the haunted kingdom by Charles E.J. Moulton (best detective novels of all time .TXT) 📖

attention. He was forced to make a decision and stand by it.

Noontime, Saturday, April 11th, 1422 A.D.
Beyond the road to Paqutshur past the royal entourage

Cap in hand and dressed in grey, thick clothing, the coachman that Theo had spoken of just a moment ago stood over his wounded horse, while the two guards put the debris in the ditch. There was so much mead and wine in the ditches that it looked like a river of red-brown blood bubbling in the dirt.
"We’ll take you where ever you need to go."
The man stood in a daze; he was wakened from his daydreaming.
"What?” he asked.
The guard trotted a few steps closer all the time nodding his head. "What's your name?"
"Uhm. Rumus, Sir. Jack Rumus" the old man whispered, looking at his horse.
"All right … Jack," the guard said very seriously. He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I know how hard this must be for you.”
Jack closed his eyes and said nothing.
The guard continued. “The attacker can’t contemplate the damage that’s done. If it’s any comfort at all, we will take you anywhere you care to go, if you don’t mind riding two on a mare." He sighed and smiled. "His Majesty wanted to give you a new carriage. Tell us where we’ll find you and a messenger will take you to the castle."
The old man's eyes were the size of tea saucers, his trembling hands clutching his cap.
"E-e-xcuse me?"
"There was urgent trouble at home that made ‘im want to send this man," he pointed to Theo, who was still mounted, the stallion shifting uneasily from hoof to hoof snorting, “in spite of comin ‘ere ‘imself. Understan’ me?”
The other guard walked to a tree that stood by the road and tied the horse to it while the others talked. He lifted a piece of a barrel and threw it into the ditch where it splashed into a puddle of mead. The first guard waved his head toward Theo.
"Theo told his majesty about the occurence and he very rightly sympathized with the pain you must feel. You’ll get a new stallion and new coach."
"Why will he give me this?" the man inquired curiously. “Was he responsible for the attack?”
The first guard took off his nose protector helmet and displayed a very rugged face.
“No, he is not responsible for attacking his own people.”
Silently, the man walked over to his wounded horse, where the second guard was about to patch up the wounds, knelt over, patting it on the mane. “How can he like someone he’s never met?”
“He likes his people.” the guard nodded. “He helps his people. Not like other kings we know.”
Jack knelt down toward the dying horse. He took out a piece of stale bread and gave it to the stallion, which grunted, frothed at the mouth and took it, slowly munching away. There was almost an angelic silence on that road when the guards stood watching Jack disregard the carriage and just think of his dying horse. The horse looked up. A tear fell and Rumus looked up at the first guard.
"Sire?"
It took a while for the hard royal guard to respond. He did so quietly. "Yes, Jack?"
"Can he fix my horse?"
Theo had stepped off his horse, leading it around the grass its head downward, when Theo’s head snapped to the left upon hearing the old man's words. “He can give me a new horse, but he can’t fix this one.”
There was a pause. Rumus waited for a reply but none came. "The rider in the blue cape, Sire, was wearing the Eagle." He fingered at his cap as if the answer was hidden in there. “It’s just a question, my Lord.”
"No." Theo said, leading his horse back upon the road. "He was not."
The old man nodded, managing to produce a smile. Somehow, Theo felt the man didn’t believe him. "How do you know?" The three men exchanged glances. Theo spoke.
"We never damage our own country, Jack." He led the horse a few paces toward the old man. "This man is killing in our name across the entire continent. It might not even be the same person, but is probably the same organization. It might not even be a man."
The second guard smiled. "I don't know if a woman could do something like this."
Theo turned around and laughed. "Don't say that. A lady scorned resembles a tempestuous heat of fury.” The man just nodded, hadn't gotten the joke and wasn't noticing that the three men were laughing themselves silly. He just looked down at the horse.
"My best friend." He patted it. "There, there, boy." The horse looked up with a look that made their hearts sink. It was bleeding to death and nothing could be done. Cold air was coming out of its nostrils. It seemed to look at Rumus as if saying: "My best friend, I am dying!" The light shone in the horses eyes. Slowly, a tear dropped from Jack's cheek, the horse, now freed from all debris, gave up the ghost, lowered its head and died. Rumus broke into silent tears, bowed his head and folded his hands in prayer. The three men folded their hands, as well. St. Zadkiel listened to their prayers. The rider who had attacked the old man had been watching him all along with her eager eyes. A wind was blowing across the plains. The men all looked across the field, their eyes cast upon a darkness whose failure was only steps away, whose love was about to turn into dust, a lesson learned whose life was not traceable to the human mind.
“The attacker is still here,” Jack said, completely out of the blue. “Out of this wind puff a storm will fester and it will kill us all. They will all know the one they blame for it.”
Jack felt the presence of the messenger and he knew that the messenger had been a woman.


