Infinite Blue Heaven - A King and A Queen (33 page)

“I have a feeling I have missed more than a few months of quiet Palace life, while I have been away.”

“Yes. You certainly have. There have been unwanted visits here and unwanted pressure brought to bear on certain factions within the Palace. Do you feel, as I feel, that Bulya is behind some of this? He has always been a rebel, as you know. Old ways die hard.”

“Yes. Bulya is part of it but there are others behind him. He is just a pawn, albeit a manipulative one.”

Kospan, the experience Courtier and politician, wily as a snake, seemed to consider this for a long moment. “Hm.”

“Do you see that bee over there? He flits from one flower to another, all day, collecting nectar. He does not differentiate between one flower and another. They are all the same to him and he is just doing them a service.”

I wanted to laugh at his cheek but I held it down. While we had been talking, we had reached one of the smaller, side-doors, at the end of a leg of the path, which surrounded the gardens. A Guard saluted and held the iron-banded door open for us. We passed into the gloom and were almost blinded, until our eyes adapted.

“I am not interested in the bee. I am interested in the hive.” I said. I too, was treading on delicate ground. Of course I could lock up Kospan but this would achieve little and he was popular. Also, I knew that Kospan was not motivated by money. He led a comfortable life in the Palace and was fortunate enough to have all he wanted, as he often said, himself. I was sure he would have been happy to stay out of trouble. Which meant he had probably been threatened.

He raised his hand and half waved me off. “If I knew anything, Sire, I would tell you.”

“Why did you question the Princess.”

“Me? Question the Princess? About what?”

Now I was in danger of feeling uncomfortable. I felt myself on the edge of a steep cliff. I cleared my throat. “Hmm. There are rumours, have been for years, about her childhood, where she came from. You know about them?”

There were long seconds while I waited for his answer.

“Ah. Well they’re not true you know.” I said.

Suddenly there was an awkwardness between us and I wanted to get away. My intention of questioning him closely about his fellow, or superior conspirators, had been forgotten.

A few hours later, after my daily tasks were complete and the autumn sun was past its highest point, I found myself back on the parapet of the tower, where Shakira and I had chatted just a few months before. The chilly breeze, which fussed around the stone carvings and raised goose bumps on my skin, seemed to add to my nervousness.

Had I made the same mistake that so many men had made in history, getting so close to a woman that I had neglected all my friends and thus lost control of my Kingdom? I certainly was wondering how much control I actually had. It may be that I had no control. I just wasn’t sure. These thoughts and others like them played around my mind and they seemed constantly to spiral into a dark place. I had a jug of red wine but I eyed it suspiciously, as if it were a Brigand. A born pragmatist, I left alone the higher philosophical points and considered what to do. I had become the hunted animal. Perhaps a better metaphor was that I was in a maze. There was probably only one way out and unless I chose the right one first time, I would only find myself deeper in the maze.

I considered sending Shakira away, well-guarded of course. I could spread word that we had argued and that I no longer wanted to see her. Perhaps this would take away their ammunition. Shakira was my greatest weakness and their weapon. Or at least, publicising it would be. I wondered if removing her from the scene would force their hand.

I stood up, walked forwards and leaned on the edge of the parapet, looking down at the small figures walking around below. I would have to look deep for the answer to this puzzle. On reflection I didn’t think sending Shakira away could help. They would either try to kill her, or kidnap her.

No, there was somebody in the Palace who had useful information and would talk to me but I had to find that person. Almost any piece of information could be used to throw them off their plans, to force their hand. Once they were exposed I could use the Guard to move in.

