Sebastian Darke: Prince of Fools (23 page)

'Hey, but you know, it's great to finally play the palace! Mind you, I heard the last guy that played this gig didn't go down too well. He kept his head through the performance but lost it straight afterwards. Actually, the executioner broke it to him in a nice way. He said, "Percival, you need to lose ten pounds of ugly fat – and I'm just the guy who can help!"'

Another laugh, stronger this time.

'So there's poor Percival, kneeling down with his head on the block. A messenger comes running up and says he's got an urgent letter for him. Percival says, "Throw it in the basket, I'll read it later!"'

Again, laughter from Princess Kerin – and after a short pause the other members of the court joined in.

'The king suddenly feels sorry for Percival and decides he'll let him off. So he says, "Arise, Percival." Nothing happens. The king says it again, a little louder this time. "Arise, Percival!" Still he doesn't make a move. "What's wrong with the man?" asks the king. Somebody in the crowd shouts out, "Tell him to get up, your majesty. He's a jester, he doesn't know what a rise is!"'

Louder laughter now, though King Septimus was scowling furiously. Perhaps he didn't much care for a joke that implied that he didn't pay his jesters enough money. If Sebastian had been more clear-headed, he might have taken heed but he was totally out of control now.

'Hey, have we got any merchants in tonight?' A few hands went up. 'I
love
merchants! But I couldn't eat a whole one! Seriously, did you hear about the merchant who was attacked by Brigands? They beat him up and stole his money. But it's not all good news! He was stranded miles from home and it was getting dark. He saw a farmer standing by his gate and he threw himself on the farmer's mercy, begged him for a place to stay for the night. So the farmer feels sorry for him and tells the merchant he can spend the night with his pigs. The merchant is horrified. "But what about the awful smell?" he asks. "Don't worry," says the farmer, "they'll soon get used to it!"'

There was some genuine laughter from the majority of the audience, but notably none from any of the people who had put their hands up. Undeterred, Sebastian continued.

'What do you call a merchant falling off a cliff? A promising start! How do you save a merchant from drowning? Take your foot off his head! How do you know when you're passing by a merchant's house? Toilet paper hanging on the washing line!'

'That's enough about merchants!' shouted a disgruntled voice in the crowd.

'Oh, can't take the heat, eh? Well, let me see now, who else is there?' He gazed slowly around the crowd and his gaze came to rest on the stern face of the king. 'Of course,' he said. 'His majesty King Septimus.' He paused for a moment, gazing out at the ranks of horrified expressions staring back at him. He knew that it was insanity to make jokes about the king who had just employed him, but he was like some reckless beast stampeding madly towards a cliff. 'You know, I'd like to start by saying that the king is a kind, generous and intelligent ruler. I'd
like
to say it, but I recently took a vow of honesty!'

Princess Kerin started to laugh but stopped abruptly as she registered what Sebastian had actually said. It was suddenly very quiet in the room and Sebastian's words seemed to echo as he continued.

'You know, his majesty is an incredibly rich man, but you have to ask yourself how he got to be so rich. It's easy – he has this special arrangement where he gets everything he needs from the people around him. The only other creature with a similar arrangement is a vampire. King Septimus has a saying: "What's mine is mine and what's yours is mine." They say that's why he never got married. It's not that he doesn't like the ladies; he just doesn't want anyone close enough to get their hand in his pocket!'

Again, an excruciating silence followed his words.

'Something I said?' he asked, adopting an expression of innocence. 'Oh, come on, I'm only saying what you're all thinking! Of course, having no wife means that Septimus had no heir!' This was met with a gasp from the audience. T said heir,' insisted Sebastian. 'As in son and heir, heir to the throne, heir apparent. I was thinking the other day that most kings have affectionate nicknames. You know, James the Just, Simon the Sincere, Michael the Magnificent – but poor old Septimus, he doesn't have one.' Sebastian hesitated, then clicked his fingers. 'Oh wait, that's not true. I just remembered. He's known in some circles as . . . Septimus the Slaphead.'

In the terrible silence that followed you could have heard a feather fall.

The bearded man and Cornelius stood in the dimly lit barn staring at each other. When Cornelius spoke, his voice was calm.

'First,' he said, 'we'll learn to handle an obvious attack.'

The bearded man lunged forward, his sword raised to strike; but Cornelius parried the blow with his own blade and then performed a quick somersault up onto the table top, a manoeuvre which brought him to the same height as his adversary. As his feet thudded onto the sturdy wood, he intercepted a second blow and ran the bearded man through, all in one fluid motion.

'When in the act of defeating an enemy, always keep an eye out for the unexpected,' said Cornelius.

And even before the bearded man had crumpled to the floor, he sensed a movement behind him and lashed with his sword over his left shoulder. He was rewarded with the thud of a blade against a steel helmet and a bellow of agony, but he didn't turn round to see his opponent fall. Instead he moved to the centre of the table, knowing that the Brigands would have to lean forward to strike at him, putting them off balance. He knew also that he was completely encircled and could not hope to evade all those swords for more than a few moments.

'When a position becomes precarious, always seek to find a better one,' he announced to the room at large. A spear came flying towards him and he swayed sideways and deflected it with his left arm, feeling the wooden shaft glancing off bone. It span aside and lodged itself in the ribs of an advancing Brigand, who cried out in surprise and went down in an ungainly sprawl.

'Sometimes happy accidents will occur!' said Cornelius.

