Trials of Gideon Book 1: The Cursed Blade

Chapter 14: Your latest trick

False. Our Henry V is always in a condition to make money. And even if he can't physically leave his room, he can send his prettier half to do his dark bidding. Between the hours of four or five am, or whenever his miserly ass woke up and said 'hey you know what would make me super happy? And honestly I deserve it? A lot of money'.
Yeah, Courtenay finds our door and knocks before the sun is up. He's changed out of his priest's robes and looks more himself in a white shirt and regular doublet. Looks like something he borrowed as it's ill fitting. His black wavy hair is damp and his eyes are red as though from crying, but he's wearing his usual resting expression of latent cruelty. And, for whatever reason, he looks, like, very disdainful of Oisin and I clearly have stumbled out of bed together, like he looks us up and down twice and curls his lip like his repressed queer self didn't spend the goddamn night in the princes' bedroom, probably cuddling him. Yes, they were probably also talking about evil schemes, but that amounts to fornication with them.
"What?" I mumble, fist in my mouth, half asleep. We have the glamour on yes, but this isn't even like the fifth time I've been woken up by this man because he wanted me to do something for him this is my stock reaction.
"We had a deal, 25,000 crowns for this sword," Courtenay says, holding the sword.
"Oh my god it was twenty," Oisin breaths, just disappointed that I knew they were gonna do that.
"Crown Prince Henry recalls 25."
"Oh my god you don't have to call him that we all know who he is—here, goodnight, tell him to go buy himself a goddamn cannon," I say. I already counted out twenty five since I thought that he wouldn't push it to thirty.
Courtenay takes the sack disdainfully, then counts it.
"You can count faster than that," I say, leaning Oisin, fist still in mouth.
"Please shut up," Courtenay, completely pleasantly, sadistic blue eyes glowing at the sight of so much money.
He counts it and finds it accurate, then yields the sword to us. I take it, and walk directly back to bed.
"We're not—,"
"Nope sleep three more hours," I say, curling up to fall asleep clutching the cursed sword.
"Yeah—yeah okay fine. I'm too tired to debate that," Oisin mumbles lying on top of me like I like.
I wake up a few hours later much more coherent and a bit more inclined to go back to the 21st century. I was somewhat hoping to see Hal a bit better today, but he's likely still asleep. Courtenay probably came and got the money of his own free will to wake up his boyfriend with a sack of money like makes him super happy. Like I've known these men for years that's almost definitely what happened.
I'm still a bit weak from the events of the last few days, but I'm also ready to be done with all of this and go home to Wales. I miss the kids, and if I start talking about Shrewsberry Rhiannon won't even ask me why I'm suddenly talking about this she'll just let me do it.
And we're back in the coffee shop where it all began. Like a bad movie.
"Did that feel too simple?" I ask, on my fifth cup of coffee, staring at my phone as I delete emails.
"Gid we had fifteen different side quests I think. No, that wasn't simple at all! I can't even properly explain what happened or what we were thinking so I hope no one asks," Oisin sighs. He's picking apart a breakfast sandwich.
"Even so," I sigh, "Now, she's not even here. It's been three hours."
"That is odd. Why tell us to meet her here? She did tell us that right?"
"I think so? Forget it, let's just go home. We got the sword, it's no longer in the wrong hands that's kind of the mission right? We'll run into her eventually," I say.
"Yeah, where do you want to go? My turn to do the spell?" Oisin asks, holding out a hand for the ring.
"Ah—you gonna be mad if I say Windsor? Feel like at least one of us should check on that situation. Jasper's pretty tough and he's got his dad and Edmund but I'd like to make sure they're handling everything all right?" I say, wincing a little.
"No, I agree with that one. Also they are usually nice to us, that King Henry isn't bad," Oisin says.
"No, he's kind and he helps us out, chances are it's just random Lancaster foolishness but for the completeness of the plot I'd like to see what is going on," I say.
"All right. Windsor it is. Templar girl can catch up with us later."
We return to Windsor 1445. It's still mid morning so the palace is just waking up. Usually we go and find King Henry, but he's likely meeting with nobles right now. And we are more interested in finding the children. I go to his bedroom and leave the sack of crowns under his pillow with no note. He'll think it's from god it'll be fine. We're probably gonna stress him today so money to pay off the debts will cheer him up.
