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«It doesn’t matter who you are! It doesn’t matter who I am! We’ve got to get out of here…»
If it hadn’t been for the bars separating them, the mad prisoner would have clung to Brendan’s collar.
«Come on, let’s go!»
«But how could we escape?» Brendan was taken aback. «Where are the keys to your um… fetters?»
It was as if the prisoner only now realized that he was shackled and frustrated.
«That’s right. You are the only one who can escape. Run to Aluar! Get help! Tell them it’s urgent! I’m the ambassador from there myself.»
«I never saw you there,» Brendan said, scrutinizing the pale face as if he did not recognize the prisoner as anyone he had met at Court.
«Don’t go into details!» The prisoner pressed himself against the bars, as if he could walk through them. «Get out of here! You will thank me later for my advice.»
He does not think so! He is comfortable here too! Unlike the prisoner, he does not sleep in chains, but in a comfortable bed. Except that the vines have become restless. Perhaps the prisoner had such hallucinations too, which is why he is sitting here now.
Again there was a bad suspicion that Rebecca deliberately put him in the tower, which is haunted, driving everyone who sleeps there crazy.
«You didn’t happen to sleep in the tower before you got here?»
«You’re out of your mind, boy!» The prisoner sounded like Brendan’s own thoughts. Their opinions about each other seemed to be mutual. Each suspected the other of losing his mind.
«You have to get out of here and tell them it’s time to attack the castle, or they will attack Aluar.»
«Who is it? There’s no one here but pampered women and a couple of servants, I suppose.
«There are cats,» the prisoner whispered fearfully.
«Only plaster and marble ones. I haven’t seen any real ones.»
Brendan would have been more likely to believe that there were werewolves, clawing at the furniture, if the man had told him there were.
«It is peaceful here,» he tried to reassure the poor creature, but he found the man was in a feeding frenzy, uttering one absurdity after another.
«Cats leash people up in here,» he finally blurted out.
«What is it? Are you serious?»
«Get out of here!» It sounded like an order.
«Okay, I’ll really go,» Brendan hurried toward the exit.
«And get some help!»
«Yes, yes… of course… don’t worry…»
Where would one come from? The prisoner must be out of his mind. Two exquisite noblewomen live in the palace. Not even guards at the door, and no sentries in the towers. What’s there to worry about? Why hasn’t a physician been called to this madman? Perhaps the physician lives too far away. Even at the royal court, there’s only one physician.
There’s a reasonable explanation for everything, if you think about it. Brendan returned to the tower and went back to sleep, forgetting all about the night walk into the dungeons. And in the morning he decided that he had only dreamed it all.
Vines of grape
Early in the morning Rebecca herself knocked on his door, but she did not bring the tray with the light breakfast (again, of only fruit). Somehow it had ended up on the bedside table. Who had put it there? Had not the living vines slipped the tray through the window?
«Good morning to you!» Rebecca said hello, but she did not look friendly.
Rebecca clearly didn’t want to get along with him. To hell with her! Let her be arrogant.
Brendan quickly devoured his breakfast, which consisted only of orange and pineapple slices. They should have brought a ham sandwich or at least a cheese sandwich! Has the feudal estate become so impoverished that there is nothing but fruit from the garden to feed the guest?
He could ask Rebecca about it directly, but she is so prickly that it is better not to annoy her with unnecessary questions, or else she will give an angry tirade. Brendan didn’t like confrontation. It was better to keep quiet so as not to argue.
There must be no bread in the castle because of the evil creatures that occupied the fields and drove all the peasants somewhere. After all, to get bread, someone must work the land, sow, plow, and then take the harvest to the mill.
«Where did all those things come from in the fields? Brendan couldn’t stand it any longer.
Rebecca struck him again with a wave of icy contempt.
«You are dreaming!» She muttered.
Tonight she wore a beautiful light outfit with pink ruffles. She was crumpling a bowed hat in her hands.
