Brinton spluttered. "You implying the Dark
Chamber spies on me too?"
"Such matters should be discussed in private,
Your Grace."
"I take the matter extremely seriously,"
Malinda said. "I am more concerned about Courtney
than I am about Fitzambrose." To back
Neville would be open rebellion--and there had
been few signs of general support for him as
yet--but many people who would draw back from that grim
plunge into rebellion might see little wrong in
forcing a juvenile queen into marrying a mature
prince who was her heir and next of kin anyway.
Even, perhaps, some of this very Council. Like grim
old Horatio Gallows, there. Never
treason! Oh no, just rationalizing the lines of
command. ... How many of the other
councillors were in his power?
"Is it agreed that we summon Prince
Courtney?" she said harshly and watched the heads
nod. "Then, if there is no new business, we
can adjourn. Perhaps you would bring me the warrant
to sign in an hour or so, Chancellor?"
It was the twentieth day of her reign. Already
she had defeated one rebellion, and now she
faced two more.
The Queen's Chamber was the largest and finest
room in the Royal Suite at Greymere,
large, and commanding a fine view above huddled city
rooftops to the hills of Great Common. It was
renowned for its framed Duville tapestries,
whose improbable shepherd youths and maidens
frolicked in an idyllic landscape and a much
warmer climate than Chivial's. Queen
Haralda had often threatened to hang smocks on
some of them.
As a child Malinda had wondered why her father
did not claim the best room as his own, but she had
guessed the reason after the Night of Dogs; and
when she returned to Greymere as queen she made
the Guard show her the secret door and the
spyholes concealed by the famous tapestries. They
posed no real problem, though, because they led through to a
bedchamber in the attendants' wing, and the door to that
was fitted with a lock and a strong bolt. That was how
Dog came calling after curfew.
She had bathed, dressed in a comfortable gown, and
was nibbling a snack of fruit and cheese when
Chancellor Burningstar was shown in. As soon as
her guest was seated and had accepted a glass of
cordial, she went straight to what they both
knew was the main reason for the meeting.
"Is Lambskin playing me false?"
Burningstar sighed. "I honestly do not know,
Your Grace. I personally despise the man,
but I feel that way about all inquisitors.
To most White Sisters, a Blade smells like
hot iron and an inquisitor of rot and decay.
He reeks stronger than any. If your cousin
is gathering and training an army, as you obviously
fear, then you certainly have cause to dismiss your
chief of security for not warning you of the danger."
"The next question is: Can I do it?"
"Indeed it is! Who defends the hunter from his
dogs? Your father always appointed elderly persons
to head the Dark Chamber, on the theory that
none of them could ever be trusted for long, and it was much
safer to let them die off than to try and remove
them."
Lambskin had not been many years in his post.
Malinda could remember his predecessor, a
huge and sinister woman, dramatically dropping
dead at a concert.
"Forgive my asking, but you are worth a
hundred Lambskins to me. If he has any
hold over you, I will sign a pardon for it, no
matter what it involves."
Burningstar smiled, obviously pleased by the
compliment. "I have nothing on my conscience except
maybe some sarcastic comments when Your Grace was
much younger. I fear that others on your council are
more vulnerable. Your honored uncle, for
example."
"Brinton?" Malinda said incredulously.
"How can anyone blackmail a duke? Dukes
can get away with anything." Perhaps not murder or
treason, but she could not conceive of the bovine Brinton
murdering anyone. Boring them to death, maybe.
government, "it is old gossip, and I swear
I have never repeated it to anyone before ..."
Malinda grinned and leaned closer. "But when it
is a matter of fealty to the crown ...?"
"Exactly. Do you know why he's never fathered
any children?"
"Um, no. Do tell."
"When he was about ten," the old lady said in a
conspiratorial whisper, "he watched a
mountebank juggling axes. He was so impressed
that he went off behind the barn and tried it himself."
The Queen guffawed, much to her shame. "I can
see why he would not want the tale told, but I
don't think he would let it trap him into open
treason."
"It might sway his judgment if there were
doubts. Add a few more cases like it, and your
Council may have trouble supporting you against Grand
Inquisitor."
"I don't need its support in a case of
treason," Malinda said grimly. "And this time
I would not make the mistake of emptying my
dungeons too quickly. But we have no proof
yet. Let us see how Courtney responds
to the warrant, and then decide."
She read over the summons to her cousin, which the
Chancellor had brought, then moved some
plates to make a space for signing it. When she
looked up, she caught Burningstar staring at the
tapestries.
