Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels) (41 page)

He looked around his room, and everywhere candles sprang into flame, filling the room with light. Magic. Useless magic.

He looked at his door, and a moment later there was a confident but respectful knock. Sir Vivian called for his visitor to enter, and the door swung open to reveal the Questor, Allen Chance. He nodded briefly to Sir Vivian, who nodded briefly in return without getting up. Chance shut the door and then stood at parade rest before Sir Vivian. At least he didn’t have his dog with him this time. Sir Vivian had never been able to look at Allen Chance without seeing the ghost of his father, the Champion. Another son cursed with the weight of a famous father. Sir Vivian had never liked the Champion; a cold-hearted killing machine and borderline psychopath whose only saving grace had been his ferocious loyalty to the Throne and the Land. Fortunately Chance seemed to take more after his mother. Whoever she was.

“You wished to see me, High Commander?” Chance asked finally.

“Yes,” said Sir Vivian. “Take a seat.”

He waited while Chance settled himself in the chair opposite, then put aside his book and fixed Chance with his best steely gaze. “Talk to me about Hawk and Fisher. You’ve spent the most time with them. Can they do the job? Can they succeed where we have failed and uncover Harald’s murderer?”

“I have every confidence in them, High Commander.”

“They’re outsiders, ignorant of the complicated politics of our Court.”

Chance shrugged easily. “Sometimes outsiders can see things we can’t because we’re too close to them.”

“Good,” said Sir Vivian. “Good. Did you come here alone?”

Chance blinked, thrown by the sudden change of subject. “Chappie’s waiting outside. I know you two don’t get on. Your guards are making a fuss of him.”

“And the witch?”

Chance didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “Tiffany? She’s talking with the Queen at present. Why do you ask?”

Sir Vivian templed his fingers together and stared over them at Chance. “I’m worried about you, Questor. You mustn’t let that witch get too close to you. A soldier can never trust a magic-user. And who knows what hidden agendas the witches of the Sisterhood follow? Their Academy is closed to men. No one knows what goes on behind their closed walls. What oaths they take, what powers they secretly worship. There are rumors—”

“There are always rumors,” said Chance angrily. “I went to St. Jude’s, remember? You should hear what some people say about us. Tiffany doesn’t have any secrets. I don’t think she even knows what hidden depths are, let alone possess any. That’s part of her charm. We work well together, High Commander. We complement each other.”

“I knew your father,” Sir Vivian said slowly. “A strong man. Strong, because he stood alone. Nothing to distract him or compromise his loyalty.”

“He was lonely and a monster,” Chance said flatly. “He had no life of his own, only a role to play. Never any time for friends or family or human feelings. I won’t live like that. I’m not my father. I’d have thought you, if anyone, would have understood that.”

“I do,” said Sir Vivian, struggling to find the right words, feeling the conversation slipping away from him. “My mother was the Night Witch. Everyone knows what she did. You can’t trust a witch, Questor. Any witch. They live differently from us.”

“We’re all different,” said Chance. “That’s why it’s so important to reach out to other people. You should try it sometime, Sir Vivian. Instead of trying to infect other people with your own paranoia. Thank you for your advice, High Commander. May I go now?”

“Yes. Go!” Sir Vivian gestured sharply at the door. Chance bowed briefly and left, closing the door firmly behind him.

Well, thought Sir Vivian. That went well.

He sighed heavily. As always, he did the most harm when he tried to help. And now his harsh words had probably alienated the only real ally he had at Court. He looked down at the book he’d automatically picked up again. The wonderful and marvelous history of Tower Rouge. The one moment of worth in his life. Sir Vivian threw the book aside. Like too many men, he’d made the mistake of outliving his own legend. Perhaps all that was left to him now was to find some enemy’s sword to throw himself onto, to redeem his useless life with a good death. Like the Champion.

He sat in his chair thinking dark thoughts, alone.

And deep within him the magic churned and boiled, promising to put everything in the world right if he would only set it free.

Hawk and Fisher settled down comfortably to tea and cakes with the Seneschal. His apartments were marvelously luxurious, everything padded and cushioned to within an inch of its life. The man himself was heavier and older than Fisher remembered, and crippled with gout. One heavily bandaged foot lay propped up on a padded footstool. He’d been surprisingly happy to meet Hawk and Fisher, and soon had his plump and red-cheeked wife running back and forth with pots of tea and little delicacies on doilied plates.

