For a few moments he lay there, listening for the inevitable sound of whistling death that would follow. But instead, he heard a strange sound.
Clapping. Long, slow claps, and footsteps approaching.
“Well done,” a voice said. “Don’t worry, we saw your uniforms. You can lower your shields.”
The Twenty-Fourth didn’t move, though in the shadowed light, Arcturus could hear Percival cursing quietly.
“You’ve come to join us, have you not?” the voice called out, now with a hint of doubt lacing the words. “I said lower your shields.”
“That we have,” Percival called out, and perhaps it was only then that Arcturus realized how grave their situation was. The Twenty-Fourth had been forced to choose the king’s side through circumstance, and faced now with the hundred crossbows, they had no choice but to pivot to the other.
“We tried,” the sergeant whispered. “But we aren’t dying here, which is what will happen if we fight. Don’t betray us. Maybe we can get out of this mess later.”
Arcturus’s heart fell, and he heard Rotter agree, the reluctance clear in the soldier’s voice.
“I’ll stay with you, then,” Rotter murmured.
“We don’t blame you,” Alice said. “Tell the king we’ve been captured, should you get the chance.”
Percival grunted in assent, then raised his voice.
“This wasn’t the greeting we expected, after hand delivering the key to the rebellion’s victory,” the sergeant called out. “Tell your men to lower their crossbows first.”
“What are you talking about?” the voice replied. “What key?”
“The nobles you’ve been looking for,” Percival replied.
“What’s he doing?” Elaine hissed, and Arcturus noticed the girl lying beside him, her hair pinned to the ground by one of the Twenty-Fourth’s feet.
“He’s pretending they captured us,” Arcturus said.
There was silence now.
“Lower your crossbows, you fools!” the voice called, and there was a rattle of metal as the weapons were taken from their rests on the railings.
“Down, lads,” Percival said, and suddenly Arcturus was blinking in the light, and rough hands were lifting him to his feet. He was shoved out of the group, and he fell to his knees. Only now could he see the face of the voice, and it did not surprise him.
Crawley, flanked by a dozen rebels, their dark cloaks swirling as they marched toward them. These men still had their crossbows raised, the points squared firmly at his chest. Arcturus saw Alice and Elaine thrown to the ground beside him, and heard the rusted scrape of wheels as the cart was pushed forward also.
The servant crouched before him, and his long, spidery fingers cupped Arcturus’s face.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Crawley whispered.
CHAPTER
40
ARCTURUS MANAGED TO PULL away, quelling the battering of Sacharissa, her desperation to come out near blinding him with confusion.
“You?” Alice spluttered in recognition. “Crawley? How could you?!”
“How could I not?” Crawley replied dismissively, waving two soldiers forward. “Letting you sniveling brats order me about like a slave. It was high time you were all taught a lesson.”
“Wait…,” Arcturus began, the shadows of an idea forming in his mind. But Sacharissa’s consciousness was distracting him, and he was forced to quell its writhing with a thought.
“Tie their hands,” Crawley ordered, gesturing toward them. “Tightly now, or they’ll be able to etch spells with their fingers.”
Rebels approached them, and Arcturus heard the ripping of cloth as they tore strips from the hems of their robes.
“Wait!” Arcturus hissed. “I didn’t tell them.”
“Tell them what?” Crawley said, even as a man took Arcturus’s hands and began to wrap cloth around them.
“That you were a rebel,” Arcturus growled. “I kept your secret!”
“You knew?” Alice gasped, her face screwed up with pain as the men jerked her fractured arm in their haste to tie her hands.
Arcturus turned to her, his heart twisting. He wanted to wink at her, let her know he was still on their side … but it was too risky. And … there was a snake of doubt twisting in his stomach. Was he still on their side?
The king and his nobles had lost. Vocans had been taken, and its students captured. Why not throw his lot in with the winning side? He owed Alfric no loyalty, and there was nothing he could do for his friends as just another captive.
