Sebastian Darke: Prince of Fools

by Philip Caveney

  'We've got truth and justice on our side,' said Cornelius. 'Plus, of course, my old favourite. The element of surprise.'

  'Think that'll be enough?'

  Cornelius grinned. 'Ask me again in a little while,' he said.

  Somebody leaned over and handed Sebastian a couple of swords. He passed one of them to Princess Kerin, and as she took it, their eyes met.

  'How did I do?' she asked him.

  'You were every bit the queen of this land,' he told her. 'These people will follow you anywhere.'

  'I just hope I'm not leading them to their doom,' she said. Then she moved to the front of the wagon and steadied herself by clutching the wooden seat in front of her. She held her sword aloft so that everyone could see it.

  'People of Keladon!' she cried. 'Forward to victory!'

  Cornelius snapped the reins and Max took off at speed. The soldiers urged on their equines and the angry rabble followed, waving their weapons or their fists as they raced along the wide uphill road that led to the palace.

  CHAPTER 31

  DOWN WITH THE KING

  King Septimus was feeling rather pleased with himself. He had risen early, despite a night of drunkenness and gluttony, had eaten a hearty breakfast comprising all his favourite delicacies, had soaked himself in a hot bath steeped in oils and perfumes and, with the help of Malthus, had just finished dressing himself in his finest robes. It certainly felt gratifying to know that he was now the undisputed king of Keladon and that there was nobody around who might challenge him for the throne. He wondered where Princess Kerin was now and amused himself by imagining her dressed in rags, down on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor of a latrine.

  He lounged on a silken sofa in the royal chamber, wondering exactly what he would do with the rest of his day.

  'I may pay a visit to the royal treasury later on,' he told Malthus. 'It's quite a while since I went through my coffers and counted up what I own.'

  'Four days, sire,' said Malthus, without a trace of irony.

  'Hmm. That long? Well—'

  'While you are there, sire, you might be kind enough to consider the little matter of my salary.'

  'What about it?' growled King Septimus.

  'Well, sire, the last time we spoke on the matter, you told me that you might consider actually letting me have one.'

  Septimus pulled a sour face. 'You mean to tell me, Malthus, that as well as having the illustrious honour of waiting on me, you also expect to be paid for it?'

  'Yes, sire! Er . . . I mean, no, sire, of course not. I just—'

  'Empty out my chamber pot. And before you do so, open the shutters and allow in a little air.'

  'Yes, sire.' The manservant hurried across to do his master's bidding. He unlatched the shutters and pulled them back to reveal a beautiful summer morning. There was a clear view of the main road leading downhill to the marketplace, and as Malthus looked out, he saw something unexpected. A crowd of people was coming round the bend in the road. A sizeable crowd. He kept expecting it to fizzle out, but it didn't. There seemed to be rather a lot of people. Thousands of them in fact, and judging by the way they were waving their fists – and what looked like a fearsome collection of weapons – they evidently weren't here to do some sightseeing.

  Malthus opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. It had occurred to him that it would be in his best interests to get out of here as quickly as possible and he didn't want a command from the king to keep him in place. So he turned quickly away from the window, grabbed the king's chamber pot and started towards the exit, moving so fast that the contents of the pot began to slop over its sides.

  'Malthus, you imbecile, be careful!'

  'Sorry, sire.' Malthus didn't slow his pace. He kept right on going.

  'What's your hurry, man?'

  'A . . . pressing engagement, sire!' And Malthus was out of the door and heading for the stairs. Septimus heard a sudden crash as the chamber pot was discarded in the rush.

  'What the . . . ? Malthus? Malthus!'

  No reply. The king got to his feet and paced around the room for a moment, sensing that something wasn't quite right. Then a distant sound of shouting voices brought him to the open window. He stared out in complete and utter horror at the great mob of people who were racing towards the palace. Even at this distance he recognized the figure in the bright red dress, standing in the wagon that led the crowd. He opened his mouth in sheer disbelief, not wanting to believe this was happening. Then he snapped back to reality and, turning, he ran out of the room.

  The two guards who stood at his doorway jumped smartly to attention.

  'Sound the alarm,' cried King Septimus. 'An armed mob approaches the palace. Send the Crimson Cloak up here to defend me – the rest of you, get out there and deal with it. Barricade the doors. They are to be defended with your miserable lives!'

  'Yes, sire.' The two men turned and hurried away down the staircase, shouting an alarm.

  King Septimus was about to retreat to his quarters but he noticed a frail figure emerging from one of the corridors to his left. It was Magda and she was carrying a large bag over her shoulder, while supporting herself with a stout walking stick.

  'Magda,' he said. 'Going somewhere, are we?'

