Cumberland was standing now, almost but not quite in front of the fire. Seated in the best chair was the King, looking less than majestic now that he was not on his feet.
"—Where the Devil did you say she had gone?" demanded the King.
"Riding, your Highness," said Cumberland.
"Riding! What does she want with that? Lately, anytime I want her, she's 'riding,' " the King muttered, more to himself than to Cumberland. He looked up at the Earl. "Robert, give me to drink."
Cumberland moved to the table that was actually within arm's reach of the King, poured from a bottle—rather than a pitcher—into a large painted-glass goblet; and, with only an abrupt small bow, handed the goblet to the King; who took it absentmindedly, but drank rather thirstily from it.
"Damn women," said the King. "They've always got things to do. I don't ask much of her time. I believe I leave her free to do what she wants for most of it. But it would put the Saints to wonder the way there are always things coming up to interfere when I want to see her."
He looked sharply at Cumberland.
"In the name of all that's Holy, Robert! I give you permission to sit! Stop hovering there like a bull about to be let out among the cows."
"Thank you, your Highness," said Cumberland stiffly, sitting down on the other padded chair.
"Where was I?" went on the King. "Oh, yes, hair-dressing, fitting a new robe, any number of things… Robert, is she still paying visits to that whatever-he-is down in the dungeons?"
"I believe she goes down from time to time, Highness," said Cumberland. "There was a time in which he seemed to have escaped. Broke his chains somehow—they should have held a bear—broke his chains, and dug his way out of the pit he was in, or, at least, dug so far down that the man we sent in came back saying he had been blocked by a fall of earth. But three days later the creature was back again. We put heavier irons on him, and blocked up the hole; and yes, Lady Agatha has been down at least once since, I think."
"Why does she do these things?" demanded the King.
"I do not know, Highness," said Cumberland. "Perhaps—you know how women are, with small things—children, birds, and the like. They keep them to play with them. Perhaps she was trying to see if this strange, odd-made man could be trained like a lap-dog."
"If he's trainable, I want him for a Fool at my Court," said the King. "But someone of her rank, mucking around in those dungeons—I wish she wouldn't!"
"You could speak to her about it, Highness," said Cumberland.
"Why don't you speak to her, first," said the King. "I don't know how it is, but when I try to talk to her about things like that, somehow the conversation never goes the right way. Speak to her sharply, Cumberland. Tell her it ill-befits someone who is in close contact with the King, going down below the Castle like that and coming back possibly covered with filth."
"Whatever is your Royal desire, of course," said Cumberland.
"You are a good servant, Robert," said the King. "I appreciate your taking care of these little things as well as the larger ones."
"Thank you, your Highness," said Cumberland.
"Yes," said the King, "it is comforting to know I can entrust you with certain matters—oh, Robert, you have let my wine-cup become empty."
The Earl got up, refilled the wine-cup, and sat down again. "I am happy to have your approval, Highness," he said heavily. "If I may pray for your attention to the matter, perhaps this might be a good time to talk some more about the raid on my properties in the North."
"Not that, Robert, not that!" said the King, pettishly. "We've talked about that already. Do what you want. Take care of it yourself. I shouldn't have to hold your hand in everything you do. It's your property, after all."
"It is not the property that concerns me, Highness. If that were all, I would never disturb you with the matter. But you remember, I pointed out that the raid was intended to protest the Royal taxes, which makes it a matter of concern to the Throne—to your Highness and all England."
The King sighed. He closed his eyes wearily, and for a second Jim, watching, saw a small, grim smile touch the corners of Cumberland's lips.
"Very well," said the King, opening his eyes. "Which tax is it they were protesting?"
"All of them. That is what makes for the seriousness of the lawless action, Highness," said Cumberland. "It is the tax on inheritance they protest, the tax on sales and transfers of property—and a mort of others. I have mentioned to you before this that there is a treasonous element in this Kingdom, intent on making cause to disturb the peace of your Realm. You may remember I mentioned the names of the Earl of Oxford and Sir John Chandos."
