The Princelings of the East

by Jemima Pett

  Chapter 10: Castle Vexstein

  In which Victor shows a surprising grasp of unreality and George is left to ponder the meaning of life

  George puffed and panted as they climbed the foothills under the bright noon sun. Above them, the mountains towered impressively, but George was relieved to see signs of the grassy meadow levelling out and Castle Vexstein looming ahead past Victor’s ample behind. It had only been a half hour climb up from the rich fertile plains and the tiny village where the post bus had dropped them, but George wasn't used to climbing hills. Victor was setting a good pace since he was keen not to leave the inn for longer than he had to.

  They had the bus to themselves, which was very useful as they continued their chat where they had left off in the early hours.

  “I want to find who last saw Dad,” was Victor’s main aim.

  “If he was trying to find the cause of the Energy Drain he may have found out something.”

  “I think he suspected Hugo. Not in a bad way. Just something to do with Wozna or Vex.”

  George sighed. “I think Wozna is right. I have to tell you what I’ve been doing, Victor. You can decide whether I’m mad or not.” George told him something his trip to Hattan, and his theory that the Wozna process caused the time tunnel.

  “You know about time tunnels?” asked Victor.

  “Well, it’s only an imaginary thing in most books I’ve read,” said George. “But I’m sure that’s what I went through.”

  “When was the date there?”

  “I think it was 2021. It seemed to be summer, early summer, but it’s a busy, crowded place, and you couldn’t tell from the land what season it was. It was hot though.”

  “Twelve years from now. Maybe the same month.”

  “Yes.”

  “And a black and white chap called Mariusz in charge?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hugo is black and white. I was small when he first came. Maybe eight years ago.”

  “And he sold Wozna for the first time?”

  “Yes. Him and Willow. Willow disappeared soon after. Sold Wozna to us, other inns, then the castles.”

  “Who’s Willow?”

  “Just a chap. Not important. He disappeared.”

  George thought for a moment, but decided to concentrate on the Energy Drain.

  “When did the Energy Drain first start?”

  “I don’t remember. A while later. Long after the fire. Not that long. Maybe a year.”

  “You had a fire?”

  “Yes, the inn caught fire. I watched from Willow’s office. Lots of flames. Scary. Dad rebuilt the inn. Energy Drain after that. Dad had someone check the building wasn’t faulty. It was ok. Then other inns had same problem.”

  “So, as far as we know, Hugo brought Wozna to the realms, and about a year or two later, you had the first Energy Drain. Then the other inns, then Vexstein. What about other places?”

  “Yes, they followed too.”

  George thought it was too much of a coincidence. Victor wasn’t likely to know where Hugo had taken Wozna when he started selling it, but it sounded like the Energy Drain had followed him.

  “Do you think it was this Hugo chap in the tunnel that ran past me?”

  “No-one else uses that tunnel.”

  “I wonder how long it would take him to get from the inn to the time tunnel. It took me hours, but I wasn’t running. Maybe twelve hours, or even longer if the time tunnel took me through at the same time as I jumped into it. That was midnight, and I arrived at the inn, oh, lunchtime, early afternoon?”

  “If you run fast, maybe take half the time as walking,” Victor suggested. “So Hugo takes six hours to reach the time thing. But he was back to leave with Prince Lupin. Maybe seven in the morning, he left. Didn’t have breakfast. Took a hamper.”

  “And he definitely left with him.”

  “Oh yes. Gandy said so. He does early starts.”

  “So he couldn’t run all the way down the tunnel and all the way back in time. Not in seven hours or less.”

  “Maybe Mariusz met Hugo in the tunnel. Then used time tunnel back to accuse you of, whatever it was he was going to accuse you of.” That was a long speech for Victor, George thought with a smile.

  “Maybe the time tunnel doesn’t just send him back,” Victor continued, imagining how it might work. “Maybe it sends him back to just after he’s left Hattan. Maybe it doesn’t matter how long he spends here.”

  “So Mariusz arrived back with some information from Hugo? Just after he’d left to go at meet him? It’s a good idea.”

  “How will we find out?” asked Victor. “Oh, we’re here,” he added as the coach stopped at a hamlet at the foot of the mountains.