  She was evidently not pleased to see him. 'Your majesty!' she cried. 'What a pleasant surprise. I was just . . . er . . . planning to pay a little visit . . . to my . . . mother.'

  'Your mother?' King Septimus smiled sweetly. T had no idea your mother was still alive. Why, she must be . . . what? A hundred and twenty, a hundred and thirty?'

  Magda smiled, showing brown stumps of teeth. 'She is a goodly age, sire, and in poor health. She needs my herbs and potions to make her strong. I'll be back in a day or so.'

  'Hmm. It wouldn't be the case, would it, that you have gained knowledge of the angry mob that is approaching the palace? The mob led by Princess Kerin. It couldn't be, could it, that you are attempting to run out on me?'

  Magda feigned a look of sheer amazement. 'A mob, your majesty? I had no idea!'

  'Oh, well then. Fair enough. You didn't know about it. I suppose you'd best get along to your mother, hadn't you?'

  'Thank you, sire.' Magda started hobbling towards the staircase as fast as her ancient legs would carry her.

  'How are you proposing to get there?' asked King Septimus, drawing closer to her and placing one hand on her shoulder.

  She swallowed nervously. I, umm . . . thought I'd take a carriage,' she said quietly.

  'Oh, surely not. A woman of your magical talents? I think you'd get there much faster if you employed a more . . . supernatural form of travel.'

  'What do you mean, sire?' she asked him.

  I mean you should bloody well fly!' he roared; and with that, he grabbed the back of her dress with both hands and threw her down the staircase. He watched with interest as her frail body went tumbling and crashing down the marble steps, and noted with a hint of satisfaction that she managed to hit every single one of them on the way.

  Her lifeless body came to rest at the feet of a group of armed men wearing deep red cloaks. The king's bodyguard. They looked down in shock at the old woman's sprawled figure.

  'Don't just stand there gawking like idiots!' snarled the king. 'Get your idle carcasses up here and form a protective line at the top of these stairs. If anyone tries to get up here, hack them to pieces.'

  The men hurried up the stairs to do as they were told. After all, they had sworn to protect the king with their lives, even if he was in the habit of throwing little old ladies to their deaths. They turned at the top landing and drew their swords.

  'I might as well tell you,' said the king, 'that this rebellion is being led by Princess Kerin. It could be she who leads the attack against you. Put aside any notions of her royal connections. You will treat her as you would treat any other person who threatens the sovereignty of your king. I command it. Now, get to it, you scum. I'll be in my chambers.'

  He
went back inside and hurried across to the window. The mob was close now – uncomfortably close. He could see the occupants of the wagon: Princess Kerin, holding a sword aloft and shouting like a mad woman; the little Golmiran, gripping the reins and urging that fleabag of a buffalope to go faster; and, crouched at Princess Kerin's side, that meddling breed of a jester.

  King Septimus said something very uncouth beneath his breath. Let them try to take him, he thought to himself. He would not go down without a fight.

  Down on the bucking, shuddering wagon Sebastian could see the palace doors fast approaching; and as they drew nearer, the doors swung open and ranks of uniformed soldiers came spilling out of it, holding shields and brandishing swords and spears. There seemed to be a lot of them and they were lining up in protective rows right across the courtyard, their shields held out and linked to form what looked like an impenetrable wall of bronze.

  The last man out of the doorway had to stoop to avoid bashing his head. It was Klart, the king's champion, clad in heavy body armour and clutching a cudgel the size of a small tree. As he stepped out and took his position, the doors slammed shut behind him, and Sebastian knew that whoever was left inside would be barricading it against the attack.

  Now the wagon was approaching the short flight of steps up to the palace courtyard. Sebastian had assumed that they'd have to stop here and climb down from the wagon. But Cornelius had other ideas. He slapped the reins against Max's haunches and urged him to go faster still. He glanced back over his shoulder.

  'Hold on tight,' he bellowed; and Sebastian and the princess both grabbed hold of the sides of the wagon.

  Max went up the steps at speed. There was a terrible impact as the wagon's heavy wheels connected with solid marble, and for a moment Sebastian thought the ancient vehicle would smash itself to pieces. But then the wheels gripped, and the wagon crashed upwards, shuddering and shaking like a thing possessed.

  In an instant they were back on level ground and crossing the broad expanse of courtyard to where the soldiers waited for them. Looking back, Sebastian saw the angry crowd swarming up the steps behind them. He turned just as Max slammed headlong into the wall of shields, scattering soldiers before him like ninepins. And then the world turned into a mad melee of shouting, yelling people. Soldiers were clambering up on the wagon and Sebastian was flailing at them with his sword, knocking them down again, but no sooner was one man down than another replaced him. They seemed to come from every side and he had to fight for his very life.

