlds out of balance, on purpose, and then stood back while they grew more and more out of sync.’ It was Lord Bullvador who summed it up.

  There was a sigh from the others, as if in resignation, that what should not be thought had now been said.

  Beatitude applauded. ‘Oh, very good. Got it at last. You know, a surprisingly tiny degree of instability was all that was required. I simply didn’t pull my weight one day, when our happy Prelate family was engaged in yet another act of mindless maintenance. Nobody noticed at the time, but from then on… And one of the wonders of inertia is its relentlessness. One… little… shove…’

  ‘You must have been pretty worried, then, when we decided on the Questors,’ Lord Metheglin blustered unconvincingly.

  Lady Beatitude snorted. ‘Of course I wasn’t worried! After I fine-tuned them, they were bound to fail. All they had to do was run true to their breeding – perfectly equipped, by design, to boldly go and get themselves killed. Well, imagine my surprise when they couldn’t even manage to do that! In spite of all my assistance, they survived and still brought home the bacon. The culmination of the Traditional Option.’ She spoke as if the words tasted foul to her mouth. ‘The Objects of Power. Of course I’d a plan in place to cover even that possibility, unlikely as it seemed. I “encouraged” my colleagues to “encourage” the children to seek out particular kinds of Objects. So what did the Council (under my tutelage) want the Questors to return with? After all, the data banks are full to bursting with mythic symbolism. What Objects of Power seemed to them fit?’ Lady Beatitude showed her teeth in a grin. ‘The Ribbon of Abstract Thought. The Crystal of Courage. The Fruit of Dreams.’ She snorted. ‘Straight out of a kiddies’ computer game. Just the sort of sentimental slop they wanted to see. And now they can. Show them, children, show the Council the Objects of Power you have brought.’

  The three Questors instantly felt a horrible constraint, a grinding mental pressure. It made them want to do anything, just to make it stop.

  ‘You first, boy’ said Beatitude. ‘Give it to me. Give me the Crystal.’

  With a great effort, Bryn shook his head.

  ‘I haven’t got it,’ he wheezed.

  ‘Don’t even think of lying to me,’ said Lady Beatitude coldly. She seemed to be listening for something – and the sense of someone rummaging inside Bryn’s mind intensified.

  ‘But you’re not!’ she shrilled, just as Bryn cried out, ‘I’m not! I’m not! Leave me alone!’

  With a speed that took them all by surprise, Lady Beatitude lunged at Bryn and ripped the dragon claw out of his pocket.

  She drew in her breath, harsh and sharp, and blindly thrust the claw away from her.
It clattered to the floor and Bryn scrambled after it.

  Beatitude swerved abruptly towards Madlen, who automatically put her hand up to her throat. The woman wrenched the string from her neck and stared at the little axe, panting.

  ‘No,’ she muttered, flinging the necklace back in Madlen’s face. ‘No!’

  Then it was Cam’s turn. With a visible effort, Lady Beatitude regained control over herself. She moved closer, towering menacingly over the Dalrodian.

  ‘You, at least, will not disappoint,’ Lady Beatitude said huskily. ‘You’re Holder stock, half at least – you will have been able to see the obvious…’

  Cam felt her pushing, shoving through its mind.

  ‘Tell – me – where – it – is!’

  For a tiny second, Cam saw her face waver, as if it were coming out of focus… But before the search could start again –

  ‘Cam, it’s in your pocket,’ Mrs Macmahonney interrupted. Her voice was very quiet and sure.

  For one wild, wonderful moment, Cam thought that somehow, magically, it would reach its hand into its pocket and there would be something there. Anything there. Out of nowhere, the final Quest Object. It hadn’t all been a waste; Cam hadn’t failed, alone of all the Questors, to bring back anything at all. It would be ALL RIGHT.

  The Dalrodian reached its hand into its pocket and, for a long moment, no one breathed.

  Then, with a great sigh, Cam brought its hand into the open and held it out for all to see.

