to you all. I am heartsick at the losses. It
may not be so bad, if we get them to an
octogram right away."
Audley said, "They all knew the risks.
They all came freely, unbound."
"How did you do it? I know Dog had a
conjured cloak." Why had they sent Dog into the
worst danger?
They were huddled around her, anonymous shapes in
the dark, about a dozen of them. Some of the names she'd
already heard were of much older men than Audley,
yet he still seemed to be Leader.
"We knew we couldn't do it without spiritual
help," he said. "Lothaire ... you remember
Master of Rituals? He'd gone back to the
College. We got his help, and Sir
Jongleur's. You may not know him ... older
knight, senior conjurer--"
"Yes, I know him." A pompous
graybeard, and she had left him on his knees in
the mud.
"Well," Audley said, "between them they
provided us with all sorts of gadgets, mostly
inquisitors' tricks, like that light and the cloak.
Trouble with the cloaks is that they're pissy hard
to use. Most people never get the hang of them. Dog
did it first try."
"Why?" Why must chance be so cruel? Why
Dog of all of them? Why couldn't she think?
Her mind was a tub of slop.
"It needs a special sort of courage,
Your Grace," Jongleur said. "The cloaks
require total concentration, so any hint of fear
in the wearers disables them. Sir Dog didn't
seem to fear anything. We had him walk right in the
Bastion gate and out again in broad daylight and the
guards never batted a lash."
"Explains a lot," someone murmured.
She would never forget him on the anvil,
calmly waiting for her to put Sword through his
heart. Even their first kiss had taken courage
after what had happened to Eagle. "Tell me about
Chivial. I know absolutely nothing since I
was put in that cell. Neville took the throne--
I know that much, but that's all."
"Winter?"
"Smaile put him on it," Winter said.
"Lord Smaile, the former Lambskin, who was your
Grand Inquisitor. Suddenly Courtney was
dead, Smaile locked you up for murdering him, and
Neville was the only candidate left.
Lambskin put Neville on the throne;
Neville made Lambskin an earl and
chancellor, and now he's running everything."
"Is he doing a good job?"
"No!" voices shouted.
Audley said. "There's a lot of unrest,
Your Grace. They deal with it roughly--
bloodshed, torture, mock trials,
executions. Lot of peers are in the Bastion and
others have fled overseas. Of course, you're the
rightful queen, so nobody could do much while they had
you in their clutches, but Blades are being hunted
down--Snake, Grand Master, Felix. ...
Half of Parliament seems to have gone into hiding."
She recalled how easily
Lambskin-Smaile had cowed the commissioners at
her trial. "Has Eurania acknowledged
Neville?"
The boat was into the Pool, now, where the
oceangoing ships anchored. The helmsman changed
course through the swaying forest of rigging; spray
whipped over the boat. Lights twinkled and
flickered.
"Some countries have. Isilond, for one. Some
are still considering. Baelmark ... They did end the
Baelish War, but that was the new king in
Baelmark, mostly. Now you're safe, we
expect people to start declaring for you."
Civil war? There had to be a better way out
of this. She thought she knew what it was. Whether
she could persuade anyone to try it was another
matter altogether.
"Where are we going?"
"To a ship. Thergian. Seahorse. You have a
friend."
Even from the lowly aspect of the approaching
fishing boat, Seahorse did not seem much of a
step up. Winter said, "In Thergy they call this
a staten jacht, Your Grace, a sort of
hurry." It was single-masted and sat low enough in the
water to be boarded without the need for unpleasant
rope ladders. A sailor on board dropped a
set of steps, and Audley handed the Queen up
to the deck in her regalia of two very smelly
blankets.
A man bowed to her. "Welcome aboard
Seahorse, Your Majesty. You do us honor."
"I am infinitely more pleased to be aboard
than you can possibly be to welcome me."
"Sir Audley? You were not followed. I
hope?"
"Not that we could tell," Audley said
warily. "This is Sir Wasp, Your Grace."
"I should prefer to sail at once, if that be
possible," Malinda said.
