Once In a Blue Moon (64 page)

“You never knew the Castle as it used to be,” said Hawk. “Back when it was bigger on the inside than the outside, and legends came as standard.”

“Of course not,” said Richard. “No one still living does! I don’t know what your game is, Hawk, but . . .”

“We’re wasting time,” said Gillian, doing her best to be diplomatic. It wasn’t something that came easily to her, but it didn’t look like anyone else was going to do it. “Let’s find the Armoury, and worry about everything else afterwards.”

Richard gave Hawk his best dark, suspicious look. Hawk smiled easily back at him. Richard gave it up as a bad job, shrugged angrily, and went back to leading the way. Catherine trotted along beside him, unusually silent, for her. But then, the day had taken a lot out of her. Gillian moved in beside Hawk.

“Stop teasing the Prince,” she said, quietly but firmly.

“It’s being back in the Castle,” said Hawk. “It always brought out the worst in me.”

They finally arrived at the great double doors that closed off the Armoury from the rest of the Castle. Two massive slabs of beaten metal, covered with centuries’ accumulation of engraved runes and glyphs and magical protections, and a whole bunch of obscure but very definitely obscene graffiti. As Prince Richard drew near, the doors swung smoothly and silently open on ancient concealed counterweights. As though they’d been waiting for him. Expecting him. Richard refused to be impressed or intimidated; he just straightened his back and stuck his chin out and kept walking forward. He was damned if he was going to be spooked by a set of doors, no matter how old or horribly protected they might be. (Growing up in Forest Castle, one of the first things you learned was not to let the Castle intimidate you, or you’d never dare leave your room.) He strode straight through the widening gap into the Armoury, and then stumbled to a stop despite himself. The sheer size and scale of the place always took his breath away, but this was different. The Armoury seemed . . . bigger. Much bigger. Catherine stood beside him, holding his hand tightly and peering about her with wide, awed eyes.

“Richard . . . I had no idea! Castle Midnight has its own Armoury, of course, as old as yours, probably, but nothing like this! Look at it . . . This has got to be bigger than the Court, or the Great Hall. It looks like it goes back forever! There’s enough swords and axes and God knows what else on those walls to outfit a dozen armies! How big is this place?”

“Good question,” said Richard. “As big as it needs to be, apparently. The official Forest Armoury is elsewhere these days. Under Parliament’s control. No doubt Peregrine has his people running around opening it up even as we speak. This is where we keep the old, magical, legendary weapons. In an old, magical, legendary place. It’s supposed to be just a museum now. A lot of the weapons here don’t officially exist anymore. If only because confirmation of their existence would scare the crap out of most people.”

“It was ever thus,” said Hawk.

He and Gillian had squeezed in past Richard and Catherine and were looking around with interest. Richard glared at Hawk. He wanted to say something really cutting, to put the young warrior in his place, but somehow he couldn’t. Just looking at Hawk, and the way Hawk looked at the Armoury, Richard had no doubt that somehow Hawk really did know this place. And what it held.

Ahead of them, the dimly lit hall stretched away into the distance. The few, and far between, foxfire lamps illuminated the weapons displayed on the walls well enough, but the way ahead was still mostly gloom and shadow. And from out of the shadows came the Armourer himself, Bertram Pettydew. He stood beaming before them. Bertram clasped his bony hands together over his sunken chest, and smiled and bobbed his oversized head at everyone.

“Oh, hello there!” said Bertram Pettydew, in his thin, reedy voice. “Hello, gents and ladies! Come for a nice look at the weapons, have you? We don’t get many visitors these days. Just as well, really. They will keep wanting to touch things! Though I did have that Sir Jasper in here, just a while back. Very nice gent, for a ghost. Though he did seem very certain that there was a war on the way . . . I could have told him! Hang around here long enough, and there’s always a war on the way! That’s what we’re here for . . .”

Catherine held up her hand to get his attention. “Sir Jasper was here? What was he doing here?”

“Came for the tour, same as you . . . And looking for clues as to who he used to be, I think,” said Bertram. “Poor old thing.”