  As they walked up the steep grassy slopes, all covered with mountain flowers, George thought that Victor was probably right, and something was niggling him that he knew would confirm or at least support that. The other thing that George principally thought was, for someone who kept a bar, and didn’t exactly talk the most flowery talk in the world, Victor had a very good brain. Another point to confirm his theory that he was Saku’s grandson, he thought, but kept these thoughts private.

  They arrived at the entrance to the Castle, which was very impressive, with iron studded doors and a moat and a drawbridge. However, George did notice a set of modern doors further round the castle labelled “VEX BREWERIES - Deliveries and Wholesale Enquiries.” That suggested Vexstein was a mixture of highly developed technology and strong traditions, although that might just be the façade. They went through the entrance then through the town that surrounded the castle, then up again to another imposing gateway. George was just beginning to wonder what they would say to any guards or butler, when a small door set in one of the huge ones opened and Victor engaged the doorkeeper in conversation. They both looked at him once or twice, and then the guard/butler nodded and waved them in.

  “In luck!” said Victor, “Lord Darcy holding summit on Energy Drain. You’re the Castle Marsh delegate. Many days travelled.”

  They followed their escort through the gates into a cobbled square then across and up stairs to a great wood-panelled room where about thirty delegates were already assembled.

  “Baron Darcy of Vexstein, Lord Smallweed, may I present to you Princeling George of Castle Marsh,” said Victor as they were brought forward to meet two imposing brindled gentlemen, richly attired, who bowed and smiled at George’s formal response.

  “Thank you, young Victor,” the taller one replied. “Won’t you stay for refreshment? The meeting recommences at 2 p.m.”

  “Thank you, Lord Smallweed.” said Victor, again losing all his mannered speech in the presence of the Great. “Please may we recount some of our theories to you in the interval as I cannot stay so long and Princeling George would not wish to bore the meeting with issues already discussed this morning.”

  “Very well,” said Lord Smallweed. “Wait in that alcove over there and we will join you.”

  “What should I tell him?” said George, slightly panicked at all this formality.

  “Ask what said this morning. Then tell what doesn’t know,” said Victor, seating himself in the alcove, which enjoyed a fine view over the meadows with mountains to one side and plains to the other. They both tucked into a plate of finger food they had somehow acquired in their passage across the room.

  They were joined by Lord Smallweed and another chap he introduced as Pogo. As Victor planned, Lord Smallweed summarised the morning’s events, the extent of the Energy Drain, reports from each delegate on their attempts to overcome it, and the ridiculous suggestion that it was somehow connected with imported cola. “I have to say it was not a suggestion supported by our family,” Lord Smallweed assured them “We have no wish to place any trade barriers and of course we are open to accusation of distorting the competition.” George’s heart sank. He hoped he wasn’t going to have to talk economics wit
h these people. It really wasn’t his field.

  “The co-incidences are mounting up, though, my lord,” he said when it was appropriate. “In all our studies of the process, it would seem that the energy requirement for de-calorisation would lead to a substantial drain on the system.” He hoped it didn’t sound as ridiculous as he thought it did, as he was in no position to reveal his true thoughts yet.

  “What evidence is there?” asked Lord Smallweed. George thought quickly.

  “I have checked and modified a number of machines involved in the process,” he said, more or less truthfully. “We would like to persuade the manufacturers to take production off line for two days in order to make the final test, but of course, as you know, continuous production is more cost-effective and they are reluctant to do this.” Memories of Mariusz’s call for him to be thrown into the dungeon helped him to remember just how reluctant they appeared to be.

  “You’ve actually seen the production lines?” asked Lord Smallweed, astonished, and the person called Pogo shifted uneasily beside him.

  “Um, yes,” said George, wondering how he was going to get out of this one.

  “I’m surprised. They are the most secretive organisation. Hugo is very good at not answering questions.”

  “Unless, of course, Castle Marsh is the centre of the operation, my lord,” interposed Pogo. “After all, we rarely meet representatives of Marsh, and this must be a first for an official summit.”

