Dalinia and Timeon
Edward watched from behind a tree as a soldier crept towards the sleeping figure of Bart. The soldier leant over him and held a cloth soaked in a liquid containing crushed reefsbane, a plant with strong sedating properties, over his nose and mouth.
Bart tensed, struggled and then went limp. The soldier picked him up, slung him over his shoulder and quietly retraced his steps to where Randling, Edward and the other soldiers waited, then they all headed back towards Cranlon.
As he walked, Edward tried to think. Now that he had led Randling to Bart, Randling no longer needed him. What would he do to him? Would Randling think that the King’s eldest son was a threat to him because he was the heir to the throne? Would he send him to the dungeons? Or ‘control’ him like he was doing to his father? Or kill him?
Edward looked around. Could he make a run for it? Of the ten guards, one carried Bart over his shoulder, while the others had fanned out, which meant that whichever way he went, he would have to get past some of them. And his hands were tied.
Edward slowed down. There were two guards behind him, but if he could evade them he might be able to escape into the forest. Up ahead there was a fallen tree he recognised. They were nearly back at the city. It was now or never. He took a deep breath, ready to run, but before he could Randling stopped ahead of him and turned around. ‘Come, my boy, walk with me.’
Edward hesitated, and then kept walking. His chance was gone.
‘Were you thinking about running away?’ asked Randling.
Edward looked at him sharply.
Randling chuckled. ‘I thought so. Very sensible. Now that you have helped me capture Bart, you are wondering what I will do with you, yes?’
Edward licked his lips and nodded.
‘So far you have made good choices,’ said Randling. ‘Taking me to Bart was sensible. If you hadn’t done so freely, I would have forced you, and that might have been unpleasant. For you, I mean. You are, I think, a clever person. You do what you have to do to survive, without letting too many ideals or principles get in your way. Yes?’
Edward had to admit that that did sound a lot like him.
‘You’re trying to work out whether I will dispose of you,’ continued Randling. ‘Indeed, that had occurred to me. You are the heir to the throne, and if the people knew I was holding you prisoner, they might be unhappy. It may even inspire a revolt against me. You would provide a focus for any discontent that people felt. Unfortunately, Edward, it makes sense for me to get rid of you.’ Randling held his palms up and shrugged, as if to indicate it was all outside his control.
Edward felt cold inside.
‘Can you think of any reason for me to keep you around?’ continued Randling. ‘Is there any way you could be useful to me?’
Edward had always been good at thinking up plans, but this time his mind was blank.
‘Let me give you some more information that might help you answer,’ said Randling. ‘Becoming the new ruler of a kingdom is more complex than I anticipated. Although your father was a cruel, self-serving tyrant, he was, for some reason, popular. By draining Bart, I gained power, and I can use it to take some control over the minds of people near to me. But I can’t control everyone. Of course, if I drained more people, my powers would increase, but never to the extent that I could control the entire population of the city, or even the castle.’ Randling looked at Edward and raised his eyebrows. ‘Any ideas yet?’
‘You’re worried about keeping control,’ said Edward slowly. ‘You’ve seized power, but you wonder if you’ll be able to keep it.’
‘Good boy. Even though I will be a far better ruler than your father, if the people think I have seized power unjustly – which, of course, I have – then they may be angry and try to get rid of me. In fact, I’ve already noticed some discontent. Yesterday, I made an order concerning the castle’s orphan servants, and I could see that it was only obeyed unwillingly. So.’ Randling looked Edward up and down. ‘How can you help me with that problem, Edward?’
They emerged from the forest and Edward saw the city walls. He tried to puzzle it out. What could he give Randling? Then he had it. ‘If I, the Prince and heir to the throne, am seen to be supporting you, then the people will accept you.’
‘Exactly,’ said Randling, a smile coming to his lips.
As they approached the city gates, the guards grouped closer. Randling stopped. ‘Go ahead,’ he ordered them. ‘He will not run.’ Once they were out of earshot, Randling walked on. ‘Tell me this, Edward. Would you like to become King?’
Edward’s head spun. ‘Why . . . why would you want me to become King?’
‘If you were King, everyone would relax. Once the people saw that Prince Edward, the King’s son and rightful heir, was in charge, they would be happy and content. Everything would be back to normal.’
‘I would really be King?’
‘Yes.’
Edward could hardly believe it. A few moments ago he’d thought Randling might kill him. Now he was being offered the thing he had wanted his whole life. They walked through the city gates and headed towards the castle.
‘At least,’ added Randling, ‘King in name. I will be in charge, but hardly anyone will know that. You will wear the crown and give the orders.’ He smiled. ‘It’s just that I will tell you what orders to give.’
‘Why don’t you use my father?’
‘He’s sick. Besides, I would have to release the hold I have on him or people would notice, and if I did he would never agree to be a puppet. He has too much pride, whereas you are more . . . practical.’
