One for the Morning Glory (27 page)

"Are the stories true?"

"Of course. They're old and hopelessly distorted, so they must be true. If you like, when we've done whatever your mission is, perhaps you and I could go and have a look for it; it's the kind of place a human being might want to know the way to." The Riddling Beast sat down, breathing hard, laughing between roars. "I've had a month, now, of being out in the light and air as much as I like, and though it's a little lonely, a diet of fresh goblin and gazebo, plus plenty of exercise, has been working wonders. Your friend the witch was very kind to set a term on the spell so that if the Goblin Country acquired other gates, I should be free. Whatever became of her?"

"A bad end, I'm afraid," Sir John said.

"Well, she was still a splendid witch. I imagine you're here questing about something or other, Sir John, so I suppose you had better tell me what it is."

Slitgizzard nodded. "If you don't mind," he said, "I'll make a little fire first, and perhaps put on some water to boil—I need to make tea or soup or something—and we can talk then. It's apt to be a lengthy problem."

"Humph! Why didn't you say so? I've a few dressed-out gazebo hanging in the old digs, just for snacks now and then. I'll be back in moments. Sir John, and you can have steak or stew or whatever it is you make out of gazebo. Will one do?"

"Er, surely," Sir John said, "even hungry as I am I doubt I could eat more than a single haunch."

"As you like. I'll bring along a couple of spare gazebo, and if you don't mind roasting them, I've not had cooked flesh in ages and it's not bad for a novelty."

"By all means," Sir John said.

Fortunately the ogre had maintained a good stock of firewood, and Sir John was able to have a big, roaring fire going by the time the Riddling Beast came back. He had even had time to scour the spits thoroughly, so that he had some hope that all taint of man's-flesh was off them. The Riddling Beast had indeed done a fine job of skinning and gutting the gazebo (Sir John later learned that he used the tips of his sharp claws to peel them, rather like shrimp), and they had hung just long enough for full flavor, so Sir John shortly had roasting what he would have thought a splendid meal for fifty. In practice it was a splendid meal for Sir John and an appetizer for the beast. Neither spoke for a long time as they enjoyed it.

Finally Sir John said, "I really am neglecting duty, here, and should have told you my mission straight off. Somehow it seemed rude to proceed with it right away."

"A matter of timing," the Riddling Beast said. "In tales of the kind you seem to get caught in, Sir John Slitgizzard, timing is essential, and you'd not have made it so far without it. If you've delayed, there was some reason for the delay, you may be assured."

Slitgizzard nodded, and then explained what he had come for, recalling everything anyone knew about Waldo. "It seems that 'Where is the heart of Waldo?' is about as good a riddle as any to try your skill at."

The Riddling Beast sat down, and thought long and hard. Sir John occupied himself with all the little mending, fussing, checking, and fixing that one must do at the end of a long journey. There was little sound as they sat comfortably by the fire, except for the occasional clicking of Sir John testing a lovelock by pressing back on a chutney, or the scratch of the beast's great hind leg upon his shoulder or ear.

The light had nearly died when the Riddling Beast suggested that they sleep upon the problem. Since the beast was warm-blooded, and a sound, still sleeper, it was no problem for Sir John to curl up against him and be asleep at once.
And surely,
he thought,
if there is a safer place to sleep in all the worid, I do not know of it.

He awakened in the middle of the night when the Riddling Beast whispered, "Sir John, I know the answer."

"Oh?" he yawned.

"I kept trying to think of the oldest saying that might apply, and I finally settled upon 'Home is where the heart is.' Then I thought that Waldo had no home—he came into Overhill as a beggar with his horrid old mother, as you recall; and then I realized that he'd have left the heart with her, and that most surely he'd have left her where no one would bother to go, and the place no one would bother to go, nowadays, is into Overhill. And I realized she must be guarding it, even now, in Oppidum Optimum—"

Sir John swore. "And Calliope and Cedric are headed there! Probably are there already!"

"Well," the Riddling Beast said, "if you're packed, I carry nothing. And given the number of goblins running about these days I expect I could get a meal or two on the way. Perhaps we should fly now, since the moon is up?"

