There Are No Children In The Castle

THERE ARE NO CHILDREN IN THE CASTLE

  Hank Florentine McLoskey

  Copyright 2013 Hank Florentine McLoskey

  “He makes his home in a stable at the bottom of your orchard?”

  It was not the answer Cedric had been expecting. The old queen’s milky blue eyes betrayed the faintest hint of irritation, even as she pursed her withered lips in a fashion that suddenly and vividly reminded Cedric of a cat’s arse.

  “Yes,” she snapped. “A stable. He is my son’s guest, although the distinction between ‘guest’ and ‘hostage’ is somewhat blurred. He is being held in surety so that we might sleep easy in our beds while my son fights the Malacians. What of it?”

  “Well, it is just that I…” Cedric’s words trailed off into silence.

  He had not been sure what to expect, but it had not been this – not this gloomy gray keep, perched on a cliff top so that it overlooked the dark and stormy sea below, the wind moaning ceaselessly about its four walls, nor this court of ancient, withered folk in their tattered finery, their hair white or gray, their legs thin and rickety, the only exception being the old queen’s daughter-in-law. Nor the curious animosity that seemed to permeate that throne-room like a draught. It was on the second floor of the keep, the throne-room – a lofty chamber, its narrow windows set high up in its bare stone walls, the one piece of decoration the tapestry hanging behind the throne, and it was the coldest room in which he had ever stood.

  A single thin beam of light made its way tentatively down through the surrounding gloom to fall upon the old queen, sitting in her carved wooden throne, as rigid as if she were carved of wood herself, the ancient hands gripping either armrest like tiny, prehensile claws. It made the gems decorating her elaborately coiffured hair and her long, velvet dress glint brightly, but without warmth. The dress itself was silver-gray. The gems were opals and diamonds. The old woman’s hair was whiter than snow, her skin the color of parchment, her eyes a faded shade of blue that might have been as cold and empty as the northern seas were it not for the malice which burned in them, with a faint and steady flame.

  He was his father’s youngest son, a prince doomed never to inherit anything but the family name yet – he had always been certain – destined for great things. For was it not always the youngest son who left home to find his fortune? Who wandered the world, killing dragons and ogres and rescuing the odd, beautiful princess?

  With this vocation in mind Cedric had practiced long and hard at his soldiery, mastering sword and lance, until he was the best knight in his father’s kingdom, his faith in himself helped in no small degree by how he looked the part – tall, blond, square-jawed, with the easy manner of one who has the full measure of himself, but whose natural modesty prevents him drawing this fact to the attention of others. Let his deeds speak for themselves!

  Having turned twenty-one and finally feeling ready to sally forth into the world, he had had his father’s heralds dispatched hither and thither abroad, letting it be known to all that if there was an injustice to be righted, a dragon to be killed and so on and so forth, he would be happy to oblige. He had received only one message in reply.

  Scrawled in red ink on a tattered piece of paper, it had run simply –

  We suffer greatly from the presence of an ogre who has made his liking for childflesh only too clear. Do not tarry!

  – and had set off without delay. It had been a pleasant autumn when he left his father’s castle, the trees’ foliage all burnished coppers and reds, but the trees had grown scarcer and the land wilder the further he traveled north, until he was galloping across open, windswept moors. Only one man had he met, not two miles from the castle, a shepherd, whom he had stopped to ask for directions. The man’s astonishment at seeing such a vision in so remote surroundings had been all too clear, and he liked to think he cut a fine figure in his suit of armor, his blonde locks billowing in the breeze.

  “The castle? ‘Tis just beyond yonder hill, overlooking the sea.” The man had pointed. “What brings you there? A knight, are you not?”

  “I have heard of this ogre and his partiality for childflesh.”

  The shepherd had leant on his staff while he shook his head and laughed; he had been a coarse-featured individual in early middle age, his shaved head covered by a tight-fitting cap, with most of his teeth missing. “The ogre? Aye! There’s a fellow who’ll give a knight like you a run for his money!”

