The Palace of Lost Memories

by CJ Archer

  "You don't know that."

  Theodore cleared his throat. "Josie, do you have something that can make the king feel better?"

  "Not in my bag, but the kitchen will have the ingredients I need. It'll work quickly and he'll…feel better in a few hours."

  Theodore understood my meaning and thanked me. "I don't have to mention the need for confidentiality to you, do I?"

  "You know you don't," Hammer said with a glare for the king's valet.

  Theodore apologized. "I don't know what's got into me, Josie."

  "It's all right," I told him. "I won't tell a soul. I'll tell the kitchen staff I'm making the king a tisane to improve his general health."

  "Good," the king declared. "I just need a draft to counteract the poison. It must have been a mild dose, after all. Or perhaps the duck had spoiled."

  None of us contradicted him. It seemed the best course of action to take to maintain the peace.

  The king got up, winced, and headed for an adjoining room. "Theodore, help me choose an outfit for tonight."

  "You've already chosen one, sire," Theodore said, trotting after him. "You preferred the silver and black."

  "I'm having second thoughts." The king's voice sounded distant, as if he'd entered a long cave, not the next room.

  I went to take my bag but Hammer had the same idea. Our hands touched. His fingers twitched, brushing mine. I didn't know if it was intentional or an innate reaction. He did not pull away, however, and neither did I. Our gazes met and everything seemed to stop. My breathing, my heart, time. The king's voice faded altogether. It felt like just Hammer and me in the palace, alone. His thumb stroked my wrist with aching tenderness and heat banked in his eyes.

  Something behind me caught his attention and he let go. His gaze slipped away.

  "Hammer!" The king's shout shattered the bubble I'd found myself in. Had he been shouting long? "Captain, get in here now!"

  Hammer strode past me without a backward glance. I followed him into what appeared to be a dressing room. It was as big as the bedchamber with sofas, dressing tables, chairs, chests of drawers, trunks and more mirrors than one man needed. Theodore stood by a round table, studying a small wooden cabinet inlaid with gold in the shape of sunbeams radiating from one corner. The sleeves of the shirt he held brushed the floor, forgotten. He seemed worried.

  The king looked more ill than when I'd entered his chambers. "It's been moved!" he cried, shaking a finger at the cabinet. "For Merdu's sake, I've told you both, no one is to touch it."

  "It must have been a maid," Hammer said with a shrug. "Is it damaged?"

  "No," Theodore said. "Just moved. It used to be over there." He pointed to another table. "Hammer's right, the maid must have shifted it. I think it looks well here." He tried to sound positive but I heard the uncertainty in his voice, saw the way his worried gaze flicked to Hammer.

  It was at that moment I remembered Miranda's story about the lady who'd touched a cabinet in the king's rooms and been expelled from the palace for her impertinence. This must be the same piece. What could be so important about it that the king would be sent into a frenzy whenever someone touched it?

  The king smacked Theodore's shoulder with his open palm. "I told you to tell the servants not to go near it! That includes the maids." Another smack. Theodore stepped back but did not attempt to deflect yet another strike. "Are you an idiot, Theodore? Do you think the maids are exempt from the rules?"

  Theodore swallowed. "No, Your Majesty, of course not. Perhaps they forgot."

  The king hit him again and drew his hand back to strike another blow.

  Hammer clasped the king's shoulder. "The maids are only doing their job, sire. If you want to stop anyone touching it, it needs to be kept somewhere more private."

  The king shoved Hammer's hand away. "I knew you'd be on their side."

  "I'm on your side. We all are. Let me put it in a safe place where no one will find it. That way you can rest easily."

  The king drew in several deep breaths. He looked down at his bare legs as if he just realized he was dressed only in his shirt. He blushed and looked sheepishly at me, the expression at odds with his tantrum. "My stomach still hurts. I need that draft, Miss Cully."

  "Of course," I said. "I'll make it now. In the meantime, you should rest."

  "Doctor's orders?" he offered with a wan smile.

