Sebastian Darke: Prince of Fools

by Philip Caveney

Max had been waiting outside the tavern for what seemed like ages. He'd had some pretty tense moments when gangs of ruffians had come past and showed more than a casual interest in the contents of Sebastian's saddlebags. He'd been obliged to speak to the people concerned, and in each case they'd been so startled, they'd chosen to move on without too much trouble; but he was starting to wonder whether he wouldn't be better advised to wander into the tavern and look for his master.

  And then, right on cue, Sebastian and Cornelius came out, looking very red-faced and breathing noxious fumes in his general direction.

  'You've been drinking!' observed Max, horrified.

  'Yesh,' agreed Sebastian, looking quite pleased with him?self. 'But it couldn't be helped.'

  'Well, that's marvellous, isn't it? Poor Princess Kerin is held captive somewhere in this city and you two are in the local tavern getting pie-eyed. A fine rescue party indeed!'

  'It's not like that,' Cornelius told him. 'Besides, it's only Sebastian who's drunk. I only pretended to drink the ale.'

  Sebastian looked at him in dull surprise. 'You . . . pretended?

  'Of course. You don't think I'd be so stupid as to drink that filth, do you?'

  Sebastian frowned. 'Er . . . well, anyway, it's all right because Corneliush did a bit of arm wrestling and he won. Wish means we don't have to give you and the equines to somebody elsh.'

  'What are you blathering about?' asked Max. 'What about the princess?'

  'We have to make our plan of action,' said Sebastian. He had managed to totter over to his mount and, with some difficulty, was unstrapping the saddlebags. 'We're going to go up to our room and deshide what to do.'

  'Your room?' Now Max really was indignant. 'You're not leaving me here again, are you?'

  'Shush,' said Cornelius, holding a finger to his lips. 'We have to. We can hardly bring a buffalope into a tavern bedroom, can we?'

  'Oh, wonderful. So I get to stand around here all night while you two sleep in a luxurious bed.'

  'We won't be sleeping,' Cornelius assured him, as he unhitched his own saddlebags from Phantom. 'We'll be drawing up our plans. And, Max, you will have a very important role to play. We'll need you to stay alert because the auction starts first thing tomorrow morning.'

  'And we need you to guard the equinsh,' Sebastian reminded Max, 'becaush we can't make our eshcape without them.' He slung the saddlebags over his shoulder and weaved his way unsteadily back towards the door. 'Good night, old friend,' he shouted back over his shoulder.

  'Yes,' said Cornelius, starting to follow. But then he paused and turned back to look at Max. 'You know,' he said, 'I put you up as part of a bet in an arm-wrestling contest. And just for a minute there . . . just for a minute . . . I seriously thought about losing.' He smiled, shook his head. 'But good sense prevailed. Good night, Max!' And he went after Sebastian.

  Max stood and watched them go in mild disbelief. The door slammed behind them. He looked at Phantom and shook his head.

  'That's typical, isn't it?' he complained. 'Off they go into the nice warm tavern. They'll probably have a slap-up evening meal and a nice goblet of wine. Meanwhile, we haven't had a thing to eat all day, not even a handful of mulch. It's at times like this that you realize where you figure in the grand scheme of things. If you've got two legs, you're laughing. If you've got four, you barely register a giggle. It's enough to make you really depressed.'

  He looked at Phantom, who just snorted and stamped one foot.

  Max sighed. 'Sometimes being an educated animal is a mixed blessing,' he said. 'It really is.'

  In the safety of their room, Cornelius opened the window, and he and Sebastian looked out onto the deserted, moonlit square. Sure enough, there was Max and the two equines, hitched to a rail away to their right, and directly beneath the window was the broad sweep of the wooden auction platform.

  'That must be where the prisoners will be led out tomorrow,' observed Cornelius thoughtfully.

  'So where are they now?' asked Sebastian.

