Once In a Blue Moon (63 page)

“I know you . . . ,” he said. “I do! I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”

“Yes, Father,” Richard said tiredly. “These are the champions from the Grand Tourney. You met them earlier—”

“No, no, no,” Rufus said testily, not looking away from Hawk and Fisher. “I met both of you, long ago, when I was just a small child. You wouldn’t think I could remember something like that, would you . . . when I have so much trouble remembering where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing. But all my old memories are still here, in my head, sharp as crystal. Listen to those people, Richard. They can help us. They may be the only people who can.”

Richard moved in close to the Seneschal so he could murmur quietly in the man’s ear. “The old man’s getting confused again. Get him out of here.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” snapped Rufus.

“I am Hawk, your majesty,” Hawk said carefully. “And this is Fisher.”

“Are you sure?” said the King. “You don’t look old enough.”

“Father, these aren’t the original Hawk and Fisher,” Richard said loudly. “That was a long time ago.”

“Oh,” said the King. “Pity. We could have used them, right now.” He looked meaningfully at Jack and Gillian. “But I definitely know you two. Jack and Gillian Forester. Yes? Yes. Son and daughter of Rupert and Julia. Your reputations precede you. The Walking Man and the Warrior Woman. Legends in your own right. And here you are, back home where you belong, come to help in your country’s hour of need. Let me look at you . . . Oh. Oh dear. You’ve got old, like me. Don’t get old. No one takes you seriously anymore.”

“We know a lot about what’s in the Armoury,” said Jack, as much to Richard as to the King.

“What’s
really
in the Armoury,” said Gillian.

“Well, yes,” said Richard, “I suppose you would, wouldn’t you?”

“Richard!” said the King. “You need to listen to me. I need to tell you something!”

“Yes, Father,” said Richard. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry, son,” said King Rufus, “but I think . . . you’re going to have to take charge of things, for a while. See to the raising of our armies, to the defence of Forest Castle . . . all the things that need doing. There’s just enough of me left to know how much I’ve lost. I’m not up to the job any longer. I’d hoped you’d have more time, but . . . I’m sorry, Richard. Sorry to leave you on your own. To stand on your own, against so many enemies. But I’m tired, so tired. It’s all up to you now, son. And there’s something I have to do. I can’t quite seem to remember what, just yet, but I’m sure there was something . . .”

His voice trailed away as he mumbled to himself, sitting on his throne, looking like he didn’t belong there. Lost in his own thoughts . . . The Seneschal came forward, helped Rufus down from the throne, and led him away. Everyone bowed to the King as he passed, but he didn’t notice. He was still muttering querulously to himself as the Court doors closed behind him.

“I’m going to the Armoury,” Hawk said bluntly. “I know what I’m looking for. Gillian, you come with me.”

“Why me?” said Gillian.

“Yes, why her?” said Fisher. “Why aren’t I going with you to the Armoury? I know it just as well as you do!”

“You have to go to the Cathedral,” said Hawk. “Because you know what’s there.”

“Ah,” said Fisher. “Yes. Of course.”

Richard stepped forward to glare at both of them. “Where the hell do you get off, making decisions in my Court?”

Hawk looked at him—and just that look was enough to stop the Prince right in his tracks. To his surprise, Richard found he really didn’t want to push this. There was something about this Hawk person . . .

“I don’t mean to presume,” said Hawk, in a tone of voice that made it clear he was going to anyway, “but I know what to look for in the Armoury, and where to look for it. And I’m taking Gillian, to watch my back. Still, it is your Court, and your Armoury, so I suppose you’d better come too. Your highness.”

“Nice of you to include me,” said the Prince.

“If he’s going, then I’m going too!” Catherine said immediately. “I’m not being left out of things!”

“And if you are going,” said the Sombre Warrior, “then I must go with you, Princess. I am your bodyguard.”

“No,” Richard said flatly. “Sorry, sir Warrior, but no. You may be the First Minister’s secret agent, and you may be the protector of my beloved, but I’m not having a Redhart man in the Castle Armoury. Just not on. This is Royal family business. I’m stretching a point to let them in, though I’m not absolutely sure why . . . but there are limits. I don’t know enough about you yet, sir Warrior.”