  I smiled back. "Doctor's orders."

  "It contains personal things," he told me. "Private things. It's important to me."

  I nodded.

  "The maids have been informed not to touch it. If they broke it…" He thrust out his chin to Hammer. "Take it somewhere safe, Captain."

  Hammer picked up the cabinet only to put it down again. He stared at it.

  "What is it?" Theodore asked.

  "It felt…strange."

  "Just take it!" the king shouted.

  Hammer continued to stare at the cabinet. Then he slowly picked it up again. He held it out from his body as if it smelled foul.

  "Where will you put it?" the king asked, following Hammer out of the dressing room. "Wait, don't tell me now. Later." He tried so hard not to look at me that I suspected my presence was the reason for his reticence.

  So be it. I couldn't expect him to trust me completely.

  I picked up my bag and left with the captain. He acknowledged the guards at the door then walked quickly along the corridor to the hidden door. I opened it and we entered the labyrinthine service corridors.

  "Where are you taking it?" I asked.

  "To a safe room that hardly anyone will look in. The maids don't go in to clean it."

  "Are we going there now?"

  "I am. You're going to the kitchen."

  "After I go with you to the safe room."

  Hammer kept walking in silence. After a moment, he said, "I've never seen him so anxious. The poisoning is playing on his mind, and tonight's festivities are important to him."

  "It's a pity he wouldn't consider delaying them."

  Another silence then, "He's not always like this. The anxiety is making him do and say things he normally wouldn't." We stopped at a fork in the passages. "Can you find your way to the commons?"

  "No." It was the truth. The hidden corridors were too complex for me. But I had to admit that I wanted to see where he took the cabinet.

  "What's in it?" I asked, feeling bold.

  "I don't know."

  "You've never looked? Even though you know it's personal to him?"

  "That's precisely why I haven't looked. There is such a thing as privacy. That goes doubly for kings."

  "But considering he's probably lying about losing his memory—"

  "Don't, Josie."

  He quickened his steps. I had to trot to keep apace. My bag bumped against my hip and scraped along the wall. We passed two maids carrying trays. They stepped close to the wall, allowing us to pass single file. They both smiled at Hammer but I couldn't see his face to know if he smiled back.

  "What if information about your pasts is in there?" I asked when we were alone again. "What if the reason for your memory loss can be explained by the contents of that cabinet?"

  He suddenly stopped and rounded on me. I only just managed to halt before careening into him. "Enough, Josie. He's not hiding something like that. I trust him." He turned and walked off again. "I have to."

  "Very well, perhaps he's not hiding anything. But something made you put that cabinet down after you picked it up the first time. You said it felt odd."

  "I was mistaken," he tossed over his shoulder. "It feels normal."

  So much for trusting me. I wasn't going to get answers now.

  "This is where we part," he said when we reached an intersection. "You have to go that way." He nodded right. "Follow it as far as it goes then take the steps down one flight. You'll find yourself at the exit that leads out to the commons. When you've made up the draft, have one of the servants take you back to the king. On second thoughts, have them bring you to
the garrison. I'll take you to him."

  "Trying to keep an eye on me, Captain?"

  "You require both eyes." He headed up the stairs, leaving me staring at his broad back and shoulders, wondering if he'd been flirting with me or threatening me.

  I hoped for flirting. That touch in the king's bedchamber had been thrilling, and Hammer's gaze as intense as a firestorm. I was still feeling giddy from it.

  So giddy that I couldn't recall if I was meant to go up or down the steps when I reached them. I stood there, hoping a servant would wander past, when I heard footsteps above me followed by a distant wail. It was the same sound I'd heard last time I'd been lost in the corridors yet this time I could tell that a person made that sound, not an animal. A woman, if I weren't mistaken.

  That decided it. I headed up the steps and found myself in a corridor that looked the same as every other service corridor. Endless stone walls seemed to go on forever, broken only by lit torches. Their flames flickered in the drafts, creating ghostly shadows. The wail sounded again, this time stopping abruptly.

