by Euan McAllen
Lady Agnes and Doc were struck by the change in scenery: the sudden, step-change back to some kind of civilisation since crossing the bridge. The bridge was an outpost, the doctor concluded, and you had to pay a fee to enter it. Interesting. Perhaps he would get to enjoy this trip which had been forced upon him.
For Mutz, the journey back was not welcomed. He was going back through time, back to his youth, and the lie it proved to have been. He had been forced to leave his new home, his only family, and return to his old – to him a worthless place.
Upon reaching the Inn and their next overnight stop, Mozak gave explicit instructions: they were all to keep their mouths shut, and talk to no one; the word ‘Castle’ was banned. Lady Agnes was in her element for she finally got to have her bath: she nearly drowned in the joy of reclaiming – reinvigorating – her beautiful, perfectly preserved body. She had lost weight, she noticed – no bad thing. There was a lot to be said for physical exercise – the extended kind, the kind which did more than just draw breath. Mozak hoped to make love to her that night, for he was beginning to suffer from lack of sex, but he was to be disappointed: there were no private rooms, it was all just bunk beds. His sore, shattered wreck of a mistress crashed out: less like a log rolling over, more like a tree crashing to the ground when felled, or when its roots could no longer take the strain. Instead, he had to fight off a particularly bad memory: this was a place of thieves; here he had had his money stolen. He wanted revenge but knew that was impossible. He could not just choose someone at random and have them strung up. He had been beaten, which he hated. After claiming his bunk bed, he looked around, threatening anyone who dared to look back at him, as if trying to spot who had stolen his money. Mutz, seeing his dangerous mood, suggested they go get drink and food in the nearby alehouse. Rufus agreed to join them, but only because he wanted a hot meal. The doctor was not asked. He was left to his coughing – made worse by the foul air and those staring like they had never seen a sick man before. But Mutz took pity on him and dragged him along. Hot food slipping down his throat would cure him. He was the only one to think of poor Lady Agnes and told himself to bring her back some food. And it’s just Agnes now, he reminded himself.
The next day, recovered and revitalised after a night spent indoors, in a proper bed, with bellies full of food, they set off, but not before Mozak instructed Mutz to keep his sword hidden. No need to draw attention to themselves, he said. Mutz was careful not to tell him that it already was but just watched as Mozak stowed his away in his backpack.
As they approached the outskirts of The Village, they passed by the signpost which declared ‘Village Limits’.
Rufus pointed at it. ‘We’re here now. Not long.’
They were back in a world – albeit a small one – of community and commerce, a place where people had learnt to – some still had to – live together to survive and flourish. There were buildings in abundance, some with gardens, some with gardens with trimmed hedges and cut lawns.
The more and more inhabitants they saw, the more Lady Agnes’ nerves began to strain again: she saw only loathsome, dangerous, diseased peasants who showed her a complete lack of respect.
‘What is this place? It’s terrible.’ She wanted to go home and was not yet afraid to say so. ‘I want to go home.’
She was almost about to break down and cry.
‘Well, you can’t, so shut up,’ replied Mozak.
That would do it until her next outburst. She would never make a good queen, Mozak told himself, again. The slightest inconvenience, any kind of change, and she cracks, just wants to run away. That’s no use to me. My queen has to have balls.
He rarely had time for her, and today, here, he had no time for her. All his energy was focused on driving off all his bad recollections of the place: the shock of meeting his twin brother for the first time – his dead brother – and the trauma – the indignity – of his imprisonment. With what energy he had left, he tried to think about the coming reunion and what to say, and how to say it. The reaction of Rufus had left his confident bruised. Did everybody hate him these days?
Like his master, Mutz had seen it all before, and like his master, he had bad memories of the place. But Mutz pushed away his own concerns and took it all in his stride. His job was to protect his master, his prince, in whose army he served. And he would need some protecting here. The Prince Regent was very good at rubbing people up the wrong way, making powerful enemies, losing friends, upsetting the servants, or killing off the peasants.
