The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (9 page)

“I also found a bloody quarrel hidden in the Duke’s cabin. It is not of a type we use,” Fallon said. “I am sure men are behind this and doing it in a way that makes people think it has to be selkies or magic or something. The Duke, as the King’s cousin, must have been the main target and the others are being stolen away to disguise that.”

The Duchess smiled at him and then turned to Hagen. “Captain, this man seems too smart to be stuck in Baltimore. Why is he not serving us here?”

“I have tried to get him here a few times, my lady,” Hagen said stiffly. “But he has always preferred the quiet life.”

Fallon flushed a little as the Duchess regarded him warmly. “Fallon, I can understand not wanting to live in Lunster. Aroaril knows I find it hard enough! I do believe if I had had to live here before my beloved Kinnard fell desperately in love with me and begged me to marry him and make him the happiest man alive, I might have said no!”

She laughed, a warm and rich sound, and Fallon found himself joining her.

“So tell me, Fallon, are you married? Do you have children?”

Fallon looked uncertainly over at Hagen, who smiled and nodded.

“I like to know about the men who serve me,” the Duchess said gently.

Fallon cleared his throat. “I am married my lady, for nigh on twenty summers now.”

“And your wife’s name? Do you have children?”

“Bridgit, my lady. We have one son, Kerrin, who’s ten summers old.”

The Duchess’s smile faded. “Only one child in twenty summers? My dear Fallon, that sounds as though you have suffered the most terrible luck. Was it fevers? Did they even survive to birth?”

Fallon swallowed, a lump suddenly in his throat. It was not something he ever spoke about, except with Bridgit. But the obvious sympathy shining out of the Duchess’s face, the thought of a noble wanting to know about his life prompted him to open up.

“We lost many before they had the chance to be born and then we lost another two in the first days after birth. Kerrin was the only one to even make it to a quarter-moon,” he said hoarsely, the words like a series of sharp knives to the heart.

“You poor man. The Duke and I were never blessed and it has been the one regret of my life. That is another reason why I like to take an interest in those around me. In a way, you are all my children. Please, you and your wife have my deepest sympathy. I can see why you are protective of your one child.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Fallon bobbed his head.

“But your county needs men like you now. We are facing a very clever attack from someone. It is not fellow Gaelish, much as some of the other nobles dislike Kinnard.”

“The Duke is popular, surely, my lady. He is beloved among the people,” Fallon said.

“Alas,” she sighed. “The very qualities that endear him to the ordinary people make him unpopular with his fellow nobles and his royal cousin. Earlier this year we were in Berry and King Aidan wouldn’t stop going on about our taxes. In the end I was pleased to get out of there!”

Again she laughed and Fallon felt compelled to join in. “But it is not fellow Gaelish. There are none subtle enough to plan this. And it is going to be hard to stop. Captain, do we have enough men to both protect our people and go hunting for who is behind this?”

“Not a chance, my lady. We have more than a hundred miles of coast. The Duke’s ship was the only one I would care to fight from – and it’s stranded in Baltimore,” Hagen said instantly.

“That’s what I thought. There is only one thing to do and that is send word to King Aidan. He might not have liked Kinnard but he was still a cousin. We need his ships and men. Until then, we must protect what we have got. If we get everyone into villages and ensure nobody goes out on their own, we might just frustrate whoever is doing this.”

“What about setting a trap, my lady? Filling a ship full of fighting men but hiding them in the hold and making it look like a simple fishing vessel?” Fallon asked.

The Duchess paused, then nodded, and Fallon could see a new respect in her eyes. “Hagen, your friend Fallon needs to be here, understand?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“We could also hide men in isolated farmsteads, see if that draws them in,” Fallon offered.

“And once we have captured some of whoever is doing this, we can find out why and get my husband back. Aroaril knows that cannot be soon enough. As soon as the other nobles discover he is gone, I’ll have a procession of them offering their sympathies and leering at me. The queue to win my hand will go twice around Lunster!”

“My lady, who do you think it is? The only lands around here with the ships required would have to be the Kottermanis,” Fallon added.

The Duchess shook her head, waving her long blond hair around artfully. “The Kotterman Empire is our friend. They earn too much from us by trade. Aroaril knows I have paid enough to them to make this place look presentable. Not that Kinnard knew much about it. He could trip over a new piece and not realise I just had it brought up from the docks. I’d tell him it was some heirloom I’d found in the attic! But poor Kinnard’s idea of beauty was an animal skin thrown onto the floor!”

“He picked you though, my lady, which says he must have some sort of eye,” Fallon said boldly.