  “I can assure you that Marsh is not connected with Wozna Cola in any way, my lord,” responded George quickly, “save that our latest transport route seems to have inadvertently joined onto their own tunnel, which is a bit embarrassing.” He hoped that would do. He knew that he needed help from some important and influential people in order to deal with Lord Mariusz and solve the problem. He really did want to be able to trust these people enough and gain their trust so they took him seriously.

  “In truth, Lord Smallweed,” interrupted Victor, “We have a theory that the trade in Diet Wozna is directly related to the Energy Drain, and we need your help to find a new trading system for them to use that will allow them to abandon Diet Wozna and use normal channels openly for the import of Wozna Cola itself.”

  They all stared at Victor, astonished. George kept his face still but inwardly he felt like crawling into a hole somewhere and hiding. He was about as tactful as Saku!

  “I don’t know what tittle-tattle you have been hearing at your bar, young man,” said Lord Smallweed sternly, “but I advise you to return to your trade and keep your theories to yourself.” A bell tinkled at the far side of the room. He rose. “Time for the summit to re-start. Thank you for coming, Princeling George, but I wonder whether you really have anything to contribute to the discussion,” he said. He turned to an aide and muttered something under his breath, and the aide came and stood very close to George. He wondered if they were going to throw him into a dungeon. Lord Smallweed walked away, to be waylaid by one of the other delegates as he reached the halfway point.

  “Sorry,” mumbled Victor. “Thought should be direct.”

  George sighed. “Not your fault,” he said. “I don’t know how we can really explain all this - it sounds so ridiculous.”

  “I specialise in the ridiculous,” said Pogo, who was still behind them, which they hadn’t realised. “Why do you think that trade in Diet Wozna is directly related to the Energy Drain?”

  George looked him in the eye and weighed up the consequences of trusting a complete stranger for the second time in a few days.

  “Because we think the process has caused a time tunnel which is the way he’s bringing it from the future to us,” he said, very quickly in order to get the madness over and done with as soon as he could. “The time tunnel drains the energy from both timelines and they have more energy than we have. Wozna is ok, and has been manufactured for years, but Diet is causing the problem and must be stopped.” He closed his eyes, hoping he wasn’t going to be slung in a dungeon or thrown out on his ear, or, even worse, laughed at.

  He opened them again as nothing happened. Pogo was looking at him with pursed lips, and as the moment went on, another aide walked up to him and gave him a message. He read it and pursed his lips even more.

  “Wait here,” he said and strode off after Lord Smallweed. They could see him showing him the message and discussing it, occasionally throwing glances their way. Their guard just stood there solidly, making sure they didn’t escape or cause some sort of havoc in the lavish surroundings.

  “I go soon,” whispered Victor to him. “Catch next bus back”

  “If we’re let out,” said George, and then added: “Yes, go if you can. If they let you out you can get a message to Fred at that place he’s gone to, can’t you?”

  “Buckmore, yes,” Victor nodded. He started edging away from George, and then stopped. “Guard said my dad went away with Hugo.” Then he took a few steps to the side and slipped through the delegates who were milling around trying to get one more drink before they went back to the summit. George’s guard let him go; he had only been told to keep an eye on the princeling.

  George turned back to the window and looked out. He’d come all this way, he was more and more sure he understood both the problem and the solution, but he hadn’t the faintest idea how to convince people he was right. The room grew quiet behind him. He sat down at the window and gazed out, looking much as Fred did when he was Thinking. After a few minutes, Pogo returned and sent the guard off to do other duties.

  “H’hmm,” said Pogo, understanding the need to dissolve someone’s thought processes gently. “You may attend the summit. You will then stay with us to await the arrival of those who were previously unable to attend in person. Please do not mention your theory to anyone until they arrive.”

  And with that, he escorted George to a position at a long polished table in the next room, where all the other delegates were already settled and shuffling their papers. He found himself seated between Pogo and Lord Smallweed, where they could obviously keep a very close watch on him indeed. Pogo placed a set of papers in front of him, with the uppermost headed 'Agenda', and then placed the message, unfolded, just to the side of his own papers in such a way that George could accidentally-on-purpose read it. He tried not to be nosey, but noticed it was signed “Lupin of Buckmore”, so he read on.