The doctor, always lagging behind, sometimes coughing – as if to remind the others that he was keeping up – was fascinated by what he saw, but frail, so feared any contact. I am a doctor; he wanted to shout out in between coughs. I can help you. I think some of you need my help.
They passed by a man carrying a large bag like his life depended on it. It did: he was carrying a bag of boots and shoes – even silly sandals – for his customers – handmade, and best quality. He kept his head down: they were worth a lot of money, so he did not wish to draw attention to himself.
They reached the duck pond; a sign of benign civilisation for someone had decided long ago that being kind to ducks was a good thing. It was the favourite haunt of ducks because there, every child – bored or benign, or enthused – wanted to throw them bread; and all they had to do was flap and squawk to draw attention to themselves. It was an easy living in the duck pond – until it froze over.
Mozak recognised it. Lady Agnes pointed.
‘Look, ducks!’ she shouted out suddenly, pointing at the obvious like a child on holiday who had just escaped school and homework.
Lady Agnes jumped down from her horse and threw a stone at the ducks, then at her prince. Some ducks scattered and Mozak hissed at her.
‘Shut up woman! And get up here!’
A local swore at them. Mozak swore back, and Rufus swore to himself. They were making a scene – drawing attention. In his previous life at the castle, Prince Mozak’s inconsistencies had always given him a headache, and now it had started again. Rufus wanted out. Bitten by the boss, Lady Agnes swore, then fell back into the safety of silence. As she climbed back aboard her horse, so villagers turned to take in the strange, well-dressed woman on a horse – a woman who swore like a man – a woman with a good head of head, a big bum and large breasts to boot.
One in particular – a young man with a curious look in his eyes, which said nothing, or everything that needed to be said right now – gave her his total concentration, which sometimes could strain him to bursting point. He was sat on a ceremonial bench, one erected to honour the passing of a Village Elder. He had begun to watch them the moment they came into his field of vision and would cease only when they left it. He only slightly turned his head – his eyes did most of the turning. The act of recording, digesting was intense. He was in a different world. But he was still trapped inside the Maze.
Lady Agnes thought he was undressing her. She forgave him: for she was a lady, of good looks and good breeding. It was only natural; her inflated ego told her. But it was mistaken: the young man was in a different world. He simply wanted to know what had to be known. He switched his focus on to Mozak. Can you always can have two of something? he asked himself.
Other villagers were confused. They thought it was the new school teacher, the one called Timothy. But Timothy never looked so unpleasant, so aggressive, so worn out. This Timothy did not know how to smile. They would think twice about sending their kids to his new school. Another, an old woman this time – an ancient woman who had seen it all but still wanted to see it over and over and over again until it killed her. A woman with the look of a dagger, of death and danger in her eyes – also latched on to their presence, Mozak in particular. As she took him in, her muscles tensed, and her thoughts became very intense.
‘Twins. Twins are always trouble,’ she told herself.
Ju
dgement made, she next turned her focus on to woman by his side.
‘Slut. Sleeps with him. Heading for a fall. Those kind always do.’
Lady Agnes saw her and didn’t like it one bit. She complained to Mutz, telling him to do something about ‘that wicked witch over there’. Mutz shrugged, so she complained to his boss – and her boss – but he too shrugged her off.
‘Get used to it woman. Blend in. Play it simple. Keep your mouth shut. And stop going on about bloody witches. There are no witches while I’m in charge.’
Blend in? She thought. Keep my mouth shut? What the hell does that mean? I am Lady Agnes Aga-Smath and I’ll do and say what I bloody well like, no matter what you tell me to do. (On that last note she was deceiving herself, living a big lie: when her prince told her to jump, she jumped – she might moan about it afterward, but she would still jump, as high as he wanted her to go.)
