The Fatal Child (27 page)

‘Now?’

‘He is ready. He can speak. He remembers who he was.’

Again Ambrose ran his hand through his hair. ‘Very well.’ He looked at Padry. ‘Clear the room.’

Padry gaped. ‘But Your Majesty—’

‘Clear it!
You
may stay, but all others must leave.’

It took Padry a moment more to realize what was about to happen. And to understand that yes, if it was going to happen – here, in Tuscolo of all places – then no one must see it! Grimly he signed the guards and the wine servant to the door. He took the paper and ink bottle from Lex, and muttered, ‘Come back in half an hour. No, better still, remain in the corridor and see that no one listens at the keyhole. I will call you in when I have leave for you to return.’

Lex nodded and rose. Tight-lipped, Padry drew the pen and parchment across to himself. His fingers were
trembling. Angels! Was he not tried enough already? Wasn’t it enough that he must serve, day in, day out, a king and queen whose very presence made him hot with shame? Just a moment ago he had been thinking what further house-training this pup needed. Well, when this was over there would be words – very frank words – between them! He must
not
spring something like this on his council! Gueronius might have had his faults as King, Padry thought bitterly, but at least he had never indulged in
this!

His palms were sweating and there was the same hollow feeling in his stomach that he had felt when the news of Ambrose’s landing had burst upon the capital. It was not anger. It was fear. It was that sudden lurch of the pulse when events started to move at a pace he could not control. And now there was nothing he could do.

The door closed. Footsteps and low voices faded in the corridor. Padry held his breath, listening. There was silence.

‘Come,’ said Phaedra.

For a moment nothing happened. Then a man stepped – it seemed from nowhere – into the room. He bowed silently to Ambrose. Padry knew the long figure at once. It was the Prince Talifer.

The air seemed to thicken. A dank, watery smell stole upon Padry’s senses. Memories surged in his brain and made him shudder. Three more figures loomed from nothingness, silently. They took their places before Ambrose’s throne. Two were clothed, with hoods that half concealed their faces. One of
these was a broad-headed, slouching man – yes, man, for Padry could see the stamp of humanity beginning to emerge in its eyes and nose and chin. The other was more stooped, longer-faced, and with joints that seemed to bend in a way no man’s should.

Between them they led, or held, their companion. It was a wretched, pitiful thing, smaller than any man and wrapped in some shapeless dark cloth or … Padry blinked, peered hard, and could not be sure whether he was actually seeing
through
the creature that was there. Wherever his eyes rested – on its hood, its wrinkled fingers (black as wet tree roots), or its robe, it seemed solid enough. And yet, again and again as he stared at it, he seemed to glimpse the wall hanging or the floor beyond where it stood.

It was hiding its face in its hood. It was hiding deliberately, staring at the floor. It did not want to be looked at. It did not want to meet the eye of the young King, seated on the throne before him.

‘Welcome, Talifer, my ancestor,’ said Ambrose calmly. ‘Welcome, Rolfe and Lomba. Each time I see you, you are more like the men you were. This is good. Will you present your brother to me?’

‘My lord,’ said Prince Lomba, in a voice like rushing wind. ‘This is our half-brother Marc, youngest of the sons of our father Wulfram’s first marriage.’

‘Welcome, Marc Wulframson,’ said Ambrose. ‘Will you greet me?’

A sound like high-pitched weeping broke from the shadow. It took Padry a moment to realize that the thing was weeping indeed.

‘Do you know me, Marc?’

The thing did not answer.

‘You came to me among your brothers, years ago in the garden at Ferroux. With them you pleaded to me. Do you remember? You came to me and I did not know you. I know you now. What is it you would ask of me?’

The weeping subsided. The thing stirred. A delicate, transparent hand reached towards the throne.

‘Lor’ … Gi’ me ’eh.’

‘I will not give you death, Marc. Each of your brothers asked me for death, one after another, when they came from the pit. I refused them. Just as the things that you have done cannot be undone, so what you have suffered cannot be taken away.’

