Battle for Elt: The Taking of the Wizard Bearer Page 15
Her hand was becoming tired, but she quickened her motion some more, eager to be done with it.
“Justin?” came his father's voice again.
“Hurry up,” Amy pleaded.
“I'm trying,” Justin said. “My father is putting me off.”
He grabbed her left breast and squeezed it hard while pumping his cock into her hand. With a loud moan, he gave one final thrust. She was horrified to feel warm liquid running down the back of her hand.
“What have I done?” she said. “Are you bleeding?”
Justin laughed. “You really are a maiden, aren't you? You'll need to wipe your hand.”
He handed her a cloth. She wiped her hand, still confused about the warm liquid, and then followed Justin back into the crowded shop. He gave her two loaves and told her that next time she would have to use her mouth. There's no way I'm doing that, she thought. As she left the bakers, she was sure their illicit encounter had been witnessed. But I'm being silly, that's all. Nevertheless, she was glad when she was back in the street with the cold chill on her face.
With a loaf under each arm, she set off home. She hadn't been walking long when she noticed a dark figure standing at the end of the street. Even at this distance she knew who it was. He'd seen her too, she knew. I could turn around, but he'd follow me, she thought. At first she slowed her walk, but then, mustering some bravery, she put her head down and pressed on, determined. I'll just walk straight past him. But as she approached him, he stepped in her way. She tried to walk around him, but he side-stepped and blocked her path again.
“Amy, Amy, Amy,” the man said.
“Farrel,” Amy said, flatly.
“Mr Faulkner to you, my dear,” he replied. “Respect your elders.”
And old he was. About sixty, Amy had always guessed.
“What do you want, Mr Faulkner?”
“I think you know what I want, Miss Hasbrook.”
He rubbed his pointy chin. Amy thought he was one of the ugliest men she had ever encountered. Even the King was a prince in Farrel Faulkner's company. His eyes were too close together, his nose too big, his head too thin, and the blood vessels in his cheeks were like the roots of a plant.
“I'm in a rush,” Amy said. “I have to be back at the castle.”
She tried to step around him, but he grabbed the top of her arm and pulled her close.
“That debt needs paying,” he said, squeezing her arm.
“I've paid the debt ten times over, now leave me alone, you're hurting me.”
He squeezed tighter.
“If you don't have the money, I'll take payment by other means.” He looked her up and down and licked his lips. His tongue reminded her of a leech. “Or maybe I should visit your little sister. What's her name? Millicent, is it? No, Milly, that's it. She looks like she's about to flower. Ripe for the taking.”
“She's eleven, and not a day older. You don't look at her. You don't think of her. And you certainly don't touch her.”
Her temper was brimming. When Farrel spread his lips into a smug smile, she jabbed the heel of her hand into his chest, sending him stumbling backwards.
He laughed again. “I'll be seeing you again, Miss Hasbrook. Be it you or your sister, I'll get my payment.”
She walked away, looking back only once; he was still standing in the street watching her go. She hurried on her way, towards home.
I can't take this anymore, she thought. After tonight, things must change.
CHAPTER 16
Rose stepped into Everlyn's chambers and found her daughter sitting by the window. Everlyn turned and looked at her mother, a sullen look on her face.
“They've set off,” Everlyn said. “The army you and Father have sent to High Hunsley. The one that will start another war we can ill afford to be part of.”
“Everlyn,” Rose said, seating herself on the window seat next to her daughter. “This is nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
“It will be my kingdom one day, Mother.”
“Yes, it will,” Rose brushed a strand of loose hair from her daughter’s face. “Have you been cutting your hair again?”
“It gets in the way.”
Rose sighed. “You're a princess. You're meant to have long hair. How are we supposed to find you a husband if you don't look like a princess?”
“I don't want a husband, Mother.”
“But you will need a man to help you run the kingdom; to help you with matters you have little experience of.” Rose stroked her daughter's hair. It's too short. Much too short.