“I don’t get out much these days,” said the Seneschal, chewing contentedly on a toffee cake. “My apprentices can handle most things, and those little magical lights the Magus created for me mean I can send my presence anywhere, so I’m free to spend time with my family, and curse this gout. My healer recommends red wine and red meat, but I can’t say I’ve noticed any improvement.”

“You look pretty healthy otherwise,” said Fisher. “I’d heard you were pretty badly mauled by demons in the South Wing.”

“Oh, I was,” said the Seneschal. “I was. Bastards made a real mess of me. But the High Warlock’s brood are hard to kill. You did know he was my grandfather? Of course; everyone does. Anyway, my life’s been a lot easier since I learned to delegate. Used to be I was the only real guide the Castle had, and I spent my whole life trying to be everywhere at once. Now thanks to the Magus’ lights, I
can
be everywhere at once. And I got married late in life. Three kids. That did a lot to calm me down, and make me take an interest in things other than myself.” He stopped, frowning unhappily. “Everything was going really well. And then King Harald was killed, and the whole place has been buzzing with intrigue ever since.”

“I notice you haven’t mentioned the Inverted Cathedral,” said Hawk.

“I try very hard not to,” snapped the Seneschal, with just a little of the bile Fisher remembered so well. “Hate the bloody place. Impossible damned construct, right in the middle of the Castle. My magic means I know where every part of the Castle is at any given moment, no matter how things move or twist around. But not the Inverted Cathedral. I can’t see that at all. It’s like a hole in my mind, or an itch I can’t reach. I’ve never tried looking inside it. Don’t even like getting close to it. It scares the crap out of me, to be brutally honest, which I never am unless I’m forced to it.”

“According to what I heard, you were never scared of anything,” said Fisher, almost accusingly. “You rediscovered the missing South Wing when everyone else was too scared even to talk about it much.”

“You don’t understand,” said the Seneschal. He sank back in his chair, the fire going out of him. “No one understands, though God knows I’ve told them often enough. The Inverted Cathedral isn’t just a physical structure, it’s an outgrowth of Hell itself. The one time I went to see the Inverted Cathedral in person, to test my gift against it up close and personal, all I saw was a dark pit, falling away forever. I turned and ran and never went back. Let us change the subject. I understand you’ve been talking to my uncle Vivian?”

“The High Commander, yes,” said Hawk. “A strong-minded man.”

“Bloody-minded, more like. He lets his duty run his life, the way I used to. I keep trying to open him up but it’s hard going. We’re pretty much the only family we have here in the Castle. I’ve been encouraging him to adopt my family as his own—inviting him to dinner, having him sit with the kids. I think he’s softening toward them, but it’s hard to tell with Vivian. Always was a cold sort. Nothing like his brother, my father. My mother, Emma, died not long ago, in Redhart. King Harald wouldn’t let me go to Redhart for the funeral. Said I was too valuable to be risked. Bastard. I kind of hoped my father would come back, but apparently he’s very close to the new King Viktor, and can’t be spared. He writes now and again, when he remembers. So I make do with Vivian.

“And now to the real purpose of your visit. No, I don’t know how King Harald died or who killed him. I never liked the man, but if everyone who disliked Harald was a candidate for murder, you’d have a line of assassins stretching from here to Redhart. And back again. I have an alibi. I was right here with my wife and children at the time he was killed. There’s only one thing I can tell you that might be of any use. As Seneschal, I could feel the presence of the Magus’ protective wards in my head, like a background hum. They never fell, not even for a moment, and they weren’t broken. I would have known.”

“Tell us more about the Inverted Cathedral,” said Hawk.

“Oh, Jesus, do I have to?”

“What is it, exactly?”

