Sebastian Darke: Prince of Fools (32 page)

'Oh, aye, miss. It's a big day, there's people comin' from all over the country for the sale. 'Least you won't have too long to wait. I've been stuck in this stink hole for days.'

'It's disgusting!' said Princess Kerin. 'How can people sell other people as though they were cattle?'

Peg looked at her thoughtfully. 'Don't they have slaves in Keladon, miss? That is where you said you came from, ain't it?'

Princess Kerin felt awful. Yes, of course there were slaves in her city, thousands of them: the grand palace had been built through the sweat and tears of such people, but somehow she'd never given the matter any thought before.

'Well, I'll tell you something, Peg. If I ever get back there and take my rightful place on the throne, I'll make sure that slavery is abolished. The rich merchants can start paying people to work for them. Nobody has the right to own another person.'

'Well said, miss. But it ain't gonna help us much.' Peg turned aside and sat down beside the princess on the straw-covered floor. 'You got a husband, have you?' she asked.

'No. Though I'm supposed to be marrying soon. Prince Rolf of Bodengen. Have you heard of him?'

Peg giggled. T should say I have! He's supposed to be very good-looking, ain't he?'

'Hmm. Well, not as good-looking as his paintings make him out to be. To be honest, he doesn't exactly set my heart aflutter . . .'

Peg gave her a sly look. 'Ah, but there's somebody who does, though, ain't there, miss? I can tell by that sparkly look in your eye.'

'Hmm. Yes, there
was
somebody. To tell you the truth, I'd only known him for a few days and yet there was something about him. Something . . . special.'

'You talk about him as though he's not around any more.'

Princess Kerin nodded, trying to keep her emotions under control. 'I believe he's dead, Peg. Killed by an executioner's axe. And . . . it's all my fault.' She felt herself on the verge of tears again but Peg took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

'Tell me about him,' she said.

'He . . . he was an elfling . . . from the town of Jerabim.'

'Ah, yes, they do say as how the elflings have special powers that mortal men do not. A kind of sixth sense, it is. They're supposed to be able to look at a person and straight away know their true nature.'

'Really?' Princess Kerin felt a terrible twinge of guilt at these words. 'So it's no wonder he saw right through my uncle and his lying words.'

'Your uncle? That would be . . . ?'

'King Septimus of Keladon,' said Princess Kerin bitterly. 'The uncle I trusted for years. The man who arranged to have me taken into slavery so that he could remain upon my throne.'

'Oh, miss, that's terrible!'

The princess gazed at Peg through a misty veil of tears. 'Then you . . . you really do believe me?'

'Yes, I do. I know a mad person when I meet one – and believe me, I've met a good few of them in me time. But you're not one of them – I'd be willing to bet on it. Thing is, how does it help you that one such as I believes?' She gestured at the gloomy crowd of prisoners slumped around the cage. 'We'll never convince this lot; and I don't think none of the guards will listen to your story, neither.'

'Then I can only hope,' said Princess Kerin softly.

'Hope, miss?'

'That somebody knows where I am.'

Max had been waiting outside the tavern for what seemed like ages. He'd had some pretty tense moments when gangs of ruffians had come past and showed more than a casual interest in the contents of Sebastian's saddlebags. He'd been obliged to speak to the people concerned, and in each case they'd been so startled, they'd chosen to move on without too much trouble; but he was starting to wonder whether he wouldn't be better advised to wander into the tavern and look for his master.

And then, right on cue, Sebastian and Cornelius came out, looking very red-faced and breathing noxious fumes in his general direction.

'You've been drinking!' observed Max, horrified.

'Yesh,' agreed Sebastian, looking quite pleased with him?self. 'But it couldn't be helped.'

'Well, that's marvellous, isn't it? Poor Princess Kerin is held captive somewhere in this city and you two are in the local tavern getting pie-eyed. A fine rescue party indeed!'

'It's not like that,' Cornelius told him. 'Besides, it's only Sebastian who's drunk. I only
pretended
to drink the ale.'

Sebastian looked at him in dull surprise. 'You . . . pretended?

'Of course. You don't think I'd be so stupid as to drink that filth, do you?'

Sebastian frowned. 'Er . . . well, anyway, it's all right because Corneliush did a bit of arm wrestling and he won. Wish means we don't have to give you and the equines to somebody elsh.'

'What are you blathering about?' asked Max. 'What about the princess?'

'We have to make our plan of action,' said Sebastian. He had managed to totter over to his mount and, with some difficulty, was unstrapping the saddlebags. 'We're going to go up to our room and deshide what to do.'

'Your room?' Now Max really was indignant. 'You're not leaving me here again, are you?'

'Shush,' said Cornelius, holding a finger to his lips. 'We have to. We can hardly bring a buffalope into a tavern bedroom, can we?'

