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Brendan rejoiced. He had told his uncle he had talent! And the old king didn’t believe him. And he shouldn’t have. Music doesn’t need an army to put a dragon to sleep. Still, Brendan had a guilty conscience after all.
«I will try to solve your riddle on the way back,» he promised.
«Is it on the way back?» The serpent grinned sarcastically, letting out a puff of green smoke as he fell asleep. «He is an optimist! He hopes there will be a way back from here.»
Another man would have been alarmed, but Brendan decided to let the well-dweller mutter all he wanted. In his half-asleep state, the serpent resembled a drunk. And drunks, as everyone knows, don’t know what they’re saying. The music probably had the same effect on him as alcohol does on people. Even the green vapor he exhaled folded into hearts and notes. Who would have thought the well dragon would turn out to be such a music lover. Brendon rejoiced in his good fortune and moved on. Strangely enough, as soon as he passed the well, the silhouette of a beautiful white-stone castle twined with vines loomed up in the distance. He had not seen it a moment before.
Cat’s Castle
The green creature on the well was sleeping peacefully. Brendan kept turning around, fearing that the serpent might blow green fire at him. He said «pass,» as if his mistress were hiding just ahead. But there was no one around.
Brendan tripped over something and swore. It felt as if his boot had been bitten right through. Was there another snake hiding in the grass? No, it was just a skull underfoot. It was an unusual one. He was neither animal nor human. It looks like the skull of a supernatural creature, with several eye sockets, a mouth with fangs, a shell-shaped skull, and curved horns, also made of bone. He wondered what such a creature was called while it was alive.
«Don’t go!»
Well, what’s the matter! Why does everybody keep telling him, «Don’t go»? Is that where the devil is waiting ahead?
«You won’t come back like me, you fool!» warned the skull as Brendan gently stepped over it and went on.
If everyone warned not to go ahead, then there’s a fabulous treasure waiting there, Brendan thought.
The white stone castle loomed in the distance, against the blue skies. Its towers had the color of puffy clouds floating above them. The fortress wall was also white.
It would take an hour to reach it, Brendan estimated in his mind, but he did not reach it until late afternoon. The torches on the parapet were already blazing, illuminating the bizarre architecture of the walls.
Up close, the castle was even more beautiful than he could have imagined. Vines stretched along the walls like a luxurious net. The walls themselves abounded with stucco decorations and alabaster statues.
The gates were open, as if they were already waiting for a guest. The caryatid winked at him. Or was it just a dream?
Outside the gate was a beautiful garden of roses, jasmines, magnolias, and exotic plants.
The avenue of rosebushes leading to the open castle doors was empty. No guests but Brendan himself, no guards.
There are also bas-reliefs of graceful cats engraved on the doors that open. And inside you can see tapestries depicting a cat’s hunt for mice and birds. The interior of the castle was decorated either by a great humorist or an avid feline.
Brendan whistled when he noticed a fountain inside the spacious hallway, with wine pouring out instead of water. And he wanted to drink from the well! Of course there was no bucket or glass beside the fountain, but if he was thirsty he could always take a scoop of wine with his hand. It was sweet and invigorating, of the highest grade for sure! It was not until he was thirsty that Brendon remembered that the wine might be bewitched, or worse, poisoned.
«Look who’s here!»
A pleasant girl’s voice came from the top of the stairs. Brendon looked up and saw two slender ladies. One of them, a brunette in a blue dress with bows, was an incomparable beauty. The second was dressed even more splendidly, but for some reason she hid her face under a veil. Was she a sorceress, perhaps? Effigenia also liked to throw a black veil over her head from time to time. She was rumored to enhance her connection to the spirits that way. Someone more realistic asserted that she was hiding age-related wrinkles. Since she used the veil most often in bright daylight, the second is more likely. What about the mistress of this castle? Brendan was sure it was the lady under the veil who was the mistress, because only a princess could afford such an expensive outfit, embroidered with gold thread and pearls. Is she hiding her face because she has made some elaborate vow to the gods? Or is it because she is ugly?
