THE FROG AND THE GROG

Chapter 13: Prison Break

by

Christopher Stasheff

Copyright 2011

 

Hide him?  Yes, from the knowledge that he had failed.  "Got to face it," Sir Harry mumbled.

"All right, face it—but face it on your feet."  She pulled at his arm.

It made sense, in a half-conscious sort of way; a knight should always face his enemy standing and ready for battle, even if that enemy was himself.  He tried to sit up, but he was tangled in a heavy tapestry… and the room spun.  Then something was under his arm, bracing him as he tried to stand, succeeded, and the voice came from his right: "That's it, on your feet.  Now this way."

Harry turned to stare and registered a mane of dark hair framing a pale face with full lips, wide eyes, and a retroussé nose that he vaguely recognized.  Then it blurred, but he heard the voice demanding, "This way, quickly!"  She pulled to the right on his arm, and he stumbled after her, trying to remember her name... Jane, that was it!  But where was she guiding him?  And why?

It seemed forever, and very embarrassing to be leaning on a woman, but his legs didn't seem to be able to hold him on their own and everything was blurred around him—he couldn't have recognized the route even if he had known what it was.

Then, suddenly, something bumped his legs.  Looking down, he recognized a cot just before she lowered him to its surface.  "Lie down, now," she told him, "and keep still.  I'll look in on you as often as I can.  Remember, you don't dare have anyone find you."

Then she was gone; there was a swishing sound which he would later learn were curtain rings on a rod, and the little room darkened.  Relieved to know there was nothing more he could do, Sir Harry let that darkness claim him and drifted off into it.

 

* * * * *

 

Many of the servants had left, whether they wanted to or not; Monahere sent them with a month's wages and found places for them with nobles and knights who had not shown much delight in the young king.  They couldn't bear tales if they weren't in the royal castle, after all.  The servants who stayed seemed excited, enthusiastic, and, after a few days, asked Monahere if there might be jobs for their cousins.  Monahere talked with each applicant for a few minutes, longer if she could, until she finally went to Cadavan, on the verge of exhaustion, and said, "I can't teach the prince properly and still supervise the staff, let alone make sure the new ones are loyal.  Will you take care of it?"

"Of course," Cadavan said in surprise.  "I'll be delighted."

And he was.  Monahere might not have been the most beautiful of women, but Cadavan thought she was, and had since they'd first met in Earl Rothers' castle fifteen years before.  He had been a squire, she the earl's daughter.  Both had discovered an aptitude for magic and gone together to learn from Balzindoch, the old king's wizard.

Truth to tell, the main reason Cadavan had stayed on at the royal castle after the usurper and his supporters had been locked in the dungeon was because he wasn't yet certain that Monahere was safe… that, and to have the chance of seeing her now and then—and, better yet, of talking with her occasionally.  He was more than glad to have another excuse.

Cadavan couldn't read minds, at least not without some powerful spells that were rather inconvenient to work into a conversation, but he developed feelings about people after a few minutes' conversation.  He sent half a dozen possible servants away because of that.  All the rest he welcomed.

When the household staff was secure, he had a word with Monahere.  "We need more knights."

"Of course," she said, "but which ones can we trust?"

"I think I might know," he said.  "Shall I ask around?"

Monahere gave him a rather strange look but said, "Of course.  Please do."

So Cadavan called in Galben and said, "Baron..."

"I'm only a knight!"

"If the king says you're a baron, you're a baron."

"He's only ten."

"But has a good instinct for people, it seems.  Galben, we need more household knights than yourself and the few loyalists who survived the coup and suffered with the king in the dungeon.  Heaven knows we can't ask for better.  Still, Viburnum slew all the king's bodyguard.  Who's left who'd be loyal to Edmund?"

Galben's gaze drifted to a window and turned vague as he thought.  "It's only rumor, of course—but there were a few who refused to come to Viburnum's court, even after the cathedral fell."

"I couldn't ask for better than Viburnum's enemies.  Who were they?"

Galben began to reel off names.  Cadavan told Monahere, then sent heralds to them that very day.

 

* * * * *

 

Sir Harry felt the coolness on his forehead and opened his eyes to a slender wrist.  He followed it to a bosom and a face that he remembered—the only thing he did remember.  "Jane..."

"Hush, now."  The hand came back from his forehead.  "You've still a touch of fever."

Sir Harry looked about him.  It was difficult to make out where he was, because everything seemed to have a copy of itself overlapping its edges, but he saw hams hanging overhead, strings of herbs, and a row of shelves with little crocks.  Some sort of pantry, then.  "What... happened?"