Early Saturday afternoon, April 11th, 1422 A.D.
West Wing Chapel Entrance,
The Royal Palace of Iuventus Sacrum, Clurafar

Back in the royal palace, a place toward which Alexander now was riding, the royal crown princess Belinda was fighting with her future husband and prince regent about the fact that he had been found on the nuptial bed fondling the royal sister Princess Morgana, a renowned royal whore.
Belinda gave Steven a cold look.
"What on Earth were you thinking of?”
Steven shook his head.
“I was pushed upon the bed involuntarily.”
“Our bed with … my … sister. Thank you.” Belinda spat cynically. “You claimed to be on an errand for Morgana with a letter addressed to some man. Who was it?”
”What?”
“The man Morgana was too lazy to visit herself.”
Steven nodded. “Cretan."
"Julius Cretan, the imperial magistrate?"
Steven smiled. “Is there another Cretan that I know nothing of? Come now, Belinda. I needed to talk to him about disciplining the harbour controls. Morgana’s document went along for the ride.”
“I thought I was his main negotiator,” she said aloof, hurt, proud and feminine.
“I supervise the laws,” Steven continued calmly. “Morgana wanted to make an official trip to the coast to check the harbour and I had nothing to do with that. She thought she might get Senate sponsorship. End of story.”
She turned to him. “You believe that?”
Steven chuckled. “Why ever not? She is not completely irresponsible.”
”She just wants to make love to anyone with power. Any excuse to get near you is good enough. She made it up,” Belinda said, hurt, pouting with her lower lip. “She must have.”
“To please you?”
”Oh, come. Please, Steven.”
"It was a personal letter.” Steven said. There was an awkward silence there in the hallway. “Look, I did not go to bed with Morgana and I only delivered her document because … I was there to see him anyway. I am a faithful man, as I said.”
She smiled. “Reminding the forgetful.”
Steven walked up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. Belinda always seemed to rejoice in uttering that sentence again and again. He had said it once during a fight and she continued to repeat it. Belinda, this gorgeous individual Steven was so madly in love with and out to marry was looking out onto the porch and the garden beyond it.
The dreamy, hurt look in her eyes spoke volumes. It could easily be described as “the silent treatment”. There was a long pause and neither of them made the first step. He saw her standing there, the afternoon sunlight glittering in her hair. He put his hand around her shoulders, kissing her neck. He began singing a song of the palace instrumentalist Bantrard’s that the very same court composer often would sing over at Morgana’s house of The Rose, a house that lay only a ride away from the main house. Sometimes Belinda the fair maiden liked it, sometimes she didn’t.

“Come, come, now, my mistress of beauty
Don’t confer me your magnificent ice.
If only you’d but grant me sweet duty
Your kiss and your sigh’d still suffice.
No need for any break through promises.
Just grant me your dearest love’s kiss.
For within your cotton clad bosom
Lays lovemaking, heart shaping bliss.”

She pulled away from him. He sighed. She was stiff as a statue, arms crossed. He laughed.
“Oh” he grunted, surprised. “You are mad. You always like that song.”
He walked away from her, scratching his head.
She whispered: "On top of you on our bed."
He walked back to her. "She jumped on me from behind.”
She turned to him, faked an angry smile and shook her head, cynically.
“She surprised you, did she?”
“Her bosom is a battering ram and her arse a cannon.” Steven chuckled. “I had no chance against someone so base and so sensually overly radiant.”
Belinda started giggling. “I have never heard her musical derriere.”
Steven laughed harder. “Apart from her jerky crotch? To be really frank I prefer yours.”
At once, the wit was no longer a part of the action. Steven took a step back.
“Well, this is the primary day of lusty words” Belinda spat. “Pray, let us travel yonder into the county of debauchery, shall we not? So, why not agree to liking her behind? You seemed quite happy to accept her fawning. She has a behind for the Olymp, does she not? I came back to get my silk fan for the ride around the countryside. I had barely left and you two were already feeling each other’s parts."
Belinda slowly turned around and the reindeer eyes looked at him with that sweet look of ice.
“You are such an actress.” Steven mused. “Bantrard might need you. Why don’t you audition?”
She smiled. “I am not acting, Darling. This is reality, Sweetheart.”
Steven looked at her and knew she was telling the truth. Her strong pauses spoke of rage.
"How convenient that you were innocent," Belinda cackled. “Men are always victims.”
“What was I supposed to do? Throw her against the wall?"
“That would give her breasts a nice bounce. You spoke of her armour. Cannons, was it?”
“Armour, Belinda!"
Belinda looked out again, biting her nails and said softly: "How was the armour?”
He laughed. "What does that mean?" Steven smiled, tenderly.
She kept on talking in a whisper and looking out. "You know what it means. How was it?”
Steven was speechless. "What?”
"Oh. Come now, Steve. You have lust for her. I have seen it!" Belinda spat. “Tell me what my sister does to your manhood that I still have