He glanced quickly around at the ragged circle of flashing steel rapidly closing on him and then up to the roof beams above his head. He picked his spot, a point where a horizontal beam met an upright. Then he ran forward and threw himself upwards, using all the power he had learned to summon for the Golmiran death leap. Razor-sharp blades scythed the air inches below his ascending feet, but then he threw his left arm around the upright and was swinging himself up to stand on the horizontal. He looked down at the warriors below him and laughed at their astounded faces. Now they could only come at him on his terms, in ones and twos.

'Once in your new position,' he bellowed cheerily, 'appraise the situation and wait for the enemy to come to you.'

A second spear thudded into the upright beam inches from his head, the wooden shaft juddering. He started to pull the spear out but thought better of it. 'Unexpected props may prove useful later,' he commented.

He glanced down again and saw that there was a mad scramble as the Brigands ran to left and right and began to clamber up the bales of hay that were piled high on either side of the barn. As Cornelius watched calmly, a man began to edge his way along the length of the horizontal beam; an instant later a second man did likewise from the other direction. They began to converge on Cornelius, their swords held out in front of them. They were big, shambling men, unsure of their balance.

'Once the enemy is in an unfamiliar location, the advantage will be yours,' said Cornelius. The first man stepped into sword range and delivered a wild swing at the little warrior's head. Cornelius ducked the blow, aware of the Brigand's huge sword chopping a big wedge out of the upright beam above his head. His own blade whipped across the Brigand's legs and the man lost his balance and fell sideways, to land on the table below with a heavy thud. Now the second man was trying to lean round the upright to take a swing at Cornelius, but the little warrior swung nimbly round from the other direction and ran the point of his sword into the first man's ribs. He too fell, to join his predecessor on the table.

'Never undervalue the element of surprise,' said Cornelius.

Now more men were edging out along either end of the horizontal beam, two long rows of them, filing determinedly forward. Cornelius looked left and then right and made his decision.

'Whenever possible, take your enemy in large numbers,' he advised.

He reached up his left hand and took a tight hold of the shaft of the spear sticking out of the upright beam. Then he chopped his sword into the horizontal beam by his feet. His first blow cut halfway through it and the Brigands on that side yelled in alarm as they realized what he was doing. Some of them started moving frantically back in the direction they had come from, but Cornelius struck a second time, his blade biting clear through the beam. The end dropped suddenly towards the floor and the five men standing on it came tumbling towards him, flailing their arms in a doomed attempt to maintain their balance. Hanging from the spear, Cornelius lashed at them as they tumbled past him, his blade cutting through chain mail and leather with ease. Five of them crashed down onto the table, dead or wounded, and, unable to support the weight of them, it tipped over, throwing the lot of them onto the floor.

'Remember,' said Cornelius, 'that your advantage cannot last for ever, so make full use of it!'

Now he swung himself round on the spear and his feet connected with the chest of the nearest warrior on the other side of the upright, knocking him backwards into the men behind him. He fell and a second man went down; a third was left hanging grimly on when Cornelius's feet thudded down onto his fingers and he let go with a howl of pain. Cornelius was just coming upright into a fighting position when he felt an abrupt impact and the stinging pain of cold metal slicing into his shoulder. He glanced down in dull surprise and saw the handle of a throwing knife jutting out from his chain-mail singlet. He grunted in surprise and irritation and raised his gaze to stare at the man who had thrown it, a tall, lanky fellow who was standing precariously on the beam, looking at his would-be victim with an expression of dread on his grimy face.

'Anger can be useful,' growled Cornelius, 'but only if it's controlled.' He ran along the beam with an ear-splitting bellow, straight at the three men who still stood on it. The knife-thrower panicked and tried to back away, but the other men were still pushing forward and they were in a confused huddle when Cornelius slammed into their legs, scattering them before him. They fell from the beam and added to the large groaning heap of men on the floor.

Cornelius paused for a moment, sheathed his sword and reached up his right hand to pull the throwing knife out of his shoulder, gritting his teeth against the pain of it. Blood spurted down the front of his breastplate. He looked down to the floor and saw that the last few warriors were standing there, staring up at him uncertainly.

'When using a throwing knife,' he told them, 'remember that it's only effective if it hits the right spot.' He raised his arm and brought it down again, sending the knife spinning end over end towards the nearest Brigand. The man saw it coming but was too slow to even try and evade it. The blade thudded into his chest with a loud thunk and he fell backwards to the floor, dead. Cornelius smiled down at the three men who were left standing and slid his sword back out of its scabbard.

'Finally,' he said, 'when confronted with the pathetic remains of a cowardly ambush, be sure and show them no mercy whatsoever.'

He made to descend but there was hardly any need. The three remaining Brigands turned and ran out of the barn door. Cornelius could hear their feet pounding across the plain outside. He jumped down, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder as his feet connected with the floor. He glanced at the pile of dead and wounded men and assured himself that nobody there was going to cause him any trouble. He had survived the ambush, but knew that this was not the end of the matter.

King Septimus had sent him out here to his death. Clearly he must have wanted him out of the way for some reason . . .

'Shadlog's beard!' he growled. 'Sebastian!' He did not know what was happening to the boy back at the palace, but whatever it was, he would probably be grateful for some help around now. Cornelius hurried outside, aware that his injured shoulder and the arm beneath it were stiffening up, but there was no time to think of that. He had to get back as quickly as he could and it was a long journey. He found an anxious-looking Phantom still tethered to the bushes and he unhitched her reins and leaped up into the saddle.