"Where do you think they are?"
"I don't know, but Owen can be bought, and he's literally going to show up since I'm—,"
"What are you doing here, Saint?" Owen, very tired, he's suspiciously bruised, and a bit dirty like he's been out all morning with the dogs. He rests his hand on his sword casually.
"Helping. Take us to wherever your children and their coconspirators are doing ridiculous shit," I sigh.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't play games, Tudor," Oisin says, drawing his dagger, "I'm not in the mood."
"This is now a kidnapping, take us to them," I say.
"Right this way," Not even surprised or mad. Poor Owen we should be nice to him someday. We're probably not going to be.
He leads us to the usual scene of the crime, the private offices. King Henry V's second favorite plotting destruction of Europe room has been closed up since his apparent demise.
"Why would you hide something right here? The King's office is across the way," I say.
"Last place he'd look, isn't it?" Owen, with zero shame, leading us in.
Inside the office, an argument is commencing. The new usual suspects are assembled, Jasper Tudor, younger Exeter, old Exeter, Margret, and Edmund Tudor. They are all clearly in rapid conversation but cease the moment we step in, all gathered around the trunk. The trunk, to be clear, is still making general kidnapping victim noises. Margret is wearing a white and gold dress, very simple, with a dagger strapped to her waist. Her hair is loose not drawn up so she's clearly been at this since she got up. The Tudor boys are acceptably mucky.
"What are they doing here?" Margret asks Owen, annoyed.
"I was kidnapped," Owen, completely fine, as Oisin sheaths his sword.
"We're allies to the plot, I promise," I say, holding up my hands.
"They're usually to be trusted," older Exeter grunts.
"Hi!" Young Exeter just waves at me, smiling. There's blood on his face we don't know why.
"I was busy earlier but my quest mostly concluded so, care to explain what is going on?" I ask.
"We want to help," Oisin says.
They all look at each other.
"What are you doing?" I ask, "What is in the trunk?"
They sigh and look at each other. Then most everyone looks at Margret. To be fair, she is the queen, she may be fifteen years old but she's technically in charge.
"A few days ago, someone broke into the royal residences in London," Margret says. That's where she would be living, now. The marriage remains unconsummated due to her age and Henry VI's morals. That said when the age difference is that big, most kings are going to give the queen their own residence for a few years, get to know each other, you know, polite. Once she's seventeen or about there, then she might move in with him and actually start having children. Edward II did this with Isabella of Louvre, Edward III did it briefly but like, he and Philippa were about the same age and would remain enthusiastic about each other's company.
"I see," I say.
"Young Tudor and I fended off the intruder," Exeter explains, "However, it appeared to be a robbery."
"Ah," I say, "And the most merciful King England will EVER see said not to worry about it and to help out the poor man turned to crime? Or something like that?"
"Something exactly like that," Margret says, dryly, "But, the thief wasn't trying to break in to get to me or anything, they were breaking into the weapons room."
"Ah," Oisin says.
"So—," Margret looks at Jasper.
"We laid a trap," Jasper says, "We brought the weapons here, well, the Duke of Exeter did."
"Figured Windsor was easier to defend. And I had a watch on the items. Day and night," Exeter says.
"You made your son sleep in the weapons room?" I ask.
"I liked it!" Young Exeter bounces.
"Good for him," Exeter grunts.
"Anyway, it worked. We caught the thief," Margret says, shrugging a little.
"And the King has been too busy for us to properly brief him," Exeter says, smoothly.
"So you're hiding the thief here, to torture 'em, to see what it is they're after, and when you're done you'll find the time to tell the King who will IMMEDIATELY insist on pardoning the thief?" Oisin asks.
"Yes, precisely, good you're following," Margret says, haughtily.
"So? What have you discovered?" I ask.
"Nothing," Owen, so tired.
"When'd Owen find out?" I ask.
"Two days ago. He's been dealt with. He is not going to inform the King because he likes his knees the way they are," Exeter, with zero shame.
"Poor Owen," I say.
"We haven't found out anything, though. The thief is a powerful magic user and started setting things on fire every time we let them out. And the only sorcerers we have available are the Tudors and it was becoming dangerous to them. And I'm used to them now," Margret says, shrugging a little.
"So you want help subduing this person?" Oisin shrugs.
