Sebastian Darke: Prince of Fools (26 page)

King Septimus gestured to Golon. 'She's beginning to bore me,' he said. 'Send her back to sleep and prepare her for the journey to Brigandia.' He seemed to remember something. 'Oh, one last thing.' He moved closer to her and gave her a mocking grin. 'Happy birthday,' he purred. Then he turned away, laughing.

'No, wait . . .' gasped Princess Kerin. 'Please, I—'

But then Golon's brawny arms came around her shoulders and one hand was clamping the foul-smelling cloth over her nose and mouth. She held her breath as long as she could, but in the end she had no choice but to breathe in the awful fumes. The strange, shuddering emptiness filled her head and she was sinking into the depths for the second time that night.

Slumped dejectedly on a wooden bench in the deepest, dark?est cell in the palace dungeons, Sebastian reflected on his fortunes. It occurred to him that the positive letter he had sent to his mother would not even be a third of the way on its journey yet, and already it was hopelessly incorrect.

His tenancy as resident jester to King Septimus had been woefully short-lived. He hadn't even lasted one full performance, thanks to the wiles of that hideous old crone Magda. If he ever got his hands around her skinny throat, he would ensure that she never tricked another victim as she had tricked him. He thought about how Max had tried to warn him about her and how he had dismissed the buffalope's comments as malicious gossip. But Max had been absolutely right to mistrust her.

And it was blindingly obvious now what King Septimus was up to. As far as the lords and ladies of the court were concerned, he, Sebastian Darke, had used witchcraft to dispose of Princess Kerin. They had seen it happen with their own eyes. It would be useless to protest his innocence and shout that King Septimus had actually kidnapped his own niece. Nobody would believe him for a moment; and it didn't take a genius to work out that he wouldn't be around long enough to do much protesting. The palace executioner was probably already sharpening his axe.

Sebastian swallowed. What was he to do? It was apparent now that Cornelius had been sent away on his 'secret mission' simply to ensure that he was out of the way. Who knew what fate might have befallen him? And off in the luxury of the royal stables, Max had no way of knowing what had happened to his master.

There was nothing to do but sit here and await his fate. He felt like crying, and might have done just that if he hadn't been interrupted by the clanging of an iron door somewhere out of sight. He heard the clumping of feet descending the stone steps from the entrance door, and looking up he saw Golon, the big, brutish dungeon master leading the thin figure of Malthus towards him. The two men exchanged words and the dungeon master turned back, while Malthus approached the bars of Sebastian's cell. He stood there, looking in at Sebastian, a glum expression on his face.

'Well,' he said at length, 'that was quite a debut.'

Sebastian spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. 'What can I say?' he said. 'If you're going to go out, you may as well do it in a blaze of glory.'

'But the things you said! It's as though you had a death wish.'

'Yes, well, that was because I drank some wine that Magda gave me. It must have been drugged.'

Malthus grimaced. 'I wouldn't touch anything that she'd been near,' he observed. 'She's pure evil, that one.'

'A pity you didn't warn me about her earlier.'

Malthus moved closer to the bars and lowered his voice. 'So . . . what did you do with the princess?' he asked.

'I didn't do anything with her! King Septimus obviously had her kidnapped. He must have had somebody hiding behind the curtain.'

Malthus nodded. 'Well, I didn't think you'd really made her vanish,' he said. 'And it isn't exactly a mystery why he'd want her out of the way, is it? Let's face it, when you're the all-powerful ruler of a place like Keladon, you're not going to want to hand it over to a mere girl.'

Sebastian stared at him in surprise. 'Then you . . . you believe me?' he gasped. 'I didn't think you would!'

'Of course I do. I've worked around King Septimus long enough to know that he's an evil and absolutely ruthless man, who'd stop at nothing to get his own way'

Then . . . you'll help me?' asked Sebastian hopefully.

Malthus gave him a sour look. 'Absolutely not. I've no wish to join you tomorrow morning.'

'Tomorrow morning?' Sebastian felt his stomach lurch. 'Why, what's happening tomorrow morning?'

'You'll be making your final appearance, I'm afraid. A double act with Luther, the Royal Executioner. It's what's known in these parts as a touch of the Percivals.'

'I see,' said Sebastian mournfully. He swallowed hard. 'Oh well, I can't pretend I'm surprised.'

'The king is going to have your head displayed at the palace gates as a warning to anyone who dares to oppose him.'

'Yes, well, thanks for—'

T hate it when he does that. The birds come flapping down and peck away at the eyeballs—'

'Yes, yes, that's too much information!' Sebastian gave Malthus a hard look. T can't believe you're just going to walk away and leave me to my fate. I mean, you know I'm innocent . . .'

'Yes, and I'm innocent too. It doesn't mean that the king wouldn't have me boiled in oil if I displeased him. You have to understand, Sebastian, I'm a . . . now, what's the word?' He thought for a moment. 'Yes, that's it. A coward. And I intend to go on living for a while longer yet.'

