Once In a Blue Moon (54 page)

“The knife-thrower didn’t know she was there to kill anyone, until she was activated!” said the Seneschal. “Do try to keep up, Peregrine . . .”

“In my opinion,” said Henry Wallace, but the other two just talked right over him.

“My men are everywhere,” said Garner, raising his voice just enough to cut through everyone else’s. “And they are doing everything they can. I’ve got guards covering every occupied room and corridor in this Castle, and even more blocking off access to the unoccupied areas. Every door and gate and opening is secure; no one gets in or out that I don’t know about, in advance. I’ve even got men with dogs working their way through the unoccupied areas, to make sure no one’s hiding out in there. I’ve got sorcerers watching over everything else. Not particularly high-class sorcerers, admittedly, but you have to work with what you’ve got. And yes, the Necromancer is doing his bit too. And no, you don’t get to question him. I don’t want him disturbed.”

“Anybody else?” said Henry Wallace, just to remind everyone he was still there.

“This is no time for humour, Henry!” said Peregrine.

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” said Henry. “I was just trying to point out that if Garner needs more money, for more people, I’m sure we could get Parliament to approve it.”

“It’s not money—it’s manpower that’s the problem,” said Garner. “I’ve sent for reinforcements, so I can send men out into the surrounding woods . . . but I can’t see how they can get here before the wedding. As it is, my people are protecting the Castle from all the usual threats, but we are dealing with professional-level threats. According to the regrettably few high-level magic-users I have access to, it’s really hard to identify a killer when they don’t know that’s what they are. We need to find whoever it is who’s activating them. Someone within the Castle is a high-level Redhart agent! It’s the only answer. Someone really highly placed. If that monk hadn’t been as good as he was, we’d have a dead Prince on our hands.”

The First Minister stopped pacing up and down before Garner’s desk, so he could concentrate his best scowl on the head of security. “What do we know about this new group of champions we’ve let inside the Castle? Can we trust them? I mean, does anyone here think it’s just a coincidence that people from the Hero Academy have turned up at the Grand Tourney today and were right there on the scene when that little bitch nearly killed the Princess?”

“My people are doing background checks, even as we speak,” said Garner. “But I think we already know most of it. These people are celebrities in their own right. Hawk and Fisher used to run the Hero Academy, down in Lancre.”

“Troublemakers,” said Peregrine, and everybody nodded.

“And Jack Forester used to be the Walking Man, back in his younger days,” said Garner.

“Oh, bloody Hell,” said the Seneschal. “That’s all we needed. If I’d known, I’d never have let him inside the Castle.”

“Let’s try not to panic just yet,” said Garner. “Apparently, the man’s been living the contemplative life in a monastery for the past twenty years.” He looked thoughtfully at the Seneschal. “Guilty conscience, perhaps?”

“Who hasn’t?” said the Seneschal.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” said Garner. “These days he’s just an old monk leaning on a wooden staff.”

“An old monk who brought Prince Richard back to life from a wound that should have killed him!” said Peregrine. “How retired is that?”

“At least he’s not killing anyone,” said Garner.

“Yet,” said the Seneschal darkly.

“To further complicate things, the old warrior woman from the Sorting House, Gillian Forester, is his sister,” said Garner.

“Oh, this just gets better and better,” said Peregrine.

“Gillian Forester has spent most of her twilight years acting as a tutor for the Brotherhood of Steel,” said Garner. “Very professional, very well thought of.”

The Seneschal gave him a hard look. “You do know who Jack and Gillian Forester really are? Who their parents were?”

“Of course I know,” said Garner. “It’s my job to know everything that matters.”

“I don’t know,” said Peregrine. “What am I missing?”

“Jack and Gillian Forester are the son and daughter of Prince Rupert and Princess Julia,” said Garner.

“Oh, bloody hell!” said Peregrine. “That’s all we need!”

“They’re
that
Jack and Gillian?” said Henry. “Why are they here? Could they be here to stake a claim to the throne at last? Because of the Royal wedding?”

“Calm down, Henry, before you have an aneurysm,” said Peregrine. “They’re no threat to the throne. You never were very good at history, were you? They both publicly renounced any claim to the Forest throne years ago. That leaves them just . . . poor relations. Probably only here to attend the wedding and see if there’s any chance of a handout from the Royal coffers while everyone’s in a good mood.”

