The First Minister looked at his colleague thoughtfully. “He’s not . . .”
“No, he’s not. We tried that,” said Henry. “He didn’t care for any of the handsome young men we pushed at him either. For a while there, he must have wondered why he was suddenly so very attractive to so many pretty young things.”
“There’s always his friends, Peter and Clarence,” said Peregrine. “Either of them might prove susceptible to the right . . . pressures. Worth checking out, I suppose.” He stopped and looked at Henry. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that Richard and Catherine might just . . . like each other?”
“Have you met the Princess Catherine?” Henry shuddered grimly. “I met her a few times when I was negotiating in Redhart. A real hellcat. Pretty enough, I suppose, but . . . I suppose we could always slip a love philtre in their food or drink or perhaps lay an enchantment on them? I do know a few people . . .”
“No,” the First Minister said immediately. “They both have major magical defences in place against any form of outside influence. And don’t ask me how I know that.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Henry.
“We’ll just have to keep piling on the pressure,” said Peregrine. “On father, and son.”
“Business as usual,” said Henry.
The two men smiled briefly at each other and spoke aloud the one thing they did both believe in. “To a Republic! As soon as humanly possible.”
• • •
Much later, in the early hours of the morning, Prince Richard lay fast asleep in his very comfortable goose-feather bed, dreaming that he could hear a beautiful female voice singing. He smiled in his sleep, so happy, so content, wrapped in the loving arms of that wonderful song. And then he snapped awake, sat bolt upright in bed, and realised he could still hear the song. He looked quickly about him. The candles he’d set out before he went to sleep, scattered all over the room, still had a few good inches of light left in them. He hadn’t been able to face the idea of sleeping in the dark, even in his familiar bed and room. He hadn’t liked giving in to his own weakness, didn’t like the idea that anything was in charge of him except him. But the Darkwood had laid its mark upon him, as it had with so many before.
He threw his blankets aside and swung out of bed, pulling his long white nightshirt about him as he yawned fiercely and then knuckled his eyes. He wasn’t really a morning person. The clock on his bedside table said almost five in the morning. Richard smiled. The sun would be up. That was something. He realised he could still hear the song, and moved quickly over to the window. He pushed the curtains aside and looked out. The early-morning light was grey and uncertain, with clouds of ground fog everywhere. Birds were singing the dawn chorus, in their usual brutal and uncaring way. He couldn’t see anyone about, but the song and the voice were still clear and distinct. He strained his ears, trying to make out the words, but all he could hear was . . . joy, happiness, and glory in the world.
Richard put on a long robe and went to his door. He’d locked it before he went to sleep, a thing he’d never done before. He unlocked the door carefully and stepped out into the corridor. Everything was very still, very quiet. And no sign anywhere of the two guards who should have been standing outside his door. Richard frowned, shut his door, and padded down the corridor on his bare feet. He passed from one hallway to another, and still there was no one about. As though he were walking through a dream of the Castle.
He finally came to a window in the outer wall, and looked out. Far below, he could just make out a female figure in a long blue dress dancing along the surface of the moat, tracing an elegant figure on the water, and singing a fine song. Her feet just touched the surface without sinking into the water. Ripples spread slowly out from every point of contact.
Richard watched wonderingly. Why couldn’t anyone else hear her? If he could hear her singing all the way up on the top floor, the whole Castle should be able to . . .
He descended quickly through the many corridors and galleries, heading determinedly for the ground floor. Down empty curving stairways, through vaulted hallways, with lamps and candles lit everywhere, though the early-morning light seemed to hang heavily on the still air. As though it were brittle with anticipation; as though it was waiting for something . . . And still there was no one about. No guards, no servants. Where the hell was everyone? Was he perhaps still back in his bed, still asleep? Still dreaming? No. The stone floors were profoundly cold and hard under his bare feet.
