Once In a Blue Moon (46 page)

“That’s my man,” said Fisher fondly. “Always thinking of me.”

•   •   •

T
hey set off through the trees, following a rough-beaten trail half recovered by the Forest and already choked with masses of fallen leaves. The air was tolerably warm, and full of birdsong. Mulching leaves crunched loudly under their feet, and the Forest was full of the pleasant smells of earth and plants and flowers, and living things generally. Hawk breathed it all in deeply. This was how home had always smelled in his dreams. He’d never thought to see and hear and smell the Forest again, because he’d always thought he’d have more sense than to come back. Fisher strode along at his side, keeping a watchful eye on the shadows. The Forest held few pleasant memories for her. She only remembered the Forest in nightmares.

“I have been to Forest Castle before,” Jack volunteered after a while. “When I was younger.”

“Same here,” said Gillian, looking eagerly about her, and continually tucking strands of her straying grey hair back behind her ears.

“I sort of felt I ought to,” said Jack, leaning only lightly on his wooden staff as he strolled along. “Just to see where all the stories you told us as children took place. The Castle was a bit of a disappointment, to be honest. Dank and gloomy, and very draughty . . .”

“Right,” said Gillian. “And while I wasn’t actually ostracised by the Court, I sure as hell wasn’t made to feel welcome.”

Jack was nodding even before she’d finished talking. “About as welcome as a fart in a suit of armour. My blood links to the Royal family made everyone nervous, and my direct link to two living legends basically creeped the hell out of everyone. They were happy enough to worship the memories of Prince Rupert and Princess Julia, but none of them wanted you back. Or anyone related to you. So I just smiled at everyone, gave them my blessing, and got the hell out.”

“Were you the Walking Man then?” said Hawk.

“No, this was well before that,” said Jack, pausing to prod suspiciously with the end of his wooden staff at something rustling in the undergrowth. “Just as well, really. If I’d started smiting the bad guys in that place, I’d probably still be doing it. I really didn’t care for the feel of the place. Of course, it may have improved since. My beliefs require me to be optimistic.”

“I wouldn’t put money on it,” said Hawk. “Chappie!
Put that down!
There are people starving to death who’d know better than to eat that!”

“You are so unadventurous,” said the dog, chewing loudly.

“What about this new House of Parliament?” said Fisher. “What’s that like?”

Jack and Gillian exchanged a quick smile. “Only you would see that as something new,” said Gillian. “It was established over sixty years ago!”

“I didn’t go there,” said Jack. “It was made clear to me, in a polite but very firm way, that I would not be welcome, even as a tourist.”

“Right,” said Gillian. “Politicians don’t like heroes, except from a distance. They get in the way of deals and compromises, and all the quiet understandings that no one talks about in public.”

“This is sounding more and more like a place we should visit,” Fisher said solemnly. “If only to make it clear to one and all that no one tells members of this family where they can and can’t go. I might even table a motion!”

“You don’t even know what that means,” said Hawk. “But we should drop in, say hello, smash the place up a bit. Just to put the fear of God into everyone and teach them some manners.”

Jack shook his old grey head slowly. “My parents . . . are juvenile delinquents.”

“Don’t expect us to make bail when they arrest you,” said Gillian.

Hawk and Fisher shared a smile. “We don’t do the under-arrest thing,” said Hawk. “Really would like to see someone try, though.”

“Down, boy,” said Fisher. “We’re here to stop a war, not start one. So how do you want to play it when we get to the Grand Tourney?”

“We don’t want to advertise our presence,” Hawk said thoughtfully. “And we definitely don’t want to reveal who we really are. Everyone would get so tangled up in the implications of Rupert and Julia’s return that they wouldn’t pay proper attention to the message. No . . . we’re just Hawk and Fisher, one of the many who’ve run the Hero Academy. Impressive enough that people will listen to us, without distracting from the importance of the message.”

“We need to talk to our grandchildren,” said Fisher.

“What, exactly, do you plan to say to our children?” said Jack just a bit pointedly.

