"What now?" asked the princess.
The walls of the brotherhood stretched out before them. It stood high on the edge of the cliff, the moonlight making its pale walls glow.
John cleared his throat. "I suppose we just ring the bell," he said, pointing at the large bell hung conveniently next to the gate.
"Don't you think it more appropriate to wait until morning?" There seemed something unsavory about waking a brotherhood of scribes from their slumber.
"Nah. This is probably the most exciting thing to ever happen to them. They'll be talking about this for years."
"I'm sure they will," said the princess. The loss of their most treasured piece of work would be something that would haunt them for centuries. That is, if they managed to last that long. What family of good breeding could ever trust the production of their name books to such an organisation as this ever again? "So, is this where it is? This book you're going to steal."
"So they say."
"They?"
John turned to her, and laughed. The princess looked back at him with utter bewilderment.
"Sorry," said John. "It's just... a thing. Like, who are they?" He waved his arms expansively.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Who are they?" the princess persisted, wondering which one of them had gone mad. She was pretty sure it wasn't her.
"I haven't the faintest idea."
"Right." The princess nodded and looked away so that he couldn't see her expression, which was currently somewhere between bemused and horrified. "Well, regardless of the identity of the mysterious 'they', I don't think anyone is going to hand over this book of yours just because you knock on the door in the middle of the night."
"That is exactly what's going to happen."
"Really?" said the princess, condescension dripping from both syllables. "How?"
"You're going to help me."
The princess felt her throat tighten. "What do you mean?"
"Just follow my lead."
And with that he took hold of her elbow and dragged her towards the gate, and before she could protest he reached for the bell pull and swung it hard. It clattered loud enough to make her ears ring, and even when he let the rope drop, her ears vibrated from the echoes.
They stood, peering into the darkness which lay beyond the gate, waiting for the approach of footsteps. It was the princess who broke the silence.
"Are you going to let go of my arm now?" she asked pointedly.
"Uh, sure," said John, letting go. "Just, try. You know?"
"I haven't the faintest idea what I'm supposed to be doing."
"You'll see."
They waited.
"No one's coming," said the princess, before being hushed by John. She relapsed into silence.
After a few minutes, she grew impatient. "This is silly. No one's coming. Why don't you just explain the plan so I can tell you how ridiculous it is."
"Shh!" hissed John.
"How dare you hush me!" she hissed back, realising too late that she was still whispering.
"Seriously. Shut up. Someone's coming."
The princess listened. She couldn't hear anything other than the roaring of the sea below them.
John sighed and pointed. There, hovering about three feet off the ground was a small slither of yellow light. As if someone was holding a shuttered lantern, but had neglected to check that it was fully closed. It swayed gently, and then, bounced slightly as if held by someone not quite sure of their feet, it moved towards them.
Just as the princess could start making out the outline of a figure standing ten feet back from the gate, it stopped.
She looked at John. "What do you think it's doing?" she whispered.
"Waiting?" he said.
"For what?"
"I think, he's waiting for us to leave."
The princess turned back. The figure hadn't moved. She got the distinct impression that they were being assessed. For what she didn't know. "Perhaps we should come back in the morning?" she tried, letting her voice rise out just loud enough that the lantern-holder would be able to hear her.
"It wouldn't help."
The princess jumped. The voice which seeped out to them from the other side of the gate was not what she expected. It was light, and almost cheerful, as if trying to contain a giggle.
"Excuse me?" she said.
"I said it wouldn't help." A pause. "Hang on," said the voice, followed by a small clanking sound. The channel of light widened and grew, spotlighting the man by the gate. He was old, short, and had a somewhat crumpled appearance about him. As if he had left his skin in a heap on the floor overnight. "The gate is locked, you see."
He shuffled a few steps and reached out his arm, so that the lantern illuminated a heavy looking chain, slung around the bars of the gate.
"We're locked in, I'm afraid," continued the old man.
"And when will you be open for business again?" asked John, acting as if he'd just been shown a painted 'closed' sign in the window of a grocer's shop.
The old man tilted his head. "It's hard to say."
