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

played: Fidicula’s Wicked Warlock. At around seven, Steven was so drunk that he rode Tom’s back with Zeb as coachman of the carriage.
Well, very unaccustomed to that sort of carrying on, Steven had lost all memory once they entered the brothel. His false beard dropped off when they entered the private rooms. Tom and Zeb chose their girls, but once turns came to Steven to choose girl, he fell to the floor with a thud and snored. He did wake up three hours later in the lap of someone called Veronica, who swore in the end that nothing had happened beyond caressing. By that time, Tom was so sober that he could take Willy Zebulon and his friend Steven to the coach that had been waiting there around the corner. In the middle of night, Tom got Steven to bed and was met with evil looks from his soon to be wife. Willy Zebulon was dragged to The Rose, where Morgana was all too eager to get her hands on the man. Belinda only slept a few hours that night. In the morning, Princess Belinda fumed.

Tuesday, September 22nd, 1422 A.D.

Belinda marched in, her heels clicking against the floor and even making noises when walking on the soft carpet. She took the red velvet curtain in her hands and opened them. A sound of discontentment came from under the pillows.
Belinda, steaming with wrath, looked at her soon-to-be-husband and grabbed a hold of the balcony door and opened it, letting the cold afternoon air enter the room. “You smell.” she spat. “Pigs smell of honey melon and cream custard apple pie in comparison to this old sock. You not only smell like a pig, you are a pig.”
Another groan came from under the pillows.
“Steven! Do you have a hangover by any chance?” She shrugged. “I mean, I’m just curious.”
Steven sat up, his hair standing on end and his eyes smaller than peppercorns.
“Who died?” Steven croaked.
Belinda smiled cynically. “You did.” she cackled. “Your demise was registered by a young girl by the name of Veronica, who very wisely noted that my future prince regent fell to pieces in a pool of his own excrements. What a fitting catapult for royal nuptial neutrality. You smelled not only of cheap perfume when you came to our bed yesterday, but of five gallons of not wisely digested apple metheglin and melomel. I don’t know whose bed you were in yesterday, but whoever it was must’ve been the daughter of a brewer.” Belinda stood there, smiling triumphantly.
“I was too drunk to even kiss anyone yesterday.” Steven said and fell down on the pillows.
His fiancée sneered and responded somewhat glumly: “I would bet on that. Anyone who’d kiss you with that breath would be torturing themselves only.” Belinda walked up to his bed and shook her head. “If I only knew why the opposite sex has so much joy in these kinds of parties.”
Steven looked up at her. “Do you have a mission or are you only here to irritate me?”
Belinda started laughing. “Yes, I deserved that.” She walked to the balcony. “Lucky for you Tom told me you fell asleep on the doorstep of Madam Zonga’s. I have no reason to hate Tom because he is single. Needless to say, your excursions were in no doubt exhausting. I’m happy you stuck to mead. William Zebulon had three bottles of rum yesterday. Morgana slept in the mansion.”
Steven started laughing. “A premiere for her, this calls for celebration.”
”No doubt unusual for her to reject a man.”
”My head is burning!” Steven croaked. “Would you please leave the room and let me die?”
Belinda walked to the door. “Be happy my father has been gone since yesterday morning.
Please be sober when he comes back tonight. Geena has made a mouth freshener for you. It’s on the table by the door and contains fresh peppermint and camomile. If not, stay away from my aura.”
”Thank you!” Steven responded, half-drunk. “I’ll try to wake up without vomiting.”
Steven took the sheets and pulled them over his head.
“One more thing: I have a revelry with some friends tonight. We intend to drink apple juice.”
She closed the door behind her. A second later the door opened again. “I love you, Steven,” she shouted and then added. “You senseless little shit!”
Between resonating snores, she could hear him respond, “I love you, too! Cleopatra!”
On the way to the king’s study to take care of some official work in her father’s name, adding a muttering “You big Dog” that only she heard, she met Tom. He was not looking too well either, but had dressed and shaved and was carrying a tin flask of water. Belinda did not stop. Tom followed her.
“How is Steven?”
”Irresponsibly pissed.”
She stopped and looked at him.
“What?” Tom asked.
“Irresponsibly pissed, Tom. You only came back into our lives, because Steven likes you.
You too have been irresponsible before and I don’t need to tell you again when that was.”
She continued walking.
“I am fully aware of my faults, but was not responsible for how much your husband drank.”
”You invited my future husband to a brothel, Tom!” Belinda spat. She sighed. “I know that you men love to feast before we loveless women imprison you, but you know that Steven never drinks more than a bottle at feasts. This must’ve been at least eight pints.”
“Fifteen.”
Belinda shook her head.
Tom sighed. “If it is any comfort to you, he said that he would never even touch another woman and I know for a fact that he kept his promise.”
”Where is Zebulon now?”
”Packing his bags.”
”Did anyone recognize you?”
“No, even though Steven’s false beard fell off in the brothel.”
“Wonderful!”
“They asked if we were going to a masquerade. They did not know any of us. Steven kept his hat on all the time.”
”His hat? Hah? How inconspicuous. And you, Tom?” Belinda asked coldly. “Did you have a good time, Tom? Did you join Veronica when she cuddled my famous fiancée?”
There was a half-smile when he thought of the luscious woman he had been with yesterday. He chuckled in time enough to see Belinda looking like a murderer. He shook his head.
“No. It was perfectly awful.” He smiled.
Belinda sighed. “I forgive you, you are only stupid man. You can be our best man that still holds. But if this ever occurs again, you are royally excommunicated, this time forever. Understand?”
Tom lowered his head. “Yes, your highness.”
Belinda walked away leaving Tom alone by the staircase. She gave him a half-smile as she walked up the stairs, knowing and feeling the power she had over him. While he was busy admiring her body.