Hawk and Gillian looked at Catherine, who felt obliged to explain. “Sir Jasper’s a ghost. I met him in the Forest on my way here. In a deserted graveyard, quite suitably. He’s been a ghost so long he’s forgotten whose ghost he is. Who he used to be, when he was still alive. He took the name Jasper from a headstone in the graveyard that he felt sort of attached to, but it’s probably not his real name. I brought him with me to the Castle, partly to help him find out who he was, but mostly because I thought he’d annoy all the right people. And he did!”

“He is very good at that,” agreed Richard.

“I’ve never been keen on ghosts,” said Hawk. “Life is for the living.”

“Right,” growled Gillian. “When I kill people, I prefer them to stay dead. Tidier that way.”

“Supposedly, Castle Midnight used to be lousy with ghosts,” said Catherine. “Back in the day, I mean. When I was younger, I felt cheated they’d all disappeared, back before I was born. When Good King Viktor banished the Unreal . . . No, don’t ask. It’s a very long story, and we really don’t have the time.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Richard said firmly. He gave his full attention to Bertram, who smiled and preened before the Prince, in a not entirely subservient way. Richard put on his most serious voice. “War has come, Armourer. We need to see the old weapons. The ones that matter.”

“Of course you do, your highness,” Bertram said happily. “I did sort of get that, the moment you turned up. So many important people, all at once? Quite made my day! Don’t get many visitors . . . I think that’s why your father put me in charge here, Prince Richard. To put people off . . . And because I was the only one who wanted the job. I’m sure that helped. What is it you were looking for, gents and ladies? Exactly?”

“I’m pretty sure it comes under the heading of We’ll Know It When We See It,” said Hawk.

Bertram nodded his head doubtfully. “Yes . . . Or, more probably, no . . .”

Hawk looked past the Armourer, down the long hall stretching off into an unknown distance. “From what I remember of this place, the really powerful weapons were always kept tucked safely away in hidden little niches and corners. And the weapons tended to choose their own masters, rather than the other way round. Does that sound familiar, Armourer? Good. Lead the way.”

Bertram set off, back into the shadows, without waiting for Prince Richard to tell him it was all right. Like many people, he tended to react to the authority in Hawk’s voice. The Prince glared at Bertram’s retreating back, and then at Hawk’s and Gillian’s backs, as they immediately followed after Bertram. Catherine put her arm through Richard’s, and pressed it firmly to her side, just to show him he wasn’t alone. And then they brought up the rear.

What light there was seemed to concentrate itself around the group now, so they could always see the surrounding weapons clearly, while the shadows held dominion ahead and behind. As though they were moving forward in a travelling pool of light. Bertram Pettydew took it all for granted, just pottering along, peering this way and that, and keeping up a stream of informative but not especially useful chatter. To which he clearly didn’t require an answer, or even a response. He smiled and waved cheerfully at the rows and rows of weapons on display, all the swords and axes, maces and morning stars . . . and sometimes he paused to pat or caress some old weapon kept readily to hand, as though they were old pets or companions he was fond of. Hawk looked thoughtfully this way and that, but kept his thoughts to himself, and if he was seeing things he recognised, he kept that to himself too. Gillian stared around her, openly fascinated.

“I was only ever here the once,” she said. “A long time ago. Before your time, Richard.”

“You had a right to be here,” Richard said stiffly. “As Rupert and Julia’s daughter.”

He shot a pointed look at Hawk, who ignored it, following Bertram through the Armoury and encouraging him to keep up a brisk pace. The others had to hurry after them, to Richard’s growing resentment. Bertram did try to slow things down, by wanting to explain all the stories and histories attached to the old weapons they were passing, but Hawk had no time for the merely interesting and historical. Until suddenly he slammed to a halt and stared coldly at an empty niche in the wall. The others stopped too and gathered around him. Richard glared into the niche. There was, quite definitely, nothing there.

“Well?” said the Prince, struggling to hold on to his temper. “What are we supposed to be looking at? What is so special or important about an empty space?”

“Hush,” said Gillian. “Can’t you feel it?”

“Yes . . . ,” said Catherine. “It’s cold here. Cold, like the early hours of the morning, when the rivers of the soul run deep. I don’t like it, Richard.”

Richard nodded slowly. He could feel it too, and he didn’t like it either. It was as though the empty space was looking back at them, with bad intent.

“Of course,” he said slowly, to Hawk. “It’s been a while since I was here. I’d forgotten about . . . this. How did you know . . . ?”

