Days of the Dead Book 2: The Beggar's Tomb

Chapter 11: Fuller Palace

Gideon
I awake to the loving sensation of a boot colliding with the small of my back. Very hard.
"Why do you always feel the need to do that?" I groan, rolling over as King Henry walks away like he didn't just kick me full force in the back.  He's changed into a stiff white shirt, a coronet, and he looks clean shaven and like he rested as well. His face is grim, though I think he's resisting a smile at being mean to a Welsh person. Fun fact, he was born in Monmouth castle so he is, technically, a Welshman, there's a whole Shakespeare bit on in the play. It's funny enough but point is yeah he's legally Welsh. Naturally he grew up in England and the like Monmouth is on our southern border and has long been a Lancaster property.
King Henry walks over to Harry, who is sound asleep with the puppy cuddled up next to him.
"The others are arriving, d'you want to come?" King Henry asks, in a softer voice than I've ever heard him use.
Harry wakes up a little at his father's voice, sits up, then launches himself into his father's broad chest, sobbing bitterly.  King Henry looks a bit surprised, but pats his boy awkwardly.
I take that as my cue to go, I need the rest of the matched set at the moment, and run directly into Courtenay who was lurking outside the door. Courtenay looks gorgeous, he's in his priestly robes, black hair slicked back, blue eyes bright, jawline that could convert a nun. He's got his arms folded and is leaning against the wall, waiting for King Henry and their son to come out.
"I'm gonna go change, then later you want to do some spell that's gonna be really dangerous and also really fun that will let me get an amulet we can use to enslave the ghost?" I ask,  by way of greeting.
"Yes, definitely. We got word your Welsh party is almost here," Courtenay says.
"Oh, brilliant. Yeah, I'm gonna just go and change, I'm mucky from last night. What time is it?" I ask.
"You slept all day, it's nearly midnight, we checked on you both, but there was concern if we woke you the Prince would be disturbed," Courtenay says.
"Yes, kicking me in the back tends to make noise," I mutter, walking away, "For future reference you can just shake me?"
"Hm, noted, go get changed and meet me in my office," Courtenay says, like his office is different from King Henry's and it is not at all. It's the same room. It's the exact same room. They both individually refer to it as their own, because a long time ago they forgot they're two separate people.
I wind my way through Windsor to go and find my room and get changed. I put back on simple dark clothes. Prince Harry is going full Hamlet on this, I can too. And I'm probably going to ruin my clothes (again) so I don't want to wear my good shirt.
I discover that all of the royal siblings have descended, including King Henry's brothers. The castle is full again quite noisy. Inconvenienced at best is the general mood, though the children are quieter and much more confused.
I wind up back in the royal apartments slumming for Courtenay's time, but I'm distracted by King Henry and his son using near identical methods to gather their brothers in their respective offices. 
"Come, I've had dinner brought up, I want to speak with you privately," King Henry says, he has Humphrey's arm in a vice like grip and is luring John who is arguing with the Duke of Exeter about something not to do with the current funeral. Humphrey is also participating in that argument, but his older brother is just actively towing him away from it.
Meanwhile on the other end of the hallway, Prince Henry has Edmund by the balled up back of his shirt and is actively herding his other siblings with the help of two dogs. The big puppy is sitting by his feet chewing on his boot.
"I've had them bring up pies. We need to talk. All of us. Right now. Yes, I know it's midnight Ned, I'm never sleeping again, we need to speak. Privately," Prince Harry is saying.
Both Henrys are having limited success doing this and it is hysterical because their hyperactive younger brothers get distracted and are not reading the social clues that their Henry wants them to do this right now. I debate about which situation to monitor invisibly and wind up picking King Henry to be practical. That's as funny as I expected.
Once he finally gets both his brothers in the room Courtenay blocks the door.
"Okay—so—is she actually dead?" Humphrey asks, the moment his brother the King lets him go. Humphrey is the smallest of the brothers, argumentative and a bit mean with a red tinge to his hair and cruel small eyes. He's also the closest any of them come to being handsome and he uses that for ill as I understand. He's not popular anywhere but his intellect nearly matches his eldest brother so they get on rather well with a shared love music, the arts, and learning.
