“I have no way of knowing who is listening to me now. It doesn’t really matter. All I have left to say is that if you would find my crown and seal, you must look among those who have gone before. There. A final clue to help you on your way, whoever you are. Wear the crown proudly, use its power wisely, and beware of the Unreal. I am King Malcolm of Redhart. Hear my words.”
The image of the king flickered and disappeared. For a long time nobody said anything. Viktor sat staring at the ruby in his hand. Finally Roderik stirred, and his chair creaked loudly as his weight shifted. Everyone turned to look at him.
“It’s a good thing the steward did take the will and hide it. If this had been shown in open Court, civil war would have broken out on the spot.”
“He called me a monster,” said Viktor. “I came all the way back here to avenge his murder, and what do I find? He’d rather some stranger wore the crown than me. I fought in his wars, bled in his battles, even accepted internal exile rather than risk a civil war, and all for what?”
“Viktor …” said Heather.
“Monsters,” said Viktor. He threw the ruby away from him. It hit the far wall, and fell back onto the carpet. It rolled a short distance, and everyone watched it till it lay still. No one made a move to pick it up.
“King Malcolm has at least given us a clue,” said Roderik. “He said the crown and the seal lie among
those who have gone before
. Does that mean anything to you, Viktor?”
“I don’t want to talk about that now,” said Viktor.
“But darling,” said Heather, “you must see that …”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” Viktor’s voice rose to a shout, and he glared about him. No one met his eyes. “Leave me, all of you. I don’t want you around me for a while. No, wait, you can stay with me, actor. The rest of you, get out. I’ll see you again in an hour.”
Jordan looked at Gawaine for some clue as to what to do, but the knight just shook his head slightly. Heather made as though she wanted to say something to him, but a glance at Viktor’s scowling face dissuaded her. One by one the conspirators left the suite, and Jordan was left alone with Prince Viktor.
Viktor sat in silence for some time, staring into the fire. Jordan waited for an invitation to sit down, and when it didn’t come, he sat down hesitantly in the chair opposite Viktor. The quiet, crackling fire spread a pleasant warmth through the room, and despite everything, Jordan began to relax a little. What with one thing and another, this was pretty much the first chance he’d had to just sit down and take it easy since he entered Castle Midnight. Whatever else you could say about the place, it wasn’t dull. Jordan stretched out his legs, and surreptitiously studied the prince sitting opposite him.
Viktor looked a little better than he had, but his face was still pale and gaunt. The strain of his long illness showed in his sunken eyes and the tired boneless slump of his body in his chair. Jordan sensed a basic confusion within the man, as though he was desperately searching for answers he wasn’t sure were even there. Jordan tried to work out how he felt about Viktor, and wasn’t surprised to discover he was feeling pretty confused himself. On the one hand, people seemed to agree that Viktor had been the most promising of the three brothers before he’d met Elizabeth, but given the competition that wasn’t saying much. Sir Gawaine had stood by him through thick and thin, but how much of that was down to personal loyalty and how much to the oath he’d sworn to King Malcolm? The Lady Heather seemed genuinely fond of Viktor, but there was no doubting she was very ambitious. And ruthless … not unlike the Lady Elizabeth, in fact. Viktor didn’t seem to be having much luck in his choice of women. He had tried to kill Dominic, which was a point in his favor, but in a stupid and amateurish way, which wasn’t. Jordan sighed silently. He kept working around the main issue, reluctant to face it head on. Catriona Taggert had given him King Malcolm’s will because she believed his version of Prince Viktor was worthy to be king. But was the real Viktor worthy? And if not, what was he going to do about it?
Victor looked up from the fire and looked soberly at Jordan. “It’s strange to see another man with my face,” he said slowly. “We have a legend, here in Redhart, of the dopplegänger—a supernatural double who appears to us only at the time of our imminent death. Are you a bad omen for me, actor?”
“I hope not, Your Highness,” said Jordan carefully. “I’m here to help gain you the throne.”
Viktor smiled slightly. “Yes. I will be king. I never really thought I would, when I was younger. Lewis was the eldest, after all, and Dad’s favorite, so I always assumed he’d wear the crown. Not that he deserved it. He’s been chasing everything that breathes since his voice dropped. And those he couldn’t intimidate with his position, he took by force. You’d have thought he’d have more pride. I never liked Lewis. No one did really, but all the time I was here, Dad wouldn’t hear a word said against him. Old fool. He didn’t want to know about Dominic either, though we all told him often enough. Even Lewis couldn’t stand Dominic. I think he was born crazy. One time, when we were all still kids, he took a puppy from the castle kennels and cut it open, to see how it worked. None of us were surprised when Dominic took up sorcery. I’m going to enjoy ordering his death.”