In moments Sir John's pack was clipped to the fur on the beast's back, Sir John had a solid grip, and they were plunging into the sky. Had he not been terribly worried for Calliope and Cedric, because this was the sort of thing that could only mean a rescue, and rescues meant danger, he might very well have enjoyed the way in which the great muscles under him flexed, and the sight of the bright moonlight shining on the snow and ice below. Long before the sun came up, they were over the last northwest tip of the Great North Woods; the Flat Rock rolled below them, and the sun came up as they passed over the dark silvery sweep of Iron Lake.

After the burial of her family, Calliope had no plans at all, really, other than to get Waldo's attention. She had thought that seizing his old capital would do that, surely, and had made all preparations to disperse her subjects against reprisals, and then to flee with her forces. Yet no word or message came down from the Isought Gap, and after a couple of days she dispatched Euripides and a few of the local men up the road to see what might be happening there.

In the meantime she was determined to add sting to the provocation. She bad been filled with a fury deeper than words by what she had seen in the chamber where her family had died, by the condition of the citadel, and most of all by the condition of her people (how swiftly they had become hers!—and how unbearable it was becoming that she had spent safe comfortable years in the Kingdom while her people suffered under the boot and lash of Waldo). She knew Amatus's Army ot the North was far better armed and equipped than her own hastily assembled force, and that Waldo would probably not get many furuncles toward the Isought Gap before the city fell behind him and he was forced to turn and fight Amatus in the open. Yet a part of her, privately, wanted to be the one to put an end to Waldo, for she felt that of all living persons, he had wronged her most.

She confided some of these feelings to Cedric, thinking that he ought to be given a chance to talk her out of them, but instead found him inclined to agree. "If magic has a law," Cedric said, "it is poetic justice, and to have the power of poetic justice on our side would be a great thing indeed. Moreover, I think that I know what would amplify the provocation sufficiently, if word got back to him. I noted that on your entry to your country, you quite properly took up the title of Queen. Still, you have not had a coronation—and that might be easily done, as you have the requisite foreign representative in the person of myself, and you have Captain Pseudolus, who you can make a baron or something, for nobility. That's two noble witnesses, one foreign, which is all you need. A dozen commoners should be no trouble to arrange."

"I suppose, now that we know that there is enough unspoiled grain to feed everyone and get the crop in," Calliope said, "we could manage some sort of feast for the occasion. We could make it a pot luck or something, since one thing I can't afford to do yet is establish a genuine royal household."

"Splendid!" Cedric said, stroking his beard. "If I may say, a people so recently rescued from starving is likely to take well to such an expression of the common touch."

"Oh, it's just practical," Calliope said, a bit crossly, for she was already realizing just how much politics were likely to get into her life from now on.

"One can hardly show a better common touch than by being practical," Cedric persisted.

"Then spare me any touch of nobility. I was wondering . . . I've at least a dozen women who've come by asking what they can do, and have not had much use for them—the men can always be put to pulling down rotten buildings and repairing things and so forth. Do you suppose it would be too much to ask a few of the women to clean the dreadful mess out of here, and maybe even clean the dust off the dishes, so that the citadel would be fit for the coronation?"

"I think you would find that they thought of it as a labor of love—and an honor so great that they will squabble with each other to help."

She smiled at that, but the old counselor was wise as always, for shortly she found herself having to adjudicate claims on the honor of cleaning, and in no time at all most of the citadel was becoming positively pleasant. She resolved that should she wind up married to Amatus, the kings and queens of the reunited Kingdom would have a tradition of coming here frequently. The light, graceful arches and open domes—the place had never really been built to stand a siege—large windows, and general airiness and spaciousness of the place seemed to bathe her in a soft white glow. Old garments found hanging in closets turned out to fit her after sprucing up by some of the washerwomen (it was a small miracle that they had been able to find the spruce to do it with). The gowns were not as fashionable as what she had once worn, Cedric thought, but they became a queen.

One mystery remained within the citadel. There was a door behind the Bloody Tapestry (as it had been dubbed, and though Calliope shuddered inwardly, she knew the importance of having it as a symbol, and that the name would stick to it as firmly as the dried blood now did). Most likely it was the unfound door to the Spirit Spire.