“I could have them thrown into a dungeon until this is all over,” Garner suggested quietly.

“The Walking Man? And a head tutor from a Sorting House?” said the Seneschal. “Yeah, right. Good luck with that one. I saw them at the Tourney; those two grey-haired coffin-dodgers could run rings around anyone you have. And do I really need to remind you . . . Yes, I see from the blank faces that I do. Gillian Forester is the mother of Raven the Necromancer.”

“What?”
said Peregrine. “Why wasn’t I told this?”

“Damn right!” said Henry. “The Necromancer is the grandson of Rupert and Julia? We should have been told this the moment he started becoming so . . . prominent!”

“He now speaks with the King’s voice, and the King’s authority,” Garner said quietly.

“You mean he outranks you?” said the Seneschal.

Garner allowed himself a small smile. “In theory, perhaps. In practice . . . I think not. It’s my job to protect the King. From the folly of his own decisions, if necessary. But again, there’s no reason to get excited. Raven is still merely the son of someone who’s already publicly given up any claim they might have had to the throne. And he’s not exactly the type to allow any faction to use him as a figurehead, is he? The point is, if you even look like you’re thinking of bothering his mother, I can’t help feeling the Necromancer would probably become very upset. Do you really want to risk that just when we might need him most?”

“At least . . . try to keep this troublesome family away from everyone who matters,” said Peregrine.

“Prince Richard invited them in, as acclaimed champions,” said the Seneschal, “and since Jack Forester saved his life. Richard has already said the monk and his family can stay here as long as they like. They are Royal guests . . . with all the privileges that entails. Still, it’s a big Castle. I’m sure I can find somewhere suitably distant to put them.”

“Do it!” snapped Peregrine. He glared at Garner. “Find the Redhart agent. This . . . master of assassins. I don’t care how you do it, but I want him dead or in chains before the wedding!”

“Is it really too late to postpone the wedding?” said the Seneschal. “Just until we’ve found this agent?”

The First Minister and the Leader of the Opposition were already shaking their heads.

“Already thought of that,” said Henry. “We can’t risk it.”

“We have to get Richard and Catherine married as quickly as possible so we can sign the Peace agreement,” said Peregrine. “Once they’re wed and the agreement is signed, Catherine will no longer be a target. Hopefully.”

There was a long pause as they all stared at one another, hoping someone else would come up with some great idea to save the day . . . but when that didn’t happen, they drew themselves up and bowed briefly to one another, and left Laurence Garner’s secret room. The door closed quietly but firmly behind Peregrine, Henry, and the Seneschal. Peregrine turned back and opened the door and looked inside, but Garner and his room were already gone, back on their never-ending travels around the interior of the Castle.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” said the Seneschal. “I have to attend the King.”

“How is he?” said the Peregrine. “After the . . . strains of today?”

“Better than usual,” said the Seneschal. “The sheer number of crises has actually been good for him. Keeping him . . . alert.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, I’m sure,” said Peregrine smoothly.

“Just have to hope it lasts,” growled Henry. “The sooner we can put Richard on the throne, the better.”

The Seneschal regarded the two politicians coldly. He knew how they really felt about Rufus and Richard. “You’ve never given the Prince his due,” he said. “Shame you can’t manage to get anything done around here without him, isn’t it?”

“Richard won’t sit on the throne for long,” said Peregrine. “We’ll see to that.”

“You mean Parliament will see to it, don’t you?” said the Seneschal.

“Parliament will do what we tell it to do!” said Henry.

The Seneschal smiled. “You see? You do know how to think like Royalty.”

“And what will you do then?” said Peregrine, just a bit spitefully. “When you don’t have a King or a Prince to follow around?”

The Seneschal allowed his smile to widen just a little. “Maybe I’ll go into politics.”

He turned his back on the both of them and sauntered unhurriedly down the corridor. Peregrine and Henry watched him go with equal loathing, and then they turned and strode off in the opposite direction.

“Give me some good news, Henry,” Peregrine said tiredly. “I could really use some good news.”

