Excerpt: The Faithless Servant

Chapter One

The Emerald Kingdom straddled the delta of the river Ee. It prospered. The rich alluvial soil grew crop after crop of maize, wheat, and vegetables, so the people never went hungry. It had two major ports -- one that served the river trade, and one that served the Saltwater Sea -- so all the wealth of the world passed through its borders.The kingdom's royal line were the Assurids. In the three centuries since Garwin the Just invaded the kingdom and stolen the crown from the Solon dynasty, they had gone native. They spoke the Emerald language, and followed the Emerald Kingdom's traditions. No one who visited the palace on the hill above the city of Juno and looked upon the face of King Edgar the Long would ever have guessed his ancestors had been Redlin invaders from out of the east. He looked no different from any other tired old man.
King Edgar knew he was dying. His courtiers told him that he looked in perfect health and would rule a good many more years yet, but he disagreed. He could feel death patiently gnawing in his gut. He could see it in the faces of his physicians who now refused to look him in the eye.
But Edgar was not sad. He was an old man who had ruled his kingdom a very long time. If anything, he saw his imminent death as a release. All the politics, the disagreements, and the other petty matters of state suddenly meant nothing to him. They would be passed on to his heir, and they could wait, because if he was going to die, he was determined to make a good end.
Edgar had four children, an equal number of Earls, and his household staff, all at war with each other. He felt certain that the moment he died they would begin a dispute that would disrupt the kingdom for years to come. At the end, the unworthy would inherit the kingdom at the expense of the worthy. He remembered how it had been when he became king, and was not encouraged.
So Edgar made a plan -- foolproof, he thought. It would use some of the most powerful magic, for which he would have to sacrifice himself. But that was no bad thing. By choosing the time of his death, he would be saving himself months of pain and discomfort while he preserved his kingdom. He made all his enquiries and arranged matters to his satisfaction, and on the last day of winter, he summoned his earls and his children to the palace.
While the subjects of his plan sat in the great hall unawares, warming themselves by the fire and partaking of the feast, King Edgar went out to meet with a witch. He needed a witch to perform the spell. He would have preferred to perform it himself, which would have been safer, but he would not be around to complete the spell, and in any case, his understanding of the art wasn't sufficient for a spell so powerful. The best sorcerer in the kingdom was his own daughter, Elinor, but since she was part of the problem, he could hardly rely on her. But he remembered Elinor referring to the witch Augusta in passing, so he had gone down to the city himself and retained Augusta's services for thirty pieces of silver.
They had spent the last month planning. Now it was time to put the plan into action.
He met her by the door of the old tower. Again, he was struck by how homely she was. She seemed old before her time. Her skin was dry and yellow. Her face was deeply lined and covered in a mass of warts. Her back was bent, as though she carried some terrible burden. And yet, when she spoke, it was not the voice of an old woman. There was some mystery there, and that troubled Edgar because the witch was so central to the scheme.
Still, even there he had taken precautions. He took out a large and complicated key and opened the door to the old tower, ushering the witch inside. She froze on the spot when she saw one hundred cold, lifeless faces turn to look at her.
"What are these?" she said.
Edgar smiled. "This is the golden century."
The one hundred figures were indeed golden, and made entirely of articulated metal, like so many suits of armour standing in their ranks and files on either side of the room. They were identical and they stood a head taller than the king, who was not a short man.
The witch turned her back on them and said, "I thought our plans were to be entirely secret, kept even from the household itself?"
"Yes, indeed. But the golden century are not human, or even alive. They are automatons, almost indestructible, and utterly loyal to whoever possesses the crown of the Emerald Kingdom. They've been the source of the Assurid's power for more than one hundred and fifty years."
The witch looked at them, a little afraid, but obviously fascinated. "All that, I thought it was just old wives tales."
"No, they're real enough -- a perfect marriage of mechanics and magic. As far as I know they'll last forever. Though there hasn't been much use for them in the last few decades, while the kingdom has been at peace. That, I guess, is why you do not know of them. They are the perfect servants for our task here tonight, because they will obey my instructions without fail."
The king issued his first instruction right then. Two of the golden legion were to stand by the door and two on the parapet at the top of the tower. From then on, nobody at all would be allowed to enter until the witch's spell was cast. After that, only the ten subjects of the spell would be allowed in.