But there was no lock or knob upon the door, and since the hinges were on the other side it must swing that way, but even the pushing of four big soldiers did not budge it. Because almost anything could be behind that door, Captain Pseudolus posted a guard on it, and the guards tended to come back with stories of noises during the night, mainly thumping and whining.

"You know," Calliope said, as she pored over a map that Captain Pseudolus's best surveyor had made for her, "I would guess some secret of Waldo's is up there. But for tonight I have to get crowned, and we can worry about it after that."

"Well," Deacon Dick Thunder was saying, "it didn't work as a diversion, but it did liberate Overhill. And I'm glad the others are safe." They were seated at council of war inside Calliope's old house in the city, one of the few that had so stalwart a basement floor that no goblins could get into it, and had gone unburned by the invading army. Word had been everywhere in the city and Kingdom of a new Queen of Farthingale's lineage in Overhill, but still Waldo had done nothing but retreat into the castle with his remaining forces.

Everywhere in the city, the great hunt for goblins and undead was on, and the masons worked night and day sealing holes (after the citizens had first poured boiling pitch, or shoved piles of blazing wreckage, down them). No one bothered trying to enumerate how many goblins and undead had been slaughtered anymore.

They had recaptured so many arsenals and stocks of arms, and so much of the army had come back, that Waldo was now completely surrounded in the castle, ringed round with culverts and companies of omnibus and festoon men. No shot had come from the castle in two days.

Dick Thunder's men had proved their great value as snipers, and Waldo's forces were dwindling steadily; an hour did not go by without a half dozen shots from around the castle—and every day some shots found a mark, even if it was only a made man. In more exposed parts of the West Battue, corpses of Waldo's men lay exposed for days because there was no time, day or night, when they could be retrieved.

Though there was now an army more than adequate to take the castle, Amatus still delayed the final attack. He hated the thought of losing men. "The time could be more propitious, and so could our plans," he explained to Thunder and Palaestrio that morning. "I don't doubt there will have to be a front assault, or that it can only be directed at the West Battue. I only want something else going on as well, not a diversion but another thing Waldo must fear, for it's clear he can no longer exert enough control over a complicated situation, and fewer good men will die if the Usurper is distracted by another genuine menace that he dare not ignore."

Then Psyche spoke softly. "Majesty, you recall that Cedric was aware of, and escaped through, a secret passage from the library. I believe I know the spell for opening the door from this side—I learned it from Golias long, long ago. No more than a few men might go through, however—the passage is winding, narrow, and dark, and the opening at the library small, so only one man, or at most two or three, could make the trip."

"One man might do much," Amatus said. He rose and tossed a log into the fire, using his left hand; this was partly because it was new enough so that he still consciously enjoyed the sensation of using it, and partly because he was trying to build up its strengths and skills, making it do all the training his right arm had done under the Twisted Man's tutelage. "And this is a tale that cries out for a single combat. If I go with Psyche, into the castle, to slay Waldo by surprise, can you all manage the front assault without me?"

"We would value you as our banner and ensign," Dick Thunder said. "The Army of the North—which, incidentally, has been calling itself the 'King's Own Omnibuses' lately, so if you don't like that you should try to nip it in the bud—likes to feel that they are especially yours. But they are staunch fighters and I think that even if you died in your sleep tonight they would happily take the castle to put Calliope on the throne."

"The Regular Army is in good order," Palaestrio said, "and would be more than happy to be in at the kill. Indeed, Majesty, either army by itself could easily take the castle now. Waldo's power has largely melted away like snow; if I were altogether certain he was an ordinary mortal, I would almost advocate walling him up in there and letting him starve, for he has no power to break our siege. But that is not the sort of thing that happens in these tales, and I believe our King going in for single combat could be an inspiration to all of us. We could allow you a sizable head start, Majesty, and then announce the fact to your forces just as we commenced the full assault."