"Not Chandos, Heart of God!" said the King, angrily. "Chandos is a man and warrior after my own heart. Also, he is far too useful to think of replacing in any of his many duties. I wonder sometimes at how he manages to do as much as he does. Also, was it not Chandos who put down this troop of raiders that would have damaged your estates?"
"Chandos has long experience in clevernesses of various kind," said Cumberland. "You remember, it was remarked that among the raiders was one Somerset knight, Sir Brian Neville-Smythe; and with Chandos' party there was his close friend, the Dragon Knight. It is not beyond imagining that perhaps each was present, but on separate sides, to control those they were with so that Chandos would have the easy and almost bloodless dealing with the raiders that he did. You remember, I told you how I suspected there had been some evidence of magick during the encounter."
"Damn it! Now you sound just like Lady Falon!" said the King. "If there was magick—well, the Dragon Knight is a Mage, is he not? Perhaps there was some reason for him to make use of his art. What matters it? Your property was not bothered, after all. The protest—if it was indeed a protest—failed. Why need we bother ourselves further?"
"Because we still have people about Court, like Oxford, Chandos, and others," said Cumberland, "who are too clever to openly oppose your Highness, but contrive to raise opposition to you in other ways like this I speak of."
"Yes, yes, Agatha is always on me about that point," said the King. "I can understand that she dislikes this mage—this Dragon Knight, I mean—and it is very possible she does not like Chandos. But both have been useful in the past and may be useful in the future. I have seen no real proof they pose any danger to my Kingdom and me."
Jim smiled a little grimly himself. It was obvious to him—and must be to Cumberland—that the King was at the old ruler's game of divide and conquer. He wanted as many of those around him as possible at each others' throats, so that not enough of them could combine to make a serious try at his.
But Cumberland was going on to answer smoothly, wearing down his royal half-brother.
"Lady Falon works constantly for your Highness' good in all ways, here at Court and even outside it, and at such places as the Earl of Somerset's Christmas Party—when she did her best to keep your Royal son from overindulging in drink and foolishness. Indeed, almost she has tried to be like a mother to him, but he will have none of it. Yet she does not stop trying."
"Well, well"—the King drank from his cup—"that may be true. She is a few years too young to be much of a mother to him. But certainly she shows me all proper signs of affection. However, Cumberland, we must not forget that she is still a woman, poor thing, and cannot be thought to understand things as you and I do."
"But I wish," he added wistfully, "she would come back from this eternal riding of hers and stay put. In any case, as far as this other matter is concerned, I have said repeatedly it is yours to deal with. I wash my hands of the matter. Deal with it as you wish—simply don't lose me the services of valuable people like Chandos, and even Oxford, for that matter. Oxford is not indeed one of our lesser English nobles."
"It shall be as you wish, Highness," said Cumberland. "But it might be wise to keep in mind that while the Lady Falon is, as you say, a mere woman, with all the strangenesses of her sex—which I freely confess I do not understand, being a prac
tical man who has had little time for women—still, the sex has been said, like cats, to have understandings that they may not be able to prove, but which nonetheless are right. It may be that while I am still hunting the proofs your Highness needs, the Lady Falon's instincts have already identified those who would work you ill. It may be that the scenting of such attitudes in people is simply a strange sense they are born with."
"It may be," said the King, gloomily. "She gets her way with me often enough. I am always finding I have agreed to somewhat I had no intention of agreeing to—"
Whatever the King said next was lost to Jim's ears completely, in a shriek that seemed no more than a few inches from his right ear.
"M'Lord! I have found it. Come quickly!" cried the excited voice of Hob, now back on his shoulder. "I've found them—not one passage, but two! Come quickly, while I still have them both open!"
Jim blessed the moment in which he had made all three of them, himself, Hob, and Edgar, inaudible as well as invisible.
"Quiet down!" he said to Hob, and turned his attention back to the King and Cumberland. But whatever had been said during the few seconds of Hob's interruption was gone for good.