When the centurions were gone, Edgar closed the huge oak door of the tower and nodded with satisfaction. The old tower was the perfect place for this. For one thing, it was no longer used. The king's court had long since departed for more comfortable quarters in the palace itself, so that now it only housed the golden century and a handful of bats and spiders. Nobody had even noticed when he ordered the centurions to move the remaining furniture to the basement. All that was left was a single table and chair on each of the tower's ten floors.
The tower had a single spiral staircase that led from the basement all the way to the loft. At each level there was a stout oak door that opened into a single large room. That was the only access. The windows were mere slits covered over with stout iron bars. The whole place had been built to withstand a siege, so Edgar was confident that nobody could get in any way except past the golden century, which was utterly loyal to him. Everything was perfect.
Only he and the witch were inside, and he'd be watching her very carefully. He said, "We've planned everything down to the last letter. Is it firm in your mind."
"Yes," she said.
"That's good. But I'm going to go over it anyway, because everything has to be exactly right. We agreed that you and I should be the last people who could enter the tower before the spell was cast."
"Yes. Are you sure nobody else can get in now?"
"Absolutely. The centurions couldn't go against the orders of their king. It is literally unthinkable to their mechanical minds."
"But we can still get out, yes?"
Edgar shrugged. "Of course. It doesn't make sense to stop anyone going out, does it? Maybe I should issue some further instructions?"
"No," said the witch. "No improvising -- it would only complicate matters. Now, you say there are ten items that you want to enchant with this spell."
The king nodded, then turned to a group of ten centurions, indicating that they should come forward. Each of them carried a single item in their arms. Most of them were powerful magic artefacts in their own right. He'd chosen them carefully, because this was to be the inheritance he'd pass to his children and his subjects. Now, as he looked at them, he was sorry there were only ten. There was so much more he could have organised this way, but since the tower only had ten floors and ten rooms above the entrance hall where they stood, there could only be ten items. It was simpler that way.
The witch shuffled forward and examined the items with some interest. She, of course, knew what they all would be. Edgar hadn't wanted to tell her, but she insisted, because she had to know the nature of the objects she was to enchant with her spell.
The first of them was his own crown. The witch whistled cackled when she saw it. "So if I put this on my head, would I be able to tell these golden centurions what to do?"
Edgar frowned. "No. The centurion would kill you before you even got it halfway to your head. I've instructed it to keep the crown safe at all costs."
The witch waved him away. "Yes, yes, of course you did. But what if I could put it on my head?"
"Not even then, because I am still the king. It will only accept a new master after I've died. And I must tell you, that I've given instructions to these centurions. At least one of them is to stay within striking distance of you at every point of our association, and intervene immediately if you make any hostile action."
The witch cackled. "I'm disappointed. You don't trust me."
"There's nothing personal in it. Only, when so much is it stake, there can be no such thing as trust. The crown is the main reason why I am going to these extraordinary lengths. After I've died, the first person who wears it must only be my eldest son, Callum, and nobody else."
"Because of these golden centurions?"
"In part, yes. When Callum puts it on, he will be king, and will remain so for as long as he lives thereafter."
The witch nodded. "And you want me to magically bind the crown to your son, so that he and only he can own it, touch it, and make use of it. But I must warn you, that a spell as powerful as this cannot last forever. After a year, it will begin to fade. It may be gone altogether in as soon as three years. And there may be side effects."
"We've discussed this, I'm sure you'll remember. The spell doesn't need to last forever, only long enough to establish the new political order after my death. As for side effects, they will just have to deal with them on their own, though from what you tell me, the side effects will be the first thing to fade. I understand, too, that I am quickening this spell with my own life. I'm sure, by now, we understand each other on this subject."
"I doubt it," said the witch. "But I'll follow the plan."
"At this point, you have very little choice. If you don't follow it through until the end, then one of these centurions will snap your neck as easily as you might snap the neck of a chicken. That's how I've instructed them. And there's no magic in the world you could cast upon them. They're impervious."
The witch seemed a little put out by that, but there was nothing else for it. He had to ensure her loyalty. Nothing could be allowed to go wrong.
He turned back to the ten items, each held by its guardian. The second item was a long sword with a golden hilt.
