Trials of Gideon Book 1: The Cursed Blade

Chapter 8: London calling

So, what we discover is, that opium doesn't really affect Prince Hal in any helpful way. It just enhances his original personality. The problem with that is, his original personality is like an oil spill. A deep, toxic mess that pollutes everything it comes in contact with for years to come, impossible to fully remove, very pretty and shiny in the right lights, but ultimately deadly to the entire ecosystem.
He has yet to sleep or stop talking. He's is at one moment charming and seductive enough to nearly get free of his restraints, the next as violent and bloodthirsty as ever. Side note, it is no longer a mystery why Scrope winds up saying 'yeah let's kill this guy'. Scrope gets conned into letting Hal go, then Hal instantly turns on him and holds him at knife point blaming him for not stopping them from digging the shaft out of his head.
"I thought you had all the knives!" Scrope, whimpering, in a corner of the tent.
"I also thought I had all the knives, calm down. It's not like you died," Fastolf says, tugging yet another knife out off of Hal's person, they are loading him onto a litter. See previous about his personality. He's infected ten people who now will suffer colossal and irreversible mental damage.
"What did we say? We let him get us back to Kenilworth, we escape from there, much easier," Fastolf alone is really good with druggedHal, because Fastolf is a born con man and crazy liar so he is not easy to trick, and he is not actually afraid of the patient, and he has no problem lying to the patient to get even minor compliance.
"Why should I trust you? You'r self serving—is that a crown? Did they collect the arrows? We need—,"
"Yeah it's a crown, here, hold it, good lad, sorry here, found another one, that should be all," Fastolf tugs another knife out of Hal's bed and throws it to the ground.
"I'm well now. I'm used to it just untether me, I'll compensate you most definitely for your time obviously I can run through my accounts I was joking every one of the ninety six times I said I'm going to behead you I—,"
"Shh, I know, run me through how we're invading France again? Yeah, once you've got the crown and are king?" Fastolf asks, pleasantly, but there's pain in his voice. He thinks this boy is going to die.
By this point everyone in camp has realized that they like their Prince better unmedicated. King Henry is ordering people not to give him the drugs again. Hal is still feeling the pain, but he's bandaged so he looks quite the mummy. He tries to remove these bandages every, oh let's be generous, seven seconds. He's still in pain and has often suggested that he be allowed to remove the arrowhead himself if it means that much to everyone.
Hal has been refusing more drugs saying it's preventing him from being efficient. But for now he's entirely high. They've all found different ways of dealing with his drug induced mania.
Scrope gets roped into the con every time. Like every time; it got sad the third time.
Fastolf finds little games for him to talk through like invading France or things to do with land and taxes and money.
Erridge threatens to go get his father.
Oldcastle told him the scarring wasn't that bad and that the King was dead and we're going to his coronation. Hal did not believe it but he was distracted arguing about it.
And King Henry deals with it by being as far from his son as is physically possible.
The dog is now allowed to lie with her young master, and while he doesn't want the dog there that has not stopped the dog. Fastolf and King Henry want the dog there as he's refusing anybody else touching or being near him and the dog keeps him still by laying on his legs so that's half of him not moving.
"Okay, so the sword is packed, we're accomplishing nothing here now," I say.
"Amen to that, we're not getting closer to the sword now, and we need a decent night's sleep," Oisin says, putting a hand through his hair.
"1445 Windsor?" I ask, "Perhaps our Harry will've discovered something?"
"It's about all we've got. At the very least we can sleep and be far away from that," Oisin says, referring to the ineffective, if loud, ongoing negotiations between a 16 year old sociopath with brain trauma, and his caregivers.
"Fair, yeah," I say, feeling a bit bad leaving, but we're doing no good. And Hal's screams still ring in my head.
With that I return us to Windsor castle, in our day, which is 1445. We quickly let some staff know we're here and going to sleep someplace and to tell the King we'd like to chat when he's got a moment.