"—Spanish wine," the King was saying to Cumberland. "Don't tell me we are out of it already. Is there a new shipment due?"
"I do not know, Highness," Cumberland was saying. "Inquiries can be made—"
"All right, Hob," said Jim, turning away into the next room. "Show me these passages."
When Jim arrived in the last room, he found part of the brickwork around the fireplace had apparently slipped backward into the wall and moved sideways to leave an opening. Edgar was standing by it almost proudly, as if on guard. Hob leaped from Jim's shoulder into the darkness of the opening.
"Well done!" said Jim, stepping into the opening. "I didn't expect you to get done anywhere nearly this quickly."
"Actually, I didn't do it, m'Lord," said Hob. "It was the smoke that did it."
"Oh, I see," said Jim. "In that case, you both should be congratulated. Edgar, you stay here. I'm going to look into this."
"This way, m'Lord," murmured Hob. "You turn to the right just within, here."
Jim ducked under the low, dank entrance, turned to the right, and found himself in a narrow, dusty corridor between two stone walls, a passage so narrow he could not extend an arm to full length. It went on for three steps, past an unexpected flight of stairs leading down, that was dimly lit by a thick candle on the wall; then the corridor turned sharply again, to face a wall of darkness. Jim stopped.
"Just a moment," said Hob. There was an ominous clanking noise, and light flooded in to reveal a much larger room than he had yet seen here. Its furniture was sparklingly clean—clean floors, clean ceiling, and a bright window with glass in it, as well as a carpet in the middle of the floor. No one was there, but if anything had ever tried to look like a chamber belonging to a medieval King, this was it.
"That does it then, Hob," said Jim, peering into the room without entering it. "There's no doubt now the King's got a way through to Cumberland; and seeing this, I'm almost ready to bet there's something like it—maybe just a plain door—between the last room of Cumberland's, at the far end of his quarters, and the rooms of Agatha Falon. This tells us a lot."
"If m'Lord wants to go down the stairs inside the wall," said Hob mysteriously, "he may learn even more."
"Down the stairs?" said Jim. "There was some talk of the King having passageways to the outside of this palace."
"It doesn't lead to the outside—or maybe it does," said Hob. There was something very close to a mischievous tone in his voice. A pleased, mischievous tone, as if he was about to give Jim an unexpected present. "Why doesn't m'Lord go down and see?"
"Have you been down already?" asked Jim.
"Yes, m'Lord," said Hob. "But please, you go down and look for yourself."
Jim hesitated. He could make Hob tell him, of course, but plainly what he would find at the bottom of the stairs was supposed to be an agreeable discovery; and Hob was clearly proud of himself for finding it.
"This won't take long?"
"Oh, no, m'Lord."
"All right."
Jim turned back into the passage and stopped. "How do we close this entrance here, again?" he asked.
"Oh, that's easy," said Hob. "Do you see the chain?"
Jim looked at where the hobgoblin was pointing. There was indeed a chain, visible now in the light from the entrance.
"Are the stairs lighted, all the way?"
"Yes, m'Lord. Candles all the way down."
Well, that was all right then. Still, it wouldn't do to find himself suddenly lightless down there. Be prepared. He pointed his index finger down the stairs when he got to them.
"You're an eight-cell flashlight," he told it. "—turned on!" he added hastily.
A bright beam of light lanced down the steps from his fingertip. He had just about given up anyway on any attempts to save his magic. Saving simply was not possible. Shining his finger down the steps ahead of him, he saw that the dust on them had been disturbed by someone walking this way not too long before.
His own light was much more powerful than the occasional candle on the wall, but he still had to be careful. The steps were steep, with nothing like a handrail to grasp as he went down, and the further steps outreached the light thrown by his finger
"Is it very far down?" he asked Hob.
"It's not as far as from the ground floor of your tower at Malencontri up to your room and m'Lady's," answered Hob. "Maybe a little more than half as far."