"This," he said, "is the sword Defender. It's imbued with such strong magic that it will never nick or break. It possesses a will to defend its owner, and it's said that no one who carried this sword into battle was ever killed or maimed while they wielded it. It's the sword that my ancestor Garwin the Just won the Emerald Kingdom with. Ever since then it's been granted to the king's champion. I want my second son Tyrus to inherit this sword. He's already a knight, and when I'm gone, he'll be Callum's champion. They're fast friends."
The third item was a magic wand. It had a wooden core, but on the outside it was set with small squares of jade, closely fitted, so the whole looked like a jade wand. "This is the most powerful wand in my kingdom. It has belonged to seven chancellors of the magic university. I want my daughter Elinor to inherit this. I hope she'll take the hint, to stick to the academic life and leave Callum to rule the kingdom in peace."
The fourth item was a lute, exquisitely made and inlaid with the finest woods. It exuded such a powerful magic that Edgar could feel it from across the room.
"This is for Edmund, my little poet. Of all my children, he is the most personable. I guess, with three older siblings, he never felt weighed down by the responsibility of his position. Instead, he occupies his days with his music and poetry. Here is something I can give him to make him happy."
The witch looked at each of the items in turn. "That accounts for your children. What purpose do these four sceptres serve? Are they magical?"
"A little. But they are more important as symbols. Each is the sceptre of office for each of the four corners of my kingdom. By binding these to the four Earls I have invited here today, there will be absolutely no question over how my kingdom should be divided. My heir, Callum, shall be begin his reign with a few years of political calm."
"That's eight. There are two more items."
Edgar wandered over to look at the two remaining objects, one a key, the other an amulet on a golden chain.
"These are more personal. I wish I could do more for my household staff and courtiers, but these two things will have to cover it. This key unlocks the magically impregnable gate of Greenwood manor. I am giving it to Arvin, my most faithful servant. It's unfortunate, but the faithful servants of kings are never treated well when their masters die. They are too vested in the old order, and not enough in the new. Arvin has a lot to worry about in this regard, and there is no better place for him than safe behind an impregnable magic gate."
When they got to the last item, the witch recoiled a little. "I don't like this at all. I can sense black magic about it. You told me it was a magic pendant with a soul trapped inside."
"Ah, yes. This is for my faithless servant, Bram, who is a waster and a scoundrel, and has been a thorn in my side ever since he came here. It will please him to suppose he's being honoured alongside princes and earls. But when he picks this up and slips it over his head, he'll find himself magically imprisoned inside the blood red jewel. But of course, you already know about Bram, because you had me tell you the name of everyone who would be coming in here tonight."
"True," said the witch. "And I knew Bram would be here for something unpleasant -- I just didn't realize how unpleasant. Is this thing safe?"
"Not in the least. I managed to free its last prisoner -- with a great deal of difficulty, I might add -- and ever since it has been eager to trap a new occupant. I wouldn't touch it if I was you. You won't need to touch it, will you, to prepare your spell?"
"Thankfully, no. But your centurion is touching it."
Edgar shrugged. "My centurion is not human, or susceptible to magic, or even alive in any ordinary sense."
Now that the ten items had been brought out and examined, it was time to put them in their places in the tower, and prepare them for the enchantment. The plan was, each one would be placed on a table in a room by itself in the old tower. The crown itself would go on the top floor, with the items for the king's other children below that. Then would follow the four sceptres for the Earls, and finally, on the lower levels, the gifts to the faithful and faithless servants.
So they climbed the stairs to the first door. The stairs were steep, and it was hard going for the bent over witch, as she hobbled up, one stair at a time.
It concerned Edgar a little. "Will you be strong enough to carry this through?"
"I'll be okay," she said. "I've lived with these afflictions for almost five accursed years now."
"Accursed years?"
"Indeed. Every one of them cursed."
She stooped down before the first door and with a piece of chalk wrote "Bram" on the coarse oak.
The king looked at it and said, "Tell me one thing. Why did you insist on this?"
"If I write the name in chalk, I can cast a spell that only allows the named person to pass through. I thought this tower was going to be empty of people. If you'd told me about your golden century, I wouldn't have bothered."
"Well, we can skip that. I'm going to instruct a centurion to stand in front of each door and only let through the person who's inheritance lies within."
But the witch didn't seem at all happy with that. "No! I said, no improvising. The success of this enchantment relies on the most meticulous details. It must be the chalk on the doors, I have already calculated for that."
"Perhaps so, but I wish I didn't have to rely on that alone. How about if I instruct my centurions to only let through those people whose name is written on the door?"