His woman put back in her place, Mozak returned to his silence and his thoughts. He was gearing himself up for the reunion with his brother, his estranged brother, Timothy, the great man of God, or Tascho as he liked to call him, but dare not if he wanted his help – and he did, desperately. His life might depend on it. It would be tempestuous. It would hurt. He would have to humble himself, let his brother think himself his equal – his weak brother; once a prince like him; once a claimant to the throne, like him; a man of God, unlike him.
Rufus felt sicker the closer he got to his destination. He wanted to be gone, back home, holding his son in his arms, or making love to his brilliant wife. Enroute, he had had a change of heart: he had taken bad money. He had sold out his friend Timothy, and Esmeralda would be greatly distressed by seeing the nasty Mozak again. Stock up on provisions, and be gone: he would not hang around.
When they reached the market square, he raised his hand and drew his party to a stop. He asked if they wanted to buy any provisions before moving on to the brothel.
‘The brothel!’ exclaimed Lady Agnes, and she turned to her prince for an explanation, but again he shrugged her off.
‘Yes, the brothel,’ explained Rufus. ‘That is where Timothy lives.’
‘With Esmeralda?’ she asked.
‘Yes, of course.’
Timothy, not Tascho, Mozak said to himself. Don’t forget. I like ‘Timothy’, he told himself. Timothy was never a prince. That was Tascho. And he must call me Marcus. They must all call me Marcus.
He gave his answer – his answer being the only one that mattered. ‘No stalling. We move on.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Rufus. No skin off my nose.
When he drew up in front of the brothel, he held back. Job done. Now he just had the explaining to do.
‘So here we are,’ said Mozak, son of King Helmotti, now the Prince Regent.
‘So here we are,’ said his mistress Lady Agnes Aga-Smath, accidentally dropping into ceremony. Mozak tried to ignore her.
So here the fuck we are, thought Captain Mutz of the New Army.
So this is it? thought the Royal Doctor. I’ve been dragged through the mud for this?
***
Mozak took it upon himself to bang on the door. It opened, and a girl stuck her head out to see what all the commotion was about. Her jaw dropped. She became frantic.
‘Timothy? No, you’re not Timothy. Timothy is inside.’ She began to shout. She sounded upset. ‘Timothy! Timothy! Timothy come here!’
The girl looked past the other Timothy at Lady Agnes. Another girl for the brothel?
Timothy appeared in a rush and steadied her as he pulled her to one side. His jaw also dropped. He felt like he had just been punched in the stomach by a ghost – the ghost of Castles Past. Mozak had come to haunt him, provoke him, steal from him his comfortable future. He tried to treat it as a bad dream, but the dream lasted barely a second before reality pushed its way back in, and he had to deal with it. He couldn’t, at least not yet.
There he was looking in from the outside: the other, darker, more dangerous Timothy. As he looked into the mirror of his life, the shock to his system was almost seismic. The outside world had come crashing back in, and it was personal, very personal. Mozak tried to smile. It was a bold but complete, abject failure. There was a look of desperation nailed to his eyes which refused to cry, or was it an accusation?
There he was, as large as life, and Timothy did not like what he saw: his bad side; his Godless, cruel side; his sad side; his stupid side; the side of him which strove for power over others. (Many of those failings lurked deep within him, if only in smaller, more diluted portions.) There was much to be said, but for now they were saying it through the looks they gave each other – all open to misinterpretation. Neither could speak first.
Impatient, Lady Agnes pushed past the others to the front of the queue, to stand alongside her man. Esmeralda, coming from the opposite direction, did the same. Neither wanted to miss out on what was happening, which for the moment was nothing, at least not on the outside: inside, two brains were reigniting fires, fuelled by memories and the mixed messages they carried.
Esmeralda held her breath as she took in the sight of a bedraggled, almost wretched-looking woman. Was it Lady Agnes Aga-Smath – looking slimmer?
‘Poor woman,’ was her immediate thought, to be replaced by ‘why are you looking at me like that? I haven’t done anything.’
