The Book of Lies (18 page)

Now Starkey had told him the truth and he could believe it at last. “Eleanor,” he said proudly, and if Starkey and Fergus hadn’t been present he might even have gone over and hugged his newfound sister.

“And you, Prince Edwin,” said Starkey, turning to Fergus. “Have you guessed your place in this?”

Each of Starkey’s remarkable revelations had plunged Fergus deeper into his own thoughts. He was ready with his answer. “If I was Princess Eleanor’s son, then you would’ve told me so already. I’d be a brother to these two, but I’m not, am I?” Then, after a brief pause, he pronounced a single name, “Damon?”

Starkey smiled, offering a simple nod of the head. “Yes, Prince Damon is your father, and that means you are not a brother to these two, but a second cousin.”

Brother, sister, cousin… the meaning wouldn’t settle easily in any of the three. They were still too full of questions.

Nicola spoke up, careful not to catch Marcel’s eyes for the moment, and if he had to be honest, he was glad of it. “Tell us more,” she urged. “Marcel and I must have a father and Fergus must have a mother.”

Starkey’s features turned sombre. “I’m sorry, Marcel and Catherine, but your father died fighting for Queen Madeleine. And you, Edwin, I’m afraid your mother is dead also. A fever claimed her some years ago.”

Dead, Marcel murmured to himself. So the false life Alwyn had tried to force upon him was right in one way. His father was dead after all. Just as he had done that first morning with Mrs Timmins, he searched his heart for the sorrow he should feel. He wanted to feel it so desperately, and he was incensed all over again with Lord Alwyn, who had taken even the grief for a dead father from him.

He had to know more. “Where are they? When can we see our parents?”

“If it were a simple matter, I would have taken you to them this morning.”

“But you said you would reunite us with them. They must be in the city somewhere.”

“Oh, yes. They’re here.”

“Then why –”

Starkey held up his hand, as though this would turn
back the tide of their pleas. He searched the face of each of them in turn. “It’s time you knew the worst of it, I suppose. Damon and Eleanor are prisoners.”

“Who would dare to keep a prince and a princess in prison?” breathed Nicola.

“A king,” Starkey answered bluntly.

“King Pelham?”

“The usurper,” he snapped. “Pelham had your parents arrested some time ago, because he fears them as the true and rightful heirs. You children were taken as well, though you can’t remember. This is what Lord Alwyn stole from you: not just the memory of who you are, but the memory of this injustice.”

“Why? What threat were we to such a powerful man? We’re only young.”

“You will not always be children. Pelham hopes that if you don’t know your birthright, then you will never rise up to claim it from him, or from his children after him.”

“The King has children of his own?” Marcel asked.

“Oh, yes. Youngsters still. But they’re of no account. When Pelham falls, his brood will fall with him. That’s why I have brought you here. Up until now, it has been impossible to release Damon and Eleanor from their prison.”

“You mean there are too many guards?” asked Fergus, as ever the one to think like a soldier.

“No, none at all.”

“Then how –”

Starkey put up his hand again. “This fiendish kind of prison doesn’t need guards or heavy locks. It’s magic that keeps it sealed.”

Marcel thought of the strange door into the tower above Mrs Timmins’ orphanage, a door with no handle and no lock. “Lord Alwyn,” he breathed.

Starkey nodded solemnly, then slowly a smile began to curl the corners of his mouth. “Don’t despair, Marcel. You above all should know how magic works. Was there not a way to rid yourself of that ring? Alwyn left a key to your parents” prison, though he never imagined it might be used to free them.”

“A key. Do you have it, Starkey?”

“Oh yes, I have it here in this room with me. Do you understand yet?” he asked, teasing them. “You three are the key that will free Damon and Eleanor from their prison.”

T
HE HOUSE HAD GONE
ghostly quiet and there was no one to be seen when the four figures stole up through the trap door. Starkey had told them his plan and they were stunned at how simple it seemed, but he had brought them this far without faltering and they would have trusted him with their lives.

“First we have to get you inside the palace grounds. Here, put these on,” Starkey ordered, handing each of them one of the dark cloaks he had ready in the hallway, while clutching a lighted candle in his other hand. “Pull the hoods over your heads as soon as we’re outside.”

“Where is the Book?” Marcel asked.

“It can’t help us tonight, but I have it safe, don’t you worry, and it will come into its own in the weeks ahead, I’m sure of it.”

They hurried into a large enclosed carriage that waited in the lane beside the house. Hector sat on the driver’s box with the reins in his hands. Even his battle-scarred face could not hide his apprehension. They were heading into the very heart of their enemy’s lair.

Starkey tapped lightly on the roof and the carriage lurched ahead. The children could see nothing, because heavy curtains shrouded them from any curious eyes that might look into the carriage along the way.

After ten minutes of slow progress they stopped and Starkey ordered them out. Marcel found himself staring beyond the rooftops at a forest of towers and turrets that rose up like spectres.

“The palace,” he breathed in awe.

“Yes, we are still two streets away from the walls. Follow me,” Starkey whispered, taking the lead.

They walked on unnoticed until the palace walls came into sight. There was a small gate silhouetted ahead, not the grand entrance to the palace grounds but a side opening. “For servants coming to and fro,” Starkey explained.

Beyond the crisscrossed bars they could see the gatekeeper, who was getting on in years, judging by the weary stoop of his shoulders inside his scarlet uniform.

“Now,” Starkey whispered. “And remember, say only what I’ve told you to say.”

It had come as a surprise, especially to Nicola, who was the oldest, that only Fergus was to speak to the guard. Starkey had been most insistent about this.

“Good evening, sir,” Fergus called through the bars.

The guard came out of his doze with a start. “Who’s there?”

“There are three of us. You must let us in.”