She still wasn't happy. "I don't want these things clomping around up here, disturbing the spell."
"I'll instruct them to stay absolutely still unless someone tries to open the door whose name is not written on it."
The witch threw her hands up. "I tell you what. I'll allow it if you tell them not to move unless an unnamed one actually succeeds in opening the door, because that will mean my own spell has been circumvented. But I insist that my precaution should take precedence over yours."
"Very well. That's acceptable." Edgar didn't like that they were disagreeing over details so late in the day, but he was somewhat mollified when he recognised the form of the spell she cast. It would do exactly as she claimed -- keep everyone out except the one whose name was written on the door in chalk. She left off the final gesture of binding until they were finished inside the room.
Inside, Edgar had his centurion place the amulet carefully on the table in the centre of the room. Then he told it to stand over by the wall. It was to watch the amulet, and see that nothing disturbed it, but otherwise to stand completely still until next someone entered the room and completed the enchantment.
He was playing it safe, so as not to upset the witch again, but this time it was she who raised the problem. "If I understand it, you want the person who comes in this room to pick up this amulet, place it around their neck, and be trapped within?"
"True. But I want them magically bound to it first, so they can't escape in the way I freed the last prisoner."
"Yes, very nasty. But a thing that radiates pure evil, as this does, won't be a very attractive prize for the person who walks in that door. Chances are, he won't want to go near it, or pick it up. Why don't you instruct your statue to force the chain over its recipients head? That would be surer."
"I thought you said no improvising."
"In this one special instance, I think its acceptable. The magical binding will take place the moment someone enters this room, and that's when the spell is complete. What happens after that doesn't matter."
Edgar gave the centurion its instructions without further comment. Then the witch cast a much more involved and powerful spell than the one she had used on the door. Edgar could not follow all of its words and gestures, but he understood enough to know it was right. The witch was not deceiving him. When they left, she closed the door and completed the door spell. All was ready.
From there they worked their way up, floor by floor, writing names on doors, placing each item on its table, and sealing the chamber behind them. When they reached the top floor and sealed the crown in its chamber, they paused for a moment on the landing. It was a strange mix of emotions King Edgar experienced. He felt satisfaction with a job well done, and relief that a smooth succession was all but assured. But he also felt dread, because the next step required that he sacrifice his life for the sake of the spell.
Edgar didn't know how long he stood lost in that thought, but it was a scuffling noise from overhead that brought him out of it. The sound seemed to greatly alarm the witch, and she peered up fearfully at the ceiling.
Edgar laughed. "Bats," he said.
"What?"
"There are bats living in the loft. It's near enough to sundown, so they are probably readying themselves to fly out on a hunting trip."
"Bats?" she said, and sighed with relief.
"Is that a problem? You did say, after all, there should be no living thing in the tower except the ten subjects of the spell. Do you think we should climb up to the loft and chase them away?"
"No!" she said, wide eyed. "Sorry. What I mean is, we should not tarry here and upset everything. If there are bats in the loft then leave them there. Better up there than down here playing havoc with my magic."
"Very well then, if you think it's okay."
Then, speaking in a much louder voice than she had before, she said, "We're finished here. We should leave straight away."
She took him by the arm and almost dragged him down the stairs in her haste to be away. But at the door of the tower he paused a moment and looked back, and he wondered whether they had overlooked anything. All inside was silent and still.
He shrugged his shoulders and called out, "Unoccupied centurions follow me to the great hall. You shall be my honour guard. In the morning, you'll have a new master."
Outside, in the chilly courtyard, the witch approached once more. "Is it all closed up? Empty of all human life? You have not, for example, left a dozen guards in the basement because you don't trust me?"
Edgar smiled. "No. I've done as you've instructed. I trust the centurions to do their jobs exactly as I've instructed. But maybe I'll lock the tower door again until it's time."
"No, you mustn't. Now that everything is set perfectly, not one single thing more must be done to the tower. I don't even want people looking at it."
"Then I'll leave a squad of centurions to keep people well away."
The witch shook her head. "Don't do that either. There is nothing more for you to do except the final thing. And you must do nothing else. My own preparations will be finished in one hour."
Edgar waved her away regally. "Very well. I've cleared out the guard house that's closest to the tower for you to use. There'll be a fire inside, and something to eat. When you're ready, you can come to the great hall to cast the spell, as we agreed. I'll leave one centurion to escort you and help you with your equipment. As for me, I'm going to spend the last hour of my life with my family."