Jordan looked at him, startled, and Viktor smiled.
“Oh yes, actor, Dominic is going to die. I should have taken my time and done the job properly when he first took my Elizabeth. That was when things started to go wrong …” His voice trailed away, and his eyes became distant, fixed on yesterday. “I loved her, actor. I loved her more than I ever loved anyone else … I used to walk around all day with a stupid grin on my face, just so happy that she loved me. I didn’t believe it at first, when they told me about her and Dominic. I threatened one man with a duel, for spreading such vile rumors. I was so young … In the end, I had to believe it. I confronted Elizabeth with the truth, and she laughed at me. I should have taken more time, and done the job properly. I should have killed them both when I had the chance.
“I’ve learned patience since then, rotting in exile with only that stupid relic Gawaine for company. All he knows is duty and honor and taking orders. Those things are for the lesser people—not princes and kings. Kings don’t answer to anyone but themselves. They don’t have to. No, actor, I had a lot of time in exile to think of all the things I’d do if they were ever foolish enough to allow me back. On my first morning as king, I’ll see Lewis and Dominic and Elizabeth die. Their heads shall sit on spikes outside my castle gates, and the ravens will eat their eyes.”
Viktor heaved himself up out of his chair and stood with his back to the fire. His face was flushed, and his eyes were unnaturally bright. “Everyone who ever stood against me will die! All of them! Once I am king, the power of the Stone will be mine, and I will take vengeance for all those long years of insult and neglect. I will command the Unreal, and Redhart will become great again, through me.”
Jordan looked uneasily at the prince, disturbed by the direction his thoughts were taking him. “From what I’ve seen of the Unreal, Your Highness, it’s not something to trifle with. It’s too dangerous …”
“Don’t lecture me!” Viktor glared at Jordan. His voice was high and strained. “What do you know about the Unreal? I was born and raised in this castle, and I know more about the Unreal than you ever will. Now be quiet, actor. You’re here to listen, not to talk. I’m sick of people advising me, telling me what to do. I don’t have to put up with that anymore, and I’m not going to. There’s a power in the Stone and in the Unreal, actor—a power beyond your comprehension. My father was afraid of it, but I’m not.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” said Jordan. “But what are you going to do with that power?”
“Whatever I choose,” said Viktor, his eyes still far away.
“The harvests have been bad this year,” said Jordan. “It’s been a long hot summer, with little rain. I’ve traveled through your kingdom, town by town, seen the hardships and the suffering. Food’s scarce, and market prices are high. Your people are hungry. By winter, many of them will be starving.”
“Let them,” said Viktor. “What did they ever do for me? Where were they when I was sent into exile? Damned peasants breed like rabbits anyway. As long as they pay their taxes on time, I’ll leave them alone, and if they’re sensible, they’ll be thankful for that. They’ll praise my name soon enough when I’ve made Redhart strong again. What do a few bad harvests matter? If we need food, we can always take it from Hillsdown, or the Forest Kingdom. After the battering they took in the Demon Wars, they’re in no shape to stand against us.”
“They’re not that weak,” said Jordan. “They’d fight back. There would be war.”
“Does the word frighten you, actor?” said Viktor. “I thought you made your living from tales of the glory of war, of the heroes and their battles. Or perhaps the raw meat of war is too strong for your stomach? War is the true test of kings, where they can reveal their true strength and destiny. I’ve had a long time to think about all this, actor. All those years in exile, while another man had my woman as his wife. All those years in a backwater of boredom and idleness. But I didn’t waste my time, actor. I made plans, forged partnerships, found willing allies for a man who would be king … I have many enemies, I know, but they won’t stop me. They’ve stolen my woman, banished me from Court, left me to rot, tried to poison me … but I’m back now, and I’ll make them pay. I’ll make them all pay! No matter how many I have to kill, they’ll pay for what they did to me!”