Everlyn pushed her mother's hand away. “I do not want a man and I'm perfectly capable of ruling on my own.” She returned her gaze to the window.
Always a stubborn child. “So you would rather poor Cassandra be taken to Wyke, never to be seen again, would you? With each passing hour she slips further from our grasp, Everlyn.”
“Mother, it's quite clear Lord Merek has nothing to do with this. If Cassandra was ever in High Hunsley it was because he was threatened.”
“Well, we'll find out soon enough, won't we? By nightfall our army will have reached High Hunsley.”
“And then that will be the end of our army. We'll have nothing left.”
Rose was exasperated with her daughter. She attempted to steer the conversation in an entirely new direction.
“Let's talk about tonight's celebrations, shall we? There'll be lots of eligible men in attendance. It's high time you were married, Everlyn. People are beginning to talk.”
“Talk about what?” Everlyn stared at her mother, her blue eyes accusing.
“They wonder if there's something wrong with you.” Rose had heard two of her own handmaids discussing at length Everlyn's non-existent love life. She's too moody, no man will have her, they had said. She's really a boy, they just dress her like a girl. Rose had been furious, sacking them both on the spot.
“There's nothing wrong with me, Mother. I'm just happier on my own, that's all.”
Rose could relate to that. She had been just fifteen when she uttered her wedding vows. That was thirty-five years ago. She often wondered what it would be like to live alone; and also what it would be like to take a lover. Not that Everlyn was interested in boys at all, it seemed.
“But you must marry, Everlyn. You're the heir to the throne.”
“Have women never ruled alone?”
There was Queen Florence across the western seas, Rose knew. She ruled for forty-three years. But that's not the life I want for my daughter.
“Try your hardest at the celebrations tonight, Everlyn. Speak to men. Have fun.”
“Flirt and lead them on? Make them believe they have a chance of bedding me and becoming a king?”
“Do you have to put it so crudely, dear?” Rose felt the urge to slap her daughter, but fought it. “I have to go. We are interviewing the staff this afternoon about Cassandra's taking.” She stood, smoothing the creases from her dress as she did. “I'll send your handmaids up; they'll bathe and dress you.”
“Like I can't do that myself.”
“Everlyn, try not to be so difficult. It's their job. Would you prefer I relieve them of their duties and send them home to their families penniless?”
“No, of course not. You can pay them to come and talk with me while I bathe and dress myself, then.”
Rose sighed deeply. “Where I got you from I don't know.”
She left her daughter and returned to her chambers. Sitting on the edge of her four-poster bed, she looked around the room. This place is my prison cell, she thought. I'm no more free than those men locked away beneath the tower. The room was silent, only the tweeting of a bird in the garden beneath her widow filled the void. One could go crazy in this emptiness. She stretched out on the bed and buried her head into the feather pillow that had soaked up so many of her tears over many years. I could quite easily cry right now. Even her handmaids stayed away these days, because of her moods, she knew. They hate me, just like I hate myself.
She ran the palm of her hand across the sheets and recalled the first time she had lain there with her husband. Thirty-five years had passed, but she could still recall it with accurate detail. Bahlinger had been thinner and muscular. It was the sort of night a girl dreamed of once her blood came. She had lain on the bed with a summer's breeze from the open window fanning her exposed skin, as Bahlinger gently caressed every inch of her body. When he took her maidenhood she had cried out loud. So loudly in fact that her housemaid had knocked on the door to check that she was all right. As night turned to dawn, he took her again and again and again. Was it twelve times or thirteen, she tried to recall. Probably thirteen, the unluckiest of numbers.
Thirty-five years ago, Bahlinger was gallant, she recalled. He would lead his men into battle, but he was never in danger, she knew. He would always be surrounded by knights willing to give their lives to save his. How foolish they were, she thought.
Of late she doubted he could even ride a horse. It would certainly have to be a strong one to carry his weight.