He went all the way down through the Castle and never saw a single human anywhere. He wondered in a vague sort of way why he wasn’t raising the alarm. Perhaps, he felt, more and more, that it was because all of this was meant just for him. He left the Castle through the main entrance and started across the open cobbled courtyard. Not even a snort or a whinny from the stables. He walked out across the drawbridge, which was lowered even though there was no one around who could have lowered it. Magic, he thought. I’m moving through a magical world. He’d dreamed of such a thing for most of his life but never expected to just wake up in it. It felt like someone had turned off the world, or plucked him out of it, or maybe even stopped Time, just for him.
And finally there she was, dancing along the moat towards him, her feet barely disturbing the surface of the water. And for the first time he realised her whole body was made up of water. That she was drawing and maintaining her form from the contents of the moat, endlessly replacing herself with every step she took. He knew who she was now, who she had to be. The very legendary Lady of the Lake. He knew all the songs and stories about her. She was almost as tall as the Prince himself, a good six feet, wild and willowy, clear as blue crystal, shining and shimmering in the grey light of the morning. A woman made entirely of water. He’d thought she was wearing a long blue dress, but as she drew nearer he could see that both it and her body were just water, totally fluid, running away and re-forming over and over, with great slow ripples moving through her, like tides. The long blue hair that fell to her shoulders was constantly running away, continually renewing itself. Beads of water ran steadily down her calm and noble face, like tears without end, dripping off her chin.
He knew the face. He’d seen it just a few hours before, in the portrait on the wall of King John’s returned room.
She had an unearthly, almost timeless beauty now, as though refined to perfection by some implacable scouring force. Blue face, blue eyes, blue lips. The Lady of the Lake, who was all the water of the Forest Land. An elemental power, and a force of Nature. She finally came to a halt before Richard and smiled warmly at him. More ripples spread across her face as she spoke to him, and her voice was like the gurgling of a rushing stream, given shape and meaning through human influence.
“Hello, Richard,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you, for this moment, for more years than I care to remember.”
“Is this a dream?” said Richard.
“Of a sort. I live in dreams now. The dream of the Land . . . I have returned, Richard, after so many quiet years in the Forest, because I’m needed. Because the Forest needs me. Because the Demon Prince walks the Land again.”
“In the Darkwood?” said Richard.
“No,” said the Lady. “But you’ve been to the Darkwood, haven’t you? I can see its mark upon you, body and soul. My dear Richard . . . beware. Destiny has you in its grip.”
“Are you really everything they say you are?” said Richard. “Are you really my great-great-grandmother? The Queen Eleanor that was?”
“Don’t, dear,” said the Lady. “You’ll make me feel old. I was her, once. But I’m so much more now. You must prepare yourself, Richard.”
“For what? For war?”
“Worse than that,” said the Lady of the Lake. “I have no wisdom for you, no words of warning. Not even a weapon. I just wanted to see you, to have this quiet moment with you, my dear great-great-grandson. Because there won’t be time for quiet moments when it all goes wrong.”
She sank si
lently into the moat waters and was gone, leaving nothing behind but a single slowly spreading ripple on the surface of the water. Leaving Richard standing alone, in the grim grey morning light. He shivered once, not from the cold, pulled his robe tightly about him, and went back inside the Castle.
FOUR
FAMILY MATTERS
Hawk and Fisher and Chappie the dog were out on the dusty grey plain that surrounded the Millennium Oak again, taking a brisk walk in the brisk morning air, with the Administrator once more stumbling very unhappily along behind them. He’d been muttering under his breath for some time now, and none of the others felt inclined to inquire as to what he was saying. On such small compromises is civilisation built. The air was clear and fresh that early morning, the sky was a perfect blue, and everything was very peaceful. Until the Administrator decided he’d been civilised long enough and let them all have it.