Suddenly, sick of looking down and indeed, slightly nauseous, I twisted my neck and looked up. I expected to see the usual vagabond crows, wheeling about, looking for an opportunity, but there were none. The sky directly above was a deep azure, as twilight approached and all I could see was the hard skeletal tower, reaching into the heavens. For a moment I fancied I could walk out on it, as if on a pier, to its very tip and I realised I must be drunk. I had an irresistible urge to climb the tower now. It had taken hold, a mad, idiotic urge unbridled by concern for life. I dropped the flagon of wine and vaguely heard it shatter as I lurched back inside the tower, to the stairs, which continued up. To my knowledge, nobody had been up there for many years. From this point upwards, the stairs were even steeper than those below, forbidding and cracked. I started up them, smiling to myself. At first they followed the four walls of the tower, in four straight lines, with heavy oak doors, some unhinged, some missing, some still locked and intact, on the inner sides.

I casually pushed at them as I passed and saw many dust filled chambers, having long since lost their life and purpose. I half-fancied the rooms had been the apartments of some of the magicians I remembered from my youth, in the Palace, always whispering in my Father’s ear, always murmuring and looking at me with fierce eyes. Indeed, in one chamber I saw what looked like a bird’s perch, no doubt for one of their familiars, a crow, or raven perhaps. But I was moving faster and faster and could not be sure what I saw. I wondered at how fast I climbed. My body was gasping by my spirit was soaring. I felt a deep laugh welling inside me. Eventually I came to a stretch of stairs, shorter than the last and knew I was nearing the pinnacle of this great tower. If I looked out of one of the tiny slits in the outer wall, now, surely I would be astonished at the height. But I did not look. I kept on, in a madness. Then I reached a heavy door, blocking my path. It was very dim in the tower now, the slits being fewer here, and only those on the west side, offering any light. I could not see the door properly, whether it was heavily locked or not, but a fierce passion was upon me and I kicked and kicked at it. I heard a splintering, rending sound. I cursed that nobody could possibly know where the keys were, to this door, even the master key-holder would not know so it had to open. With a fierce yell, I kicked with all the force I could muster and the door opened, leaving behind an iron band still clinging onto the ancient and rusty lock. I ducked and forced my way under the band and through the door. I knew now that a madness was upon me and I suppose I must have been sobering slightly but I was too near the top to stop.

The stairs were now wooden and rose in a spiral, at first gentle, but becoming tighter and tighter as I ascended. Many to the steps gave way under my feet and I knew, nobody would ever come this way again. Indeed I would probably not come down but I still didn’t care. At one point, I reached a narrow opening and I peered out. I could just make out the tops of the mountains to the north, there was old Nicolai, a mountain that looked like a grinning old wine-merchant, with a long winding beard. I continued on, now using my hands as well and feeling a growing pain in my back. My body would probably not go much further. I kept thinking, ‘around the next bend,’ but of course there was just one continuous bend, torturing me and yet leading me on. Finally, unutterably weary, I forced myself up the last stair and onto a level space. I sat down heavily and leaned against the wooden wall, to one side of the stairs. There, I closed my eyes for a long time, drawing breath in long painful gasps. But I was elated. I was there. I had reached the top! I was aware of quite a strong wind, whistling around my face and swishing my garments. I opened my eyes and looked out. It was almost black outside, the moon being nearly at the end of its last quarter. Eventually, I had the strength to stand and I did so, holding firmly onto some wooden pillars in the small open space, only about a verst wide, both ways. There was a roof but I could barely make it out. Just then I heard a fierce ‘cawing’ and noticed a plague of crows swooping at the opening to my right. Then, looking down at my feet, I could make out the object of their concern. A very large nest, flung together from twigs and rags. Indeed the platform was in a terribly sorry state. Parts of the roof were missing and I could see the stars above me now. One of the four wooden pillars yawed awfully when I leaned against it. The whole construction was moving. I looked down and at first could only see a few twinkling lights, where I supposed the City to be. Then at last I could make out some shapes, buildings and then the river, like a band of black glass. I was amazed how far away and how tiny it was. This was a perspective I had only ever experienced in the mountains. Not even as a boy, had I dared come up here. Finally, I did laugh, a deep, hearty laugh and I felt tears in my eyes. It was partly gladness to be alive, after that great battle, partly bitterness and my predicament and partly something I could not identify. I had a secret. Oh yes! A very big secret. Not even Shakira knew this one. It seemed that only up here, way above the Palace corridors, could I open myself to it, let it out. Then I felt at peace and I slumped to the floor. I sat there for what seemed an age, my mind still. Then I realised I had to get down. ‘This will not be easy, I will probably die’ I thought and this gave me the strength to attempt it. On all fours, half sitting, half sliding, I attempted the first few feet and I remembered the section, about forty steps down, where there were four missing and a yawning black gap took their place. I bridged this with my feet and then pushed myself upright with my hands and from here on, I attempted to descend normally. Many times I fell and had to hold on to the walls of the narrow corridor, only an arms-length apart, to stop myself falling. At last I reached the relative safety of the stone stairs and it was only then that I realised the full enormity of the madness that had taken me. I continued down, shaking my head and muttering, “I could have died,” and, “Why was I so stupid?”

