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

seemed to be drifting away as she did.
There were other things at stake here, not just getting back at Nocturania.
This was about something that had happened a long time ago in a very musty old cellar in a very malodorous dungeon in a very dirty torture chamber.
It was the scarred memory of a girl much too young to be chained to a wooden bench by her aunt.
It was the girl that had heard the name of her enemy long before she knew what it really meant to spell out words.
She heard the name and knew that the woman in question would somehow be important in the future during her adulthood.
Her hands trembling, Belinda began reading the vellum.


WEDNESDAY, MAY 13TH, ANNO DOMINI 1422

FROM THE CLURAFAR SENATE
ADDRESSED BY JULIUS CRETAN TO THE ROYAL HOUSE OF IUVENTUS SACRUM
OFFICIAL NOTIFICATION BY WAY OF TRUSTFUL MESSENGER
STRICT CONFIDENTIALITY REQUIRED AND OFFERED
THE DISTRUSTFUL SHALL BE PUNISHED

Your noble Majesties, dear ladies, gentlemen, princesses, princes, dear staff,
It is within our established quarters now a well kept secret that a young woman, found by a troop of soldiers on the evening of Monday the 11th of May, is a prisoner in our official lodgings of punishment in the municipality. The lady was wearing a cape at the time of capture such as the one seen in many of the recent attacks suspected to be of Nocturanian origin. She was found riding side saddle in brave jumps out of the forest that eventually leads to the borders of the land known as Nocturania and rode directly into the arms of the named guards on leave from the neighbouring army camp, who promptly under great difficulty tied her up and wisely brought her under our care. She is now in the watchtower of our Senate and has said only her name, Nina Ray, and that she is working for an independent messenger service between the countries. As the description mirrors the ones coming from victims of all the attacks we need your assistance for a possible plea for a so called bargained questioning. We have spent three days discussing what to do with this stunning, attractive woman who screams to be let out all day like were she a man.
The questioning tactics of the royal house might be of our assistance.
We know his majesty wants the questioning to be conducted senatorially first, but we aim to ask of assistance and hereby do so. We await your orders with anticipation as to what shall be done with the young miss.

WITH CORDIAL GREETINGS,
Julius Cretan

CHIEF PARLIAMENTARY SENATOR IN THE ROYAL FORUM
Appointed by His Majesty the King Alexander III

