An excerpt from 'A Better Crown'

Prologue

The Royal Palace, The Spires, Earldom.

         Choke studied the room with cold grey eyes. Cold, dead eyes like two blacked-out windows which resonated from a deep dark hole. 

He looked to the other end of the hall where the Watch Captain held Princess Deace tight to his grey uniform, one arm about her chest, a sword against her neck. Choke saw a vein pulsing brazenly along that neck, a shuddering green trunk that ran along the white skin, surfacing in the pale mire like a corpse in water.

         One wrong move and she will die, Choke thought, a tiny nick of the blade and that vein will be knifed open. The game we play is so precarious; we always wander so close to the edge.

         “Do it, Captain, if you can do it fast it will deliver her a painless death.”

         Choke spoke in a voice which he kept purposefully, and almost painfully, monotone. It was a voice without feeling, emitting words which he built from stone. He felt nothing giving the order, he had never harboured an interest in emotions. 

         Choke heard Princess Deace whimper in response, watched as her arms lamely scrabbled at the Captain, trying to tear him off. Her long brown hair, usually tied up above her head in rows of neat plaits, was wild and tangled, bits of it clinging to her mouth and face, her eyes peeping out from between the strands.

         Choke cast a weary, almost casual glance towards the double oak doors at the far end of the room. Every now and then the sounds of far off screams, and ringing weapons, broken by the intermittent bellow of orders, would seep through from there. To Choke it was like the sound of rushing water. An inevitable rising tide which would swallow all in its path, no matter who or what stood against it. 

         “Do it,” Choke repeated.

         “I don’t take orders from scribes,” The Captain held Princess Deace closer, Choke saw the blade almost tugging at her neck, nipping at the skin, eager to strike.

“Come now, Captain,” Choke sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, his thin lips curling into a twisted smile, a smirk which pulled at his taught face. It was a smile he put on to mimic emotion, the smile he used when he thought he should feel happy, feel triumphant, feel cunning. But behind that smile Choke felt nothing. 

         “The Grey Coats are keepers of the city, keepers of The Spires,” Choke gestured to the floor-length windows to the side of the room, his hands wafting lamely at the grey towers and the horizon of the city outside.

         “You don’t owe the Princess anything, the City Watch has no loyalty to the crown,” he leaned in, as though he was about to spill a host of dark secrets, “that’s how I managed to acquire your services, remember?”

         Not strictly true of course, I did it with gold and secrets, treachery too, naturally, but in this game lies are such a useful weapon.

         The Captain did not move. His eyes were trained on Choke, “no one said anything to me about killing, capture, I thought, no one said - the Watch Master-”

         “The Watch Master made a deal with me,” Choke said, enunciating the words through his teeth like he was biting on each one.

         “We had a deal Captain; it involved you and the other Watchmen taking express orders from me,” he found the strength to force his leer wider, twisting his face. “And I take my orders directly from Garian himself you see and his orders are to kill the entire Ceveryn family, girls too I’m afraid.”

         Deace was sobbing openly now, twin tear tracks running down the curves of her plump cheeks, as she begged, her pathetic and meek voice sounding out the words; “no, no, no, please, please.”

         But Choke ignored her. The words floated away from him like leaves on the breeze. Deace was no longer involved in this particular predicament, she was merely part of its outcome.

         "Deals can change."

         Choke shook his head slowly as if dispelling the retelling of a tired theory. It is time to twist this boy’s thoughts, it won’t be difficult, he presents such an easy target for he is already half twisted.

         "I’m afraid this is a deal that can’t change, Captain, it’s too late now. As we speak other Watchmen, your Grey Coat friends, are striding into the King’s bedchamber and putting him to the sword, he rises late today does he not? The King? So your men were given specific instructions to kill him before he could even wipe the sleep from his eyes,” Choke inspected his fingernails passively, removing a speck of dust from one with a casual flick.

         “I gave those instructions.”

         Princess Deace whimpered again; spit sagging from her mouth, more tears spilling from her eyes.

         “No,” she moaned hoarsely, the sound barely audible.

         “I’m sorry dear,” Choke said, nodding sympathetically as if he were delivering unfortunate news to a small child.

         “Your father, the dear old Ceveryn King, is dead, and your brothers, your sister, that confused old mare you call a mother, they will all follow.

         But don’t worry, if this idiot does his job, you won’t have to mourn them for long.

         “Traitor,” she spat the words, a petulance in her voice, throwing out the accusation as if she meant it as a great insult.

         Choke shrugged, “I suppose I am.”

         Through the double oak doors Choke made out the shapes of grey uniforms filing past the Hall of Kings, the figures of Watchmen shifting in the brazen torchlight. He could hear them crying; the King’s soldiers, and his Palace Guard and his knights. They stuttered and spat, screamed with fear and pain as the Grey Coats brought their weapons thundering down. Throats cut, chests caved in, ribs splintered like plywood as the royal dynasty and their various protectors were sent to The Bookkeeper.

         Choke felt nothing as he heard the sound. Felt nothing as he thought of the crimson rivers, the metallic smell of blood. After all, I orchestrated the whole ordeal. It was all my doing, was it not? I have delivered the city to Garian and the rebels. I have done what Garian failed to do for years.  

         “Come on Captain, put an end to this war,” Choke repeated, his foot tapping impatiently at the floor.

         “Your comrades have done their job, now do yours.”

         “No, please,” the flash of anger Deace had shown towards Choke was melting away, fear burning through it and bringing with it a quiver to her voice. The sound she made was so fragile next to the harsh blade at her throat, that Choke almost felt the stab of pity knife into him. Almost. 