"Wait, we don't think she's dead?" John asks. He's taller than Humphrey but not by a lot, dark haired like King Henry and similar in feature, if it weren't for the height difference and facial scarring they'd pass for twins, and are only couple years apart or so. John is his brother's clone in most ways, financially minded and similarly bent on war, though he's known for being the most merciful of the entire bunch. Which is a very very low bar he's not a kind man he's just better than Henry.
Both of these men are married, with no children though rumors of illegitimate children abound. I couldn't corroborate any specifically, though. They' re as bent on war as their King, and have gotten along well with him since their youth. Humphrey is the youngest boy, several years younger than John or Henry but not far apart enough not to be their partner in war crimes. It's Humphrey's life Henry saved at Agincourt, by entering the melee himself.
"I find it a bit unlikely she's dead, but we'll move on. It would seem my wife is in a better place, ergo now I can blame her murder on Aragon, whom we've been looking to invade," King Henry, crossing to his map. Words cannot express how obvious it is he's having a good time. He has had dinner brought up and that appears to be oysters.
"We think she was murdered?" Humphrey asks.
"No! We're saying she was murdered, I don't know how she died, ask my Harry he knows more than I do," King Henry says, about to go and start making marks on his map. He also has a couple of papers of figures pinned up.
"Hal, if we're saying that she was murdered then why aren't we blaming someone else—why not Burgundy they've been asses lately? Or Morocco we could use the port," John says, leaning on the back of the chair.
"Because if we have Aragon this whole entire section of Europe is united under my empire it's complete," King Henry says, gesturing to it like this should be obvious, "I do agree about Morocco though."
"If I die you two invade Morocco," Humphrey says, dryly, starting to eat,  "In my honor."
"I'll take you up on that," King Henry smiles at his younger brother, joining them to eat the oysters which is so disgusting, I mean the conversation is nausea inducing as well, "For now. I'm not through with Portugal, but this forces my hand. John, I'll expect you to lead the original assault—,"
Yeah, they're being typical and disgusting. All right, nothing that threatens Wales. I decide to leave before it occurs to Courtenay I'm here and they decide to look for me. If English history teaches us anything it's that Lancaster men do NOT improve in groups.
On which note I choose to go and check on the royal children, who are holed up in another sitting room with dozens of dogs and little cakes, because Prince Harry knows how to corral his siblings. I get there at the end of what I assume was a very long, very emotional speech regarding explaining their mother's infidelity.  Harry's crying and holding her letter, like he's having the worst day of his life, dressed completely in black, clutching the letter, face red from crying and eyes puffy and bloodshot.
His siblings were all eating cakes and pies, and slowly stop.
"You —didn't know that was going on?" Ned asks.
"Yeah, that's what I thought was going on," Edmund says.
"I just assumed she was having an affair," Thomas says.
"You have met father, Harry," Edmund says, weakly.
"Yeah, he told me that was going on," Kate says, frowning.
"I really thought we all thought that," Thomas says.
"Anyway Tudor's nice."
"Yeah, he brings us food and stuff."
"Anyway it's not like it matters if she had bastards we all will someday."
"What, are you gonna act all holy when WE want to take lovers?"
"It's really not a big deal."
"Yeah, everyone does it."
"Why are you staring at us like that?"
"Yeah, what, you think you're not going to have an affair?"
Prince Harry starts crying again.
"What do we do?" Edmund asks.
"I don't know, um—just leave him I guess?" Thomas says.
"We should try to comfort him. It's all right Harry, mum's in heaven now," Kate says, going over to pat his stomach gently.
"That's not working," Ned says.
"Oh really? Thanks," Thomas groans.
"We broke him. Guys, dad kind of likes him; we're gonna be in trouble," Edmund says.
"We didn't break him. We'll tell him that one of us wrote that letter so he won't think mum had an affair. That's a good idea," Thomas says.
"He just heard you say that, dollop head," Edmund says, "That won't work."
"Oh, he's that stupid, and he thinks I'm that mean. It's fine—Harry—Harry, look that letter probably isn't real; one of us wrote it. Don't cry. Everyone in our family is very religious and we don't sin, please stop crying," Ned says, coming over to pat his head very gently.
"We're all going to pray," Harry says, murder in his voice, looking at his siblings, "Right now."
"Oh, Jesus Christ," Thomas groans.
"I hate this fucking family," Ned groans, collapsing on sofa.
"RIGHT NOW!"
I leave because it's really hard not to laugh. Like, I know our Harry's suffering, but really. Poor baby. It's not his fault he's the first Lancaster in three odd generations to have a functioning conscience.
