Author's Note: Now the story is finally going somewhere, I think it is safe for me to let you all know the significance of the Ivory Peacock. Really early in the piece, don't you think?...Yeah. I know.
I'm trying to write as much as possible now, because I will be going travelling on a one-way ticket in a month or so and the lack of a stable internet connection will cause extremely erratic updates.
By the way, you have A Clue in this one. I'm not telling you what it is, but it's there.
Happy reading! (And reviewing! :P)
=)
Part the Second
Chapter Eleven: Persimmon
Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
- From Shakespeare's Macbeth
It was lunch time at the Interkingdom College for Young Men of High Birth, and Brandon Rose was nowhere to be seen. The reason for this? He was working his way through the subterranean passages of the school, following a disembodied hand carrying a white candle. Creepy? Perhaps.
Brandon had not slept that night. How could he sleep, after all that had happened? Alice was dead, her body transported into the Interkingdom College vault; he had unsuccessfully chased Beatrice; and talking to that boy, Nameless, left a foul taste in his mouth. There was something not right about him that Brandon couldn't quite put a finger on. For one, of course, he was a trespasser: Brandon had checked the name engraved upon the door, and the room in fact belonged to Mr Pebmarsh. What was this boy doing in the history teacher's room? And who on earth was he? "Nameless". What a ridiculous irony of a name.
Presently he turned a corner and reached the Infernus, the room (a far too distinguished name for a hole in the ground) in which the witch dwelled. The hand proceeded to scoot across to the nearest bookshelf, where it put down the candle, extinguished it with some difficulty. Brandon watched in amusement as it bounced up and down in pain after burning itself. The witch was not there, it seemed; his journey had been in vain. Under normal circumstances, he would have shrugged his shoulders and returned some other time; but these were not normal circumstances. A vein pulsed under his left eye, doing a exhibitionistic dance that only irritated him further. He was just about to let it know where exactly it belonged when somebody tapped him on the shoulder.
Brandon was not usually easily frighted, but it must be forgiven him that at that moment he jumped. After all, he was under considerable strain. Time was running out. And now, what the deuce -
"Oh, it's you," he said, breathing a sigh of relief.
"Yes, it's me," said the witch, smiling. Her cheeks, already hollow and cavernous, seemed all the more so in the shadows. Something demonic sparkled in her almond-shaped eyes, something he had not noticed before; and her hair, though usually thick and knotted, today resembled the proverbial bird's nest. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
Brandon started pacing without realising he was doing so. "I need your help."
"That is obvious," said the witch, "else you would not have come here. I'm actually surprised, as it's the first time since you started at this school. I expected to see you much more often, wanting this and that. Obviously you are not much like your father."
"You can leave my father out of it!" - He ran his fingers through his hair. "...Sorry," he said. And after a pause, "I wouldn't have come if it wasn't urgent."
"So I see," said the witch, smiling all the more. Oh, devil take that smile, that mocking, delighted smile. "Well, what is it that's troubling you?"
"In an hour," said Brandon, "the fencing tournament begins, the tournament that decides which house each first year is in."
"Yes," said the witch, "so the tradition goes."
"The first years are set against the seniors...and I've been allotted Prince Benedick as an opponent."
The witch arched her thin, already spiky eyebrows. "And that's a problem?"
"You don't understand...I think he's a girl."
She laughed. It was a silvery laugh, like a brook in a wild forest - very far from the stereotype of a witch's cackle. But then she was not that type of witch.
"You think he's a girl! Ah, what a conundrum! What a grave and heinous problem! Oh heaven forfend us from such perils! "
"Actually, it is a problem," he said, trying not to lose his temper. "I would never fight a girl...it is explicitly against the code of honour. And after that..." His frown grew. "Yesterday I accused her of putting the poison into Alice's drink. She, in turn, implied that I must have killed her..."
"And did you?"
"Of course not! What do you think?" he spat.
"I don't know." Did that smile of hers ever vanish?
"Look, I don't have time or energy to bicker; I need something from you, will you oblige me?"
She laughed dryly. "O venerable Brandon Rose, what is thy wish? What can I do for thee, O noble one?...But first tell me: the thing your father promised me in return for the money I magicked up for him...is he still going to deliver it to me at the end of this year?"
"Of course," said Brandon, "now what I need..."
