"Kidnapped!" exploded Toppard. "When?" How?"
"Last night - from the nursery," replied Sir Crispin.
"Where were the guards? the servants? anyone?"
Sir Crispin coughed with embarrassment. "They were all ... ahem ... asleep. What?"
"Drugged!" announced Mirdalph, hurrying into the hastily-convened, emergency meeting of
the council.
"Interesting," whispered Edmund, more to himself than to anyone else.
"But why kidnap the king?" asked Toppard.
"Ransom?" suggested Edmund.
"No note," said Sir Crispin. "At least, not yet. And what about the feathers?"
"That is a mystery," agreed Mirdalph.
Edmund kept silent.
"Search parties!" proclaimed Toppard. "We must organise search parties!"
***
Nanny Comfrey was still sniffing tearfully when Mirdalph quietly entered the
feather-strewn nursery, drew her gently into the small inner chamber which was her own
private room, closed the door, and said, "I have somethng very important to tell you."
***
"Kidnapped!" exclaimed the duchess. "Are you sure you don't mean murdered?"
"Quite sure, your ladyship," replied Gilbert. "The king has disappeaed. There are
search parties out now looking for him. I have to join one immediately, if you will excuse me?"
"Yes, yes," said Margaret, already preoccupied with her own thoughts. "I wonder how he was
taken from the castle without being seen?"
***
"What about the catacombs?" asked Ratlett.
"That's a distinct possibility," agreed Edmund. "The problem is, there are no maps or
records of the tunnels and galleries. You could get lost down there for ever."
"I could explore them without getting lost," said Ratlett confidently, "and make a map of them."
"Now that really would be useful!" Edmund's thin smile suggested a world of possibilities -
not all of them pleasant - that such knowledge would bring.
***
It was sunset when Sir Crispin led his weary party of searchers back into the castle,
dismissed them, and made his way purposefully to the royal nursery.
"Come in!" called Nanny Comfrey when he knocked on the door to her private room. He
entered to find her rising expectantly from her chair. When she saw who it was a look of
confusion spread over her features. "Oh!" she said, "it's you!"
"Yes," replied Sir Crispin, "it's me."
"I was expecting ..." her voice trailed away into anxious silence and she looked down
guiltily at the packed bag on the floor by her chair.
"Not intruding, am I?" asked Sir Crispin.
"No! No, you're not intruding."
"Just thought I'd pop in and tell you - no news yet, I'm afraid - also - see how you are -
after last night's - business - what?"
"That's very kind of you."
There was an uncomfortable pause.
"Well - how are you?"
"Oh! I'm very well." She smiled weakly. "Very well, thank you."
"Considering. What?"
"Oh, yes - considering." Nanny kept glancing nervously towards the door.
Sir Crispin looked down at the packed bag. "Going somewhere, are you?"
"Er ... yes. I'm going ... going away."
"Holiday - what?"
"Not quite."
"Ah!"
There was another uncomfortable pause.
"Look here," said Sir Crispin at last, "if I can be of any service to you - lady in
distress and all that - you only have to say, you know. I'd do anything, what?
"Yes," replied Nanny, tears beginning to well up in her kindly eyes. "Yes, I know."
"Fact is," went on Sir Crispin, pulling nervously at his moustache, "I came here to -
well - to ask you - that is - dash it all - I'm a single man - good pay - security -
all that rubbish - what?"
Nanny pulled out her handkerchief and began to cry.
"Now, now - none of that," said Sir Crispin, flushing crimson with embarrassment. "Just wanted
you to know - I'm - well - willing. Yes, that's it - Crispin is willing!"
"Oh, you dear, good man!" sobbed Nanny. "There's nothing could have made me happier. Nothing!"
"Well, there it is, then."
"But I can't. I can't marry you - not now."
"What?"
"I can't explain. You must trust me. One day you'll know and understand, but now - you must just
trust me."
"Of course - lady like you - of course!"
"I'm so sorry!"
"Not at all. Can't be helped. There it is. What?"
They stared at each other speechlessly.
Nanny seemed about to confide in Sir Crispin, then changed her mind, blew her nose and said,
"I think you'd better go now."
"Of course. Whatever you say. Just remember - Crispin is willing." He coughed awkwardly,
turned and marched stiffly out of the tiny room, across the shadowy nursery and away down
the corridor.