“Don’t you see, I’ve … I’ve been loyal to you all along,” Arcturus said, stumbling over his words in his haste to explain. “A few hours with these spoiled, pampered kids and I knew which side my bread was buttered.”
“We trusted you!” Elaine cried out while, next to her, Alice glared at him, her eyes blazing with anger.
“I couldn’t get away,” Arcturus said, loudly this time, wincing as his fingers were crushed in the tight binding. “But I’m here now.”
Crawley stared for a few seconds, but was distracted by a growl from behind Arcturus. Then Crawley was sprinting for the cart, a curved knife clutched in his hand.
“No!” Alice screamed, lunging for him with her feet.
Arcturus spun, and saw the Canid struggling beneath the cloaks they had swaddled him in. Arcturus struggled to get to his feet, straining against the rebel’s hands that pushed him down, as Crawley put the knife to Edmund’s throat.
By now Gelert had wriggled his upper body from the cloak and was snapping at Crawley, but the servant remained calm in the face of it all, lifting Edmund’s head and jerking the knife threateningly.
“That’s right, you stupid creature,” the servant hissed. “Daddy goes bye-bye if you don’t settle down.”
The Canid’s barking stopped. It was replaced with a low growl, hatred burning in his eyes. With one lunge, Gelert could swallow Crawley’s head whole … but he would not risk his master’s life.
“I said, settle down!” Crawley bawled.
The sound stopped.
“Dorcas, bind this monster’s legs,” Crawley ordered.
The rebel holding down Arcturus hesitated for a moment, then hurried to do Crawley’s bidding. Dorcas was a large man, with broad shoulders that made Arcturus think he had once been a blacksmith. But despite his size, the man’s hands shook as he tied Gelert’s paws, muzzle and even tail together, leaving the demon trussed up like a turkey.
The whole atrium watched as it was done, and Arcturus was stunned by the still silence of the hundred rebels above them. Not a word passed their lips, nor did a cloak stir, as if they were gargoyles arrayed across a church roof.
With the Canid secured, Crawley withdrew the blade and strode toward Arcturus. Then it was Arcturus’s turn to feel the cold of the knife against his throat, and he resisted the urge to gulp as the point was pressed against his windpipe.
“You did not seem so keen when we last spoke,” Crawley said, his voice low so that only Arcturus could hear. “In fact, I distinctly remember you being insolent.”
“I … didn’t … know,” Arcturus said, each syllable slicing the knife deeper into his neck. He felt a rivulet of warm blood trickle down to his chest.
Crawley eased the pressure and gripped Arcturus’s hair.
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you right now,” Crawley asked. “I could say the nobles killed you. Killed the first common summoner. That would get the people on our side. It was what we were going to do anyway.”
“Leave him alone!” Elaine yelled, and Arcturus heard a slap, then a whimper. He felt the hot rage stir in him then, and he quelled it as best he could.
“I can find more,” Arcturus managed, looking Crawley in the eyes.
“More what?” Crawley asked, twisting the knife’s point cruelly. “Choose your words more carefully, Arcturus. They may be your last.”
“Common summoners,” Arcturus mumbled, feeling faint. “You need a summon
er to test for them.”
Crawley pulled the knife away and tapped it against his chin thoughtfully, leaving a bloody mark on his skin.
“Keep talking,” he said.
“Where are you going to find another summoner to work for you? They’re all nobles,” Arcturus said. “There are more of me out there, the provost said so.”
“What, more bastards, like you?” Crawley asked, and grinned at the look of surprise on Arcturus’s face. “You thought I didn’t know? There’s not much old Crawley doesn’t know about what goes on at Vocans.”
“Bastards or not, you’ll need them in the coming days,” Arcturus said. He did not mention that he had no idea how to test someone for summoning abilities.
Crawley stared at him with narrowed eyes, and for a moment, Arcturus considered telling him about the other common summoners—unrelated to the nobility. But it would not do to muddy the waters.
“All right,” Crawley said, sheathing the knife. Arcturus felt a flood of relief, and stemmed the flow from the wound on his neck with the rags on his hands.