  'My guess would be that they're down there.' Cornelius moved his index finger to his left, pointing out the rear of the stage and a barred metal door, which appeared to lead into an underground chamber. 'That will be the holding cell. You notice there are no windows of any kind.'

  'Maybe we should jusht launch an attack on that?' reasoned Sebastian. 'Why wait till all thosh crowds are around tomorrow?'

  Cornelius shook his head. 'There's only one way in,' he observed. 'And nobody would open the door for somebody they didn't know. Besides, you're not in the best condition to do anything right now.' He frowned. 'So it will have to be tomorrow, I'm afraid. As you said, there will be a lot of people around, so we're going to have to depend on the element of surprise.'

  He began to pull the various pieces of his miniature cross?bow from the compartments in his belt and quickly slotted them together. He took out a short wooden bolt with a heavy three-pronged metal head. And finally, from his saddlebag, he drew a long coil of fine silken thread. He fastened the end of the latter to the crossbow bolt and slotted it into the bow. Then he walked to the window and peered thoughtfully across the square.

  'What are you doing?' Sebastian asked him.

  'Shush! You'll spoil my aim. Here, grab hold of this.' Cornelius handed the free end of the thread to Sebastian. He glanced quickly around to ensure that the square was still deserted, then lifted the crossbow to his eye line and took long and careful aim. Peering over the little man's shoulder, Sebastian saw that he was aiming for a slightly lower building on the far side of the square, which had what looked like battlements adorning its roof. Finally, Cornelius squeezed the trigger. The bolt shot out of the window, taking the length of thread with it. It flew in a tight graceful arc and landed right between a couple of the notches. 'Perfect,' said Cornelius. 'Now, pull back on the thread . . . gently'

  Sebastian did as he was told, and after a few moments the hooked head of the bolt snagged itself on the stonework at the edge of the roof. Cornelius came over and pulled harder, checking that the bolt was now stuck fast. He pulled the thread tight and directed Sebastian to climb up on a chair and fasten it securely to one of the wooden beams that traversed the low roof.

  'There!' he said at last, twanging the thread like the string of a finely tuned instrument. 'Done!' He led Sebastian back to the window and showed him how they now had a secure line running in a gentle downward slope some ten feet above the centre of the stage.

  'What's it for?' asked Sebastian, mystified.

  'What's it for? Why, it's the quickest route possible down to that stage! When the time comes, you just loop a short length of rope over it, jump from the window and go shooting across the square. When you get to the middle, you let go and you drop right onto the centre of the stage!'

  Sebastian looked at Cornelius warily. I can't help noticing that you're shaying "you". I hope you're not exshpecting me to go down that thing.'

  'Why not? You'll be fine.'

  'Cornelius, I don't have your exshperience of soldiering.'

  'Oh, you don't do so badly. Besides, it has to be you. I'll be too busy causing the diversion.' He pointed to some small openings under the wooden stage. 'I'm the only one small enough to get under there,' he said.

  'Yesh, but this thread doeshn't look strong enough to take my weight!'

  'Nonsense. It's made from the web of a Golmiran tunnel spider. It's one of the strongest substances known to man. And don't worry, you'll only be on it for a few moments. Now, show me how these thunder-sticks work . . .'

  A moment later Cornelius had the powerful firework devices out on the bed and was fashioning shorter fuses for them, trying to estimate how long it would take him to light them and get out from under the stage before they went off. And as he worked, Sebastian noted, there was a look of glee on his face; like a little boy anticipating a favourite game. It never seemed to occur to him that he could be hurt, even killed.

  Sebastian sighed and turned to look down once again at the empty
square, concentrating on the small rectangle of light issuing from the barred doorway of Princess Kerin's prison. He wished he could warn her about tomorrow. She must be entirely without hope now, he decided. How he wished he could talk to her, stroke her soft shining hair . . .