When he had disappeared from view, Mirdalph materialised from the shadows and knocked softly
on Nanny's door. "It's time to go," he said.
***
Ratlett was scuttling about, exploring the chambers of the catacombs when suddenly he froze,
his nose twitching with expectation. A faint light was coming towards him from the stairway
to the castle. The boy quickly blew out his lamp and concealed his skinny form behind a
crumbling tomb to wait for the light, and whoever was carrying it, to pass him by.
A few moments later Mirdalph entered the gallery in which Ratlett was concealed, carrying a
lantern and a large bag. He was closely followed by Nanny Comfrey. Ratlett waited silently
until they had passed through, then followed them. It was easy enough to keep the light in
view without getting too close.
They passed along a wide tunnel and emerged into the chamber in which the mortal remains of
the late King Hackard had been laid to rest. Mirdalph glanced irritably at the king's tomb,
but it showed no sign of life, so he led Nanny onwards with the confidence of someone who
knew his way around this world of death and decay.
As soon as the light had passed into one of the tunnels leading out of the chamber,
Ratlett started to cross it. He had only taken a couple of steps when he was halted by a
deep and terrifying groan - the blood-curdling groan of a soul in torment.
King Hackard's tomb began to glow with a faint, green luminescence which coalesced slowly
into the ghostly form of a man in full armour. The ghost rose up and lifted his huge sword
as if to strike down Ratlett where he stood. The boy was frozen in terror for a second before
his street-wise urge for self-preservation took over, and he turned to flee with a speed that
the sleekest and fittest rat would have envied.
The ghost of King Hackard lowered his sword, and said with some satisfaction, "Cheap theatricals
have their uses!" Then, just for good measure, he gave another theatrical groan which was
suddenly jerked into a real groan by unseen forces which sucked him down once more to the nether
regions.
***
Nanny Comfrey and Mirdalph sat patiently together on the stone which covered the tunnel
entrance near the edge of the Hollwood Forest. They had been silent since their arrival,
except for the occasional sniff from Nanny.
Suddenly Mirdalph remarked, "You were quite right, you know."
"Right?" queried Nanny.
"Not to tell him."
"Tell who?"
"Crispin. You were quite right not to tell him about this."
"You heard?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
Nanny wiped her nose, pulled herself up and said. "He's such a good man. But it can't be helped."
"That's why you were right not to tell him. He'd never be able to conceal it."
"He'd never tell!" exclaimed Nanny indignantly.
"No, of course he wouldn't. But he's too honest to carry round a secret like this - perhaps
for years - without revealing something - quite unconsciously, of course."
Nanny nodded sadly, then she drew in her breath sharply and scrambled to her feet. Griddle,
the dwarf, was standing in front of her, scrutinising her from under his bushy, black brows.
"This is the woman, is it?" he asked.
Mirdalph rose. "Yes, this is Nan- Widow Candy."
The dwarf nodded knowingly.
"And this is Griddle."
"How do you do?" said Nanny.
The dwarf nodded curtly.
"How is the baby?" asked Mirdalph.
"Young Tom - or whoever - is in excellent health," replied Griddle. "You'll have a job
getting him away from Pot. Quite broody, he is." He sniffed disapprovingly, then added with
a knowing twinkle, "I hear the king disappeared last night."
"News does travel fast, doesn't it?" said Mirdalph dismissively. "Here is your money." He held
out a bag of coins. Griddle grunted and stuffed it inside his tunic. "Aren't you going to count
it?" asked Mirdalph.
"Later," growled the dwarf. He glanced at Nanny and said rather gruffly. "Come on - we've got a
long way to go tonight."
He turned and started moving away. Nanny picked up her bag and followed him. When she reached
the enclosing backness of the forest she paused and turned to look back at Mirdalph, who raised
his hand in salute.
"Come on!" came Griddle's voice, and Nanny moved away out of sight between the trees which
towered up like sentinels against the starlit sky.
***
"Now that really is interesting," whispered Edmund, propping himself up on his elbow and
hooding his eyes against the light of the candle which Ratlett was holding rather shakily
by his bedside. "And where did the magician take her?"
"I don't know," admitted Ratlett. "I'm afraid I lost them, your lordship."
"Lost them?" hissed Edmund. "How did you lose them?"