"King Edmund has taken back his throne," she said.  "You fought to stop the minstrel who was singing Viburnum and his people to sleep, but another knight you hadn't seen knocked you senseless.  A tapestry hid you, thank heavens, which is why you're not in the dungeons with the rest of them."

"In the... dungeons?"  Harry struggled to sit up.  "My... king?  In the dungeons?"

"Shh, now, lie back—you need more rest."  She pressed a palm to his breastbone and tried to push him down.  "Your king, the rightful king, is on his throne again, and the usurper in a cell awaiting trial.  Rest."

But Harry was too agitated to rest.  Memory deluged him; he sat up, seeing again the minstrel singing while people fell asleep all around him.  "Can't rest!  Have to free..."

"Edmund is your king," Jane insisted.  "Your loyalty is to him."

For a minute, Harry was tempted—Edmund was the rightful king, after all, and might be a good ruler when he grew up.  Viburnum, on the other hand, would lead the country into a war—and who knew how long it might last?  But it was not Edmund who had knighted him, not Edmund to whom he had sworn loyalty.  "Earl Chain—my lord..."

"Earl Chain will receive only what he...  Harry!  You can't!  You're not well!"

But Sir Harry pushed himself to his feet, fended off her hands with a gentle touch, then stumbled away, leaning against the walls.  After a few steps, he could walk unaided, though he still saw two of everything.  He pushed his way through the curtain that hid the little room and found himself in the kitchens.  Well, that was all right—he knew his way from there.

 

* * * * *

 

In the evening, Aelwyn found himself in the small chamber that served Cadavan as an office.

"Sit, sit!"  Cadavan gestured toward the chair on the other side of the fire.  "I've had very little talk with you this last week, and I've missed it."

"You've been busy," Aelwyn said.  "I didn't want to intrude."

"You can't," Cadavan said.  "You saved my life again and again, and the usurper and his cronies wouldn't be in the dungeons now if it hadn't been for you.  Besides, I enjoy your company."

Aelwyn grinned.  "Thank you for that.  But, Cadavan, there's nothing for me to do here."

"Nothing?"  Cadavan frowned.  "The new lute isn't very good, then?"

"It's excellent, the finest instrument I've ever owned."

"You're certainly using it well, making us all laugh!" Cadavan protested.  "You're keeping the whole staff in good spirits.  When we gather for dinner and you sing for us after, you're binding us all together."

"Well, yes, that," Aelwyn said impatiently, "but that's nothing.  The fact is, Cadavan, that I'm a minstrel and nothing more.  I feel ill at ease at the head table and even more ill at ease knowing there's so much to be done and so little of it I can do."

"If you're asking for more work, I'll be delighted to find..."

"No, Cadavan."  Aelwyn leaned forward and placed a hand on his friend's arm.  "I'm asking your permission to go."

Cadavan sat very still for a few minutes.

Aelywn shifted, looking away.  "I'm not betraying you, Cadavan.  I just want the open road, that's all."

"And a poor friend I'd be if I made you stay when you don't want to."  Cadavan nodded.  "Very well, Aelwyn—go."

The minstrel looked wretched.

Cadavan realized the man felt he was abandoning people who needed him—which he was, but friends don't say things like that.  But how to make him feel better about wanting his freedom?  "Do me this favor, though."

"Anything, Cadavan!"  Aelwyn looked up, surprised and pleased.

"Keep an ear open," Cadavan said, "and an eye.  I don't need to tell you to listen to other minstrel's songs—but send word back, every week, about what you're hearing, what the people are thinking, how they feel about King Edmund."

Aelwyn started nodding halfway through the sentence.  "Gladly—but how?  I can't come back here every week, or I'll never get anywhere."

"The king will give you a letter with the royal seal."  Cadavan was making it up as he went along, but it sounded good.  "Show it to any royal officer, and he will send your letter by courier."

"Which means that if I don't think he can be trusted, I shouldn't do it."  Aelwyn grinned.

"Ah, my friend, such a cynic!" Cadavan said with a sigh. "But a few months of a usurper's rule will do that to anyone.  Go with our blessing—and let us know what you hear."

 

* * * * *

 

Sir Harry always explored everything thoroughly whenever he came to a new place, a precaution that now proved its worth.  He stumbled out of the kitchens and found the trapdoor through which the cooks lowered the leavings for the prisoners.

"Harry, no!"

