the haunted kingdom, Charles E.J. Moulton [chrome ebook reader TXT] 📗

not perform her obligations and even become Queen if Belinda could not take on the position. In spite of this, Princess Patricia moved into The Rose again that night. Morgana and Patricia spent the night giggling, getting drunk and throwing themselves at Richard. The bed sheets were warm again in the guesthouse. Patricia wore the medal to bed. Apparently, an era was over. Belinda Winsletenna was back in the saddle.

The Royal Palace of Iuventus Sacrum – Saturday, June 10th, 1424 A.D.

Alfred had been playing with a small wooden object all through the ceremony, the fact that it was the gilded replica of a coach with horses helped. He had kept quiet. He occasionally mumbled made up words like “Atta” or “Dess” or “Drzjiii”. The loud blabber and blubber that came from Belinda’s lap made everyone laugh. Even the dear Archbishop Bernardus Paul had to laugh. In fact, Morgana had trouble getting the words “I do” off her lips. Not for the reason that seemed to be obvious. The reasons were that a certain crown prince seemed to be more interested in rattling his toy than watch her marry her now long time love Richard Landstorm.
Belinda had to admit it. She would never have trusted her sister to marry Richard. That she also did not want a huge wedding was the next surprise. This woman was vain and vulgar. She presented herself as a woman of nuptial bliss and true love. That impressed the future queen.
It was not until the feast afterward that Belinda went up to Morgana. She told her how impressed Belinda was that she had found her fidelity and faith and that she wished her all the best for the upcoming marriage. Morgana was touched when she heard this and the two sisters spent an hour chattering about babies. It was clear that Morgana didn’t want babies for the moment. All the same, she admired them. Equally clear was that Patricia would continue to live at The Rose and that the two girls would continue to fence. They would also continue to share Richard. This shocked Belinda as well as her father. She also knew that it was none of her business.
Evening time came and Alfred was tucked in. He had eaten his evening porridge and heard his father tell him the story of King Ladislaus and his magic carpet for the umpteenth time. Marie-Louise was given the royal assignment to watch over the little boy. The royal couple went to the wedding feast, got drunk and then made love on the balcony, their favourite spot, before tucking themselves in.

Danish Channel - Saturday, September 23rd , 1424 A.D.