"Yeah we'll help," I shrug.
"You won't tell the King?" Exeter asks.
"I mean eventually. Let's do this then tell him that's a natural order of things isn't it?" I say.
"We don't technically know he'd be against it, so we'll just sort it out, then you're going to report to him anyway," Oisin says.
"Exactly, he's busy. He doesn't need to know every little thing," Margret says.
"Precisely, not good for him. All right you ready?" Exeter asks, going to the trunk, "Harry, get the other side. Jasper, Eddie, you two go help the wizards.
Jasper darts over to me, raising his hands ready to summon magic. Edmund does the same. Owen just puts his hand over his face, so done with this family.
Exeter and young Exeter undo the locks on the trunk, then tip it open.
And who should tumble out but Violet, our missing Templar?
"Well well, well, how the turn tables," I say, and then I laugh. Nobody else does that's fine, I am my target audience. Oisin snaps his fingers, immediately cutting off his and her magic. She cries out in rage. She's bound hand and foot.
"You know each other?" Jasper asks, as I laugh.
"Jas, I'm sorry, but like I have beef with like, 80% of Templars at this point," I finish laughing.
"I KNEW everything was too simple," Oisin sighs.
"You know each other?" Margret asks.
"Sorry," I realize I answered Jasper in Welsh because he addressed me in kind, "Sort of. I irritate Templars for fun, but ah, we were actually slightly being blackmailed by her."
"We got your damn sword," Oisin says, tugging on it on my back. "So why are you here?"
"Yes, Violet, care to explain what is going on?" I ask.
"That isn't the cursed blade," she says, pointing to the sword on my back, obviously confused.
"What?" Oisin and I, horrified.
"We just—,"
"We—,"
"That is not the blade I sent you to find! That is!" She points at the dagger on Margret's waist. A black blade, with a ruby set in the handle.
"What—," and then it dawns on me.
That was Hal's side arm. Roger said 'which cursed blade' so did John of Gaunt. We've been chasing the wrong sword.
"Oh my god," Oisin realizes at the same time.
"What—well we got this one. That's on you honestly for not being more specific, why did you want that one?" I sigh.
"Because if you took it from 1403 then they couldn't use it against me now! It is used for slaying wizards," she snarls, "It is immune to magic. That is why I wanted you to steal it."
"That's why I wanted it," Margret nods, "Because you, a wizard, are attacking us."
"Yeah good, do, keep it your grace I think you need that," I say, nodding.
"Wait—back up. So you sent us back in time to get a blade so that it wouldn't hinder you here. Except we're incredibly stupid, and not at all good at what we do. So we did not get it," Oisin clarifies.
"So you got caught by the magnificent six here," I say.
"Yes," Violet hisses, "Will you untie me? He stole my magic?"
"No," I say.
"No," Oisin says.
"No," Exeter says.
"No," Jasper says.
"Not until you tell us what is going on?" Margret says.
"Can I cut off her face now?" Young Exeter says,.
"Not just yet lad, you've been very patient," Old Exeter who is like, almost a good dad?
"What is going on? Why were you breaking into the royal residences to begin with?" I ask, shaking my head.
"That's none of your concern," Violet says.
"So a threat to the king, cool, are we just gonna let the baby cut off her face then?" I ask.
"I mean he's been very good," Margret says, shrugging, understandingly.
"I can help hold her still," Jasper says.
"I mean, he's been very helpful I think he should at least get to keep some of the skin," older Exeter, reasonably.
"What. In god' s name. Do you people think you're doing?"
We all spin around. Standing in the doorway is Henry VI, dressed in soft earth tones, carrying a bible, more disappointed in us than he's ever been in his life.
"My lord," I and the others bow.
"I—," Exeter begins.
"We—," Margret winces.
"I don't have a good answer," Jasper says.
"My office. RIGHT NOW."
Five minutes later we are assembled in his office, in a line, like school children being lectured. Violet is untied in a chair with a cup of tea, too confused by the turn of events to protest.
King Henry is leaning against his desk, with the general air of a teacher who got a terrible sub note. He looks at us in turn, with obvious disappointment. It's extremely painful. Like. When his father caught me doing something we'd usually be arguing and making a deal to go to war together by now. Not this Henry. No. He wants us to be good people. And we've failed.