His voice had risen to a shout, but Jordan no longer listened to him. Viktor was as mad as his brothers: his years in exile had driven him over the edge. In his search for people to punish for his own pain, he would bathe the Castle corridors in blood and plunge his country into a war it couldn’t win. Thousands of innocents would die. And he, the Great Jordan, would have made it all possible. Because of him, a madman would be king, and all the lands would be swept with blood and fire.
Jordan closed his eyes for a moment, and visions of death and destruction filled his sight. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He rose slowly to his feet and stood behind Viktor. The prince didn’t even know he was there. He never saw Jordan draw the knife from his boot and drive it into his back.
Prince Viktor died quickly, and Jordan knelt beside him as the breath and the life went out of him.
CHAPTER 7
Wolves in the Fold
Jordan looked at the bloodstained knife in his hand, and automatically reached for a cloth to clean the blade. His senses suddenly cleared, and he scrambled to his feet. His fellow conspirators could be back at any minute, and if he was found standing over the dead prince with the bloody dagger still in his hand, the best he could hope for would be a quick death. Jordan swallowed hard and tried to think clearly. The first thing to do was hide the body. He slid the knife back into his boot and crouched down beside Viktor.
The prince’s head lolled suddenly to one side as Jordan struggled to pick him up. The glazed eyes seemed to stare at him accusingly. Jordan gripped Viktor by the arms and got him half off the floor, but had to drop him again almost immediately. The deadweight was too heavy and too awkward to lift. Jordan stooped down, swearing under his breath at the time this was taking, and grabbed Viktor under the arms. He took a firm hold and then dragged the body over to the bedroom. He kicked the door open and hauled Viktor in. He got him as far as the wardrobe, and then let him drop.
Jordan sat down on the edge of the bed to get his breath back. He felt a little easier now that the body was no longer in open view. His gaze fell upon the wardrobe before him, tall, wide, and conveniently bulky. Jordan got to his feet and opened the wardrobe door. It was packed with clothes, but there was still a lot of spare room … Clothes. A thought struck Jordan, and he looked quickly down at his shirt front. Incriminating crimson blotches stared back at him. He must have got them while dragging Viktor’s body. Jordan took off his cloak and vest, and pulled off the offending shirt. He couldn’t stand the thought of being touched by Viktor’s blood. The empty glass vial fell out of his sleeve, and Jordan froze as he saw the dried Blood that still marked his arm from the Testing. He screwed his shirt into a ball, and used it to scrub at his arm. It didn’t help much. He threw the shirt onto the bed and turned his back on it. He grabbed a shirt at random from the wardrobe and pulled it on, his fingers fumbling clumsily over the buttons.
Easy, Jordan, easy. Take your time and get it right. You can’t afford to look flustered
.
He pulled on his vest and cloak, looked at himself in the full-length mirror, and decided unhappily that it would have to do. In his own eyes he looked guilty as hell, but at least now the evidence wasn’t so clear cut. He threw the bloodstained shirt into the back of the wardrobe, and then bent down and manhandled Viktor’s body in after it. He knew he should have hidden the body first and then got changed, but he wasn’t thinking too clearly at the moment. He straightened up, and began to breath a little more easily. It was only then that he noticed Viktor’s eyes were still open. They seemed to Jordan to be following him. He wanted to reach down and close them, but some last-minute squeamishness made him reluctant to touch the body any more than he absolutely had to. He stepped back and slammed the wardrobe door shut on Viktor’s staring eyes.
He stood still and rubbed at his aching temples as a sudden wave of dizzyness passed over him. Strain, that was all it was—just strain and tension. Everything had happened so quickly … He’d never planned on killing Viktor. The thought had never even crossed his mind. But sitting there, listening to Viktor rant and rave, Jordan had slowly discovered that he couldn’t bear to think of all the good people he’d met dying bloody deaths at this madman’s whim. Those people had trusted him as Viktor, and he couldn’t see them betrayed in that trust.
There were twenty-seven kitchen staff. Ten were women, and seven were child apprentices
.
I had them all hanged, of course
.
