Fable: Edge of the World (22 page)

“No,” said Laylah. “I won’t insult our friend like that.”

“Then at the very least, I’d like for you to sign this,” Reaver said, handing her a parchment and sliding the inkwell and quill on the table over toward her.

“What is it?”

“Nothing that you need concern your head with. Just a trifling adjustment to the current workers’ composition, schedule, so forth and so on. I know how all this wearies you.”

“Thank you, I think I will read it,” Laylah said.

“I really don’t think you need to—”

“
I
do, Mr. Reaver, and in case you’ve forgotten, I am the one ruling this kingdom.” Her eyes fell to the parchment and landed on the words “child,” “twenty-hour shifts,” and “no further compensation for unfortunate incidents.” She looked up at him—and saw a pistol staring her in the face.

“I am rather sorry to inform you, Your Majesty, that, actually, I am the one ruling this kingdom,” Reaver said.

Laylah’s eyes widened as fear shot through her. Even so, her hand dropped down to her thigh—and the pistol she always kept in a pouch there.

“You can’t be serious,” she said. Her voice quivered only a little. “You wouldn’t dare kill me.”

“Please put those lovely hands on the table right now, my dear,” Reaver said, “and of course you are right.” Without blinking an eyelash, he aimed his pistol at the closed door and fired. There was a sharp cry from Barrows on the other side. Laylah
opened her mouth to scream, but somehow he had closed the distance between them and had her pinned to the floor, his hand over her mouth.

“You will do exactly as I say,” he said. “I have plenty of bullets, and there are several dozen servants in the castle, are there not?”

Her eyes widened still further, and she nodded. “Good girl,” he said. He lifted his mouth from her hand and moved away, permitting her to rise. In the brief time it took her to do so he had already reloaded the pistol. “I knew you’d see reason. Now. I understand there’s a certain—Sanctuary that your husband likes to visit. You will take me there at once.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His eyes went cold, and for the first time, Laylah truly saw the darkness in the man. Oh, if only she had believed Page and Timmins! “I quite enjoyed playing my little games with you, Your Majesty, but the hour grows late, and I am sure you are tired. Barrows?”

The door opened, and Barrows, unharmed, entered. Laylah couldn’t believe it. “Barrows,” she whispered. “You serve
him
?”

Barrows smirked. “Yes, Majesty. I’ve already told everyone not to worry—that you were cleaning your pistol and it went off. Best do as he says, my lady. There are plenty other servants here who aren’t in his pocket.”

“Good job, Barrows. Now, please make sure no one disturbs Her Majesty for the next little while. I’m guessing the Sanctuary isn’t too far. I shan’t kill you—I need you a bit too much—but Barrows is right. There’s such a plethora of hostages I could choose from. Now. Take me to the Sanctuary, or we shall have to pay them a very unpleasant visit.”

J
asper often felt as though he were the luckiest butler to ever live. Apart from that unpleasantness with King Logan, which was all eventually resolved quite satisfactorily, he could look back on his long life without complaint. He’d served the old king well and been treated well in return. And Jasper was utterly certain that part of the reason the current king had turned out as well as he had was due in no small manner to Jasper’s care of him as a child and young adult.

Now, his care of the young king had been rewarded in a manner that made him feel joyful every day. No longer a mere butler, even a butler to a king, he was the keeper of the Hero King’s Sanctuary. The place was intoxicating—every day, Jasper learned something new. And he had something he didn’t know he craved—solitude. It was lovely having visitors now and then, mind you—while the king had been adventuring, the young Hero had returned frequently but briefly. And the lovely Queen Laylah had come a few times since her husband departed for war, often bringing him his favorite treat—peach cobbler from the kitchen. While the confection was always best with fresh
peaches, he found the dried ones available during the winter an adequate substitute.

Tonight, something had been bothering him and he found himself rising from his rest. Donning his slippers, he padded in his nightclothes and cap to the three-dimensional map of Albion, wondering what had prompted him to do so.

He started violently when he heard Her Majesty’s voice. “Jasper? I’m so terribly sorry to wake you.”

