With Silent Screams (26 page)

“That you’re Caitlin’s dad?”

Galahad’s face dropped. “Yes, although you clearly knew the surprise before I did. How long have you known?”

“About thirty seconds. Are you sure she’s yours?”

“Maybe Patricia was sleeping with other people, I don’t know. But, before she ran, Patricia said she needed to talk to me. To tell me something important. The dates match up; I’m pretty sure Caitlin is my daughter.” Galahad took hold of a spoon and changed it until it became a small knife. “I could cut myself and if you take the blood, we could find out if we’re a match. You can do that sort of thing with Blood magic, yes?”

“Yes,” I said and managed to stop him before he actually did cut himself. “But I can’t do it. I don’t have access to my Blood magic anymore.”

It took a while to explain what had happened. From Mordred taking my memory, to him returning them along with the side effect of removing the marks on my torso. I told Galahad about the necromancy and how I still didn’t know fully how mine worked.

By the time I’d finished, Galahad clearly had something he wanted to share. “And Hades couldn’t help you figure out what type you are?”

“Apparently necromancers just have to figure that bit out for themselves. Every spirit I’ve taken has been angry, full of fire, but that’s all I’ve got. The places are always different, so are the times of day and any other variable you care to mention. Hades told me that necromancy is hard to learn, that at some point it’ll just click and I’ll understand the type I have. I wish it would hurry up.”

“Have you been practicing with it?”

I used my necromancy to reach out around me to try and find something. I could see the spirits, almost touch them, but it was like they were ignoring me. “Nothing,” I said. “I’m not sure if it’s me or if there’s something wrong, but I haven’t felt like this since Merlin tried to get me to light those hundred candles in the castle.”

“It’ll come to you,” Galahad said and patted me on the shoulder as he walked past me, to the balcony edge. “Merlin might have been an evil old bastard, but he had a way of getting the best out of people. And hopefully this time you won’t set fire to a large portion of our home.”

“It wasn’t large,” the memory of the flames shot to my mind. Of Merlin removing them with a wave of his hand. “Okay it was a little large, but Merlin managed to teach me in the end,” I said with a slight edge to my voice. As he got older, many of Merlin’s “teachings” had been something I’d wouldn’t have wished on my worst enemy. “Leonardo told me about the crystals.”

“I assumed he would; he’s very proud of what he’s
discovered
.”

“Yeah, but Caitlin and I think Charles Whitehorn is trying to get hold of them. Either that or his assistant, Karl.”

“So he’s moved from trying to take my throne to just destroying my kingdom. There really is nothing he won’t do for money and power.”

“It’s just a theory, but it makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is why Simon was killing people in Stratford, of all places. It seems fairly pointless. Like an afterthought to another plan, but considering the trouble they went through then and now, there’s got to be something.”

“Anyone around from back when we took Simon?”

I shook my head. “Most of the current victims have been the survivors. I can’t find two of them. Apparently they vanished. Whether they’re victims too remains to be seen. Something tells me what Simon is doing is the key to everything, but I can’t get my head around it.”

“We’ll see him tomorrow, maybe he’ll let something slip.”

“Or I’ll kill him.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. But if you’re going to have temper issues, let me know now.”

I knew that when I saw Simon, I was going to want to kill him. It was as sure as the knowledge that the sun would rise. And I knew that he was going to try and get me to fluster and attack him. I had to remain detached, cold. But then I thought of Rean, of his family who died at Simon’s hands, and any detachment vanished. It was going to take a lot for me not to
throttle
Simon the second I laid eyes on him. But I had to do it.
Otherwise
there was no point in even going. “I’ll be fine. The little rat-bastard isn’t worth the time it would take to clean the blood off me.”

We drank more tea together for a few minutes until Galahad absentmindedly said, “So, I have a daughter.”

“Congrats,” I said, grateful for the change in conversation. “You’re the proud papa of a thirty-something-year-old woman. At least you don’t have to worry about night feeds or puberty.”

