Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels) (26 page)

They eventually came to a halt before huge closed double doors that led into the Courtroom. By tradition no one was allowed entrance to the Court once the doors were closed, without express permission from the Throne. Raised voices could clearly be heard from behind the doors, rising and falling in angry chorus. Hawk had a sudden strong sensation of déjà vu. He’d stood here once before, as a much younger Prince Rupert, waiting to be allowed into Court, to learn what his future would be. In those days, many people had had power over him. Or thought they had. Most of those people were long dead now, but even so, Hawk felt an unfamiliar uncertainty run through him, like a cold breath of his past, from memories he’d never been entirely able to forget.

“They’re all in there,” said the Magus, studying the closed doors as though he could see right through them. “The Queen, the Landsgrave, the Duke … all the would-be movers and shakers.”

“The Landsgrave?” asked Sir Vivian. “I wasn’t aware he was even back in the Castle.”

“He’s been speaking, on and off, for some time,” said the Magus. “Sir Robert always did have a lot to say. Unfortunately, so does everyone else. And they’re all too busy fighting to be heard to listen to what anyone else is saying. No wonder they never get around to deciding anything. I often wonder if I should change them all into birds. At least then they’d make a pleasant noise. See if you can do anything with them, Captains. Someone has to. Before the bad times come.”

“So you keep saying,” growled Sir Vivian. “But until you’re prepared to be more specific about the nature of this threat, you can’t blame us for not taking you too seriously. If I want my future told, I’ll ask a witch to read the tea leaves in my cup.”

“Patterns can be seen in many places,” said the Magus. “As above, so below. Nature reflects the supernature. I see many things. Luckily not all at the same time. The future is constantly shifting, shaped and determined by the decisions we make every day. But some things are inevitable. Magic is going out of the world, but that, too, could be changed. Nothing is certain in this world, not even death, in some circumstances. Right, Captains?”

Hawk and Fisher, who had died once in a bloody cellar deep under the city of Haven, said nothing but thought much.

The Magus gestured lazily at the closed doors with a limp hand, and they flew open, swinging inward as though the huge slabs of oak were weightless, crashing back against the inner walls. The great reverberating sound silenced the acrimonious roar of the Court for the moment, and the Magus led his party forward into the shocked silence. The packed crowd drew back to form a wide aisle for the Magus to walk down. It seemed no one wanted to get too close to him. Hawk and Fisher followed after him, looking about them to see how much the Courtroom had changed in their absence. The vast, spacious hall looked much as they remembered, perhaps a little cleaner, illuminated now by modern gas lights rather than the fox fire lamps of old. The last of the evening light was falling through the gorgeous stained-glass windows, most of it falling on the raised dais at the end of the hall, on which stood the ancient Forest Throne, carved in its entirety from a single huge block of oak. The Magus stopped some distance short of the Throne and slipped his cloak from his shoulders. He then walked forward, leaving the cloak hanging unsupported on the air.

“Don’t get too close to the cloak,” the Magus murmured to those courtiers nearest. “I haven’t fed it recently.”

He stopped directly before the Throne, and bowed courteously to the imperial figure sitting on it. Queen Felicity acknowledged his presence with the merest inclination of her crowned head. The Magus gestured for Hawk and Fisher to approach, and they did so, giving the hanging cloak a wide berth. They could feel the eyes of all the Court upon them in the continuing strained silence, but did their best not to show it. Regardless of what authority they might or might not have, they still understood the importance of making a good first impression.

“Your Majesty,” said the Magus easily, “may I present to you Captains Hawk and Fisher, from the south, authorized by Prince Rupert and Princess Julia to investigate the terrible murder of your dear departed husband, the King.”

Hawk and Fisher smiled at the Queen on her Throne, and nodded briefly. Strictly speaking, they should have bowed low, or even knelt, but Hawk and Fisher didn’t do things like that. Besides, it was important to get off on the right foot. Hawk studied the Queen openly, as she studied him.

