The Hidden Land (6 page)

“All save Randolph and Matthew have been taken under guard, ’til they give account of what hath occurred. Jerome awaits you, at your leisure.”

“The King?”

She looked at Ted for a moment, and then back at Fence. “Within,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Fence, imbuing the single word with more formality than Ted would have believed possible.

The guards lowered their swords and Fence went between them into the Council Chamber. Ted had no desire to go back into that room. He looked at the yellow-haired woman, who had been kind at the banquet. She saluted him with her sword and stood a little more aside. Ted sighed and went in.

Someone had straightened out the King’s body and spread a dark-blue cloth over it. Randolph sat on the floor with his head on his knees. Matthew leaned on the table between him and the body of the King. He looked exasperated and helpless, and his whole face lit up when he saw Fence.

Fence got to his knees beside Randolph with a swiftness most people achieve only in jumping up, and put his arms around him.

“He, too?” he asked Matthew.

“He says not,” said Matthew; “he says ’tis but some gaingiving as might perhaps trouble a woman.”

Ted thought that the women at the door had no gaingivings troubling
them.
Then he thought that Randolph must know that, too. Some such gaingiving, he thought, as might perhaps trouble a woman who has poisoned the King. Or anybody with any sense.

“A looketh ill to me,” said Matthew.

“So do you,” said Ted. “So do I, I bet.”

“Matthew,” said Fence, still holding Randolph, “what happened?”

Matthew said slowly, “Many came early, thinking this the feast where all must serve. We set bottles and napkins and cups in place; Andrew had the opening of the bottles; ’tis some joke a hath with Conrad.”

He looked at the top of Randolph’s head. “As befitted the feast, we were all helter-skelter when the King arrived. Each of us, Fence, hath polished a glass, set a napkin or a plate. The King spoke to us and we saw he had mistook the feast.” He cleared his throat. “Randolph was on the King’s right; Edward to his; I to his; Conrad to his; Andrew to his. Now, when we saw the King was wrong, I put a napkin along Randolph’s arm; the King could not see for that Randolph was between us. Andrew had all the bottles before him, and he did push one past Conrad, and me, and Edward, to Randolph, who began to pour, the King’s cup having been set already.”

Matthew looked at Ted, who, not understanding the look, just shrugged at him. “Randolph was o’erhasty in his pouring,” said Matthew, still looking at Ted, “and striking the cup wi’ the bottle, he o’erturned it; then, striving to right the cup, he dropped the bottle. He did require Edward to bring him a cloth, and Edward did do’t.” He turned back to Fence. “Now the cup had been marred by the striking of the bottle, so that Edward brought him another; and, Andrew being sulky, I did take a new bottle and give it to Randolph, who poured for the King and for all.”

Matthew stood away from the table and crossed his arms. “All drank the wine, and took no harm therefrom; also, in the spilling of the first bottle, Lord Conrad and I were wet, but took no harm.”

“My best thanks to you,” said Fence. “Edward?”

“What he said,” said Ted, a little wildly. Either Matthew had not seen him bump Randolph, or he thought it best not to say so. From Matthew’s looks, it was probably the latter. In any case, he would prefer not to have to explain his actions.

Randolph brought his head up and looked over Fence’s arm at Ted; once again there was congratulation in his eyes. Ted stared at him, confounded; and then he knew. Now he and Randolph were in truth conspirators. It was Randolph who could save the Secret Country. If they thought Randolph was guilty they would not let him be Regent.

“Randolph?” said Fence, less sharply than he had spoken to Ted.

“ ’Tis a true account,” said Randolph; his eyes on Matthew were speculative. He seemed to be recovering.

“One thing other,” said Matthew, still looking at Fence. “When Randolph did spill the wine, it put Andrew into a most fierce choler.”

“What said he?” demanded Fence.

Matthew shrugged. “Naught,” he said. “He turned color and clenched his hands.”

“Yes, he did,” said Ted.

“Randolph?” said Fence.

“I saw not,” said Randolph.

Fence and Matthew looked at one another, but no one said anything. Randolph put a hand on Fence’s arm, and Fence and he helped each other up.

“Didst thou drink?” Fence asked him.

“The servant drinks not,” said Randolph.

