The Book Of Lost Things

XXXI. Of the Battle, and the Fate of Those Who Would Be King

THE KING was slumped on his throne, his chin upon his chest. He looked as though he was sleeping, but as David drew closer, he saw that the old man’s eyes were open and staring blankly at the floor. The Book of Lost Things lay on his lap, the king’s hand resting on its cover. Four guards surrounded him, one at each corner of the dais, and there were more at the doors and upon the gallery. As the captain approached with David, the king peered up, and the look on his face made David’s stomach tighten. It was the face of a man who has been told that his one chance to avoid the executioner is to convince someone else to take his place, and in David the king seemed to see that very person. The captain stopped before the throne, bowed, and left them. The king ordered the guards to step away so that they could not hear what was being said, then tried to compose his features into an expression of kindness. His eyes gave him away, though: they were desperate and hostile and cunning.

“I had hoped,” he began, “to speak with you under better circumstances. We find ourselves surrounded, but there is no reason to be afraid. They are mere beasts, and we will always be superior to them.”

He crooked his finger at David. “Come closer, boy.”

David ascended the steps. His face was now level with the king’s. The king ran his fingers along the arms of the throne, pausing now and then to examine a particularly fine detail of its ornamentation, to caress lightly a ruby or an emerald.

“It is a wonderful throne, is it not?” he asked David.

“It’s very nice,” said David, and the king glanced sharply at him as though unsure of whether or not he was being mocked by the boy. David’s face gave nothing away, and the king decided to let his answer pass without rebuke.

“From the earliest of times, the kings and queens of the realm have sat upon this throne and ruled the land from it. Do you know what they all had in common? I will tell you: they all came from your world, not this one. Your world, and mine. As one ruler dies, another crosses the boundary between the two worlds and assumes the throne. It is the way of things here, and it is a great honor to be chosen. That honor is now yours.”

David did not reply, so the king continued.

“I am aware that you have encountered the Crooked Man. You should not let his appearance put you off. He means well, although he has a way of, um, manipulating the truth. He has been shadowing your path since you arrived here, and there were times when you were close to death and were saved only by his intervention. At first, I know that he offered to take you back to your home, but that was a lie. It is not in his gift or in his power to do so until you claim the throne. Once you have ascended to your rightful place, you may order him to do as you please. If you refuse the throne, he will kill you and seek another. That is how it has always been.

“You must accept what is being offered to you. If you do not like it, or find that it is not in you to rule, then you may order the Crooked Man to return you to your own land and the bargain will be concluded. You will be the king, after all, and he will be merely a subject. He asks only that your brother should come with you, that you might have company in this new world as you begin to rule. In time, he may even bring your father here, if you like, and imagine how proud he will be to see his firstborn seated on a throne, the king of a great realm! Well, what do you say?”

By the time the king had finished speaking, any pity that David might have felt for him had disappeared. Everything the king had said was a lie. He did not know that David had looked in the Book of Lost Things, that he had entered the Crooked Man’s lair and met Anna there. David knew of hearts being consumed in the darkness, and the essence of children being kept in jars to fuel the life of the Crooked Man. The king, crushed by guilt and sorrow, wanted to be released from his bargain with the Crooked Man, and he would say anything to get David to take his place.

“Is that the Book of Lost Things in your hands?” asked David. “They say that it contains all kinds of knowledge, perhaps even magic. Is that true?”

The king’s eyes glittered. “Oh, very true, very true. I will give it to you when I abdicate and the crown becomes yours. It will be my coronation gift. With it, you can order the Crooked Man to do your will, and he will have to obey. Once you are king, I will have no more use for it.”

For a moment, the king looked almost regretful. Yet again, his fingers traveled across the cover of the book, smoothing down loose threads, exploring the places where the spine had begun to separate from the rest. It was like a living thing to him, as though his heart had also been removed from his body when he came to this land and it had taken the form of a book.

“And what will happen to you once I am king?” asked David.

The king looked away before he replied. “Oh, I will leave here and find some quiet place in which to enjoy my retirement,” he said. “Perhaps I will even return to our world to see what has changed there since I left it.”

But his words sounded hollow, and his voice cracked beneath the weight of his guilt and lies.

“I know who you are,” said David softly.

The king leaned forward on his throne. “What did you say?”

“I know who you are,” David repeated. “You are Jonathan Tulvey. Your adopted sister’s name was Anna. You were jealous of her when she was brought to your home, and that jealousy never went away. The Crooked Man came and showed you how a life without her could be, and you betrayed her. You tricked her into following you through the sunken garden and into this place. The Crooked Man killed her and ate her heart, then kept her spirit in a glass jar. That book on your lap contains no magic, and its only secrets are yours. You are a sad, evil old man, and you can keep your kingdom and your throne. I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it.”

A figure emerged from the shadows.

“Then you will die,” said the Crooked Man.

He appeared much older than when David had last seen him, and his skin looked torn and diseased. There were wounds and blisters upon his face and hands, and he stank of his own corruption.

“You have been busy, I see,” said the Crooked Man. “You have been sticking your nose in places where you had no business. You have taken something that belongs to me. Where is she?”

“She does not belong to you,” said David. “She does not belong to anyone.”

David drew his sword. This time, it shook a little as his hand trembled, but not very much.

The Crooked Man just laughed at him. “No matter,” he said. “She had reached the end of her usefulness. Be careful lest the same can be said of you. Death is coming for you, and no sword can keep it away. You think you’re brave, but let’s see how brave you are when there is hot wolf breath and spittle upon your face and your throat is about to be ripped out. Then you will weep and wail and you will call for me, and perhaps I will answer. Perhaps . . .

“Tell me your brother’s name and I will save you from all pain. I promise that I will not harm him. The land needs a king. If you agree to assume the throne, then I will let your brother live when I bring him here. I will find another to take his place, for there are sands in my hourglass yet. You will both abide here together, and you will rule justly and fairly. All this will come to pass. I give you my word. Just tell me his name.”

The guards were watching David now, their own weapons unsheathed, ready to strike him down if he tried to hurt the king. But the king raised his hand to let them know that all was well, and they relaxed a little as they waited to see what would unfold.

“If you don’t tell me his name, then I will cross back into your world and I will kill the infant in his bed,” said the Crooked Man. “Even if it is the last thing that I do, I will leave his blood upon the pillows and the sheets. Your choice is simple: the two of you may rule together, or you may each die apart. There is no other way.”

David shook his head. “No,” he said. “I will not allow you to do it.”

“Allow? Allow?” The Crooked Man’s face contorted as he forced the word out. His lips cracked, and a little blood trickled from the splits, for he had only a little left to shed.

“Listen to me,” he said. “Let me tell you the truth about the world to which you so desperately want to return. It is a place of pain and suffering and grief. When you left it, cities were being attacked. Women and children were being blasted to pieces or burned alive by bombs dropped from planes flown by men with wives and children of their own. People were being dragged from their homes and shot in the street. Your world is tearing itself apart, and the most amusing thing of all is that it was little better before the war started. War merely gives people an excuse to indulge themselves further, to murder with impunity. There were wars before it, and there will be wars after it, and in between people will still fight one another and hurt one another and maim one another and betray