The Young Prince

Prologue

He struck out ahead of the pack at a fierce pace ,weaving in between patches of heather and imposing wooden stakes. Of course he would be first to capture the castle, first to have the laurel wreath strewn across his golden head ..

‘Marcus!’

Most of the relatives were pattering along at a sedate pace a furlong or so back up the track.

‘Who does he think he is? Fucken Joan of Arc?’

Horace was muttering to himself as always, lush jowels swinging away like jodhpurs.

The kid needed friends. I mean playing games like this was fine, he had even dabbled with painted war figurines. But at 16?

The big mistake of course was buying him that horse. Big fucking mistake.

Marcus kept on running. Typical for them to try and thwart him.

I can crossbow a rabbit at hundred paces, and they think this is a game? Time to decamp, methinks. He looked around for a suitable piece of ground. There wasn’t much time, 2-3 minutes before they came in range, but it was enough to set up something resembling a pallisade.

Most people didn’t know how to do this, he mused to himself with satisfaction. If it came to it, an assault, they would beg him for shelter. No one would be laughing.

Noting a shallow rise, he unsheathed the entrenching tool in one fluid movement and began to hack away. A foots worth should be alright, what taking into account the fading light and tree cover.

Good idea not to have come saddled up today, or ambushing like this would have been unthinkable.

He stretched the wire until it was taught. Eyes down the sights, check for wind, breathing slow and regular. ‘

This was just a dry run, but good to take everything into account all the same. The foursome came into view.

He smelt the muddy earth, savoured the smell, wet and wholesome. A fresh wind was blowing up and across his rearguard castle, bringing with it little snatches of conversation from the party below.

‘where’s he gone to now..

….just ignore him he’ll come back soon enough’

Jonathan…yes perhaps we should rethink taking..’

…he needs to learn’.

Bastards

He stuck his hand down his pants, cradling.

No point in aiming really , this was childsplay.

Footsteps gradually increased in volume until they were almost on top of him

‘Get up’

Horace’s bulbous eyes were glaring down at him. There was something primordial about the old man, fat-skinned rhinoceros. Marcus didn’t reply for a while. Maybe if he lay there along enough they would just go away.

‘Get. Up.’

He lifted himself slowly…

He hated this, he thought to himself, scrabbling around for the entrenching tool, why did he feel caught, like they had got him? He had got them! He hated the power Horace had over him, envied it.

Was it respect or fear? He couldn’t quite tell.

Standing up straight, Marcus recovered himself to a degree. He noticed that day by day now Horace looked smaller, more fragile. A year or so ill be taller than you, he thought.

Horace looked worried. What was he smiling at now, the fuck?

He turned back towards the castle and set off again, motioning for the party to follow.

‘This time, stay with the group’

A subdued silence hung over them. It was because of him he knew, but not the whys and wherefores.

‘it’ll not be long now Marcus, really you should stop being so frisky’.

She was a kindly old soul really mother, but socially spastic. That’s why she was with Horace who dragged her along like a rag doll, a fucking façade of a wife. Mentally mind, not that he would ever hit her.

‘Maybe we can get a bite to eat in the cafeteria, just a prawn salad or something. We’ll not stay at the museum too long.’

Bet you’d like something to eat, fatty.

In truth Marcus didn’t really mind his family opting for this little day out, much though he was at pains to make them believe otherwise. All castles have an armoury.

It was actually a huge lapse on Horace’s part. The old man was getting slow, weary. He could see it in his laboured gait and hair, which was almost white now, though if you looked at his large face in profile the shark eyes still retained their old cunning.

‘Yes, maybe. I would like that’

Shortly afterwards they reached the gates of the place, which was impressive enough - although the castly effect was spoiled by huge plastic placards advertising the café and group deals.

‘ooooooooooooohhhhhhh look at the set menu crème brulee, oh please can we please can we please….’

‘Not before you’ve had a good walk. A good military set piece’ Horace reprimanded her with finality.

The girl at the ticket-counter hardly looked up. Her eyes were hard wired to the computer screen, msn messenger, Facebook,

Or porn probably, thought Marcus, the dirty bitch.

He was incensed. This is the only thing she has to do all day, and she cant be bothered to fucking look up. Well you’ll be next.

Pretty though

Horace coughed loudly

‘Oh sorry mate didn’t see you there, hee hee’

Hee fucking Hee Hee

‘Yes well theres only four of us.’

They traded items sullenly, Horace parting with a snort that he thought gave him the better of the exchange.

They walked serenely through the surpisingly narrow gate and portcullis, which was probably now mechanized or something, fucken bang n olufsen, or so Marcus hoped.

Horace led the way stiff and lumbering, mother gin just about waddling quick enough to stay in second place. Marcus behind, proud, lithe and stately as a medieval Prince, and Sarah taking up the rearguard, though she wasn’t needed and didn’t matter of course.

A large youth dressed like Henry the Eighth was present to greet newcomers and direct them where necessary. He had a wide, pleasant face and friendly disposition, but looked insecure. His codpiece was several sizes too big.

‘What a twat’, hooted Sarah just of earshot.

‘Yeah’ replied Marcus though secretly he envied the outfit.

‘At least he’s got a proper job, unlike the rest o yous’ Horace spluttered.

You fat, fat man, Marcus thought. You just don’t understand that these days its not what people do.

‘How may I help you sirs’ beamed the young Henry. If you took off his skin and made it into a suit, it would be a perfect fit, thought Marcus to himself. This had been a pet project of his for a while now, finding somebody a grade larger than himself for skinning. Horace would do he supposed but the fat old rhino’s skin would be too leathery and there would be a big hoo haa afterwards, of that he was sure.

Without waiting for an answer Henry continued.

‘You’ll find the main exhibition straight ahead, dungeons down the stairs to your left, armoury on the second floor and privy chambers out back at the end of the hallway with the stables.

The hairs on the back of Marcus’s neck stiffened. Working stables? He hoped to ask but feared the consequences.

Horace showed no sign of alarm, perhaps he hadn’t heard…

Exhibition it is then.

*Im indebited to Iain Banks from whose style and concepts im borrowing heavily*