A/N: this chapter again may contain some historical inaccuracies: I'm really not sure whether there were any nunneries in the fifth century. If there were not, then let's just say that Patrick is improvising without regard to historical eras.
Review responses sent out, as usual.
Also thanks to: SPG, Longsworder, Mousewolf, J. Dawnwolf, iccy, artemisfowl12, Emrisah, The Flying Moose, Fleury, an-angel-in-hell, aly, Lii, frenchpiment, Chris-Crossed, ebtwisty9, Lady Emerald Black, Soccer101, Cruel Angel's Love, Chibi Binasu-chan, CarnyG, Queen Dragon, The OddBird, TheWatcherandReader
OH, AND ONE MORE THING: THANKS TO THOSE WHO NOMINATED 'AZTEC INCIDENT' AND THIS FIC ON ORION AWARDS! I WAS PRACTICALLY BLOWN AWAY WHEN I FOUND OUT HOW MANY CATEGORIES MY FICS WERE NOMINATED IN! (Btw, TheWhiteLily, I'm so glad you like Patrick enough for nominating this fic in the 'best original character' category:)
Chapter 14
A Series of Unfortunate Events – Part II
Krimhilda was seething with rage. "I've planned everything so fine, so wonderfully, and what does this imbecile do? Goes and gets himself killed!"
"Are you referring to Artemis Faulus, milady?" Detre asked in a small voice, trying not to upset the queen even more.
"Who else would I be referring to?" the woman snapped. "How on earth are we going to follow through with my plan if Faulus is dead? We can't frame a dead man! And surely his little brother… or son, or whatever, is too young to be Csaba's murderer, thus unsuitable to be framed!"
"Well, they have that shifty-looking jester…" Detre said contemplatively.
"That jester couldn't even pass as a Roman spy." Krimhilda waved irritably. "The only suitable person would have been Artemis Faulus, but he's dying or already dead, and even if some miracle healed him, there's no way he could be up and about by tomorrow evening!"
"Why do you insist on attacking Csaba tomorrow, milady?"
"Why, why, you dimwit… Tomorrow evening's the only night when I can get a hold of the Sword of God! I won't have another chance! Csaba has to die tomorrow… or never!" Krimhilda sank into a chair and hid her face in her palms. "I could explode with rage, Detre," she hissed. "The Fates have conspired against me… I just wanted to help my son inherit the throne, and then it turns out that it was him, my son who brought about Faulus's death!"
"Your son, milady? I fear I don't understand," the man said.
"It was Aladár who insisted that Artemis Faulus take part in the duels," she replied bitterly. "I love my son, I'd do anything for him, but for the time being I feel like strangling him!"
"And what shall we do now, my queen?"
"No idea," Krimhilda said in a resigned voice. "Wait, I suppose. Wait for news on Faulus. And pray that he stays alive and heals enough by tomorrow evening to be in a good enough shape to kill someone. An unconscious man can't be suspected of committing murder, but if he's feeling well enough to walk, no matter how shakily, he can be framed. Go, Detre, go to the Fauluses' tent and hurry back as soon as you have news."
"As you wish, milady," said the German servant and backed out of the queen's tent.
o o o O O O o o o
"Just put him down and leave," Patrick ordered the two Huns carrying his father's body. The Huns gave him curious looks, but since Prince Csaba had instructed them to obey the 'British' boy, they did so and left.
Patrick immediately set to work – first removed Artemis's tunic and examined the wound. It wasn't too long but definitely deep enough, on the lower right hand side of his chest, just a little below his nipple. Luckily Keve's sword hadn't injured any vital organs, but Artemis's bleeding was still severe.
"Don't you dare die on me," the boy whispered and touched his fingers to the two tips of the gash. He had never healed any injuries more serious than a finger cut by a bread knife or sore muscles, but he had seen his mother do greater healings on a few occasions. It couldn't be that difficult, could it? "Heal," he said deliberately, and was almost thrown back by the intensity of the power surge shooting of out his fingertips. "Woah," he muttered as a flurry of blue sparks dived into his father's chest like a comet.