“Twenty-Fourth, you’ll wait in the summoning room,” Crawley ordered Percival’s men, turning away from Arcturus. “We’ll find a useful task for you when I return.”
If there was any doubt that Crawley was in charge, it was gone now. The man had once commanded the servants here, and was clearly used to giving orders. Only now he commanded an army.
Percival bowed in agreement, and Arcturus saw the frustration in the man’s eyes.
“Like he said, lads, in quick order,” the sergeant instructed, and the men trooped to the open set of double doors that led to the summoning room. Arcturus looked after them, knowing the men might be his only hope of escape.
“You lot, escort the nobles to the safe room,” Crawley barked, snapping his fingers. “And take their weapons. Dorcas, with me. Bring the common boy, and keep a close eye on him. He hasn’t proven his loyalty yet.”
“You must send someone to look after Edmund,” Alice called out. “He’s no use to you dead.”
Crawley paused, then turned and slapped Alice across the face.
“You don’t give me orders anymore, girl,” Crawley snarled.
Then he strode up the winding staircase, and Arcturus was shoved along behind him. He caught one last look over his shoulder, and saw Elaine being manhandled into the cart, squashed in beside Gelert. Then they were out of sight.
He gave Dorcas a smile, as if to say they were on the same side. Instead, he earned himself a thick ear, and a forceful shove that skinned his elbows on the stairs.
At each floor, Arcturus saw the long row of crossbowmen, standing to attention in the shadows beyond the railings. Not one looked away from their posts, and Arcturus realized they were waiting in ambush for whoever entered the castle. The drawbridge had been left open for a reason.
“Where are we going?” Arcturus asked, wincing as Dorcas thumped his ear again.
“To present you to the man behind all of this,” Crawley said cheerfully. “He’ll decide if you’re more useful alive or dead.”
Arcturus stifled a shudder. Then he realized who Crawley was talking about. The man behind all this.
General Barcroft.
CHAPTER
41
THEY REACHED THE TOP floor and hurried down a corridor, and Arcturus felt strange to be back in a place so familiar, yet different at the same time. The door of every room was open, and within he could see more rebels, some sleeping, others sharpening and oiling weapons. Many of them were soldiers, their jackets turned out and black. This was no rabble, but an army.
For a moment he considered whether the nobility had any chance of defeating the rebellion, even with demons on their side. It was hard to say—he had never seen a full-fledged summoner go into battle.
“Wait here,” Crawley snapped, stopping outside a redwood door, complete with a large lock on the other side. He rapped his knuckles against the wood in a staccato pattern, a secret code of sorts that prompted a rattle of keys, the rasp of a metal bar and finally an open door, where he was met by crossed blades.
“It’s Crawley, here to see the general,” Crawley said, rolling his eyes.
“Let him in,” a bass voice growled. “Crawley, what’s this I hear about new arrivals?”
“Follow me,” Crawley said, and then Arcturus was dragged into a room of plush carpets, a four-poster bed and statues. Arcturus guessed it was the provost’s bedroom, and this was confirmed by a large painting on the wall depicting Obadiah Forsyth with his hand on Zacharias’s shoulder.
“The message said for soldiers to gather outside Corcillum,” continued the man who had spoken, and Arcturus was faced with a middle-aged soldier with lamb-chop sideburns, a plum-red nose and a paunch that jutted out over his waistband. Behind him, more than a score of soldiers lined the walls, their crossbows readied to fire.
The chevrons stitched to the man’s shoulders confirmed Arcturus’s suspicions. This was General Barcroft … and he was not much to look at. This was the man who had inspired a rebellion?
“Father, Vocans is on the way to Corcillum for many of your soldiers, is it not?” Crawley said. “They are not the first group to have stopped here today.”
Barcroft grunted and leaned over a table, sprawled with various maps and markers. It took a moment for Arcturus to process how Crawley had addressed the general.
“You’re his son?” Arcturus blurted.
“Silence,” Crawley hissed, and Arcturus was rewarded with a slap across the back of the head.