Lady Agnes gave her a look which shouted ‘don’t you dare judge me!’
Esmeralda returned a look of impenetrable coldness.
The twins continued to look at each other; each unable to adjust to the new reality of physical contact, and with no idea how to react. (For Timothy, punching his brother in the face was one reasonable option.) For their women, it was much the same problem: there was little shared history between them but what there was had been as intense as that between the twins, swinging as it had between emotional extremes and moral confusion. There was a mess to be cleaned up.
Esmeralda gave up on Lady Agnes and turned her gaze on to Mozak, reigniting bad memories. His presence, on her doorstep, began to make her feel sick. She grabbed her man’s arm and held on – just in time as Timothy was about to do the same to her. With that, she relaxed a little, for she knew she was safe. Timothy was by her side, and he was the greater authority here, in The Village, at the Brothel, on its doorstep.
Lady Agnes also decided a smile was in order and forced one out. It made no difference. The air began to smell of foul feelings.
All were stuck for useful thoughts and useful words. Bad memories on all sides flooded back, trampling over the good ones and leaving them behind. All four froze up while Mutz and Doc began to feel very awkward, very out of place. The four could have been back at the Castle. Time and place – and the Maze – had played a trick on them. Slowly though, time came to the rescue and a thaw set in. Timothy was the first to resume thinking, reacting, digesting, and he spoke first.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello.’
Each word was muted but sufficed. The ice had cracked. Mozak regained his composure: he looked determined to make an entrance like he owned the place. Royalty, thought Timothy. He looked over his brother’s shoulder: there were others, faces from the past; and at the back, Rufus – a friendly face from the present – looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here. In his eyes, they all looked helpless.
Stevie bounded out into the daylight to investigate; drawn towards the new bodies and the smells they carried. He first sniffed at length around the feet of Mozak and Lady Agnes before moving on to the other three. There was a whole jumble of strange smells. He was in dog heaven. He so wanted to urinate up against their legs but knew that would get him into deep trouble and a slap. It was a dog’s life. It ended when Esmeralda ordered him back indoors, away from the enemy.
‘Stevie! No!’
Timothy had to invite them in. The doorstop was no
t the place for such a reunion.
‘You can come and sit in our kitchen,’ said Esmeralda. No further, she thought.
And with that the floodgates opened and the unexpected, intrusive visitors swept in like refugees. Timothy tried not to look at Lady Agnes as she swept past him.
There they were treated to a little food and water – just enough – and allowed to catch their breath while Esmeralda and her aunt Rosamund hovered over them, wanting them out. Another girl bounded into the kitchen – news was spreading fast – and her mouth also fell open as she looked back and forth between the twins.
‘Go to your room,’ said her mistress, and the girl was gone.
Esmeralda made it her sole job to watch Lady Agnes carefully. She was bound to be trouble. Again Esmeralda took the measure of the lady and concluded: that Agnes is no better than me; she’s no lady, but had to admit that Agnes had lost weight while she, on the other hand, was putting it on.
Timothy remained outside: he needed the fresh air. Rosamund joined him, to make it clear that his friends could not stay – not in her brothel. Timothy reassured her that they were on the same side. Finally, he found the courage to step back inside.
Rufus was subdued and avoided all eye contact with his friend. He could not wait to leave. Timothy had some questions for him and asked him to join him outside.
‘Rufus, can we talk?’
Timothy signalled towards the door, and Rufus slid from his seat, grasping his bread roll. Outside, he admitted that he had brought them to The Village.
‘They arrived at my home. He begged me. They would have found their way here anyway.’
Timothy was not impressed, and when Mozak suddenly joined them, things only got worse for Rufus.
‘I paid him to bring me here,’ said Mozak, determined to divide his enemies.
‘You sold yourself out,’ said Timothy sanctimoniously.
That was a little too much for Rufus, and he responded sharply.