Once In a Blue Moon (44 page)

“No,” said Christof, “I’m afraid that’s wishful thinking. Dear Cameron was always very big on duty, and responsibility. And he never could say no to Father. He always did what Daddy said. Even when Daddy told him to leave. And he never could resist a war . . .”

“Are we really sure there’s going to be war?” said Malcolm. “I mean, after all the effort everyone’s put into making the Peace agreement?”

“Your father must think it’s a real possibility,” said the General. “Or he wouldn’t have contacted your brother in the first place.”

“My banished brother, let us not forget,” said Christof. “Banished before the whole Court. Not an easy thing to undo, not after what my father said at the time.”

The General snorted loudly. “Nothing like an imminent war to concentrate people’s minds on what really matters. As long as Cameron can lead us to victory, how could anyone deny him anything? Including his reinstatement as the Royal heir?”

“So what are we to do?” said Christof. “What can we do that isn’t treason?”

The word brought the whole conversation up short, and the three men looked steadily at one another for a long moment.

“We wait,” Malcolm said finally. “And see what happens. If Catherine’s marriage to the Forest Prince goes ahead; if the Peace agreement goes through; if the disputed territories come back under our control after all these years . . . Then maybe there will be peace. And no reason for the Broken Man to return. He can rot in his cave and play hermit for the rest of his life. No reason for us to do anything.”

He looked meaningfully at the General, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I will abide . . . by what occurs. And wait for a sign.”

He rose abruptly to his feet, bowed to the Prince and nodded to the Champion, and strode swiftly out. Malcolm started to get up, but Christof gestured quickly for him to stay, before hurrying after the General to see him out and say a few last words. Servants came in with more food and drink. Malcolm sat where he was, looking at nothing. It wasn’t as if he had anywhere to go, or anything to do. The King hadn’t called on him for anything, hadn’t even spoken to him, since Catherine left. The King might think he was being kind, but Malcolm would have preferred to be doing
something
 . . . just to keep busy, so he wouldn’t have to think about things.

Christof soon came back and sat down opposite Malcolm. He sat for a while, and then leaned forward, choosing his words carefully. “I haven’t seen you at Court, Malcolm. What have you been doing since my sister left us?”

“The King has been kind enough not to bother me,” said Malcolm. “Probably just as well. I don’t think I could look him in the face just yet. I can see why he kept news of the arranged marriage from us, I can understand why he wanted to avoid raised voices and unpleasantness . . . but even so, to just spring the whole thing on me and Catherine in front of the whole Court—I don’t think I could speak to him in a suitably respectful way. Not just yet.”

“You still haven’t come to terms with it, have you, Malcolm?” said Christof.

“You make it sound as though she’s dead!”

Christof kept his face calm and his voice sympathetic. “For you, she must be. It’s the only way. You’ll never see her again. You must know that. She will be Prince Richard’s wife, Queen to his King, and she will never leave the Forest Land again. She’s dead to you, Malcolm.”

“Unless there’s a war,” said Malcolm. “Then all bets are off, all agreements null and void. If there’s a war. But I can’t, I mustn’t, think that way. Because Catherine wouldn’t want to be saved if the price turned out to be two countries torn apart by war.”

“Then you have to move on,” said Christof. “As though she was dead. Grieve for her, and let her go. Move on, and make a new life for yourself. Surely a King’s Champion must have . . . duties, responsibilities, that need attending to? We talk about the possibility of war because we must. That’s our duty. But nothing is set in stone, nothing is certain. Our lives are what we make of them.”

“I know,” said Malcolm. “There are things I could be doing, should be doing; but I just can’t seem to work up the enthusiasm. It’s been such a short while since Catherine and I were happy. We were in love, and she’d decided to set a date for our wedding; did you know that, Chris? And then I had no choice but to give her up, let her go. Now there’s just this terrible empty hole in my life where she used to be. Mostly these days . . . I just sit around in my quarters, doing nothing, thinking nothing, just waiting for the day to be over. So I can go to bed and lose myself in sleep for a while. And if I’m lucky, I won’t dream. I can’t seem to make myself care about anything . . .”