"I ..." Ratlett thought better of telling the truth, "I just lost them, sir, your lordship."
"That was very careless of you. I hope you're not going to turn out to be a disappointment to
me." The dungeonmaster's whisper was heavy with unspecified threats.
"Oh, no, sir, your lordship!" exclaimed Ratlett.
"Good. That would be most unwise of you." Edmund blew out the boy's candle and turned over
to go back to sleep, leaving Ratlett to grope his way out of the room in the pitch darkness.
***
A few days later, Widow Candy and her infant son, Tom, moved into a woodcutter's abandoned
cottage in the remotest depths of the Hollwood Forest. They were accompanied by two dwarves,
who fussed around like a couple of broody hens for several days, making certain that everything
was as comfortable as possible. Finally, they prepared to depart.
"Now, you're quite sure you can manage?" asked Pot.
"You don't need us to stay and help for another day or two?" added Griddle.
"No," smiled Widow Candy. "You've been wonderful, but you mustn't stay away from your work any
longer."
"That's all right," said Griddle.
"Quite all right," agreed Pot.
"Off you go," insisted Widow Candy, and bent down to give them each a farewell kiss on top of
his head. Both dwarves turned scarlet, squirmed speechlessly for a moment, then made their
departure.
"We'll be back next week!" called Griddle.
"If not before!" added Pot.
***
Summer drifted into autumn with showers of russet leaves, then gathering swallows twittered
in the skies and before anyone was ready for it, winter had arrived.
"Spirited away without a trace!" grumbled Toppard, not for the first time in the months during
which search parties from the castle had scoured the city and the surrounding countryside for
the missing king.
"Doubtless you've been looking in all the wrong places," said Margaret testily, staring out
of the frosted window at the snow-covered roofs of the town. She was now grown big with child,
but instead of glowing with health, as she had done when carrying Erryl and Clarence, she was
even paler than normal. Her features were sharp and drawn, and she seemed to be wasting away,
as if the child she carried were draining her of life.
Suddenly there was a loud crash and the door to the chamber burst open to admit Erryl and
Clarence in a screaming, kicking ball of voilent fury.
"Would!" shouted Erryl's voice from the heaving whirl of limbs and bodies.
"Wouldn't!" screamed Clarence.
"Would!"
"Wouldn't!"
"Stop it!" shouted their mother, but to no effect.
Toppard sprang from his chair by the roaring fire and wrenched the two boys apart, still
kicking and screaming at each other.
"Would!"
"Wouldn't!"
"That's enough!" roared their father, and they fell sullenly silent, red-faced and panting
heavily. "Now, what's all this about?"
"Erryl wants to be king!" blurted out Clarence.
"Liar!" shouted Erryl, and tried to hit him.
Toppard flung them unceremoniously in opposite directions, so that Erryl ended up on his back
by the fireplace and Clarence went sprawling over to the window where his mother irritably
pulled the train of her dress from under him.
"What's going on?" demanded the duke, standing over his eldest son.
"I just said that if I were made king while Deramo is missing, I would give him back the crown
when he returned."
"No you wouldn't!" bawled Clarence.
"Would so!"
"Wouldn't! Ow!" Clarence put a hand to the ear which had just been slapped by his mother.
"Anyway," said Erryl, climbing to his feet, "father should be king, not me. That's what I said
in the first place!"
"I am lord protector." said Toppard. "My brother's son is the true king, and I will maintain
that until I am certain of his fate."
"Are you sure that is for the best?" asked the duchess quietly. "The country needs a king, not
a lord protector who has no-one to protect."
Toppard moved away and leant against the stone fireplace to stare into the roaring flames.
"My oath was to serve Deramo, not usurp him," he said.
"But that was when he was here to serve," pointed out Margaret. "We don't know that we will
ever see him again. The country is more important than your outdated sense of loyalty. It needs
a strong ruler. And if you have no ambition for yourself, have you none for your sons?"
Margaret's hands rested on her unborn shild and her violet eyes flickered with a dangerous
ambition.
"I am lord protector!" insisted Toppard. "Now the subject is closed!"
Margaret glared at him with undisguised but unperceived hatred before returning to her
contemplation of the wintery landscape, her hands gently stroking the growing life within her.
