Perhaps, he thought, the Redeemer had been right to avoid the castle. It was likely that evil spells were affecting his sleep.
The third dream was the worst. He felt a light tapping against his forehead and opened his eyes to see the Moidart sitting at his bedside, his gaunt features lit by a lamp on the table beside the bed.
Something floated before his eyes, and he realized it was a dagger blade. Closing his eyes again he sought the refuge of sleep. The dagger tapped his cheek.
‘Go away,’ said the Finance, groggily.
The dagger point pierced his cheek. The pain was real and he jerked awake, causing the blade to sink a little deeper.
‘There!’ said the Moidart. ‘Are we awake now, cousin?’
The dagger slid over his face until the point rested on his throat. ‘How did you . . . ?’
‘I never left, cousin. My little army did. I stayed behind with a few loyal men. You really haven’t seen the best of Eldacre Castle, you know. My ancestors had all sorts of hidden passageways built, hideaway rooms, secret stairwells. Some of them are a trifle cramped. It was quite uncomfortable in places.’
‘Why did you not just kill me in my sleep?’
‘One should not lightly set about the task of murdering a nobleman, cousin. One wouldn’t want a death that lacked dignity. My grandmother used to say that a man murdered in his sleep would wander in the Void not even knowing he was dead. A lost soul, if you like. I wouldn’t want your soul lost. I mean – unlike me – I would suppose you have one.’
The Finance swallowed hard. ‘You were there when I spoke to the apothecary?’
‘Yes. Interesting little man, isn’t he? It really surprised me when he said he was my friend. I have to own I was a little touched by that. I suppose that growing old is mellowing me. With you it seems to have increased your stupidity. Once you’d hung him what would you have done the next time you had the pox?’
‘Just kill me and be done with, damn you!’
‘Gently, cousin. Would you rob me of so sweet a moment? So tell me, would you really have gone home and destroyed my painting?’
‘In a heartbeat.’
‘You liked it, though, didn’t you? You bragged of it to your friends. You were the first nobleman to purchase a work of art from the unknown painter. You it was who discovered the secret of his genius. Happy moments.’
Flat on his back, the dagger point resting on his jugular, the Finance was helpless. There was no way he could roll free or strike out before the blade plunged home. ‘Yes, I liked it,’ he admitted, trying to buy a little more time. ‘I often used to sit beneath it, staring up and wondering about the artist. I do not understand how a man so steeped in evil could create such a work.’
‘Baffling, isn’t it?’ agreed the Moidart. ‘Well, it’s been nice to chat, but I have so much to do.’
‘Wait!’ said the Finance, desperation in his voice. The dagger lanced through his jugular. Blood spurted across the pillow. The Finance struggled to rise, to lash out, but all strength seeped away.
Just before dawn the Moidart’s army marched quietly back into Eldacre. There was no fanfare, no blare of trumpets, and no attempt to attack the enemy. They marched to an area south of the castle, some little distance from the billeted invaders, and began to pitch their own tents.
A few soldiers wandered over to watch them, and stood faintly bemused. ‘Is the war over then?’ one of them called.
‘Must be, I suppose,’ came the answer.
No fighting broke out, and not a musket was raised. Other enemy soldiers gathered, then an officer walked over. ‘What is going on here?’ he asked one of the men.
‘Eldacre boys have come back, sir. War’s over.’
The officer, as bemused as his soldiers, strolled to where Galliott the Borderer, a colonel now, was organizing the pitching of tents.
‘You, sir! Do you have news?’
‘No,’ replied Galliott. ‘I was instructed to move my men here. Is there a problem?’