By now the Welsh party has arrived, to be unbelievably glad that the Royal family did not bother to greet them. Everyone nods at me quickly, and then the moment we're in private embraces me in turn. This is excellent because I love hugs.
"Shorten it, but so it's understandable," King Elis sighs. We're assembled in the rooms set aside for us, everyone is still dressed from the road, and exhausted.
"The ghost we killed here a year ago is still alive and apparently wants to kill Prince Harry now—,"
"Goddamn it, he's the only one we like," Sadie groans.
"I don't like him," Dancer says.
"—we don't know if the Queen is dead that has been brought up. It's really irrelevant to the plot at the moment she's not here. King Henry is blaming her murder on Aragon for entertainment reasons. I'm seeking for that not to involve us with limited success. In order to catch the ghost I have to do a really fun, really dangerous, spell with Courtenay I'm gonna try to get an amulet that traps ghosts. This may or may not work, but if I die I want you to know I'm having a great time and I'll come back as a ghost and tell you about what a great time I had dying. There. Brief," I say, before sticking my fist in my mouth.
"See why we can't have him shorten things? It's too much at once," Rhiannon sighs.
"I know but if we don't he gets grossly off topic with little stories that have nothing to do with what's going on," Elis says.
"I know, but those give me time to recover before he gets to the next horrible thing," Rhiannon groans, leaning back in a chair, "All right. Fine. I suppose we're not talking you out of this spell?"
"Nah, definitely not. The ghost could come back at any time, Courtenay and I both were, still are, spent, we barely got rid of it. I don't fancy doing that with all of you here," I say.
"All right. In the morning. If you're that ill you should rest," Elis says, "We all should. We've been on the road for days now."
"Yes," Rhiannon says.
"Do you want me to check on the kids?" I ask, holding up a hand, "I'm not that spent. I can go back."
"Save your strength," Rhiannon says.
"I'm fine," I say.
"I have full confidence in my brother. Lowri already swears, it's fine," Elis says, dryly, "It's more important you stop whatever is breaking into the castle."
"Why is this thing breaking into the castle anyway?" Dancer asks.
"We don't strictly know, but to be safe we're blaming King Henry," I say.
It is agreed that that is a fair assumption.
After some cajoling of one another we all go to bed for several hours. I do make the remark that my sleep schedule has been more disturbed by Lancasters than it is by the one year old baby, which amuses everyone.
Servants are sent round to wake us mid morning. The royals are being given breakfast, and I'm just being woken up to be told to go find Courtenay he's in his study. That was what we agreed so I count that as fine. Any way, to be woken up is okay if it's not a boot in my back. I've got bruises. That man is so lucky I like him.
I use the servants stairs to make my way from the visitor wing to the family quarters. It's mid morning by now, we all had a good lie in after last night. I'm just generally assuming that King Henry and his brothers got progressively drunk while talking about war and money, and are not yet up. I don't have proof. But I'm assuming that.
I'm attempting not to run into anyone emotional who I might wind up talking to, because I am trying to get through this. Ergo I'm ignoring the lingering wonder if Prince Harry made it through the night okay with his callous siblings who love him but are not great with human emotion. Prince Harry and his mother always wind up seeming like, really overly emotional and/or bitchy in these narratives, which is really bad because they are usually just responding to situations appropriately.
On the stairs, I do run into people I know. Which is definitely for the best given the situation.
Henry Holland, the Exeter's boy, is walking up the stairs, serial killer clown grin pasted on his tiny evil face. He has one arm around the neck of Jasper Tudor and is actively strangling him, and has a knife at the throat of Edmund Tudor.
"Hello," I say, blocking their way, "Harry, what are you doing?" We call him Harry too.
"These are my new friends! They are joining my army!" Henry Holland says, happily, nodding his head a little too hard.
"Your army of darkness that will bring chaos to the realm?" I ask, amused.
"Yes! Exactly!" He nods again, very hard, still beaming. Disorders should be named after this kid. I can't help but like him. "They're my new friends!"
"Harry, what did we talk about when making new friends?" I ask, kneeling down.
"They'll join me!" he says, cheerfully.
"After you ask them if they want to. Because friends want to spend time together and enjoy being together. Right now you are strangling Jasper. And that is not a fair relationship to Jasper," I say, pointing at the smaller, but chubbier, boy who is actively being strangled.