"You lie, Rose," she said, in a voice deeper and more menacing than he had imagined such a frail creature could produce, "and I'll be damned if I believe you. Your father is a swindler and a liar, and I was sick to believe he might for once honour his promises. I have kept you, cushioned you, made you comfortable in a school you ought never to have been admitted to - I have been at your service ever since you came here, though you chose not to take advantage of my powers. That is your choice. But your father will never uphold his part of the bargain."
"How dare you," exclaimed Brandon. "My father is an honourable man, and so am I."
"You? A man? A boy, only! Now listen to me. Your father promised me a mystical jewel by name of the Ivory Peacock in return for the money I gave him, and the protection I have given you. He told me he owned this jewel, but that he kept it safe in a place I would not be able to find it. At the end of the year he was to give it to me. And yet last night," she paused, narrowing her eyes. "Last night," she intoned, "I saw it on a pendant around the neck of Princess Beatrice of Starcastle!"
"That's impossible," said Brandon. "It must have been another...a copy..."
"There is only ONE such jewel in the entire world." Her voice was a snake's hiss, dangerous, viper-like. Her eyes were slits, staring at him, devouring him with their fierce gaze...
"Then my father must have been mistaken and thought the jewel he was offering you was the one you wanted," said Brandon lightly.
"No, my dear boy, your father promised what he didn't have. But he didn't know the wrath of Persimmon..." She circled him like a hyena circling its prey, never taking her eyes off him. Those eyes were magnetic, and Brandon began to feel - all of a sudden - very sleepy, reluctant to even move... "Brandon Rose, when I realised last night how I had been conned, I knew what my revenge would be, and I waited, like a spider waits for the fly to blunder into its web...and now you have come..."
"I don't understand why you didn't just snatch the jewel off her neck, if it means so much to you," said Brandon, struggling to keep his eyes open.
"The jewel has to be given to me, otherwise its powers are useless for my purposes..."
"Well then I'll simply have to give it to you, won't I?" said Brandon, fighting off a yawn. I'll have to have a nap this afternoon, he thought, that's for certain. These sleepless nights do a man no good...
"You? Give it to me?" she suddenly stopped. "Don't be ridiculous...how would you manage that?"
Brandon felt too sluggish to shrug, so he lifted a solitary eyebrow. "Simplicity itself. Either I enchant Beatrice to such an extent that she makes a gift of it to me...or I steal it from her. After all..." - and here he did yawn - "...her family must have stolen it from my father...I have no doubt he meant to keep his word...so it's perfectly moral for me to steal it back. After all, a promise is a promise."
"You're serious, aren't you," she said, her voice a low murmur.
"Of course I am!...Now, if you excuse me, I'm feeling very tired; I think I might just use your cauldron as a pillow..."
But she snapped her fingers as he slumped towards it, causing him to regain equilibrium and suddenly blink several times in rapid succession.
"What happened?" he asked, confused. "I feel as though I've had an extremely strong dose of caffeine...without the negative side-effects...no foul taste of coffee..."
"Never mind." The witch was smiling again, somehow more vibrantly than before. "I can't have you hitting your head against my cauldron, that's all. First of all, it was a very expensive cauldron, and secondly I don't want you getting hurt now that you are to be my saviour. Now. Tell me what it was you wanted from me. I will see what I can do, and before you leave you will make a pact with me concerning the jewel, yes?"
Brandon nodded. After all, he did not have much time...better to go along with what the minx said.
"As I said before," he began, "I think Benedick is a girl. That is, I think Princess Beatrice and Prince Benedick have switched places for some reason. Judging by 'Benedick's' sudden improvement in history, I think I can guess why."
"Then last night the jewel was around the neck of the boy?"
"No. They switched back for the ball. I'm pretty sure." I hope so, at least... "But the point is, I can't fight Beatrice; firstly as a point of honour, and secondly because she enflamed me so much yesterday with her accusations - because she seems to always enflame me, always get my temper up - that I'm worried that I might seriously injure her if we fight."
"So what do you want me to do?"
"I was wondering if there's any way to find out for sure. I mean, I have no proof beyond my gut instinct."
"And if you're wrong?"
"Then I'll simply fight this Benedick, and win. And, my God, will I win...I mean, if she's a boy, then I really..."
