centuries since the Keep had seen a sword drawn in anger, so now the huge stone walls were covered from top to bottom with endless intricate carvings, etched deep into the old, discoloured stone. Saints and sinners, heroes and villains, dragons and unicorns and mermaids. After so long a time at peace, the Keep had become a work of art. But the old arrow-slit windows still remained, the great iron portcullis stood ready to slam down at a moment’s notice, and the Keep was always, always, guarded. By men in armour who looked like they knew how to use the swords and axes at their sides. Malcolm stopped briefly to talk with the guards, but none of them had heard anything of war, or even recent Forest incursions into the disputed territories.
Catherine and Malcolm passed through the Keep and on into the Castle proper, each of them holding the other’s hand tightly now, for mutual reassurance. They moved quickly through the entrance halls and chambers, and hurried along the wide stone corridors, heading for the Court by the most direct route. They passed through oversized halls and galleries, built long ago on a larger than human scale, since Castle Midnight had been designed to impress, rather than for the comfort of its inhabitants. But down the long years, most of the heavy stone walls had been covered and decorated with all kinds of portraits and paintings. To take the edge off. There were passable portraits of important people, great scenes of important events and battles, and marvellous views from locations all across Redhart. Statues stood proudly in every nook and cranny, some painted and some not, depending on which era they were from. Representing great personages, Romantic ideals, and forgotten gods and goddesses from pagan times, who might actually have been visitors to Castle Midnight, back in those days when the Unreal was strong. There were glorious hanging tapestries, thick rugs and carpets of quite marvellous design and workmanship, some of them in urgent need of repair. Because while no comfort was too great or too expensive for King William’s Castle, money was short. The border skirmishes had been going on for years, increasingly expensive in funds as well as lives.
The very latest innovation was the yellow-flamed gas lighting that was absolutely everywhere now, inside the Castle. Marsh gas, from the massive swamps to the south of the Castle. An almost inexhaustible supply, apparently, though most people tended to pick up on the word almost . The gas was mostly pumped through hollowed-out candelabra, bright butter-yellow flames popping out where the wicks should have been. The flickering lights also hissed and glowed through stylised face masks, or gargoyle heads, the flames jutting from eyes and mouths. Catherine had been genuinely scared by them when she was a child. Though she would rather have died than admit that to anyone, even then. She didn’t much care for the gaping faces now, and made a point of ignoring the things as she stalked past them.
Malcolm knew. He’d always known, but never said anything. Because sometimes love is keeping other people’s secrets as privately as your own.
Some of the statues lurking in the Castle’s inner corridors were stranger and more outlandish than others. There were those who said these statues had been alive, back when Castle Midnight had been more Unreal, and that they’d been known to stomp loudly up and down the corridors. Given the monstrous shapes and attributes of some of the statues, everyone fervently hoped that they would remain just statues. There had been a serious movement, a few years back, to have all the more worrying statues smashed and destroyed, just in case, but King William put a stop to that. Because, he said, they were part of Castle Midnight’s heritage. And because they might be needed someday. The courtiers and politicians had looked at one another and chosen to say nothing. Most people preferred not to remember when the Castle had
Catherine and Malcolm passed through the Keep and on into the Castle proper, each of them holding the other’s hand tightly now, for mutual reassurance. They moved quickly through the entrance halls and chambers, and hurried along the wide stone corridors, heading for the Court by the most direct route. They passed through oversized halls and galleries, built long ago on a larger than human scale, since Castle Midnight had been designed to impress, rather than for the comfort of its inhabitants. But down the long years, most of the heavy stone walls had been covered and decorated with all kinds of portraits and paintings. To take the edge off. There were passable portraits of important people, great scenes of important events and battles, and marvellous views from locations all across Redhart. Statues stood proudly in every nook and cranny, some painted and some not, depending on which era they were from. Representing great personages, Romantic ideals, and forgotten gods and goddesses from pagan times, who might actually have been visitors to Castle Midnight, back in those days when the Unreal was strong. There were glorious hanging tapestries, thick rugs and carpets of quite marvellous design and workmanship, some of them in urgent need of repair. Because while no comfort was too great or too expensive for King William’s Castle, money was short. The border skirmishes had been going on for years, increasingly expensive in funds as well as lives.
The very latest innovation was the yellow-flamed gas lighting that was absolutely everywhere now, inside the Castle. Marsh gas, from the massive swamps to the south of the Castle. An almost inexhaustible supply, apparently, though most people tended to pick up on the word almost . The gas was mostly pumped through hollowed-out candelabra, bright butter-yellow flames popping out where the wicks should have been. The flickering lights also hissed and glowed through stylised face masks, or gargoyle heads, the flames jutting from eyes and mouths. Catherine had been genuinely scared by them when she was a child. Though she would rather have died than admit that to anyone, even then. She didn’t much care for the gaping faces now, and made a point of ignoring the things as she stalked past them.
Malcolm knew. He’d always known, but never said anything. Because sometimes love is keeping other people’s secrets as privately as your own.
Some of the statues lurking in the Castle’s inner corridors were stranger and more outlandish than others. There were those who said these statues had been alive, back when Castle Midnight had been more Unreal, and that they’d been known to stomp loudly up and down the corridors. Given the monstrous shapes and attributes of some of the statues, everyone fervently hoped that they would remain just statues. There had been a serious movement, a few years back, to have all the more worrying statues smashed and destroyed, just in case, but King William put a stop to that. Because, he said, they were part of Castle Midnight’s heritage. And because they might be needed someday. The courtiers and politicians had looked at one another and chosen to say nothing. Most people preferred not to remember when the Castle had
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