  I shivered, although it wasn't cold, and forced myself to keep moving. I'd come this far. I rounded a corner and realized I was not far from the place Hammer had found me last time. The closed door with a thick padlock up ahead beckoned me. The lock was open and I could just make out a male voice coming from the other side. Hammer?

  A moment later, the door opened. I raced back the way I'd come on tiptoes and didn't stop until I found the exit. I squinted in the bright afternoon sunshine. A footman eyed me curiously as he entered the palace, a vase of fresh flowers in his arms.

  I walked quickly to the kitchen in the square commons block and informed the cook that I had to make up a draft for the king. He pressed his lips together as he wiped his hands on his apron.

  "I'm supposed to be preparing food for tonight," he growled.

  The kitchen did seem extra busy, with every bench and table surface covered with ingredients, pots, bowls, platters and utensils. Smoke swirled in the rafters high above us, its lingering smell mixing with a myriad of delicious ones, too numerous to identify. Staff stirred pots, chopped and measured ingredients, and kneaded dough, while yet others seemed to do little more than fetch and carry.

  "Miss?" the cook prompted. "Did you hear me? I'm too busy to play tour guide to you."

  "The king requires a healthful tisane," I said. "I won't get in your way, sir."

  He grunted. "Oren will help you find what you need." He jerked his head at a young man. Oren put down the knife he'd been using to chop herbs and came running. "Stay out of the way. Don't distract any of my staff. Don't take more than you need. Don't sample the food. If you drop something on the floor, pick it up. We don't want mice."

  He walked off, still wiping his hands on his apron, and barked orders at a terrified kitchen maid arranging flowers on a platter.

  "Mice wouldn't dare come in here," I whispered to Oren.

  He laughed only to suppress it when the cook suddenly turned and glared at us. He had excellent hearing.

  Oren fetched what I needed and I brewed up the tisane, drawing the familiar, minty smell into my lungs. It was calming and allowed me time to think. But I could only think of one thing—Hammer had taken the cabinet to a room where a woman was kept prisoner.

  I looked up from the bubbling pot. The kitchen staff went about their assigned tasks under the watchful eye of the cook. He stood like a general on a raised step, barking orders at his soldiers. Did he know about the cabinet? Did any of them?

  I poured the tisane into a jug. I thanked Oren then left the kitchen and its heat and chaos behind.

  It wasn't until I reached the service entrance at the palace that I realized I didn't know how to reach the garrison. There'd been two entrances to it—one from the maze of internal service corridors and another from outside. It was that entrance I decided to find since it would be more direct. I was about to ask a palace footman rushing toward the kitchen when I spotted a guard carrying a lidded pail by the handle.

  He rounded the pavilion, crossed the large forecourt, and passed the northern pavilion. He kept on walking, always far enough ahead that I couldn't shout out without attracting too much unwanted attention to myself. I already felt conspicuous with my medical bag under my arm and the jug in hand. The nobles must think it odd to see me in their midst.

  The guard kept going, leaving the more populated part of the palace grounds behind. Sweat dampened me in uncomfortable places and my bag grew heavy. The tisane would have cooled by now, but it was probably nicer that way in this weather. The end of the palace was in sight. I could just make out the guards practicing their sword fighting through an arched gate to the north. I began to wonder if the guard I followed was going to the garrison at all when he suddenly pushed open a door.

  Finally! I put my head down and rushed after him. The door was heavy and I had to put my shoulder into it to push it open. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light and when they did, I realized I wasn't in the garrison. The room was small, a mere antechamber with an unoccupied chair by a door leading to another room. The door was open, a padlock swinging from it. It wasn't that which had my heart beating faster. It was the angry, sneering voice coming from beyond.

  "Rancid slops again?" it said. "My fucking favorite."

  "It's not rancid or slops," came another voice that I suspected belonged to the guard I'd followed.

  I peeked around the corner and only just managed to suppress my gasp. It wasn't a room but a corridor with several barred cells on either side. This must be the prison Hammer didn't want me to know about.