***
The turning point of the year came, when winter seemed to be clinging on indefinitely, but the
snowdrops were forcing their way up to herald the approach of spring.
"This really is very cosy," commented Griddle, happily toasting crumpets before the fire in
Widow Candy's cottage.
"Yes," agreed Pot, "very cosy indeed, isn't it, Tomtom?" He grinned at the baby who was gurgling
happily on his knee and trying to pull clumps of ginger hair out of his beard.
"I hear they've given up the search for the missing king," remarked Griddle archly.
"Have they?" said Widow Candy with feigned indifference. "Poor little mite," she added for
good measure.
"They've increased the reward for his discovery to five hundred gold pieces." added Pot,
genuinely innocent of any deeper association his announcement might have. "Don't you wish
you were worth five hundred gold pieces, Tomtom?" He bounced the baby up and down on his
knee to the accompaniment of squeals of delight. Griddle looked at the widow, but she was
busily buttering crumpets and had her back to him.
"They say the Duchess of Yeoveld is very near her time," remarked Pot, whose mind these days
seemed to be preoccupied with babies.
"They also say she is very ill, and might not survive the birth," added Griddle.
"Poor dear," said Widow Candy. "I don't understand it. She was so strong and healthy and
blooming with life when she had the other two boys -" she turned to face Griddle, " - so they
say."
They smiled at each other in acceptance of the unspoken knowledge thet lay between them.
***
Although the imminence of spring brought warmer temperatures, Margaret demanded a roaring fire
in her bedchamber at all times. Nothing drove the chill from her skeletal body, over which her
skin was stretched so tightly that it seemed in danger of splitting open with any sudden move.
Only her distended belly showed the power of life within, and what a painful life to her it was.
"Why does he kick so hard?" she gasped to Granny Grimpmyre, the only person she allowed near her.
"Don't you worry yourself about him, ducks," soothed the old crone, wiping Margaret's fevered
brow. "He wants to be out in the world!"
The duchess grasped Granny's arm with her skeletal hand. "I will survive, won't I?" she
whispered, fighting back the need to scream at the spasm of agonising pain that shot through
her.
"Course you will, ducks" cooed the old witch reassuringly. "You've got a good twenty-four years
yet, haven't you?"
Margaret lay back exhausted and closed her eyes. "I hope it's worth it," she sighed.
***
Two nights later a violent storm blew up from nowhere. One minute the sky was starlit clear,
the next it was totally obscured by thunderous clouds and illumined by vicious stabs of hideously
forked lightning. Trees fell before the terrifying onslaught, and all the dogs in the city
howled as if the end of the world were upon them.
When the storm was at its height, Margaret gave birth, attended only by Granny Grimpmyre.
Everyone else was locked out of the bedchamber, and no pleas or threats or hammering on the
door would persuade the duchess to allow another living soul to witness her third son's entry
into the world.
The birth was long and excruciatingly painful, and Margaret wished many times that she could
die to escape the protracted agony. But she survived.
"Show him to me!" she whispered through thin and bloodless lips as soon as she had recovered
sufficiently to speak.
Granny proudly held out the naked and squalling infant to its mother. Margaret took a moment
to focus her shadow-ringed eyes on the being that had caused her so much pain. Her expression
of anticipated delight slowly contorted into undisguised horror at the red and wriggling
creature, and she turned away. She was too weak to cry out, but her whisper was as powerful
as the loudest scream: "Take it away!"
"Don't you want to hold the little darling?" asked Granny, genuinely puzzled by the duchess's
reaction.
"What have I done?" whispered Margaret - then, with ferocious passion: "Take it away! Destroy it!"
"Destroy my little darling?" croaked Grammy indignantly. "Never!" He's going to be the greatest
man in the world one day, aren't you, ducks?"
The duchess turned to face the old woman and painfully raised herself up onto her elbows. "You
must destroy it! It's not - human!"
There was an appropriately dramatic flash of lightning followed immediately by a deafening and
protracted roll of thunder.
"He's Granny's little darling, isn't he?" chortled the old witch, gently wrapping the infant in
a blanket. "Don't you worry, ducks - Granny will look after you."
She moved over to the door and unbolted it to admit Toppard and Doctor Gudgeon and the midwife
and a whole gaggle of attendant ladies who were furious at being denied their right to witness
the birth of a new prince.