The old soldier held up his flaming torch but he still couldn’t see their faces. “Aren’t you a bit young to be out at this time of night? What business could three children like you possibly have in the palace?”

“You’ll know when you see our faces, Joseph.”

These were the words Starkey had told him to use, including the man’s name. “Pretend you know him,” he’d said, “for he will know you.”

This was the moment. Fergus raised his hands to his hood, turning briefly to see that the others had done the same, then he let it slip from his head so that the light of Joseph’s torch flooded his face.

The man stepped back as though he had been slapped. “Prince Edwin!” he breathed.

Looking behind Fergus, he gasped again. “Princess Catherine – and Prince Marcel too! But you three were banished into exile. Only the King knows where. What are you doing outside my gate?”

“We’ve come back to be with my father. Open the gate, Joseph,” Fergus ordered.

Distracted by his own astonishment, the old guard fumbled nervously with the key at his belt until he managed to fit it into the lock and the gate swung open.

Within moments, Starkey emerged silently behind him. With a savage blow to the old gatekeeper’s head he sent him crashing to the hard gravel.

“What did you do that for?” Marcel demanded angrily.

“Quiet!” Starkey barked as he picked up the burning torch and unhooked the key from the guard’s belt.

“Is he dead?”

“No, he’ll recover, but you’d better pray he doesn’t wake up until we’re long gone from the palace grounds. Quickly, that way,” he commanded, pointing into the darkness. To their left, the palace with its looming towers rose up like a huge beast, overwhelming in its bulk, with some of its windows blinking and still alight.

“Are we going inside there?” Fergus asked.

“No – and keep your faces hidden,” Starkey reminded them harshly.

In the darkness, with the hoods drawn tightly around their heads, the three children could barely see a step in front of them. But their other senses were not as easily blunted, and when the heady scent of roses swam about them they knew they were in a garden of some kind.

“Stop here!” Starkey ordered suddenly. He had seen something up ahead.

“Is it another guard?” Nicola whispered.

Marcel dared a peek over the rose bushes and saw a woman illuminated by the torch she carried. Her head hung low, and from the tiny shudders that racked her shoulders, it was clear she was crying.

“Stay behind me and don’t say a word,” Starkey commanded them as he pulled his own hood over his head.

The woman turned as their footsteps crushed the gravel of the narrow path. They could see now that she was standing before a tablet of white marble with a single word carved in the centre.

ASHLERE

“Who’s there?” called the woman anxiously.

“Excuse me, my lady,” said Starkey, holding the hood in place as he bowed. “I’m escorting these scullery hands to the servants’ gate. If I may be so bold, it is very late to be wandering the palace gardens. A guard might mistake you for an intruder.”

“Perhaps you’re right. I should go. It’s just that the King ordered fresh flowers for…” She didn’t finish, nodding towards the white stone instead as she added in a melancholy voice, “As if there aren’t enough blooms here already.”

She walked slowly away towards the palace itself. Once her forlorn figure had faded into the gloom of the unlit path they hurried on. In his haste, the hood fell back from Fergus’s face, letting him see clearly what lay ahead. His gasp made the other two follow his gaze. There it was, a simple stone pavilion standing alone in the darkened gardens, pale yellow light from within escaping in shafts through the narrow windows, like the oars of a grand ship dipping into black waters.

“Do you see?” whispered Starkey. “There is no sentry at the door. The King and his magician think there is no chance of escape. Come on, it’s time to prove them wrong.”

They quickly crossed the last twenty paces to the door of the chamber, which was protected by a small, enclosed alcove. The scent of jasmine drifted gently from the vines that grew in tight webs across the stone. In the centre was a single wooden door with an ornate brass handle on one side. When Starkey held his torch closer they could see an inscription carved into the wood.

To common folk this door is locked
But try it if you dare
This gilded cage will only yield
To a true and rightful heir

Starkey took hold of the handle and pushed down with all his strength, but it wouldn’t move. “Look closely,” he told
them. “There’s no space for a key. Lord Alwyn’s magic keeps this door shut tight.” He pointed to the inscription. “Only a true heir to the Crown can open it.”

“But my father,” Fergus blurted out. “He should be King. Surely he’s a true heir to the throne. Why can’t he open the door himself?”

“Everyone in the entire Kingdom has asked that same question. They think it means that the cousins are not the true heirs to the throne. But they have all been fooled. No one knows of the cruel trick Lord Alwyn has played on Damon and Eleanor. No one but me.”

“A trick?” asked Marcel tentatively.

Starkey turned to him, his eyes flaming more brightly than the torch he held. “There is no handle on the inside.”

He turned suddenly and threw his arm wide. “Look around you, at the palace and these gardens. Each day, as your parents’ meals are passed through the windows, they must look out at this beauty, yet the windows are too narrow to allow escape and the door is cruelly locked, as you see. It is all part of their torment, to be so close and know that all they can see is rightfully theirs, if only they could free themselves to claim it. Do you see now what kind of men Pelham and his sorcerer are?”

“But Starkey, you told us
we
could open the door.” Marcel couldn’t work it out.

“Don’t you see? You three are heirs to the throne through your parents. That’s why Pelham had you sent away
and had your minds wiped clean by Alwyn’s magic. And that’s why I stole you back again, from right under his nose, so that you can set them free.”

Fergus was standing closest to the door. Starkey grabbed the boy’s arm and pushed his hand on to the cold brass of the lever. “Any of you can do it. Quickly, open the door.”

With Starkey hovering eagerly behind him and the other two watching and barely able to breathe, Fergus pressed down hard on the handle.

It wouldn’t move.

Starkey’s eyes widened in horror. “I don’t understand it. The verse is plain. The door should yield to the hand of a true and rightful heir.”