  Empty.

  59

  Reversals

  And Lady Beatitude began to laugh. There was a hysterical edge to her laughter that frightened the Questors almost more than anything that had gone before.

  ‘That’s it, is it?’ she cackled. ‘These are the Objects of Power that will save the Worlds? A trinket, an old claw and… nothing?! Is that the best you can do?!’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Lady Mary in her quiet voice. ‘I find the children’s selection extremely… enlightening.’

  ‘Yes. Indeed…’ said Lord Metheglin. ‘It almost makes one wonder if we may have made just the smallest miscalculation…’

  Lady Mary and Lord Metheglin looked at each other thoughtfully.

  ‘From the beginning,’ Mary said, ‘you’ll remember it was our understanding that the Quest would be a search for the most, the greatest, the epitome… each World’s strength writ large…’

  ‘… just the things for Questors who were the most, the greatest…’ said Metheglin. ‘Traditional heroes and heroines for the Traditional Option. But –’

  ‘But,’ Mary said, ‘what if, all along, it was not the pinnacle of each of the Worlds that was needed, but the exact opposite…?’

  There was a moment of intense thought as everyone in the room considered this extraordinary statement – but it was Beatitude who got there first.

  ‘What?!?’ She was breathing heavily and suddenly looked old. Then she rallied. ‘What difference does it make?’ she mocked. ‘It won’t work anyway – it’s far too late now! You haven’t a hope of undoing what I’ve done – none of your precious plans and mighty efforts had a chance against me –’

  ‘But… why?’ Lord Bullvador interrupted, sounding honestly puzzled. ‘I don’t understand!’

  Lady Beatitude looked up at him sideways, a curious expression of longing and slyness on her face. ‘Oh, Bull. You never should have brought me back after the accident. It was cruel. Don’t you remember how exciting I used to be? Don’t you remember how I used to make your heart race? Isn’t that why you wanted me on the Council in the first place? Everybody knew…’

  He said nothing, but his face paled.

  ‘What do you mean, we never should have brought you back?’ cut in Lady Vera. ‘You were dead, Bea, as near as damn it scattered – how can you say we shouldn’t have tried to save you?!’

  Lady Beatitude turned to her, every gesture of her body portraying the sorrow of the unjustly accused. ‘Did you ask?! What do you know about me – what do you know about how I suffered? You never liked me, none of you, only Bull did…’ Tears came prettily to her eyes, a single one trickling gently down her smooth cheek.

  The atmosphere was thick with embarrassment and guilt, surprised out of hiding by her nobility, her dignified grief. Even the children were ashamed, deeply, achingly, hopelessly…

  ‘What a pan of tripe.’ Mrs Mac’s voice made everyone jump. She stood there, fists on hips, her jaw stuck out, frowning fiercely. ‘I can’t believe supposedly intelligent people like you are wasting your time listening to this, saving the children’s presence, crap. Do you not know twisted when you meet it?’

  ‘I can make them think anything I want!’ Lady Beatitude hissed, her face suddenly contorted, ugly.

  Mrs Mac nodded. ‘Maybe so. Maybe so. You’ve huge power, Bea. Even now, when it’s all falling apart…’

  ‘I don’t have to talk to you!’ Beatitude turned her back and spoke to the Prelates. ‘Well? And what are you going to do about it? Dock Cordell’s pay? Send me to my room without supper? Give me lines? You don’t know what to do when an oh-so-holy Prelate goes bad, do you not?! Deary me. Not an everyday event!’

  ‘No, not everyday,’ said Lady Vera. ‘But of course there are precedents.’ She paused. ‘You could hardly think you were the first.’

  Lady Beatitude stared. It was obvious she had thought just that.

