Dark Lord of Geeragh

by Veronica Geoghegan Sweeney

  “Who can place a time on these things? We cannot rush, the fate of our two countries is in our hands -”

  “How long?”

  “I’m a reasonable man; my demands will not be unreasonable…”

  Her chair squeaked again, as if she had stood abruptly. “Reasonable? Your demands to be met, or nothing!”

  “Would you agree to that?” A smile in his voice. “Somehow I doubt it. It will, I know, be a matter of compromise. I will have my ministers begin tomorrow on a list of points to be discussed.”

  “And the boy?“

  “He will be a point to be discussed.“

  Fretfully, the Princess said, “The situation between our countries has never been my responsibility -”

  The cold voice of the Dark Lord, “It has become your responsibility.”

  I managed to move away from the door just in time.

  I would not tolerate this situation. I would not. I told myself that I had been torn from my home and thrust into a life I did not choose, nor want. I had the right, therefore, to choose where I wished to place my loyalty.

  All this I told myself as I waited, early the next morning, by the door that led from the kitchen up the stairs to the corridor that contained His Lordship’s bedchamber.

  “Scabious?”

  He jumped, and the chocolate in the small silver urn amost spilt. “What are you doing, lurking in the stairwells?” He started up the steps again, and I followed him.

  “Scabious, I have to ask the Lord Bress for a leave of absence. I haven’t seen my mother for weeks, and I’m worried about her.”

  “You want a mother, boy? Have mine.”

  “I’m serious, Scabious. She’s all alone down on the coast - and she doesn’t know what’s happened to me. I need to go to her, to let her know I’m safe.”

  “So ask His Lordship.”

  “I don’t think he’ll allow it,” I lamented. “You saw what a bad mood he was in last night - he’ll wake up like a bear.”

  Scabious stopped and turned to gaze down at me, standing three steps lower. “Really?”

  “Yes. So I thought, perhaps I could ingratiate myself a little. Would you let me take in his breakfast tray?”

  Scabious said, stiffly, “It’s my job; I’m Custodian of the Morning Chocolate…” Then he paused. “He was in a filthy mood last night, was he not?”

  “Rotten.”

  He handed over the tray.

  At the bedchamber, one of the guards opened the door for me. I walked through the darkness of the large room and felt about with my foot for the bureau. I found it and lowered the tray down very, very carefully onto its surface.

  It was much darker than I thought it would be. How would I find the keys, when I could not see my nose in front of me? I was forced to go to the curtains and draw them back a little; I did it quietly enough, but I turned towards the bed, quite prepared to smile valiantly as I bid His Lordship good morning and aborted my plan.

  But His Lordship slept on. He lay on is back, snoring softly, and he looked much younger, much… kinder.

  I made myself look away and studied the room. The guard had shut the door after me, but still, I would not have much time. On a table on the other side of the room I noticed two bottles of wine stood empty, and a goblet lay on its side. So that was why His Lordship slept so heavily. I was pleased to think he had had difficulty sleeping, that he had had to drown the voice of his conscience before he could get any rest.

  The clothes Lord Bress had worn the day before had been moved out of sight, of course - I had placed them in a trunk myself. But there, beside his bed, beside the jewelled dagger that never left his side, was the small bunch of keys that he always carried in his pocket. I had never paid much attention to the golden key ring before, but now I did. There were nine silver keys, and none of them were labelled.

  What now? Did I dare take them all? Which one was the key to the garden, and if I found it, would it be missed? I prodded the group of keys: most were small, all were made of brass dipped in silver; one was larger than the rest, longer, its edge very simple, its silver less worn. I made up my mind; of all the keys, this looked to be the one that would unlock an outside door, a garden gate.

  I watched Lord Bress’s face carefully as I picked up the key ring and, with some difficulty, opened the catch to release the larger key. I closed the gold ring and replaced it by the bed, and it was as I pocketed the key I saw a strange thing happening.