“A bastard son,” Barcroft said, never looking up from his maps. “Like you, my boy, if the rumors are true.”
Arcturus looked at the thin-faced steward beside him, towering a foot taller than his father. It was hard to see any resemblance.
“Useful things, bastards,” Barcroft continued. “Loyal and obedient, like a good hunting dog. But only if you catch them young, raise them right.”
Arcturus saw a flash of disdain in Crawley’s eyes, but it was swiftly replaced with a forced smile.
“Old Faversham didn’t catch you young, did he, boy?” Barcroft said, finally looking up at him. The man’s watery eyes appraised him, and Arcturus stood a little straighter.
“I hear he tried to kill you, is that true?” Barcroft asked.
“Yes, he…,” Crawley began.
“Let the boy tell it,” Barcroft snapped.
It was time to prove his loyalty. For a moment Arcturus considered his chances. They had not stripped him of his weapons, and though his hands were tied, a finger had slipped free. But then he remembered the blade Crawley had pressed against his throat, and the row of crossbow men behind him, not to mention the two guards at the door. It would be suicide.
No … he would have to talk his way out of this. Sweat prickled his palms, but he took his time and chose his words with care.
“He had his son do the dirty work, and another jumped-up noble boy helped. But I survived,” Arcturus said as confidently as he could. “I have no love for him, or any other nobles for that matter. In fact, I despise him.”
It was easy to make his words sincere, for most of what he said was true. Even so, the general’s eyes narrowed with suspicion and he approached Arcturus.
“So you’d join our cause, then, is that what you’re saying?” Barcroft asked, prodding Arcturus’s chest with a stubby finger.
“I … I don’t know,” Arcturus said, knowing that they would never believe he had converted so swiftly. “I would see the commoners rule, if that’s what you’re asking. But right now I just want a bed and something to eat.”
Barcroft stared at him a moment longer, then grunted and returned to his maps. He muttered to himself and moved a marker an inch upward. Crawley cleared his throat.
“Father, I have news,” he said. “We have caught more hostages.”
More? Arcturus’s heart dropped. Could it be?
“We have Prince Harold,” Barcroft said, waving Crawley away
. “And a Forsyth and a Queensouth. We have no need of more. King Alfric and his nobles dare not fight back while we hold them. They have not even attacked our patrols.”
So the others had been captured. Arcturus struggled to keep his face blank, even as despair took hold. His newfound friends were all prisoners. And he among them, if he did not play his cards right.
“Indeed, Father,” Crawley said, speaking swiftly. “But now we have a Raleigh, a Lovett and a further Queensouth. It sweetens the pot, does it not?”
“Put them in with the others,” Barcroft said, shrugging his shoulders. “What matters now is that we take control of Corcillum while the nobles are too scared to attack us. They have already ceded us Vocans and the southern half of the city.”
“What news from Corcillum?” Crawley asked excitedly. “Do the people side with us?”
Barcroft sighed and rubbed his eyes.
“Not yet,” he said. “They cling to their old lives like a whipped dog does its collar. But in time, they shall. Once they see the nobles brought low. For now, we must simply make our presence felt, have our men march through the streets.”
“Praise the heavens,” Crawley said, clasping his hands together. He moved toward his father, as if to hug him, but was stopped by a look from Barcroft.
“Leave me,” Barcroft said, his face filled with irritation. “I have work to do.”
“And the boy?” Crawley asked. “We had plans for him, did we not? A common summoner on our side would sway many to our cause.”
There was a pause, and Arcturus waited, his fate hanging in the balance.
“Put him under armed guard,” Barcroft said. “I’ll decide what to do with him in the morning.”
CHAPTER
42
ARCTURUS SHIVERED IN THE cold darkness of the room they had thrown him in, rubbing his shoulder where it had hit the cobblestone floor. It was a closet, filled with brooms, mops, buckets and the sickly scent of soap.
They had taken his weapons, which were now stacked beside the guard outside. He felt naked without them, but armed himself with a broom handle nonetheless.