The Idiot King Read online

  “For you,” Roald said, slightly puffed.

  In his hands he held a tiny fluffy brown and yellow duckling. It peeped.

  In the water below, the mother duck quacked.

  Roald couldn’t have looked any less like a king had he tried. His pants were wet and muddy up to the knees and there was a green smudge on his cheek.

  Johanna laughed. “I think it belongs with its mother.”

  Just then, that mother duck flew up onto the deck and walked, flat-footed in Roald’s direction. She quacked and shook her tail. The duckling peeped.

  “Put it down,” Johanna said.

  Roald bent. The duckling jumped out of his hands before he had lowered them onto the deck and scampered to its mother. The mother duck then flew back down into the water to the rest of her brood, and the little one jumped all the way from the edge, landing sideways with its little feet flailing, but bobbing back onto the surface.

  Roald laughed.

  Johanna went up to the cabin where she found Nellie in the galley and Loesie busy sewing while seated on a roll of rope in the shade of the cabin, with the summer breeze coming in through the open door.

  Since Nellie had made this cabin hers, she had put up lace-edged curtains—from the underwear that they had taken from the burnt-out farm along the Saar River—and crocheted a bed spread from coarse wool which she had bought at the local markets.

  Loesie was squinting at her work, and the tip of her tongue poked out between her lips in concentration.

  Johanna laughed. “I didn’t know you could sew, Loesie.”

  “I can’t. She’s teaching me,” Loesie said. “I was bored. I can make apple baskets, but there’s not many apple baskets to be made.”

  “And? Are you turning into a seamstress?” Johanna eyed Loesie’s work, by far less neat than Nellie’s, which lay on the bed.

  “Nah, not a chance. Give me some cows to milk any day.”

  “Are you ready for the midday meal, mistress?” Nellie asked from the galley.

  “I think so. Bring it quickly before Roald runs off to catch some other animal.”

  “Yes, sure. I’ll do it now.”

  Johanna sat on the hold cover, turning her face into the humid breeze. The sun had vanished behind the fuzzy edges of the top of the thundercloud that was coming closer at alarming speed. Squalls of wind tore at her clothes and already thunder growled in the distance.

  Roald’s catches had been an endless source of amusement. Over the past week, he’d brought a small rabbit, little fish in a jar and a tiny mouse. She didn’t mind those so much, but drew the line at the frog he’d caught. She did not like frogs. They were green and wet and cold and—eeeeew.

  He’d held up the frog enclosed in both his hands, with its head poking out, and told her all about its life cycle and about the different kinds of frogs. He had put it on the desk so that he could draw it—he was quite decent at drawing. Unfortunately, the frog had other ideas, so he’d spent the next hour chasing it around the hold.

  Whatever you wanted to call Roald, he wasn’t an idiot. He remembered things he read in books. He understood them, as long as those things were facts, as long as people left him alone with his books.

  It was only now that she began to understand how stressful it must have been for him to speak to the highly critical nobles of Saardam at the ball and dance with strange girls who expected some kind of Prince Charming. He’d made inappropriate comments not because he was lewd, but because he was scared and didn’t understand what people expected of him.

  Nellie was just coming out of the galley with a tray when the first clap of thunder hit. She flinched and ducked, but managed to hang onto the tray.

  “It’s getting close, mistress.”

  They quickly made their way down the stairs, where Roald gave Johanna an alarmed look.

  “Thunder,” he said, his eyes wide. “The little duckies will be all right, won’t they?”

  “They’ll be fine. They’ll shelter in the reeds.”

  “But they’ll get wet if it rains.”

  “They’re ducks. They’re used to getting wet.”

  Nellie put the tray down on the tiny table at the bottom of the stairs and left again, shutting the cover behind her.

  “Dinner,” Johanna said. She set the plates on either side of the table and uncovered the tray. Legs of rabbit, applesauce and carrots. The food smelled heavenly. How did Nellie manage to get all these things?