All right, Viktor was dead. What was he going to do now? Run for it? He wouldn’t even get out of the castle. Jordan frowned. There was only one thing he could do: take Viktor’s place for real. Be Prince Viktor. Give Castle Midnight the kind of prince and ruler it deserved. He’d always wanted to play the part as it should be played, and this was his chance. Of course, if his fellow conspirators ever found out what had happened … He decided he wasn’t going to think about that. He’d just have to do such a good job that the others would never have cause to doubt that he was who he claimed to be. And he’d better come up with a damned good cover story to explain his, the actor’s, sudden disappearance. They might believe he’d got scared and run off, but not that he’d leave without trying to collect his money first. They knew him too well for that. Jordan sighed. Right now, he wanted more than anything to just sit there and feel sorry for himself, but he couldn’t spare the time. There was too much to be done. Somebody knocked at the main door, and Jordan’s heart jumped madly. There wasn’t time to come up with a cover story, or even to practice his new double role. The conspirators were back, and he was on.
He hurried out of the bedroom and back into the main room. He spotted the ruby will lying on the floor, and pocketed it quickly. If things went wrong, and he had to leave in a hurry, at least he’d have something to show for his trouble. A quick look around, to check that everything was as it should be, and then he took up a commanding posture by the fireplace, and called for whoever it was to enter. The door swung open, and Count Roderik and Robert Argent came in, followed by Sir Gawaine and the Lady Heather. Jordan nodded brusquely to them. Gawaine closed the door and stood guard beside it, one hand resting comfortably on the head of his ax. Heather started to smile at Jordan, and then stopped, suddenly unsure as to exactly who she was smiling at. The others glanced around the empty room, and stirred uneasily as they realized Jordan was on his own. He smiled coldly.
“If you’re looking for the actor, he’s in the jakes. No doubt he’ll be back in a minute.”
Roderik bowed formally. “Forgive me, sire. Now that you’re recovering from your illness, you’re looking so much better, it’s hard to tell the two of you apart.”
Jordan snorted. “I wasn’t ill, I was being poisoned. And the day you can’t tell the difference between a prince of the Blood and a strolling player will be the day I find myself some new advisers. I never thought he sounded much like me anyway.”
“Now, darling,” said Heather soothingly, “don’t be so touchy. Come and sit down here, with me.”
Jordan nodded grudgingly, and allowed Heather to sit him down in the most comfortable chair and fuss over him. As before, she ended up sitting on the arm of his chair, and Jordan slipped his arm around her waist, as he’d seen Viktor do. “Well then,” he said finally, “let us discuss Dad’s will. Oh do sit down, all of you. You make the place look untidy, standing around like that. If I’d wanted statues in my room, I’d have bought some.”
Roderik, Argent, and Gawaine pulled up chairs facing him, and sat down. Jordan noted approvingly that Gawaine was the only one who’d placed his chair so that he wasn’t sitting with his back to the door. Roderik frowned unhappily, and leaned forward.
“There isn’t really much in your father’s will that can be called favorable,” he said slowly. “Favorable to us, that is. Malcolm mentioned his fear of a
sudden
death, which suggests he believed someone might be planning to murder him, but there’s nothing in the will to suggest he knew who the murderer would be. Assuming, of course, that Malcolm was murdered. We have no direct evidence.”
“It was murder,” said Jordan. “Dad’s death was too sudden and too convenient to be anything else.”
“As you say, sire.” Roderik bowed slightly, before continuing. “The only clue as to the whereabouts of the crown and seal lies in the single phrase
with those who have gone before
. It seems likely he was referring to the previous kings of Redhart—those who preceded him on the throne.”
Jordan chewed on the inside of his cheek as Viktor’s background knowledge bubbled eerily at the back of his mind. He looked sharply at Roderik.
“Dad hasn’t been buried yet, has he?”
“No, Your Highness,” said Roderik. “He’s still lying in state in the family crypt, according to law and custom.”
“So right now he’s lying among his ancestors—those who have gone before. That’s what the clue means. The crown and seal are hidden somewhere in the family crypt!”
Sir Gawaine coughed apologetically. “Our people have already searched there, sire. They found nothing. And it’s a safe bet your brothers would also have had the place searched. If the crown and seal were there, someone would have found them by now.”
“Not necessarily,” said Jordan. “Dad said they wouldn’t be easily found.” He rose abruptly to his feet, almost bowling over Heather. “Let’s go. I want to take a look at the crypt myself.”
“Very well, sire,” said Roderik, getting to his feet more slowly. “I’ll summon a company of guards to escort us.”