'Oh, wonderful. So I get to stand around here all night while you two sleep in a luxurious bed.'

'We won't be sleeping,' Cornelius assured him, as he unhitched his own saddlebags from Phantom. 'We'll be drawing up our plans. And, Max, you will have a very important role to play. We'll need you to stay alert because the auction starts first thing tomorrow morning.'

'And we need you to guard the equinsh,' Sebastian reminded Max, 'becaush we can't make our eshcape without them.' He slung the saddlebags over his shoulder and weaved his way unsteadily back towards the door. 'Good night, old friend,' he shouted back over his shoulder.

'Yes,' said Cornelius, starting to follow. But then he paused and turned back to look at Max. 'You know,' he said, 'I put you up as part of a bet in an arm-wrestling contest. And just for a minute there . . . just for a minute . . . I seriously thought about losing.' He smiled, shook his head. 'But good sense prevailed. Good night, Max!' And he went after Sebastian.

Max stood and watched them go in mild disbelief. The door slammed behind them. He looked at Phantom and shook his head.

'That's typical, isn't it?' he complained. 'Off they go into the nice warm tavern. They'll probably have a slap-up evening meal and a nice goblet of wine. Meanwhile, we haven't had a thing to eat all day, not even a handful of mulch. It's at times like this that you realize where you figure in the grand scheme of things. If you've got two legs, you're laughing. If you've got four, you barely register a giggle. It's enough to make you really depressed.'

He looked at Phantom, who just snorted and stamped one foot.

Max sighed. 'Sometimes being an educated animal is a mixed blessing,' he said. 'It really is.'

In the safety of their room, Cornelius opened the window, and he and Sebastian looked out onto the deserted, moonlit square. Sure enough, there was Max and the two equines, hitched to a rail away to their right, and directly beneath the window was the broad sweep of the wooden auction platform.

'That must be where the prisoners will be led out tomorrow,' observed Cornelius thoughtfully.

'So where are they now?' asked Sebastian.

'My guess would be that they're down there.' Cornelius moved his index finger to his left, pointing out the rear of the stage and a barred metal door, which appeared to lead into an underground chamber. 'That will be the holding cell. You notice there are no windows of any kind.'

'Maybe we should jusht launch an attack on that?' reasoned Sebastian. 'Why wait till all thosh crowds are around tomorrow?'

Cornelius shook his head. 'There's only one way in,' he observed. 'And nobody would open the door for somebody they didn't know. Besides, you're not in the best condition to do anything right now.' He frowned. 'So it will have to be tomorrow, I'm afraid. As you said, there will be a lot of people around, so we're going to have to depend on the element of surprise.'

He began to pull the various pieces of his miniature cross?bow from the compartments in his belt and quickly slotted them together. He took out a short wooden bolt with a heavy three-pronged metal head. And finally, from his saddlebag, he drew a long coil of fine silken thread. He fastened the end of the latter to the crossbow bolt and slotted it into the bow. Then he walked to the window and peered thoughtfully across the square.

'What are you doing?' Sebastian asked him.

'Shush! You'll spoil my aim. Here, grab hold of this.' Cornelius handed the free end of the thread to Sebastian. He glanced quickly around to ensure that the square was still deserted, then lifted the crossbow to his eye line and took long and careful aim. Peering over the little man's shoulder, Sebastian saw that he was aiming for a slightly lower building on the far side of the square, which had what looked like battlements adorning its roof. Finally, Cornelius squeezed the trigger. The bolt shot out of the window, taking the length of thread with it. It flew in a tight graceful arc and landed right between a couple of the notches. 'Perfect,' said Cornelius. 'Now, pull back on the thread . . . gently'

Sebastian did as he was told, and after a few moments the hooked head of the bolt snagged itself on the stonework at the edge of the roof. Cornelius came over and pulled harder, checking that the bolt was now stuck fast. He pulled the thread tight and directed Sebastian to climb up on a chair and fasten it securely to one of the wooden beams that traversed the low roof.

'There!' he said at last, twanging the thread like the string of a finely tuned instrument. 'Done!' He led Sebastian back to the window and showed him how they now had a secure line running in a gentle downward slope some ten feet above the centre of the stage.

'What's it for?' asked Sebastian, mystified.

'What's it for? Why, it's the quickest route possible down to that stage! When the time comes, you just loop a short length of rope over it, jump from the window and go shooting across the square. When you get to the middle, you let go and you drop right onto the centre of the stage!'

Sebastian looked at Cornelius warily. I can't help noticing that you're shaying "you". I hope you're not exshpecting me to go down that thing.'

'Why not? You'll be fine.'

'Cornelius, I don't have your exshperience of soldiering.'

'Oh, you don't do so badly. Besides, it
has
to be you. I'll be too busy causing the diversion.' He pointed to some small openings under the wooden stage. 'I'm the only one small enough to get under there,' he said.