But as I approached the lower levels of the Palace, expecting to find it peaceful and awaiting my arrival, I was astonished to find a kind of revelry taking place. I was still too drunk to care, I simply wondered at it.

As I passed the great oak doors, behind which was the Banquet Hall, where Shakira and I had once played, I thought I could hear shouting and laughing. I stopped for a moment to listen but could not make out from whence it came. I was tired now and wanted to reach my own chambers and at least lie down, if not sleep. But as I descended and neared our wing, I was passed by several lesser courtiers, clutching each other, obviously drunker than I. They laughed at me with bleary eyes, before realising who I was and cautiously they stood upright.

“Sire!” they said as one and bowed. One raised his wine goblet to me. “Drink Sire?”

I must have frowned at them although I admit I was tempted to join them. I was feeling pretty good but the one thing that bothered me, was that all this was happening without my foreknowledge and permission. I would find out who had given their permission. I must admit, weariness was taking me and it was only through one, half-open eye, that I started to notice, all was in disarray. Wine goblets, upturned and bleeding their bitter juice, were everywhere, as were plates of the best cakes, meats and fruit. Little of it seemed to have been eaten. Little red pools dotted the polished floor, either side of the red carpet, and showed as dark stains, upon it.

Many of the candles were out or burned down and whole sections of corridor, were in darkness.

‘What is this?’ I thought.

I thought I heard a horse somewhere. In the Palace? It couldn’t be. Just then, what looked like a chicken raced by, looking as if its tail had been scorched. I had to laugh.

If somebody then, had handed me a goblet of wine, I would have drained it. I had always enjoyed a good party in my youth and now seemed an appropriate time for one. Perhaps I had underestimated just how much tension had built up during the ‘War.’

And then somebody did hand me a goblet. It was Kospan. I swung around a corner into the main corridor, which led to our Anti-Chamber, and there he was, one of many, standing next to a row of trestle tables, draped with the finest green covers, holding court.

“Ah. Our illustrious leader!” He said it with just enough sincerity, not to sound sarcastic.

I grinned at him. “What’s going on, Kospan?”

“Going on?” A party of course. Can’t remember the reason why, the War is
over,
seems as good a reason as any.

“But who organised it. Who gave permission?” I found myself feeling ashamed to ask.

“Ahh!” He raised his index finger and placed it neatly against the side of his nose, as if to ponder. “I’m not sure but I think it may have been your
loverly
Princess and her entourage!” he finished the word ‘entourage’ with a flourish.

“Entourage? What entourage?” I asked. I had not heard of her having an entourage. Everything seemed topsy-turvy.

“Have some wine, Sire! Just one. I am sure everything is in order and after all, you deserve it. We are
all
, forever in your debt.” His voice rose like a bird to the word ‘all’ and then descended gracefully to an almost intimate ‘debt.’ He swung close to my face with the last word, a full golden goblet of red wine in his outstretched arm to balance him, and then pulled his face back, replacing it with the goblet. It was such a balletic movement, I laughed out loud and took the goblet.