With that we let ourselves into our usual guest room. I crawl under the mattress to curl up in a ball listening to the silence and trying to get the awful screams from my head. Oisin lies on top of the mattress, well aware I'm better off down there.
I pass out for a couple of hours, feel slightly better, and crawl back up to be with him. He's sound asleep face in a pillow, so I just curl up next to him and put my face in the middle of his back. My dreams are of arrows in the dark, and boys with brown eyes, washed with their own blood. About all that consoles me is the knowledge that our Henry will fully recover from the wound. He'll somehow avoid infection and any major complications and live a full life being Awful to people in Europe, and abusing Welsh teenagers. But for now I can't help but pity him, such torture I wish on no one.
Oisin and I wake mid afternoon, to being brought food and informed the king is in his study waiting for us at our earliest convenience. This is a normal and official message. But it seems our Henry VI is finding things for the many teenagers to do, and he sent the young Exeter to do it.
"You're to see the King! In his study! As soon as you're up! Cover up, whore!" Completely cheerfully, grinning like a maniac, skipping around the room essentially throwing pies and clothing items at us.
"We are in bed, Harry," Oisin, who is not wearing a shirt, sighs, "You just walked in."
"Yeah you're meant to knock when you deliver messages, mate," I sigh. I am wearing a shirt, but it's low cut.
"That slows things down! It is one of my jobs to make sure everyone is properly clothed! I do it well!" The boy bounces at the foot of the bed, rocking against it, blue eyes bright and full of his latent insanity. It is wholly accurate and relevant to point out that he is not, fully, present. In the world. Like in a few hundred years he'd be diagnosed with several things. As it is his dad and cousin love him so they just like, let him be. Perhaps that's kinder to the mad creature?
"Yeah, I'm sure you do, Harry," Oisin sighs. There's little doubt he's telling the truth, I'm sure in looking for tasks for him our modest king said 'you know what? Go make sure everyone is dressed appropriately at all times you've got energy to burn' and now the kid does.
"Are you coming? I'll lead you there! It is important you go there and nowhere else!" Exeter bounces, drawing a knife.
"You don't need to—yeah we're coming let us get our boots on," I sigh, "And you know I'm forever other places what are you and Jasper up to?"
"Nothing," Pleasantly, beaming. It's clearly not true.
"Leave it?" Oisin asks.
"Yeah, leave it I'm sure we'll figure it out eventually," I say, shrugging, "Harry, come here, let me have a look at you. I've not been around lately."
Before his fictitious death, King Henry V and his paramour Archbishop Courtenay looted their own palace to take anything they might need for the afterlife of being the scourges of Europe. And 'looting' means, they pretended to be robbers, and they and their men robbed their own castle. It was very dramatic and also nearly sweet, because King Henry like, actually tied up his own kids, who thought this was very funny, and he and they had the best time him pretending to kidnap them, which involved putting them over his shoulder one at a time, tossing them places, and tying them up, while every member of the family dramatically overacted for the sake of no one, while smothering laughter. 
Anyway, in that experience of looting the castle, by executive decision, Courtenay stripped young Exeter of his ability to use magic. Because the boy is insane. And Courtenay didn't like leaving him loose and his father reluctantly conceded it was for the best. I was about but didn't realize he'd done it until too late. I healed him as best I could, he was ill for weeks, poor scrap. I'm not saying he was safe to have magic and be out, I'm saying it was a really rich decision considering King Henry and Courtenay aren't strictly safe to have magic and be out if you really think about it and their lifetime of poor decisions.
Exeter comes obediently over, crawling directly in my lap and hovering his face an inch from mine, grinning, "You have nice skin."