«Let’s go for a walk in the garden!» She commanded rather than suggested.
«Am I not supposed to play for the princess?»
«Her Highness does not wake so early,» replied Rebecca in a stern tone.
How capricious princesses are! Does she sleep till afternoon or evening?
«My uncle,» said Brendan, «always wakes up with the rooster.»
«Is your uncle a prince or a king?» Brendan sarcastically snickered.
«Actually…» Brendan realized he’d almost blurted out whose nephew he was. He’s traveling incognito.
«Shut up!» Rebecca took his hesitation as a guilty pleasure at the awkward joke. «You don’t know the etiquette of nobles.»
«What’s up, noble persons!» Brendan muttered to himself. «They are sleeping until dusk, like werewolves.»
At just the right time he was reminded of the tortured man who had been chained up like a werewolf caught in the woods. What if…? Brendan was taken aback by his own hunch. Why were there so few people in the castle? He followed Rebecca through sumptuous enfilades of halls that were empty. There were no servants, not even the steward. Even if his attendants were confined to a discrete wing, the steward was sure to intrude.
«Where is everyone?» Brendan asked Rebecca as she led him into the fragrant garden, with its many fountains and pergolas.
«Who is everybody?» She made a puzzled expression.
«Well… the other inhabitants of the castle.»
«Am I not enough for you? Would you prefer the company of a noble lady to noisy drunken company?»
«No. I’m sorry! I meant no offence.»
«But you have!» Rebecca opened the fan with a bang, the slats of which again bore a scene of kittens playing with a ball. The sight of those kittens was somehow frightening. It looked like you were about to be in their claws instead of a ball of fur.
Brendan was distracted by the beauty of the garden. There were such rare flowers blooming here that he didn’t know the names of them. But mostly roses dominated. Their wattles stretched across arbors, steps, columns, gazebo roofs, even the ground. Only the water they did not reach. The lily ponds seemed abandoned without ducks or drakes. Just wait for the webbed paw of a waterman to poke out of them.
«Where’s the gardener?» It seemed to Brendan that the boxwood bushes had not been pruned in a long time. And the gladiolus bushes were neglected. Some black stems sprouted between the flowers, like weeds.
«We don’t need it!» Rebecca whistled melodically, and the vine, suddenly detached from the arbor on which it twisted like a living snake. It put her arm around Rebecca’s waist and helped her climb up the rose-covered stairs that led to the large, round fountain.
«So they really are alive!» Brendan watched in horror as the long vines separated from the walls, and as if his hands were pulling apart the bushes blocking the passage, even finding a basket and scissors so that Rebecca could cut the roses.
«Why do you think there are no guards in the castle? If it weren’t for them,» she gently stroked one naughty vine that was trying to pull her hat off, «we’d have an army to protect Her Highness’s domain.»
«I’ve never seen anything like it!» Brendan whistled, and one vine nearly strangled him.
«Don’t whistle in their presence!» Rebecca snapped at him. «And don’t make any sudden moves! Otherwise they’ll think you’re a thief.»
«It is all right!» Brendan gradually became accustomed to treating the vines courteously, like living beings.
As luck would have it, there were just as many grapes in the garden as there were roses. They twisted along the walls and towers, stretched along the parapets of the fortress wall, even wrapped around the roof. If it’s all alive, it’s no wonder the castle hasn’t been occupied by invaders yet.
«Are the berries alive, too?»
«No, you can pick the berries. But you try to prune them, and they’ll strangle you,» said Rebecca, looking triumphant, as if Brendan had walked into a trap.
«If you’d known it was so risky, you wouldn’t have come to us at any price,» she said, her gaze informing him.
«Are you picking roses for the princess?» Brendan guessed.
Rebecca nodded haughtily.
«Does she like roses? There are plenty of more harmless flowers. I don’t like roses myself, because I’ve often pricked myself on their thorns. But honestly, you’re prettier than roses. They just stabbed you!»