         “Quiet,” the Captain rasped, his sword pressing into Deace’s skin.

         He still needs convincing, still needs twisting, Choke traced one finger about the rim of his twisted smile, why must they always push me to do it? If everyone did as I asked it wouldn’t have to be this way.

         “Do your job Captain, unless you would like me to reveal some of your secrets to the Watch Master,” he raised a finger to his copper hair, scratched at it in mock thought, “I think it was three years ago that you killed that stable boy in a fit of rage? Split his little skull open like it was an egg, buried his body somewhere outside the walls of the city, how dreadful.”

         The words echoed in the vast hall. Choke knew that they would dissipate and spread like a stain on the Captain’s conscience. Lies, secrets and fears, they were Choke’s weapons. Everyone had them. Everyone protected them but once you knew a person’s lies secrets and fears, you had that person and you had them good. They became just another piece, another figure on the board, another part of the game to be controlled, to be used, to be pushed about.

         The Captain was staring at Choke who thought he saw the man’s grip loosen ever so slightly about the Princess’ neck, the blade no longer pressed so tightly against her skin. Choke had shocked him.

“How did you-”

         “Never mind,” Choke dismissed the question with a wave, “I can always silence those who told me, those who know.”

         Choke nodded pointedly towards Deace who began to cry again, her face red and blotchy with hot tears, her sobs and pleading grinding against Choke, the noise becoming an incoherent mess in the vast hall. The Captain looked at him, eyes dark and full of knowing and Choke stared right back. 

         I have him; my seeds of doubt have sprung creepers of indecision.

         Choke watched as the Captain cut her throat. That flash of metal across her neck would remain with him until his last breath.

         The Princess choked and coughed, vomiting blood onto the floor, her eyes wild, her hair flying about her, all pleading gone, all sobbing and crying ebbing away. She slumped, hit the marble floor with a dull thud and drooled a pool of hot crimson across the opal and green marble. A single bubble of blood bloomed at the corner of her mouth before popping like a soap sud. 

         Choke could have clapped sarcastically but he restrained himself for the most part, “He’s done it, he did it, how wonderful, what an achievement, I can see the accolades reigning down on you now Captain.”

         But the Captain was looking down at the Princess, his eyes suddenly mournful.

         “Ah,” Choke said, as though he had cottoned on to some great conspiracy, “I see, you found her pleasant didn’t you? Attractive?”

         Choke gasped dramatically, dropping his voice down to a rasping whisper. The voice he reserved for mocking. The voice he imagined would grate and gripe the most against one’s ears, against one’s mind. 

         “Would you have had your way with her Captain? If I wasn’t here? Would you have done it before or after she was dead? She is so pretty… and no one would have found out…”

         I can see by the look in your eyes that I’m right. Some secrets I find out, some I pay for, some I just know, I know by seeing, by looking. I just know.

         “I should kill you for saying that,” the Watchman levelled his sword at Choke, red dots dripping from its end.

         There was another piercing scream which emitted from the door, followed by the crash of metal, the thud of a body hitting the floor.

         “I kill men who insult me and I don’t deal with men who I can’t trust,” he pushed Princess Deace aside, her body running a long smudge of red across the floor, “and you are the most untrustworthy snake there is.”

         Choke raised his eyebrows. Trust? Morality? So many pointless and irrelevant concepts to be used as swords against me.

         “No one should trust me Captain, men who do usually end up dead.”

He leaned forward.

“Don’t ever trust me. Don’t ever trust Choke Mortimer, personal scribe to the King, sleaze, turncoat, deceiver. Traitor, some say, and believe me, I’ve earned every last one of those titles. Never trust those you should trust, no matter who they are because when I whisper in their ear, you can guarantee they will bury a dagger in your gut without a second thought.”

The Captain paused, eyes flitting from one side of the room to the other. Choke knew the look of a man who was thinking, thinking long and hard. Choke was all too familiar with that look, the desperation of a man considering his ever narrowing options.

“There is one other thing, Captain, if I die, who will silence the talkers? The whispering masses who know about your,” Choke sneered, “little accident.”

         Choke saw a flicker walk across the Captain’s face, his jaw clenching as if Choke’s words had caused him to seize up, before he stiffly, painfully, lowered his sword.

         Lies, secrets and fears, then you have them, and they will do as you please.

         Choke turned and walked laboriously to the windows overlooking Victory Square. The courtyard of white stone was splashed with blood. Winter thickets sprinkled with the beady eyes of red berries. Already a number of mutilated bodies lay amongst the cobbles, surrounded by a melee of discarded weapons. The far end of the courtyard was overlooked by a stone balcony, where the King would address his soldiers in time of war.

         Now the balcony was decorated with heads, one of which Choke recognised as  Asphid, first son of the King. His chestnut locks were red and matted, plastered over his cheek and forehead. Merribel, his wife, was beside him, one eye closed, the other wide open, her mouth lolling.  Choke noticed that Merribel’s head had been afforded far more neck than Asphid’s. Perhaps she had received a cleaner, quicker death.

         Perhaps, perhaps that is all we can hope for in life; that death comes to us in a timely and painless manner.

         “Today, a new world has been born Captain,” Choke said without turning, “you can choose to be a part of it, or you can choose to die in the old one.”

         He paused briefly waiting for a retort that did not come.

         “The King is dead,” Choke muttered to himself, letting his voice barely reach a whisper.

“Long live the Republic.”

***