Unexpected Magic (47 page)

Alex felt him kick his leg, urgently, as if there was some meaning in what he said. He shuffled forward uncertainly, realizing that there was something he did not understand which was very important to both him and the Prince. As he put out his hands and took the plate and mug, it dawned on him what it was. But it was too late. His hands were full and the door was slammed in his face. Light came through a square barred opening, and he saw the Count looking down at him through it.

“You must explain matters to your enemy here, Your Highness. He did not see why you kicked him. He must understand why it is his duty to starve you. And now, farewell. I am going first to propose marriage either to your mother or your aunt—I care not which one accepts me, for either gives me claim to the coronet—and then to exterminate your cousin the outlaw. I will come back in a week, by which time I hope you will be dead or mad indeed. Good night to you both.”

The square hole slammed shut, bolts and chains rattled, and the two of them were alone again in the dungeon.

Alex turned around from the door, still carrying the cup and the plate, ready to kick himself or scream with anger. “I—I am sorry,” he said. “Is it—is it really true that no one would dare kill me?”

“Alas, yes,” said the Prince. “I wish I had warned you. I saw you did not understand.” He turned away from Alex and sat down in the straw. “If any of us in this realm,” he said, “should kill anyone from Outside, then it is an end of all—every man, woman, or child of us.”

“Are you sure?” Alex demanded. “How can you know?”

“It is written,” answered the Prince, “and every living soul here knows it. The death of an Outsider at our hands brings ruin to this realm. Some say we would all melt like snow, others that we fall dead at that moment the Outsider dies. I do not know, but it is certain that no one here would dare to kill you.”

“And I had my knife in my pocket!” said Alex. “I took hold of it and let it go, because I thought it was no use. I did not see what he meant until it was too late.”

The Prince said: “You would certainly have been wounded. But they would not dare wound you badly. It is a pity I had not told you, because you might have made an end of that monstrous man. How is it I never guessed what a fiend he is?” Then he flung his head up irritably. “Eat that food. Stop standing there with it.”

Alex looked down at what he held. On the plate was a slice of bread and the mug was half full of what he guessed was water. He was hungry after the long ride through the snow, but by no means ravenous. The lunch he had eaten in the library had been too good, though he wished now that he had eaten that pear. “I am not very hungry,” he said. “We can share this.”

Prince Everard moved sharply away from him. “No,” he said. “
No
! Eat it, drink the water. Do you not understand? I dare not let you starve.”

“But I am not starving. I had an excellent meal at Falleyfell. No one starves in a few hours, you fool! Let me give you half of this.”

“Eat it,” Everard repeated, and put his face on this knees.

Alex, wanting to shake him, wishing that there had been a spiny bush to throw him into, brought the food and knelt down beside him. “Come on. Have half of this.”

“I am not hungry.”

“Yes, you are. Or you will be by morning and I shall certainly not be dead by then. We ought to share what they give us until we are really starving, at least.”

“No,” said Everard, with his face still on his knees.

Alex sighed. He had never in his life met anyone so pigheaded as this Prince. “Can you not understand,” he asked, “how I would feel, letting you starve beside me?” Everard did not answer. Alex gave up that line of argument and tried another. “People,” he said, “can survive on very little food for months, certainly for weeks. Maybe you will be rescued within a week. Our troop of horses left tracks as plain as a pikestaff most of the way here, did you not notice? You must have some friends who would follow them until they found where you are. You owe it to them not to starve before they can set you free.”

He heard the straw rustle as the Prince moved, and felt he was making an impression at last. “I have no friends,” said Everard.

“You
must
have,” Alex cried out, exasperated. “Think!”

“I have not. Do you think I have not been thinking? I have considered every soul in the Court, and of those who are not Towerwood's creatures, half hate me for the sake of Howerforce and the rest will believe I am truly mad. I tell you I have no friends. Now eat your food.”

Alex could not eat after that news. Even if he had been unfeeling enough to let the Prince go without food, he could not have eaten a morsel. He sat in the straw beside the plate and mug and despaired. So they would not be rescued. Cecilia, even, could be of no help, since, as far as Alex knew, she was a prisoner in Falleyfell still with no means of knowing where he was. He was left to face this truly horrible situation alone for at least as long as it took a person to die of starvation.

Alex shook with misery as he thought it out. Everard did not dare to eat for fear of killing him. If Alex died, so did everyone else in this country. This meant that Alex was to be a murderer, whatever he did. He could let Prince Everard starve, and he would have killed him; or they could both starve and both die, taking along with them every single one of Everard's subjects. That was unthinkable, but so was it unthinkable for Alex to sit here in the straw taking every scrap of food out of Everard's mouth. He agreed with Everard on one thing at least: Conrad of Towerwood was a monster, an utter, diabolical monster.

Prince Everard flung round in the straw. “Eat that food—please!” he implored.

“I can't,” said Alex, and another possibility struck him, coming to him out of his despair. “I shall not eat. I will starve voluntarily. Then no one will have killed me, and everyone will be all right.”

Everard almost shrieked at him. “
No
! For aught I know that is quite as bad. In heaven's name, are you talking like that to torment me? Conrad of Towerwood did better than he knew, shutting us together here—for you will certainly drive me mad. You talk temptations like the Devil himself.”

Alex was quite taken aback. It had not occurred to him that the Prince found him as maddening as he found the Prince. He was unable to answer, and, meanwhile, Everard went onto a new side of his miseries.

“And while I sit here listening to your evil arguments, that monster of a Towerwood is forcing my mother to marry him. To think of that!”

“Or your aunt,” Alex reminded him, trying to say at least one thing which would not strike the Prince as evil.

“Oh, my aunt!” said Everard. “She would take poison sooner. He knows that as well as I. So, it will be my mother who accepts, for she has always loved life, nor is she used to being bullied.”