He felt a pain in his chest, having to ignore the woman who had helped him, the woman who filled his mind in every idle minute, but he had sworn obedience to Earl Chain, and his loyalty to his lord came before any other duty to any other mortal.  He pulled up the trapdoor, sat on the edge, and lowered himself to swing by his hands, then dropped—only a foot or two.

The dungeon was dark and dank, smelling of mold.  It was also filled with the sounds of arguing and wailing.  He heard a voice nearby saying, "If you hadn't been drinking so much..."

"I didn't!" another answered.  "One tankard, that's all!  The wine was drugged!"

Harry saw a narrow hallway lit only by one torch at the end, under which sat a slovenly man in rags and dirt—but Harry saw the ring of keys on his belt.  Keys!  All that mattered.  He strode down the hall, wobbling only a little, seeing only one torch, though it seemed to sort of smear out past its own outline.  "Knight!" he heard Earl Chain hissing.  "Loose us!  I command you!"

Well, he couldn't really expect the lord to know his name; it was enough that Chain recognized him.

The jailer was gnawing on a joint of pork; he didn't notice Harry until the knight's shadow fell across him.  Then he looked up, startled, saw the young man looming over him with raised fist, and opened his snaggled teeth to cry out just as Harry's blow struck him senseless.

"Well done!" Sir Chain cried.  "Free us!  Free us all!"

"But start with your king!" Viburnum called.

Harry didn't want to start with Viburnum—he wasn't the king anymore—so he let himself stumble, exaggerated his steps until he weaved and jolted up against the bars to Chain's cell.

"Quickly, man!" Earl Chain snapped, "before a guard comes to see us!"

Harry fitted the keys into the lock one by one—not easily, for his hand trembled, and the keyhole wouldn't quite stay in place.  Finally, though, one of the keys turned, the door swung open with the screech of rust, and Earl Chain came barreling out.  "Good man!  Give me those!"  He snatched the keys away and turned to open Viburnum's cell.

"Good job, Chain!"  Viburnum came striding out.  "First, we've got to get out of this castle, find someplace safe where we can regroup!"

Sir Harry stared.  "Regroup?"

"Gather the lords who know which side of their bread has the butter," Viburnum said.  "Gather troops.  Come back and clean this castle out."

"But Your Grace!" Harry protested.  "Flee!  Flee while you may!"

"That's 'Your Majesty'," Viburnum snapped.  "I was crowned, wasn't I?  I won that throne by blood, and I'll win it back by more blood!"

Earl Chain looked disgusted, but frowned, brooding.  Even Harry could all but hear his thoughts—should he stay with Viburnum and regain his power and wealth, or stay in his cell to wait for a traitor's death?  It didn't take much thinking to choose.

"Now, boy!"  Viburnum turned to Harry again.  "Show us the way out!"

Two courtiers held their hands as a step for a third.  One by one, they went up through the trapdoor.  Harry's heart was in his throat, waiting for the alarm, for loyal troops to come and cut them down—troops with swords and spears, of which the fugitives had none.  But it was night, and the courtiers had enough sense to speak in whispers, so they climbed out one by one until only Sir Harry was left.

"We need every man!" Earl Chain hissed above, and two other knights reached down.  Harry caught their arms and they pulled him through.

"Cross the moat and mob the porter!" Viburnum hissed ahead.  "They'll never expect attack from inside."

"They didn't last time," Earl Chain said.  "Still, let's try the postern."

"All right, but we need some servants too.  Grab a couple of kitchen wenches."

The thought of Jane being seized gave Harry a surge of panic, but Earl Chain hissed, "Find the postern!" and Sir Harry had to turn away to obey his lord.

Sure enough, the guards at the gate didn't expect attack from inside.  Out through the postern the fugitives went in a single file, down the slope and through the town as stealthy as footpads.  Soon Viburnum and all his forces were out on the high road and away.

 

* * * * *

 

Cadavan and Monahere were talking by the fire in the king's solar.  He was hoping that she was enjoying the chat as much as he did, but doubted it severely.  "Time to send an ambassador to Azure, isn't it?"

"It was time the day after you jailed the traitors," she said, "but you've been rather busy."

Odd, he thought, that she gave him all the credit.

"Can you think of anyone we can..."

"Your highness!"  A sentry burst into the room, gasping for breath.  "They're gone!"

Monahere stiffened, braced for bad news.  "Who's gone?"

"Duke Viburnum and all his liegemen!  The cells are open and empty, every one!"

 

TO BE CONTINUED…

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