«What do you mean?» Rebecca didn’t even frown upon him for his impertinence. «I pick roses with gloves on. I’ve never been pricked.»
«I mean the scratches on your shoulders! They’re so deep! They don’t hurt!»
«Is it scratches?» She was amazed. «You imagined it.»
You were dreaming! You imagined it! What kind of game is she playing with him? He could see the marks of the five claws on her arms, her shoulders, even her cheekbone.
«You’re like the bride of a werewolf who flirts with him at night and hides her dangerous affair by day.»
«You’ve read too many fairy tales!» Rebecca barked at him.
«I do not read them at all!»
«Then how do you know about werewolves? Have you ever seen one?»
Yeah, Brendan almost said it, the one on a chain in your dungeons. But it was better to keep quiet about the nightmare. Rebecca would have laughed at him.
«Tell me honestly, do you have a werewolf beau?» Brendan was getting bolder with his theories.
«No!» she retorted. «I don’t have a beau.»
«Probably it is because of your prickly disposition, but frankly, your wicked tongue aside, you’re as pretty as a rose.»
Rebecca was about to scold him, but softened when she heard the compliment. All women adore compliments. Here she is no exception. It’s worth continuing to flirt with her.
«You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life,» Brendan admitted honestly. «Well, it is except for the one pretty girl I just dreamed about.»
You have to be honest to the end. The blonde named Rashelina, who flashed in his witchy dream, was far more beautiful than the graceful brunette Rebecca.
«Don’t believe in dreams!» Rebecca said. «Don’t believe in werewolves, either. It’s all nonsense, invented by the local plowmen.»
«Where do you see any plowmen? The fields are empty!» Brendan peered through a peep-hole in the vine-clad wall. He saw black silhouettes in the fields. Then they vanished.
«You’ll get sunstroke if you don’t get out of the shade!» Rebecca quipped again.
Brendan obediently stepped back, and glanced casually at the castle window. He must have thought he saw a large, clawed paw pull the curtain back. He wondered if a werewolf could live in a palatial castle. They usually nested in the thicket of the forest. And they do exist. Word once came to the Court of Aluar of a pack of werewolves. They terrorized the Northern. The King took it seriously and sent a band of knights to help. Brendan himself had seen no werewolves, but the scratches on Rebecca’s shoulders worried him. She’s definitely having an affair with a young werewolf boy who peeks into the castle at night. That’s why she’s so unkind to the other guys. After all, werewolves have a knack for flipping beauties and seducing women in such a way that they no longer want to see ordinary men.
How to make it clear to Rebecca that she was caught in a web of enchantment, not true love. She was just whistling some dark ballad about a queen who fell in love with a demon. Such frightening tales even Brendan had never heard before.
The sun-drenched garden grew darker with the song. There was no longer a whisper from the vines, but a grunt of dissatisfaction.
«Would you like me to play lute?» Brendan politely suggested to Rebecca.
«No!» she declined.
«Don’t you like the sound of the lute?»
«I don’t like music in general, and I don’t like yours in particular!»
«But you yourself hum about demons.»
«You have auditory hallucinations!»
There she goes again. Secrecy! Cunning! Insubordination! Insolence! What kind of behavior? Rebecca was clearly in love with some werewolf and hiding all evidence of a connection with him. Brendan hadn’t even considered the possibility that she, for example, might be a werewolf herself. She didn’t scratch herself.
Candlelight Feast
By evening there were no more people in the castle. Brendan kept expecting to see servants who were not there. He even got a little creepy. Only plaster seals squinted at him from all sides. There were caryatids and bookends and stucco decorations on the walls. Even the candelabras are not the typical cupids, but pussycats.
He wished he’d met one living cat. Brendan had long dreamed of a cat of his own with it they would have mutual love. The Bastard, as luck would have it, preferred Uncle King and purred exclusively for him. He wished he had a personal furry friend of his own.
«No more lazing about!» Rebecca caught him looking at the murals. «Her Highness wants to see you in the feast hall!»