"My great-grandmother's choice. I like the lad
with the drinking horn. Impressive, isn't he?"
"Oh, I beg pardon, Your--"
"Don't apologize. Everyone reacts that
way at first. For sheer beef, perhaps the one with the
plow, and I don't mean the ox in front." For
sheer beef, Dog put them all to shame. "I
doubt if Prince Courtney will look much like that
with his clothes off, but I know of course the
Council wants me married, so--"
"Not at all, Your Majesty! Far from it! You
don't think we're enjoying ourselves? No, most of
your Council ... if you will pardon my
presumption, Your Grace ... we really think
you are doing very well, andwitha little more experience ...
and when we ourselves have more ... I doubt if any of
us wants to see Prince Courtney wearing the
crown matrimonial. Most detest him."
"Thank you for this assurance. I am less
worried by Fitzambrose's threats of armed
rebellion than I am by an insidious
campaign to pressure me into marrying my
cousin."
"Ah," the Chancellor said sadly. "That
wasn't quite what I said. If Lambskin has
sold out to him ... The Prince has been around
court all his life and may be as well equipped
to apply blackmail as Grand Inquis
itor is.
Together they would be formidable indeed."
"I wonder why everyone claims to despise
Courtney and yet he always rises to the top?"
"Scum always does," said the Lady
Chancellor. "Begging Your Grace's pardon."
"Pardon granted. What about that?" Malinda
pointed out at the view of Great Common, still
disfigured by rows of tents, a deliberate threat
to the city. "I don't want the Black Riders
there when Parliament meets."
"Your Council recommends sending them
to Pompifarth."
"So you said in your letter. But to turn mercenaries
loose on my own people! That is abhorrent! And
unpd mercenaries, at that. I wish I could pay
them off and ship them overseas." She had been
glad of their help three weeks ago, but drawing
a sword was always easier than sheathing it again.
"We do not propose storming the town,
Majesty!" the Chancellor said, looking shocked.
"We merely want to invest it, to block
Neville's call for an anti-Parliament
to meet there. We expect very few lords or
elected commons to attend, probably none, but
he may claim that they have. If he puts on a
puppet show, people may be hoodwinked."
"Starve him out, you mean?"
"Not even that. Pompifarth is a major
attracting the attention of the Baels, who would
love to feast on your troubles. We propose
throwing a cordon of Black Riders around the
walls and declaring a siege. The inhabitants will
not starve. I doubt very much that Neville himself is
even there."
Malinda scowled at the window. The rain had
started again, blocking out the view of Great Common.
"Let us discuss it at a full meeting of the
Council tomorrow," she said reluctantly. She could
not hold back forever; she must do something about
Neville.
Continuing rain ruined the roads and threatened the
harvest. With Parliament due to convene in another
four days, members were still struggling toward the
capital, and messengers returning from Mayshire
were long in coming. Prince Courtney's reply to the
warrant was a curt note pleading indisposition.
By the time the Council assembled to discuss this
defiance, Malinda was so furious that she could not
bring herself to take her seat. The weather was murky
outside and the mood inside even grimmer. Only
the lashing of rain against the windows disturbed the
silence as she paced back and forth on the rug; her
ministers stood around the table and watched her. All
except one.
"Where is Grand Inquisitor? By the eight,
if he does not appear in five minutes, I will
send the Royal Guard to fetch him! What news
from Pompifarth, Chancellor?"
"No change, Your Grace. The town is
sealed off from the land, but boats continue to enter and
leave the harbor. There has been no fighting."
"And no news from Mayshire?"
"Nothing official ... rely on Grand
Inquisitor ... more rumors, of course."
Rumors, indeed! Lord Candlefen,
Malinda's squirrel-brained cousin, had
arrived from Westerth that very morning with a
whole cartload of rumors. He had been more
interested in describing the hardships of his
journey, but when pressed he had passed on
stories of Prince Courtney raising an army
with the help of Isilondian military
advisors.
"Where is he getting the money?" she demanded,
still pacing. "Constable, how much has he spent
already?"
"Depends how many men he has hired, Your
Grace," Valdor rumbled. Before she could call
him an idiot, he added, "Warm bodies come
cheap, but assume at least one crown per man so
far, including board and shelter. The problem will be
weapons. Even a pike needs first-quality
steel. Ash poles are cheap enough by the dozen, but just
try to collect a thousand! Shields and arrows and
helmets--all very specialized artifacts.