  “Maybe your children will sleep easier in their beds when I have done with him,” Cedric had replied, puzzled and irritated by the shepherd’s behavior.

  “Children?” the shepherd had looked straight up at him then, before shaking his head and casting his gaze towards the distant sea. “There are no children hereabouts.” He spat into the heather.

  “The ogre has devoured them all?” Cedric found he was filled with a mixture of horror and a certain, pleasurable anticipation. Truly a foe worth his mettle – and one worth killing too!

  “He did not. Their parents took them elsewhere.”

  “For fear the ogre would eat them?”

  “For fear they would starve, my son being no exception. Not a fish did he catch, two year in a row. He took himself and his bairns off down South Ulwark way a few weeks back, just like the rest. I hope his luck runs truer there than it did here.”

  “But those of noble birth? They must still be in the castle -”

  “There are no children in the castle. All you’ll find up there is old men and women, waiting for Father Death to pay them a visit. Aye, and your ogre.”

  “The castle has fallen into his clutches?”

  Was he mistaken? Or was the shepherd trying hard to conceal a smile? “Not exactly sir. You’re best off talking to the old queen. She’ll tell you what you need to know.”

  The man had doffed his cap and Cedric had galloped onwards, filled with the first faint stirrings of doubt.

  And now the queen had told him that the ogre was a guest of her husband’s, a lodger who dwelt at the back of her orchard!

  No, it was not what Cedric had been expecting at all.

  “And what…” he had meant to ask exactly what the ogre had done, what child he had devoured, but before he could continue any further, a loud sob rent the air.

  The queen’s daughter-in-law raised one slightly grubby handkerchief to her face to stifle a second. “He is a monster, sir! A monster!”

  Cedric felt a faint flicker of hope. “Indeed? Perhaps you would care to elaborate…?”

  She was a handsome woman, not yet forty, if somewhat thick-waisted, but with long, dark hair, and pale, regular features. She studied the slate floor as she tried to compose herself, toying with her handkerchief all the while. “He writes poetry, sir. The most execrable poetry ever inflicted upon the human ear and which he insists on reciting at every opportunity –”

  “Poetry which furthermore,” her mother-in-law interrupted (it was easy seeing which of the two was in charge) “all dwells on the same subject: the consumption of meat, specifically human meat, and more specifically again, the flesh of children. I hardly think you need any further proof of his monstrous propensities. And if this was not bad enough, in my son’s absence, he has conceived an unhealthy infatuation for Demelza.”

  “Oh it is horrible, sir!” her daughter-in-law said breathlessly. “Every night he serenades me – her majesty has rightly forbidden him ever to set foot within the keep itself. He proffers bouquets of flowers, writes sonnets, many of them indecent. It is never-ending, the torture to which he has subjected us! Surely you can do something to aid us in our predicament?”

  Cedric suddenly realized both women were watching him intently. He cleared his throat. “But h
e is your husband’s guest? I fear it might be somewhat outside my remit to make an end of such a creature if he has been given your husband’s protection. All the more so if he has yet to actually eat any children –”

  “Pah!” the old queen said with great emphasis and a dismissive wave of her hand. “What are heroes made of these days, that they let such minor considerations stand in the way of true justice?” She leant forward, fixing him with one bright and beady eye. “I am telling you that it is only a matter of time before he makes good on his intentions – intentions which are more than amply demonstrated by the content of his appalling poems!”

  “But at present, this is just conjecture –” Cedric protested, even as Demelza let out another broken sob and covered her face with her handkerchief. “I have yet to tell you what happened to Demelza’s daughter –” the queen said, slowly and carefully.

  “Isobel,” interjected her daughter-in-law.

  “Yes, Isobel. This monster, this creature of most debauched appetites –”

  Finally Cedric felt himself to be on solid ground. He took a few quick steps forward and knelt at the feet of the sobbing Demelza. “If this creature has indeed devoured your only child, rest assured that I will find some means of ensuring he meets the end he so richly deserves! The fact that your husband has