"When I said 'bring any perpetrator to me for questioning and a proper punishment'. That did NOT mean, catch a perpetrator, keep them locked in a trunk for a week while torturing them, close your mouth Exeter I know you, it did NOT mean keep that prisoner locked in a trunk and then eventually present that person to me once you are done torturing the individual. It meant bringing the person to me immediately after you find them. I think you all knew that. I think that was obvious. I think you actively chose to misinterpret my words. Am I wrong?" King Henry asks, looking at us. His tone isn't scathing just, so deeply disappointed. It's terrible. All three boys are about to cry.
"No, that's what happened," Margret says, not overly repentant.
"I thought so. All of you know better than this. All of you are better than this. Yes, Gideon I think you were involved. No, I don't have proof but you usually know what's going on you had a very good idea what they were doing even if you didn't meet the prisoner till now. Correct?" King Henry asks.
"Pretty much," I say, withering.
"I am deeply disappointed. In all of you. My closest friends. Deceiving me in this manner."
We hang our heads.
"You all promised me, individually, to attempt to lead more holy lives and treat our people with kindness. And yet. I find, all of you, casually standing around a WOMAN discussing letting young Exeter who is often led astray by vices, cut her face off. Words cannot express how utterly disappointed I am in your behavior—oh this isn't about you Owen, I'm well aware you were there under duress."
"My lord," Owen, so smug and vindicated. We all kind of glare at him.
"How do you know he was under duress?" Exeter asks.
"Because Owen does not participate in ANYTHING in this house voluntarily he's a member of this family under duress and I have known YOU since I could walk and I am completely confident you held a knife to his throat or something equally sordid because you wanted someone to help you carry your murder trunk because you don't like the way the boys pick up and carry things and argue through it so you remembered how much you like to abuse Owen," Henry says, arms still folded, "Am I wrong?"
"No, that's exactly what happened," Exeter says, a little surprised he guessed all that.
"We are sorry," I say.
"Good! You should be! All of you are coming to church on Sunday you must all confess this is completely horrible, this is the sort of behavior I expect out of my royal brothers not all of you, my dearest friends we are meant to HELP one another lead holy lives not descend into sin," Henry says, completely hurt personally by our behavior, and nearly going to weep.
"Okay but are we not going to talk about why she was in kidnapping range?" Margret, legitimately raising her hand.
"Yeah, not to victim blame but if she hadn't been breaking in then they wouldn't have been able to kidnap her? Like that's temptation," I say.
"Yes, perhaps God put us here to protect you, that's why we're like this," Margret says.
Henry stares at his wife, clearly attempting not to throw up.
"It's fine you just reminded him of someone who has given us both a lifetime of trauma," I say.
"Yeah, don't say things like that I don't want to have flashbacks—okay, but are we not going to talk about why she was there? To be kidnapped?" Oisin asks.
"Sure, go on. Why was she there to be kidnapped? Then we'll circle back to the kidnap and torture part but yes, why she was she there for all of you to abuse?" Henry asks, face in his hands.
Violet looks like she's considering not answering.
"Go on," I say, raising a hand glowing with magic.
"Please," Exeter, drawing a knife.
"You two! You're as bad as the other! Exeter that corner, Gideon that corner we do not threaten people!" Henry cries.
"Yes we do," Margret says, pleasantly, "You don't have to. I will."
"No, you won't! Nobody threatens anybody. My lady, why were you—anywhere near, my family who I am speaking to at length about their actions? I apologize sincerely for their behavior," Henry says, turning nicely to Violet. Like three people groan a little as he says it. Exeter and I both now have to stand in corners it's so embarrassing.
"I was sent, by the Templars. To solve this," Violet says, holding up a piece of paper, "We believe it is a key of some sort that unlocks a tomb we wish to prevent from being open. It led us to London, I didn't know it was the Royal residence until I first fought with them. The second time I tried to get in, they kidnapped me and stuffed me in a trunk."
"Sounds like them," Henry, glaring at us before taking the note, he frowns at it, "Where did you get this?"
"I cannot say. It was given to me," she says.
"All right then, Gideon, where did you get this?" Henry asks, beckoning me out of my corner.
"That's—I got it from Templars," I say, shaking my head.
Find us where the four saints meet, six apostles gather, behold the six that lie above the lion down below, find the seventh and I'll sleep no more. Hands joined in rest below the sun, Where angels dance, there your heart lies.