“Oh, Malcolm, Malcolm . . . Don’t.”

Christof leaned forward and took Malcolm’s hands in his. The Champion held on to the Prince’s hands like a drowning man. And for a while neither of them said anything.

“This isn’t healthy, Malcolm,” Christof said finally. “You need to get out of your rooms, out of yourself. Look, why not come hunting with me? I’m sure I could round up some hearty sorts to keep us company. And you know you’re always welcome here. If you feel you just want to talk to someone . . .”

Malcolm nodded slowly and started to get to his feet. Christof immediately let go of the Champion’s hands and stood up with him. And then Malcolm surprised Christof by embracing him briefly.

“You’re a good friend, Chris. Probably better than I deserve.”

He turned abruptly and left. Christof stared after him.

“A good friend. Yes.”

•   •   •

T
he sorcerer Van Fleet had his own private room in Castle Midnight, so he could always be ready if the King felt a sudden need for his services. And the King did seem to need him more and more these days. For all kinds of reasons. Now here was the sorcerer’s brother, the Prime Minister Gregory Pool, sitting uncomfortably in one of his comfortable chairs, looking around at the room the King had so kindly provided, and not even trying to hide his disapproval. Van Fleet sighed, very quietly. He was going to have to do something about his brother.

Van Fleet had filled most of his room with glass tubing and bell jars, and flaring marsh gas jets, and all kinds of alchemical equipment. He always had some experiment or another on the go, usually involving boiling liquids and unpleasant smells. Always something bubbling in the cauldron or cooking in the small stone oven. One wall was hidden behind rows of metal cages, set one upon the other; containing animals and birds and reptiles and a few other things not so easily identified. Because you never knew when you’d need a subject to try something out on. And of course there were shelves and shelves of glass jars, holding herbs and insect parts, mandrake root and other disturbing things. Some of the things in the jars were still moving. Because alchemy’s like that.

Gregory Pool sniffed loudly, and then rather wished he hadn’t. The air smelled strongly of chemicals and fresh dung. Some of the animals in the cages looked out at Pool miserably, and even pushed their paws plaintively towards him through the steel mesh. Patting the air in mute entreaty. Gregory did his best not to notice. He didn’t know what Van Fleet did in this room, on his own, and he felt very strongly that he didn’t want to know. In fact, he was pretty damned sure he was better off not knowing. He took out his delicately chased silver snuffbox, tapped a small quantity of cocaine out onto the back of his hand, and sniffed it up. And then addressed his brother without looking up, as he put the box away.

“Yes, I know. Don’t lecture me, Van. We all need a little something to keep us going. Do I lecture you on how often you need to send out for fresh animals?”

“You’ve seen for yourself how useful they can be,” Van Fleet said equably. “You held the black cat while I slit its throat to get enough blood to make a decent scrying pool.”

Gregory Pool glanced unhappily at the large pool of drying blood on the table before him. Only a few moments before, it had been a magic mirror through which he could spy on the King and his Court, and then on Prince Christof and his treacherous friends. Knowledge was necessary, and Gregory had always been willing to pay the price. He just didn’t like to get blood on his hands. He had listened carefully to every word spoken at the private meetings, studied the reactions on everyone’s faces. And none of it would have been possible without his brother’s help. He knew that. And so did his brother. Gregory glared at Van Fleet.

“Are you sure what we just did was High Magic? Sacrifice and spilt blood were always marks of Wild Magic in all the songs and stories.”

“It’s all a matter of attitude,” Van Fleet said easily. “I have made no pacts with demons or devils, and my soul is still my own. You worry too much, Brother. High Magic is a science, just like alchemy.”

Gregory sniffed, unconvinced, but he tacitly agreed to change the subject. “I knew Christof and his little friends were plotting, but I didn’t think they’d pull the Champion and General Staker in with them! This is a combination that could prove very dangerous: an unstable Prince, a heartbroken Champion, and an overambitious General! If they wanted to know what was really going on, they should have come to me!”

“And would you have told them?” said Van Fleet, genuinely interested.