John lowered his voice. "Are you telling me that you're under house arrest?"
The old man grinned. "Yes! Something very like that."
The princess drew in a deep breath. Perhaps the gods had come to her aid after all. John's plan of just sauntering in through the front door was clearly no longer an option, and no matter what he liked to tell himself, she didn't think him the type to start climbing over walls and breaking through windows.
John swore. "This is complete bollocks."
She sent a glare in his direction. Swearing in the presence of a man of the brotherhood was hardly appropriate, no matter what the circumstances.
"Sorry I couldn't be of more help," said the old man. He tilted his head once more. It was as if he were listening to someone whispering in his ear. The princess looked about, but she couldn't see anyone else lurking about. "You don't have any food, do you?"
"Look," said John, putting on his stern voice. "Is there anyone else I can talk to? It's really important that I get in."
"No one and nothing gets in or out. Prior's orders."
"Well, I'm sure if the prior knew why I was here, he'd make an exception."
"And why are you here?"
John paused. The princess turned to look at him. She wanted to see his face as he said he wanted her book. To her surprise, he looked right back at her.
"I have the Crown Princess of Serrador with me," he said, slipping his hand over her elbow. "And we've come to collect her royal highness' name book."
As she gasped in shock, he squeezed her arm, hard enough that she could feel his nails digging through her sleeves.
"I... I..." she stuttered.
"We've had a very long journey. So if you could fetch the prior or whoever else runs this joint. Now. That would be great."
"Yes," said the old man. "Yes. Yes. Of course. I'll go fetch him now." He started walking away, and then turned back. "Your highness," he said, bowing low.
The princess watched his retreat, and rubbed her eyes, waiting for them to adjust the lack of lantern light.
John did the same, yawning loudly and adjusting his cloak slung over his bag. "Look," he said, still yawning. "When this prior chap turns up, you really have to sell it. Stare down your nose at him, make him curtsey. Act the role."
So that was it. "You want me to pretend to be the princess," said the princess.
"You heard him. It's the only way we're getting in there."
"And you just thought of this?"
"No," he said slowly. "I've been working on this plan for a while."
"Since you met me." It wasn't a question.
"Oh come on. There's no need to be like that. I needed someone who could play the haughty brat. And something tells me you didn't grow up poor. No one knows what the princess looks like. And anyway, you said you were heading down here. It's hardly out of your way now, is it? And..."
"And?" she asked, not sure if she could bear to hear any more.
"And you did steal my rabbit."
She laughed at that. "So, this is retribution?"
"No," he said. "No. I just mean that we'd never have met if you hadn't got a little light fingered. You're the one that crashed into my life. Not the other way around."
He didn't know. He wasn't in the pay of Lord Wallia. He was just a thief who thought she'd be useful. It could have been anyone standing here this night. It could have been that tarty red-headed bar maid, or a beggar on the street. No doubt John would have walked them through the role. How lucky of him to find the perfect person for the part so easily. No preparation required. Just add an unspoken threat of violence and she's ready to go.
And there was something else bothering her.
"Haughty?" The word stung her throat as she spoke it.
"You're not upset are you?"
"No. Of course not," she lied. She had never considered herself haughty. Poised, yes. Stern even, when her environment demanded it.. But haughty? Absolutely not. As to the other word he had called her, that was not to even be considered.
The night air felt suddenly very thick. She gasped for breath. "I'm not sure I can do this."
"Don't you dare freak out on me. Just keep quiet and I'll do all the talking. From what I've heard the princess has been locked up in some country house her entire life. It won't surpise anyone if she's a bit shy and needs her protector to guide her through."
"Her protector? Do you mean yourself?" This night was becoming more farcical by the second.
"Sure, why not?"
The princess looked him up and down, reminding herself of the faded britches and worn out jerkin. Everything he wore was in need of a darn and a wash, preferably in a large fire. Nothing like the slick liveries worn by her household. "No reason at all."
They waited in silence after that. Long minutes felt like hours, and the night air inched its way under her gown and sat close to her skin, making her shiver.
She shifted her weight, and surreptitiously attempted to warm herself by rubbing her arms.