'You call that living? Serving a master you don't respect? Somebody who you know is evil.'

Malthus shrugged. 'I admit, it doesn't sound like a dream job,' he said. 'But it's still an improvement on having my head stuck on a pole. I'm sorry, Mr Darke, but there it is.' He turned to leave.

'Wait!' said Sebastian, getting up from the bench and walking over to the bars. 'At least do me one favour. Take a message to my buffalope, Max, in the royal stables. Tell him what's happened to me.'

'He'll know soon enough,' said Malthus. 'The king has organized a free feast for everyone who attends the execution tomorrow. Roast buffalope is always very popular at such events.'

Sebastian stared at Malthus. 'Oh no!' he said. 'Not Max. He's done nothing wrong. Why would anybody hurt a poor dumb animal like him.'

'Not exactly dumb,' said Malthus, walking back along the corridor. 'He's an animal that can speak and who knows who he might talk to? You honestly think the king is going to risk him blabbing?' He turned back towards the stone steps. 'Guard! Let me out, please!'

'Malthus, wait! Come back – please!'

But Malthus climbed the steps up to the heavy wooden door and didn't pause to look back. The door opened and slammed shut behind him. Sebastian returned to his bench and slumped miserably back down on it, his head in his hands. Somehow he felt worse about Max than anything else. He would be terrified when they led him out to be slaughtered. He was a brave and noble companion. All right, so he did tend to complain a lot, but even so . . .

And then Sebastian thought about his mother and he wondered how long it would take for the news to reach her that her only son was dead. Perhaps she would never learn of his fate, but would wait for his return through all the long, lonely years, until old age carried her away.

It was no use. He couldn't hold back the tears any longer and he was just glad that there was nobody around to see him crying.

Once again Princess Kerin seemed to be floating in a deep, warm lagoon, drifting lazily along, propelling herself with the occasional flick of a foot. Above her she could see the rippled surface of the water and knew that if she reached up one hand, she could break through to the air above. But she felt so warm, so sleepy, she had no energy to rise up through the depths.

Then a sound came to her – a voice, oddly familiar, but shattered into a series of incomprehensible noises by the weight of the water in her ears. She made a supreme effort and propelled herself upwards. Her head broke the surface and she lay still for a moment, blinking uncertainly around her.

She wasn't anywhere near a lagoon. She appeared to be lying on straw in some kind of wagon, rough wooden walls rising on four sides of her. She tried to sit up, but didn't seem to have any strength in her arms and legs. Instead, she managed to turn her head to one side and felt the gentle touch of air on her cheek. She was inches from a small knot?hole in the wood and through the hole came that familiar voice, easier to understand now that she had temporarily shrugged off her unconsciousness.

' . . . all I'm saying, Osbert, is that it shows you how little he cares about me. I mean to say, he actually threw the thing at me, bounced it right off my head! All right, so it didn't exactly hurt, but it's not nice to be treated like that.'

'Max?' Princess Kerin struggled to align one eye with the hole in the wood. In the gloom beyond, she could see a huge horned head, nodding as it continued to speak.

'How would you like it, Osbert, if one of your soldiers marched in here and bashed you on the head with a—?'

'Max!' Princess Kerin managed to find the strength to put some urgency in her voice. She saw the buffalope flinch and turn his head to look towards the wagon.

'Who's there?' he asked.

'It's a ghost!' cried another voice. 'Osbert not like ghosts! Osbert leave!' There was the thud of small hooves on the ground outside.

'Osbert!' chided Max. 'Don't be silly, it's just—' He broke off, puzzled, and moved closer to the wagon. A moment later his warm wet nose was snuffling at the knothole. 'Who
is
that?' he asked suspiciously.

'It . . . is I . . . Princess Kerin . . .'

'Princess? What on earth are you doing in a—?'

'No time!' gasped Princess Kerin. 'Can't stay . . . awake . . . drugged.'

'Drugged? This is an outrage! Who would do a thing like—?'

'Max! Please listen! They have kidnapped me. They are taking me to . . . to Brigandia. They are going to sell me as . . . a slave.' Princess Kerin could feel a fresh wave of un?consciousness sweeping towards her like a wave, threatening to swamp her once again. 'You must tell . . . Sebastian,' she whispered. 'And Corn . . . Corn . . . eli—'

And then the warm wave crashed down over her and she sank once again, deep beneath the surface of the lagoon, into a sleep from which she could not escape.

'Princess? Princess, speak to me! Who has kidnapped you?'

Max stood there looking at the cattle wagon in agitation, wondering if he had the strength to smash through the wooden walls. But what would be the point if the princess was drugged? She wouldn't be able to help herself. No, he needed to find Sebastian, but even that was no easy task. For a start, somebody had closed the stable gates for the night; and even if he could get out of here, a buffalope could hardly go wandering through the palace looking for his master.