"We don't know what it means. We thought it perhaps had to do with one of the artifacts you had? There are six not seven items somewhere so we assumed you had the seventh. But I got interrupted," Violet glares.
"You got interrupted looting, calm down," Margret says.
"As if your kingdom didn't steal half of it," Violet snarls.
"Well, that makes it ours now," Margret says.
"How did I marry my father?" Henry breaths.
"I don't really know it's okay," I say, patting the back of his neck. He kind of leans against me.
"Why did you forgive him?" Exeter asks.
"Because yesterday I looked you in the eye and said 'have you kidnapped or tortured anyone lately' and you lied directly to my face."
"Kids kidnapped her. And didn't get to torture she kept fighting when we got her out, not a lie," Exeter grunts.
"Yeah, you knew what I meant," Henry says, "Also you're old enough to know better and NOT lead the boys astray AND threaten Owen again we talked about that last week."
"I forgot."
"No. You didn't. You chose to ignore the conversation, anyway," Henry sighs, folding up the note, "You ah, were looking in the wrong place."
"What?" Violet asks.
"You cracked it?" I grin.
"Yes, no wonder you had problems with it. It's not meant to be read in English. It's meant to be read in French," Henry says.
"Of course," I breath.
"Trouvez-nous où les quatre saints rencontrent, six apôtres se rassemblent, voyez les six qui se trouvent au-dessus du lion en bas, trouvez le septième et je ne dormirai plus. Mains jointes en repos sous le soleil, Là où dansent les anges, là repose ton cœur," Henry reads off, "Or, once you solve the cypher. Four Six Six Seven. Fourth letter of the fourth word, T, sixth word N, sixth letter sixth word again N. No seventh letter and seventh word so you have to go from the back, as is common with my father's cyphers you have to count from the back, T again. Find the words in Latin, they only work if the letters are already used in the cypher. Tempus nefas nequiquam terreo, time sin darkness fear, or with a bit of conjugating, It is time to to steal the darkness's fear, there's something in the darkness, it's telling you to find. Once you place a seventh Saint in the chantry, then you go to King Richard's grave and touch the hands."
"Your father's cypher he—," I stutter.
"This is his riddle. It leads to his Chantry. And once again my father is the cause of our domestic strife," Henry holds up the paper.
"Oh my god," I groan.
"What—what kind of cypher is that? Without knowing it would take—you would never guess—" Violet, primarily upset that she didn't figure it out.
"The cypher of someone with way too much time on his hands. He used similar ones with the Archbishop primarily if in enemy territory. When I was small he thought to teach it to me to amuse me. He'll change some of the codes and obviously the numbers change, sometimes it goes to greek, not Latin. It's for our amusement mainly, he likely knew only I or another descendant would be able to decipher it."
"That's neat, we should have a secret code let's do that," Margret says.
"The idea is not to need secrets, or schemes, or kidnapping victims," Henry glares at everyone. "Now, why are you so interested in my father's message?"
Violet says nothing.
"I'm more than willing to help you," Henry says.
"He is," the rest of us, rather tiredly.
"This leads to Westminster. I'm more than happy to take you there. We recently finished my father's Chantry to his own specifications. But why does it affect you?" Henry asks, frowning.
"You'll find out when we get there. If I am wrong then it means nothing," Violet says, with obvious scorn, "We did not know it was him."
"Welcome to the family, it's always him," I says.
"Yes. Yes it is," Henry says.
Henry VI for his part, will usually take any excuse to go to Westminster. Today is no exception. He's going to leave his family behind because he's disappointed in them then he remembers he doesn't trust them to function without him so they all get to come. He forgives the boys in like, ten minutes by the way. Before we're even to the carriages he's hugging them in turn as they promise to do better. Apparently they are 'young' and 'impressionable'. Margret gets forgiven next because she's 'new here' . Exeter and I do not get forgiven for a full half hour because we 'definitely new better'. Anyway, it's a very upsetting half hour I apologize every five minutes and then he does forgive me and Exeter because 'our hearts were in a good place' but we 'must learn to control our tempers'. That goes for Margret too. And me and Margret and Exeter, nod our dumb heads with zero intention of changing. So yeah we're all going to hell.