  Two guards stood in the middle of the corridor. One rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, strapped to his hip, while the other poured the contents of the pail into three bowls. He passed a bowl through the gap between one of the cell's bars then stepped quickly back as if he were afraid the prisoner on the other side would bite. He may well have. He looked like a wild animal, hunkered down on his haunches in the middle of the cell, his long gray hair a grizzled nest. He grinned, revealing blackened teeth.

  "What are them up there eating tonight, eh?" asked the prisoner. He pushed the bowl away with dirty fingers. "Bet it ain't this muck."

  "Shut it, Kai," said the guard who'd served him. "We eat the same as you, you filthy dog. Look at you. You're sitting in your own shit."

  "Come closer and say that." After a moment, the prisoner named Kai chuckled. "You ain't got the balls."

  "He ain't got no brains neither," came another voice from a neighboring cell. I couldn't see the occupant or any of the other cells further along.

  "You're the one with no brains, Mal," the guard said, passing another bowl through a different set of bars. This time he didn't seem to fear the occupant. "If you were smart, you would know that you're lucky to be alive. Hammer could have killed you."

  I bit down on my lip and backed away. My hands shook. My whole body shook. What had these men done to be kept in here like animals? The healer in me wanted to check on them, and make sure they ate good food and received some exercise and light. But the woman in me recoiled at the sight of the prisoner with the sneering grin and long hair. I didn't want to be anywhere near him.

  An arm wrapped around me from behind and a hand closed over my mouth. It stank of cheese and something more rank. I tried not to gag as Sergeant Brant's sweaty cheek pressed against mine.

  "Shhh," he whispered. "Don't say a word. You're coming with me."

  Chapter 15

  Brant dragged me backward through the door and outside. I lost my footing but his arm stopped me from falling. It tightened, squeezing me until I felt like I'd be cut in half.

  "Let me go!" I said.

  He did, and I scurried away from him, out of his reach. No one was near, but if I screamed, the guards inside would hear. Would they protect me or take Brant's side? I didn't dare test them.

  "Wh—what do you want?" I asked.

  He licked his lips and glanced past m
e to the door. "See enough in there? I know you heard enough."

  I pushed past him, but he grabbed my arm. Some of the tisane spilled over the sides of the jug. "You afraid, Josie? Of the prisoners?" He leaned in, his face so close I could feel the heat of his breath on my forehead. "You afraid of Hammer now you see what he does to people he don't like?"

  I jerked free and hurried off. He could have caught me, but when I glanced over my shoulder, he was nowhere in sight. I intercepted a maid and asked her to direct me to the garrison. It was a relief to see Hammer there, talking to half a dozen guards about the evening's security plans. He broke away from them upon seeing me and gathered his sword and belt from a hook. He opened the drawer of a nearby dresser and removed a set of keys, only to change his mind and drop them back in.

  "You look like you ran from the kitchen," he said, as we headed into the service corridors. "Did you get lost again?"

  I considered telling him the truth but quickly dismissed the idea. He didn't want me to know about the prisoners, and I didn't want him thinking I'd defied him to seek out the cells. "I wanted to get this to the king quickly," was all I said.

  We delivered the jug to Theodore in the king's antechamber. In the bedchamber beyond, the king sat up in bed. "Finally!"

  "Thank you, Josie," Theodore whispered. "He's been unbearable since you left."

  "He should feel more comfortable after drinking this," I said. "Hopefully his mood will improve after it takes effect."

  "Speaking of effects, what can I expect?"

  "What do you think?" Hammer asked with a wry grin.

  Theodore wrinkled his nose. "On days like this, I hate my job."

  "Have a bedpan ready," I told him. "Or two."

  He made a small sound of protest before squaring his shoulders and marching into the bedroom.

  Hammer escorted me through the palace and outside to the forecourt. "I have to leave you here," he said. "Ask one of the guards on duty to have a carriage sent for you." He pulled a fat purse from inside his doublet and pressed it into my hand.

  "This is too much," I said.