Beyond the Hanging Wall (15 page)

“Physician Baxtor and my son, Garth,” Joseph replied calmly. “Out for the night air.”

Another of the guards laughed and spat. “No one enjoys the night air in this forsaken slime pit,” he said. “Now, tell me the real reason.”

To Joseph’s utter shame, he blushed—an action that was, in the end, the saving of him and Garth.

“I’m taking my son through to the, ah, Ladies’ House in Myrna. I thought it time he be introduced to some of the more exotic pleasures in life.”

The guards all roared in delight, relaxing at Joseph’s obvious embarrassment and Garth’s equally obvious puzzlement. “Ladies’ House?” he said. What was his father going on about?

“Here,” one of the soldiers said. “I know these two. Went down with them the last time they were here. The lad’s grown a bit—”

“He’ll grow a bit more tonight!” another guffawed.

“But it’s him all right. Let them pass.”

Joseph would have relaxed if he wasn’t so utterly embarrassed. Garth had finally caught onto the general drift of the conversation and was peering at his father with a strange look on his face.

The guards stood back, still chuckling, and let Joseph and Garth past.

“Father, how could you even suggest…”

“Well, it got us past, didn’t it?” Joseph snapped, and hurried along the path.

Some one hundred paces past the guards both checked their stride, and looked carefully about.

“Was this where you said?” Joseph said.

Garth nodded, trying to peer through the gloom. “Yes. A small hill, Vorstus said, with a rock protruding halfway up its eastern aspect. Look, what about that one?”

“Yes, you could be right. Is anyone watching?”

“No. Not this far away. Father…how well do you know the Ladies’ House?”

But Joseph was already halfway to the hill, and Garth scrambled after him.

Gustus spotted them as soon as they rounded the southern part of the hill and guided them inside.

“How is he?” Joseph asked an instant ahead of his son. Both had completely forgotten the embarrassing incident at the guard post.

“Washed, is all I know,” Gustus said as he rolled the rock silently away. Joseph stared at it briefly but curiously. It was operated by some ingenious mechanism that had been so cleverly hidden that unless you knew exactly where it was, you would never be able to find it. “I’ve been outside most of the evening watching for you.”

Both Joseph and Garth stared in silent amazement at the hollowed interior of the hill. It had a warm, homely air, despite its size, and had obviously been used by the order for some time.

Vorstus greeted them as they stepped into the chamber, and he noted their looks with some pride. “The order has many of these hollow hills about Escator, Joseph, Garth. And other, stranger, places besides. We find them…useful.”

But neither looked at him now; both stared beyond his shoulder to the still form lying with his back to them on a bed by the far wall.

“Yes,” Vorstus said softly. “He is well—as well as I could expect. He has acknowledged his identity, but little else.”

He smiled suddenly. “Little else but ask for you, Garth.”

“Me?” Garth was surprised. Surely Maximilian would have better things to think about.

“He remembers only little bits, boy. He only
wants
to remember little bits, else he will go mad. But he remembers you, and he wants to talk to you.”

Garth made as if to step over, but he hesitated. “Vorstus, you remember the old king and queen, don’t you?”

The monk nodded.

“Well…does Maximilian look like them? Is he…?”

“Is he a true Persimius or is he the changeling that he claimed, Garth? Well,” Vorstus hesitated, and neither Garth nor his father liked the expression that came over his face. “The truth is, I can’t tell. The old king was tall and lean and with black hair. His queen had dark blue eyes. All of these Maximilian has…but no other resemblance that I can see. If he
is
a changeling—hold boy! I said if!—then the queen could easily have selected an infant whose parents were tall and dark with blue eyes.” He paused, and stared at his hands. “Garth, Maximilian said something down the Veins which makes me think he knows the meaning of the verse the Manteceros gave you. That is good. If he comes through that test,
if
he can make the claim on the
throne, then I can speak for the entire order in saying that we will support him. But,” he repeated, “the Manteceros must make the final judgment.”

Garth accepted it. In his heart of hearts he
knew
Maximilian had to be the true king. “Can I…?”

“Yes, boy. Go and speak with him, and your father can come and sit with Ravenna and myself for a while and share bread and cheese.”