The Sombre Warrior nodded slowly. “I understand, your highness. Trust must be earned. And I have served so many masters . . . I will leave the Princess to your protection, Prince Richard. I think . . . I will go speak with Laurence Garner, head of Castle security. I’m sure we could find a lot to talk about. And I’m sure he can find me something useful to do, to guard the Castle against attack, from within, as well as without.”

He turned abruptly and left the Court. No one got in his way. Richard looked at Catherine. “Do you know what he was talking about, there?”

“No,” said Catherine. “But then, it seems there’s a lot I never knew about that man.”

“Do you know what he really looks like, behind the mask?”

“No. I don’t think I want to. I can’t believe his face is really as bad as the stories and songs make out, but . . . no. It would only distract from the mystique. Hey, am I really your beloved?”

“What?” said Richard.

“You called me your beloved.”

“It’s how I think of you. Do you mind?”

“No,” said Catherine. “I like it. Sweetie.”

“I’ll lead a force into the Cathedral,” Fisher said loudly. “Been a long time since I was last there, but it’s not like I’ve ever been able to forget some of the things I saw in that place. Prince Richard, there are things in the Cathedral—secrets, tucked away in hidden and forgotten places—that you’re going to need.”

“How do you know this?” said Richard. He wanted to be angry with her for undermining his authority, but couldn’t. In her own way, Fisher was just as mysterious and intimidating as Hawk.

“Best not to ask, your highness,” murmured Raven. “I know something of the Cathedral’s secrets, so I will accompany Fisher. There are magical weapons and items of power that you’re going to need in the war that’s coming.”

“Yes,” said Jack. “There are. I’ll come with you.”

“I can manage on my own, Uncle,” said Raven.

“I’m sure you could,” said Jack, leaning on his wooden staff and smiling at the Necromancer. “But since we will be investigating the Cathedral, I think one of us should be in God’s grace, don’t you?”

“Yes, Uncle,” said Raven, “you’re quite right, of course.”

Fisher and Jack and Raven smiled at one another, while Richard looked at them in quiet bafflement. There was clearly something going on between them, to which he wasn’t privy. And since he had a strong feeling that if he asked they’d just ignore him, he decided not to ask. But he was the Prince, so he couldn’t just let it go.

“Who are you people?” he said bluntly. “I mean, really?”

“We are the saviours of the Forest Land,” said Hawk.

If anyone else had said that, everyone else would have laughed at them. But no one challenged Hawk. There was just something about the man . . .

“Before we set off, I’ll just take a moment to send out a message to all the other magic-users in the Forest,” said Raven. “That they need to come gather together, here in the Castle. There’s bound to be magical attacks from Redhart, so the sooner we prepare ourselves, the better. I know Forest Castle is supposed to have all kinds of ancient, built-in protections and defences, but . . .”

“Yes,” said Hawk. “But. No defence lasts forever.” He stopped, as a thought struck him. “What about the Night Witch? Is she still running the Night School for Witches?”

There was a long pause. Everyone looked at him, in a quietly shocked sort of way.

“What?” said Hawk.

“Do you mean the evil and murderous Night Witch of legend?” said Raven slowly. “I didn’t know there was any connection between her and the Night School for Witches.”

“She used to run it, back in the day,” Hawk said briskly. “It was never made public, of course, but everyone knew. Or at least everyone who mattered.”

“But . . . she’d have to be hundreds of years old by now!” said Prince Richard.

“Who are we talking about here?” said Princess Catherine. “I thought I knew most of the Forest songs and legends, but . . .”

“It’s old Forest history, as well as legend,” said Richard. “The Night Witch, tempter of men, beautiful beyond bearing—and a twisted creature of evil who murdered young girls and bathed in their blood to keep herself young.”

“That’s the one,” said Hawk. “She fell in love with King Eduard of the Forest, long ago. Your ancestor, Richard—though don’t ask me how many great-greats are involved. And he loved her, but he couldn’t bear who and what she’d made of herself. In the end she ran away, to live in the endless night of the Darkwood. To grow old alone, where no one could see she wasn’t beautiful anymore.”

“But she came back, to run the Night School for Witches?” said Catherine. “Why would she do that?”

“Sentiment, perhaps,” said Hawk.

“But still, she’d have to be two, three hundred years, or more,” said Richard, just a bit desperately.