  A sudden sense of panic came over him as he realized for the first time the full depth of his feelings for her. It was madness, he told himself. He was a commoner and she was destined to be Queen. What's more, she had already told him that her duty lay in marriage to Prince Rolf of Bodengen. Yet for all that, it was for her that he had made the journey into this most dangerous of cities; and it was for her that he would be risking his life the following morning.

  But now there was nothing to do but sit and watch Cornelius making his preparations for what promised to be quite a party . . .

  CHAPTER 27

  THE BIG AUCTION

  Princess Kerin woke to the touch of a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently and intruding into the dream she had been having.

  'Sebastian,' she whispered. 'Not yet. A few more minutes . . .'

  And then she was quite suddenly awake, and she realized she was cold and muddy and lying on a scattering of straw. She looked up and saw that the face smiling down at her was not Sebastian, but Peg.

  'So that's his name, is it?' she said good-naturedly. 'Sebastian.'

  'I was dreaming,' said Princess Kerin. She sat up and glanced around the interior of the cage, where everybody seemed to be in a state of some agitation. 'What's going on?' she asked.

  'It's morning. They'll be coming round with the food in a bit.'

  'Food.' Princess Kerin remembered that she hadn't eaten anything since leaving Keladon. 'Thank goodness,'she said. 'I'm starving! What do they serve? I wouldn't mind some eggs—'

  'I wouldn't get your hopes up, miss,' Peg warned her. 'It's only a few old scraps of bread.'

  'Oh.' She tried not to let her disappointment show. 'Well, I . . . I quite like bread.'

  'You only get some if you fight for it,' Peg warned her.

  'Fight for it?' The princess was horrified. 'I'm not fighting for food. I can't think of anything more humiliating.'

  'Well, miss, that's how it works here. They throw in the scraps and everybody scrambles for a bit. Remember, this is the last we'll get till we're sold and taken off by our new masters.'

  Princess Kerin nodded numbly. She felt that she had woken from a dream to find herself in a nightmare. Somehow, sleep had made her forget about what was going to happen to her.

  The metal gate creaked open and brilliant sunlight spilled momentarily into the gloom. A big, brutish soldier came in carrying two metal buckets. 'Mornin', little piggies!' he jeered. 'Time for your din-dins.'

  He approached the men's cage first and, lifting one of the buckets, he threw the scraps of food in through the bars. Immediately there was a commotion within as everybody young and old, flung themselves down onto the straw to try and claw up a taste of the food. Blows were exchanged and some of the older men were shamelessly pushed aside as their younger, stronger cell-mates grabbed the lion's share of the pitiful amount that was on offer. As the men grabbed something, they moved off to different parts of the cage to crouch down, cramming the bread into their mouths like animals.

  Now the grinning soldier picked up the other bucket and approached the women's cage. 'Hello, ladies!' he giggled. 'Missed me, 'ave yer?'

  'Get ready,' Peg urged Princess Kerin.

  The soldier stood there for quite a while, the bucket raised, knowing full well how tantalizing it was to the hungry women in the cage. Then at last he flung the scraps in through the bars and watched with a satisfied smile on his face. Princess Kerin started forward but was immediately knocked aside in the rush of prisoners moving in from behind her. The mound of scraps was immediately surrounded by a scrum of women, pushing and shoving each other in their haste to claim a little sustenance. They pulled at hair, clawed at faces, lashed out in anger. The princess thought of the sumptuous banquets she had attended in Keladon, the plates piled high with rich food that she'd pushed aside, barely touched, and her eyes filled with tears of shame. She turned away in disgust and went back to slump down in the corner.

  But a moment later Peg returned, clutching two crusts of bread. She squatted down beside the princess and handed one of them to her.

  'No.' Princess Kerin shook her head. 'You have them, Peg. I don't deserve any.'