At long last, a worm of light appeared in the distance, and the old man returned bearing his lantern. He was not alone. He was followed by a man still dressed in his nightgown, with a cloak slung about his shoulders. She had to look away for propriety's sake, fixing her attention on the interesting stonework surrounding the gate.
"Good morning," said the man she could only presume was the prior. "I believe it is after the midnight hour."
"Yeah, I am sorry about that," said John. "But we really could not wait."
"So I've heard," said the prior. He beckoned the old man forward and bade him lift the lantern higher. The princess flinched as the light hit her eyes. "Well," the prior continued. "As you can see, the brotherhood is under a confinement. There is to be no passage of either persons or goods through these gates until it has been lifted."
"I think under the circumstances-" started John.
"And what circumstances are those?" There was no mistaking the disdain in his voice.
"The requirements of the Princess of Serrador."
"The requirements of the Princess?" he repeated.
"Yes, for her name book."
The princess closed her eyes, feeling sick at the thought of her name book being discussed in such a manner.
"I'm not sure I follow," said the Prior.
John sighed, irritation tinging his voice. "Am I in the wrong place? Isn't this the Brotherhood of the Scribes?"
"We are of that brotherhood. But I fear the assistance you seek can not be found here."
The princess frowned, unsure what he meant.
John asked the question that she could not. "You haven't been commissioned to write the princess' name book?"
"We were so honoured by the King."
John stepped forward, grabbing hold of the iron bars of the gate as if he were going to shake them loose. "Well, what is it then?"
The Prior raised an eyebrow, utterly unshaken by John's behaviour. "Merely the fact that there is no princess of Serrador."
John let his hands drop. "What?"
The surprise in his voice echoed what she felt. It was as if the world had gone quite mad over the past few days. For a moment the princess wondered if perhaps her former life had all been a dream. Maybe she really was just a peasant in an ill-fitting dress, with no protector other than a not very good thief.
"There has been no princess for several days now."
"That's not possible," whispered the princess.
"I assure you that it is. Five nights ago, our country lost a princess. And gained a queen. A fact the real princess could not fail to be ignorant of."
The princess closed her eyes. Queen. The title sounded so heavy, as if it might crush her with the weight of it. She was not even wearing the crown yet, and already it encircled her with it's vice-like grip. She wondered whether her father had ever felt like this.
"I am the queen," she said at last.
"My dear child, whatever influence this man has upon you-"
"He has no influence." She lifted her chin, swallowing hard. "He is nothing more than a loyal subject that has aided me on my journey. You should see him fed and given a coin for his troubles, but nothing more. To think that a man touched by neither breeding nor education has influence upon me is the gravest insult, and one I will not forget in a hurry."
"Hang on..." started John, but the princess was having none of it.
"I have proof," she said, ignoring him. "If that is what you require." From within her shawl she brought out the skull and held it out before her.
The prior crooked his finger, and the lantern was brought forward once more. He stood, for a long while, staring at the skull in her hands. She kept it quite still, not shaking at all. "It belonged to my father," she said. "And his father before him. A treasure acquired by the first King himself. The skull of the greatest philosopher who ever lived."
The prior nodded. A small gesture, as if to concede a point only to himself. "I have heard the tales of the Great Advisor, of course. But I'm sure I am not the only one."
"You think I'm lying," she breathed. "You think this is a skull dug from a pauper's grave and I show it to you as a cheap trick." She licked her lips. "What if I were to tell you that the tales were true? And that it really does speak."
"If that skull resting within your hands spoke, that would be quite a different matter."
"I've totally heard it..." started John but the princess glared at him and his words soon trailed away.
She turned the skull around, lifting it up before her so that she could stare it down. If ever there was a moment for the skull to awaken and share its voice with the world, now was it. If it could be willed into being, she would make it. She gripped it tight, feeding all her energy through her fingertips, wishing her lifeforce could flow out of her skin and jolt this old bone into life. But nothing happened.
"Speak," she whispered. "Now is the time."
And then, deep within the black eye sockets, tiny pinpricks of light sparked into being. "Yes."