"Ah, thanks, come here," I say, putting a hand gently on his chest. He has magic in him but it's been forcible ripped out. So I have it on good authority from a friend, Dancer, who Courtenay also did this to, that it hurts like hell. Dancer is a bit better not only 'cause I healed him quickly but I also interrupted Courtenay that time. As it is, the wound is internal so to speak and can be soothed by me giving him small amounts of magic. I taught Jasper how to to help his friend, but it's better when I do it.
Exeter cuddles against me, completely happy. He's likely in pain most of the time from it. I owe Courtenay a migraine over that stunt, I've not bothered him properly over it. I'm sure I'll get the opportunity soon.
"Shh, there you go, better?" I ask, hugging him as he melts against me, grinning. "Got to have you in fighting shape."
"Yes! I must protect my king!" Exeter says, hopping up, with renewed vigor, "Have you seen anyone lately? With lots of skin?"
"Very weird question don't elaborate. No, we haven't," Oisin says, tolerantly, messing up the boy's white blonde hair, "Now take us to your king."
"I shall! Follow me! Very closely!"
I completely know the way, but I'm sure he's up to something with his friends so we humor it. It's nice to be thirteen and up to things with your friends in a big castle. That's someplace on some clinical hierarchy of needs chart. Be up to various things with your silly friends in a castle between ages ten and fourteen.  I loved being up to things with my friends in castles in my youth. Okay, fine yes of course I still do hence the story.
Our Henry VI is back in his study, which he doesn't leave on rainy days like this, if he can manage it. No, he's quite fond of walks through London and chatting with scholars. But as a rule he likes his office and his books and going over official duties carefully and reading and praying. Currently he's wearing a soft white shirt, golden curls slicked back. A big black mastiff lays at his feet and a couple of spaniels are curled up with it. He's completely happily arranging papers on his desk when we come in, ink stains on his hands, humming a bit to himself like he does. Yes, he's a ray of fucking sunshine, compared to his Warlike father and grandfather. One more time, in this land before DNA tests, it's unclear of how someone this kind and moral entered the bloodline. Like his mother's family is not great we don't know where he gets off being a decent human being but here he is.
"Ah, Gideon, Oisin! It's lovely to see you I was hoping you'd turn back up," he says, happily glancing up at us, to wave us in from bowing. He was born to his position, and is more than used to everyone bowing to him and the like, and he will occasionally make people though as a rule he waves us on. Again, he's known us for over a decade, and is entirely used to me in and about his castle. "How are things? Did you make any headway on your errand?"
"Ah, no, we've been really unproductive," I say.
"Yeah, pretty much. I mean, we're not that motivated, however, we are hoping to someday get this done," Oisin says.
"How are things here? I saw the little Exeter he seemed happy," I say.
"Oh yes, things are going well for us actually. Morale is rather up. I think Margret's settling in she's been in better spirits than she has been in ages, Jasper too he's all smiles, and yes our little Exeter is quite reasonable of late he hasn't even vexed Tudor lately and elder Exeter even smiled at breakfast," Henry says, happily.
There's a 0% chance his family of sadists is happy for a reason other than keeping someone prisoner and torturing them. Margret figured out how to weaponize her brothers in law and her Exeter. That was fast. Good for her.
"Yet Owen's on edge, he says that all those people being happy at once, and cooperating, is like the sound of a dog chewing quietly. I didn't know what that meant sometimes I think he enjoys being melancholy," Henry says, still completely cheerful.
Owen Tudor is a realist and knows damn well they're up to something.
"Well, nothing you can do about that. Lovely your wife is settling in," Oisin says, "Big drafty castle, easy to get lonely."
"Yes and yesterday I asked her if she was keeping busy and she responded enthusiastically. She's been out riding which I didn't realize I'm glad she's getting out, she said she got thrown though, she had bruises on her cheek I was quite concerned. I'm looking into a gentler mount I've got Tudor on that—,"
There's a 0% chance she wasn't in a physical fight with whoever they've kidnapped.
"That'll be good for him. Why's there a crossbow on your desk?" Oisin asks. He's new here. He has to be excused. I wasn't even gonna ask that.