“Shan’s mercy,” said Fence suddenly, “where is Benjamin?”

“He came not,” said Randolph, sounding surprised.

So that’s why my chair was empty, thought Ted, we were missing one. I never even noticed. Benjamin was
supposed
to be here, too. He makes a speech and says “Alas” a lot.

Fence closed his eyes and let his breath out. “One must tell him,” he said.

Randolph was beginning to look sick again. Serve you right, thought Ted. Maybe nobody else cared about the King: Matthew and Conrad had seemed more worried about Randolph, but Benjamin did care. And Randolph did, of course, crazy as that seemed. That was why he was so upset. Ted wished his mind would start working normally again.

“I’ll do’t,” said Randolph: he sounded exactly as Ted’s father had when it had been necessary to put one of their dogs to sleep.

“Meanwhile,” said Matthew, a little shakily, “the council lords fume and fret.”

“Let Agatha examine them,” said Fence. This startled Ted considerably, but nobody remarked on it. Fence regarded Matthew for a moment longer, and added, “And do you take it down, an it please you.”

“It will be long ere aught pleaseth me,” said Matthew, as if he were quoting something, and he went out.

“’Tis Benjamin should attend the King,” said Fence to Randolph. “We will stay ’til you find him.”

Randolph looked down at the King. “A will stay ’til we come,” he said, and went away.

Ted and Fence stood in the darkening room. Its candles were all out. Fence was wearing his wizard’s robe, and its curious twinings glowed and pulsed. Ted looked away from them to the King, and went to the window. He could not seem to stop shaking, and the air coming through the window, though damp, was warmer than the room.

“Well,” said Fence. “Confusion now hath made his masterpiece. Say you still that Randolph’s hand is in this?”

“I don’t see how he could have done it, Fence,” said Ted, truthfully enough. “I was watching him every minute.”

“My mind tends to Andrew,” said Fence, “but that is for a mere dislike; and he was in favor; why would a cut’s own throat?”

“Could it have been a mistake?” asked Ted.

“I would I had been here,” said Fence. There was a silence. “And I am remiss,” he added. Ted turned around. Fence had stooped over the King and raised the blue cloth. Ted was just as pleased to be unable to see what he was doing.

“Dear heaven,” said Fence.

“What?” said Ted.

“This is the very smell of sorcery.”

Oh, of course. But Edward would be surprised.
“What?”
said Ted.

“This is not a natural poison. It cannot be got save by sorcery.” Fence let the cloth fall from his hand and stood up. “Conrad, Matthew, Andrew, Randolph,” he said. “All had a chance at cup or bottle; and all have dabbled save Andrew.”

“His sister could have made it for him,” said Ted, viciously.

“So she could,” said Fence. He joined Ted at the window. “Or, think you, to Randolph?”

“No,” said Ted. “When he spilled the wine, I gave him a different cup, and I was right next to him the whole time. Besides,” added Ted, thinking that a little truth could do no harm, “he was very cheerful while we were setting the table.” He had become cheerful after seeing the spiderweb in the cupboard, whatever that meant.

“And Andrew was marvelous distempered at the spilling of the wine?”

“Yes, marvelous.”

“Now thou hast seen the deed, thou hast less stomach for the thought that Randolph did do’t?” said Fence, belaboring the point as was his occasional regrettable habit. Ted remembered the scolding Laura, Patrick, and Ellen had gotten for disobeying Fence’s orders, the night Claudia came up the stairs to Fence’s tower with a sorcerous knife in her hand. Arguing had done them no good; Randolph had shut Fence up eventually. Ted was silent. Fence put an arm around his shoulders, and a little of his stillness had seeped into Ted when Randolph came back with Benjamin. They had brought two torches.

Randolph still looked sick. He stayed by the door, leaning on the wall next to the bracket he had slid the torch into. Benjamin’s face, as he stared at the disordered room and the body of the King, was stunned and furious. Fence came away from the window, almost dragging Ted with him. Benjamin stooped over the King as Fence had done, and grief began to overtake the fury on his face. Then he started, and sniffed the air, and looked up at Fence.

“Aye,” said Fence.

“So Melanie haunts us still,” said Benjamin. He kissed the King’s forehead, and looked at Fence again. Ted braced himself for the alas-speech; he had a horrible feeling that he might laugh.

