The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (43 page)

Captain Kelty was far from amused at being woken, but he could not disregard a warning about armed men in the bowels of the castle, especially coming from the Crown Prince. But it still took the best part of a turn of the hourglass to assemble a company of men and summon the Archbishop from his bed, time in which Cavan and Fallon paced restlessly up and down.

“We’re giving Swane time to cover his tracks,” Cavan complained.

“Well, highness, if what you say is true, we can’t go rushing in with a handful of men,” Kelty replied stolidly.

“And if we get in there and discover the place empty then it will be your fault and I shall say so to my father,” Cavan told him.

“Highness, it is Archbishop Kynan who is holding us up,” Kelty protested. “I cannot do anything about him.”

“Then we go without him,” Cavan said.

“Is that wise, highness?”

“I don’t care. It is taking too long. We go now.”

“Yes, highness,” Kelty bowed and hurried away to bring his men.

“We have Devlin watching the hidden passage, and Gallagher is keeping an eye on Swane’s main door,” Fallon said, as much to reassure himself as Cavan. He too could feel their chance slipping away with every passing moment and worried for the future of the children he had heard.

He felt even worse when they finally got into back into the passageway. He led the way down once more, this time with Kelty at his shoulder, Prince Cavan a safe distance back. Except half the passageway was gone. Instead of leading onwards to an iron door, it ended in a solid wall and a set of stairs – not down to a sinister dungeon filled with dead bodies but a storeroom filled with dusty barrels and musty casks. There was no smell of death, not even a sniff of Kottermani spices and definitely no sound of music playing.

“This is it? The secret lair of an enemy of the kingdom?” Kelty asked disgustedly.

“The Fearpriest has obviously used his magic to hide it. If we had come down here immediately, we would have caught them at it,” Cavan said angrily.

“Dev – did you hear or see anything?” Fallon asked.

Devlin pushed his way to the front. “Not a thing,” he said. “We stood there and listened as if our lives depended on it, because we thought they did.”

Fallon thumped the stone wall angrily, but it was solid.

“We need to check it, see if we can find traces of dark magic,” he said, running his hands over the stonework. He could have sworn it had been there for decades. If he had not run down a corridor beyond it with Swane’s men chasing him, he would not have believed it himself.

“This is going to take some time. The new entry could be anywhere and you can be sure they have both hidden it well and better disguised the use of dark magic,” Rosaleen warned.

“We’re here now. We can’t stop now,” Fallon said.

So a line was formed to carry casks and barrels out and an increasingly impatient Kelty watched as Rosaleen went over every inch of the walls, without success.

“I cannot feel anything,” she finally admitted. “No blood magic was used here.”

“Well, what now?” Kelty asked angrily.

“We go and check inside Swane’s rooms. He might have hidden this entrance but he won’t be expecting that. For Aroaril’s sake, he has stolen children in there!” Fallon cried.

“We can knock on the door but I don’t have the authority to enter without his permission,” Kelty warned.

“Leave that to me,” Cavan said.

They hurried through the castle to find Gallagher and a group of villagers waiting nervously.

“Nobody has gone in or out,” Gallagher reported. “Have you come to arrest him?”

“Not exactly,” Fallon said, then hurried forwards as Cavan thumped on the door.

He got there just as the door swung open and stepped in front of the Prince. But no Fearpriest came racing out; instead it revealed Swane’s man Ryan, clad in a thick woolen robe.

“Step aside; my father has ordered us to search Swane’s rooms,” Cavan declared.

Ryan did not even blink. “If that were true, you would have a scroll with his seal. So that is a lie.”

“You dare accuse the Crown Prince?” Fallon shouted, taking a step forwards.

But he stopped when, behind Ryan, a squad of guards loomed, armed with spears.

“I know you are here without the King’s orders. But, as a gesture of good faith, I shall allow Captain Kelty and a squad of his men inside to search where they want,” Ryan offered.

Fallon glanced back at the Prince.

“If you have so much good faith, then why not let my men in as well?” Cavan challenged.