This was still a considerable distance. Jim continued to descend carefully, leaning a little bit backward so that if his feet did slip, he might be able to throw himself back on the stairs and stop himself with his heels after sliding only a short distance.
After what seemed like a very long time, the stairs ended at a blank wall, beside which hung another chain. Jim pulled on it, and the wall opened almost noiselessly to reveal another narrow, dusty corridor. A distinctly unpleasant smell flooded into his nostrils—something between sewage and a refrigerator full of food that had gone rotten because power was off. The short hallway led to three more stone steps down onto an earthen floor, and there he faced a closed door.
"Wait, m'Lord," said Hob. "Let me look first."
Jim looked to see Hob hovering in mid-air on a level with Jim's head, riding a waft of smoke that had apparently come from nowhere.
"I'll be right back!" said Hob. The front of the waft of smoke before him reached out, slipped through the crack between the edge of the door and the frame in which it was set. As Jim watched, the rest of the smoke—and somehow Hob as well—slipped through after it.
Jim was never quite sure whether Hob somehow thinned down to the point where he could go through such a narrow crack, or whether the crack momentarily widened—one moment Hob had been approaching it, then he was gone.
Jim spent a moment playing the magic light of his finger on his surroundings and feeling somewhat ridiculous. And then Hob was suddenly back, still riding the smoke.
"It's all right, m'Lord," he said. "But if you could come through the door without opening it, it'd be better, because it squeaks when it's opened."
Another small use of his magical energy. But necessary. Jim spent a moment in thought, and then stood directly before the closed door. He looked at the door before him and visualized it, still standing upright, directly behind him. Abruptly, he could see into the room ahead of him.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
After the King's remarks, and the smell, Jim was not surprised to find himself in the dungeons. Although the moat would have been his second guess—it was usually an even bet which would have the worst odor.
These were upper-class as dungeons went—not so much in comfort and decor, as in facilities. Those nearest him were stone-floored, stone-walled dungeons, facing each other across the passageway and apparently quite dry, and cleaned since they were last occupied. Towa
rd the far end, he could see some of the earth-walled pits that were more ordinary dungeons.
Beyond, some forty feet from him, was the doorless entrance to a larger chamber. He could see what was obviously a rack, and parts of other instruments were also visible—undoubtedly other machines useful for encouraging people to talk.
Cressets hung along the walkway before him, the light from their burning wood illuminating—and heating—the corridor and the dungeons. The place seemed to be empty except for Agatha Falon, who was in the passage looking down into the last stone-walled pit, talking to someone in it.
Suddenly wary, Jim turned off his magic fingerlight and walked softly down the line, with Hob riding the smoke beside him, until he came close enough to look down into the pit that was getting the benefit of her attention.
Agatha's sharp voice ordinarily had good carrying quality. Here, strangely muffled by the echoes of this dungeon space, it had been familiar, but not understandable, at a distance. Now that Jim, safe in his invisibility, was closer, her words came clearly to his ears.
"—Oh, no, he doesn't!" she was saying. "He'll give me that boy when I'm ready for him! Only then, if everything works out well at this end, will I see about getting him what he wants—as far as perhaps a third of the tin-mining area in Cornwall. But at most a third! That mining is valuable to England, which means it will be valuable to me. Now, stop whining and take that message back to him!"
Metal clinked on metal; and Jim, moving a little farther forward, saw what had been hidden by the depth of the dungeon. The figure was grimy; but the dirt and filth could not hide the fact that it was a Gnarly Man—but a Gnarly Man lacking his pick, hammer, and rod. He was chained to a post driven deep into the bottom of the pit, by links that looked heavy and strong enough to hold an elephant.
Whoever it was, he was indeed whining—with a strange sort of voice that echoed in Jim's ear, as if he was hearing it twice. Abruptly he realized that Agatha could plainly hear what the creature was saying, and so could Jim's own human ears. Probably the Gnarly King had used his magic to ensure that his messenger—as this clearly was—could be understood by Agatha. But Jim, having earlier expanded his hearing to dragon-range, was hearing both ranges.