Strong boots, warm bedding. Horses and oxen and
carts. But weapons first. A good sword, even,
can cost more than a matched team of horses; the
Lord Protector stripped the country to arm his
garrisons."
"So Neville Fitzambrose has them all
now? Very comforting!" Still no sign of Horatio
Lambskin ... Had he fled to join his master,
Courtney? "Commander Audley, since Grand
Inquisitor has refused our summons to this--"
There was a knock on the door.
Audley, whose brows had risen very high at the
thought of arresting the head of the Dark Chamber, said
quickly, "By your leave, Your Grace ..." and
opened the door a crack. And then wider,
to admit the gaunt, gibbet form of the missing
inquisitor, who entered clutching a bulky mass
of papers under his arm.
He bowed to the Queen. She sat down and
gestured for everyone else to do the same, leaving
Lambskin still on his feet, heading for his usual
seat.
"We are not accustomed to being kept waiting."
He looked at her reproachfully, making her
wonder if he had deliberately staged this
entrance.
"I humbly crave Your Grace's pardon.
I tarried to finish gathering some savory tidings,
and I trust that they will compensate for my tardiness."
"My cousin is not raising an illegal
army?"
Shaking his head sadly, Grand
Inquisitor laid the papers on the table.
"Indeed he is, Your Grace. About a thousand
men, as near as my office can calculate.
Abandoning subterfuge, he has now concentrated
them in a camp just outside Lomouth."
"So we face two armed insurrections!"
Malinda looked around at the shocked faces of
her Privy Councillors and wondered which rats
would start launching lifeboats first. "I thought you
said you brought good news?"
She had never seen Grand Inquisitor
actually smile before. She hoped she never would
again.
"It seems very good news to me, Your Grace.
Two nights ago, the Baels landed in force near
Lomouth and attempted to seize the city. As I
said, the Prince had just established his camp there.
He organized resistance and sent out a sortie
that engaged the Baels in battle and routed them.
They withdrew to their fleet and attempted to depart,
but another contingent of the Prince's forces had so
damaged the longships on the beach that a great many of
them sank when they were launched. Hundreds or
thousands of the invaders were drowned. At latest word
the survivors were being hunted down in--"
The room exploded. Even the Chancellor was
on her feet shouting, waving her arms overhead,
looking ready to start dancing. Never in the long and
b
lood-soaked struggle had the Chivians ever
managed to bring any significant Baelish
force to battle. There was no precedent for even a
real fight, let alone a victory. That
Courtney should be able to claim credit! Among
all the tumult of joy, Malinda sat in
silence, wondering why the spirits of chance were being so
kind to her cousin and so unfair to her.
No, this could never be coincidence! She had
feared all along that Courtney was being backed
by Baelish gold, because Radgar Aeleding had more
money than anyone. Must she believe that the
invincible Bael had blundered so badly?
When the pandemonium faded enough for her to be
heard, she said, "Are you quite certain this battle was
genuine, Grand Inquisitor? Is there a
reliable body count? Can we really believe such
an improbable story?"
The room fell silent, and the councillors
sheepishly resumed their seats. This time Grand
Inquisitor sat down, too.
"I believe it, my lady. There are
some questions still unanswered, yes. The messenger
arrived just after dawn, exhausted, having ridden
all night. He was still being interrogated when I
came away to attend this meeting. I left
instructions that I was to be informed at once if
deeper probing revealed any inconsistencies in
his story."
Malinda shuddered. "What does "deeper
probing" mean? You put your own agents to the
Question?"
"Oh no, nothing so severe, just a mild
conjuration to search out details or omissions. The
subjects rarely show much permanent impairment.
The man is merely a part-time agent, you see.
A trained inquisitor can be emptied like a
bottle."
"It is not like the Baels to leave their ships
vulnerable," Constable Valdor rumbled.
Grand Inquisitor favored him with a
snakelike stare. "I hear of hundreds of dead
and a large number of prisoners. Including one
whom Her Majesty may wish to identify
personally." He paused to let the implications
penetrate, eyes to widen. "Radgar Aeleding."
Amid the renewed tumult his words had
caused, ancient Horatio Lambskin sat in
brooding stillness like a reef in surf, but his
gaze was restless, assessing everyone's reaction.
Malinda was doing the same. The Chancellor had
smiled at first, but now she was frowning. Master
Kinwinkle was another who had seen that this seeming
triumph held dangerous implications.
"Military protocol is not my