"Oh, Edmund gave that to me. As a present. I don't know why and he was quite quick, but it was very kind of him," Henry says, frowning. Edmund's his other little illegitimate brother, other half of the package set with Jasper. Edmund is mean and ornery. Jasper is mean and happy.
"That's from your armory, so I don't think it was a present," I say.
"Oh—is it? How do you—,"
"I spend quality time in your armory with Exeter now and again, so I think he wants you to be able to protect yourself," I say.
"Oh. They're very kind to worry. I'm perfectly capable with the sword," he says. That's true, he is perfectly capable with the sword. In sport. He despises blood shed and as a rule does not defend himself. "I don't know why he'd think to do that. Well, he was being caring I shan't bring it up. Odd though just now when everyone's in a good humor."
"Yeah. Odd. You know we'll probably never know," Oisin, who has seen about sixty percent of LancasterBullShit that I have, which is more than enough to know Henry's entire family is torturing someone as a spectator sport or something disgusting.  As in that happened once and of course Henry eventually found out and his father was all 'why are you throwing up' and 'we knew you didn't like blood so that's why we didn't invite you please stop crying we'll invite you next time' and 'I really thought you wouldn't care for it I apologize for not including you' and 'the Archbishop has informed me you did not want to be included  and that is not why you are crying' and 'stop hiding behind the Archbishop he helped' and 'what do you mean you thought Gideon was better than this do you think we'd keep him if he wasn't?' He made us all apologize and pray, it was stressful, but he forgave me as he fully blamed his father, who was at fault. That was a fun Christmas.
"I'm content that they are all getting along well. I did worry we're a bit much even for me but Margret is acclimating quite well I think. I was thinking perhaps over Christmas we'd come over to Wales to visit—,"
"No," I say, immediately.
"Oh please."
"No! Something horrible and weird always happens to your family over Christmas and I am attempting to not have it involve my family it's Myrddin's birthday and like 80% of the time it's been spoilt by something involving your family no, enjoy yourselves," I say, waving.
"Please, though, I'm thinking it's something to do with here! So if we're not here it'll happen without us," Henry groans.
"We've barely rebuilt Harlech," I say, "They're going to say no. I'm the one who always comes here to check on you and immediately gets set on fire."
"I did speak to the Archbishop about that. He did say he apologized."
"Well that was an untruth, but we'll skip it, I don't care."
"I don't want Margret to think we're insane," Henry sighs.
I say nothing.
"You're meant to say 'you're not insane, it's fine, the majority of that was your father's fault it won't happen this year on your favorite holiday'," Henry says, hand over his face.
"Fine, come to Wales, we'll fight whatever demons there completely fine, only if you bring Jasper and let me have him all week," I say. If english royals are about and all their stuck up cousins I want the Jasper to wander around and do stupid shit with and weaponize with him and Lowri, it'll be a good time.
"Thank you, I promise nothing will happen. We can be normal," Henry says, grateful. For context, out the window to his left there are clearly two Tudor boys climbing down a rope, one carrying a sack. They both fall immediately when they realize what window they're out of.
"It's fine, like I said probably consolidates my time anyway," I say.
"I'll write and ask Elis, I'm supposed to do something of that kind anyway he and I always put off talking it's awful we'd both rather not bother but we should chat at length at some point—oh speaking of Wales I got a letter the other day from our Eddie—our shared Edmund," he says, lifting a letter.
So.
Bit of backstory. Henry's youngest brother, the legitimate Edmund, was engaged to marry our Lowri, and be the next King of Wales. To that end, about a year ago, Henry figured he'd send the boy to Wales, let him learn Welsh, and bond to us, get out of the house a bit you know? Yeah, well we were too boring for Edmund. About six months ago, he ran off to go join his father on crusade. And by ran off I mean he bolted in the night we couldn't stop him. Did he tell us where he was going? Yeah. Did we provide him with weapons? I mean, yeah. Did we wish him luck and get up in the night to wave him off? Yeah. Was there really anything we could have done to stop him? No, I really don't see it, it was a complicated situation we're just glad the boy is happy. Yeah so Elis remains ruler defacto, and Lowri remains the Princess of Wales and heir apparent. Shame. Anyway.