Queen Felicity was tall, fashionably slender but with a heavy bosom, and showed the world a sharp bony face under a thick mop of blond hair, in ringlets so tightly curled, they just had to be artificial. Her face was powdered so pale, it seemed like a mask, while her lips were a vivid scarlet. Her eyes were cold and knowing, and her tight-lipped smile was openly cynical. She was smoking a cigarette in a long dark ivory holder, Southern style. Her other hand held a cut-glass goblet, half full of wine. She was dressed fashionably but formally, her long golden gown studded with pearls and polished semiprecious stones. The ancient, simple crown of the Forest line was almost hidden in the thick blond curls. Her scarlet fingernails looked long and sharp enough to rip someone’s throat out. Armed guards stood on either side of the Throne. They looked tense, as though expecting a threat at any moment.

Hawk was still wondering exactly what he should say to the Queen, when there was a sudden interruption. A tiny figure, no more than nine inches high, fluttered swiftly through the Court, bobbing over the heads of the courtiers, some of whom ducked and gasped, until finally the figure settled elegantly onto the Magus’ left shoulder. He smiled at her fondly as she sat down, arranging herself comfortably. Hawk gasped despite himself as he realized he was looking at a winged faerie. She was spindly thin but normally proportioned, with a cloud of jet black hair over a pinched face and pointed ears. Her wide translucent wings held all the hues of the rainbow, shifting and sliding like the colors on the skin of a soap bubble. She wore a black basque, fishnet stockings, and heavy black eye makeup. She grinned at the Magus.

“Hello, lover. Miss me?”

“Always, my dear.” The Magus beamed at her and then turned to Hawk and Fisher. “Captains, allow me to present to you that darling of the dark, mystical marvel and leader of fashion, Lightfoot Moonfleet, last of the faerie kind to dwell in the world of mortal men.”

“Hello, darlings,” said Lightfoot Moonfleet. Her voice was quiet, but quite distinct. Her smile was impossibly wide, and her dark eyes sparkled brightly. “Always good to see new faces at Court. The old ones can be terribly dull. We haven’t had a decent scandal in ages.”

Hawk was delighted at the sight of her, so much so that words stuck in his throat. No one had seen one of the wee folk in years; certainly decades, maybe centuries. People were always reporting sightings, but it usually turned out to be the moon or shooting stars. It was common belief that the faeries had been extinct for ages.

“Delighted to meet you,” he managed finally. “Are you really the last of your kind?”

“The very last,” said Lightfoot Moonfleet. “My kind walked sideways from the sun long ago, out of history and into legend, in the place where shadows fall. Our time is over, sweetie. Magic is going out of the world, whether it wants to or not, and there’s less and less room in your organized and scientific world for monsters and miracles and mysteries. And the faeries
were
magic. I only stayed behind because the Magus needs me. Whether the poor dear will admit it or not.”

In a moment too fast for the human eye to follow, she suddenly grew in size, shooting up to fully seven feet tall, towering over Hawk. He would have liked to fall back, but his legs didn’t feel strong enough. Full size, her blatant sexuality was overpowering, almost crackling on the air. Her dark eyes smoldered, and her crimson mouth curved in a wicked smile. Her skin was pale but perfect. She smelled strongly of rose petals and honey, with an underlying hint of pure animal musk. She reached out and took his chin in one petal-soft hand, and he felt his breath catch in his chest.

“Of course,” said Lightfoot Moonfleet, “I’ve always had a weakness for the strong, silent type. And I do so love a hero.”

And then she shrank rapidly back to her previous size, flying quickly back to the Magus as Fisher’s clenched fist swept through the place where her head had just been. Fisher recovered her balance in a moment, and glared at the wee winged faerie, back on the Magus’ shoulder again.

“We are married,” Fisher said coldly. “No trespassing. Or I’ll make your wings into doilies.”

The faerie shrugged prettily. “Understood, sweetie. I was only just testing the waters. I was always taught people should share their toys.”

“You so much as flutter in his direction again,” growled Fisher, “and they’ll be using what’s left of you for a pipe cleaner.”

The faerie winced. “Do you think you could be a little less premenstrual about this, darling?”

“I’m pretty sure I used to have an owl on my shoulder,” said the Magus, his eyes far away. “Or was it two ravens? Or perhaps a crow, from the land of the dead. I’ve had to reinvent myself so many times, I sometimes confuse the details. I am large. I contain multitudes. Especially on Tuesdays.”

“If we could return to more important matters,” said Chance, just a little desperately. He stepped forward beside Hawk and Fisher, gesturing urgently for them to look at the Queen again. “Captains, may I present to you Queen Felicity, Regent of the Forest Land, protector of the Kingdom, mother of the King-to-be, Stephen.”