“All right, if we must. Technically, it’s a large building that’s been turned upside down. Once you enter it, everything should seem perfectly normal, but the higher you ascend inside the Cathedral, the deeper into the pit you go. And at the peak of the Cathedral is perhaps one of the legendary doors into Hell that can only be opened from this side. I’ve studied the writings of my Seneschal predecessors, in the Castle Libraries. There have always been Seneschals of one kind or another for as long as there’s been a Castle. There’s evidence the Cathedral was constructed centuries ago, in the time of the first Forest King. He had the Castle built
around
the Inverted Cathedral, specifically to contain it and seal it off from the world. Its presence is the cause of the Castle’s unusual spatial characteristics. The interior is so much larger than the exterior because the heavy magical gravity of the Inverted Cathedral warps space around it. And perhaps its malicious presence is also responsible for the darkness and tragedies that have always followed the line of the Forest Kings. Who knows what subtle influence it had on all the people who lived unknowingly in such close proximity to it for all those centuries? How many lives has it damned or blighted over the long years?

“Records no longer exist to tell who planned or funded or designed the original Cathedral, or how it became Inverted. A lot of the records for that time are listed as destroyed. Deliberately destroyed. The only thing I can say for sure is that this is the first time the Inverted Cathedral has reappeared in the Castle. Don’t ask me what brought the bloody thing back. The reappearance of the lost South Wing? The Astrologer’s spell that first summoned the Demon Prince out of the darkness? The long night? The Blue Moon? All of the above? I have no idea. We’re talking about magic, not history. My own gifts are very limited, and some of the relevant books can only be opened by a sorcerer. My grandfather could probably have told you more, but he’s gone. You could ask the Magus. God knows I have. But if he does know anything, he’s keeping it very close to his chest. Enigmatic bastard.”

“You mentioned the Blue Moon,” said Fisher. “We’ve been told it could be coming back.”

“Yes,” said the Seneschal. “I’ve heard those rumors, too. From usually reliable resources. It doesn’t seem fair we should have to face such evil and such horror more than once in our lifetime. But man proposes, God disposes, so let’s all hope He knows what He’s doing. If you’re asking me whether the Blue Moon is returning because the Inverted Cathedral is back, or vice versa, I have no idea. But I’ll tell you this: Whoever buried the secret of the Inverted Cathedral buried it deep. This could only have been done with the connivance of generations of Forest Kings. They really didn’t want anyone to know about this until they had to. I found a book. A strange book. It wasn’t listed in any of the library indexes. In fact, the Chief Librarian swore it had never existed until I found it. The book is handwritten in half a dozen languages, some of which no longer exist in the real world. It’s more full of hints than actual information, as though the writer was afraid to say too much, for fear of being noticed. There’s definitely a connection between the Inverted Cathedral and the rise and fall of Wild Magic. You know how Cathedrals were constructed originally to resonate as spiritual tuning forks? Yes, well, this Cathedral was supposed to be particularly potent because it contained wonders.”

He stopped and was silent for a long while, staring off into space. Finally Fisher prompted him. “What
kind
of wonders?”

“The Grail, perhaps,” said the Seneschal. “Furniture that the Christ made with His own hands, when He was learning to be a carpenter with His earthly father. The crown of thorns, with His dried blood still on it. An Ossuary, a museum containing the bones of saints, some of them carved and crafted into objects of great power. Opinion was divided as to whether these were reliquaries or blasphemies. And then there’s the Burning Man ringing the great and awful iron bell of Hell.

“And you wonder why I want nothing to do with the place?”

“Let’s change the subject,” said Hawk. “Who do you think killed King Harald?”

“I never follow politics. I have to be seen to be impartial, my services freely given to all. But there’s something very wrong about the Magus. And I’m sure Felicity had a lover, though I couldn’t tell you who. Beyond that, I’m as much in the dark as anyone.”

“If we set up an expedition to enter the Inverted Cathedral, would you come with us?” Fisher asked.

“What? Why the hell would you want to do a crazy thing like that? Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve told you?”

“I’ve got a horrible feeling it may become necessary,” said Hawk. “The Inverted Cathedral’s reappearance seems tied to so many things, including Harald’s death. So, would you join us if we had to do it?”

“My gout … I don’t know. Give me some time to think about it. You don’t know what you’re asking. Go away. I’m tired. I’ll send word when I’ve made my decision, one way or the other.”

And then the door burst open, and in came his merry wife, Jane, with scones and jam and fresh cream. Three small children came running in after her, clustering excitedly around the Seneschal to tell him all the things they’d done that day. Hawk and Fisher let themselves out.