Somewhat disoriented, the butler glanced about, wondering where the deuce Laylah was hiding, then belatedly realized she was speaking to him through the Guild Seal. He cleared his throat, feeling himself blush slightly with embarrassment.

“Not at all, not at all, Your Majesty! As it happens, I was already awake. Is all well?”

“Oh, yes, quite well, but there’s something I need to check on in the Sanctuary. I was hoping you’d put the wards down so I could enter. I’m afraid I won’t be bringing cobbler, though, not this time of year, so I’ll have to make up for the inconvenience with something else later.”

He opened his mouth to remind her that she could come and go as she liked, and also that one could prepare cobbler with dried fruit—

Oh, dear.

He hurried back to his room and began throwing on his clothes as he spoke. “Of course not, what a silly thought, peach cobbler in the winter, please don’t worry your lovely royal head about it. I’ll have everything ready for your arrival.”

He hoped she would pick up on what he was saying—that, as he and the royal couple had once discussed, if anyone other than Laylah knew about the Sanctuary, Jasper was to pack up the most essential items and flee. He was no fighter; all had agreed this was how he could best serve.

“Excellent. I’ll be there in a few moments.”

“Lovely, Your Majesty, it’s always a pleasure to see you no matter what the hour.” He winced. Had that been too much?

No matter. He grieved to leave the lovely queen in possible peril, but he had his orders. He threw the Book of Heroes and a few other key magical items into a bag and hurried to the map. Where should he go? There was so much more the king would miss if it fell into the wrong hands. Maybe he should pack more.

His mind was a total blank. Suddenly he stood up straight. “Shake it off, Jasper!” he told himself sternly. “You have been butler to three kings. You know the politics as well as Their Majesties do.”

He focused on Mistpeak Valley, realized it was too late to grab a proper overcoat, and activated the ring that contained a piece of the Guild Seal.

“How charmingly dramatic this all is!” Reaver exclaimed. “Descending into a chilly tomb, activating a hidden lever, a weeping angel giving you the Guild Seal …” He feigned a shiver. “You did well with Jasper. I think I shall enjoy having him serve me.”

Laylah did not reply. In the frantic trip from her chambers to the tomb where the Seal was kept, she had been racking her brain trying to think how to warn her friend. She was fairly certain he had understood her, but she wouldn’t know until they materialized in the Sanctuary

“Now,” he said, “tell me how this works.” When she did not reply, he sighed. “I thought we had reached an understanding. If you don’t tell me how this works, we march back to the castle and I start executing chambermaids and groomsmen.”

Tears welled in her eyes. To obey him would be the ultimate
betrayal of her husband. To defy him would be to murder innocents. But to unleash him on the Sanctuary, especially if Jasper had not been able to escape with the more precious items—it would give him yet more power. And how many innocents would die then?

“I grow weary of your balking,” he said, with an edge to his elegant voice. “Choose, or I shall choose for you.”

Courage stiffened her spine. She had betrayed the location of the Guild Seal, but so far, all she had done was warn Jasper. She could still protect the Sanctuary from this monster. She felt a smile curling her lips as she spoke.

“The Guild Seal is bound only to my husband, Jasper, and to me. Before that, it was bound to my husband’s father, the king. You can’t enter it unless I take you there. And I am
never
going to take you. I will kill myself before I let you use me.”

He seemed not to have heard her last impassioned statement. “Bound to the old king and the three of you, eh? Not by blood, obviously. By loyalty and love, then. Obviously I don’t have
that
. But now here’s a fair question—is it bound to the king because he is a king … or because he is a
Hero
?”

He reached over, grasped the Guild Seal, and with a blinding flash of light, they both disappeared. An instant later, they were in the Sanctuary—a Sanctuary mercifully empty of Jasper. Reaver turned on her, giving her a mock bow.

“Clever girl. You managed to warn the old fellow, didn’t you? Well done. Even though I obviously do not need you to operate the Guild Seal, I think I shall keep you around for a while longer. You may be very useful indeed.” He looked around, marveling. “This place is extraordinary! Although your husband needs better taste in tailors,” he said, as he eyed some of the costumes on mannequins with distaste. “However, the quality of these weapons make up for that. I can’t wait to supplement my armory.”