That's when it hit home that he was really going to die that night. Over that next hour, it seemed the world was growing distant from him. He greeted his sons and his daughter and spoke to them each in turn. And though they replied, he didn't really hear them. He sat at the table with his Earls and partook of the feast, but he tasted nothing. For a brief moment he thought he might call the whole thing off, but what was the point? He was dying anyway. He could not choose between life and death. He could only choose between a lingering, excruciating death or a quick and purposeful one.
Everyone he had invited was there, except he noted to his annoyance, Bram the faithless servant. If the scoundrel had not come by the appointed time, he would send a squad of centurions out after him. His automatons had an uncanny skill for hunting people down. So Bram would get his just deserts, he had no doubt. And his fate would serve as a warning for all faithless servants everywhere.
When he had spoken to all present and had his fill at the table, he decided on a whim that he would give a speech. His audience, now that he took time to study, did not possess the sense of occasion he felt appropriate. He couldn't blame them, because he had kept his preparations secret from them all. But with mere minutes left until the final act, it couldn't hurt to set the mood.
He called the gathering to order and said, "I know it's still the winter, and the season for travelling and holding audiences is a while off yet. I've taken you from your homes, and brought you out into the cold, and you'll be annoyed at me for that. I hope you'll forgive me."
"But, truth to tell, this is no ordinary occasion. It won't wait until spring is fully upon us, for by then, I'll be gone. I'm dying."
A whisper of hushed denial went around the great hall. He waited for it to disperse before he continued.
"It's true. Some of my physicians will deny it, but the braver and more honest of them -- the ones whose opinions I value above most -- will confirm it. I hope only that you will not search for scapegoats amongst them, because my illness goes beyond the art of any magic or medicine. I know that to be true."
It was at that moment the faithless servant stumbled into the hall, with a dirty face and his clothes in disarray. No doubt he'd been interrupted in some mischief or other, and only then remembered his duty. He had come to the great hall, just as he was. Edgar paid him no heed. It would all be the same in a few minutes.
"You are here, each and every one of you, because you appear in my last will and testament. For some of you I have made special plans, which you will discover before this night is over. For the rest, you will be remembered in a more conventional way. I hope, in that case, my son Callum will execute my will faithfully and in all due haste."
Callum, who sat close by, raised to his feet and said, "I shall sire, one day, after you have reigned over us a good many more years to come."
King Edgar smiled, but shook his head sadly. "Alas, it will not be. I haven't been successful at hiding my illness from absolutely everyone, but I have hidden its degree. No one knows how far advanced it is except me and my two wisest physicians. If it weren't for their magic and their concoctions sustaining me, I couldn't stand before you today. So heed me well. You will all be enjoying your inheritance much sooner than you expect, and I suspect, much sooner than you are ready. That's why I have made special preparations, and why you are all here tonight."
After that, it seemed there was nothing more to say. Edgar retreated to the board to enjoy a glass of wine he knew would be his last. He let his guests talk solemnly amongst themselves. At least, he noted, the tone of their conversation had changed from boredom and annoyance to concern.
And all too soon for his liking, Augusta the witch entered into the great hall. The people stopped and turned to look at her. Her ugly face and stooped posture drew their eyes, for she looked very out of place in a room full of princes and courtiers. But mostly they stared because she came accompanied by one of the golden century. They knew it meant she was on the king's personal business.
The king caught her eye and indicated she should come to the front of the hall. The golden centurion followed, carrying a bucket of glowing coals in one hand, and a basket of occult paraphernalia in the other. But when she was halfway up the hall she stopped dead in front of Princess Elinor. There, in front of everyone, the princess and the witch exchanged scowls of mutual hatred. Edgar saw it plainly, even through his old eyes.
Elinor, he knew, was an impetuous girl prone to jealous rages, extravagant revenges, and patient vendettas. And of course he knew, in the back of his mind, that Elinor and Augusta knew each other. But, too late, he wondered what exactly their relationship had been. Now he began to worry that Elinor would disrupt the proceedings. He couldn't allow that -- not now, and not even from his own daughter.
Edgar looked around and saw that his second son, Tyrus, was standing close by.
"Quickly Tyrus," he said.
Tyrus, thanks to his warrior senses, became instantly alert and approached his father. "What's wrong?"
