Once In a Blue Moon (23 page)

Richard felt overcome by history. This was the room in which Prince Rupert and Princess Julia, King John and Prince Harald, and even the enigmatic High Warlock himself, had gathered in the last days of the Demon War. When all seemed lost. To talk and plan, and through their actions, change the course of history.

This was where they decided to take on the demon hordes, and bring down the Demon Prince, and save all humanity from extinction. Richard knew there had to be other rooms beyond this, somewhere, a whole suite of rooms, and God alone knew what kind of historical treasures they held. No one had been able to find this suite of rooms since they disappeared, soon after King John disappeared into the wilderness, after the war. And people had looked really hard for them. This was a magical place, at the heart of songs and legends beyond counting. A place of Destiny. Richard circled the room anxiously, again and again, just trying to take it all in, but then he stopped abruptly as a large portrait on the wall caught his attention. It showed King John, and his wife, Queen Eleanor, with someone who just had to be the High Warlock. Richard stared at the image, openmouthed. They all looked so young . . . younger even than him.

This was from that long-ago time, the golden time, when they were all good friends and in their prime. Before it all went so horribly wrong. The warrior King and his beautiful Queen, and the greatest Wild Magician of his time. Richard stared at the tall, black-robed, black-haired, darkly handsome young man, the High Warlock, standing just a little apart from the King and Queen. The man seemed to blaze with life and energy and charisma, even through an official portrait. There were no portraits of the High Warlock anywhere now, official or otherwise. King John had them all burned, after he banished the High Warlock from his Court.

Some of the songs claimed it was for failing to save the Queen’s life after she fell ill. Others, because the Queen and the Warlock fell in love. And others . . . said other things. There were lots of stories, but no one knew for sure. All the legends agreed that the High Warlock left Forest Castle and went out into the wilderness to raise up the Tower With No Doors. Where he stayed for many years, until Prince Rupert called him forth to be a hero one last time, in the Demon War.

There were all kinds of songs and stories about the man, all of which should be taken with a large pinch of salt.

Richard tore his gaze away from the portrait to stare almost wildly about him, his heart racing. The room seemed suddenly . . . oppressive. There was just so much history here, the truth about what had really happened in this room, a hundred years before. It was like being immersed in History itself. And then Richard frowned, as a cold chill crept over him. Why now? Why had this room, this particular legendary room, suddenly made itself known after being lost for so long? And why had it opened so easily to him? Because the door was keyed to the Forest Royal line—or because it was waiting for him? The man who was going to be King, a hundred years after the Demon War . . . Did that mean there was something significant here that he was supposed to recognise, and make use of?

He walked round and round the room, increasingly quickly, looking at everything but unable to spot anything out of the ordinary. He had ended up standing right in the centre of the room, looking desperately back and forth . . . when Jacqui Piper rushed back in, gasping for breath.

“What is it?” said Richard, in a harsh voice he wasn’t sure he recognised.

“You have to come with me now, Prince! Right now! Honest! Message from the Seneschal, vital and important and terribly urgent. There’s trouble at the Cathedral!”

“It’s always something,” said the Prince just a bit bitterly. “Some days this Castle just won’t leave you in peace!”

“Tell me about it,” said Jacqui.

•   •   •

T
hey ran all the way. It wasn’t often that things went wrong with the Cathedral, but when they did, they tended to go very thoroughly wrong. Suddenly and violently and all over the place. And wise men rushed for cover until it was over. Once, the Cathedral had been topologically and spiritually Inverted, and that was why the Castle had been so much bigger on the inside than on the outside for so many years. (And not because of a cock-up at the architect’s, as so many had claimed.) Hawk and Fisher and the even more legendary Walking Man went into that Inverted Cathedral, and found something there, and did something to put it right, though they would talk about only some of it afterwards. But suddenly the Cathedral was no longer Inverted, and the Castle had its insides and outsides in the proper order. The Cathedral rose up to Heaven, a beacon of worship, right in the middle of the restored Castle, and was very popular with the more than usually religiously inclined. Apart from the standard religious services, the Cathedral was a magnet for religious tourists, penitents and the like, and many visitors from many lands. Their financial contributions helped greatly with the depleted coffers of the Forest King.