“We need to sit down in family conference,” Fisher said firmly. “Sit down together, and talk this through. The Demon Prince only got us to come back here by threatening the grandchildren.”

“He also said there was a war coming,” said Hawk. “He was quite definite about it. Which is odd, given that every bit of air coming out of the Forest is full of the arranged marriage and the new Peace agreement.”

“Do we tell the King?” Jack said bluntly. “Doesn’t he have a right to know what’s going on?”

“He probably already knows,” said Hawk. “Kings tend not to last long if they don’t take care to keep themselves well informed.”

Gillian was shaking her head again. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard . . . Of course, Jack’s been living in a monastery for twenty years, and you two were out of the country, but even still . . .”

“What?” said Fisher. “What have we missed?”

“King Rufus is old,” Gillian said flatly. “He’s not what he was. His mind wanders . . . Word is, Prince Richard does all the real work these days.”

“Then he’s the man we need to talk to,” said Hawk.

“I still say we need to talk to our grandchildren first,” said Fisher. “Work out how best to keep them safe from the Demon Prince. Then we can talk to the people in charge and tell them what they need to do.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll just love that,” murmured Jack. “Chappie,
don’t eat that!
You don’t know where it’s been.”

“I know where it’s going,” said the dog indistinctly.

“How are we to gain access to the people in charge?” said Gillian. “Without having to reveal who you two really are? They won’t talk to Hawk and Fisher, because you’re generally regarded as troublemakers. They won’t talk to Jack, because he isn’t the Walking Man anymore.”

“And they won’t talk to you, because you’re just another soldier from the Sorting Houses,” said Jack. “No offence.”

“Of course,” said Gillian. “I’m just another soldier, and you’re just another monk.”

“Exactly!” said Jack.

“Look, it’s really very simple,” said Hawk. “We go to the Grand Tourney first, take part and win everything, and then we’ll be invited into the Forest Castle as the day’s champions! After that, we just wait for the right opportunity.”

“And if one doesn’t arise, we make one,” said Fisher. She grinned suddenly. “We’ll show the Tourney what fighting really is. They won’t know what’s hit them!”

“Please try very hard not to kill anyone, Fisher,” said Hawk. “Not unless you absolutely have to. We really do need to make a good impression.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Fisher. “I don’t always kill them.”

“Of course not,” said Hawk.

“Still, you’d better be the one to make the good impression,” Fisher conceded. “I never did get the hang of that.”

Jack looked at Gillian. “Other people don’t have parents like this.”

“I guess we’re just lucky,” said Gillian.

“You do know they’re going to embarrass us at the Tourney, right in front of everyone?” said Jack.

“Of course!” said Gillian. “That’s what parents always do in front of their children. Chappie!
Don’t roll in that!
It’s disgusting!”

“Humans don’t know how to have fun,” said the dog.

•   •   •

P
rince Richard and Princess Catherine arrived at the Grand Tourney in their most splendid ceremonial outfits, at the head of a long procession. Neither of them actually felt much like it, having a great many other things on their minds, but they didn’t really have any choice in the matter. Given that the whole affair was ostensibly being held in their honour this year. Everything was pretty much set up by the time they got there, though there was still some loud hammering and occasional bursts of bad language, going on in the background. Which the Royal couple politely pretended not to notice.

Richard and Catherine strolled unhurriedly among the raised-seating stands and the many merchandising stalls, smiling and nodding to everyone. (Being Royal, they could practically do that in their sleep.) Everyone gave every indication of being very happy to see them, and eventually Richard and Catherine, still smiling till it hurt, were escorted up the steps of the main raked seating and shown to their seats. Not so much seats as thrones, of course. Richard and Catherine sat down, and the Prince nodded a brief but determined dismissal to all the people who’d been following them around. The Lords and Ladies, the courtiers and merchants and soldiers, all bowed or curtsied and then departed at great speed, fighting viciously for the good seats. Politeness and etiquette meant nothing where the best views were concerned.