Edward knew that was true. What was the point in not being practical?
‘Besides, I like seeing your father so helpless. I hate him too much to let him even appear to be King again.’
‘Why?’ asked Edward.
Randling paused, as if considering what to say. ‘Because he killed my family.’
Edward stared at him.
‘At any rate,’ continued Randling, ‘the question for you is simple – will you be King? A figurehead only, but still. If you say “no”, then I will ask your brother and I’m sure he will agree.’
Edward felt his blood boil. There was no way he could allow that little brat –
‘By the way, Edward, I notice you have not asked about your brother.’
Edward realised that the little twerp hadn’t even crossed his mind. ‘Oh, yes, well, there’s been a lot going on.’
‘He is safe and comfortable, confined to a wing of the castle.’
‘Wonderful.’
Randling chuckled. ‘You don’t have to pretend you care. Your brother is brave, but hot-headed and stupid. His talent is all in his sword-arm.’
Edward had always thought exactly that.
‘You, however,’ continued Randling, ‘are intelligent enough to realise that what I am offering, though far from ideal, has many benefits. If you become King, you will live a life of luxury. And you will be helping me, which means that I will have a reason to be . . . kind to you.’
Edward weighed it up, and it didn’t take long. He could accept Randling’s offer and live, or reject it and probably either die or have his brain drained. So, he would be King. Not exactly in the way that he wanted, but still. He was about to tell Randling his decision, but then wondered if he could extract some more information first.
‘Before I accept,’ he said, ‘I need to know more about who you are and why you’re doing this.’
‘No, you don’t,’ said Randling with a knowing smile, ‘but I understand your curiosity. I will tell you what your father did to me.’
He led Edward through the castle gates. The guards stood to attention as he passed. They crossed the courtyard and then Randling called ahead to the soldiers. ‘Take Bart to the throne room. I will be there soon.’
The soldiers moved off. Randling led Edward to a bench overlooking the deserted castle courtyard, where they sat. Dawn was about to break.
‘Before your father was King,’ began Randling, ‘your grandfather ruled.’
‘I know,’ replied Edward. ‘He died before I was born.’
‘When he died, he left two children: your father Corolius, and his older sister, Dalinia. As the oldest child, Dalinia became Queen.’
‘Yes, but she was murdered a couple of months later. Stabbed in her bedroom.’
‘Who benefited from her death, Edward?’
Edward realised the answer to Randling’s question was obvious: his father. When Dalinia died, he became King. ‘My father didn’t kill –’
‘Oh yes he did!’ said Randling forcefully. ‘He killed her because he wanted to be King.’
‘No,’ said Edward. His father was hard and ruthless, but he had always acted in the best interests of the kingdom, and not out of personal ambition. He couldn’t have murdered his sister.
‘You don’t need to make something up to turn me against my father,’ Edward said. ‘I’ll be loyal to you. I’ll do what you want. I want to survive. I’m not going to try to restore my father to the throne. I don’t even like him.’
Randling threw his head back and laughed. ‘You are perceptive. The reason I’m telling you this story is to turn you against your father. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. Let me finish and then you can decide if you believe me.’
Edward nodded uneasily.
‘Your grandfather had a loyal and trusted adviser called Lord Horatio Tolmond.’
‘I’ve heard of him, of course.’
‘Horatio suspected that your father had murdered his sister and, one evening, went to his chambers to confront him. Your father killed Horatio there, and then, thinking Horatio may have told his wife Helen and two adult sons what he had discovered – which, in fact, Horatio had – your father went after them. He found all three in their family chambers. The older son, Bellamy, fought with Corolius, allowing Helen and the younger son, Timeon, to escape.’ Randling looked away and swallowed, as if collecting himself. ‘Your father slew Bellamy.’ Randling paused.
‘I was always told that Horatio and his family wanted to seize control of the kingdom,’ said Edward slowly. ‘That Horatio killed Queen Dalinia, and then came to my father’s chambers to murder him. My father managed to defend himself and kill Horatio, and then he went to Horatio’s chambers. Helen and Timeon fled, but Bellamy attacked him, and my father killed him.’
Randling scoffed. ‘Do you really think that if Horatio had attacked your father, Corolius would have gone to Horatio’s chambers alone? No. He would have taken soldiers.’
Edward realised Randling had a point. ‘My father ordered a search for Helen and Timeon, but they were never found,’ he said.
‘They fled into the forest,’ said Randling. ‘They had been going two days when a tiger came upon them.’ Randling’s jaw muscles tightened. Every word seemed an effort. ‘As the tiger attacked, Helen threw herself in front of her son and sacrificed herself so that he might live. Can you imagine . . .’ He trailed off, and then collected himself. ‘Soon after, mad with anger and grief, seventeen-year-old Timeon came to a huge cliff and, not caring whether he lived or died, started to climb it. Hours later, he made it to the top where, overcome with exhaustion and anguish, he threw himself off.