“Very bloody funny. How do I tell her? What am I meant to say? ‘Sorry I haven’t been there the last thirty years, but I didn’t know you existed and your mum is fucking insane?
”

“Well, maybe you don’t want to phrase it quite that way, even if it is accurate. I don’t think there’s a right way to do this, so long as you don’t do it through interpretive dance or something.”

Galahad rubbed his eyes. “I’ll think of something. Probably not involving dance. Any idea how she’ll react?”

“No, not even a little bit.”

“You and she aren’t
.…
” He made a gesture that I really hoped was meant to mean sex.

“No,” I told him with a laugh. “I don’t think you have that to worry about.”

“Okay, I can do this, I can tell her and then be a dad. I’m a king for crying out loud, how much harder can it be?”

I stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. “My friend, you’re well and truly screwed. You need to tell her soon—the longer she realizes you know and she doesn’t, the worse it’s going to get.”

“Thanks for the chat,” he said dryly. “Very helpful.”

“No problem.” I walked off toward the balcony door. “So, Galahad. Good luck with that.”

CHAPTER
28

“S
o, my dad’s an actual king?” Caitlin said to me as I left the palace the following morning.

It took me a few seconds for my mouth and brain to catch up. “I don’t think you can go around calling yourself Princess Caitlin or anything, but it appears that way. We’ll have to use Blood magic to confirm, but I’m pretty certain you’re a match. How’d it go?”

Caitlin smiled. “I didn’t think I’d care when, or if, I ever found out who my real dad was, but it was actually really nice.”

Galahad arrived a second later, along with a dozen guards, who were all trying very hard to act like they weren’t watching me with every fiber of their being.

“They’re still nervous about you, Nate,” Galahad whispered. “But they no longer think you’re going to kill me.”

“Well, baby steps,” I said with a smile.

As we walked through the district, I noticed the reception that Galahad received from his subjects. He was genuinely loved, and many people came up to him to ask how he was or thank him for doing a good job. On occasion he stopped and would talk to someone at a shop or outside a house and would ask about their family or store.

It was the sort of thing that Arthur used to do in Camelot, he knew everyone’s name and story and the people loved him for it. I was happy to see that Galahad had taken a similar approach, using his charm and likeability to good effect. Like Arthur,
Galahad
was genuinely interested in those he spoke to, treating them as if their lives or problems were the most important things on his mind.

Caitlin and I remained a few yards back from him when he spoke to his subjects, but occasionally he would point to me or her and say something. After the fifth person he’d done this to, I caught up to him.

“Why do you keep pointing at me?” I asked.

Galahad smiled. “Just telling the people that you’re here to help, a few of them recognize you. News of your arrival has spread pretty quickly and, without blowing my own horn,
people
like me in one piece.”

“You’re telling them we’re friends again, aren’t you?”

“Yes, although I’m making it sound a little less like we’re both five-year-old girls.”

I laughed and coughed and couldn’t catch my breath for a few seconds, while Galahad walked on cheerfully. The bastard.

It didn’t take too long to reach the prison; we took the tram for several more stops, getting off by some dense woodland. Five minutes later, we’d walked into the woods and up to a huge clearing that contained the prison.

The building itself was made with dark brick and concrete, and there were no fences keeping the inmates in; they would have been pointless to stop an alchemist from escaping. Instead, the bottom floor of the prison was a guard’s barracks, and the only floor where the windows weren’t blacked out.

Runes were clearly evident on the exterior walls, many of them etched right into the concrete or brick.

“Do you have a lot of people in there?” I asked.

“Hundred and nineteen at last count,” Galahad said immediately. “Only six or seven are for serious crimes.”

“Is Simon in there?” Caitlin asked.

“No,” Galahad told her, his voice suddenly hard. He pointed to a large, tower at the side of the prison. It was at least seventy yards tall, with large windows every few yards. “He’s in there on the top floor of seven. The rest are occupied by guards an
d supplies.”

I’d been watching the guards as they patrolled the prison and Simon’s tower and counted sixteen people, with everyone in sight of someone else, at any point. It was a good system.