  For a while he caught only glimpses of the action around him. He saw Princess Kerin, laying about her like a professional sword fighter and yelling aloud for her followers to keep going. He saw Cornelius, standing on the wooden seat of the wagon, grinning like a madman and scything down soldiers as a farmer cuts down wheat. Then Sebastian saw Klart, raining down blows with his mighty cudgel, but failing to hold back the unstoppable horde of people swarming over him like ants. They pinioned his arms and legs, tripped him and then descended on him, hitting and stabbing with whatever they had to hand. In a moment he disappeared from view under mounds of struggling people.

  And, quite suddenly, the soldiers stopped coming at the wagon. Looking around, Sebastian saw that the force around the doors had been vanquished. Not one of them was left standing. Cornelius jumped down from his seat and began to unhitch Max. As soon as he was free, the buffalope moved away, looking for new targets to attack, but for the moment at least they were in short supply. Cornelius clambered back up onto the wagon and shouted a command to the people around him.

  'The wagon!' he roared. 'We'll use it as a battering ram!'

  'Makes a change from using me,' muttered Max.

  The crowd ran to obey him. People pressed in around it and eager hands seized its heavy wooden frame.

  'Now, all together!' shouted Cornelius. 'One, two, three . . . go!'

  And the wagon was propelled headlong across the court?yard towards the palace doors, people scattering out of the way to allow it passage. The front of the wagon slammed against wood and the doors bucked inwards, but they sprang back again. The impact knocked Sebastian and Princess Kerin off their feet and they lay for a moment, looking at each other.

  'Maybe we should get down off this thing,' said Sebastian.

  She shook her head. 'The people need to see me,' she told him.

  'Again!' yelled Cornelius. The wagon was pushed backwards, right to the very edge of the courtyard. 'One, two, three . . . go!'

  This time the impact was heavier and the door buckled in on itself with a loud splintering sound.

  'Again! We're nearly through!' roared Cornelius. The wagon rumbled backwards.

  Sebastian reached out and squeezed Princess Kerin's hand. 'This time,' he assured her.

  There was a long, deep silence as they waited.

  'One, two, three . . . go!'

  All those pushing put every ounce of strength they possessed behind the wagon and it seemed to fly forward as though shoved by the hand of an invisible giant. The impact when it slammed against wood jarred every tooth in Sebastian's head, but whatever was holding the doors in place snapped like a twig beneath the onslaught. The doors crashed open and the wagon thundered through into the foyer of the palace, slamming into the ranks of soldiers that had remained inside.

  Princess Kerin jumped back to her feet and waved her sword. 'Onwards!' she screamed. 'Victory is at hand!' A great yelling tide of people spilled through the shattered doorway and swept the remaining soldiers before them, pushing them back into the depths of the palace. The princess leaped down and went with them, completely lost in the moment. Sebastian clambered down too, intending to follow her, but he felt a sharp tug against the hem of his jerkin and, looking down, he saw Cornelius. He was pointing towards the big staircase, at the foot of which lay the dead body of the witch, Magda.

  'Up here,' said Cornelius. 'The king's chambers. That's where he'll be hiding.'

  Sebastian flung a last anxious glance after the princess, then nodded. He followed Cornelius up the stairs, realizing as he did so that the main force was still below, chasing the last soldiers through the labyrinthine corridors of the ground floor. The two men hurried up the giant staircase and then hesitated as they got to the top.

  Ranged across the landing in front of them was a row of men in distinctive uniforms. The king's bodyguard, the Crimson Cloak.

  CHAPTER 32

  THE FINAL CONFLICT

  Cornelius halted a short distance from the line of bodyguards. He scanned each of their faces before he spoke.

  'Men of the Crimson Cloak,' he said, 'I do not wish to fight you. I have only been a member of your organization for a few days, but I think of you as brothers-in-arms.'

  A tall bearded man who seemed to be the natural leader of the group replied. 'And as a member, Captain Drummel, you, like us, are sworn to protect the life of the king. Why are you attacking his palace?'

  Cornelius frowned. 'For the best of reasons. When I swore that oath, I thought I was vowing to defend an honest man – not a tyrant who would send his own niece into slavery in order to prevent her from being Queen.'

  Sebastian had expected some gasps of astonishment from the men but there was no reaction at all. He began to experience a sinking sensation.

  'Who tells you this?' sneered the bearded man.

  'Nobody told me. I saw it for myself. My friend Sebastian and I rescued the princess from the slave markets of Brigandia only yesterday. And that is not the end of this so-called king's treachery. He arranged the murder of the former king and queen. He even laid a trap for me on my first mission, sending twenty Brigands to try and silence me. Let me assure you, the man skulking in those chambers is not worth defending.'