“This is where the three Infernal Devices used to stand,” said Hawk, his voice full of a cold distaste. “Three of the most powerful, dangerous, and evil magical swords ever fashioned. Rockbreaker. Flarebright. Wulfsbane.”

They all looked around them. There was a new tension in the air, a sense of stirring, in the shadows. As though just the naming of those ancient swords had disturbed . . . something.

“Yes,” said Bertram respectfully. “This is where they stood, waiting to be called forth. Fancy you knowing that, sir Hawk. Sir Jasper recognised this space right away, as well. Of course, he was dead. You can’t hide much from the dead.”

Hawk stared at the empty niche in the old stone wall, held by the presence of the three terrible swords that had stood there so long ago. He hadn’t been here when his father, King John, had called them forth to fight in his war. The Demon War.

“Famous, these old swords were,” Bertram said happily. “Or perhaps more properly, infamous. Stood there for centuries, they did. Until King John put them to use, against the Demon Prince. Prince Rupert wielded Wulfsbane, and . . .”

“No, he didn’t,” Hawk said sharply. “That was Julia. King John had Rockbreaker. And Harald wielded Flarebright. Rupert could have wielded one of the Infernal Devices. King John wanted him to. But he chose not to. He didn’t trust them. The Infernal Devices were alive, you see, in their own way, sentient and aware. They wanted to be used, to kill and destroy, and they seduced the minds of those who carried them.”

Richard stared at Hawk for a long moment. “We . . . we have to move on. We need weapons that are still here.”

Hawk nodded, and turned his face away from the empty niche. He nodded to Bertram, who quickly continued on.

Richard was next to bring the party to a sudden halt. Standing before an old broadsword hanging on the wall, beneath a simple brass plaque bearing the sword’s name.
Lawgiver
. A massive, ill-used blade, wielded by seven Forest Kings in succession, until the long steel blade grew too battered and notched to hold a proper edge. Everyone in the Forest Land knew its name.

“Nothing actually magical or legendary about this sword, your highness,” said Bertram. “Lot of history attached, from all the important battles it saw service in; but nothing important or significant enough to make it a part of legend. Just a good working blade, an efficient killing tool. Or at least, it was. I mean, look at the state of the thing now. I wouldn’t use it for cutting up fish.”

“It’s still Lawgiver,” Richard said sternly. “A name my people know. I can have a new edge put on it. Lawgiver’s reputation is just what the people need, something to rally behind, to put a fire in their bellies.”

Bertram Pettydew glared at him through his huge spectacles. “You can’t just come in here and take things! Your highness . . . These are exhibits from history!”

“Not anymore,” said Richard. He took the sword down off the wall. He had to use both hands to move the old broadsword, and even so, the sheer weight of the long blade nearly threw him off balance. He stepped back, and swung the sword back and forth before him, till he got the hang of it. The blade’s balance was still good, even after all the damage done to it. In fact, Lawgiver seemed to settle into his hands as though it belonged there.

“You know how to use a sword,” said Hawk.

“I did my time, out on the border,” said Richard. He nodded sharply to Bertram Pettydew, who quickly stepped forward with an extremely battered leather scabbard, decorated with raised interlocking circles in the old pagan style. It was dull and dusty, and much in need of repair. Richard sheathed Lawgiver in the scabbard, slung it over his shoulder, and then adjusted the leather straps so the heavy blade hung comfortably down his back. He stood a little straighter under the weight of the blade, heavy with so much Forest history and the deeds of seven Kings. He smiled slightly. Wouldn’t be too hard to find a decent blacksmith to put an edge back. Someone he trusted to do a good job. And then . . . He realised the others were staring at him, and he nodded sharply to Bertram.

“Well, Armourer, do you have anything else like this? A weapon without magic but steeped in history?”

Bertram nodded quickly. “Of course, your highness. This way, your highness. Yes. Lots of history here. Lots and lots.”

Not much farther in, the Armourer stopped them before a slender silver blade that hung on the wall all on its own, gleaming brightly. The brass plaque below said simply
Traitor.

“Of course,” said Richard. “I remember this. The sword wielded by the infamous Starlight Duke when he raised it in rebellion against the Forest, to break off his own section of the Land and call it Hillsdown.”