Back then, she was in love and the happiest she had ever been in her whole life.
But now . . .
He doesn't look at me anymore, she thought. He no longer finds me attractive.
Her thoughts turned to the servant girl; the one with the fiery hair. The one she had observed her husband watching with hungry eyes. The girl was just a teen, full of virility. A walking vial of sexual energy. Rose knew she couldn't compete with such youth and beauty, but she hoped her husband would respect his vows and remain true to his queen.
But he won't, she thought. Maybe they’ve already acted upon their lust. Maybe they’re laughing at me behind my back.
She decided she would have to keep a closer eye on her husband –especially at the party this evening. But she wouldn't confront either of them, not yet, she decided. A cheater is easier to catch when they think their secret is safe.
A knock on her bedchamber door startled her.
She stood and brushed her dress down, before saying: “Come.”
One of her handmaids stepped into the room, a pretty girl of a similar age to that of which Rose had been when she became queen.
“Your Majesty,” the girl said before curtsying. “You're wanted in the Great Hall to hold counsel.”
Time to interview the staff, Rose thought.
“Tell them I'll be down in moment.” The handmaid made to leave the room, but Rose called after her. She turned with a worried look on her young face.
Am I that much of a dragon? Rose thought.
“Do you know of the servant girl with the auburn hair?” Rose asked. “There's only one like her.”
“I believe she works the kitchens, Your Grace. I know her not.”
“Do you know her name, at least?”
“Annie, or maybe Amy, that's all I know, Ma'am. Do you want me to pass a message onto her?”
Yes. Tell her to keep her filthy hands off my husband or I'll hang her head.
“No. That is all. You may leave.”
The handmaid left the room.
Annie or Amy, Rose thought. I'm watching you.
When Rose entered the Great Hall, King Bahlinger, Gaillart Gregory, Herman Lewis and Lambert Germain were sitting around the table. Rose took her place next to her husband.
“Shall we commence?” Gaillart said. “I believe we have the kitchen staff to interview first, followed by chambermaids and handmaids.”
Bahlinger cleared his throat and fidgeted in his chair. “We have someone else to question first,” he said, his voice low and unsure.
“Who might that be, then?” Gaillart said, looking around.
“You.”
“Bahlinger?” Rose said. “What do you mean by this?” Has my husband gone completely mad?
“It has come to light that Gaillart was missing from his chambers on the night of the wizard bearer's taking,” Bahlinger said to Rose. She hated the way he never referred to Cassandra by her birth name, like she was some sort of possession of the realm and not a person at all. “I mean only to ask his whereabouts.”
“Have we become so suspicious of everyone that we accuse our own council of wrong doing?”
“Rose, all I want to know is where he was the night before last. That's all.” Bahlinger looked around the table. “Are we in agreement, Lambert, Herman?”
Herman nodded.
“I believe it is only right that we asks these questions,” Lambert said.
“So, it is you who accuses me, is it?” Gaillart said to the old steward. “I was told you'd been asking after me.”
Rose watched Gaillart's demeanour. The Grand Master folded his arms, defensively.
“We can put an end to this, Gaillart,” King Bahlinger said, “if you just tell us where you were.”
“Why should I tell you?” Gaillart said. His voice was tinged with anger. “Am I not free to move around as I please?”
“You are free to do whatever you wish, my Grand Master,” Bahlinger said. “But it's not every day our guards' throats are slit and our wizard bearer is taken.”
Gaillart sighed. “I was with a whore, if you must know.”
Rose gave the Grand Master a stare. Does he really mean that?
“At which brothel?” Bahlinger said.
“Do you want to know which whore I fucked too and how many times?”
“Watch your language around the table, Gaillart?” Rose snapped.
“This is ridiculous. I shouldn't have to divulge this kind of information.” Gaillart looked flustered.
“Just answer the question, Gaillart. Where were you?” Bahlinger persisted.