For seconds nothing happened… then Artemis's body stirred. Patrick knew what it meant: the thrashing part was about to come. To make sure that his father wouldn't hurt himself in the process, the boy climbed upon Artemis and with his weight he pinned his father's legs down and with his hands he tried to keep Artemis's flailing arms in place.
Patrick was fighting a losing battle. The thrashing was the most serious one he had ever seen, and with the last vestiges of his magic gone, he felt too weak to pin down a body so much bigger than his own.
"Need a hand?" Mulch appeared next to him, and not even waiting for the boy's reply, he sat on Artemis's upper chest.
"I… needed… a hand… not… a butt…" Patrick replied shakily as his father kept writhing beneath them. Then, as quickly as it had come, the tremors ceased and the Irishman's body lay still on the cot.
"But apparently my butt was heavy enough to pin him down," the dwarf reposted with a toothy grin.
o o o O O O o o o
The first thing Artemis saw was a highly familiar, hairy butt, framed by an open bum-flap, sitting on his chest. Butler would be scared to death to wake to the same scenery…
"M…mulch?" he mumbled, surprised that he could speak again.
"Ah, awake, Arty?" The dwarf got off him, grinning madly.
"Suppose so. Am I… awake… or dead? I think not… There's no way I'd be… meeting you in heaven…"
"How'd you know you're not in hell?" Mulch smirked. "Heh, barely awake and sarcastic already. Glad to have you back, old chum!"
Artemis shifted his glance from the dwarf to his son, who was still sitting on his legs, panting heavily, with a look of unearthly joy on his face.
"Welcome back, Dad," he muttered, slowly climbing off his father's legs and sitting down next to him on the cot. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been… run over… by a stream-roller," Artemis said shakily. "But I'll survive, I think. Did I… did I really… give the big oaf a wound?"
"That you did, Dad!" Patrick said brightly, though his enthusiasm was dampened by his weariness. He could barely keep himself upright. "You were absolutely great!"
A weak but proud smile spread on Artemis's face and he tried to sit up, only to slump back onto the cot. "Can't… too weak…"
"Just remain lying, don't strain yourself," his son said. "Rest and you'll heal fully."
"Why haven't I healed fully?"
Patrick bit into his lower lip. He didn't want to tell his father that he'd lost his only acorn and that his magic had completely dried up. "I think… I'm just not too used to performing such serious healings. Mum could've done it perfectly, but this is all I could do for you. Sorry…"
Artemis reached out and gently squeezed his hand. "Don't be. It's amazing… that you could do this much… thank you, Son."
"You're welcome, Dad."
o o o O O O o o o
Half and hour later Princes Csaba and Aladár put in an appearance, followed by the whole of Irnik's family and a healer shaman. Aladár and Irnik looked miffed that they had had to come, but Csaba, Irnik's mother and little Csenge all seemed anxious to find out about the young man's condition.
Csaba ordered the rest of the visitors to stay outside and entered with the shaman.
Patrick was slightly annoyed that the prince had brought a 'magician' despite his saying that no shaman was needed, but deep down he felt grateful to Csaba for his caring. Such a kind-hearted person, Patrick thought. A shame he would never get to inherit Attila's throne. He would have made a wonderful king.
The shaman examined Artemis who had fallen asleep after his tiring healing. The Hun 'magician' declared that something short of a miracle must have happened as the wound on Artemis's chest was considerably smaller than half an hour earlier and overall the patient seemed to be in a much better condition.
Csaba sent out the shaman and gave Patrick a questioning glance.
The boy shrugged. "My father is a strong man. He looks weak sometimes, but he's stronger than anyone would think…"
"I see," the prince said dubiously. "Your father really must be a strong man to survive that blow and start healing so quick… Er… really… why did you introduce yourselves as brothers?"
Patrick shifted uncomfortably. He had known this question was coming… so he just had to improvise. "Well… in my home young men usually get married around twenty, some even later, and it's a great shame to have a child out of wedlock, especially at a young age… My father was fourteen when I was born. His parents decided to bring me up as their son not their grandson… So, to the rest of the world, Artemis and I are brothers. I'm sorry about deceiving you, but it was necessary… If fair Honoria of Thracia… you know, Artemis's fiancée, found out that he had an illegitimate son… well, she might not want to marry him."
"Understandable." Csaba nodded. "But… there's one thing I don't understand."