"I've never been treated like this in my entire professional career!" exclaimed the doctor,
bustling authoritatively over to the duchess's bed. "Your grace!" he gasped in horror when he
saw her corpselike appearance.
"Will she live?" asked Toppard anxiously.
"I cannot say until I have examined her," replied the doctor, glaring accusingly at Granny
Grimpmyre.
"Course she will!" exclaimed the old crone scornfully.
"And the baby?" asked the duke, turning to Granny.
"A son. A healthy son."
Toppard peered at the scarcely visible face of the muffled creature in Granny's arms. "He's a
bit red and wrinkled, isn't he?"
"All babies look like that when they've just been born, ducks."
"Oh. Fine. He's all - all right, isn't he?"
"He's Granny's little darling!"
"He's a monster!" came from the duchess as she hoisted herself up in bed again, despite Doctor
Gudgeon's protests. "You must destroy him!"
"What do you mean?" asked Toppard. "Show him to me!"
Granny glanced furtively round the crowded room, then slowly unwrapped the creature she was
holding until it was fully revealed in all its newborn nakedness. There was a collective gasp
as everyone crowded round to stare in wonderment, and the storm provided another blinding flash
of lightning and a peal of thunder to give added terror to the apparition which confronted them.
"A prodigy!" exclaimed the doctor.
It was large for a newborn baby, and was red and wrinkled all over. It had the usual infant's
disproportionately large head, but, "Look at its ears!" cried one, for they were long and
pointed like no human's ears.
"Its eyes are yellow!" cried another, for the baby peered at them from reptilian, yellow eyes.
"Its back is all twisted!" cried a third, for there was a hideous mountain of a hump on the
creature's left shoulder.
"Its arm is all deformed!" cried a fourth, for the infant's left arm was withered like a blasted
sapling.
"Look at its leg!" cried a fifth, for although the right leg was perfectly normal, the left one
terminated in something resembling a pig's trotter.
"It is a prodigy indeed!" cried the midwife.
The creature smiled and the women cried. "Bless us, it is born with teeth!" for tiny, pointed
teeth were visible between its grinning lips.
"Destroy it!" cried the duchess. She summoned some inner strength to climb from her bed and
stagger towards the horrified crowd surrounding Granny and the newborn infant.
"No!" Toppard caught her in his arms as her strength gave out, and carried her back to the bed.
"The child is not normal, but you cannot destroy it for that."
"If you do not destroy it now, it will destroy you - and all of us!"
"Doctor, can't you give her something to calm her down?"
Doctor Gudgeon hurried over to the duchess and produced a bottle from his large pouch. "Here,
drink this, your grace."
"No! It must be destroyed!"
It took both Toppard and the doctor to force some of the liquid down Margaet's throat, and it
was several minutes before she relaxed into an uneasy sleep.
By the time they could shift their attention from the duchess, Granny had wrapped the baby
again in its blanket and carried it from the chamber. The storm was fading as quickly as it
had arisen, and the last peal of thunder reverberated away into the distance.
"Leave her now to sleep," said the doctor, shooing everyone out and closing the door behind them.
"Shouldn't someone stay with her?" asked Toppard.
"It's not necessary, your grace." replied the doctor. "She will sleep now until morning."
***
But Margaret did not sleep until morning. About an hour later, when the castle had settled
into uneasy quiet, she woke quite suddenly and looked fearfully round the empty, silent chamber
as if expecting to find someone there. Her eyes finally came to rest on the fire as it
smouldered fretfully in the great, stone hearth. Little flames flickered around the pile of
ash and disintegrating logs, then larger flames began to roar into life until the fireplace
contained an impossible inferno at the centre of which a scarlet figure slowly materialised,
sitting comfortably on the pile of ash and charred wood.
The flames subsided. "Hello," said Darren.
Margaret stared at him in horror.
"You don't look at all well," added the demon solicitously. "Is anything the matter?" He rose
from the fire and clattered across the floor on his hooves to sit at the end of the duchess's
bed.
"I don't want it!" said Margaret. "Take it away!"
"What's that, then?" smiled Darren, showing his sharply pointed teeth.
"That - that creature!"
"What creature?"
"The prodigy - the baby!"
"You don't mean my son?" The demon's smile disappeared, to be replaced by an expression of the
utmost malevolence.