"Oh right, how's he doing?" Oisin was involved in the aforementioned hopeless scenario.
"He's reached his destination and is quite cheerful. I have chastised him for abandoning you without warning you like that as I'm sure it was a terrible shock and you were all quite worried—"
Okay we lied a little and he believed it and yes we feel bad, but it's too late now.
"—And I've cautioned him on the dangers of living by violence, but he's quite strong willed and I've made it clear he can return home anytime he wishes," Henry says, sighing, "I was really enjoying having him close by with Thomas in Castile, and Ned in France, Kate in Portugal, I feel my whole family's scattered.I'm glad of my Tudor brothers obviously but I do miss the days we'd see the whole family for Christmas—,"
"I said you could come," I sigh.
"That's really all I ask, you know awful things always happen here and I really do want Margret to get a better impression of us than she currently has. My mother had told me how she wished she'd never married and that living here was all darkness for her after leaving her home. I'd hate for Margret to feel the same way," he sighs.
"I don't know if we'll create a good impression but I'm sure Elis and Rhiannon will be glad to have you," I say, smiling a little, "You know I'd only wind up here anyway."
"I do, which I appreciate, so see we'll consolidate and all be in the same place," he says, going back to sorting papers, "I did have something else for you as well but I buried it. Last week in a fit optimism I thought I'd work through the oldest sixty loans. I may actually go completely mad sorting them out."
"Sadly I cannot add or I would help you," I say.
"I can't add either—no no mortal man could sort it out I'm going to need divine intervention. Margret's said she's good with numbers but if I were presented with this I'd go join a monastery. And I'd respect her decision but then I might have to marry again and that wedding was awful," Henry says.
"It was, glad I'm not married," I say.
"Weddings are, don't see the appeal," Oisin agrees.
"Well the appeal was a political alliance, in return someone legally has to be my friend so it's not all bad," Henry says.  Oisin glances at me and I nod that he completely means that.  "Ah—there you are. Tudor helped me look through some old files left over from my grandfather's collection. Is that the sword you were looking for?"
"Yes!" I say, as he shows me a sketch, and hand written receipt.
"Seems he paid his brother five crowns for it, see? Edward of Woodstock, King Richard's father my late second cousin," Henry explains to Oisin who frowns.
"So our Prince Edward had it," I say.
"Likely gotten on campaign in France. There's no other receipt, so it must have remained in my grandfather's collection, could have been destroyed in the Savoy fire?" Henry shrugs, "Sorry if that's a bit useless."
"No, no it's lovely—look," I say, pointing at the text, "Full wording of the curse on it."
"What does that do?" Henry asks.
"Well, when you have a full curse, sometimes you can run it back a bit, do it backwards and see who last was affected by it, in this case I just want to see who had the transfer of ownership," I say.
"Find out how my father got it," Henry says, dryly. It's universally acknowledged he could have stolen it.
"Right, worth a try, thank you!" I say, happily, "Can we keep this?"
"Of course, does me little good without the sword. Though if you do find something of value I'm 89,000 crowns in debt so you know? Much appreciated," he says, wincing.
Oisin winces, "Don't think we'll run into that much, but."
"Yeah, first person we think of. We are going treasure hunting, however we are not good at what we do," I say.
"No, I know, even my prayers go unanswered," Henry says.
"What do you pray for?" Oisin asks.
"At this point the rapture. Or 100,000 crowns to appear at the foot of my bed either one," Henry says, with no sarcasm.