"What, your highness?"
"My father told me that your bro… father had had an ecclesiastical upbringing. How come he managed to father a child among… monks?"
"Weeell…" Suddenly his ability at story-telling failed Patrick.
"There weren't only monks," Mulch cut in. "There were a few nuns as well…"
"Oh, yeah." Patrick sent the dwarf a grateful grin. "So there was a young novice who didn't really want to become a nun and… father didn't really want to become a monk, and… things just happened between them."
"Ah, all right," the prince commented, looking slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry to say that I talked to Keve about the trinket he took from your father and he doesn't want to give it back. I could ask father to force him to give it back…"
"No problem," Patrick said, sending Mulch a meaningful look. "Don't worry about that, your highness. Your father will have enough to do in the near future, even without bothering with this Keve person."
"Yes, that's true." Csaba smiled. "I've got to go now. Last minute wedding arrangements… And before I forget, you're invited to the wedding feast. If your father heals enough, he may join too."
"Thank you, your highness."
Shortly after the prince left, Mulch slid out of the tent as well. Patrick had a very good idea where the dwarf was going: to steal a certain time machine back.
Prince Aladár left with his brother, but Irnik's mother and sister entered the tent with concerned expressions. After a few minutes even Irnik appeared in the 'doorframe'.
"Hey, Patricius…" he said.
"What?"
"I'm sorry. About the acorn. And your… father's injury too." He indeed looked sorry, and the black-eye he had received from Patrick only enhanced it.
"It's okay." Patrick shrugged.
"Friends?" Irnik asked.
A small smile appeared on the half-elf's face. "Friends."
"Great." Irnik grinned.
"If you don't want to leave your father alone, dear, then I'll send Csenge over with the lunch," Irnik's mother offered.
"Thank you, madam Gyöngyvér, that would be nice," Patrick replied and his glance met Csenge's as the little family left. The girl was smiling at him. He couldn't help but smile back.
o o o O O O o o o
"Survived!" Krimhilda clasped her hands joyously. "Perfect! According to the shaman who examined him, he might be able to get up by tomorrow evening. And if so, then his little injury will only help my plan."
"How exactly, my queen?" Detre wondered.
"The shaman said that he had healed an incredible amount in half an hour. So what if he hadn't even been injured that much? What if he had only pretended to be very sick?"
The German man frowned. "I don't get it, madam. No one could pretend a wound as big as his had been…"
The woman crossed her arms and leaned back into her cushioned chair, a triumphant grin on her face. "I like you dear Detre, I really do, but you can be so daft sometimes… There are ways to wound someone to make his injury look more serious than it really is. Let's assume that Keve wounded Faulus exactly that way, enabling Faulus to pretend to be very sick while he's up and about by tomorrow evening. Everyone thinks he's lying in his tent, trying to recuperate, but he's already strong enough to walk and… kill."
Detre's eyes narrowed. "You intend to feed the Huns a story that Faulus deliberately got injured so that he could remain in his tent for tomorrow evening and commit the murder without being suspected?"
"It was time you caught on, my friend," Krimhilda said dryly. "Such behaviour can be expected from a devious Roman spy, and if everything goes well, soon everyone will know that Faulus is a Roman spy. Well, not know it… but believe it. Because we will tell them so. And we will have proof: the letter that I have written already and that we shall hide in Faulus's tent overnight."
"But… milady… This sounds wonderful, but…"
"What buts?"
"Well… am I right assuming that this would mean framing Keve as well? After all, he must have been in league with Faulus or he couldn't have wounded him in a way to show his wound more serious than it really was…"
"You're getting cleverer by the second, old friend," Krimhilda cooed. "Yes, we are going to frame Keve as well. I've never liked him anyway, and he has to be sacrificed for the greater good."
"But he's a Hun, my queen! No one would believe that he wanted to contribute to Prince Csaba's murder!"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Detre. You don't trust my brains." The woman shook her head with a disapproving look. "I am offended by your serious lack of confidence."
The man gave his queen a politely confused look.
"Well, listen here… Keve isn't full Hun. One of his grandmothers was a Roman. You didn't know that, did you?" Krimhilda began playfully twirling a blonde lock around her ring finger. "He's part Roman, so he can be in league with a Roman spy, can't he?"