The thing bowed its head and seemed to shrink. Padry, looking on, felt that he could almost smell its pain: an immeasurable weight of guilt and grief, shame at what it had been and horror at what it had become. His mind backed away, revolted. Why had they brought that thing here? Really, it might be kinder to kill it! At least they would not have to look at the wretched—

And then the creature raised its hands again. It raised its black, wrinkled, dripping hands, pleading to the boy on the throne. And as if some Angel had reached out and jerked at an eye-muscle, Padry’s gaze fell to his own hands, fat and soft and stained with ink on the table before him.

A terrible feeling swept over him – a feeling that
these hands, which he knew so well, were one and the same with the twisted talons that were lifted to the King. They were joined by just such sinful bones to a mind as black with corruption as that of the creature crouching there. It was not only a forgotten prince who was begging oblivion. It was Thomas Padry himself. It should have been – it
was
– Thomas Padry who was on his knees, whining for release while the things he had done towered over him like black cliffs about to fall – the neglect of his duty, the blinding of his conscience, the insane and lustful pursuit of a child! He squirmed in his seat and put his ink-stained fingers to his temple, thinking: Who is the most shameful thing here? That thing or I? Oh, dear Angels! Dear Lord …

Coolly in the room he heard the voice of the King. ‘I have three commands for you. Fulfil them, and I shall hold you forgiven. Do you listen?’

Miserably, the thing nodded. In his heart Padry nodded, too.

‘You shall learn to be a man again. That is one. And for the rest of your days, until by some chance death meets with you, you shall serve all the people of this Kingdom in any way that I direct or that you shall otherwise find is possible for you. That is another.

‘But first, you shall tell me your story. Talifer and Rolfe and Lomba have told theirs, but you are the only one so far who was born before Wulfram’s landing. You remember what they do not. You were present when they were not. Tell me what you saw.’

Again that high-pitched, horrible weeping broke from the creature.

‘Tell me, Marc,’ said the King.

‘Lor’ … wha’ ’oo wan’ know?’

‘Tell me why Beyah weeps.’

Sweating, Padry caught Lex in the corridor afterwards.

‘What did you hear?’ he muttered.

Lex looked at him darkly. ‘Not much. But enough to bring back bad memories.’

‘Did anyone else?’

‘I don’t think so. But the councillors are getting restive in the hall down there. They’re saying Seguin has sent to offer his submission. They want to discuss it.’

‘Has he, by the Angels!’

‘So when can we let them back in?’

‘Not yet. We’re going to move straight to Grand Audience in the hall. If Seguin’s sent us a message we’ll hear it there and discuss it later.
Meanwhile
you’ve got to get the Privy Chamber aired. There’s a smell in there that’s bound to start rumours. And find another carpet.’

‘Carpet? What happened?’

‘That creature they brought with them … I didn’t realize it, but the damned fabric shrivelled under its feet as it stood there! Get it changed. Give out that it’s my fault because I sent the wine waiter away and then spilled the wine when I tried to pour it … That’s a good idea, actually. Tip over the wine jug while you are at it. It may help hide the smell. And clear everything
yourself. Don’t let anyone help you. And
burn
that damned carpet!’

‘And what do we say?’

‘About what?’

‘What was said in there?’

‘Oh.’ Padry chuckled slyly. His horrors were passing. His mood had lifted. Now he felt light-headed, gleeful, ready to leap from danger to victory in an instant. (Seguin wanted to submit, did he? Good! Just give Thomas Padry the chance and he would squeeze that old ruffian until …) ‘We tell the truth, of course.’

‘Are you mad or am I?’

‘Part
of the truth. My lady presented His Majesty with an account, by an ancient prince, of an event that occurred during Wulfram’s conquest. It is, er, rather sensitive, because it differs from that given in any version of
The Tale of Kings
. In particular, it does
not
show our founder Wulfram in a good light. Which could be damaging for the authority of the Crown itself – Padry theatrically put his finger to his lips – ‘if it became too widely known among the common sort. You understand? We must ask for discretion from our fellow councillors. Of course we can tell
them
, but it must go no further. You understand me?’

‘The games we play!’ groaned Lex. ‘Very well. And where is this account?’

Padry handed him the scroll of jottings he had made as Ambrose coaxed the creature’s story from it. ‘Here. Once you’ve seen to the room, you can copy this for me. I want one for the library here, one for myself, and one to send to Develin.’

(Tell your story, the King had said. It had not been Padry’s story to tell. But he could see that it was not forgotten. He could serve. He, too, could become a man again.)