“What the hell am I doing out here again, at this ungodly early hour? What is it this time? What do you need to tell me now that is so private and important and generally upsetting that I have to be dragged all the way out here, so that when you do upset me I can’t get my hands on anything heavy and sharp-edged? And why are you both wearing backpacks? Just how long is this walk going to take?” He stopped suddenly, as a thought hit him. “Are you trying to work up the courage to tell me that your replacements won’t be arriving in time after all?”
The others stopped, and looked back at him. They had covered quite a distance, though the Millennium Oak stood as tall and proud and overwhelmingly large on the horizon as ever.
“I’m afraid it’s just a bit worse than that,” Hawk said calmly. “And definitely not something for prying ears. Isobel and I have to leave. Right now.”
“That’s why the backpacks,” said Fisher. “We’ve a long way to go. We did try to strap one on Chappie, but he wasn’t having it.”
“Damn right,” said Chappie coldly. “I am not a pack mule.”
“Of course not,” said Hawk. “They’re useful.”
And then the three of them watched interestedly as the Administrator glared wildly at them, struck speechless with shock and fury. His face turned an unhealthy shade of purple, and his eyes actually bulged.
“The last time I saw him look like that,” said Fisher, “he’d accidentally walked in on a tantric sex final exam. They had to hose him down afterwards.”
“He isn’t going to have a coronary, is he?” growled the dog.
“Don’t be silly,” said Hawk. “You need to have a heart to have one of those.”
“I heard that!” said the Administrator immediately. His hands had clenched into fists. “You can’t just walk out on everybody! How is the Hawk and Fisher Memorial Academy supposed to function, without a Hawk and Fisher at the helm? It’s the start of a new term! You can’t just walk out on us before your replacements have even arrived!”
“Ah,” said Hawk, sounding perhaps not quite as regretful as he might have, “that’s part of the bad news. There aren’t going to be any replacements.”
“Strictly speaking, there never were,” said Fisher.
“Sorry,” said Hawk.
The Administrator looked pleadingly up at the heavens. “Give me strength! Give me strength, a battleaxe, and a sympathetic jury; they’d never convict me! What are you two talking about?”
Hawk produced a small magical charm, just a beaten metal disc, with a complicated design stamped on it. Afterwards, the Administrator was never sure whether Hawk had the thing on a chain round his neck, or took it out of his pocket, or even if the metal disc just suddenly appeared on Hawk’s outstretched palm. The disc looked ordinary enough, until the Administrator examined it closely and realised the design stamped on it was so complicated and intricate he couldn’t get his head round it at all. A design so . . . deep that just looking at it made his head hurt. It was like looking into a pond and realising that underneath the surface it just fell away forever.
“What is that?” said the Administrator. He sounded and felt far away, his brow creasing in concentration and puzzlement. “I know that. Don’t I? You’ve always had that, haven’t you . . . Why didn’t I remember it until you showed it to me?”
“This is the Confusulum,” said Hawk. “A very useful item. It manipulates people’s perception by confusing the matter on every level you can think of.” He closed his hand over the charm and the Administrator jumped, just a little, as though abruptly roused from some vague but disturbing dream.
“Where did you get it?” he said, because he felt he ought to say something.
“On our travels,” said Fisher. “While we were taking care of some unfinished business.”
“We won it, on a bet,” said Hawk. “Or perhaps it won us. It’s hard to be sure about anything where the Confusulum is concerned. It’s supposed to be the physical presence in our world of some other-dimensional entity. It shouldn’t be messing about in the material plane at all, but I think it just likes to play. But now, Confusulum, time’s up, if you please. No more illusions.”
Oh sure! said a cheerful, mischievous voice inside everyone’s head at once. No more illusions it is!
Hawk opened his hand, and it was empty. The disc was gone. The Administrator blinked a few times.
“Is it still there?”
“Maybe,” said Hawk.
“Who can tell?” said Fisher.
“Look at us, Administrator,” said Hawk.