“Of course not! But it would have been the proper thing to do. And I would have told them some comforting and very convincing lies, put their hearts and minds at rest, and they would have gone away perfectly happy! The current situation is complicated enough without them sticking their well-meaning noses in where they’re not wanted. I’m really quite disappointed in Prince Christof. I thought he had more sense . . .”

“He’s never felt secure as heir,” said Van Fleet. “Not while his older brother is still alive. With Catherine sent away to the Forest Land, he must have felt his father had finally committed himself to naming Christof as his official heir. But if Cameron does return . . .”

“The Broken Man can never be King!” Gregory said flatly. “He just can’t.”

“Stranger things have happened,” said Van Fleet. “The King really should have executed Cameron, rather than just banishing him from the Castle. Ended the problem then and there.”

“It’s no easy thing for a father to order his son killed,” Gregory said coldly. “And anyway, who would you send to kill such a man? We didn’t have the Sombre Warrior then. No, we all discussed the situation at length, and everyone agreed that banishment was the best option. If only because we might need the Broken Man’s skills as a soldier at some future time. And just maybe we were right about that.”

“Is war inevitable?” said Van Fleet.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” growled the Prime Minister. “All the most powerful and influential minds in Redhart and the Forest Land agree that peace is necessary. We all put our names to the wedding, and the agreement, because the endless border skirmishes were draining our treasuries dry. But all it would take is one tragic accident, one unacceptable insult to our honour, and everything we’ve achieved would be swept away in a moment! And there are certain factions, certain people, in both countries . . . who cannot be trusted to leave well enough alone.”

“What do you want me to do?” said Van Fleet.

“Keep an eye on Christof, and his people, and everyone the Prince meets with. Let me know immediately if they start doing things, as opposed to just talking about doing things.”

“What, all of them?” said the sorcerer. “The Prince, the Champion, the General, and all their people? And everyone they might talk to? You don’t want much, do you, Brother? How many eyes do you think I’ve got?”

“I’m paying you enough, aren’t I, Brother?” said the Prime Minister. He rose to his feet and made to leave, then stopped as Van Fleet was suddenly there to block his way.

“There is one more thing, Gregory. Before you arrived, I sensed the presence of some powerful force, in conversation with the King. A most secret and unnatural presence. I took it upon myself to investigate further, and I have to tell you: the King has been talking with the Stalking Man.”

The Prime Minister swore loudly. “Of course William did it secretly . . . because he knew I wouldn’t approve! No good can ever come of dealing with Hell’s agents. What did the King want with Leland Dusque?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” said Van Fleet. “I can just about detect the Stalking Man’s presence, past his shields, but there’s no way I can listen in on him without his knowing I was there. And I am not about to pick a fight with the Stalking Man.” He broke off, frowning. “The dimensional door I made for the King has just reappeared at Court. The Steward must be back, with the Broken Man’s answer.”

“I need to speak to the King,” said the Prime Minister.

•   •   •

T
he Steward arrived back in King William’s Court, pale and shaking and somewhat out of breath. The door disappeared quietly behind him. The King waited impassively on his throne until the Steward regained his breath and his self-control, and bowed formally.

“Talk to me, Steward,” said the King. “What did he say?”

“Prince Cameron requires me to tell you that if there is a war, if you need him . . . you have only to ask and he will return,” said the Steward.

The King nodded slowly. “Of course. He couldn’t just come back. I have to ask him . . . How would you describe his condition, Steward? Physical and mental?”

“He seemed . . . comfortable as a hermit, Sire.”

The King glared at him. “Is he sane?”

“I would say so, yes, Sire.”

“And how does he feel about me? About what I did to him?”

“It’s hard for me to say how he feels about anything,” said the Steward carefully.

“Yes,” said the King, settling back on his throne. “I know. The Broken Man . . . I’m not even sure he has emotions, as we understand them. But I must know, Steward. Does he bear me any animosity for ordering his banishment from this Court?”

“I would say not, Sire,” said the Steward. “He seems to be content where he is.”

“My first son, my oldest child . . . and I had to send him away,” said the King. “Because he could never replace me as King. And now it seems I need him. To do the one thing he does better than anyone else. Win battles.”