  'Course you do.' Peg pressed the hunk of bread into her hands. 'You got to eat, miss, keep your strength up. You never know when you'll get the chance again. Go on.' She kept insisting until finally Princess Kerin gave in. She lifted the bread to her mouth and took a bite. It was old and stale but it was the only food that had passed her lips in ages and she ate hungrily, devouring every last little bit of it, savouring the taste on her tongue. And as she ate, she swore to herself that she would not turn her back on poverty ever again, as long as she lived.

  She was just finishing up the last mouthful of bread when the outside door swung open again and a familiar figure stepped arrogantly into the room, his heavy boots stirring up swirls of dust that seemed to dance in the rays of sunlight. It was Kasim, grinning an oily grin and looking very pleased with himself. He strode into the centre of the room and stood there, one hand on his hip, the other holding a plaited leather whip. He gazed around at the occupants of the cages.

  'Slaves,' he said, 'the moment you have been waiting for is at hand. It is time to find out what your miserable lives are worth.' He focused his attention on Princess Kerin and his eyes seemed to glitter with a cold, mocking light. 'Some of you will fetch a good price,' he said. 'Others will be worth nothing but a few paltry coins. But it's all good profit for me.' He sneered. 'Bring them,' he said and, turning on his heel, he strode back towards the open door.

  Princess Kerin looked at Peg and the woman smiled reassuringly.

  'Come on, miss,' she said, taking the princess's hand. 'Wherever we end up, it's got to be better than this filthy hole.'

  Princess Kerin nodded. She was grateful that she had an ally, even if it was only for a short while. She and Peg followed the other prisoners out of the cage towards the exit.

  The blaring of trumpets alerted Sebastian to the fact that something important was happening. He stared down from the open window of his room at the vast crowds of people gathered around the stage. Cornelius was down there somewhere, he knew, but he had lost sight of him ages ago and had no idea what had happened to him. He could see Max and the two equines, standing in the midst of the crowd, a short distance from the foot of the stage, and supposed that Cornelius could not be far away from them. Hopefully he would be under there now, planting his explosive charges. Sebastian hoped the little man had made the fuses long enough, otherwise they were liable to go up while he was still beside them and even Cornelius would have trouble surviving that . . .

  Now Sebastian could see a big bald-headed man climbing the steps at the back of the stage. He stepped out onto the wooden platform, waving a hand to people in the crowd whom he recognized. Behind him trailed a long line of ragged women, who were being herded by a few uniformed soldiers armed with spears. Sebastian looked desperately for Princess Kerin but for an uncomfortably long time he didn't see her. He was coming to the conclusion that she wasn't in the group, when suddenly he did spot her, looking frail and scared, holding hands with another woman who appeared to be speaking to her.

  Sebastian picked up the short length of rope from the bed – his means of getting down to the stage. He looped it around the long stretch of thread leading out from the window, but for the moment he did nothing. Cornelius had told him to wait until Princess Kerin stepped up onto the selling block, a small rostrum that stood a few inches higher than the main platform. The crowd became rowdy as the various bidders discussed the merits of the women on sale, and eventually Kasim had to hold up his arms for some silence.

  'Greetings, people of Brigandia,' he roared. 'Welcome to our monthly slave-mart!' The c
rowd shouted back its approval, and Kasim turned to look at the straggle of women who were now ranged behind him. He turned back to the crowd and raised his arms for silence again. 'You know me,' he shouted. 'Honest Kasim. My slaves are gathered from around the known world and every one of them comes complete with my personal guarantee of satisfaction. If any slave purchased fails to give a minimum of one year's service, I will replace it free of charge with a similar model!' A roar of approval greeted this offer. 'If any slave fails to give adequate service, I will call round personally to administer a little on-site maintenance!' He cracked his whip in front of him, winked at the crowd and was rewarded with gales of laughter. 'I have slaves of all kinds,' he promised them. 'Big, small, short, tall, fat, thin, young, old – whatever you're looking for, you're sure to find it here! Plus, don't miss this week's special. Buy two slaves and get a third half price!' More yells of approval. It was clear that Kasim was a popular man here in Brigandia.