  The dagger… I stared at the dagger, lying it its scabbard on the bedside bureau’s surface. The jewels in the dagger’s hilt were glowing.

  It could be a trick of the light… but I moved a little closer, and it was not. The large ruby, the topaz, the sapphire and the emerald were not just glowing, they were pulsing with a kind of light all their own.

  Magic. Even the dagger was magic. What did it mean?

  I stole another glance at the man in the bed. He slept on.

  I reached out to the dagger, and picked it up. It glowed even brighter in my hands. Was it a warning? Of what? To whom?

  I felt a strange kind of power coming from the weapon, so much so that though I admired it tremendously I could not bring myself to unhook the thong on the scabbard and remove the knife: I did not want to hold it in my hand, as one would, if one were to use it. I looked again at Lord Bress, sleeping, and I thought of my mother’s commission, of her curse.

  You thought you were saving my life, he had said, as he lifted me down from the candelabra that day. I could not allow him to be killed then - how could I ever have thought I could do the deed with my own hands?

  And the light within the jewels faded, faded, even as I watched.

  “It belonged to my father.” The deep voice from the bed made me start so suddenly that the dagger was not only dropped, it was flung up in the air slightly before falling to the floor. I was frozen to the spot and did not even dare retrieve it.

  “Feeling guily, Fen the Fair-haired?” He still lay as he had while sleeping, only the head was turned, the eyes alive, now, and with them the mind behind them.

  I was silent, there was nothing I could say.

  “You may look at the dagger. Pick it up.”

  I bent and picked up the knife. The stones, if they were glowing at all, did so with not much more sparkle that the morning sun imparted to them.

  “You may have it. I make you a gift of it.”

  I looked up, startled, disbelieving what I had heard.

  Lord Bress said, “I mean it. Have Burdock make a smaller belt for it.”

  “My Lord, I cannot.”

  “You have lost your father. He will never be there to hand on his own sword to you, nor to hand on his ship. Take the dagger; you will be a knight of mine one day, and will have need of it. Accept it as a gift your father might have made.”

  “My Lord…” my voice was a croak.

  “Now, hand me my breakfast.”

  He struggled to sit up and groaned as the blood shifted uncomfortably within his head. I placed the tray on his lap and then stood by, trying to clear my thoughts, trying to think of something to say, trying to wish the silver key back amongst its fellows.

  “Clear off, now,” Lord Bress growled, “and guard that dagger with your life.” He slurped his hot chocolate and pulled a face. He looked up and found me still there.

  “Lord, boy! It’s only a knife! Don’t stand there blubbering on my carpet, get out!”

  I turned and bolted for the door, unwittingly slamming it behind me. I made myself ignore the Dark Lord’s “Thundering stars…!” as the sound must have reverberated trough his aching skull. That was the least of my wrongs against him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I found the Princess Aninn in her quarters, surrounded by her ladies. The more dramatic the turn of events surrounding the Princess, the more voluble did the ladies become in their protective role. Never entirely happy in this strange and - to them - forbidding country, they seemed more and more to be like a flock of b
lack birds. As I entered the room they turned to me, fluttering and squarking - and pecking.

  “What do you want here, you ungrateful boy?” demanded the lady who opened the door to me. “Haven’t you done enough damage - Where did you get that?” The sudden change of subject was caused by her bright black eyes alighting on the jewelled dagger, the belt of the scabbard looped twice around my waist.

  “Who is it, Uana?”

  “Young Fen, the page, Your Highness - he carries a dagger!”

  “Send him in,” came calmly from the Princess.

  The lady Uana stood back to let me in, clucking with disapproval. When the rest of the ladies saw me enter they sat back in their chairs, ruffled their skirts away from where they might come in contact with my passing form, and watched me, broodingly, unblinking.

  Princess Aninn was pale, she looked as if she had not slept the night before, and she had been crying.

  “Hello, Fen,” she said, despite all this, despite her hard-eyed, watchful ladies, she spoke with as much warmth as always, as if my words had not brought disaster upon her.

  “I must speak with you alone, Your Highness.”