Garth walked towards Maximilian slowly, wondering what he would find. Before he had only seen Maximilian as a begrimed man huddled in the dark, even in his dreams the prince had worn a peculiarly faceless aspect.

So it was that when Maximilian rolled over at the sound of his step Garth was surprised at the pleasantness of the man’s face; surprised, because somehow he had expected a man with a heroic visage and a sternness of expression that reflected the trials of his life. But then Maximilian smiled, and Garth gasped as Vorstus and Ravenna had done.

“You are Garth Baxtor?” Maximilian asked slowly.

“Yes, I am Garth.” He hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He glanced with some concern at the prince’s face; it was flushed, feverish, and his eyes were too bright.

Maximilian slowly raised his hand, and Garth grasped it. “You were the one who found me, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” Garth kept his face clear of expression, but he did not like the feel of the man through his Touch.

“You demanded of me that I remember.”

Garth was silent, his eyes compassionate.

Maximilian licked his lips. “I remember that my name was once Maximilian Persimius, and I remember that once I lived in this strange world beyond the hanging wall. But I do not remember very much else.” A small smile flitted across his face again. “Except that I now remember the taste of tea.”

Garth wrapped both of his hands about Maximilian’s. “Do you remember speaking to me about the Manteceros?”

Maximilian frowned. “The Manteceros? No…no. Did I? Garth, I…” He halted, his face now twisted with the effort to remember. “Yes,” he said finally. “Yes, I
do
remember. You were so demanding. You insisted that I was this Maximilian. You wanted to rescue me.” He sighed, long and deep. “Yes, I remember the Manteceros now. And I remember that I told you the Manteceros would not want much to do with me. I am not worthy, Garth. I
can
remember that much.”

“You are alive again, Maximilian,” Garth said, low and fierce, his hands gripping the prince’s tightly. “You have your life ahead of you—have the courage to grasp it.”

Maximilian laughed bitterly. “I should resent you, Garth Baxtor, for it is your fault that I have been dragged from a life that I knew and understood and that knew and understood me. The darkness was warm and it was my friend, Garth Baxtor, and you have taken it from me.”

Garth was about to say something more when he felt his father’s hand on his shoulder.

“Peace, son,” Joseph said softly. “Memory can sometimes be a fickle lady. He has been through
trauma such as you and I could not imagine, and he has been wrenched—as he has just pointed out—from the world he knew and understood into a world that he suspects is only a bad dream. His loss of memory is a shield, and if he is to lower that shield then he is going to need a friend to help him through.”

“I understand, father.” Maximilian had closed his eyes again, and Garth twisted about to look his father in the eyes. “I do not like what I feel through his flesh, father, yet I cannot understand it. Can you…?”

Joseph knelt down beside the bed. “Maximilian?”

The prince reluctantly opened his eyes to the light. “Yes?”

“My name is Joseph Baxtor. Once I was physician to your father. When you were a boy we played hoopball in the courtyard of your home.”

Something flickered in Maximilian’s eyes, but he said nothing.

Joseph grinned broadly and fingered his beard. “But I did not have this then, and I had fewer lines of care to bracket my eyes. I am not surprised you stare at me so uncomprehendingly. My Prince, both my son and I employ the Touch—you have already felt Garth’s power—and now I would like to Touch you as well. Would you permit me?”

“Surely,” and Maximilian withdrew his hand from Garth’s and gave it to Joseph.

Joseph held it for a long time, running his own hands over it slowly. He kept his head bowed, his breathing slow and deep, and Garth knew that he was concentrating hard on the feelings that flooded into him from Maximilian’s body.

When he finally raised his eyes, his expression was blank. “Prince, may I Touch your arm?”

Maximilian was more doubtful this time, but eventually he jerked his head in assent.

Joseph rolled back Maximilian’s sleeve and exposed the thick burn across his biceps, then wrapped his hands firmly about the prince’s upper arm. He took a quick intake of breath, his eyes fluttering wide before he narrowed them again. After only a moment he let Maximilian go and rolled his sleeve down again.

“I thank you, Maximilian. Now, rest. Close your eyes, embrace the darkness again.”

Maximilian visibly relaxed. “Thank you, Joseph. I…I wonder if one day you would teach me to play hoopball again?”