Laylah wished she had used the pistol on herself. Anything not to have to watch this evil, smug dandy behaving in so proprietary a fashion with her husband’s most precious items.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Reaver said. “I did tell you if you didn’t cooperate, someone would suffer. I gather this map will take me wherever I need to go in a jiff. Let’s go back to Bowerstone, and you get to select who I’m going to kill.”

They materialized inside the castle. Laylah’s legs nearly gave way when she saw seven chambermaids and footmen sitting on the floor, each one of them bound hand and foot and staring up at her in pleading silence. Only Reaver’s steel-like hand on her arm kept her from falling. They were overseen by the smirking Barrows.

“Welcome back, Majesty, Mr. Reaver,” he said. “I’ve assembled some of the staff as you requested.”

Something inside Laylah broke. “Please,” she whispered. “I won’t thwart you again. Just don’t harm these people. They’re servants, not in any position to do anything for or against you. Don’t harm them!”

“Ah,” Reaver said, “but you see, they
are
in a position to do a great deal for me. As long as I hold them hostage, I have, as you say, a guarantee that you won’t thwart me again. However, I think it incumbent upon me to prove that I am not the old softie that my employees make me out to be. I will pick someone if you don’t, rest assured. You do understand I’ve got to be certain of your cooperation.”

How could she live with this? How could she pick an innocent to die? Who deserved life most, and who was she to determine it? She looked at the elderly footman Robertson, the shy, mousy young kitchen girl Daisy, at Mary and Chester and …

“I have made my decision. I may choose any of the assembled domestics, correct?”

“Quite correct.”

“I have your word that you will not gainsay my choice?”

He put his hand to his heart. “I do have my own code of honor, Your Majesty. Choose someone to execute, and I shall execute him or her.”

Slowly, she turned and locked eyes with Barrows. “I choose him,” she said.

Barrows gaped, all his smugness gone. “What—Mr. Reaver, sir, that’s ridiculous. I’m your servant, not hers!”

Reaver gave the queen an admiring look. “Well played, Majesty. That’s twice tonight you’ve managed to thwart me, at least slightly, in my aims. I confess, I had thought you a simple little thing, but now I see you’re made of sterner stuff. You should be aware you might have played your hand too soon, though. I shan’t underestimate you again.”

“You will honor your word?”

“I always do,” he said, and even as Barrows gibbered and begged, Reaver calmly cocked the pistol, aimed, and fired.

No one took much notice of the queen’s absence over the next several days. Since the arrests of Page and Captain Timmins, she had not appeared publicly much, and the populace, as populaces will, had adapted to her new schedule. There was some speculation over ales at the Cock in the Crown tavern and elsewhere, and not a little bit of complaining. Still, the end result of most such conversations, save the ones that were overly fueled by alcohol, was that the queen was a lovely and kind thing, and it must have been very upsetting for her to learn that her friends had betrayed her so. And as for the rules and taxes, well, war was expensive; better to tighten belts now than later, eh? Besides, spring was coming, and the almanac was predicting a lovely and
fertile one. And wasn’t it the other fellow’s turn to get the ales this time?

When it was revealed that Her Majesty would be making a Very Important Announcement in the gardens of the castle, everyone was abuzz. Was there word on the war? Were there confirmations of some of those nasty rumors of the darkness lurking around the edges of the comfortable lamplight of smaller towns? Was there going to be a grand party or a new holiday declared? Well, a chap could always hope.

So they gathered in the gardens, filling it to capacity and beyond, eager to get a glimpse of Her Royal Majesty Queen Laylah after so long and hoping for good news. As she appeared, the crowd burst into cheers and applause. Goodness, had she always been so thin? It was hard to tell, but she seemed paler, didn’t she? Of course, everyone was pale in the winter. Behind her walked Reaver, and a single loud “Boo!” uttered in comfortable anonymity wafted up.

The queen smiled and waved, then indicated they should quiet down. They obliged.

“My beloved subjects,” she said, and my, didn’t her voice sound subdued, don’t you think? “It has been some time since I have formally addressed you—or even informally come to your places of work, or been welcomed into your homes. I regret the necessity which has kept me so cloistered. I will keep this brief, as there is still much that requires my attention on a daily basis.