  “Never!” said Uana, and the other ladies chorused their rights to their roosts and their place in the pecking order, until Aninn said, her eyes upon my face, “Leave us, ladies.”

  And then what fluttering amongst them, “The boy is armed, My Lady!”, “He’s not to be trusted…!”, “A knife, Your Highness!”

  “Leave us!” said the Princess, firmly.

  And they left us, amid much clucking and ruffling and flustering until, when they had finally closed the door after the last of them, I still expected to see a few black feathers floating gently to the ground.

  “Fen,” said the princess. “That’s Lord Bress’s dagger, isn’t it?”

  My gaze was still on the door, outraged by the women’s suspicions. “They thought I was going to hurt you!” I looked at her, startled by the sudden thought, “You didn’t…!”

  She shook her head. “I know you’d never hurt me, Fen - and I can’t see Lord Bress loaning you an enchanted dagger, just to kill me.”

  “It’s…” I looked down at it. I took the knife from its scabbard, holding the blade towards myself and watched the jewels glow like… jewels. I raised my eyes to the Princess. “It’s bewitched, isn’t it?” I felt suddenly chilled. “The ruby, the saphire… all of them, they glow when there’s danger about.”

  “A danger to the owner,” she corrected.

  Had he seen, in those few seconds before I had dropped the dagger by his bed? But no - give a dagger to a boy who threatened danger? And I remembered, then, my own thoughts, and how the glow, the pulse, seemed to fade from the jewels as my own rage against the Dark Lord had been resolved.

  I met the Princess’s green and knowing eyes, and I knew I had to tell her the truth. “Your Highness, I’ve done a terrible thing.”

  “Tell him you borrowed the dagger, Fen,” she smiled. “He’d know you never meant to steal it.”

  “I didn’t steal it!” I defended hotly. “My Lord gave it to me, only this morning. But…” I found the little silver key and held it out to her on the palm of my hand, “I did steal this.”

  I think she knew immediately what it was. She did not move, nor lift her gaze from my hand.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted. “There’s no way to explain this to him, nor any way to return it, until he’s asleep. I thought I was helping you,” I finished, miserably.

  “You have, Fen,” she murmured, “more than you know.”

  She reached out her hand and took the key.

  This was somehow worse. “I have to return it,” I prompted.

  “Fen, Fen…” Leaning forward, she drew me to her by the shoulders. “I must borrow it. I’m planning to escape the castle and return home. I need those plants, Fen, for my healing, not just for Foyrr but to benefit Arrach and Sowragh, too.”

  All Geeragh’s enemies. This was getting worse and worse…

  As if she read my thoughts, she said, “These plants came from Iera to help all of Tieranor, Fen, not only the people of Geeragh. I must discover their lost properties, and then use them for the benefit of all our peoples. I can’t leave High Geeragh without them.”

  I stared at her, only now realising what it was she was trusting me with. I could leave this room and run straight to Lord Bress, tell him of the plot - including my part in it - and watch as he made sure that Aninn did not escape.

  Could I stand in her way? What the Dark Lord was doing, in keeping her here, was wrong. To keep the valuable plants, that could help all the peoples of our island, was also wrong. Lord Bress kept them because it was part of his power, and he was willing to hold the rest of Tieranor in ignorance.

  Where did my loyalty lie?

  “I’m going to fetch the plants from the Garden now.” She was looking deep into my eyes. “You can stop me if you wish, you know you can.” And she rose and left the room. I heard her telling her ladies to remain in their quarters and tell no one that she had left them.

  They filed back into the room, and then stood there looking at me with their hard eyes. I glanced down at the dagger. It glowed, the sapphire a brighter blue, the ruby a blood red, the diamond like sunlight on glass. I left the room without speaking, with as much dignity as I could, but rather fast, all the same.