The Duchess roared with laughter, which he found odd, coming after the terrible news she had been given. He reminded himself nobles’ marriages were very different from common people’s. “This one is a real jewel, Hagen! Now, while I would like to keep talking, we have much work to do. I need to send a message to Berry. Hagen, I want a squad of your best riders ready to take it there. They are not to stop for anything. Fallon, write down your ideas for turning the tables on our attackers. You give it to Hagen, who can take me through it later. Then you go home and pack your things. By the next full moon you will be Hagen’s lieutenant here. The last one was lost along with my husband.”

“I am honored,” Fallon said, torn between the excitement of being recognized like this and wondering what Bridgit would say about moving to Lunster.

“Good. Now we must hurry. The sand is dropping through the hourglass and the fate of the county is at stake here.”

Fallon and Hagen saluted and left.

“My deputy, eh?” Hagen patted him on the shoulder as soon as the doors shut behind them. “Well done! As soon as you said she was beautiful, I knew she was going to promote you. You can give her no higher compliment.” He grinned, then stopped and put an arm around Fallon’s shoulders. “Listen, man, what will Bridgit say when you arrive back home? Will she be happy?”

Fallon sighed. “She thinks Lunster is a death-trap for Kerrin. He still gets coughs easily –”

“Look, I know the place smells like a beggar’s armpit but we could find a job for them both in the manor house. They’d be here, not in the town itself, if that helps.”

“It might,” Fallon admitted.

“Good. I’ll send a rider with everything down on parchment and sealed by the Duchess.”

“While I’m waiting for that and while we’re waiting for the King to send more men here, we should still set up a few surprises. If we could present the King’s men with a prisoner or two, then they’ll have to believe us,” Fallon said.

“You’re not even confirmed as my deputy and you’re planning what will please the King! Aroaril, I’m going to have to keep my eye on you!” Hagen laughed. “All right then, you set your boys up in a little farmhouse and I’ll pay them. Do you know where you’ll go?”

“Of course,” Fallon said without hesitation. “There’s a farm about three miles north of Baltimore, on a little hilltop. I’ll be there tomorrow night with half my village’s fyrd to see what comes calling.”

“Take care. I’ve only just got myself a new deputy. I don’t want to lose him yet!

Cavan could not get the sight, sound and worst of all the smell of the widow’s pyre out of his head. Niall and Eamon’s attempts to gently persuade him that the woman might have been a witch were doomed to fail from the start – but even they stopped when the trio turned up to the Guild of Moneylenders dinner to find the place in an uproar. The daughter of the Guild’s head had disappeared from her locked bedroom, three stories above the ground. Not a trace of her had been found and everyone was screaming witches. And there was no way it could have been the Widow Eithne, because she was dying in agony when the girl vanished.

“What sort of a city is this, when the children of important civic leaders can be snatched from their bedrooms?” the Guild’s deputy demanded.

Cavan made some vague promises, delivered his speech and then hurried out. Hearing anecdotes about moneylending was the last thing he needed, when the spit-roasted pig they were serving reminded him of the woman’s burning.

He was rarely back at the castle before midnight, for it was a strange night when there was not some sort of long dinner or festival for him to attend in his father’s stead. When he arrived back, it was to find parts lit up and strange music echoing out of the south wing, where his brother Swane usually skulked.

“What’s going on there, I wonder? I didn’t think he was one for entertaining,” Cavan remarked lightly as they left their horses at the stable.

“He often has lights and music. But it is always over before midnight, highness,” the head groom replied.

“There don’t seem to be many extra horses here,” Cavan said, glancing along the stables.

“There are none, lord Prince.”

“So how did his guests get here?”

“I wouldn’t dare to ask, highness.”

Cavan nodded his thanks and looked over towards where the faint strains of music wafted through the courtyard. There was another noise as well cutting through the music. He listened intently for a few moments. It sounded like a child crying but that had to be impossible. He was tempted to see what was going on – but every meeting he had with his brother was uncomfortable and he was in no mood for a confrontation now.

After a night of disturbed sleep, when he had woken several times, sure he could hear the Widow Eithne screaming somewhere in the castle, Cavan summoned one of his father’s officers. The captain of the King’s Guard did not concern himself about such petty matters as missing children but one of the lieutenants was responsible for the city itself and, from him, Cavan obtained a list of families who had reported a missing child. He was not surprised to see it headed by the moneylender, but it was astonishingly long: nearly two score names. Much to Niall’s disgust, he ordered the families brought to him rather than attend the dedication of a new trading vessel.

Some did not turn up but those who did each had a tale of family tragedy, a child taken from a busy street, from its bed, from a quiet alley. Many of the parents were sobbing as they told the story, others were angry, some just resigned, and one was angry that a money-earner had been taken from his family.

“Do you think you can find them?” a mother asked anxiously.