"Hmm." Persimmon's eyebrows were more arched than ever. "It seems to me you've fallen in love with this Beatrice figure of yours..."
"Love?" Brandon burst out laughing. "With Beatrice? Not in a million years! I can't stand her, can't endure her! She insulted my father you know...if indeed, it was...'she'..."
One of the corners of Persimmon's mouth rose above the other, giving her a faintly mischievous look. "And you're very touchy about your father, aren't you," she said. "Lord save those who dare to speak ill of him..."
Brandon bit the inside of his cheek. Don't lose your temper now, she has a favour to carry out... "I am simply wondering if it is possible to find out beyond any doubt that Benedick has really been replaced by his sister."
"Ah, my dear Master Rose. Unfortunately for you, there is no way for me to find out what you ask."
"But surely, you have ways of knowing things...?"
"Only certain things, my boy. There are limitations." And she clapped him on the shoulder merrily. I think I preferred her before, he thought.
"Well, that's a pity." He frowned. "Is there really nothing you can do?"
"Whether or not it is as you say is your own problem. You must find out on your own. But I should be able to delay things, so that you have more time..."
A faint green glow emerged above the cauldron. Brandon peered over it. On the surface of the water was the image of the main quadrangle of the boys' I.C. It was a fine day: perfect weather for fencing. Persimmon presently threw some seeds - caraway seeds, he thought - into the mixture. Nothing happened. That is, nothing happened until, even in the bowels of the earth as they were, he felt the dull thud of rain beating down on the roof of the building. In the picture it was now bucketing cats and dogs.
"As far as I know, since 1767 it has been in the College Rules and Regulations that if it rains on the day of the fencing tournament the sorting will be done through a chess tournament instead. And correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe there is nothing in the gentleman's code of honour that stipulates he must not play chess against a woman?"
"There isn't." Brandon beamed. "Thank you...this is an immense help." And as he turned to go -
"Uh, uh, uh," she said, wagging her finger at him. Suddenly his feet were as if stuck to the ground. "Aren't you forgetting something, chivalrous sir?"
"Oh." Brandon had, as it so happened, forgot. "Look, can't we do it some other time? I'll come back, say, tomorrow, and we can finalise things the proper way."
"Oh no, sonny, you're not getting out of it that easily. Don't worry, it won't hurt. All I need you to do is to repeat the words after me. I solemnly swear that I will bring Persimmon the Ivory Peacock stone before the year is out, else may my soul rot in Hell."
"I-solemnly-swear-that-I-will-bring-Persimmon-the-Ivory-Peacock-stone-before-the-year-is-out, else-may-my-soul-rot-in-Hell," repeated Brandon very rapidly. "Now can I go?"
She shook her head. "You're an atheist, aren't you?"
"How did you guess?"
She shrugged. "A God-fearing Christian would never stake his soul so willingly, nor, usually, say 'Hell' so lightly...and quickly. But let me tell you...if you do not keep your word, all the black magic in the world shall descend upon your head, and believe me, that's a far from pleasant experience."
"Now may I go?"
She smiled. "First tell me more about the murder." Her eyes sparkled intensely, though whether with wickedness or compassion he could not tell. "Is it true they have arrested this...gardener?"
"True as Heaven," said Brandon. The witch coughed; he grinned for the first time in what felt like eternity. "...Yes, it is true," he said.
She shook her head as if bewildered.
"The waiter whose clothes were stolen apparently swears that it was this William Gardener fellow," added Brandon. "They had an identity parade and everything..."
"Hmph. That's not much by way of evidence. It's very easy to get people to swear things that aren't true...bribery, torture, whatever. I wonder what motive they ascribe to this William, though. After all, it is always the motive that is important..." She paused. "On the other hand, it is quite easy to find an incentive for a crime in almost anyone."
"For example?"
"For example...though it is hardly general knowledge, you are the illegitimate son of Queen Tara of Laudum and therefore Alice's half-brother, a fact you have been very careful to keep quiet. Should anything happen to Alice - which, now, it has - you stand heir to the Laudum throne and all its riches. If that is not a motive, my dear Brandon Rose...I don't know what is."
A vein throbbed in his temple. Smiling ever more malignantly, she clicked her fingers and said in a hiss of a whisper, "Now you can go."