  Before she left her quarters, the Princess Aninn had, from somewhere, equipped herself with a willow basket. Perhaps it had been kept close, ready for the time she required it. It seemed, to any idle observer, to be a picnic basket, but when I caught up to her, walking briskly along a corridor that I knew, by now, led to an outside door, I had the feeling that the small piece of tapestry covered nothing as innocent as bread and cheese.

  Outside the day was overcast and a drizzly rain was falling. I limped along the flagged paths through the greenery against the castle walls with Aninn’s quick, eager figure darting before me. She wore a dark green cloak, and beneath this she was once more dressed in black - a return to her upbringing in a small act of spite against the Dark Lord for his incivility? But it was one of her more ornate gowns, as if she had expected him to call on her that morning, to question her further. Thundering stars, what if he did? What if he even now was glowering into the faces of the flustered and frightened ladies of Foyrr, mesmerising them into squarking as one that the Princess and I had left, Her Royal Highness carrying a plaited willow basket, as if she were a peasant, gone gathering…

  Aninn had stopped at a small, hidden door in a wall. She looked upwards. The large windows of the Dark Lord’s study, and above that, his bedchamber, seemed to glare down at us. Aninn did not even glance at me, it was as if she just knew I had no choice but to follow her.

  “This is it, is it not?” she asked, and we both moved closer to the door and wall, in an effort not to be seen from above. She fumbled with the small key.

  “I may have made a mistake,” I ventured, hopefully, “I might not have taken the right key…”

  It was the right key. It turned in the lock with a definite, sharp click. Now Aninn looked at me.

  “Your Highness…”

  What would I have said? Could anything have stopped her?

  But it was already too late. She pushed at the little door and it swung open.

  The rain had stopped, and I will not exaggerate and say that the sun came out at that moment, for it did not. But the Private Garden of the Dark Lord of Geeragh did not need the sunlight: the fine raindrops had misted each petal and leaf, and intensified the colours and textures of that place. To me, everything was new - I had seen few flowers in my life - and nothing, even in books - like the blooms in that garden. And yet, as we moved forward and closed the door quietly behind us, our first words were not concerned with the plants at all.

  Princess Aninn said, “Fen, if we are discovered, say nothing and look confused.”

  “I am confused.”

  “I’m serious, Fen. Y
ou are under a spell.”

  “I am?” I said with horror.

  “No, silly boy. But that is what I will tell Lord Bress. You may have betrayed his trust, but it was a choice between him, or your conscience - and I won’t have you suffer for it, my dear. And if we get away with this and I can return to Foyrr, rest assured, I will take you with me.”

  This seemed so very remote a possibility that I did not become at all excited. “I can’t see how we can hope to get away with this,” I said, morosely. “He has eyes everwhere, we’re sure to be seen…”

  I was looking up at the castle windows as I spoke, so did not see her face, but heard bitterness in her voice when she said, “He doesn’t see everything…” almost to herself.

  When I did look at her, in concern, she was already bending to pluck at a seedling at the base of a small shrub. The flowers were blue, but not a static blue: each blossom, each petal, changed from palest blue through blue-green, purple-blue, to royal and almost midnight blue, before paling like the sky at dawn, only to begin again.

  “Blue Love-in-Idleness,” the Princess informed me. “the juice of which is the only true cure for the obsessive or compulsive personality.”

  I did not know what that was, but nodded sagely, and wandered off along the path. There were the little, lively blossoms of the Snapping dragon bush, mostly brown seed-heads by now, but a few still fresh and green, looking like tiny sea monsters, heads in the air, snapping blindly at the flies and bees that hovered over them, attracted by who-knew-what scent that Nature had provided the plant as its deadly attraction.

  The Princess Aninn gave a sudden cry, and I jumped. But it was only to exclaim, “Three kinds of Love-in-Idleness! And there’s a White and a Gold-Leaf Celandine!” She was taking from the basket a number of strange boxes that seemed to be made of clear glass. Removing the lid of one, she placed the little seedling of blue Love-in-Idleness within it. “I brought only six boxes,” she lamented, “I’ll have to double-up.”

  “Won’t they die in those little glass boxes?” I asked.