Sebastian Darke: Prince of Fools

by Philip Caveney

  'Uncle Septimus was quite insistent,' said Princess Kerin. 'And how was I to know that we would encounter Brigands? Uncle Septimus said that he had a special surprise for me and urged me not to delay.'

  'Very nice, I'm sure,' snarled Sebastian. 'And I hope worth the lives of—'

  'We shall of course accompany you back to Keladon,' interrupted Cornelius hastily. 'To ensure your safekeeping. But we have a few preparations to make. Please bear with us while we get things organized.'

  'But Cornelius!' Sebastian was indignant. 'She—'

  'We'll, er . . . go and see what needs to be done! Why don't you return to your quarters, your highness, and leave this rough work to us?'

  Princess Kerin frowned, then shrugged. 'Very well,' she said. 'But don't be long. I get bored very easily.'

  She turned and slipped back in through the curtained door?way. Sebastian made to follow her, his mouth open to say something else, but Cornelius clutched the hem of his singlet and dragged him down the stairs.

  'Cornelius! What are you—?'

  The manling said nothing but continued to pull him across the plain, stepping carefully in and out of the fallen soldiers. When they were a decent distance away, he stopped and looked up at Sebastian.

  'You need to cool down a bit,' he observed in hushed tones.

  'But didn't you hear her? She said—'

  'I know what she said,' hissed Cornelius fiercely. 'And yes, she's decidedly spoiled and quite annoying. But don't forget, she's a princess.'

  'A spoiled brat, more like,' growled Sebastian. 'Why, for two pins I'd put her across my knee and—'

  '- and she'd have you hung in the market square in Keladon for the amusement of the population. The likes of us don't go criticizing the likes of her and you'd do well to remember that. From here on in, we just say, "Yes, your high?ness, at your service, your highness!" and do as we're told. The last thing we need is for her to take offence at us.'

  Sebastian scowled. 'It isn't going to be easy,' he observed.

  'No, but it'll worth it. Let's face it, if we can return her safe and sound to her uncle, he's sure to be grateful. That could do us a lot of good, considering we're both seeking employment at his court. And don't forget, he won't be King for much longer. In a short while, when Kerin comes of age, she will ascend to the throne.'

  'Kerin? Queen of Keladon? But how—?'

  'Because her parents are both dead. Her uncle is merely minding the throne until she is of age. I assumed you knew all this.'

  Sebastian shook his head. 'My father never mentioned it. I doubt that he knew any more than the fact that there was a rich king who needed a jester.' He thought for a moment. 'So she's an orphan?'

  'Yes; and soon to become the most powerful woman in the land. So let's forget about your personal opinion of her and see if we can round up a couple of equines to harness to that fancy carriage of hers.'

  The mention of the word 'harness' reminded Sebastian of something.

  'Max . . .' he murmured. 'Have you seen him lately?'

  'Not since he went racing past me, dragging your caravan behind him. He was going like the wind!'

  Sebastian lifted his head and gazed hopefully left and right across the plain, but at first he could see no trace of his old friend. A wave of apprehension swept over him. Supposing he had been taken by Brigands? He remembered about their liking for buffalope meat. But after a few moments of frantic searching he spotted Max plodding slowly back towards him, pulling the caravan, which appeared to be largely undamaged after its rough handling.

  'There he is,' he said, relieved.

  'But there's something wrong,' said Cornelius quietly.

  Sebastian noticed that Max was moving slowly, lifting his feet with apparent difficulty, his head lowered until his nose skimmed the ground. As he drew closer, Sebastian saw with a jolt of horror that an arrow was sticking out of the buffalope's left flank.

  'Max!' he cried. Horrified, he ran across the intervening distance and flung his arms around the buffalope's shaggy neck. 'You've been hurt!'

  Max looked at Sebastian with mournful eyes. 'They shot me!' he murmured. 'Those ignorant savages fired an arrow into me. I . . . I'm done for. It's all over for me, young master. I can feel my life blood draining away'

  'No,' gasped Sebastian. 'No, you'll be all right. You're strong . . .'

  But Max shook his horned head. 'It is not to be, my young friend.' He gasped as though a sudden pain had washed over him. 'My race is run and I . . . I feel my ancestors calling to me.' He stared up at the blue sky. 'They call me now to the eternal pasture. After a life of toil, who can deny me a little rest?' He looked into Sebastian's eyes, which were filling with tears. 'No, don't cry for me, young master. This is not a time for grief! Dry your eyes and look to the future. When I finally meet your father, I shall tell him he has a son to be proud of. And my spirit will watch over you on the remainder of your journey.'

  'Max, please don't speak like this.' Now Sebastian was weeping openly. 'We'll get you fixed up. I'll find herbs and make a poultice. With a few days' rest you'll be all right. You've still got years ahead of you.'