‘Very good,’ said Lex.

‘Burn the notes when you’ve finished!’ added Padry over his shoulder. And eagerly, relieved beyond measure, he hurried down to the royal hall to take Grand Audience by the horns.

She dreamed of the safe place, her childhood home. Sunlight poured through the windows and filled the high rooms. The people were passing her, brilliant and smiling, and she looked among them for him.

There was the beautiful woman with the long brown hair, who smiled and did not answer when she asked for him. There was Gadi, tight-lipped and bustling away, and she called after her but Gadi did not turn round. She knew that Gadi was dead.

Where was he?

She knew what was coming. This was the safe place and the safe place was not safe. Very soon it would all happen again. She tried to speak to the faces that passed her. She tried to ask for him, to get them to make him come so that the dream would stop before it happened. But she could not say the words. The people smiled at her as they passed. Their faces were darkening.

Where was he? The colours were changing. The rooms were a purple haze in which black shapes of people moved, hurrying now. She could hear the
voices crying aloud. She cried aloud, too. She cried aloud for him. Where was he? He should be here now! She needed him now! And the curtain was behind her. She knew it. And the faces and the cries were gathering. Father stalked by, angry in his black armour, and it was too late.

The curtain was behind her. She could not turn. She could not face it. Now it was being drawn aside, and behind it was blackness, and the figure that moved in the blackness, and it was – it was …

The scream tore Melissa from sleep.

Sick with the suddenness of it, head swimming, she was on her feet and blundering in the darkness before she remembered that she was no longer in the mountains. She was in the King’s castle at Tuscolo, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of other people. And Atti no longer slept in the same room. It had been a year since this had last happened.

The scream came again, muffled by oak doors, but she knew it at once. She groped for the door handle. In the room the other girls were stirring. Someone half asleep asked a question. She left them. In the passage the torches lit the faces of the lady-in-waiting and the guard who were hurrying to Atti’s door. Melissa reached it before them. As she put her hand on the latch the door opened inwards. Another of the ladies-in-waiting stood there, pale and trembling.

‘It’s the princess!’ she gasped. ‘She’s—’

‘It’s a dream she gets,’ said Melissa shortly.
‘You
aren’t needed,’ she told the guard. And she pushed
past them as they stood wide-eyed in the doorway.

The outer room was empty and dark, but the door to Atti’s bedchamber was open and the dancing glow of candles showed from beyond. As Melissa strode across the room she heard Atti scream again.

She was there, kneeling on her bed with her shoulders hunched and her forearms tight up against her chest. Her eyes were open but she did not seem to see. At the foot of the bed yet another lady-in-waiting stood trembling, begging as if she herself were in pain, ‘Your Highness … Wake up, please …’ It was she who held the candle. And if she didn’t look out, thought Melissa, she’d have the bed curtains on fire in an instant.

Atti drew breath again. Melissa scrambled up onto the bed and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Atti,’ she said. ‘Atti, it’s just the dream! You’re all right! Hear me?’

The scream burst in her ear, so loud that it hurt. Atti’s shoulders were as hard as wood. It was like trying to hug a tree trunk. This was a bad one, Melissa thought. She held her more firmly, rocking the two of them together on the mattress, and said again, ‘Atti, it’s Melissa. You hear me?’

The scream broke into sobbing. Melissa felt the shoulders ease a little under her embrace. It was still bad. She couldn’t remember it ever being this bad before. Atti would not sleep again tonight. Oh, and tomorrow they’d be starting all the things they had to do for the crowning, and all …

Now that the crisis was passing Melissa could feel
her exhaustion coming back. She had been deep, deep asleep, unconscious in the few hours allowed to her between the end of duty last night and the predawn rise tomorrow. Tomorrow? Today, probably. To judge by the silence from the King’s rooms Ambrose was either already up or hadn’t managed to get to bed at all. There was so much to do. And she, too, was up now.

The room was full of faces, all the Ladies This-and-that looking at her. Looking frightened, looking angry, looking at her. Well, none of
them
had nursed Atti through her nightmares before this, had they? Perhaps they should start to get used to it. And next time it could be one of them that jumped up in the middle of the night and tried to talk her out of it!