Alex remembered the lovely fair-haired lady. Everard looked enough like her for Alex to know she was his mother. He was afraid Everard was right. She was too pampered to stand up to a nasty man like the Count, Alex was sure. He wished he had kept his mouth shut.

“Alex,” Everard said, in a different calm voice. “Alex, I pray you, lend me that clasp-knife you have in your pocket. I shall not need it for long.”

Alex at once put his hand over the knife and held it tight. There was something very alarming about Everard's sudden politeness. “Why?”

“Why? Because I wish to make an end of myself, of course. Surely you see I have reason enough?”

Alex got up onto his knees and shuffled away backward, still holding the knife tight.

“No!” he said desperately, “you are not to do that. It is wrong. Aren't you brought up Christians here?”

Everard moved after him through the straw. “I am as good a Christian as you are, but I would rather burn in Hell than live through this coming week. Give me the knife, please. I beg you.”

“I will not. It may not be as bad as you think. You must not be so wicked.”

Everard came crawling forward again. Alex, thoroughly frightened, stood up and backed away. “Please,” Everard said. “I am imploring you.”

“Not with my knife,” said Alex.

Everard stood up. “Give me that knife, you puling fool! They will let you go free once I am dead.”

“Even if they made me king of all the world,” Alex answered, “I would not give you my knife. Can you not take no for an answer?”

“You promised to lend it me.”

“Not for this.”

“Give it me!” Everard shouted, and when Alex did nothing but back away again, he rushed at him. Alex went over heavily sideways with one hand still in his pocket. But once he was down he had to free his hand, with the knife still clenched in it, to defend himself from the Prince's furious rage. He was terrified. He had never known anything like it. He thought Everard really was mad. He prized the Prince's hand off his throat only to have his head banged on the floor. Then he had to defend the knife, and while he struggled to get away, Everard kicked him and bit him.

“I see why the courtiers think he will go mad,” he thought.

They rolled and struggled from end to end of the dungeon. The straw was pushed aside and they rolled in the wet mud beneath. Alex broke away and nearly stood up, but Everard took him around the knees and they were down again and fighting. Twice the Prince nearly twisted the knife out of Alex's fingers and Alex only saved it by biting too.

“Well, it has come to wrestling after all,” Alex thought, trying to break out of a lock on his arm. The Prince was so much bigger that he would have won even if he had abided by the rules of wrestling, which he certainly did not. Alex took to mixed fighting, and hit Everard whenever he got a chance.

This was a bad mistake. Everard gave a little before Alex's punches, particularly when the punches were weighted with the heavy clasp-knife, but it changed his hot rage into a cold, thinking anger. He let Alex roll away and scramble up, then he dived on him and brought him down again, this time completely at his mercy. It was some kind of hold Alex had never experienced before. He felt the bones in his neck grate and he thought his left arm was broken. He shut his eyes and hung onto the knife in his right hand for dear life.

“Now,” said Everard, “I can break your neck if I wish. Give me the knife or I will try.”

Alex believed him. He said, with lights dancing in the top of his head, as if someone were holding a lantern just out of sight: “Why not
do
it? That is quite as good a way to commit suicide.” He felt Everard loose him a little at this hint, but it did not help matters much. Alex kept his knife-arm stretched out, as far away from Everard as possible. The Prince needed both hands to hold him, so he could not get at the knife unless Alex gave it him. Alex tried some more cunning. “Let me get up first. You can have the knife then.”

“I am not such a fool as that,” said Everard and made a small, almost experimental movement. Alex yelled. Everard loosed him again, as if he were alarmed, but Alex was past caring.

“Everard, for heaven's sake, let me go!”

“Give me the knife then. Why do you call me Everard?”

“Isn't that your name?”

“Yes, but only my friends call me that.”

“Let me go! You really are breaking my neck. I'll call you anything you like. Humpty-Dumpty if you want.”

“Why Humpty-Dumpty? Because he had a great fall? You—!”

Alex said: “Fancy knowing Humpty-Dumpty and not Habeas Corpus! Oh!” This time he really screamed, and it must have frightened Everard because he let him go. Alex frantically rolled away and staggered onto his feet. Everard slowly came after him again. Alex panicked. The only way to stop Everard seemed to be to get rid of the knife. The only safe place was that high moonlit grating. Just as the Prince reached him, Alex jumped up and threw the knife.

He never expected it to go through, but it vanished between the bars and he heard it plop heavily into the moat outside. Then he and Everard stood in the wavering band of light staring at one another. The Prince had come to his senses again, Alex could see from his face.

“This is a lesson against despair, is it not?” said Everard. “I am sorry, Alex. That was our only weapon.”

“I know,” Alex answered wretchedly. “I am sorry too.” Then, bracing himself, in case there was another attack, he added, “I—I did not mean anything by Humpty-Dumpty. I just said the first thing which came into my head!”

“Yes. I believe that,” Everard answered soberly. “When I learned that hold from Robert, I hardly knew what I was saying. Let us look for that bread. We should eat it.”

But they had destroyed the bread. They searched for it all over the floor, and all they found was the broken plate and the spilled mug.

Everard said bitterly: “If I do not learn now not to lose my temper, I shall never learn.”

Alex crouched down on the trampled floor, fingering a muddy breadcrumb. “Very fine moralizing,” he thought. “I suppose there is a lesson for me too in this. I lose my temper almost as badly as he does, certainly as badly as Cecilia—only I never admit it.” But he was too cold now to care about his character or the Prince's. While they had fought he had been warm, too hot in fact, but the sudden heat had gone away. The damp of the dungeon struck right through him, and icy drafts came through the grating. Outside there, it was freezing hard, even in the sheltered valley of Endwait. His teeth were beginning to chatter.