"I'll work on the crowns. Aren't there clever people raiding things in the general direction of the holy land who ought to send you money back because it's legally their problem? Which they intentionally created?" I ask.
"Clever people fund their own wars first. But clever people's contribution is why I'm 89,000 crowns in debt instead of 90,000, thank you for asking," Henry says, nicely.
"Ah," I wince.
"It's unchristian to hate my lot and I'm a king but often do wonder god's plan. Was that a crash like six people falling down the stairs or is it something going on inside my head?" Henry asks, head down on his desk.
"I'll go see," I say.
"Yeah, I heard it as well," Oisin says, following me.
We duck out into the hall, and around the corner to the great stairs.
There are three people innocently sitting on a trunk that is making kidnapping victim noises. Jasper Tudor, leans against it, Margret is sitting on it with Exeter next to her like, they're sort of posing like they're getting their picture taken, and Edmund is lying across it swearing in Welsh. Owen Tudor, with no expression, so done with parenting teenagers, standing at one end of the trunk.
"Oh, Owen's involved now," I say.
"Yeah, seems like it, all good?" Oisin asks.
"Yes, everything's fine they slipped. Helping me move some files," Margret, completely calm, on top of the definitely moving trunk.
"Cool, have fun," I say.
We return, Henry is in his doorway, head in his elbow, "Who's dead?"
"No one, furniture moving accident," I say.
"Yeah, all good," Oisin says, cheerfully, "Let's go back in. That was—loud. Wouldn't want to witness a furniture moving—accident."
"Yes leave them to it. And I should get back to work. You sure you both don't have some other puzzle I could research instead of my work?" Henry sighs, putting a hand to his head. His left hand is shaking.
"Are you well, my lord?" I ask, gently.
"Don't you dare."
"Harry, you look tired," I say, softly.
"I am tired. I didn't sleep last night, going over this. I had a headache again. All I can think is—if god were to take me, in the night then what—what have I left?"
"Are you going to get another twenty years or is this it? And you're going to be judged tomorrow, on what you've left behind, and all your loved ones scrambling to pick up the pieces?" I say, softly. His fears echo my thoughts on my birthday.
"Yes," Harry says, looking up, surprised, "I just—everything I do feels like not enough. For anyone. My wife, my siblings—my country."
"I'm not much closer to figuring it out but. In the end, it's not going to be enough. You're not perfect. Only Jesus was perfect, right? So you're not going to do everything properly every time or sort everything out and achieve, kingdom wide peace. All you can do is your best. And you're doing that. So that's enough. You can never be perfect, but you can be your best. And you are. We're lucky to have you, as our King, Harry," I say, gently, as I watch his hand tremble. I'd take it but I know he doesn't like his hands touched. He doesn't like to be touched in general.
"Thank you, Gideon," he says, quietly, staring down at the papers, "Suppose I needed to hear that today."
"We all need it somedays. I'm nearly thirty you know, don't know if I'll live another thirty years, but, I'm gonna have fun with it," I say.
"Are you now? God we're old," he says.
I almost laugh, as does he, smiling a bit as tears fill his big brown eyes. An odd thing to say for men our age. Young men so far as everything is concerned. But after witnessing Shrewsberry, plus all the battles I've been involved in in France and Castile. I know fully well that many men don't get to see thirty. I'm outliving, much cleverer, much better men than me.  Richard II didn't live past thirty three. Richard III won't either. Henry V shouldn't have lived past thirty five years old. All young men by most standards. Yet we weigh their lives on those few short years, and what they made of them. Presuming to judge on little more than a decade of adulthood. For some centuries of mockery of decisions made by veritable children. And we know we'll be measured should we fall tomorrow. And we know we'll be found wanting. It's not enough. Ever. Not for the world.
"You're immortal or something aren't you? Magic?" Harry looks over at Oisin.
"Ah—yeah, time got weird for me a while ago, actually," Oisin nods.