"I'm worried about your sister. She might try to disrupt things. And, of course, she'll recognise the spell when the witch begins it." Edgar cursed himself for his lack of foresight. "Go to her. I'll ask one of the centurions to go with you. Whatever you see and whatever happens, the spell must be completed. You must not let Elinor interfere, no matter what she says, or how she pleads."
"You trust the witch?"
"No. But she is doing my exact will under the supervision of the golden century. Any deviation from the plan and she will be killed in an instant. You must understand that. What happens now is my will, and my will alone."
Tyrus bowed and sidled down the hall to stand by his sister. Only then did Edgar allow himself to breathe and give instructions to the nearest centurion.
In the meantime, the witch had set herself up by the grand fireplace, and the people were starting to gather around, curious. Edgar went to stand beside her and nodded to her that she should begin. She went to her basket and took a handful of black powder from a pouch. When she threw it on the glowing coals, it exploded with a puff of red smoke. Then the witch clasped her hands together and began to chant the words for the spell of binding.
That's when Elinor tried to object. But Tyrus and the Centurion were alert. They bustled her away and stifled her counter-spell. Edgar could understand why. A spell of binding could be put to mischievous use in many ways. Elinor would know that and fear some sort of trickery. But he was confident. The witch knew the price of betrayal. She would walk away from this with her thirty pieces of silver and nothing more. As the chant went on, the coals grew brighter and brighter, until the were blinding white. They melted the bucket and spilled on the tiled floor.
That, Edgar realised, was not necessary. It was purely a display of power on the witch's part. Perhaps she was trying to intimidate Elinor? But whatever it was, he knew it couldn't harm him or his plan, and it was not strictly a departure from the proper spell, which specified only that the coals should become very hot. The centurions knew it too. Any real departure would be met with a swift reprisal.
In any case, it was soon done. The witch folded her arms to indicate her task was done for the moment.
"You are curious," said Edgar. "I can see that." He even began to enjoy it, in a grim sort of way. It wasn't every day he got to mystify and terrify his acquaintances so thoroughly.
"The next part of our little drama will take place in the old tower. I think Elinor has guessed already that it is a spell of binding. But don't fear, nothing unpleasant is to come of this. It's just my little way of enforcing my will over the succession. I regret to say, I am driven to this because none of the most important in my kingdom seem able to get along and agree with each other. This magic ensures there can be no dispute."
"Ten of you will be the subjects of this spell. And it's not only an exercise for the high and mighty, some of my own household will share this experience with the lords and ladies. I have not been thoughtless with my last will. Each of the ten will receive what you desire and what you deserve."
"One by one, the golden centurions will escort you into the old tower. Inside you will make your way up the stairs, until you come to the door with your name on it. Enter and sit, and you shall receive your inheritance. That's all, I think. You can make your way to the courtyard now. The golden century will guide you from there."
The entire gathering pulled their winter clothes tightly around them and made their way outside into the frosty night.
Elinor didn't go quietly. As a centurion guided her politely but firmly out, she looked over her shoulder to him and shouted, "Don't trust the witch. She can't mean you well."
When everyone was gone, Edgar ordered two of the remaining centurions to stand guard on the door. No one was to re-enter the hall until the final spell was cast and the witch was out of the palace. Of course, in a short while, Callum could start giving the golden century new orders of his own, but by then it would be all over.
The witch faced him and bowed deeply. "Are you ready, your highness? We must move quickly now. The spell should be cast before your heirs emerge from the tower again."
Edgar nodded. But then, on an impulse, he asked, "Tell me Augusta. What is the dispute you have with my daughter?"
She shook her head. "It's of no consequence. In a few minutes, it will all be the same anyway. Are you doubting me, your highness? You know that your centurions won't let me deviate from our agreed plan one iota. Even now I see there are three of them hovering close by, listening to our conversation."
"No of course, you're right. Let us begin. I don't think I'll ever be ready to die, so it might as well be now, before I lose my courage."
She went and fetched a wooden chair and sat him gently down in it. Then she anointed his head with some sort of fragrant oil.
"I'm so tired," he complained. "I never knew illness could sap a mans strength so completely."
"Soon you'll sleep," she said.
With the same piece of chalk she had used to write the names on the doors, she drew a magic circle around him. She took a ram's skull from her basket, and holding it, she began to walk in circles around him. It seemed a simple enough spell. There weren't even any words to remember.