“The bright day is done,” said Benjamin, as if Fence were personally responsible, “and we are for the dark.”

“See to thy torches, then,” said Fence.

Benjamin seemed a little taken aback; then, shocking Ted, he laughed. “Aye,” he said. “Fire is the test of gold.” He stood up and looked at Ted. “A was better pleased wi’ thee these last weeks,” he said. He put his head out the door. “Bear him away,” he said.

Four women Ted had never seen before came in and did so.

Benjamin looked at Ted again. “Leave all the rest to me,” he said, and went after them.

“Well, my lord,” said Fence to Ted. “you cannot have a council whilst your lords are penned with an inquisitor, but by your gracious will Lord Randolph and I might impart to you what we these six months have done.”

“Only if you promise not to go on talking like that,” said Ted.

“While we are private I will not,” said Fence. He sat down in Andrew’s chair and fished a map from the folds of his robe. “Randolph,” he said, without looking up, “where is the Book of King John?”

“In Matthew’s chamber,” said Randolph. “Fence. What of the children?”

 

The other four children had gathered in Ellen and Laura’s room. They sat, fidgeting and squabbling, on the bed with its green quilt. Around them the white horses raced unregarded across the green tapestries; the black cat slept on Ellen’s discarded yellow dress. Outside above the shadowy mountains the western sky grew prickled over with stars as some wind from lands they had never seen pushed the clouds over High Castle, south and west to the domains of the Dragon King. This same wind faltered in through the unglazed window, whose shutters no one had thought to close, and tipped the flames of the lamps a little sideways. Only Laura, carefully staying out of the argument, noticed any of these things.

Ellen wanted to go listen at the door of the Council Room, but had been prevented by Ruth. Laura was not sure what she thought of Ruth these days. She had taken to wearing long white dresses, staring abstractedly into space when you were talking to her, and using her sorcerous voice for trivial things like telling Ellen that her hair ribbon did not match her dress. She was taller than ever, and wore her hair tightly braided and wound around her head, which made her look much less like Ellen and entirely too grown-up.

“I guess we’ll know if anything went wrong,” said Ellen, resigning herself. “They’ll all shout ‘Treason!’ ”

“Even if they did we wouldn’t be able to hear it over here,” said Patrick. “It’s probably half a mile to the Council Room.”

“Matthew has to come right by here to get Agatha,” said Ellen. “So she can lay the King out.”

“Why should she hit him when he’s dead?” said Laura, despite her resolutions. It did not matter in the slightest, of course, because nobody paid any attention.

“Fence has to come tell
us
if the King’s dead,” said Ruth to Ellen, patiently. “He’s Patrick’s father and our uncle.”

“He is not,” said Ellen.

“The
King
is,” said Ruth, less patiently.

“Let’s
do
something,” said Ellen.

“Like what?” said Patrick. “Play hopscotch?”

“I could read aloud,” said Ruth.

“Can you read that stuff?” asked Laura.

“Sure,” said Ruth. She picked up the book she had brought with her, a shabby affair with a much-scored leather binding, and opened it. “But King John,” she read, “had been raised by an old country woman, and he knew the ways of monsters. So when the—”

“Oh, don’t!” said Ellen. “I can’t stand hearing any more about King John. I wish we’d never invented him. And that’s
dumb.
Why should a king be raised by an old country woman?”

Ruth was exasperated, but she was interrupted before she could express herself. Fence came into the room without knocking. They all gaped at him. He was very still and remote; only the curling starry lines on his robe moved a little as the lamplight caught them.

Fence looked at them for a moment as they sat and sprawled on the bed. Then he came across the room in a flurry of stars and put his hand on Patrick’s head. Patrick looked at him as if he were the worst part of a horror movie; except that horror movies never bothered Patrick.

“Thy royal father’s dead,” said Fence.

He appeared braced for hysteria; they simply stared at him. Laura was supposed to throw herself into his arms and howl, but she could not do it.

“I knew it,” muttered Patrick.

Fence took his hand from Patrick’s head and examined him much as he had examined Claudia’s knife. “Did you so?” he said.

Patrick stood up and looked him straight in the face. “Ted told me what he thought.”