A malicious smirk spread on Detre's face. "Of course he can, milady. Forgive me for my lack of confidence. Your plan is brilliant."
"I know, dear Detre…" Krimhilda giggled. "I know."
o o o O O O o o o
For about an hour, Patrick sat by his father, watching as Artemis's chest rose and fell rhythmically. He felt more relieved than ever before. Now all they needed to do was wait for the king's death – that should happen the following evening – and find out where he was buried. Piece of cake…
He was shaken out of his reverie by Csenge who arrived with the lunch. She seemed worried for some reason.
"What happened?" the boy asked.
"Attila's favourite horse dropped dead. Everyone's talking about it in the camp," she said, placing the bowl full of hot soup in Patrick's lap.
"When did it happen?"
"Shortly after mother, Irnik and I left your tent."
"And is there any reason for the horse's death?"
"No, none at all. It had been such a beautiful, strong and healthy stallion! The shamans reckon it's a bad sign, a warning from the Lord of Wars! Something horrible is about to happen!"
The boy hid a grin and decided not to tell the girl that such things were stupid superstition.
Csenge pulled a few slices of bread out of the pocket of her pinafore and handed them to Patrick. "I've got to go. I'll come back for the bowl later. Or perhaps mum will."
"Okay, thanks. Tell her that it was very delicious."
"I will." The girl presented him with a small smile. "Oh, and Patricius…"
"Yes?" The boy looked up from his soup.
"I'll be waiting for you tomorrow evening, you know where."
"Ah, the stargazing. Of course…" Patrick flushed. "I'll be there."
"When the stars are visible," she reminded him, and with a last smile, slid out of the tent.
A few seconds later Mulch arrived. "Nice little chick," he said. "Always wears that funny smile when she's around you…"
"Oh, leave me alone, Mulch." Patrick rolled his eyes.
"Leave you alone? Then perhaps you don't even want this back…?" The dwarf pulled a watch out of his pocket, swinging it before the boy's eyes.
"Of course I do!" Patrick caught the time machine and pocketed it.
"I see you're a little touchy about that Hun girl…" Diggums drawled. "But you needn't be. You two look great together. Imagine what nice romance novels you could write once we get back to Haven… The titles would be 'The Half-Elf and the Hun Maiden'… and 'Artemis and the Nuns'. You could even write it under a pseudonym like MMMRulez or GeniusShortie…"
Deciding not to comment, Patrick chucked two slices of bread at the dwarf. Maybe that would shut his big mouth for a while…
o o o O O O o o o
Underground fairy facilityFiona was treated like a princess by Alexius Short. And she enjoyed being 'Princess Fiona'.
Alex was extremely polite with her, fulfilled all her wishes and wooed her like a totally enamoured man. Perhaps because he was.
For the first time since her father's death, Fiona felt cherished, honoured and almost contented. Just almost, as there was still a tiny thorn in her heart that Attila's upcoming wedding had planted there. The wedding, and the thought that he'd never see her as a woman, only as a friend. A very good friend, but a friend nevertheless.
During these two days spent in her fiancé's home, Fiona caught herself more than once thinking that being the beloved wife of Alexius Short was probably much better than being Attila's 'good friend'. Alex would give her all the love she could never get from the Hun king, and perhaps some day she would learn to reciprocate it. And until then she might give birth to a few little elves that would surely take her mind off Attila.
By the morning of 16th April – Attila's wedding day – she had made up her mind. She would accept Alex's offer to marry him. Now all she needed to do was tell him the good news.
o o o O O O o o o
Attila's campArtemis woke to the feeling that he must have slept at least fifteen-sixteen hours. What woke him up was an excited – or rather terrified – murmur coming from the camp.
"What's up?" he muttered, blinking. The heavy material covering the tent's 'door' slid open and Patrick entered.
"What's the commotion?" Artemis asked.
"A comet."
"Huh?"
"A comet has just appeared in the sky. Well, one or two hours ago, actually. And now everyone's scared to death, saying that it's another bad omen, just like Attila's horse dying."
"People of the middle ages were… are very superstitious," Artemis replied. "Come, help me up, I need to visit the loo."