After that it seemed to Amatus that time blurred and raced faster, until the next morning, when the gray light of just-before-dawn was breaking across the countryside. It had been thought a poor idea to call any attention to the King's whereabouts, let alone to the tunnel, until the last moment, so with only Roderick as guide and guard, Psyche and Amatus approached the hidden door. Roderick himself took a few moments to find it, and he had noted it carefully in his own mind for future use. "Best of luck, Majesty. And you too as well, miss, Gwyn sends her love."

"Love is always the best thing to send," Psyche said, "so I shall keep hers and send her mine. Tell her I think often of the days we both worked in the nursery."

Roderick nodded and bowed slightly, just as if he had received a vital royal command. Then Psyche turned, and pressed her face to the hidden door there in the dark grotto, and whispered something to it. It swung open easily.

Amatus pulled his cloak close about him, for well he could imagine what would happen if a half-man—well, slightly more than half—were spotted in the castle. Aside from the cloak, he had taken the precaution of putting on captured livery of the enemy, for an armed man in the right clothing running through a fortress under attack would be unlikely to be questioned, if it were not too obvious that large parts of his left side were missing.

"I shall follow you to the library door," Amatus said to Psyche. "Will there be a spell to open that as well?"

"I hope not, Majesty, for I don't know one."

"This might be a very brief bit of heroism, Roderick, so I should wait to see how it comes out before you begin drafting it into your plays."

Roderick, who had been listening closely just so as to get it right, flushed deeply, but fortunately it was too dark to see this, and no one would have known if he had not later told Gwyn.

"Well, then," Amatus went on, "assuming we can open the door at the other end, let me be first through. You may return safely down the tunnel if you choose—"

"I am always with you."

"I know," he said gently. "But if you could choose, I wish you would choose safety, for I go into harm's way. If you must come with me, then, stay close behind. I rely on your discretion as to whether or not you draw or fire a weapon, but I'm afraid we must not speak until they catch on to us. I shall go directly to the Throne Room, for by all accounts Waldo will be in there preening, or bellowing orders, depending on whether or not he knows he's being attacked. I shall try to shoot him as soon as I see him, for there is not much sense in being sporting about this with anyone like Waldo, and after all there is honor and glory enough merely in getting back out alive. Once Waldo is dead, I suppose I shall improvise."

Psyche nodded, and said, "I will be with you."

As he followed Psyche through the cool, damp darkness, Amatus had more than time enough to think, but what he thought of was written in a lost part of his
Memoirs
, or told to Cedric in such confidence that it did not even end up in that worthy counselor's diary, or perhaps he never told anyone.

He brushed past Psyche to open the door and stepped into the dark library. There was no one there, but the shouts and distant gunshots from above told him the attack was under way. Drawing escree with one hand, and pismire with another, he kicked the library door open and stepped onto the landing. There was still no one there, so he raced up the stairs, his intent now all on getting to the Throne Room. He silently thanked all of the gods that he had been an active boy and knew evenry small passage, or at least every one that small boys had been trusted with. In what seemed no time at all, he burst into the Throne Room, to discover no one there.

Waldo, say what else vou might of him, had never been a coward, so most likely he had gone to the High Terrace to direct the battle from there. Amatus raced up the stairway.

He passed one slit window, turned the corner to another, and all but collided with a made man carrying a great armful or loaded omnibuses, probably to a sniper. The man stood erect, saluted, and handed Amatus all ot the weapons, then marched on down the stairway.

Amatus set the omnibuses down, then glanced through the window. On the roof of the clerihew before him, he could see a dozen real men, directing the fight on the West Battue before them. He snatched up the first omnibus, cocked the chutney, and shot the rearmost real man through the back of the head, a clean shot that made him think of Sir John Slitgizzard, and of the Twisted Man, and that the Duke had died down below, in the very library Amatus had come in through. He snatched up another omnibus, and downed another real man; and another, and another . . .

He had killed half of them before thev knew where the shots were coming from, and as they scrambled to escape, one fell from the roof ot the clerihew to the pavement below. As he struck, the others staggered—the shock was at last too much—and the made men on the parataxes wavered. At once the tops of ladders began to poke above the West Battue, and a thousand grigs whistled over and found a grip. The Army of the North was coming over.