The Blades at her back were passing up the
bodies. The crew was a vague group of shapes
in the background, watching and waiting to see what
decision was reached.
"Your Majesty will understand," Wasp said, "that
navigating a winding river like the Gran at night
in a half gale without a local pilot would be a
somewhat desperate endeavor. We are showing no
lights and you left no footsteps. Here, in a
crowded anchorage, we should be safe from
detection."
"No," she said, nettled. Did he think she
was some halfwit female scared without reason?
"The Dark Chamber has a conjuration called a
sniffer. I have slept for the last six months on
the same straw mattress. It should bear enough
imprint of me for spirits to track me down."
"Your pardon, my lady. I was not aware
..." He spoke in a tongue she supposed was
Thergian and one of the sailors replied at
length. "Captain Klerk says we can ride the
tide and carry only enough canvas to maintain steering
way, but we still risk running aground, and then we
shall be in the pillory when the sun rises."
And then there would be more deaths. Too confused
to make the decision, she said, "Leader?"
desperately.
Audley said, "I think the Usurper will go
to any lengths to recapture Her Grace. We
must get our injured to an elementary soon and
nowhere near here will be safe. Weigh anchor, if
you please, Sir Wasp."
The man sighed and spoke again to the captain.
Malinda said, "You are still Leader, Sir
Audley? This does you great honor."
"Indeed it does, my lady, but they are
loyal to your cause, not to me. We are
pitifully few now, the last of the Blades. We
call ourselves the Queen's Men."
Wasp said, "This way, if it please Your
Majesty ..." He led the way aft--only a
few paces--then rapped on a door. After a
moment it opened and he stood aside to let her
enter.
She stepped into darkness with Wasp and Audley
at her heels. After the door closed someon
e
unshuttered a lantern, then another and
another. She screwed up her eyes against the
golden glory. The cabin was no larger than her
cell in the Bastion, yet it must occupy the rear
third of the ship. After the night outside it seemed
numbingly warm and bright with soft rugs, gleaming
brass, fine paintings on the walls, furnishings
of bright leather and polished wood. The benches would
make into bunks; they concealed chests and
cupboards. Important people were rich people, of
course, and this was real luxury, all the more
imposing after half a year in a stone box.
Clearly the whole purpose of Seahorse was
to move this cabin and its occupants wherever they
wished to go. So into this sumptuous place came a
deposed queen wrapped in bloodstained rags and
stinking blankets, with her hair in rattails and a
reek of wine on her breath.
The woman curtseying to her was Chancellor
Burningstar in robes of sapphire blue. She
rose with fury in her eyes and surged forward
to clasp the visitor in a very informal embrace.
"How dare they! Come and sit here, Your
Grace. How dare they treat you so? I am
overjoyed to see you free again. You are
hurt?"
she sank gratefully on the bench and huddled herself
in her blankets. Voices shouted outside in a
language not Chivian, feet pounded on the
ceiling, the anchor chain clanked.
"Then whose blood is that?"
"Sir Dog's," Audley said. "We also
lost Reynard, Bullwhip, probably
Victor. Lothaire took a bad one. A
couple of others hurt a bit, but the rest of us
came back still breathing. I won our bet, Your
Excellency."
"You think I care about losing?" the old lady
snapped. "I never thought they'd get Your
Majesty out at all. Wine, Your Grace?
Food?"
Malinda shivered. "Not wine." She hoped that
they were taking proper care of Dog.
"Wash that blood off? Clothes? We have some
garments, better at least than those."
"Not yet. Soon."
"Then what? Sir Wasp can produce any
miracle you want on this boat of his."
"Ship!" he said sharply. He was around
thirty, with lines starting to show in his
face. Short and trim, he had the rapier look
of a Blade, yet he did not wear a sword.
What he was wearing was obviously worth a tidy
sum, and she would not have expected any man less
than a duke to own a vessel like this. Just the
emerald at his throat would buy a coach and four.
"Ship then."
"If you can manage some hot soup," Malinda
said, "I will believe in miracles."
"That one's easy." He blew into a speaking
tube, listened for acknowledgment. "A jug of hot
soup right away." He replaced the tube on its
hook.