“Good to be here,” said Hawk to the Queen. “I just know we’re going to get along famously.”

Chance winced.

“Why aren’t you Rupert and Julia?” snapped the Queen, leaning forward on her Throne to glare at Hawk and Fisher. “They have to come back. It’s their duty. They’re needed. I don’t want to be sitting here in a dusty hall, in front of a crowd of half-wit politicians and social climbers, stuck on a wooden Throne while my arse goes numb, but I’m here. Talk to me, Captains. And make it bloody convincing, or I’ll have the Magus turn you into something more aesthetically pleasing. Like a pair of throw cushions.”

“Well, you could try,” said Hawk pleasantly, not at all bothered by the Queen’s harsh words and manner. “But trust me, it wouldn’t get you anywhere. First, Fisher and I are immune to change spells. Second, we’d kill you before you got to the end of the sentence. We are Hawk and Fisher, and we don’t take crap from anyone. On principle.”

There were shocked gasps and mutterings from the packed Court. Those nearest Hawk and Fisher and the Magus pushed back hard against the press of the crowd, determined to get further away from any magical unpleasantness. The Queen’s guards had their hands on their swords, awaiting her order to attack. Chance had his eyes shut, and was shaking his head slowly. Chappie was sniggering. The Magus studied Hawk and Fisher thoughtfully, still smiling his enigmatic smile. Surprisingly, Queen Felicity was also smiling. She leaned back in her Throne, flicking ash off the end of her cigarette.

“At last, someone with balls. I like that. You have no idea how refreshing it is to get a straight answer out of someone round here. Of course, if you’re dumb enough to try it again, I’ll have you executed from a safe distance. I’m not so sure I really wanted Rupert and Julia back anyway. Legends and heroes can be so … unsympathetic when it comes to dealing with everyday realities and people’s little weaknesses. So, Hawk and Fisher, talk to whomever you have to, do whatever you have to, but find my husband’s killer. I want his head on a spike. Whatever else you might discover along the way is probably best kept to yourselves. If you want to get out of this Castle alive. Do we understand each other?”

“We do,” said Hawk. “I want his head on a spike, too.”

The Queen glared at Fisher. “What about you? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

Fisher had been deliberately keeping quiet, not wanting to draw the Queen’s attention. As Julia of Hillsdown, she’d never had much to do with her sister Felicity. There were eight Princesses at the Hillsdown Court, all living separate lives. Partnerships and conspiracies weren’t unknown, sometimes against other sisters, but always from a distance, through intermediaries. It wasn’t wise to get too close to somebody who might be your enemy tomorrow. Or who might disappear today, if the Duke took against you. The sisters followed their own interest, and led their own lives.

Sophia was very religious, and rarely left her rooms, except to go to Chapel. Althea lived and breathed politics, ignoring her sisters as mere dilettantes. And Felicity was mostly interested in men. There were rumors that the Duke had tried fitting her with a chastity belt, but she’d worn it out from the inside. As the youngest, Julia had been of least use to her other sisters, and so saw less of them than most. Which suited her just fine. She was mostly interested in finding new ways of getting into trouble, perhaps as a way of getting her distant father’s attention. Until she went too far, and the Duke sent her off to die.

She and Felicity had mostly only even seen each other at a distance. Even so, Fisher was worried Felicity might recognize her, despite the intervening years and her new black hair. She carefully lowered and roughened her voice before replying to the Queen, just in case.

“I’m Fisher. I work with Hawk. We’ll find the killer. It’s what we do. And we’re very good at it.”

“And we don’t need threats to motivate us,” said Hawk.

“You don’t speak to the Queen that way, dammit!” snapped Sir Vivian.

“Sure we do,” said Hawk. “We’re here to find a murderer, not bow and curtsy and kiss hands. We’ll do whatever we have to to get at the truth, and we won’t take piss off and die for an answer, no matter who it comes from.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” said the Queen. “Most of this bunch take seventeen paragraphs and a non sequitur just to ask if they can leave the room. They wouldn’t last five minutes in the Duke’s Court. There’s a lot of questions that need answering about my Harald’s murder, and I haven’t been able to get straight answers out of anyone. Of course, I’m just the Queen. Maybe you can do better. If anyone’s evasive, feel free to give them a good slap. Two if they’re a politician.”