“I shall do my best,” Cavan said honestly.

She promptly burst into tears, grabbed his hand and kissed it. “May Aroaril bless you!”

Cavan felt exhausted after talking to each one, as if they took a little something from him. While Eamon lay back, ate and idly sharpened his sword, Cavan had Niall make notes of all of the interviews.

“Right. What has that told us?” he asked the two of them, when the last family had left.

“Lots of stupid people are breeding?” Eamon offered.

“No! Is there a connection? Did they know Widow Eithne perhaps?” Cavan said irritably.

“They come from all over the city. Rich and poor. They couldn’t have met,” Niall said.

“Face it, highness. Children go missing. This will all die down soon. Don’t concern yourself with it,” Eamon said.

“There must be something!” Cavan said, frustrated. “Give me the parchments.”

“Highness, we have wasted enough time on this already. We really need to be down at the docks, where you’re giving a speech for the launch of a new ship,” Niall said worriedly.

Cavan ignored him, instead flicking through the notes. “Well, this is interesting,” he said suddenly.

“What’s that, highness?” Niall asked.

“There is quite a connection to the castle here. The moneylender’s daughter wasn’t the only child of a Guild member to go missing. In fact, if you include the ones who didn’t come in to talk to us, someone from just about every Guild has lost a child.”

“That means nothing – much of the city belongs to one or other of the Guilds,” Eamon said lazily.

“Well, four of them are servants here,” Cavan said, going through the pages and sorting them out into two piles. “The parents of these ones sell something to the castle, while the father of this one is a guard here.”

“What about the others? There’s nothing there that says they were dinner guests of your father’s?” Eamon grinned.

Cavan looked at him and the bodyguard’s smile faltered. “This is not funny. One woman is dead and scores of children are missing,” he said hoarsely. “The fact that more than half of them are connected to this castle in some way has to mean something.”

“So what are you saying, highness?” Eamon stopped smiling and swung his legs off the chair where they were resting.

“I think my brother is behind this,” Cavan said harshly. “I heard a child crying last night when we returned. I am sure he has something to do with it.”

The words hung in the air for a long time.

“Highness, I am sure that’s not true,” Niall said nervously.

“I think I know him a little better than you. Come, let us have words with Swane,” Cavan stood, the parchments still clutched in his hand.

“Is this a wise idea, highness? All know you and your brother do not get along,” Eamon warned.

“And there is that boat launch we need to be at,” Niall added.

“I’m going. You can accompany me or not,” Cavan said grimly, heading for the door.

Niall and Eamon did not even have to look at each other – they rushed to join the prince, Niall hastily opening the door for him.

“Should I send a messenger requiring Prince Swane’s appearance in the hall, perhaps?” Niall offered.

“No need. We’ll just call on him,” Cavan said, ploughing ahead. His mind was filled with memories from his childhood, things that Swane had done and said. It made his skin crawl.

He stormed through the passageways, servants flinging themselves out of his way, until he arrived at his brother’s rooms. As usual, the heavy wooden door was locked. He drew his dagger and thumped on it with the pommel until somebody inside drew back a series of bolts.

Good manners required that he step back, let the person behind see who he was and then state his business. Instead, as soon as the door began to open, he thrust his shoulder at it and shoved it wide. There was an outraged squawk and then a pained squeal from behind the door, but Cavan was already through and hurrying through the rooms, Niall and Eamon trotting to keep up.

While the corridors outside had been thick with servants, all of them frantic to get out of his way, here there were none. Instead guards stepped out of an alcove to bar his way with spears.

“Halt!” one of them ordered.

Cavan kept going, grabbing one of the spears and twisting it aside. The astonished guard was turned around, while the other one dropped his spear and reached for his sword. Before he could get it out of the scabbard, Eamon’s blade was at his throat.

“That is Prince Cavan you are about to draw your sword on. If it gets out of your scabbard, you are a dead man. Even if I don’t kill you, you know King Aidan will,” Eamon said softly.

“Put up your swords! My lord Prince, please accept my apologies but I was trying to get out from behind that door,” a smooth voice said loudly.

Cavan did not take his eyes off the guard, who stepped back and away as an older man in rich clothes stepped swiftly in front of Cavan.

“My lord Prince, I apologize for not preparing a proper greeting for you but I did not know you were coming,” the man said evenly. “Can I perhaps show you to a comfortable seat while I go and see if your brother is free?”

Cavan did not even look at him. He knew who he was – Ryan, his brother’s manservant and tutor. He was in his late forties but still lean and fit, with a magnificent mane of silver hair and a face that looked nobler than those of half the gentry in the realm. His job was to smooth over whatever Prince Swane ruffled, to be the gentle face of his charge’s ugliness.