Hawk looked at him. “Who knows how long someone like that might live?”

“Right,” said Fisher. “There’s lots of people still around who probably shouldn’t be. Really. You’d be surprised.”

Raven nodded slowly. “I will send a message to the Night School for Witches. With your real names attached. That should get her attention.”

“Mention Eduard as well,” said Hawk. “She might come in his memory, where she wouldn’t come in mine.”

He smiled easily at Richard, openly defying him to dig any deeper. Richard honestly hadn’t a clue what to say. He could deal with history; living legends were something else altogether. Hawk looked around suddenly.

“Talking of things that have lived too long, has anyone seen our dog recently?”

•   •   •

C
happie was wandering aimlessly through the corridors of the Castle, having been thrown out of the kitchens. Again. He didn’t know why they’d made such a fuss and come after him with heavy ladles and harsh language. It was really quite a small chicken, and it hadn’t been like anyone was using it, as far as he could see. He grinned widely and moved on, following his nose in a vaguely hopeful way. Until he stopped abruptly and looked about him. He wasn’t sure, but he seemed to recognise this particular piece of corridor. It was mostly shadows and dust, well off the beaten path, but still . . . His eyesight had never been that good, if he was honest with himself, which he usually tried very hard not to be, but his nose was still working fine. And he was sure that he had been here, in this place, before. With his first master, Allen Chance. (Though, of course, Chappie would rather have died than ever tell Chance that he thought of him that way.) Allen Chance, Queen’s Questor, hero and adventurer. Dead and gone these many years. Along with the girl he married, the witch Tiffany. And probably their children too. That was the problem with being a magical dog and living so long. You went on, but you left so many good friends behind . . . It wasn’t right.

Dogs were never supposed to outlive their masters.

Of all the people Chappie had known, and reluctantly cared for, only Rupert and Julia were left. Or Hawk and Fisher, as they were now known. The dog sniffed loudly. You wouldn’t catch him changing his name and pretending to be someone else. He was who he was, and proud of it, even if most people around him at the time mostly weren’t. He’d adopted Hawk and Fisher as his new masters, but he never really felt like he belonged to them. Not like he had with Allen Chance. Chappie sat down abruptly on the cold stone floor and let his great head droop, just a little. Dogs need to belong to someone. Even magical dogs. Dogs aren’t supposed to be on their own. Sometimes Chappie thought he stayed with Hawk and Fisher only because they were the only ones who might outlive him. They’d always treated him kindly enough; it was just that he was never sure he mattered to them. They always had so much going on . . .

He scratched himself slowly. Getting old, finally. He could feel it in his bones, and what were left of his teeth. Even dogs created by the High Warlock couldn’t expect to live forever, and some days that didn’t seem like such a bad thing. If he’d known he was going to live this long, he would have taken better care of himself.
All dogs go to Heaven,
Chance said to him once.
Because if they weren’t there, it wouldn’t be Heaven.
Chappie wasn’t sure he’d be allowed in, after some of the things he’d done, but it would be nice to see his old friends again.

And not feel old anymore.

He sighed heavily and lurched to his feet. Moping was bad for you. Everyone knew that. When in doubt, go look for some trouble to get into. Where were Hawk and Fisher? Wherever they were, trouble seemed to find them. That was why he’d chosen to go live with them, after all.

•   •   •

H
awk and his daughter, Gillian, and Richard and his love, Catherine, made their way into the depths of the Forest Castle, heading for the old Armoury. Richard made a point of leading the way, just to show who was in charge, and Hawk let him. The Prince took them through a series of side corridors and shortcuts, some known only to him. The deeper into the Castle they progressed, the fewer people they came across, running around like mad things, trying to be helpful and just getting in the way. Because there were some parts of the Castle where no one went unless they absolutely had to.

“I can remember when no one could get to the Armoury, because it was in the lost South Wing,” Hawk said suddenly, out of nowhere. “Julia found the missing wing; and then she discovered the three Infernal Devices in the restored Armoury.”

Richard stopped suddenly, so they all had to stop with him. The Prince gave Hawk his hardest look. “How the hell could you know that? That was wiped from official history, and only passed down through members of the Royal line. No one was ever supposed to know! Not that I ever trusted a lot of the old stories; most of them are as much legend as history.”