  One of the things that worried her was that Roald tended to forget to eat if no one paid him any attention. He got distracted and somehow just didn’t feel hungry. But he loved Nellie’s applesauce, so she gave him a big dollop of that, some carrots and a good chunk of rabbit meat. For a while they sat eating happily.

  The hold that had carried many a load of grain down the river and spices upriver was long and narrow. They had made a small sitting room near the stairs that had replaced the ladder. It held a carpet, a small table, two mismatched chairs and a tiny desk where Roald sat reading whenever he wasn’t roaming the riverbanks. A fat book lay open there.

  “What were you reading?”

  “I’m reading a very interesting book about the night sky and the phenomena in the heavens. The writer says that there are other worlds like the Earth and that they all go around the Sun.”

  “Rinius.”

  He gave her a sharp look. “Yes. You know him?”

  “No, but Father brought me a copy of that book.” It was in her room, likely burned in the fire. The thought of her comfortable room and house constricted her chest. What would have happened to Father or Koby or Master Willems?

  “It’s very interesting. I like this book a lot. He says that the Moon is a world like ours and that people live there.”

  She laughed, remembering that last chapter of the book with its strange speculations. “Maybe, but I doubt we’d ever see them, if the Moon is really as far away as Rinius says it is.”

  “How far is that?” He turned around and reached for the book. He opened it at a page with diagrams. Johanna had studied them, but had to admit that she found Rinius’ calculations hard going.

  “Here it says.” He pointed at the page and moved his finger down as he read. “It says that it is four hundred and twenty-eight times the length of the Saar River. That is a long way indeed.”

  “You couldn’t travel that far.”

  His face went thoughtful. “You would have to get free from the Earth.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Earth and the Moon are both worlds floating in the air. To get to the Moon, you have to free yourself from the Earth and cross the air.”

  “You mean fly? That’s impossible.”

  “A bird could do it.”

  “People don’t fly,” Johanna said, uneasily. “Isn’t there this story of a father and son who both strapped on wings, but the son flew too close to the sun so the wax that held the wings together melted and he fell down and died?”

  “That’s a myth. People can’t fly when they strap on wings. They’re too heavy. Birds have hollow bones and they’re light.”

  “Then people can’t fly.”

  “They could use a machine.”

  A what? Where did he get these ideas?

  “The eastern traders have machines.” He went on an extended explanation about these machines, which, apparently, ran on wood and steam and could make carts move by themselves, and could do things like saw wood and grind grain if there was no wind for windmills.

  “But there is always wind.”

  “In Saardam there is, but not in the eastern forests.”

  Guess he had a point there. “Roald, listen. We have to be careful. Don’t ever let Shepherd Carolus or the nobles hear you say things like this.”

  He gave her a blank look.

  “Rinius’ book is considered heresy by many in Saardam.” Especially the Church. She also wasn’t sure about the Belaman Church’s position on the subject of Rinius. A large part of his book
argued that the beliefs and gods were a figment of human imagination. Why a book like that would be owned by a monastery was beyond her.

  “But what he says is true.”

  “True or not, nobody can prove it.”

  “Yes, we can go to the Moon and measure how far it is.”

  Sure. We can do that tomorrow. “Just be careful with the things Rinius says.” Johanna sighed. “Your father was very close to the church. I’m not sure what went on just before the ball and just before you came back, but he didn’t get on well with the nobles and they were very angry with him.”

  “Oh.” Another blank look.

  “Did he tell you anything about it?”

  “Father said that if I became king, all the men were mine.”

  He really didn’t understand. Where did that leave her? Alone and isolated. Without too many friends in this camp, or outside it.

  In a way she was glad that the Baron had been conspicuous by his absence. She wasn’t keen to speak to him and she could still hear the last words Sylvan had said to her about Kylian: he’s a necromancer. Of course no one in the camp had mentioned anything about it, nor, fortunately, had she seen Kylian.