Richard looked out over the scene before him. He and Catherine had the very best seats, overlooking all the best locations: the main fighting circles, the magical display arenas, and of course the single jousting lane that ran right before them. The other main raked seating, including the King’s seat, or throne, was set up opposite. There were flags and pennants and gaudy flower arrangements everywhere, and a hell of a lot of people, no matter which direction Richard looked in. He couldn’t see many security people, but no doubt they were all where they needed to be, presumably in plain clothes. The few armed guards he could see seemed to have their hands full, keeping the crowds under control. The general hubbub seemed good-natured enough, but as Richard’s mother always liked to say,
It’s always fun until someone puts their eye out
. Queen Jane had always been very preoccupied with damage to the eye, as Richard remembered.
Don’t run with scissors
had been another of her cautions.
You’ll have someone’s eye out!
Maybe she’d seen some awful accident when she was young . . . She’d died while Richard was still young, so things like this were mostly what he had to remember her by. Richard realised his thoughts were drifting, and he made himself concentrate on what was going on around him.

There were a great many armed men hidden in the stands along with Richard and Catherine. He’d insisted on that. After the near-poisoning the evening before, he wasn’t taking any chances. He glanced coldly at the portly figure standing beside him, dressed in a really tacky and only borderline fashionable outfit, eating one spiced-pork-and-beef meatball from a platter intended for Richard and Catherine and making a real meal of it. The man with no taste in clothes was the Royal food-taster.

“How long can it possibly take to eat one meatball?” Richard demanded.

“You want me to do a thorough job, don’t you, your highness? Course you do,” said the food-taster, one Jeremy Hopkins. “My taste buds are so thoroughly trained and disciplined, I can detect a hundred different poisons with one good chew. The subtler poisons take longer, as you’d expect, but don’t you worry, your highness, I am also trained to projectile vomit at the first hint of danger!”

“Well, there’s something to look forward to,” said Richard. “How do you get into a job like yours? Doesn’t it . . . worry you?”

“Bless you, no, your highness!” Jeremy said happily. “It’s a family position, is this, food-taster to the throne. Back through eight generations, and every one of us has made it to pensionable age! It does help that I’m a philosophical sort. I say, when your time’s up . . .”

“Stop talking and relinquish the bloody meatballs,” growled Richard. “Or I’ll personally see to it that not every part of you survives to claim a pension.”

The food-taster sighed loudly and handed over the platter of meatballs. Richard quickly helped himself, bit into the first one with cheerful defiance, and then passed the platter on to Catherine. She just shook her head briefly, hardly even glancing at what was on offer. Richard supposed he couldn’t really blame her. He handed the platter back to the food-taster, who smiled smugly when he was sure Richard wasn’t watching.

“You’ve got to eat something,” Richard said reasonably to Catherine. “Unless you plan to live on fresh fruit you’ve plucked from the trees yourself and water you’ve personally drawn from the well. Come on, what are the chances of anyone trying to poison you a second time now we’ve got an official food-taster on the job?”

“I’m not hungry,” said Catherine. “I’ll try something later, I promise. I’m just not in the mood.”

She looked out over the bustling crowds, making more and more noise as they increased in size. People were still flooding in, taking their seats or filling up the standing enclosures. They all seemed cheerful enough. Catherine wanted to shout at them. How dare they be so happy, so unconcerned, when someone had tried to kill her? The crowds didn’t even glance at her, or Richard. They were waiting for the fights to start. A little action, a little blood . . . high drama and low comedy, and always a chance to see some hated aristo make an arse of himself. But none of the Big Names or Major Players had emerged from their separate tents yet. They understood the importance of keeping the crowds waiting, to build the anticipation and make a good entrance. Treat them mean, keep them keen. When you got right down to it, the Grand Tourney was all about show business, and everyone knew it.

Richard sat back on his fake throne and considered the Princess thoughtfully. He couldn’t think of a single useful thing to do or say that would cheer her up or make her feel any better, so he sensibly decided to just leave her alone. The Prince and the Princess sat side by side, looking out over the Tourney, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Nothing much was happening yet. And from the look of it, nothing was going to go on happening for some time yet. So eventually they ended up talking to each other anyway, because there was nothing else to do.