She looked up from the document with a serious gaze, her brown reindeer-like eyes piercing the half-light. “There is the cape, which fits the description of every attacker. We do not make these capes. Her stallion is black. She was trick riding when they caught her.”
The two men looked at each other.
“The first thing we will have to find out is if this woman has any certain bits of information that we can use in addition to this unusual entrapment. We hope she will speak.”
”We shall make her speak.” Mormidar emphasized his comment by half-smiling.
Ulfaas looked at Mormidar. “What does that mean to us?”
Belinda spoke for him. “I believe what Mormidar means is that if we can inquire the woman’s purpose strongly enough we will be able to gather some interesting facts as to her origin.”
Marcus spoke and all eyes turned to him. Messengers were lower standing than the ones riding next to him, but certainly if they had something important to say, there was no problem in speaking to a higher crowd. “I know only that she has refused to say anything but her name. The cape undoubtedly is the same one that Mr. Remus saw on the rider. Everything went swiftly, your highness. Remus happened to be in his delivery centre right next to the Senate that day when they inquired as to his whereabouts in order to save time. He was asked to come and look at the cape and identify the woman. She was angry of course, but in the end he could not identify her.”
Ulfaas broke the anticipating silence by a question. “But indeed the cape had an inscribed Eagle?”
Marcus nodded. Belinda sighed and looked out. They were now leaving the grounds and riding out onto the west path that eventually led to a broader road with housing and oak trees. There was a horse or two or a herd of cows eating grass on the plains. A farmer was tending to his crops. A couple were standing next to a hay barn, fighting. She recognized them; it was the stable boy Alex and his girl Esther.
“May it only be solved.” She whispered
Mormidar saw Belinda thinking, drifting away. “Penny for your thoughts.”
Belinda closed her eyes, smiling warmly. “I wonder who she is, what it means that we find a messenger. If that is what this girl is.”
Ulfaas spoke, quietly. “Memories?”
She gazed at him, calmly. “I have a thorn in my side, my sweet Mr. Nordhjiil.” She looked out. They were now approaching the first rows of houses. “This thorn gives me pain, reminds me of its presence every time that I see Nocturania come closer to us.”
Mormidar smiled. “Both of us have been attacked numerous times by these riders bearing your insignia. I can very well understand your embarrassment.”
“Embarrassment?” Belinda gave him a very icy look. “Sir. This is fear, nay, shameful woe. We are a peaceful country. When people kill and ravage in our name it gives my father and I another reason to press this merger to show you all…” She looked at Nordhjiil deeply. “…That these people are traitors working under our name. There are great suspicions that these so-called dark riders are Adnicul’s own army breaking down our defence. They will not succeed.” She looked out.
Ulfaas put a hand on her lap. She looked at him.
“We don’t suspect you, Belinda.” Mormidar shook his head, agreeing. “We know you.” “It shall be a shame that we are not more regal sponsors meeting the first foolproof suspect.”
Belinda chuckled, sardonically. “My father thought it risky even us three going.”
“Your father is afraid.”
“My father cares.”
“Your father is busy.” Ulfaas just tried to downplay Alexander’s refusal to join.
Mormidar laughed. “Your father wants us to catch them.” He shook his head. “Not them, us.”
Belinda smiled. “Yes.” There was a pause. “As I said, he found it too risky.”
Mormidar saw them approaching countryside. There was an Inn here and there, a Barbershop, two farmers joking, a fruit stand, kids. “So, what is our plan?”
Belinda nodded. “First we see the cape, judge it, then judge her. Rumus will be there. We will ask him what he thinks. Then we go to the girl. She will be brought from her cell to be questioned in the watch room in the left tower. She’ll be tied up and guarded. She cannot harm us. We will press her to speak. If she does not, we will try to force her. Marcus here will document the entire process and tell my father tonight.” The three men nodded. They were approaching Clurafar. It was a bustling city, a penitent, innocent city. “I am worried about confronting her.”
“No need for worry” Mormidar whispered. “Miss Ray will be quite inadequate to move.”
Belinda sighed. “I have seen this before. As a child and in my dreams.” She looked at them and smiled, reassuringly. “Don’t share my worry. That is my problem.”
Mormidar looked out at the oncoming bustle.
“No, you are our ally. We share it all professionally.”
“I have a personal matter to solve here. The old prophecy is coming true.” Both of them looked at her.
She sighed again, looking down at her hands. “In 1411, when I was kidnapped, I had a dream. I was kept in that dungeon. It was so dark and rats were crawling around in the cellar.” Her eyes looked up and sparkled in the morning sun that seemed to shine right on her irises. She looked up at Ulfaas. “A small girl that was full of life had a dream of an older girl sitting in a carriage such as this on her way to a meeting with an enemy.” She shuddered. “I dreamt of her name.” She pointed at the document. “This name!”
Mormidar looked at Ulfaas. She waved it away. “Forget it!” She shook her head. “Forget it!”
Ulfaas started making protesting noises. “We can’t.”
“I can!” She said emphatically, trying to convince herself of something untrue. “I must.” And so, as the carriage slowly entered Clurafar eventually parking on the Senate Courtyard, the thunder of the horses gallop slowing down more and more due to law, a silence that was energetic became a silence unspoken. God was in that silence. But he was fighting the enemy.

Later in the quarters of captivity

Two large guards were positioned on each side of the mahogany door. They were wearing the traditional blue and gold helmet, their red capes reaching down to the ground and the large headed spears reaching two feet above their helmets. Four flickering torches on either side gave the entire room a surreal character. On each side of the room were windows, raisings leading up to them with a view over the city square and the market. On the backside of the square room was another set of windows facing each other. Behind the messenger was a window on each side, the red and silver emblem of the Prosperanian Crown, the eagle and the lion, behind her. A torch was flickering on each side of the room.
The woman was tied up with thick rope to a large chair of dark wood. Her legs were clamped with big clasps on the legs and handcuffs had been positioned along the arms. Her shoulders had been tied to the back of the wooden throne by her armpits. In addition to this she was tied with a thick rope along her waist that finally was secured with chains in the back.
The woman was very beautiful and one blond lock fell casually down across her brow and her head was downcast, her eyes looking at the door. She was wearing blue velvet pants and a red top, a traditional outfit for a forest messenger although new to the assembled. Eight other people were in the room. Julius Cretan, who had served the Senate for thirty-one years now, was standing by a pulpit next to a young scribe, whose hand was shaking.
Now and then the messenger looked at him and smiled, taking off his clothes with her eyes. Sir Cretan, an elderly man whose conservatism was legendary, behaved stoically and the sneer never left his face. His back was bent and his hair was grey. But his seventy-one years did not reveal one bit of weakness. He had a soul made of iron. Mormidar’s men, two twins by the name of Julio and Argar Riduz, wore the traditional uniform and had been alerted at nine o clock yesterday about their early departure for this errand. They had their own ideas about what this entailed, but spoke nothing. Duty was everything for them. Queen Silvia was between them, slightly half-smiling, ice in her gaze.
On the right side of the room, Ulfaas’ three aides, Urban Norskjöld, Viltor Ronkranf and Milfred Jensen, were in their homeland called The Great Danes, for whenever the King called they were there and no one knew their whereabouts between assignments. They were like dogs. Urban was a short