“Where is Swane?” he asked coldly.

“I am not sure, my lord Prince. But I will have refreshments brought to you while I find him.”

Cavan said nothing but instead began walking again, brushing past the guards who had tried to stop him earlier.

“My lord Prince!” Ryan cried but he was forced to run after Cavan, Niall and Eamon close behind.

“My lord Prince, please!” the tutor shouted at the top of his voice, but Cavan stormed ahead and shouldered open another door into his brother’s private chamber.

He stopped and looked around. Unlike his own room, this one dripped with the finest furniture and cloth. Every available wall was covered with velvet hangings, while the floor was thick with glorious rugs on top of which expensive pieces of Kottermani furniture were crowded.

Over in the far wall, a door swung shut and closed silently, a drape falling across to cover it. Cavan stared towards it and took a step forwards, only to have someone grab his arm.

“What are you doing here, Cavan?” his brother hissed.

Cavan spun to see his younger brother glowering at him. He snatched his arm back. “Who were you seeing and where does that door go?” he demanded.

“None of your business on both counts,” Swane told him. “Why have you barged in here?”

“What were you doing last night?” Cavan demanded.

“Sleeping. Now, rut off out of my rooms. Don’t you have the reading of a scroll to go to somewhere?”

Cavan looked hard at his brother. He tried to avoid Swane at the best of times and it had been nearly half a moon since he had last seen him, when their father had hosted a dinner for select nobles in the castle. But something about him had changed. His hair was still lank and greasy but his spotted skin had cleared up, and he had lost weight. Instead of his usual black and grey clothes, which usually hung on him like shapeless bags, he was wearing a tunic and trousers of far better cut, in a rusty red. His face even seemed … less ugly. His nose and chin were not as misshapen as he remembered, the ears seemed to have shrunk slightly and the usually watery eyes looked clear.

“Have you heard about the children going missing in the city?” Cavan demanded.

“What are you blathering on about, brother? You know I don’t care what the stinking masses do to themselves.”

“Did you have anything to do with it?” Cavan asked, looming over his brother, expecting Swane to back away. That had been the pattern through their childhood. Cavan would use his size and strength and Swane would go running to their father to have Cavan punished.

But this time Swane stepped closer still, eyes flashing. “You think to come in here accusing me? Now leave, or I shall throw you out.”

“Throw me out? I would like to see you try.” Cavan challenged. “I will have answers from you if I have to beat them out of you.”

Swane grinned. “I am so glad you said that!”

As he spoke, four guards raced into the room, swords in their hands.

“You would not dare,” Cavan told him.

“Really? Who has father always believed, eh? You or me? And if you’re dead, there’s nobody to contradict my story.”

“He won’t be the only dead one when we’re finished. Come on then, you bastards, who wants to lose his head first?” Eamon challenged, his sword held high.

The two brothers glared at each other, waiting for the other to give an order that would see the expensive rugs covered in blood. Then Ryan stepped smoothly between the two princes.

“Highness, perhaps you should join your guest. I shall escort your brother back to his rooms,” Ryan said gently.

Swane stared at Cavan a moment longer, then turned and raced across the room.

“Come back here! We are not finished!” Cavan tried to take a step after him but Ryan cut him off without seeming to, his hand open to gesture the way they had come in. By the time Cavan had stepped around Ryan, Swane had got to the door on the far wall and was through it. Cavan raced after him but heard the sound of locks being slammed home; although he hauled at the iron door ring with all his might, it did not move. Nor did the door look as though it would easily be broken down. “Highness, perhaps you might like to try this way out,” Ryan offered.

His tone of utter reasonableness was the last straw for Cavan. He grabbed a handful of wall hangings and ripped them down, then kicked over a Kottermani table laden with food and drink, easily enough for two. The food and wine sprayed over a lovely white rug and Cavan grinned at Ryan as he rampaged through the room, flipping over furniture, tearing down hangings and kicking chairs apart. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ryan give a tiny signal and, next moment, the four guards raced forwards at him. He grabbed a chair leg and turned to face them.

Eamon got there first. He hit one from the side, using his elbow to snap the man’s head back. Niall did not hesitate either, throwing himself to the ground in front of the others, tripping a pair of them and making the last skip around them. Cavan stepped forward, makeshift club raised, and slammed it into the last guard’s ribs, the chair disintegrating on the man’s armor but the force more than enough to send him flying.

Eamon, meanwhile, had pounced on one of the fallen men and punched him once, twice, three times until the man went limp. Niall and the last guard were rolling around on the floor, wrestling, until Eamon kicked the guard in the head.

Cavan turned to Ryan, a triumphant smile on his face.