In any case, Brendan was more attracted to the first girl. She had black sable eyebrows, violet eyes, a chiseled profile, and soft dark hair that cascaded down her bare shoulders. In a word – beautiful! Except that her plump pink lips pouted dismissively at the sight of a mere minstrel. Perhaps she was waiting for a prince. A mere musician showed up. And he was in his dusty clothes. If only she knew how difficult it was to run through the magic fields without tearing his clothes.
«It is another guest!» She blurted out phlegmatically, as if Brendan were a disappointment to her.
«I am not a guest. I am an employee,» he immediately tried to prove his usefulness and showed her the lute. «I am a minstrel.»
It was as if the beauty had not heard him.
«We’ve had many guests before, and they’ve all disappointed us. Maybe we’ll have better luck with this one.»
What’s she talking about? And what’s with the way she talks about him like he’s a piece of furniture? Either he’s being deliberately mocked, or he’s misunderstood something.
«If I’m not welcome here, I’ll be going,» Brendan was reluctant to leave, but he turned around defiantly.
«You’re not going anywhere,» the pretty girl said arrogantly. «We don’t let our guests leave so quickly.»
Would she go down the stairs to the hall to greet him as usual, or should he ignore decorum and go up himself? There are no guards around, so you can behave however you want.
Brendan brazenly went up himself, though no one invited him. The flight of stairs was even more chic than the one below. And the brunette was even prettier up close. Except that in the light of the sconces you could see the deep scratches on her neck and shoulders.
«A cat scratched you, too!» Brendan wanted to roll up his sleeve and show her the scratches, but she snorted angrily.
«What makes you think it’s a cat?»
«I just thought…»
He thought he’d found a comrade in grief.
«I know from experience that pampered palace cats are not always affectionate to the lords’ minions.
«Watch your tongue. You insult us.»
«Whom do you mean? Are they you, her, the cats? Or are they the minions of noble lords?» Brendan realized that if the beautiful woman was the mistress’ companion, then the word «hangers-on» might have been applied to her before he had. Then no wonder she was so angry. It was not clear why her mistress suddenly felt so unwell. The lady under the veil almost fainted.
Brendan could only now see how splendid her attire was. The corset was embroidered with tiny diamonds, the sleeves were decorated with sapphires, and the layered skirts were made of the most expensive Aluar’s brocade. Only kings could afford such. The lady herself, judging by her graceful figure, is worthy of the costume. Her waist is as narrow as a hornet’s waist. Her movements are supple. Her posture is haughty. What is her face like, he wondered? It can’t be an ugly face in such a graceful lady! Her voice is very pleasant.
«Do not be offended, Rebecca. He meant no harm,» said the veiled lady to her companion, or lady’s confidante, or servant.
«You are an angel of mercy! You know what I mean!» Brendan encouraged his hostess. «By the way, I am a very talented minstrel. My music makes people, and even snakes, feel as euphoric as if they had gone to heaven.»
Well, if you don’t praise yourself, no one will know how good you are! Rebecca looked at Brendan with great doubt. He wasn’t lying. She was the only one who was a liar. The scratches on her skin were obviously cat’s scratches. Only a cat could have made such marks on her shoulders, her neck, part of her cheek, even her arms. Brendan only now considered how serious the damage was. Maybe that’s what made her so angry. He couldn’t handle the Bastard himself, so he endured the pain of the scratches. It was impossible to negotiate peace and friendship with the royal cat. Thankfully, Rebecca’s thin scratches on her cheek didn’t spoil her at all. They were fresh. You could still see blood on them. But when they healed, there might not be any scars left. Brendan himself had hardly any scars from the Bastard’s claws.
«Cats, when they scratch, they just play,» he whispered to Rebecca. «Next time you don’t play with the pet with your bare hands, you’d better take the ribbon.»
Rebecca herself almost hissed with anger at the friendly advice, like a real cat.
«Idiot!» She muttered to herself under her breath.
«He us so handsome and so stupid,» her veiled companion said thoughtfully.
«What’s that?» Brendan couldn’t help it.
«It’s all right.»
«You need your rest. We have a bedroom for guests,» said Rebecca, who had taken a candle from the ornamental table, though there was enough light from the sconces on the walls.