  She hadn’t been able to do anything about contacting the Magician’s Guild, as Sylvan had suggested. Whenever she had been in town, she had looked for the guild, but Florisheim was a warren of narrow streets and slate-roofed houses that all looked the same. Somehow, she had expected the Magician’s Guild to be easy to find, because this whole area was rife with magic, right?

  Rife with magic, it certainly was. Often, a breeze would waft past that made her skin prick, despite her inability to see things in the wind. Often, too, she would see misty shapes lurk in the reed beds, only to vanish again when she looked closely. They were ghosts and other beings, and they were watching, ready to pounce.

  She and Loesie were the only Saarlanders in the camp with as much as a shred of magic. If magic pounced, there would be no warning.

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  Chapter 4

  * * *

  BY THE TIME Roald and Johanna finished their meal and Johanna went up to the deck, the sun had well and truly disappeared behind thick clouds. The sky towards the west had darkened to the colour of ash, leaden, almost dark blue. Gusts of wind whipped at Johanna’s hair. Nellie rushed across the hold covers behind the cabin, where she pulled flapping sheets and shirts off the washing line before they blew into the water.

  “It’s sure going to rain, mistress.” Her cheeks were red with the effort.

  Nellie had to give up wearing a bonnet when her only one became too torn and dirty during their foray with the bandits and now wore her flaxen hair in a bun.

  “I look like a peasant girl,” she had complained.

  That might be true, but a very healthy and good-looking peasant girl. Her skin was much better than Johanna’s, her shape was better, and living on the ship had brought out a no-nonsense streak in her which Johanna liked. Through the terrible events that they’d experienced, Nellie had been unquestionably loyal. Nellie deserved to be married.

  Loesie now also came out and helped Nellie. A squall of wind almost blew a sheet out of Nellie’s hand. Both women scrambled to hold onto it, and then laughed.

  At times like this, Loesie looked almost normal albeit still a bit dark for a Saarlander. Her skin bronzed a lot more, too. She had never regained her peasant’s accent after the demon had been driven from her.

  Loesie and Nellie now got along quite well, and Johanna wasn’t sure what to make of that. The Loesie she knew from the markets in Saardam wasn’t such an open, laughing creature. She was mysterious, she would deliberately frighten little boys, and sometimes bigger ones, who came to beg or tease her. She would pretend to curse young men making lewd comments to her. All of that was gone. Did people’s characters change after they had been possessed by a demon?

  A couple of fat drops started to fall, and Nellie and Loesie rushed back into the cabin. Nellie shouted to Johanna, “Better stay dry, mistress!”

  While the first rain hit the covers, Johanna descended the narrow and steep steps into the hold, where Roald had settled in his usual chair with a book. He’d sit there all day if she let him.

  She came up behind him and put her hand across the page.

  He protested. “Hey! I was reading that.”

  “Roald, I need you to do something for me. It’s a secret.”

  He turned around and his frank eyes met hers. “Oooh, I love secrets.”

  “Put on your peasants’ shirt and trousers. We’re going out.” She cringed. His pants were still wet from this morning’s escapade into the reeds. She hoped he wouldn’t catch anything.

  “But it’s raining,” he said.

  “That’s good. People will be inside.” Although the rain was really pelting down on the hold covers now. A clap of thunder made the ground shake.

  Roald gasped and then he said, “It’s all right. I’m only scared of thunder at night. We will stay away from trees. You know that if lightning hits a tree, you can die from the presence of the fire demon that comes down with the lightning?”

  Just then a lightning bolt hit somewhere close, followed by a sudden clap of thunder.

  Thanks, Roald, that’s really helpful information right now.