"There's no loo here, Dad." Patrick grinned, helping his father sit up.
"I was referring to that pretty bramble bush left to the tent," Artemis said, gathering all his strength to stand on his feet. Patrick propped him as much as he could and found that his father, even though fairly tall, didn't weigh much. Together, they limped out of the tent so that Artemis could answer nature's call.
Once he was finished, he stopped for a few minutes before their tent, leaning on Patrick, to watch the comet. It was well visible, even though the sky was no longer black but rosy and orange as sunrise was near. The comet was probably just Hailey that returns every 76 years, but the Huns couldn't have known that and expected something horrible to happen.
They walked back into the tent, and with a groan, Artemis lay down again, breathing heavily. Even such little exertion had tired him completely.
Mulch, on the adjacent cot, never even woke up and kept snoring contentedly.
"Are you all right?" his son asked worriedly.
"Fine, just exhausted. I don't dare imagine how long it will take me to be all right again… Couldn't you… couldn't you just give me another shot of your healing magic?"
Patrick heaved a sigh. "I can't. I… don't have any left."
"What?" Artemis gasped. "You used all of it on me?"
The boy nodded. "And not even that was enough."
"Then you could go and bury the acorn we brought along…"
"Can't do that either… lost it."
"Lost it?"
"It fell into the creek when Irnik and I were there… ehm… playing."
"Oh… then I will have to heal the natural way…"
"S'pose so. I'm sorry about that, Dad. I should have been more careful, I shouldn't have gone and… played at all."
"Don't talk like that, Patrick," his father said gently. "I'm actually glad that you screwed up your courage to be a child. I never dared do that. Had I done it, well… lots of things could have happened differently."
"Like you might not even have met mum," the boy said.
"Yes, for example. And that is the only reason why I'm glad I didn't afford myself to be a child. I would have missed Holly… and you."
"But you might have had friends of your age and you might have met a nice girl anyway," Patrick replied. "So probably you would have been happier that way. If you had never met Mum."
For a few seconds silence hung in the air, then Artemis spoke up. "Yes, it is possible I would have been happier that way: with loads of friends, probably three or four children by now… but I don't like to dwell on 'what ifs'. I made my choices and gave up the chance to have friends of my age and a normal family. Some of my choices were bad, but some couldn't have been better… because I have Holly's love… and you, Son. I wouldn't trade you two for anything in the world."
"Not… not even for your genius?" Patrick whispered.
"Not even that," came the heavy reply. "But my point is that you need to make your own decisions, and if you decided to give your childhood a chance, then you very likely chose well. Even if that lost you an acorn. Acorns are replaceable… your childhood isn't. Bear that in mind, Son… and now go to sleep. I have a feeling that tomorrow… well, today is going to be a busy day."
"Yeah, busy," Patrick yawned. "We're both invited to Attila's wedding feast."
"I doubt I could go." Artemis shook his head. "But you could bring me a big slice of treacle tart if they have anything of the sort."
Patrick chuckled. "I doubt they have treacle tarts, but I'll see what I can find. Good night, Dad."
"G'night, Son."
o o o O O O o o o
"I have good news for you, my queen."
"And what is that, Detre?"
"Artemis Faulus has been seen walking out of his tent, probably to… ehm… pee. He was propped by his son and only made a short walk, but he was walking. I trust he cannot come as far as the wedding tent by tonight, he's still too weak for that. But surely he can go as far as the nearby meadow…" Detre wriggled his eyebrows nastily.
"Excellent." Krimhilda beamed. "And when was Faulus seen walking?"
"Early in the morning, my queen. He hasn't left his tent ever since. Too weak."
"What about the letter?"
"It's already hidden in their tent – one of our men did it in the middle of the night when everyone in there was fast asleep."
"And your next task, Detre? Repeat it."
"Lure Csaba out of the wedding tent after dark, saying that Artemis Faulus is waiting for him on the meadow and would like to discuss something important with him, but is feeling too weak to go any further from his tent."
"Right." Krimhilda nodded.
"And will Artemis Faulus indeed wait for the prince on the meadow?"