"And what did you do? Your father was an immortal warrior?" Harry asks, frowning.
"Rebelled a little? Also got into trouble on a routine basis, it's kind of a family thing," Oisin shrugs.
"Ours is the same it seems. Despite my best attempts," Harry says.
"What I told him, ah, yeah none of know if we're going to die tomorrow. Or what songs the poets, are gonna sing of us. So, doesn't really matter does it? We're having a good time, and doing what's right by our people, that's all we can do. You might wind up skipping hundreds of years in the future, or back, no point worrying about it," Oisin says, "It's god's plan, isn't it?"
"It is. Thank you, both. I just wish God's plan for me weren't so hard sometimes," Harry says, rubbing his forehead.
"Does your head hurt?" I ask.
"A little."
"Come and have some wine, sit with us for a moment. We're not busy," I say.
"I think you're on a quest to do with something my noble father did. But I'll not argue it," Harry says, following us to the fire, "I should rest, I suppose. And clear my mind I have tea with Margret in a little while I wanted to ask her truly how she's settling in."
He slumps in a chair, and I pour him a glass of wine.
"Honest opinion? I think she's having fun," Oisin says, looking directly out the window. There's smoke rising from someplace on the lawn.
"Do you think so? I hope so, she's fifteen. Again, I don't remember being fifteen. And with my mother gone I can't ask her. But all she ever told me was how she hated it here, that it was so dark, and miserable and she hated leaving home. I know that means she probably hated me," he stares at his wine. For reference, there's more smoke rising somewhere on the grounds.
"That's her option. Look, I come and hang out here, voluntarily, some people, don't mind embracing the—chaos," I say.
"We've not even been chaotic of late," he says, there's a small explosion followed by more smoke.
"Really?" Oisin asks, slowly.
"Really. As I said the other day I've had to encourage everyone to find one rogue intruder, and it's given them occupation. God I'm so tired," he sighs, tipping his head back.
"Close your eyes. I'll read to you from the Bible," I say.
"You'll actually read not very incorrectly quote bits?" He narrows his eyes at me.
"Close your eyes. And an angel of the lord appeared unto them and he said 'be not afraid, I come with great news that shall be for all people', take two of each animal and put them upon the...ark, for surely blessings and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, I shall not want—and he's out," I say, standing up slowly, "Let's let him sleep yeah?"
The poor king is slumped in the chair, completely asleep, head bent, gold curls hanging in his face.
"I still can't believe that works," Oisin says, "You really need to memorize larger sections of the Bible."
"I try then I get distracted by one of the wains, or Edward III's Wikipedia page, or other uncontrollable influences," I say, as we slip out of the room.
"Think we should investigate those explosions?"
"Nah, Jasper would tell me if it was serious, that's just childhood happening," I say, unfolding the note.
"Plan?" Oisin asks, tapping it.
"I want to track it back and see who actually gave the sword to our Hal," I say, "And how detailed a ceremony that was. Was this him and Courtenay forcing someone to sign it over, with blood? Or what? We need to know what was done so we can get it signed to us."
"Fair, all right, you want to do that? And I'll take us where we need to go next?" He asks.
"Yeah, best split it up. Come on, let's go do the spell in the room," I say.
We're halfway to the guest room when Windsor's new chaotic trio, looking like they were recently close to fire, bolts past us, each carrying a weapon of some kind. Younger Exeter is grinning and bouncing. Margret's hair is braided but coming loose and she's sooty, Jasper looks like the cause of the explosion.
"My lady," I and Oisin bow which is very stupid considering the previous description of small pyromaniacs.
"My lords," she says, very stiffly given she's clearly up to no good.
"All good Jas?" I ask.
"Yeah, brilliant, thanks Gid," he says, smiling.
"Carry on," I say, nodding, as we walk on.
"Do you think we want to know what they're doing?" Oisin asks.
"You've met the Lancaster family, Osh, that's always a no," I say.