  In the semidarkness of the hold, Johanna searched for her peasant dress. Nellie had washed it since coming here, but every time she put it on she thought of the burned-out farm where they had found these clothes, and their bed sheets, and other things. It still felt like stealing, even though the blackened bodies of the woman and baby in the burned-out kitchen were unlikely to ever need these things again. She thought of the thriving vegetable garden outside, the poor cows bursting with milk, the ruined mill. And she thought about the ruins of Aroden castle and the nearby town, where people had run along the riverbank with the Lady Sara begging for help. How were those people coping now?

  She pulled on the drab dress and then helped Roald get dressed in his decidedly damp trousers and, not much later, they climbed up the narrow staircase out of the hold. A good amount of rain came in when Johanna slid the cover aside. The drops were large and stung with cold.

  There was another crack of lightning followed by rumbling thunder.

  Roald gasped.

  “It’s only thunder,” Johanna said, trying to cover her own unease.

  “Yes. I’m not scared of thunder.” But his eyes were wide. “It can’t hurt you. Except when you’re under a tree.”

  “Aren’t we lucky that there are no trees between here and the boat shed?” Nowhere to shelter either, and the rain was coming down in sheets. She could barely see the other side of the river.

  “Is that where we’re going? The boat shed? You know that there is a swallow’s nest right up the top against the far wall?”

  Johanna shut the cover and they ran across the deck to the gangplank. As quickly as she could, she let herself slide to the jetty and helped Roald.

  A few more distant cracks and rumbles shook the ground. Johanna held her breath with each one. It was easy to pretend that you weren’t scared of thunder when you were not in the middle of a storm, and this one was really getting very close.

  Those sullen guards by the sides of the gangplank both stood hidden deep within the hoods of their army-issue cloaks.

  “Are you going out in this weather?” one asked.

  “No need to come. Roald is going to show me some frogs.”

  She hoped that excuse would work, although they would remember that fuss over the escaped frog, and know that she did not like frogs.

  The men nodded.

  They were sure to report to Johan Delacoeur that “the king and his consort” had gone out in the pouring rain for “catching frogs”. That was not to be helped.

  Johanna and Roald slipped and slid over the path along the riverbank. A squall of wind blew the rain in their faces.

  A nearby thunderclap cracked through the sky and shook the ground. Roald yelped and d
ropped to his knees, holding his arms over his head.

  “Are you all right?” Johanna pulled him up, feeling the tenseness in his muscles.

  “Maybe we should go back. The thunder can harm you, right?”

  “It’s exciting, an adventure,” Johanna shouted over the noise of the pelting rain. They were both soaked all over. Cold rivulets of water were running down Johanna’s back.

  The boat shed along the river was a dark shape against the grey sky. It was hard to see where they were going with water running in her eyes. The sudden snap of cold air made mist rise from the water. Was it her imagination or was there a peculiar smell to the air? Her imagination certainly didn’t play tricks with her as far as the swirling shapes in the mist were concerned. The ghosts watched, and waited.

  Inside the shed, it was almost too dark to see, but at least it was dry. The wooden table and benches where the nobles would sit for their meeting stood forlorn in the middle of the compacted earthen floor. The rain made such a racket on the roof that it would be impossible to hear if anyone came. Better be quick.

  Johanna walked along the walls, looking up at the ceiling beams. “Here it is. Lift me up.”

  Roald lifted her by her waist, but she still couldn’t reach the timber, only the rough clay of the walls.

  “Not high enough. Can I stand on your shoulders? Wait.”

  She took off her shoes and then her overdress. Even the fabric of her underdress was so wet that it stuck.

  Roald giggled and put his hands on her sides. She could feel the warmth through the soaked fabric. “It’s a pity I can’t look at you here.”

  “Not now. We have to do something first. I have to reach the ceiling.” She tried to climb on him by pushing herself up on his shoulders. He held his hands together so she could put her foot in them to boost herself up, but she almost fell.

  She let herself down. “It’s too wobbly. Wait. I’ll stand with my legs apart on the bench. Then you put your head in between and I’ll sit on your shoulders. Then you stand up and I’ll use the wall to climb up.”