“No,” said Jordan. “I think the less who know about this, the better. I don’t know about the rest of you, but it’s looking more and more obvious to me that we have a traitor somewhere among our people. Think about it. You were attacked twice when bringing the actor back to the castle. Outside of us, who knew the exact route you’d be taking? Then again, somebody told my dear brothers that we were using the actor as a double in public. That’s why you were pressured into attending the Testing. And finally, somebody has been feeding me poison for some time. That had to be the work of somebody close to us—someone we trust. I’m not ready to point any fingers yet, but I don’t feel inclined to take any chances I don’t have to. We go alone down into the crypt—just the five of us.”
“Six, including the actor,” said Sir Gawaine.
“I’m not waiting for him and his damned weak bladder,” snapped Jordan. “We’ll leave word with the guards at the door, and he can wait here till we return. We don’t need him. Now let’s go. I’ve spent far too much time sitting around of late.”
He strode over to the main door, and was somewhat gratified to hear the others scrambling to catch up with him. He’d started to wonder if he was overdoing the arrogance, but from the sound of their haste, he’d got it just about right.
The royal family crypt turned out to be a huge stone chamber on the lowest floor of the castle. They had to go through two basements to get to it. The crypt was also a sanctuary: one of the oldest stable places in the castle. No magic would work there, for good or ill, and the dead slept undisturbed. King Malcolm’s family had lain in the crypt for generations, and their resting places were decorated with life-size bas-relief carvings, in varying shades of marble. Some looked unsettlingly lifelike in the dancing torchlight, as though the pale motionless figures were only sleeping and might awaken at a sudden noise.
King Malcolm lay in state upon the tomb that was to be his. His body had already undergone the undertaker’s arts to ensure preservation, but he wouldn’t be finally interred until the last protective spells had been woven around him. There were too many unpleasant things that could happen to a dead body in Castle Midnight. Jordan moved slowly forward to stand beside the king. The morticians had done their job well. Malcolm’s face still held a normal color, and he looked so peaceful he might almost have been sleeping.
Almost.
The others held back as Jordan studied the dead king. Up close, the illusion of peace wasn’t nearly as convincing. The makeup that gave the face a seeming of life was glaringly obvious to Jordan’s experienced eyes, and when he looked closely he could see the tiny black stitches that held the mouth and eyes closed. There was no odor of decay: just a faint whiff of formaldehyde. Jordan tried to read a character in the king’s still features, but death and the mortician’s skills had wiped all personality from the face. It might as well have been a garishly painted doll. Jordan closed his eyes and let his mind drift, hoping some of Viktor’s memories might hold a clue as to where to look for the hidden crown and seal. Nothing came to him but the beginnings of another headache. Jordan opened his eyes again, and thought hard. The answer had to be here somewhere. And he didn’t have long to find it. Argent was keeping watch outside the crypt, but they could be interrupted anytime.
Jordan looked around him, taking in the eerie carved figures that surrounded him. They’d all been sculpted with the usual enigmatic smiles, but to Jordan they all looked unbearably smug, as though they knew the answer but weren’t going to tell him, because he was an outsider and an interloper. He frowned suddenly. Different as the many faces were, they all had certain things in common. They were portrayed in their best and finest robes, each fold of marble lovingly detailed, and the sculptors had even added stone crowns and rings. Jordan smiled slowly as an inspiration blossomed within him. If you want to hide a crown and a seal, where better than among a great many other crowns and seals? Jordan glanced quickly around him. If they were here, they couldn’t be under an illusion spell; the sanctuary would cancel that out. But since he couldn’t see them, they must be physically disguised. He ran from tomb to tomb, checking each carved figure. The others watched uncomprehendingly. And then Jordan’s fingers stumbled over one of the stone crowns as it moved under his touch. He pulled it free and tapped it gently against the side of the bier. Brittle flakes of plaster fell away, revealing a bright golden gleam.
The others crowded in around Jordan as he carefully stripped away the plaster to reveal the true crown of Redhart. It was heavier than he expected: a simple unadorned circlet of solid gold.
It is not the crown, but he who wears it. That is where true greatness lies
. Lines from an old play echoed through Jordan’s mind. It seemed a long time now since he’d last stood on a stage, playing a simple straightforward role before an undemanding audience. He pushed the thought away, and pulled at the rings on the stone fingers until one of them came loose. Under the thin covering of plaster lay a heavy gold ring bearing the royal seal of Redhart. Jordan held the crown and seal in his hands, and then closed his eyes briefly as his tiredness caught up with him. The Lady Heather moved in beside him.