Richard couldn’t help noting that most of the corridors he and his companion were running through were suddenly very empty. Could whatever it was that was going on in the Cathedral really be that bad?

“Has the Seneschal evacuated this area?” he said, in between heavy breathing from running so hard.

“If I was any more scared, I’d be evacuating,” said Jacqui, forcing the words past her own harsh breathing.

“You are a deeply disturbing person,” said Richard.

“Play to your strengths, that’s what I always say,” said Jacqui.

“Do you suppose . . . this could be the Burning Man, back at last?” said Richard, slowing his pace despite himself. “That poor damned soul out of Hell that Hawk and Fisher and the Walking Man met inside the Inverted Cathedral?”

“Well, before he could return, first you’d have to decide whether he ever existed,” said Jacqui, also slowing down. “Or if he was just added to the story afterwards, to keep the religious fanatics happy. Hawk and Fisher left a very spotty official account of what they did and saw inside the Cathedral. And the Walking Man never said anything, even after he gave up the position to become Prince Consort to Queen Felicity. I believe in the Burning Man because I like a good story, but that doesn’t mean I want to meet him.”

“Good point,” said Richard.

“I thought so,” said Jacqui.

But when they finally limped, breathless and sweaty, into the Cathedral’s lobby, they both calmed down considerably as they realised it was just another showdown between the various stallholders, merchants and hucksters who made a living selling some very suspect religious items to the very religious tourists. Richard and Jacqui stopped just inside the great arched doorway and leaned on each other for a long moment while they got their breath back. No one paid them any attention. The stallholders were all busy yelling at one another at the top of their lungs, glaring right into one another’s faces and threatening one another with increasingly specific consequences. The threat of violence was heavy on the air, but no one had actually nerved themselves to the hitting point yet.

There were dozens of stallholders involved, everyone from genuine religious fanatics to hardheaded merchants, connected only by a shared determination to squeeze every last penny possible out of the tourists. Who were now standing in small groups around the perimeter of the Cathedral lobby, taking it all in with fascinated eyes and wide smiles and enjoying the spectacle intensely. It would make such a great story to tell the folks back home. By listening carefully to the clashing raised voices, Richard was finally able to work out that a Holier Than Thou contest had broken out. The words
heretic
and
blasphemer
were being bandied about with more than usual venom, along with many barbed comments on the efficacy and quality of the various items being offered for sale. Richard took a quick look around, to reassure himself it was all just the usual rubbish. Mostly religious artefacts, the writings of various Saints (illustrated editions extra), blessed holy medals, and charms guaranteed to ward off witches, demons, flood, and impotence.

The usual.

There were even some apparently quite ordinary and everyday objects, made special (and therefore expensive) because they were supposed to have been handled by all sorts of characters from the Demon War period. Mostly Rupert and Julia, of course, but any number of minor and peripheral names got a good look in. Along with a dragon’s claw and a unicorn’s silver hoof, and an empty wine bottle supposedly emptied by the High Warlock himself. Richard had trouble believing anyone believed in this tat, especially since most of it clearly wasn’t old enough. And he found the prices particularly unbelievable.

Richard finally pushed his way through the ranks of delighted tourists, with Jacqui tagging eagerly along behind him. The tourists didn’t care, being mostly engaged in speculating on the chances of actual bloodletting, and then placing their bets accordingly. Free entertainment was always the best kind. By now the various stallholders had escalated to threatening one another with curses, extra years in Purgatory, and a chance to visit Hell any moment now by a very direct route.

Richard stopped it all by barging right into the middle of them, and shouting even louder than they did. They all turned on him, outraged, and then shut up the moment they saw who it was. The fact that he had a really big sword on his hip probably helped. He glared about him.