Galahad told his guard to stay outside and took Caitlin and me up to the tower, which I noticed was almost smooth to the touch. There was nowhere you could gain purchase to escape without falling to the ground. Simon might have been able to survive the fall, but he definitely wouldn’t be doing anything for sometime after landing.

As Galahad pushed the tower’s door open, I was surprised to find that it wasn’t locked or guarded; clearly
Galahad
and his people thought that they’d placed enough security measures. They had a good point; if Simon could escape to the front door, he wasn’t about to let a lock or some guards stop him.

As if able to read my thoughts, Galahad said, “There’s no chance of Simon getting this far down without his runes going off. And in case he does, I had the enchanter put runes inside the door itself. If Simon steps through that door without
permission
, he probably won’t be doing much more stepping anytime soon.”

The ground level of the tower was empty, consisting of nothing more than a set of steps at the far end of the lengthy floor, that wasn’t far off the same size as the palace’s reception room. You could have easily fit a few houses, at least in terms of square footage, if not height, into it.

We ascended the stairs and found ourselves in a kitchen, a few dozen men all sat around a long table eating a meal. They stood and bowed as Galahad approached, which he waved off, insisting they continue with their food.

The next stairs were at the far end of the room, forcing any visitors to walk through an area that I assumed was usually populated by guards or cooks.

From the second set of stairs, it was a straight walk until we reached the fifth floor, where Galahad opened a door and motioned for us to go in.

“The floors between two and here are all barracks,” Galahad told us. “Each guard has his own room.”

“Considering it’s a prison, it’s quite light in here,” I said, motioning toward the large windows that allowed light to stream into the tower.

“A lot of people work in here. I don’t want to make this somewhere they don’t want to go. There’s already enough of that just because it’s a prison.”

The fifth floor consisted of a straight corridor toward a door on the opposite side. Four doors on either side of the corridor led to a variety of office-like rooms, most of which were occupied by people Galahad appeared to know by name. They all offered to take us to the floor above, but Galahad refused, telling them he didn’t want to interfere before moving us further along the floor at a hurried pace.

The sixth floor consisted of several single-person cells down one side, although none of them were occupied, and two large rooms opposite, also empty.

“This is where we do our questioning,” Galahad said. “We used to bring Simon down here and talk to him in either one of the two rooms.”

“Used to?” Caitlin asked.

“We decided it was far too much work to bring him down here, just to have him ignore us, so we had one of the rooms up there converted into an interrogation center.”

“You mean torture?” I asked.

Galahad stopped walking and turned back to face me. “No. As much as I’d like to have pulled various parts of him off, while roasting him over a large fire, we would have gotten nothing out of it. And I would have been the one left feeling dirty about what we’d done. I’m not going to sacrifice my morals ever again.
Especially
not just because it’s the easy solution.”

My friend’s words gave me a newfound respect for his position. I was almost certain that I wouldn’t have been able to keep my patience in check during thirty years of asking the same questions and getting nothing in return. But then I’v
e neve
r been known for having the greatest of patience at the best
of times.

The final floor of the tower was different to everything else I’d seen. There was no cell. At least none I could see. As soon as we walked through the door—the first one with an alchemy-based lock that required Galahad to use his abilities to shift the door aside—we were greeted by a young-looking, thin man with a large mop of dark hair, who with four guards stood in a sizeable room.

“Martin,” Galahad said and shook the man’s hand. “Nate, Caitlin, this is our enchanter. He’s one of three who works here.”

Martin offered me his hand, which I took. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said to me after shaking Caitlin’s hand.

“That’s probably not a good thing,” I said.

“Oh, no, it’s not from the king or his guard. From Simon. You’re the only person he asks about.”

That was a bit of a surprise and I turned to Galahad ready to ask why he hadn’t said anything.

“Because I knew how you’d react,” Galahad told me. “You’d have stormed in here, ready to see him last night, full of anger and righteous indignation. You couldn’t come here full of fire, Nate. You’d have gotten yourself or someone else hurt.”