Ryan smiled, showing white teeth in the torchlight. “I trust Captain Kelty. But your men might bring in items that they can conveniently
find
. Or you might try to wreck everything again.”

“He must think he has hidden everything to pass a search by Kelty,” Fallon muttered.

Cavan turned to the guard captain. “My brother has a secret door, probably inside the storeroom you found last time, hidden by wall hangings in his private room. You have to look inside it carefully,” he told his father’s captain.

“All right, highness.” Kelty nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”

He and his men went inside, the door swung shut behind them and Cavan, Fallon and the others retreated back down the corridor to wait.

“What if he finds something?” Fallon wondered. “Swane won’t let him out of there alive.”

“He can’t hide the bodies of Kelty and a squad of men either,” Cavan said. “And if Swane refuses to let Kelty in through the door, we have something to take to my father.”

The tension grew as the time stretched out and nothing happened.

“Much longer and I’ll go and wake the King,” Cavan said. “I think he’s killed Kelty –”

Next moment the door swung open once more and Kelty and his men strode out.

“What happened? What did you find?” Cavan demanded.

“Nothing,” Kelty said disgustedly. “We went over every last inch of his rooms and found nothing. That door you talked about? Opened into a spare bedroom. I have had enough of this foolishness. My men are standing down, and don’t think I am going to forget about this. Your father shall hear about your nonsense. And unless you want your own little army here thrown out of the castle, you will do well to not bother me with wild stories any more!”

Fallon turned to Cavan but the Prince was already moving, grabbing hold of Kelty’s tunic.

“And you would do well to remember who you are talking to. I am the Crown Prince and will be your King one day. I would not have come to you without good cause and if you ever dare to talk to me like that again, you will spend the rest of your undoubtedly short life sweeping shit off Berry’s cobblestones!”

Kelty visibly wilted under the Prince’s anger and Fallon made no attempt to hide the smile on his face.

“Now get out of my sight. There are children being snatched off the streets and sacrificed in this very castle and I will prove it is Swane doing it without you.”

Cavan shoved Kelty away and the burly captain staggered a little before making a rough bow.

“My apologies, highness. Forgive me,” he said but Fallon could see the hate glittering in his hard eyes. No doubt he would tell an unpleasant tale to King Aidan.

“Get out of my sight.” Cavan waved him away.

Fallon watched the King’s guards go and sighed. “Well, what do we do now?”

“Get some sleep. And then try and convince my father of what really went on here this night,” Cavan said.

Fallon rubbed his face. “What about the children?” he whispered.

“They are hidden. For now. But we have to work out how it was done before we can save anyone.”

King Aidan was in a foul mood. But, as Fallon was learning, that was nothing unusual.

“There was something in the meal last night that has left me with a stomach like a seething pit and a head that feels two sizes too small. So this had better be good,” he announced.

The line of petitioners, there to plead their case before the King, gulped as one.

Chairs had been set up on the side of the throne room and Fallon and Cavan sat there, with Gallagher and Brendan looming behind.

“This doesn’t look good for when we come to speak to your father,” Fallon said softly.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Cavan replied. “He can take all his anger and frustration out on these poor people and then be perfectly cheerful for the rest of the day. Or it could make him worse. I truly don’t know which one it will be – and I doubt he does either.”

Fallon was not sure he believed that, but King Aidan did everything he could to prove Cavan right over the next two turns of the hourglass. There was no rhyme or reason to his judgments. He seemed to either like or hate the petitioner at first sight and such things as facts and supporting documents were ignored.

A slim young man who bowed deeply and spent ages talking about the wisdom of King Aidan had his claim approved, while one who could have been his twin who had three witnesses and an armful of signed documents was lucky to escape with his skin intact after the King erupted in mid-speech and ordered him thrown out.

“Maybe that’s the secret. Stuff the law, just say nice things about the King,” Fallon whispered.

“You would think. But it’s not that simple.” Cavan covered his words and a yawn with his hand.