“Well,” said Henry, “at last it would seem that Richard and Catherine have . . . bonded. So we won’t have to drive them to the wedding ceremony with swords at their backs after all. Which did seem a distinct possibility, for some time.”

“I can’t wait till they’re married,” said Peregrine. “William could still call the whole thing off if he sees these attacks on the Princess’ life as an assault on his honour. If he decides we can’t keep his daughter safe, he could demand that she be returned to Redhart, so he can protect her properly. And we couldn’t allow that. The Peace agreement would collapse.”

Henry looked at him thoughtfully. “Would you really hold Catherine captive? To influence William’s behaviour?”

“Well,” said Peregrine, “not as such . . .”

“You need to talk to your man, the Sombre Warrior,” said Henry. “See what he knows.”

“Where do you think we’re going now?” said the First Minister.

•   •   •

N
ot all that long afterwards, the two politicians stood outside the Sombre Warrior’s door, and Peregrine knocked briskly. There was a long pause, and then the Sombre Warrior jerked the door open. He was wearing his chalk white porcelain mask and a full set of leather armour, and he had his sword in his hand. He looked the two men over, glanced up and down the empty corridor, and then lowered his sword but didn’t put it away. He stepped back, inviting his guests in with a brusque nod of the head. Peregrine and Henry did their best to walk in as though they owned the place, but they both jumped a little as the Sombre Warrior slammed the door shut behind them and locked it. The Warrior strode back into the middle of the room and turned to face Peregrine and Henry. He still hadn’t put his sword away.

“How may I serve you, my masters?” he said. He didn’t remove his mask. Peregrine knew what lay beneath it, but Henry didn’t. The Sombre Warrior was pretty sure there was a lot Henry didn’t know, that Peregrine knew. Even the closest of associates kept secrets from each other in politics.

“Did you know there was to be an attempt on the Princess’ life this morning?” Peregrine said bluntly.

“Of course not,” said the Sombre Warrior. “Do you really think I’d allow anyone to harm my Princess? And no, before you ask, I have no idea who is behind these attempts. Or I’d give you his head myself.”

“Do you know of any Redhart spies hidden inside this Castle?” said Henry.

“No one here has contacted me,” the Sombre Warrior said carefully. “But then, they must know I’d never stand by and allow the Princess to come to any harm. For any reason.”

The two politicians studied the Sombre Warrior for a moment. They were used to dominating people, just because of who and what they were, but it was clear from the Sombre Warrior’s voice and stance that while he might serve them, he really didn’t give a damn who and what they were. He was a soldier, and a killer. He would do what he was told, but the reasons behind it were none of his concern. And in some things he would not be moved at all. Quite suddenly, Peregrine and Henry felt as though they were trapped in a room with a large and very dangerous wild animal. Trained to useful purpose but not in any way tamed.

Henry looked at Peregrine. “I can’t believe you’ve had such a highly placed spy in William’s Court all this time.”

“Years,” Peregrine said loftily. “He’s been my man for years. I own him. Isn’t that right, Warrior?”

“Of course,” said the Sombre Warrior. His voice from behind the porcelain mask was completely calm.

“Are you happy to be so used?” said Henry.

“Happy?” said the Sombre Warrior. He left the word hanging on the air for a moment. “I am content to serve.”

“Are you comfortable here?” persisted Henry.

“These words have no meaning for me,” said the Sombre Warrior.

Henry looked at Peregrine and shrugged. “It does move a man to think if we have him, inside Redhart . . . who might King William have, here? Which trusted and highly placed individual might even now be plotting new crimes against us? Or the Princess?”

“Don’t waste your Parliamentary mode of speech on me, Henry,” said Peregrine. “And always remember the first rule of the spying game: never trust anyone.”

“You trust me, don’t you?” said Henry.

“Of course I trust you. Do you trust me?”

“Of course, Peregrine.”

And, honours satisfied, they both bowed briefly to the Sombre Warrior, who moved over to the door and unlocked it. Henry eased quickly past the huge figure. He couldn’t help noticing the Warrior still hadn’t put his sword away. Peregrine made a point of taking his own sweet time leaving, but both he and Henry were relieved to be out in the corridor again, when the door slammed shut behind them.