Deck of Cards (2 page)

In the
dimly lit passages of Castle Meadington, Katey had heard stories of King Philip’s crimes against humanity, particularly against the citizens of Zurconia, their beloved queen, and her loving husband.  Though Katey was indifferent to the idea of marrying Philip, or anyone for that matter, she did not approve of his tactics and her heart ached for the captured king she knew dwelt somewhere within the walls of Castle Blackthorn.

In the few days she had lived within the damp moss-covered walls of the sprawling complex of winding passages, secret hallways, and cavernous tunnels, she had yet to discover where the king was being held.  Just as she was able to pass almost undetected through the
maze in her own home, she quickly began to navigate through Blackthorn without as much as an inquisitive glance from the other inhabitants. She had used these skills to begin her quest to find King Matthew.  So far, she had only covered a small portion of the compound but she knew that, if she continued to use her ability to listen in on secretive conversations to her advantage, she would soon ascertain exactly where the widower king was living out his numbered days.

Philip’s plan to draw out Matthew’s beloved brother and finish them both off in one
apocalyptic battle was faulty, however, and it seemed Katey’s wedding just might have to wait. Philip’s frustration at the situation came through in every conversation, every order, every flinch of his fist and grimace on his handsome face. The walls were whispering again and Katey would use their information to her advantage. She knew there was not much she would be able to do to help the captive king once his location was found, but she felt compelled to find him as quickly as possible and she had learned from experience to listen to that small voice inside.

The morning after the storm, Katey woke feeling groggy and irritable.  Joan was still fast asleep when Katey began to stir and though it was impossible to tell the time in the windowless room without a clock, Katey could tell by her own body that the sun was up and she would
most likely be safe to make her way into the hall.

She contemplated waking Joan but she decided against it.  She was fully capable of dressing herself in a simple gown so she did so and made her way silently into the hallway. 
She practically ran to the window at the end of the corridor, letting the light embrace her and ensure her that day had come and she was free from her lingering demons for a few more hours.  She took a deep breath, as if she was able to inhale the sunshine and absorb it.  Once she finally felt she had basked in the morning glow long enough, she glided down the nearby stairwell; her stomach suddenly reminding her it was time for breakfast.

Though it was still relatively early, the castle was bustling with
activity and Katey knew that she had been right to initially question whether those rumbles the night before had been of a more sinister nature.  Philip had originally mentioned the possibility of taking all of his meals with Katey but that had been nothing more than wishful thinking on his part. Katey knew she probably would not see him much if it all that day. Rather than requesting a formal breakfast, Katey would simply make her way to the kitchen, take what she wanted almost undetected, and find a quiet place to eat.  This was her routine most days and today she garnered a nod from the chef and a few pieces of fruit, which she carried with her to the library.  This was one of her favorite places at Blackthorn and one of the only rooms with enough natural light to be considered acceptable in Katey’s opinion.  She also found that, due to the close proximity to the war room, many interesting conversations took place in this room, often without any acknowledgement whatsoever that she was even present.  She found out a lot of information from her fellow bibliophiles and spent many hours gathering tidbits while snuggled in a comfortable chair under the sheepskin blanket near the fireplace.

Today would be no different.  She arrived in the library, selected one of her favorite books, assumed her normal seat, and almost lost herself in an incredible story from a far off land, just before the hushed voices entered the room and her eyes ceased scanning the words while the story she was weaving quickly lost every ounce of fiction.

Katey knew that Edward had entered the room before she even heard his voice.  Approaching sixty and suffering from complications from obesity, Edward carried around him a distinct cloud of odiferous objectionable identifiers.  A pungent mixture of salve, herbal remedies, and body odor, Edward announced his pending arrival moments before he actually reached one’s field of vision. He also walked with a scraping limp, which would have aided even the weakest-of-nose in determining his identity before he drew near.

“The T
ower at Glendor should have held. I cannot for the life of me understand how it was breached. Two thousand men,
two thousand men
!” he spat to whomever was accompanying him.  Katey still could not tell who the slighter of the two men was, perhaps a leader of one of Philip’s armies or another of his advisors.

The two men were still out of her
direct line of vision but Katey could see their shadows just inside the doorway. It was as if they had ducked in to speak in private, not realizing and perhaps not caring, that Katey was also in the room.

“Yes, sir,” the other man replied. Katey heard the clanking of chainmail, an indicator that this man was part of Philip’s army. “We believed the wall to be
impenetrable, particularly so near the tower, but they found a way to get through.  We had them out-numbered two-to-one. 
Two-to-one
! But, well,” he stammered for a moment, apparently still unsure of exactly how to explain what had happened. “Once they broke the line, it began to fall back.  I could not, we could not hold them.”

Edward pounded his fist against the wall. Katey jumped as the reverberation filled the space around her.  “Listen, Cuthbert,” he said, pounding the soldier on the arm, “It does not matter to me what you thought could or could not happen.  What has happened is the Arterian army is pouring past our last line of defense.  At the current rate, they will be standing in these very halls in less than two weeks.  Two weeks!  That does not happen.  Re-gather your troops. Form a new last line of defense.  Use the thick swamp of the Lowetian Forest to your advantage and hem them in.  King Philip may not understand the implications of this breech, but I do!”  Another
blow, to the wall, this one even harder.  Edward, unable to control his rage, grabbed Cuthbert and slammed him up against the hard oak door. “This infiltration goes no further!  Find a way to stop them!”
              Cuthbert grimaced, his air cut-off from the large, gnarly hand near his throat.  “Yes, yes sir. I will.”