Sure enough, the next man up began with a flowery speech that claimed the King was descended from Aroaril himself with his wisdom and understanding. But Aidan cut him off and picked his nose while the man presented his case, before ruling against the petitioner and ordering him given ten lashes as well.

“See what I mean? I have long given up trying to predict my father’s decisions. It is truly by whim, not reason.”

Fallon watched with incredulity at a series of baffling decisions, where obvious liars were rewarded and plainly honest hard workers were hurled bodily out of the throne room. What made it worse was Cavan commenting on each case, ruling as if he were the King.

“What is that man talking about? He has not made one point of law in all that talking. It is obvious his case is no good,” he said of a fat man who was awarded judgment by the laughing King after hauling up his tunic and making his belly shake.

“She quotes precedent and the law perfectly and it sounds as though she has indeed been wronged,” Cavan said about an older woman, who was told to get out before the King had her burned at the stake for looking like a witch.

“The really sad thing about this is the only petitioners who come forwards now are the poor and the naïve,” Cavan muttered as the weeping woman hurried out of the hall, just ahead of Kelty’s guards. “If you have any money, you just pay a bribe to Regan and get your judgment that way. That is one of the many things I long to be able to change.”

Fallon nodded.

Then came something of a stir as a muscular older man came to the front.

“Who is he?” Fallon hissed.

“Why, that’s Setanta, a former star player at hurling for the Count of Londegal,” Cavan murmured, although the noise of the other people chattering covered any sound he made.

Fallon looked at Gallagher, who shrugged. He had heard of hurling, of course, a sport that saw men running around a field trying to hit a small leather ball into a hoop. For the people of Baltimore, the idea of playing rather than working was impossible to entirely grasp. But most nobles encouraged their guards to play, to keep them fit and sharp – Fallon had tried it while in the service of the Duke of Lunster and enjoyed himself, though he had not played in the more than twenty years since. He had heard that some nobles played their teams against each other, with huge money at stake for the winner.

“I’ve never watched a proper game,” he admitted.

“My father is a huge supporter and loves to watch it. I’d say Setanta has a very good chance of being granted a judgment here,” Cavan predicted.

But it seemed King Aidan was not interested in hearing Setanta’s story and was instead lost in some old memories.

“Hurling is truly the sport of kings and it was the sport of this King,” he told everyone, a broad smile on his face. “I used to play it myself but of course it’s hard to get a proper game when everyone sees you as his liege. So one day I disguised myself and went along to play for real. And do you know what happened? Four nobles all begged me to come and play on their teams! And when I revealed myself, the old Count of Londegal actually told me it was a waste that I was King, for I was the most talented hurling player he had ever seen!”

Aidan threw back his head and laughed, which was the cue for everyone else in the room to guffaw as well.

“Laugh! Make it obvious!” Cavan ordered as he opened his mouth and pretended.

Fallon forced himself to look like he was laughing, at least. “Is any of that true?” he asked.

“Who knows? But I doubt it,” Cavan said, hitting the table with his hands as if unable to contain the hilarity.

When Aidan finally stopped laughing, the room went quickly silent, but not so quickly that anyone looked as though they were just laughing with the King.

“Do you remember that, Setanta?” the King asked, wiping a tear away from his eye.

“I was not there that day, your majesty, although I wish I had been. But it is something of a legend among we players and we can only thank Aroaril we have you as our King, rather than having to face you on the field.”

Aidan nodded solemnly, appearing to take the words for the absolute truth. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Setanta. Tell me, what do you think of Londegal’s chances this year?”

They chatted happily about the merits of the teams who would play in the year’s tournament, until finally the King leaned back on his throne. “Now, why can’t all my petitioners be like that?” he asked nobody in particular. “Thank you, Setanta, you may go.”

“But don’t you want to hear about my case now, your majesty?” Setanta asked.

“No need. See my chamberlain and have a judgment recorded in your favor.” Aidan waved him away and then clapped his hands together.

“That is the end of the day’s business. Food and drink! Now!”