"Yes! That creature is an abomination. It doesn't even look human. I should never have done it!"
Margaret was gasping with pain and exhaustion, but determined not to give way to either.
"I told you he would have quite a bit of me in him," said Darren, scratching the naked, red hump
on his back. "What did you expect?"
"I never thought - I din't know - You must take him away - I don't want him!"
"We have a contract," observed the demon coldly, producing the scroll of smouldering parchment
from the air, "signed in your own blood!"
"I don't care!" cried Margaret.
"You're not suggesting that you want to break our contract, are you?"
"Yes," replied Margaret. "I should never have done it. It was wrong. It was evil!"
"Well, tough titty!" snarled the demon, "This is more binding than anything you have ever
signed in your miserable life before! And nobody made you do it. You summoned me, remember.
You've only got yourself to blame, and there's no way out!" He waved the scroll in the air.
"You wanted a son by me, and that's what you've got! We want your soul in return, and that's
what we will get, twenty-four years form now! And there's absolutely nothing you can do to alter
it!"
Margaret stared at the soulless, yellow eyes for a long time in silence. Then she spoke, very
quietly, and with absolute conviction: "I will spend the rest of my life - my twenty-four years
- fighting you and that abomination you have spawned through me!"
The demon's mouth twitched most unpleasantly.
"And I will win!" added Margaret calmly.
Darren's mouth twitched again, then he started to laugh - a high-pitched, nasal laugh thet sent
shudders of terror down Margaret's spine. He rocked backwards and forwards on the end of the bed
- he tumbled to the floor, screaming and helpless with mirth, kicking his hooves in the air and
grasping his sides with his bony hands. Then he disappeared in a cloud of acrid smoke, leaving
his horrible laughter echoing round the chamber.
"I will win!" repeated Margaret, and lay back on her pillows to sleep again. But now she slept
the sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care, is the balm of hurt minds and chief
nourisher in life's junketings, etc.
***
"Talking of junketings," said Toppard - nobody was talking of them, but that didn't make any
difference - "isn't it about time we organised some sort of feast to celebrate the birth of my
new son?"
Sir Crispin coughed loudly, and looked appealingly round at the rest of the council. It was
several days since the birth of the child, and everybody had fearfully avoided the subject
in the presence of the duke. Edmund alone watched in amused detachment as all the councillors
shifted uncomfortably in their seats and glanced round surreptitiously in the hope that someone
else would speak.
In the end it was Mirdalph who broke the silence. "Do you think a feast is a good idea?" he
asked.
"Why not?" Toppard glared at him as if daring him to speak his mind.
"I will speak my mind, if no-one else will," said the magician. "Your son is by no stretch of
the imagination normal. In fact, it is already being said that he is a changeling, spawned by
the devil. If you organise a celebration of his birth you might find yourself the only guest at
your banquet."
"Excuse me, your grace," said Gilbert, having just hurried into the council chamber.
Toppard ignored his squire. "Are you telling me that the entire nobility would refuse to come?"
he asked Mirdalph in disbelief.
"Oh, they wouldn't refuse outright," replied the magician, "but you would probably find
yourself faced with a sudden epidemic of bad backs and chronic colds."
"This is intolerable!" roared Toppard. "What do you want?" he snapped at Gilbert, who was still
patiently trying to attract his attention.
"Please, your grace, the duchess has gone."
"What do you mean - gone?"
"Her women went to wake her as usual this morning, but her bed had not been slept in. She
appears to have left the castle some time during the night."
"Where has she gone?"
"I don't know, your grace."
"Well, find out!"
***
Margaret's horse ambled to a halt outside the gates of the Convent of the Little Sisters of
Light, and she slid from the saddle to the muddy path. She was still dressed in her shift,
over which she had flung a dark cloak. On her feet were riding boots. She moved towards the
convent and sank to her knees by the gates. After a long pause to summon the energy, she banged
her fists feebly on the wooden boards.
There was a grating of bolts, and Sister Chrysanthemum's round face appeared at the grilled
window. "Who is it?" she clucked, for Margaret was out of her range of vision, curled up
exhausted at the bottom of the gate. "I can see your horse, but where are you? I'm not opening
this gate until you show yourself!"
"Sanctuary!" gasped Margaret feebly, and banged her fist against the gate.