«You must have hundreds of bedrooms here,» Brendan followed the ladies inside the castle, marveling at the lavish surroundings. True, there were too many locked rooms. But the gilded doors gave the impression of wealth and luxury.
«Are you the mistress of the castle?» Brendan wished he could see the mysterious lady’s face under a layer of silk. The beige veil with lace trim was, alas, opaque.
«She’s the local princess,» Rebecca snapped. «She owns all the land and everything in it.»
«Then she’s magic, because there’s a lot of magic in the lands around your castle,» Brendan blurted out, and then bit his tongue. If she really did make all that magic he’d escaped from in the night, she could hardly be expected to cast a spell on him. Turn him into a toad, for instance. He is being disrespectful. You have to agree with witches, or you’ll be in a lot of trouble.
«Am I a sorceress?» The lady gave a very theatrical show of amazement. «That’s the first I’ve heard. I have been called many things-beautiful, a heartbreaker, a rival, a senseless person who sends knights to their doom-but never a sorceress.»
Her train, like a tail, whipped Brendan to his feet. It was certainly not done on purpose, but somehow he was still embarrassed. It was as if he’d been put in his place.
«You’ll play for me tomorrow night at dinner,» the princess decided.
Why not tonight? It’s suppertime-unless they’ve decided to skimp on the minstrel’s food tonight.
«They’ll bring your supper to your chambers. You are tired. Tonight you will rest and eat, and tomorrow you will entertain us.»
Now that’s noble. He thought he’d be exploited at once.
«Thank you!»
But the princess had already slipped behind one of the closed doors, and Rebecca led him down the corridor. There was no flirting with her. The beauty was very serious.
«Do not think that if you are allowed to stay, you can do anything,» she warned.
«Can I see the cat that scratched you so? Does it live in the Princess’s apartments?»
The Bastard always slept and ate in the King’s apartments. It must be the same here. He wondered what the local cat’s name is. «Is it the Sadist? Is it Lady Scratchy? Or is it just Rival?» Rebecca was definitely hurt by it, so to her the princess’s cat was no other than a rival.
«If you were smarter, you wouldn’t ask so many questions.»
«You sound like a schoolteacher. Where are we going, by the way?» Brendan quipped. Rebecca’s coldness hurt him. It’s not nice when a pretty girl pretends she’s not interested in you. Nothing! After listening to him play, she’ll be kinder. All girls love to hear minstrels.
At the end of the corridor was a winding spiral staircase.
«It’s the way to the tower,» Rebecca explained.
«Is my bedroom is in the tower?»
«Yes, it is.»
«I feel like a prisoner.»
«Don’t be so dramatic. You’re a guest, of course.»
The lock on the door was strong. Rebecca opened it with a key from a large bundle she carried with her. Behind the door, however, it was so luxurious that Brendan dismissed the notion of a dungeon. The silk-covered walls, the paintings on the ceilings, and the abundance of upholstered furniture created aristocratic comfort. The bed under a lush canopy was the size of an entire tent, and there were vases of flowers on the cherry wood tables. A tray of supper was already waiting here. He wondered who had brought it. Brendan did not notice the servants. They must have learned to sneak around like shadows. With Rebecca’s nervousness, it was no wonder they’d been trained that way.
Who would have thought that a wandering minstrel would be treated like a nobleman? Something’s not right after all. Either they suspected he wasn’t who he said he was. Or his uncle has sent out messengers with news that he’s wanted. He must be on his guard. Brendan locked the door with a latch and prepared in advance a rope from a torn sheet to escape through the window in case of capture. It was very high up here, but there were bushes of vines twisting below the tower. Their vines braided the window vault. It was a pity they were not so strong that they could be climbed down at once.
Brendan’s entire dinner consisted of fruit. Not a crust of bread. He wasn’t used to this kind of diet, but it was better than nothing. A pitcher of fine ale supplemented his diet. The ale was unaccustomedly strong. The first sip made him insufferably sleepy. Brendan hoped he might dream again about the blonde called Rashelina.
Prisoner’s Dream
The vines whispered something and reached out to choke him, like living snakes or dryad hands. Brendan now understood the warning of the whisper that hovered over the fields. The whispers might be a warning to the vines coming to life. They were whispering about his fate.