Wednesday, September 23rd, 1422 – Morning

The castle was a place full of excitement. The staff giggled, the siblings smiled, the king laughed, the queen joked and the palace seemed to sing. As often the case was between them, the prenuptial fight about Steven’s alcoholic endeavours were very much forgotten and blamed on wedding nervousness. The entourage of different royals had partied, when not conducting their governing from here. Steven had inspected the troops as usual; Tom had arrived three weeks ago and briefed him on stricter trade regulations. Together they went to receptions and coached the diplomacy in the game of peacefully silent trade bonding.
Belinda held her speeches as usual, talked to various Senators about her wishes in public administration, was briefed in recent attacks and held regular conferences with her father about public authority. She had receptions now and then at Iuventus for various diplomats and made sure to go alone in disguise to St. Raphael’s to pray an hour or two. She never saw the girl again, but the elderly monk with the twinkling eyes was there, although no one knew who he was except her.
She and Steven would go riding, they made love by their fireplace occasionally, read poems and sang songs, maybe had a meal or two or went on a walk to the oak and looked at their inscriptions from way back when.
All this disguised that they were experiencing something as basic as wedding-jitters.
That morning there was an atmosphere of excited mirth everywhere. It was the most lucrative fusion that Alliland had ever been involved in when Prosperania took the initiative of arranging a merger, so Alliland was represented by the former Minister of Defence and current personal advisor to Mustafus, Mario Callini, a very odd Neapolinian with an incredibly high, soft-spoken voice in the body of a wrestler. Then, of course there was Musafus with his big belly and turban, waxed mustachio and all, hardly one that could be missed in a crowd, with his five mistresses and six daughters. There was the Hispanic King, Mormidar the Clear and his wife Queen Silvia Escamilla de Benderato. A large lady dressed in fabulous local cotton with a large ostrich feather fan covering her large heaving trademark cleavage, that she would only reveal in private to the privileged, a very pregnant bosom who had become somewhat of a myth because everyone wanted to see them and no one dared to admit wanting to witness.
These people all lived together in The Orchid, a very lovely guesthouse next to The Rose, where the decorations were mostly orchids, on walls and sculptures. There was the Daneland Minister of Commerce, Ulfaas Nordhjiil. The Olandus Prince Fredruck the Glad had his Princess Estefania with him in The Forget-Me-Not, a few minutes away, made that house a forum of calm intellectual discussion. The Britannic Counsellor Martin Darbersham wore his very typical 'summer wig' that went down his hips and his indigo blue knee length coat that contrasted his brown eyes. He had come with wife, but with four ladies in waiting from the Brittanic capital of Dublin. The Brittanic Empire of Hengstonen was so well liked because of its Celtic Origin, its Irish diplomacy and musical tradition. The Forget-Me-Not was a place of music as the Councillor-King was an expert at the lute. Its King and Queen, Luigi the III and Escamilla the IV, who equally split the responsibilities of reign and therefore had a staff with them of three each, represented Neapolonia in the guesthouse, The Anemone.
The official festivities didn’t start until after the wedding ceremony, but the entourage in the small guesthouses had partied for weeks now. Morgana and Patsy housed Nomed and shared his manhood each night and in return for their female favours he coached them in the art of fencing, having learnt that from the King of the Ottomans.
The entire Queen’s family had arrived a week early, three kids, dog, sisters and brothers and husbands and wives all. But what really everyone was happy about was the extraordinary chief team of wedding arrangers: Rolf Svanskiöld was in charge of the overall schedule and plan, Eugenia Johnstone and her staff of food, drink and service, Zedrick Ronkenshire for safety, Theodore Rolandson transport of all kinds, Archbishop Bernardus Paul of the religious ceremony itself, and Bantrard Silvermoon of music and dance and the opera. He had found a jester named Figaro who had a team of acrobats and fire jugglers from Rome who would entertain.
The Opera was going to be the crowning glory. It was the event, premiering on the 25th of September in the seldom used Royal Iuventus Theatre in the East Wing with two more Gala evenings after that and ten more at the Ovid Theatre in town from October 16th- 25th. Auditions had been held previously and the perfect cast found. Mandy, Bantrard’s old flame, had returned for an exemplary fee to play the title role of Landrea, giving