But he could feel the magic building up around him, circling him and invading his body.
"What a curious sensation," he said, drowsily.
Then suddenly he slumped down in his chair. That worried the witch and broke her stride. "Do you feel pain?" she said. "You should feel pleasure, maybe even ecstasy, but not pain. Pain means something has gone badly wrong."
Edgar tried to shake his head, which was suddenly heavier than he could lift.
"Nothing wrong with the spell," he gasped. "It's only that I felt the crown abandon me. It knows I'm dying."
"Curious. I'm not sure I understand. Can you tell me more?"
"I'll try, but I'm feeling very weak now. I couldn't get out of this chair now even if I wanted to..."
"And the crown?"
"I thought I'd be dead before it happened. The crown is old, old magic. The moment you put it on, you can feel it inside your head. It doesn't do much, but it's always there, feeding you strength when you need it, or wisdom when you need it. But it must know I'm dying. It's gone. I hope Callum has the good sense to put it on straight away."
"The spell is almost done," said the witch. "But you have a lot of life in you. You may live a few minutes longer yet."
Edgar tried to nod and failed. "Good," he said. "My mouth is so dry. Centurion, would you fetch me a glass of water?"
The command, though weak, was audible in the abandoned room. But the centurion did not heed it. And the witch noticed that straight away.
"You don't command the centurions anymore?"
"Perhaps not, but they still have their orders, until their next master gives them new ones. It will go bad for you if you do not finish the spell."
"Don't worry, it is finished. I always intended to carry out every point of our agreement from beginning to end."
Edgar attempted to chuckle. "Meaning that I left you with no choice."
"No," said the witch. "It only means I am the more cunning. In fact, I did betray you. But I laid the groundwork for that yesterday. On this day, from the moment I got out of bed until, I've had to do nothing at all except what was agreed between us."
"What?" said Edgar. From somewhere in the final remnants of his mind fear and panic tried to take hold of him. But they could find no purchase and slipped away, leaving only confusion.
The witch smiled. "Did you not wonder why I insisted on writing their names in chalk? Chalk rubs off quite easily. My associate only had to wipe the name away with a piece of rag and then write in someone else's."
"But, the centurions. How did your associate get in?"
"He didn't have to, he was there the whole time. In fact, I sent him in last night with a sandwich wrapped in cloth, and a piece of chalk. He sat in the loft all day, while you were busy securing the entrances. He almost gave himself away too, the silly boy, but you thought it was bats."
"There were centurions posted inside."
"Yes, that's right. But they were only instructed to stop people from entering the incorrect doors, or from entering the building altogether. Aside from that, they were instructed to stay absolutely still. My associated was already inside, and if he did what I told him, he never tried entering the rooms at all. Best of all, your tin men weren't instructed to stop anyone from leaving."
"Associate? Who in my own household would collaborate with you?"
She laughed out loud then. "Oh, one of your household certainly would. I first met him last week, after I discovered you were planning something particularly nasty for him. And strangely enough, he believed me straight away. He told me he'd been your whipping boy since his first day at the palace -- an easy scapegoat for every bad thing that happened. Since then, we've been making our own plans together, quite independent of yours."
Edgar found a last morsel of anger then. "Faithless servant!"
"Ah, you recognise Bram now, do you?"
Edgar felt the last of his life slipping away then. He could only manage one more word. "Why?"
Now it was the witch's turn to be angry. "You asked me before, what quarrel I had with your daughter. She did this to me! Turned me into this crone. And there was no good reason for it. Maybe spite, maybe jealously? Who knows how that twisted creature thinks? But if she is twisted, it's because she comes from a twisted household."
Out of habit, she began circling the chair again as she raved. "You call this a palace, don't you? It's more like an asylum. Here's a place where the master bullies his lowliest servants, and the master's children spend their days trying to murder each other. I've met no husband here is faithful to his wife, and no wife faithful to his husband. Here's a place where physicians do not dare admit a diagnosis, for fear of their lives."
"Well," she went on. "In that case you have not been served well by your habit of spreading the blame. Your physicians knew of the cancerous tumour in your gut when it was still small enough to treat. But to suggest a treatment would have been to admit the fact, and not one of them dared. So I might ask you a question. Why did you choose to kill yourself in that way? Why?"
But Edgar answered her not at all. He had died before the end.

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