Henry Holland lowers his head a little, "But if I let go he tries to run away."
"Yes, that's because you kidnapped him. We don't kidnap and murder our friends," I say. I know I'm talking to him like he's five, but this kid is not, very, present, in the world. "Did you ask them if they wanted to come and play with you?"
"Yes. They don't speak English, they speak something else, so I took them, they'll enjoy it!" He cheers up again, "And if they die I'll keep all their skin!"
"Okay, they speak Welsh, so I'm going to translate for you, this once, okay?" I ask, "And if I do and they agree to be your friends,  then you have to promise me you won't cause them significant bodily injury, with magic or otherwise, okay?"
"Okay," Henry Holland glares a little, slowly letting them go. The Tudor boys dart behind me, immediately, Jasper gasping a little.
"Go on, what do you want to ask them?" I ask Henry Holland, who has a knife in either fist and is glaring.
"I found a dead goat outside and I want to throw knives at it and I thought they might like to come," Henry Holland mutters,  hanging his head a little, "And since they're new here and they don't know me yet would they like to be my friends?"
"Okay—," I sigh, and turn to the Tudor boys, and say in Welsh, "He's asking if you'd like to be friends with him. He found a dead thing he wants to show you. I am warning you he does not get better. This is it,  this is standard behavior. He has no friends for obvious reasons. I have made him promise not to actually kill you. Would you like it if he showed you around the palace however ineffectively as you're going to be pages together and maybe practice magic together? I do not recommend saying yes given who he is as a person."
"Yeah," Edmund says.
"Sure, we don't have friends either. He can help us practice English," Jasper says, smiling a little.
"Okay, I just told you not to do that—whatever. Harry, if you kill them, if you hurt them in any way using magic or otherwise. I will help your dad take every one of your knives away—look at me—every one. I will find them, I am a wizard you know I can. Got it?" I ask, snapping my fingers in front of the clinically insane boy's face.
"Yes! Come with me, minions!" He says, bouncing up and down.
All three boys scurry off.
"Yeah, I'm great at childcare," I mutter. Seriously, at least the Tudor boys have some distraction, and better access to food and their father. Owen likes all the kids and they don't listen to him, but he does try to keep them alive.
Courtenay is waiting impatiently outside his and King Henry's office. The King is off likely entertaining guests and his brothers. Again, I'm sorely tempted to ask where the royal children are. But Owen is competent enough at minding them. I'll have to leave it at that.
"All ready?" I ask, pleasantly, stepping into the office. Courtenay is changed for the day and actually looks like he's slept, he's not red eyed, and his hair is damp and slicked back.
"No, you haven't even explained fully what it is we're doing," Courtenay says, hands on hips.
"Relax, it's not like I fatally cursed your monarch just to see if I could," I say, hands on hips, equally sassy.
"That was a one off," Courtenay shrugs a little, "Anyway, the King was fond of Wales."
"I know what we're doing is important, but it's also important to me you NOT assassinate people because you think it would make King Henry happy, like it's really important you NOT do that," I say.
"Did you just arrange this meeting to bring up old grudges?"
"No, I'm merely bringing up your present lack of impulse control and moral compass that's polarized to King Henry's chaotic evil whims," I say, "However I appreciate that we do need to go on. What we're doing is getting an amulet I/we can use to trap the ghost."
I hold up the fragment of the amulet.
"I've never seen it before," Courtenay frowns, "Is that from our archives?"
"Yes, but it's a fragment so I doubt if you paid much attention. I'm going to try to fix it. For that I need you to help me with these spells. I'm going to disappear, and hopefully come back with the real thing," I say, holding up a list of spells I drew up. Half the trace spells I need. I'd rather save my strength and not do it all myself. And he's here needing to be worn out if he's to be left alone around my family.
"You had me at disappear," Courtenay says, almost smiling.
"See? I can come up with fun plans. If the ghost shows up while I'm gone,  then just stall, hopefully I'll be back before he gets his strength up. King Henry stabbed him all the way through," I say.
"With that blade? We have a couple of days," Courtenay says.
"You did a good job on that one."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, can I see it?"
"Absolutely not."
"That's really fair. Okay," I'll get my hands on it eventually, "Ready to go?"
"As ever," he says, shaking out his hands a little, "How likely is this to work?"
"Ah—20%?"
"Bloody hell, Saint."
"Do you have a better idea?"
"No," he sighs, "Let's do it."