So we really are ending where we began. Back in Wesminster. Just six hundred some years from when I was last here.
The hall of Kings is not quite so full. The priests are going to turn the people out but King Henry insists on letting them stay. He also stops and gives a crown to every single beggar on the steps, and sits to chat with them and pray with them. So it takes us three hours to go inside. Exeter and I just flank him like a couple of damn pit bulls, while he gently talks to everyone he meets. Violet stands there looking confused while babyExeter holds a knife on her. Owen and Oisin stay with Margret who strictly doesn't even need the protecting.
The people love their gentle king, and they bow down to him quickly. He smiles at all of them in turn. Dressed in his simple clothes he should blend into the crowd. But he's tall, and regal in his air, soft features and nearly glowing gentle brown eyes make him look more a saint, or an angel, than a king. He wears as usual no jewelry save a cross, and no rings on his fingers.
So yes it takes us three hours to get inside and back to the Hall of Kings. It's not overly out of place for Henry to visit his father's grave. His father isn't even there yet, but you know. Some people I guess think he is. A few ask him if he's going to pray for his father's soul.
"I pray for my father's soul all the time," Henry says, very very nicely. That's completely true. It's not because he's dead it's because he needs the back up prayers.
Henry V's chantry is as ostentatious as ever, with an incessant number of little statues, mostly of him. Hammer of the Guals, a few inaccurate images, as well as many saints. It's a glorious chantry, I'm not going to lie. In the modern day it will be closed to the public, with only the exterior of the chantry visible, not the tomb itself. Now though it's open so people can pray for his soul.
"Find us where the four saints meet, six apostles gather, behold the six that lie above the lion down below, find the seventh and I'll sleep no more. Hands joined in rest below the sun, Where angels dance, there your heart lies," I read.
"Find us where the four saints meet," Henry gestures to the four statues of saints.
"Us who?" Violet asks.
"Them," Henry points down.
"Him and his plus one," I say, pointing down as well.
"Who?" Margret asks. She's new here.
"Archbishop Courtenay, he was my father's most trusted companion, his crypt is below," Henry says, nicely, like this is a normal thing to do.
"Ah," Margret, who knows how not normal that is.
"Yeah," Exeter nods at her, oh good they've completely bonded.
"Six apostles gather, there, six that lie above—lion down below," Henry points to the appropriate carvings.
"Find the seventh and I'll sleep no more," I say, pointing to the empty space in the center of the apostles on the chantry, "There."
Henry frowns, "We've got nothing to put there."
I raise a hand, summoning magic. The center space glows with the white light. I lower my hand and the light lingers.
"That do it?" Oisin asks.
I shrug, "The rhyme isn't finished yet now what?"
"Hands joined in rest beneath the sun, that's King Richard's tomb," Henry says, gesturing.
We cross the hall to Richard's tomb. It's not in a chantry, just a box, with the two effigies holding hands.
"There my heart lies," Henry says, "That's it, that's the end. Plus the riddle."
"Yeah the riddle was just ominous," I say.
"Yes, steal darkness's fear or something like that?" Margret asks, "What can that mean?"
And now, before we go on with the story. I want to take a note to say. We would not be here if I didn't touch things I'm not meant to. This all started because I touched a magic ring and set off a chain of events ultimately leading to my death. I think it's very obvious what's going to happen next. I do not plan on changing. Interesting things happen to me this way.
I lay my hand on the clasped hands, summoning magic.
And then I'm filled with a horribly cold rush. Like all the magic flowing through me at once. My skin feels like it's on fire. And instantly my eyes are filled with darkness. I can't see.
And I'm also no longer standing in Westminster. I'm falling to the cold earth. I can hear the clash of swords and shouts of battle in the distance. I'm in too much pain to rise. And the tramping of feet sound above me. I feel someone grab my shoulder, and a sword go to my throat.
My vision is clearing, but only a little, it's still consumed with darkness. That's all right. I don't have to see. I'd know that sword anywhere.
King Henry V stands over me, lowering his sword slightly as he recognizes me. He's worse for the wear with blood down his face, mail almost ruined, clearly been in combat for hours. His dark hair streaked with grey, is caked down with blood and one eye near squinted closed. That awful scar, now forty odd years old, lined with fresh blood.
We stare at each other for a moment then say, in unison, "What are you doing here?"

The End (for now)