Sister Chrysanthemum strained to peer down to where the sound had come from, and caught a
glimpse of the duchess's white shift.
"Bless us!" she squawked, and started to unchain and unbolt the gates. "I can't see who you are,
but you must be in a terrible state. Just wait a moment while I get this chain off and pull
back this bolt - Oh, my goodness, you're pushing the gates open - can't you support yourself?
Bless us! you're the Duchess of Yeoveld, aren't you? You poor dear, let me help you up -
whatever have you been doing? You are in a dreadful state! No, don't try to speak - What about
your horse? Oh! it's following us in - Sister Equinia, come and take care of this horse!"
A tall, bony sister with protruding front teeth and a permanent smile came galloping across the
yard to take charge of the horse, while Sister Chrysanthemun supported the duchess towards the
infirmary.
***
"What's she doing there?" asked Toppard in bewilderment.
The Mother Superior of the Little Sisters of Light tried to shift her white-draped bulk in the
chair in which the duke had invited her to sit when she had been shown into his apartments, and
smiled in embarrassment. "She came to us for sanctuary." she replied.
"Sanctuary? Sanctuary from what?"
The mother superior cleared her throat. "I am not at liberty to say, your grace."
"What do you mean? I'm her husband, damn it!" The mother superior raised a disapproving eyebrow.
"Oh, sorry," muttered Toppard, suitably chastened.
The mother superior pressed home her advantage to take control of the conversation. "The duchess
has undergone a terrible strain with the conception and birth of her last ... child, and she
needs complete rest and considerable time if she is to make a full recovery. She asks that she
be left alone, and that no-one should visit her."
"Not even ...?"
"Not even yourself, your grace - or your children. She feels that she is - how shall I put it?
- unclean - and she does not wish to infect those she loves with her uncleanness."
"You don't mean that she's got the plague, do you?" asked Toppard in horror.
"No, no, no, your grace. The duchess has no physical disease. Her ailment is more - spiritual."
"You mean she's lost her mind?"
"Her mind is affected, certainly," said the mother superior soothingly, "but not without hope of
complete recovery. What she needs now, as I said, is complete rest."
"Oh, I see - I think."
The mother superior cleared her throat as a prologue to her next question. "Er - do you think I
might be permitted to see the - child, your grace?"
"Yes, of course!" exclaimed Toppard, delighted that someone was showing an interest in the baby.
"Come along. I'll take you to him myself."
"I don't want to put you to any trouble." said the mother superior hurriedly.
"No trouble at all!" exclaimed Toppard. His open and friendly nature had no prejudices against
the baby's deformities, and he assumed that anyone who showed an interest in the child felt the
same as he did.
***
"Here he is, Granny's little darling," cooed Granny Grimpmyre, proudly leading the duke and the
wheezing and breathless mother superior over to the cradle. Toppard had warmed towards the old
witch during the last few days, as she showed such obvious devotion towards the baby.
"There he is!" Granny folded down the blanket to reveal the sleeping child. His face had lost
its fierce, red colouring, and was now an average pink. In fact, with his eyes closed, his mouth
shut, and a woolly cap with bobbles on it to hide his pointed ears, the creature looked like any
normal baby.
The mother superior leant over the cradle to examine him as closely as possible. "What a sweet
little thing he is," she commented, with obvious relief. At the sound of her voice, the infant
opened his eyes, and she drew back in alarm at their reptilian yellowness. The baby seemed to
sense her discomfiture, for he opened his mouth in a grin which revealed two rows of sharply
pointed teeth.
"How - different is he?" asked the mother superior, with an increased sense of foreboding.
"His left arm is practically useless," said Toppard sadly, "and he has a bit of a hump on his
left shoulder, and his left foot is - deformed, but otherwise he's perfectly normal."
"I see," said the mother superior quietly. "What about his ears?"
"They're a bit pointed," replied Toppard, "But nothing to worry about."
"He's Granny's little darling," repeated Granny Grimpmyre, picking the baby up and holding him
to her withered breast.
"He has quite an engaging smile," said the mother superior without much conviction. She reached
out to give the child's cheek a token pat. There was a sharp snapping sound, and the mother
superior screamed in agony. The child had clamped his sharp teeth onto her finger and was trying
to chew it off.