"Of course not!" the woman snapped. "He will be lying in his tent, resting. Once the prince is killed, one your men will discover his dead body on the meadow and will run to Faulus's tent to ask whether he'd seen anything. He will insist that Faulus go with him to look around, only for a few minutes, though. So, Faulus's tent will be abandoned for a few minutes, giving the assassin a chance to slip in and hide the sword… stained with Csaba's blood, preferably."
"And when should I lure the prince out of the wedding feast? Shortly after sunset or wait till everything's completely dark?"
"The latter. We can't risk Csaba noticing the assassin and trying to fight back… The assassin will be hiding in a bush on the meadow's edge. He'll hide there after sunset when the younger Faulus and their dwarf are at the feast already. We can't risk anyone spotting him, but we have to make sure that he's at his place by the time Csaba gets there. Attila will give me the sword before the feast so that he can go to bed with little Mikolt whenever he feels like, without having to go looking for me."
"I see, milady. Everything's set, then."
"Yes, my faithful Detre, everything's set. By this time tomorrow, Aladár will be the heir to the throne!"
o o o O O O o o o
Underground fairy facility
"Are you serious?" Alexius Short's eyes widened.
Fiona nodded.
"I… I just can't… can't find words! Oh, Fiona…"
Before she could have protested, he caught her and twirled her around. For a second she felt as though his joy had been infectious and some unknown mirth filled her heart as he laughed and danced across the living room with her. Could it be love? – she wondered. She couldn't tell. Since she'd fallen in love with Attila, she hadn't allowed herself to have feelings for anyone else alive. And now here was Alexius Short, this hot-headed, slightly childish and completely enamoured elf, making her feel something she hadn't yet felt for anyone.
She remembered an old neighbour from her childhood – this woman had been a sprite and was said to have had numerous relationships. Fiona had been an unsuspecting child who didn't know anything about love and hadn't been given the 'little fairies talk' yet when she got the idea of asking her old neighbour a funny question: 'How could you love so many men, Mrs Verbil?'
The old sprite had smiled at the child Fiona and given her a simple answer that even a six-year-old could understand: "There are many ways of love, dear. I loved one male in one way, and another in another way."
Could it be possible that Fiona had grown to love Alex… just in another way? This was certainly different from what she felt for the Hun king… Her love for Attila had been a wild, blazing, rebellious love. What she felt for Alex was quiet, peaceful yet heart-warming.
"Yes, Alex," she replied when he finally deigned to put her down. "I will marry you. Just give me a bit of time to go aboveground and gather my belongings. I will rejoin you as soon as possible."
"Promise?" he asked with a stare that suggested he was afraid of letting her go in case she changed her mind and never returned.
"I give you my word, Alexius Short," Fiona replied solemnly. I have nothing left aboveground, anyway, she added in thought.
"You have no idea how happy you made me…" he whispered and she wondered if she'd really seen tears of joy glinting in his eyes.
"I think I do have an idea…" she whispered back, inching towards him until their lips met in a soft, innocent first kiss.
o o o O O O o o o
The wedding feast, Attila's campPatrick was enjoying himself tremendously, even though neither Irnik nor anyone of Irnik's family was present. Apparently Attila hadn't considered the small Hun family 'prominent' enough to invite them to the feast. The tent where it was held, housed about five hundred people, and it was understandable that Attila couldn't have invited all the several thousand Huns even if he'd wanted to.
The wedding itself had been quite a short ceremony that consisted of nothing but the bride and groom holding hands and reciting a few lines.
Mum and Dad would have been much happier with such a short ceremony, Patrick thought. Father Brian was nice, but a wonder that the guests didn't fall asleep during all that talk…
Patrick had a seat near the tent's entrance and since the material that served as the door was now pulled back to let the cool night air in, the boy kept glancing out to see when it was dark enough for the stars to be visible. Time seemed to drag by, even though he liked the food and the antics of Attila's dwarf Cerkó. Mulch, who sat on the floor behind Patrick's chair, voiced his opinion that it was a shame that a 'human dwarf' was forced to do cartwheels to entertain people. Patrick had to agree, but he still found Cerkó's show amazing.
Only about two hours after the feast had started, Attila announced that he and his new bride would withdraw to their tent. Patrick couldn't help but notice the disgusted expressions on Krimhilda and Aladár's faces.