The date it all began should’ve given them a clue. The fact was that ship seemed to be worth clearing. Although the sails were undoubtedly Britannic and the Captain was in fact some one that Tom knew personally, so he was very sceptical. William Zebulon had literally been chased away from Iuventus Sacrum after that infamous night before the wedding. Now, he knew nothing of the night. He didn’t even come close to recognizing who Tom was. This was a man he had drunk five bottles of Rum with, a man he had shared a whore with. This was a man who had almost disgraced the royals. His skin colour had changed, as well. Could that have been the effects of the sea? Maybe so, maybe not. He knew the ship. He knew the captain. Nonetheless, something told him to be careful. He turned to Ulfaas, who shrugged.
Tom looked at him. “What do you think?”
He shook his head. “No reason why would should keep it here, although it bothers me.”
The swearing, cursing sailors were on deck, trying to seem busy, fully knowing they couldn’t do anything unless they were cleared and sent off.
He chuckled cynically. “Sometimes I curse the Romans who dug this channel in the first place. All because Marcus Flavius wanted to prove that Wandiffia was superior. He lost to your realm anyway.” Ulfaas looked at Tom, who laughed and nodded. “There’s a legend about another reality never having a channel like this. A world without a Danish Channel!”
”Bliss, if you ask me.” Tom mused. “This channel has caused nothing but bickering.”
“Whatever you may say,” Ulfaas laughed “It has kept us rich.”
“The ship is checked and cleared, Ulfaas!” Tom sighed. “I mean, they have nothing illegal on board. Just wheat and corn and flour and spices for Margetania.”
He looked at Tom. “The captain doesn’t remember you?”
”I walked up to him and shook his hand, asking him about the girl we shared or if his hangover still was flaming inside his belly. He looked at me as if I were crazy. Ulfaas, he couldn’t possibly have forgotten that party. It was the reason Belinda told me that she only kept me as best man because Steven wanted me. We reconciled, but our relationship has never been the same since. It was William Zebulon’s idea that we go on the feast in town in disguise. It was his plan, for Christ’s sake. I had nothing to do with it. This man even calls himself Willy Zebulon. He has either suffered from a breakdown of his senses or he is lying.” Tom pointed to William standing and talking to his first mate.
“The real man even made sure no one spoke of it, because he was afraid being a part of a big royal row that could ruin his reputation. He doesn’t even know my name, Ulfaas. That scares me.”
Ulfaas nodded. “We have been here before, have we not?” Tom agreed. “Many ships pass this harbour and pay dearly for it. Most are fine, but then we get a ship that seems all right, but the feeling tells us different. What is it?”
“We have to be able to tell Steven why we didn’t let it pass.”
Ulfaas laughed. “He would throw us into early retirement if we said that it felt wrong.”
Ulfaas smirked. “By Jove, anchors aweigh!”
Tom left, shaking his head. He was determined to find something.
All the while, the Captain leaned against the railing tried to see where he went.
Four sturdy General Inspectors had been on the boat now for the past two hours. They had checked the ship from top to bottom for the fourth time. They left the gang bridge, giving Ulfaas a parchment full of notes. The largest inspector, a redhead with blue eyes, looked at him in a jealously fervent way that spoke of a man waiting for an answer.
“Starboard side clear, helm and bow clear, tow-boats clear, sailor cabins and storage clear, captain’s cabin clear, food storage clear.” Ulfaas looked at the three smaller lieutenants.
“Four times checked. Just as ordered. Everything is in order.”
He looked at the ship. The Captain was leaning against the edge, smiling.
He signalled to the redhead. The redhead took out a small bottle from his inner pocket and a feather. The cork was taken away. He dipped the feather in the ink and got ready to sign it, gritting his teeth. “Why does this give me a stomach-ache?”
“The law won’t let you send them back.,” the red had said.
“How long have we kept a ship here?”
“Half a year, Sire!”
“Dublin has been mad before when we let ships go that attack the harbour of Margetania.”
“This has no weapons on board except the captain’s gun, sire! This is the freight and export vessel Londonium down to its’ helm insignia-number noted in the seaman’s log and engraved on the copper plaque at the bow. The Wandiffian law required the unique number and cannot be forged.”
Tom came rushing up to him.
“Don’t sign that warrant.”
Ulfaas looked to his side. He panted and smiled, displaying his log. Ulfaas looked up. Captain Willy Zebulon was gone, but behind Tom came another captain of another ship with a long beard and profoundly deep-set eyes. He was chewing tobacco and walked with a slight limp.
He had very bad health, beaten by weather and sea.
“I knew that something was not in order. I asked around if anyone could tell me about the Londonium or had any information about Zebulon. Courage pays off, is all I can say.”
“What now?”
“This is not the Londonium, Ulfaas!”
The General Inspector gave Tom a sardonic, patronizing smile.
“I am sorry to interfere with your authority, but this is undoubtedly the Londonium.” the red headed man spat. “I am just telling Mr. Nordhjiil here that the helm number cannot be copied.”
“I am telling you, dear General Inspector, that it isn’t” Tom replied triumphantly. “Tell them, Captain Lyghort!”
The man straightened his jacket, stretched forth his hand and displayed a toothless, unshaved grin below an eye patch and a headscarf.
“John Lyghort, your honour!” The man spoke with a thick Danish accent. He had a really interesting authority when he spoke. “I have thirty years experience in the seafaring business.”
“And you can tell me on basis of knowledge that the log of this ship is lying?” Ulfaas asked.
“Yes!”
The General Inspector raised his eyebrows, shaking his head.
“Then you must have a damn good story, honourable Sire!”
“I am Captain of the ship that floats in pier four, The Hurtia! We came from Gothenhaven up north on our way from England. I saw the Londonium just weeks ago, Sire!”
The Inspector pointed to the ship. “This one!”
The man shook his head. “In shambles, Sire! We were told by men posing as Celtic official sea merchants to keep quiet about it, because the Celts don’t want it to spread. The ship rammed a rock by the Olandian Coast and it is a story that no one told anyone, because we sent a messenger saying that it was caught by pirates.” The man sighed. “Nocturanian pirates, I might add!”
Ulfaas gazed at the man. “And why weren’t we notified?”
“As I said, Sir. Top Secret. Our first mate and I stood overhearing a conversation that this gentleman had with someone. He said the Londonium is sailing away. I had to tell him, because the Londonium is the only one of its kind and always has been. There is no second one. This ain’t it.”
“What about the Captain, Sire?” Ulfaas asked. “On whose authori-…”
“What Captain?”
“William Zebulon.”
The man looked surprised.
“Zebulon?” The man started laughing. “Zebulon?! He is dead.” Lyghort took a finger and made a gesture across his throat from right to left. “He was killed by his own sword as it fell from the wall and split his skull in twain when the ship shipwrecked. We said that Willy was on his last ship, The Roddy Isle, just because we were told to keep quiet about it or the Celtic officials, contrary to common practice, would avenge themselves.”
“Who gave the order of secrecy?” Ulfaas asked.
“Right after the accident,” Lyghort mused. “Another big sailing ship arrived. They had a Celtic and Britannic crew on board and almost seemed to know that there was going to be a shipwreck even before it happened. They were dressed in uniforms coinciding with official clothing.” The man leaned forward. “These were no Celts, Governor. They were Nocturanian gypsies. It was a set up from start to finish preparing for a forged ship to enter the harbour and sail as raiders to the Queen’s land.”
“Why has no one issued a missing proclamation as to the Captain’s location?”
“That is what is strange. Zebulon was killed in the accident. They tried to keep it quiet, but it is going to be hard now after this. I guess I am responsible for this riminicracket.”
The General Inspector looked at the old sailor. “Riminicracket?”
Lyghort laughed. “An old word I’ve invented.” he giggled. “Means pure