  'If only that were so.' Max gave a little sigh and his eyelids fluttered. 'But I feel the darkness creeping over me.'

  Sebastian shook his head. 'Please, old friend. Please don't leave me!'

  'I . . . I must. Speak well of me when I am gone. Tell every?one you meet that you once knew a buffalope who was a fine and noble— Oww!'

  He broke off suddenly as Cornelius reached up on tiptoe and wrenched the arrow out of his side. 'Do you mind?' he protested. T was just making my dying speech.'

  'You're not dying,' Cornelius told him flatly. 'This thing barely broke the skin. It'd take more than that to get through your tough old hide.'

  'But – it's a mortal wound,' protested Max.

  'Mortal wound, my backside,' said Cornelius bluntly. 'It's a scratch. I've never heard such a fuss in all my born days.' He tossed the arrow aside and moved away in search of some equines to pull the royal carriage.

  Sebastian gave Max a withering look. 'A mortal wound,' he said, through gritted teeth. 'Life blood draining away. Honestly!' He turned and began to walk after Cornelius.

  'Well, it felt like a mortal wound!' shouted Max indignantly. 'It was quite deep actually.'

  'Cornelius said it was nothing.'

  'That . . . that's easy for him to say. He's not the one with an arrow sticking out of him. It . . . it could have been poisoned! You didn't think about that, did you? Even now, I could be doomed. Doomed!'

  Sebastian caught up with Cornelius, who was having a quiet chuckle.

  'He's got some imagination, that one,' he observed.

  Sebastian dashed the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. 'That is absolutely the last time I listen to him,' he said. 'I really thought for a minute he was—' He shook his head. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to say the word 'dying', as though saying it might somehow make it happen. 'He saved my life back there, you know. Charged down a Brigand who was moving in for the kill. I . . . I don't know what I'd do without Max. He's always been there, ever since I was a baby.'

  Cornelius slapped him heartily on the hip. 'Come on,' he said. 'Let's round up those equines and get this show back on the road. We've still got quite a journey ahead of us.'

  CHAPTER 8

  LADY IN WAITING

  It took them quite some time to hunt down the equines. They were warrior's mounts, unused to the arduous task of pulling a heavy wagon, but they would have to do. Max, meanwhile, seemed to have accepted that his recent wound was not life threatening and announced himself ready to continue.

  Sebastian and Cornelius were just making a few last-minute repairs to Max's harness, which had been damaged in the skirmish, when Princess Kerin came stalking over, looking decidedly impatient.

  'Aren't we ready to go yet?' she demanded tetchily. 'I'm bored!'

  Cornelius bowed his head and elbowed Sebastian's leg to make him do likewise. 'Very n
early, your highness,' he assured her. 'Just a few final preparations to make and we'll be on our way. I am, however, somewhat concerned—'

  'Concerned, little man? About what?'

  'Well . . . the equines we've managed to find, they're very skittish and unused to heavy work. I worry that they might bolt or, worse still, overturn the carriage. It would be ironic, would it not, to have saved you from the Brigands, only to put your life in danger again?'

  'Hmm.' Princess Kerin considered for a moment, studying the colourful design on the side of Sebastian's wagon as she did so. Then she brightened a little. 'No matter, I will ride with the elfling,' she said.

  Sebastian glared at her. 'What?' he said, horrified. Then, after another nudge from Cornelius, he attempted to moderate his tone. 'But . . . your highness, my humble caravan is not really suitable for somebody of breeding . . .'

  'I realize that,' she assured him. 'But I'm sick and tired of silence and would have some conversation.' She gestured at the title on the caravan. 'Besides, a self-proclaimed Prince of Fools should at least be good for a little entertainment. I'll just get my travel cloak.' She turned and walked back towards her carriage.

  Sebastian stared after her glumly. 'Oh, that's just perfect,' he said. 'Now I'll be stuck with her for the rest of the journey'

  'Don't tell her any of your own jokes,' said Max. 'If you absolutely must tell one, stick to your father's material. It's safer.'

  'And keep a civil tongue in your head,' Cornelius reminded him. 'We need to stay in her good books.'

  'Yes, all right, all right! Honestly, you two act as though I don't know how to talk to people. I'm a jester, don't forget. I have the gift of the gab!'

  Max and Cornelius exchanged worried glances.

  'We're doomed,' muttered Max wearily. 'We are most definitely doomed.'

  They were on the move again, but Sebastian was somewhat perturbed. Why had Princess Kerin forsaken the comfort of her own carriage to ride alongside him? And why did she insist on asking so many stupid questions?

  She sat beside him now, chattering on about various bits of nonsense like some gossiping shepherd girl – not at all regal as he'd always imagined a princess should be, but noisy and irritating. Oh, she was pretty enough, perhaps more than just pretty. But so spoiled! If she hadn't been who she was, Sebastian would gladly have pushed her off the caravan into the dust.