«Would he survive, would he not survive? Will he love – will he not love?»
Their whispering was like a little counting rhyme.
«Would the same thing happen to him that happened to everyone else? Or was he the only one who would make it?»
«He looked like a smart guy!»
Brendan fluttered his eyelids open sleepily. Could the vines really be whispering, zigzagging above his bed? He was dreaming! He’d have to be out of his mind to believe they were reaching out the window like living hands.
«Look! He’s got a handkerchief with the King’s crest on it!»
«He must have stolen it!»
The voices were still whispering, and the tip of the grapevine slid down his neck. Brendan pushed it away with his hand and sat down. When he had entered this bedroom, the vines had only hung around the high arched window, but now they lay imposingly across the rug and even draped a border around the bottom of the four-poster. What the devil is this? Or had he not looked carefully the first time?
To one of the vines was indeed clung his new handkerchief, with an Aluar’s crown embroidered in the corner. It was a gift from his uncle! He certainly hadn’t stolen it. But could one of the mischievous vines have stolen it right out of his pocket?
It’s worth a walk. There’s something wrong with this room. Perhaps insidious Rebecca had deliberately put him in a haunted tower. Everything is to be expected of that proud girl. Unlike the princess, she doesn’t like visitors. Perhaps that’s why the castle is so quiet and there are no servants to be seen at all. Rebecca has driven everyone out of here. But he can’t be handled that easily. He was used to his uncle’s mentoring, he would get used to Rebecca’s whims.
Brendan was sure the door was locked from the outside, but he was wrong. It gave way easily. He strode down the empty corridors of the castle. All the rooms looked uninhabitable, but luxurious. There was lots of feline molding all around. But the cats themselves were nowhere to be seen.
Brendan touched the gilded symbols embossed on the walls and columns. The patterns are amusing, as if a wizard had painted the marble with witchcraft symbols. It’s definitely an imitation of magical writings! It was well done. Even Ephigenia couldn’t do it. And it also glows in the dark!
His fingers ached to touch the murals and his eyes felt as if a sheath had been taken off his eyes. Brendan only now noticed the hideous, deep scratches on the furniture, the sculptures, and even the walls. They certainly weren’t cat’s claw’s prints. They were more like tiger’s or a cheetah’s. Or maybe they were something bigger. Suddenly the dreadful legends of woodland werewolves sprang to mind.
Brendan felt sick to his stomach. But why should he be so nervous? It was a field, not a wilderness. But in those fields he had encountered more evil creatures than he could count in hell, much less in the woods. What if one of those things got into the palace?
«Hey! Somebody! Help me!» A desperate voice came from somewhere on the lower floors. It was barely audible, but Brendan broke out in a cold sweat.
A trellis just caught his eye, completely torn apart by someone’s claws. And on the mantel screen he could see the furrows from five large claws.
«Where are you?» Brendan climbed down the stairs, trying to determine which side the voice was coming from.
«Go this way! Quick! It is before they come back!»
The voice was clearer now. How much anguish there was in it! It was as if the unfortunate man had been tortured.
Brendan had seen the executions of traitors and rebels in Aluar, but he had never heard such despair in anyone’s voice.
Trying to find the victim, he went deep into the cellars. It was damp and cold. Cobwebs laced the walls. Instead of the customary cellars with wine and food supplies, there were cells with bars. The floor was flooded. Clamps bolted to the walls where chains had been fastened. Where had he gone?! Maybe he should turn back, but Brendan heard another call for help. How could he not help? No good fellow would leave a man in trouble. And Brendan was very kindhearted. This time it was on his own head. Because the prisoner discovered in the dungeon was definitely insane.
At any rate, his eyes gleamed madly in his pale, feverish face. His neck was crushed by an iron collar from a chain embedded in the wall. That’s the kind they usually put on crazy people. Brendan would have turned back if he hadn’t noticed the deep scratches from the paws of an unknown animal on the prisoner’s body. The same scratches as on the walls upstairs!
«Who are you?» Brendan came up to the bars. «I’m from Aluar myself, and…»