Mikolt, the king's new wife (dressed in a pale yellow dress and lots of myrtles) clung to her husband nervously as he led her out of the tent.
Perhaps it's time for me to leave too, Patrick thought, and shortly after the royal couple had left, he excused himself from his table mates (I've got to go and see how my father's doing') and left. Mulch stayed behind as there were still a few courses to be eaten.
Patrick's heart was hammering in his throat and a pleasant, fluttery feeling filled his stomach as he hurried towards the meadow. Was Csenge already waiting for him? Perhaps not – it was dark already, but the stars weren't visible enough yet. Well, it couldn't hurt to get there early, could it?
He arrived at the edge of the meadow and saw no sign of the girl. He had half a mind to visit his father and ask how he was doing, then he remembered that he'd forgotten to bring him a tart… Well, perhaps after the 'date' he could go back for some sweets…
o o o O O O o o o
The assassin stood hidden by the bush, waiting. He expected that he'd have to wait for quite a while as it wasn't dark enough yet. He was clutching the Sword of God that queen Krimhilda had recently given to him.
First he was gazing at the setting sun, then he spent his time with counting the bats that swooped over the meadow at dusk. Recently he had started to count the stars. There weren't many yet but he had already counted twenty-seven. The first and the brightest ones.
Suddenly, there was some movement on the edge of the meadow. A lithe figure arrived, looking around in a clueless way. Prince Csaba for sure, looking for Artemis Faulus who was allegedly waiting for him.
The figure came a bit closer and the assassin didn't see much of him – it was still too early to see all the stars properly, but too late and dark already to make out facial expressions. Well, the figure was lithe and not exactly tall – that description fit the prince-to-be-murdered perfectly.
The assassin waited for the prince to come closer. And even closer… until he was at an arm's length from the bush the assassin was hiding in.
And then he lunged forward, grabbed the prince from behind and drove the Sword of God into his back.
The victim collapsed without even a groan.
"Too easy," the assassin grunted, bending down to pull the sword out of the victim's back. That was when he heard a faint whimper.
"Daaaad…"
That whimper must have been produced by someone young. Someone much younger than Prince Csaba.
A child. He had murdered a child.
Almost dropping the sword in shock, the assassin backed away from the still form lying on the grass. Queen Krimhilda would strangle him if she found out that he'd mistaken someone for the prince! What should he do?
Run, a voice told him. Run and hide and never return.
But what about the sword? – another voice in his mind asked.
Wash it, take it back into the camp and leave it somewhere where a trustworthy person can find it… say, in one of the shamans' tent. Seer of Stars is at the feast right now, but if he finds the sword in his tent, he'd immediately give it back to the king…
Yes, that's it…
Not even looking back, the assassin ran into the forest, towards the creek, to wash the child's blood off the blade.
o o o O O O o o o
Artemis was getting bored and hungry. When would Patrick deign to return with a piece of cake for him?
Suddenly some movement caught his ears. Could it be Patrick?
It was. But he wasn't carrying a cake, Artemis could tell in the light of a few candles. Nor was his son standing upright. He was on all fours as though he had dragged himself all the way up to the tent.
"Patrick!" Completely forgetting about his chest wound, Artemis leapt off the cot and ran to the boy to take him into his arms. "Patrick, what happened? Heavens, you're bleeding!"
"Someone… out there… meadow… bush… hiding… stabbed… ran away…"
"Okay, okay, don't talk, don't waste your energies… I'll go, get help, just… just lie down and don't move…"
Artemis wanted to stand up but Patrick grabbed his shoulder, holding him back with the last vestiges of his strength. "Daaaaad…"
"Yes?"
"I… I love you… Dad."
"I love you too Son. I'm going for help, I…"
The grip loosened on his shoulder, and in the candles' weak light Artemis saw a peaceful smile on Patrick's face.
"I'm proud… of being… your son."
The boy's hand fell off Artemis's shoulder and his head slumped back.
"Patrick!" Artemis whispered, reaching for the boy's wrist to feel a pulse. There was none.
"No…" Artemis pulled up his son's tunic and pressed his ear on the boy's chest. There wasn't a throb. Nothing, just silence.
Frozen, Artemis stared at the blood-stained carpet.
His son was dead.