Joseph guffawed with laughter. “Us? My Prince, I fear we are both too old to play hoopball again, but if it is your wish, then it is my command. Hoopball! Hah!”

Maximilian smiled, and Joseph’s expression stilled at the sight. “Rest well, my Prince.”

Maximilian nodded, and closed his eyes.

Joseph motioned Garth away from the bed.

“What did you feel?” Garth asked urgently. His father was adept at interpreting what he felt from someone else’s body; as yet Garth could only interpret the simplest of sensations.

But Joseph did not answer immediately, taking his elbow and guiding him back to the table where waited the monks—all four of them now—and Ravenna.

They shifted to make room as the two approached, and Garth and his father sat down between Isus and Morton.

“What’s wrong, Joseph?” Vorstus asked for all of them.

Joseph glanced back towards the bed, but Maximilian had turned to face the wall again and appeared to have gone back to sleep.

“He has been through great trauma during his life.” Joseph glanced about the table. “In part he has learned to deal with that trauma by forgetting. His rescue from the only life he could remember today has proved further trauma for him. He will need time and trust and friendship to have the heart to remember all that has befallen him.”

Joseph fell silent, folding and then unfolding a table napkin in his hands. “But that is not all. Garth, you felt something strange.”

His son nodded.

“And I saw you both look at his flushed cheeks and over-bright eyes,” Ravenna said softly, her grey eyes intense.

Joseph looked at her strangely. He had seen her many times on his visits to the marsh, but it was strange to see her here now, and in this company. And her mother was so strange. “Yes, Ravenna. He is consumed by a fever, but it is no ordinary fever. My friends,” Joseph looked about the table, meeting each in the eye, “he is consumed by an inner sickness. I think…I think it is the mark of the Manteceros struggling to break free of the scar tissue that surrounds it. If it cannot escape, then I fear that Maximilian will burn up.”

“Die?” Gustus asked, aghast.

Joseph nodded. “Eventually, yes.”

“Can we help?” Garth asked urgently, leaning forward.

Joseph hesitated. “Yes, perhaps…but not here.” He looked Vorstus straight in the eye. “We—he—will have the best chance in the place where the mark was originally engraved.”

Vorstus smiled, but it was cool. “What are you saying, Joseph?”

“I am saying that Maximilian needs to be taken back to the forest. For many reasons.”

Vorstus’ smile warmed a little. “You are more acquainted with the customs of the Persimius family than I realised, Joseph Baxtor.”

“I knew Maximilian’s father well.”

“Very well.” Vorstus’ tone was dry. “Yes. I agree. Maximilian needs to be taken back to the forest from where he was originally snatched. For many reasons, but I agree with Joseph that the fever that builds within him is currently the most urgent.”

“And we
will
help you,” Garth said, his tone daring his father to disagree with him.

Joseph frowned. “Yes, we must. But Garth, if we disappear into the night then we will be too readily connected with Maximilian’s disappearance.”

“So?” Garth cried. “Are you afraid to have
your
name connected with that of the true king of Escator?”

“Fool boy!” Joseph cried. “Don’t think to question my courage! But think of your mother! Have you forgot that Cavor will shortly have her within his grasp? I, at least, don’t want to put your mother in any danger.”

“Joseph,” Vorstus said urgently. “What are you talking about?”

Joseph gave his now-subdued son one last glare, then explained to the others that Cavor had ordered
he and his family to move back to the palace. “He said he would be sending for Nona while Garth and I were here at the Veins.”

“And you think that Cavor would exact retribution if he thought you were connected with an
anonymous
prisoner’s disappearance from the Veins?” Vorstus asked carefully. After a long pause he spoke again. “Are you suggesting Cavor
knew
Maximilian was Lot No. 859?”

Joseph was silent many minutes, staring into a space somewhere beyond Vorstus’ shoulder. “I cannot know for certain, Vorstus. Garth has his doubts regarding Cavor, and I…well…” He was silent again, then cleared his throat. “But even helping an
anonymous
prisoner escape from the Veins is a crime, Vorstus. I do not want to put Nona in any danger through my
or
,” he shot Garth a hard glance, “my son’s actions.”

“I may be able to help,” Ravenna said quietly, so quietly that it took the others a moment or two to realise that she’d spoken.