  ‘Oh no,’ Vera continued. ‘You’re not unique. Nothing new under the sun, they say. Sadly true…’ She spoke almost absent-mindedly. Something strange seemed to pass between her and the other three Prelates, a not-quite-visible exchange of glances, a decision made. Without Lady Beatitude’s noticing, there was a shift in the room, a drop in temperature, a feeling of the walls moving in…

  And then the walls did move. Perhaps not the actual walls, but the shadows within them. The darkness started to come closer, and began to spin round the lighted centre of the room, slowly at first, but picking up speed. Lady Vera talked on.

  ‘It’s so difficult to be truly original…’

  Lady Beatitude’s eyes narrowed.

  The shadows whirled silently round them all, impersonal, deadly and black.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do to me,’ Beatitude snarled. ‘I’ll get out of any cage you can think of. Because I’m smarter than you – smarter than all of you!’

  The walls of shadow were spinning faster now. It was almost as if their pace responded to the growing hysteria in Lady Beatitude’s voice.

  How can she not see it? Madlen wondered.

  It’s fear – it’s taking her over, thought Bryn.

  Poor fool. Poor fool. It was Ivory’s voice in Cam’s head. It was Cam’s voice as well.

  There were flecks of foam on Beatitude’s lips. She was edging away from them, tiny steps, almost imperceptible, steps that brought her closer and closer to the spinning dark, but she was oblivious to the danger. She was hunched and crabbed now like a caricature of the wicked witch.

  ‘Why, Bea? Why?’ Lord Bullvador whispered to her.

  Her voice scraped and snarled.

  ‘You want to know why I did it? Do you?! I’ll tell you. I did it because I c –’

  – and the wall took her. It swallowed her up and there was nothing left in the place where she had stood.

  There was a moment of utter, breathless silence. Then, ‘I warned her about overplaying,’ murmured Lady Mary.

  ‘Where is she?’ Madlen whispered.

  ‘Scattered.’ It was Alpine Cordell who spoke. His dry voice jarred on their stretched nerves. For once, everyone was noticing him. He shrugged. ‘I make it my business to always know the precedents.’

  ‘Then… you know it is your turn next,’ said Lord Bullvador.

  Alpine Cordell stood for a moment, his eyes fixed on a point just above their heads. It was, as always, impossible to guess from his face what he was thinking.

  ‘Mr Cordell!’ prompted Lady Vera in her most commanding voice.

  The
Secretary began to walk towards the wall of shadow.

  ‘My turn?’ he was heard to say. ‘Really? I think not.’

  Before anyone could speak, he had raised his hands and entered the spinning darkness. The shadows parted before him like curtains and then, as he passed, closed in behind. As if drained of its energy, the spinning wall slowed and stopped and became only shadows again. But Alpine Cordell had disappeared.

  ‘Struth!’

  ‘Well, I’ll be…’

  ‘Meth?’

  The Prelate concentrated for a long moment, then shook his head.

  ‘I’ve no sense of him. Not in the House. Nowhere in the Worlds.’

  ‘Not even… scattered?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Flipping hell,’ said Lord Bullvador, remembered the children and coughed.

  Suddenly, someone broke into the light at almost exactly the same spot Cordell had just left it, so that they all jumped back, startled. But it wasn’t the Secretary returning. It was the Agent, Ben. If he’d looked bad before, he looked worse now.

  ‘I had to come and tell you. We’ve done… everything we could,’ he panted. ‘It’s not enough. We cannot hold.’

  There was a moment when only his ragged breathing could be heard and then Lord Bullvador bowed his head.

  ‘All right, Meth,’ said Lady Vera. ‘It’s time.’

  Without a word, Lord Metheglin turned and walked away. No one moved or spoke. Then the sound of his footsteps could be heard returning through the darkness.

  As he emerged into the light, they could see he had something in his hands.

  60

  Revelations

  The object Lord Metheglin carried was draped in a dark velvet cloth. Lord Bullvador brought a small table from somewhere, placed it and stepped back.

  Metheglin laid the object on the table and, with a curious gentleness, drew the velvet cloth away. The Questors, Kate and Ben craned forward to see what this wonder might be.

  They saw a box, wooden perhaps, and black with age.