I opened my mouth to argue and immediately closed it again. There was no point, when Galahad was right.

“So, what does he ask about?” I enquired instead.

“Where you are, what you’re doing,” Martin told me. “The usual idea is to tell me how he’s going to find and hurt you. He really doesn’t like you very much.”

“He can join a very long queue,” I told him. “So, where is the psychotic little prick?”

“Back there,” Galahad said and pointed to a wall that had no obvious door, but did have a huge silver sheet attached to it. A small window with a flap on it sat to one side.

“Okay, how do I get in there?”

One of the guards walked over to the sheet and placed his hands on it. The silver slid aside like liquid, revealing the solid brick wall behind, which also began to move, creating an archway.

“What’s the silver for?” I asked.

“Show them,” Galahad said and the guard nodded before continuing his demonstration. The silver slid up onto the ceiling, where it transformed into dozens of deadly spikes.

“If the guard takes his hand from that wall, those spikes come down,” Matthew said. “It doesn’t have to be spikes, but it’s an interesting version of a dead man’s switch and a little extra protection when the guards have to bring Simon his food an
d water.”

“I want to go alone,” I said, while the guard moved the silver back onto the wall, where it stayed. “And before anyone argues, clearly he’s got some vested interest in me. Let’s just see if I can’t push his buttons.”

“You okay with that?” Galahad asked Caitlin who nodded.

“Don’t kill him,” she said to me.

“We have very specialized runes in this office that are linked to the cell,” Martin said. “We’ll be able to hear everything you say, but not vice versa. He has no weapons, but that’s not going to mean he won’t try. He killed two guards the first year and has maimed another three in the years since. He’s dangerous.”

“Nate, get what you need and leave,” Galahad said. “Every second you spend in there is more time he’s in control. He’s different than when he went in, more unpredictable. He’s had a long time to work on using his mouth to hurt you. He’ll relish the chance to get you to lose control and attack him.”

“Just remember, his runes will ignite if any part of him leaves that cell,” Martin told me. “It would be bad for you if that happened while he was holding you.”

“Is that how he killed one of the guards?” I asked.

Martin nodded. “Gave himself burns over sixty percent of his body, and we had to increase the runes’ power by several times to ensure it didn’t happen again.”

“I get it,” I told him. “Dangerous psycho in a cell, willing to hurt himself to hurt others.”

Galahad nodded to one of the guards, who unlocked the cell by using alchemy to push the lock to the middle of the door and turn it ninety degrees before pushing the door open.

I stepped through the door and into the crystal-lit corridor beyond. There were small windows, just large enough to get an arm through, every few yards, but the amount of light they let in was minimal at best. The guard led me down the corridor and around the corner before stopping outside the only cell. He used alchemy to push the metal bars aside, creating an entrance. “Good luck,” he whispered before moving away as quickly as possible without running.

Simon sat behind a metal table, staring at his hands. He glanced up at me, his hair long enough to cover his face. The shadow in the room did its best to cover any part that was visible. He wore a sleeveless shirt and had put on a serious amount of muscle in the thirty years since I’d last seen him.

He leaned forward, allowing the blue light to do its job and I saw the beard, probably several months old.

“You look good,” he said, his voice low and full of menace.

“You look like a hobo,” I told him and removed the chair from opposite him, sitting down as I tried to ignore the fact that he could have easily pounced at me. Killing him in his cell wouldn’t do me any favors.

“I don’t get to shave very often. They don’t like to give me sharp things. Apparently it makes them nervous.” He leaned
further
into the light and pushed his hair back over his shoulders, showing me the scar that ran from under one eye to just above his mouth. But it was his eyes that caught my attention. They were devoid of anything even resembling a spark of humanity. Any ideas of threatening him vanished in that second; there was nothing I could do to hurt him that he hadn’t already stopped caring about.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come say hello,” he said and clicked his fingers, turning the lights off. “Welcome to the party.”