‘But he did not die. A witch who lived in a castle at the top of the cliff had seen him, and she reached out with her mind and pulled him back up. The witch cared for Timeon and he became her apprentice. But he did not tell her his real name, because he knew the King would be trying to find him. Instead, he called himself Lord Jasper Randling.’
Edward put his hand to his mouth. ‘You . . . you’re Timeon. Horatio was your father.’
Randling nodded. ‘That is why I hate your father. He killed my father and brother, and caused the death of my mother. A good reason to hate, yes?’
Edward was trying to put it together. ‘Melindarah taught you. But she would never have taught you how to drain people.’
‘Correct. But she did teach me enough so that I could work it out for myself.’
Edward tried to put it together. ‘So, when you had learnt enough from her you left, planned your revenge and, when you were ready, kidnapped Bart, because you knew that draining him would give you great power. But how did you know about Bart?’
‘I have my spies. Miss Bertha is one, but there are others. So, will you be King or shall I ask your brother? I need an answer now.’
‘But how do I know that what you say about Dalinia’s death is true? My father told me that Horatio killed her. How do I know which version is correct?’
A flush came to Randling’s cheeks. Edward wondered if he had gone too far.
‘A good point,’ said Randling eventually. ‘We shall go to your father and I will make him tell you the truth.’
‘You control his mind,’ Edward said as gently as he could. ‘You can make him say whatever you want.’
‘Again, a good point.’ Randling tapped his chin. ‘Ah, I have it. Come with me.’ He walked towards the castle. ‘You remember that one of the mysteries surrounding your Aunt Dalinia’s death was how the assassin had entered her bedroom. Her door was barred from the inside.’
‘Yes, but a window was open.’
‘Her room was on the third floor, and there was no way to climb up or down.’
‘It was thought that the assassin may have used a ladder.’
Randling scoffed again. ‘Do you really think no one would have seen a ladder long enough to reach so high?’
They entered the castle, climbed the grand staircase to the third floor and proceeded along a corridor until Randling stopped in front of a solid wooden door. He produced a key and unlocked it. ‘This was Dalinia’s room.’
Edward had never seen it before. It housed an ornate four-poster bed, several armchairs and a desk. Rugs covered the floor and paintings the walls. He crossed to the window. Indeed, it was a long way down and there didn’t seem any way to climb up. Randling opened a cupboard built into the wall near the door and started pulling out the empty shelves. When the cupboard was empty, he pressed a spot high on its inside wall. The entire back wall slid sideways, revealing a passage.
‘Come,’ said Randling, entering. Edward followed. The passage was just wide enough to walk through and there was enough light from the opening behind them to see dimly ahead. After twenty paces they came to a dead end. Randling found a small knob near the floor and pushed it. The end of the passage slid open, revealing another room. More empty shelves blocked their way in. Randling pushed them out. They clattered to the floor and he stepped through the cupboard, Edward behind him. They were in another bedroom, similar to the one they had left.
‘This was your father’s room before he was King,’ said Randling. ‘As you’ve seen, the secret passage leads from his room to your aunt’s. It is perhaps understandable that your aunt’s room was never used again after her death, but ask yourself this: why was this room never used again? It has always belonged to the first son of the ruler. Why did it not become your room? The answer, of course, is that your father did not want anyone to discover this passage. This is how he gained entry to his sister’s room when he murdered her. No one else knew of the passage until my father Horatio grew suspicious of Corolius, investigated and discovered it.’
Edward was shocked. Could his father really be a murderer?
‘So,’ said Randling. ‘What is your answer? Will you become a puppet king?’
Edward tried to focus. He knew what he had to do to survive. ‘It would be my honour to be King.’
Randling smiled. ‘I thought you’d say that.’
‘On one condition,’ added Edward. ‘You don’t kill Bart.’ The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think about them.
Randling’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’
Edward wasn’t sure he knew the answer. He tried to say something convincing. ‘I just went halfway across the kingdom for him. I nearly fell off a cliff, got eaten by a tiger and murdered by soarers, and I missed out on lots of hot baths and ate horrible food. I don’t want all that effort to be wasted.’
‘Bart, with his powers, is potentially a threat to me,’ said Randling.
‘His powers don’t work within the castle grounds because of the blocking spell.’
There was an uneasy silence.
‘I agree,’ said Randling eventually. ‘Of course, like everyone else, Bart must keep the law of the land, but as long as he does that he will survive.’
Edward felt a surge of relief. ‘By the way, if the blocking spell stops Bart from using his powers within the castle, why doesn’t it stop you from using yours?’
‘Because whoever created the spell aimed it only at Bart,’ responded Randling. Suddenly he executed a deep bow. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said, an ironic smile on his lips.
Edward had long dreamt that those words would be used to address him, but this wasn’t quite the way he had visualised it.