“The brothel on Baker Street, above the inn.”
“Lambert?”
The old steward was shaking his head. “I checked there. It is one of his favourite haunts, but he wasn't there on the evening Cassandra was taken.”
One of his favourite haunts? Rose thought.
“Gaillart,” Bahlinger said, striking his fist on the table top. “Tell me the truth or I'll cast you into the deepest, darkest cell we have and throw away the key.”
The Grand Master's arms remained folded. “I'm not telling you. And nor should you ask it of me.”
“Right, then.” Bahlinger's face had turned a bright red. “Lambert, go fetch the guards.”
Rose placed her hand on Bahlinger's. “Is this really necessary?”
“If he cannot tell me where he was, then he is a suspect.”
Moments later, Lambert came back into the room, flanked by two guards.
“Take this man to the cells,” Bahlinger said, pointing a stubby, ring-clad finger in the direction of the Grand Master.
Gaillart did not put up a fight, Rose was pleased of that. Instead, he stood and let the guards escort him from the room.
“You'll be sorry you blamed me,” Gaillart said as they reached the door. “The real culprit is still among us, plotting more acts of treason.”
An awkward silence followed in which no one dare speak. Rose looked to Gaillart's empty seat and then to Lambert Germain.
“Are you sure about this?” she said to the old steward.
“I am,” Lambert said in reply.
“Do we bother interviewing the staff?” Herman Lewis said. He looked even more gaunt than usual.
“I think we must,” Rose said. “I refuse to accept Gaillart has anything to do with this.”
“Well, I don't see much point in interviewing the staff,” Bahlinger said. “We may as well prepare for this evening's celebrations and wait until Gaillart confesses.”
“And what if he doesn't?”
“Then he'll stay below the tower until he does.”
“All those years of service . . .” Rose said.
“He was probably offered an endless supply of gold coins and a place at Volk's side. Things like that turn a man.”
Rose brooded in silence, but knew she would have to go and speak to Gaillart herself.
CHAPTER 17
King Merek was sitting across the large, round table in the castle's Great Hall, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. Queen Natasha was sitting by his side with a needle in her hand and an embroidered textile in her lap. She would often tell her husband how it helped her relax. The fact that she's embroidering on this morning is no coincidence, the king thought. Her shiny, black hair hung over one shoulder almost down to her small waist.
“There's something else, too,” Adam said. There was caution in his voice.
“Go on,” King Merek said.
“A whore was murdered last night, at a brothel above an inn. The man who bought her for the night fits Graff's description.” Adam paused for a moment. Natasha had stopped embroidering. Merek urged the chamberlain to continue. “Her throat had been slit.” Adam looked at Natasha, perhaps unsure of how much to reveal.
“It's all right,” Merek said. “My wife needs to know. Please, continue.”
The chamberlain shifted in his seat before speaking. “It's happened before, as you know. Each time Graff visits we find a whore murdered in the same way. This morning I found a whore from the same brothel who was willing to talk. She said she'd once shared a drink with Graff and when he was drunk he talked. Talked a bit too much, in fact. He told her how he likes to slit the throat of his chosen girl at the very moment he spills his seed.”
“He's an animal,” Natasha spat, her brow was furrowed, her dark eyes full of anger. “No, an animal is too civilised a creature. He's the spawn of hell, that's what he is.”
“So, what do we do about him?” King Merek said.
“That's a question I wouldn't like to answer.” The chamberlain was an old man. Merek thought he must be sixty-six, although Adam never revealed his true age nor celebrated any of his birthdays. He'd served Merek's father, the late Ademar, faithfully and without question. Adam was at Ademar's bedside and had held the king's hand as the fever that had plagued him for two weeks finally took his life. “Swathes of territories in the north have now fallen to Volk. Newbald and Riplingham are the latest casualties of this unfortunate war. It is said that Lord Eudo has changed his allegiance and is now serving Volk.”