The Administrator looked at Hawk and Fisher, and cried out in shock. The middle-aged pair he was used to seeing were gone, as though they had never been there; they’d been replaced by two entirely different-looking people, both of them barely into their thirties. Hawk was tall, dark, and handsome enough in a hardbitten sort of way. His face wasn’t actually scarred, but there was something about it that suggested it ought to be. Hawk was lean and wiry rather than muscular, with long dark hair pulled back and fastened at his nape with a silver clasp. He wore a simple white tunic and trousers, with a heavy dark cloak and functional knee-length leather boots. He wore his axe at his side with the ease of long habit, and there was a calm, easy, dangerous air in the way he carried himself.
Fisher was perhaps a few years younger than Hawk, easily six feet tall, with long blonde hair falling down her back to her waist in a single thick plait, weighted at the tip with a solid steel ball. She was handsome rather than beautiful, the high-boned harshness of her face contrasting with her deep blue eyes and generous mouth. She wore the same basic outfit as Hawk, though her shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing arms corded with muscle. Her boots had steel toe caps, all the better to kick people with. Fisher wore a sword at her side, and you had only to look at her to realise she knew how to use it.
The Administrator looked down at Chappie, half expecting to see him changed too. Into a wolf, perhaps. But Chappie remained just a really big dog, with lots of grey in his dark fur and silver round the muzzle. He grinned at the Administrator, showing lots of teeth, and the Administrator looked back at Hawk and Fisher.
“It’s you,” he said dazedly. “I mean . . . it’s always been you! All the years I’ve been here, every Hawk and Fisher I’ve served under has been you! I thought you were different people, but it was always you, under a series of disguises! Why didn’t I notice? Why didn’t anyone else notice?”
“Remember the Confusulum?” said Fisher.
“We’ve always been in charge,” said Hawk. “Right from the very beginning. We came here from the Forest Kingdom, founded the Academy, and decided very early on that we didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves. The Academy was what mattered, not us. So after we got the place up and running, we left; and then we came back as someone else. It’s all worked out rather well, I think.”
“The Confusulum kept everyone from noticing,” said Fisher. “Just as well; I’ve never been any good with wigs and makeup. You have figured this out before, Administrator, but you kept forgetting.”
“We needed to disappear from the world,”
said Hawk. “So we hid behind ourselves.”
“You’re the original Hawk and Fisher?” said the Administrator, almost breathless with shock and wonder. “The founders? The ones in all the songs and stories? The legends? But . . . how can that be? You’d have to be over a hundred years old! And you don’t even look half as old as I am!”
“We were exposed to a lot of Wild Magic, during the Demon War,” said Fisher. “And we have bathed in the Rainbow itself. We stopped ageing in our thirties. Imagine our surprise.”
“No, I mean, wait just a minute!” said the Administrator, hanging on to common sense and sanity with both hands. “The Rainbow? During the Demon War? That was never any part of the Hawk and Fisher legend; that was . . . oh my God.” He looked at them with wide eyes, like a child. “You’re them, aren’t you? You’re Prince Rupert and Princess Julia!”
“Don’t worry,” Hawk said kindly. “You’ll forget all this once we’re gone.”
“I don’t know what to do,” the Administrator said numbly. “I feel like I should hug you, or get down on my knees. You saved all humanity from the Demon Prince.”
“We’re still the same people you’ve always known,” said Fisher. “The ones you shouted at on a regular basis.”
“Yeah, trust me,” said Chappie. “They’re no one special.”
“Does anyone else know?” said the Administrator.
“I’ve always known,” said Roland the Headless Axeman. As he appeared out of nowhere, standing quietly but very solidly beside them. In his blunt, functional armour, with nothing but fresh air above his shoulders. “It’s hard to fool the eyes when you haven’t got any. I never told anyone. Never thought it was any of my business.”
“Are you secretly someone special, too?” said the Administrator just a bit wildly.
“I think you’ve had enough shocks for one day,” said Roland. Which wasn’t really an answer. Everyone let it go.