             
Edward stared forebodingly at the smaller man.  “Good,” he began to pat Cuthbert on the shoulder, a jarring motion that did not match his affirmative words.  “Good, you do that. You find a way.  Or else, I am holding you personally responsible.”  He finally released Cuthbert, who resisted the urge to rub his arm though it was already beginning to ache. “Now, let’s go up to the tower and pay our guest a visit and see if we can get him to tell us some information that will be helpful to our cause.” Edward began his slow cacophonous march out of the library and down the hall, Cuthbert behind him. 

Katey waited a moment.  She knew they were going to see King Matthew and she must follow them but she also did not want to be detected.  There was no way they would knowing
ly let her follow them.  At least now she knew he was being held in one of the towers. Unfortunately, Castle Blackthorn had several, ominous black towers with high, pointed parapets that jetted out of the structure like thorns.   She heard Edward down the hall, approaching a turn and decided it was time to follow.

             
Silently placing the book back on the shelf, she made her way to the door, peeking out before opening it and slipping out.  She could just see the heel of Cuthbert’s black military boot rounding the corner to the right.  She knew that the hall only had one possible next turn, to the left, so she took extra precaution to be quiet as she made her way down the hall.  However, she almost didn’t make it to the end of the hall in time to see where the pair went.  It was not to the left as she had anticipated--it was into the wall!  There was a secret button somewhere that caused the wall to slide open.  She ducked around the corner, just in time to avoid being seen by Edward as he glanced over his crooked shoulder to make sure they were not being followed. Then, he and his still visibly shaken minion disappeared into what should have been solid stone and the wall closed behind them.

Katey hesitated.  Knowing there was a secret passage in the wall got her that much closer to finding Matthew, yet following now could be extremely dangerous.  She was not sure what might be on the other side of the secret door.  It might be an easily navigable path that allowe
d her to follow in secret or she could find herself in a situation where she was trapped.  It would not be easy to explain what she was doing in a secret passage, especially without speaking, so she needed to be extremely cautious.  Edward did not seem the type to show leniency to snooping visitors.

She decided to wait.  If Edward and Cuthbert came out the same way that they went in, there was a good possibility that she would be able to find Matthew without having to follow.  If they did not, that meant there were other secret passages and she may have more trouble. Nevertheless, she now knew two critical pieces of information:  Matthew was being held in a tower and the way to reach him lay somewhere within the walls of Castle Blackthorn.  She retreated b
ack into the shadows, prepared to wait as long as necessary.

              
                          ***

Matthew lay sprawled on his straw mattress, attempting to avoid the prickly pieces of hay sticking out in all directions from almost every inch of the ancient, rotting vessel.  He
always had plenty of warning when Edward was making his ascent up the stairwell right outside of his abode.  Either the stench would hit him full in the face first or he would hear the thumping, scraping sound of his useless foot as he struggled to pull it up the stairs.  And Edward never visited alone. He always had one or two lackeys with him to do his dirty work.  Just thinking about his last visit left Matthew rubbing his jaw and feeling for the healing gashes covering his back and shoulders.  He did not look forward to Edward stopping by but it usually meant that Caleb was winning and, if Caleb were winning, then, perhaps, he would be free soon.

Or, on the other hand, if Caleb was winning, it might mean he was soon to meet his executioner.

Either way, he wouldn’t be spending too much longer in this filthy hovel and so Edward’s visits were not as negative as one might think.

There was no way for Matthew to actually see who was at the door. There was only a small slot
, lined with black iron, where once a day some poor hack from the kitchen would slide him a small portion of gruel.  At first, Matthew couldn’t even stomach it, but as his stay was extended and his strength began to waiver, he found a way to keep it down.  He supposed he could get down on his knees and peek through the little slot if he really wanted to view someone’s knees but there wasn’t much sense in that so he waited patiently for Edward to make his way to the top of the stairs, curious as to whether or not the jingling of chainmail was one lackey or two.

A rattle of keys, a little huffing and puffing from his
primary capture, and the door flew open, bringing with it a new level of putrefied air. Matthew was sitting on his crude bed.  He did not bother to stand as Edward and his companion, a new face to Matthew, though surely as inconsequential as all of the other minions before him, made their way into the small circular room.

This new person stared at Matthew as if he was expecting something else, as if he had no idea what six months of confinement and torture could do to anyone, even a king. He stared in disbelieve and it took a quick blow from Edward to make the younger man remember himself.

“Well, your Majesty,” Edward began in his snarly croak of a voice,  “How did you get along in the storm last night?”

“Slept like a baby,” Matthew chided.  He didn’t move. No reason to waste energy on these two, not yet.

“I find that very unlikely,” Edward said spying the soggy condition of the bed sheets and the puddles still accumulated under the arrow slits on the floor.

Matthew ignored him, sitting with his knees bent, arms hung loosely
as if nothing horrible was about to happen.

“Matthew, this is
my. . .” in the face of Cuthburt’s recent defeat, Edward struggled for the correct word, “associate, Sir Cuthburt.”  Cuthburt nodded, slowly, his demeanor began to change, as if he was suddenly remembering that he was an officer in the army, a man of power, a man with a purpose.  And his purpose just now was to hurt King Matthew of Zurconia, to hurt him and make him pay for his brother’s recent victory.

Occasionally, Matthew would entertain himself by acting overly
formal when being introduced to one of the men whose sole purpose in meeting him was to beat the bloody hell out of him.  Today, he was not in the mood.  He was ready to just get it over with.  He met Cuthburt’s eyes with an equally steal-like stare, held his gaze for a moment, and waited for the other man to look away.  It did not take long.  Cuthburt was weak.  No wonder Caleb was able to decimate his army so easily.  If only Matthew had had any sort of understanding of the forces he was dealing with before Zurconia was over-run by these ill-trained but staggeringly plentiful barbarians, perhaps he would not be sitting a captive today.