  The landscape was changing, the lush rolling grasslands occasionally dotted with small copses of tall slender trees. The higher branches were thickly hung with clusters of dark red fruit, and flocks of big black birds were competing noisily for it, their cawing a hideous shriek overhead.

  Sebastian leaned out from his seat and glanced back at Cornelius, hunched in the driver's seat of the carriage, trying to keep the two frisky equines under control as he followed in Sebastian's tracks. Even at this distance the manling's face held a certain expression, as though silently reminding Sebastian to watch what he said. Meanwhile, Princess Kerin kept right on yapping.

  ' . . . so I said to her, the colour of a dress may be of no importance to you, my dear, but when it comes to matters of the court, I like to think I know what I'm talking about. She soon quietened down, I can tell you!'

  Sensing a pause, Sebastian swung back into an upright position. 'I'm sorry?' he said. 'Your highness,' he added, as an afterthought.

  'I do believe you weren't even listening to me!' said Princess Kerin crossly.

  'I . . . I was just . . . I thought those equines were going to start playing up. Please, do go on, Princess, it's . . . fascinating. It's not every day a simple man like myself has the opportunity to learn about a royal court.'

  But the princess was glowering at him like a spoiled child. 'You're not really a man at all, are you?' she observed flatly. 'Not in the usual sense of the word. I believe you're what people call a "breed".'

  Sebastian felt his face colour a little but he made a heroic effort to remain courteous. 'My mother is elvish,' he told her.

  'So I have some of her features. And also some from my father, a human.'

  'I wonder what made him want to marry an elf,' she said.

  'I imagine he was in love with her,' suggested Sebastian, a little more coldly than he had intended.

  'Was? Isn't he in love with her any more?'

  'My father's dead, Princess. He died a little while ago.'

  She looked rather uncomfortable at this news. She gazed off into the middle distance for a moment, where a large flock of the black birds were flapping noisily in the branches of a tree.

  'I'm sorry to hear that,' she said. 'I know what it's like to lose a parent. In my case, it was both of them, and I was so young . . .' A disturbed look flickered briefly across her face, as though she was remembering bad times, but then she seemed to shrug the thoughts away. 'What did your father do?' she asked.

  'He was a jester, like me. Or rather, I'm like him. At least, I'm trying to be.'

  'And are you in love, Mr Darke?'

  He laughed nervously. Now it was his turn to feel un?comfortable. 'No,' he said. 'Not yet, anyway' He smiled. 'But one day, I'm sure I shall feel as my father did about my mother.'

  'Love!' She rolled her eyes. 'The poets at court are always prattling on about that. I sometimes wonder if there's any such thing. I think poets invented it just to have something to write about.' She frowned. 'And is she lovely, this mother of yours?'

  'I think so,' said Sebastian. 'But what boy would not say that of his own mother?'

  'She's given you some interesting features though,' the princess observed. 'You have quite handsome eyes. And I rather like those pointed ears.'

  Now Sebastian didn't know what to say. He could feel his face reddening even more and he pretended to be occupied with the reins he was holding. After a few moments he stole a glance at her but looked quickly away when he saw she was still studying him with her vivid green eyes. He had to admit to himself that she was extraordinarily beautiful. A pity that she was so silly and shallow.

  'So . . .' she said, after a rather uncomfortable pause. 'You're hoping to find employment with my uncle. As a jester.'

  Sebastian nodded. 'Yes. Is he . . . the humorous sort, your uncle?'

  'Not so you'd notice. He's rather fond of sarcasm, but I doubt if that counts. He's . . .' The princess seemed to search for the right words for a moment. 'He's an enigma, my Uncle Septimus. It's not always easy to get into his head. He is very fond of me, of course, very protective. I imagine if I put in a word for you, it would carry a lot of weight with him.'

  Sebastian glanced at her hopefully. 'And would you be prepared to do that?' he asked her.

  She shrugged. 'Well, I don't know. That would depend on whether you're funny or not. You haven't exactly been a load of laughs so far, have you? Why don't you give me a few samples of your, er . . . art?'

  Sebastian was uncomfortably aware that Max had just thrown a mournful look over his shoulder, but did his best to ignore it.

  'Well,' he said. 'Let me see now . . .' He searched his mental store for something he thought might possibly appeal to her. Finally he happened on a story that he thought might have some chance of making her smile. 'Did you hear the one about the man who was walking along the street and his hat blew off? And he was about to pick it up, but this other fellow came along with a mutt walking beside him, and the mutt ran over and tore the hat to shreds. So the man went to the mutt's owner and he says, "Look what your mutt has done to my hat!" So the other fellow shrugs and says, "Well, what do I care? Clear off!" The man is disgusted. He says, "Now look here, I don't like your attitude." And the other fellow says, "Well, it's not my hat he chewed!"'