“I am Prince Richard, Defender of the Faith and protector of Castle security! Which means I outrank every single one of you here! You should all be ashamed of yourselves, behaving in such a fashion, in such a sacred setting!”

There was a certain amount of everyone involved staring at their feet, and mutters of
He started it
, before one of the better-dressed stallholders stepped forward to confront the Prince, drawing himself up to his full height and dignity.

“This is no place for you, Prince Richard! This is none of your affair! This isn’t about religion, it’s about business!”

Richard punched him out. A good solid shot, right to the point of the jaw, and the watching crowd applauded happily as the stallholder measured his length on the polished marble floor. Richard smiled graciously about him, and did his best to hide the fact that his right hand really hurt. Peter would have been disappointed in him for forgetting his basic training.
Never go for the jaw; it’s just one big bone. Nuts and noses; that’s the thing, along with all the other soft spots. And never hit a man when he’s down! Far too dangerous. Put the boot in, instead.
Richard allowed his smile to fade away as he turned a stern look on the now rather subdued stallholders.

“I do not need this kind of nonsense, not when I’ve got so many other things on my plate to deal with! So knock it off! One more angry word out of anyone . . . and I’ll have the Seneschal send in the security guards to check everyone’s permits!”

The merchants all bobbed their heads quickly and went back to their stalls. The word
permits
had taken all the starch out of them. Richard smiled.

“That’s it, back to work, everyone. There are still lots of tourists standing around with some of your money left in their pockets.”

The usual hubbub of religious marketing resumed, as the tourists ignored Prince Richard in favor of pursuing some enthusiastic haggling. If there wasn’t going to be any violence, they wanted to get back to the more important business of paying through the nose for things they didn’t really need. Richard left the Cathedral lobby, and Jacqui strolled along beside him.

“Are you really going to call the guards in to check all their permits?”

Richard grinned at her. “You don’t need a permit to sell goods in the Cathedral lobby. But they didn’t know that . . . Funny, that.”

Jacqui shook her head admiringly. “God, you’re devious.”

“Why, thank you,” said Richard. “All part of being a Prince.”

•   •   •

R
ichard and Jacqui disappeared into the Castle. Unbeknownst to them, the First Minister, Peregrine de Woodville, and the Leader of the Loyal Opposition, Henry Wallace, had been observing them all this time from a shadowy corner of the Cathedral lobby. The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, having watched the entire confrontation with cool, thoughtful eyes.

“I told you if we paid off one of the merchants to start some trouble, the Prince would have to get involved,” said Henry Wallace.

“So you did,” said Peregrine. “I was interested to see how far he would go when provoked. Disappointingly, he kept a firm hold on his temper and didn’t even draw his sword. A nice mix of diplomacy and brute force. A King in the making.”

Henry Wallace nodded unhappily. He and Peregrine took it in turns to run Parliament, as their parties swapped back and forth, roughly every five years. There were only two parties in the Forest Land, and there wasn’t really that much difference between them. Democracy was a relatively new thing, imported from the Southern Kingdoms, and everyone was still working out the rules and the options. Officially, Peregrine’s party stood for reform and progress, while Henry’s stood for consolidation and hanging on to the old values. But really, it was all about power.

Henry Wallace was a dark, sardonic figure, with fussy clothing that tried hard to be fashionable but never quite managed it. He had a brooding, forceful presence that made people think he was a lot smarter than he really was. And nobody could match him when it came time to delivering fire-and-brimstone speeches. (Couldn’t ad-lib to save his life, though, so the party saw to it that he was always surrounded by smart young things in public, to do that for him.) Henry saw his job to be . . . a safe pair of hands.

“Richard is going to be trouble,” said Peregrine. “I can tell.”

“We can’t have him mess this marriage up,” said Henry. “The Peace agreement is just too important. Took a lot of hard work to come up with something both sides hated but could just about live with. Sometimes I have nightmares where I’m still at that bloody negotiating table, arguing endlessly and getting nowhere.”