"Majesty," Burningstar said, "may I have the
honor of presenting Sir Wasp? He owns this
floating palace. He claims to be Your
Grace's loyal servant and I can detect no
falsehood in him."
"I am greatly in your debt, Sir Wasp."
He bowed low. "Nay, Your Majesty, I
owe you great redress, whatever I can ever do
to make amends." He took a quick step to catch
his balance as the ship heeled.
"Please be seated, all of you," she said.
"Sir Wasp, you are a Blade?" Why would a
Blade have trouble with balance?
All three of them settled on the bench
opposite her.
"I was, Your Grace. I would still be a
companion in good standing if the Order had not been
dissolved." He shot a smile at Audley.
"I am honored to be included in the Queen's
Men."
"I am grateful to them all. Where will you take
me?"
"Drachveld, by your leave. Queen Regent
Martha promises Your Grace asylum with
full royal honors. You can be Queen in
Exile while your supporters prepare to wrest
your crown from the Usurper."
Again the awful prospect of civil war
loomed. No, she would not go to Thergy. The answer
lay at Ironhall. Could she hope to convince
them of the truth she had worked out over the long dark
months? Would she even have the courage to face it
herself if Dog were here with her now? And who was this
cryptic ex-Blade who wallowed in such wealth?
"Who was your ward, Sir Wasp?"
"Radgar Aeleding, Your Grace."
They all watched for her reaction.
"Sir Piers told me that my father had not
only allowed the Baelish heir to slip out of his
fingers but also had deeded him a Blade. It was
fear of ridicule, I am sure, that made him
insist on keeping the matter so secret." Even
male monarchs could make mistakes. She
glanced around her other companions, especially
looking at Burningstar, who claimed to find no
untruth in the man, but who still seemed unworried.
"You know it was my signature that bereft you of your
ward, Sir Wasp."
"Not so, Your Majesty. I was released from my
binding many years ago, under very unusual
circumstances, but Radgar and I remained close
friends. Until a year ago." The ship heeled,
Wasp shifted position, and Malinda saw that there
was something wrong with his left arm. He was not using
it, and that doubtless explained the awkwardness she had
noted earlier.
"Two years ago, my lady, when I was
Baelmark's consul general in Drachveld, Lord
Roland came calling with a proposal to end the war
by a marriage between you and King Radgar. I took
that proposal to Baelmark and talked Radgar
into it. I thought I had talked him into it. When the
day came, you know what he did." Wasp sighed.
"Believe me, Your Grace, I was appalled!
I had no inkling that this was what he intended. I
would almost swear he did not know it himself. Even the
earls and thegns were horrified at the breach of
faith, and it takes a lot to scandalize
Baels. For the first time in his long reign, his
hold on the throne was put in doubt. If it
please you, you may suppose that his treachery
destroyed him, for I strongly suspect that his
attack on Lomouth was betrayed."
"I am certain of it. Someone provided my
cousin with money and information. The quarry was not I,
but Radgar."
Wasp nodded grimly, accepting that theory.
"I had always known he could be a hard man,
brutal if necessary, but in all the years of our
friendship I had never appreciated the depth of his
bitterness against your father, whom he blamed for his own
father's murder. You know the story, I am sure,
so I need not tell it again. He was obsessed by that
foul act. Yet one treason does not justify
another. I broke with him
over it, Your
Grace. I took my wife and children and walked out
of my fine house in Drachveld and went
to serve another master. I told Radgar to--"
"What other master?"
A flicker of a smile lightened Wasp's
somber mood. "The King of Thergy. We had a
longstanding rivalry to see who could drink whom under
the table. He usually won. I lost two royal
friends in short order last year." Another sigh,
a shrug. "So my sacrifice was not as
dramatic as I made it sound. And Radgar
never gave in easily. He sent me the deeds
to the house and its contents, the papers of this ship,
everything. I sent them all back to him. He sent
them back to me. And so on. When he died, they were
in my hands, so chance decreed that I kept the
ill-gotten gains of my friendship. When I heard
of your misfortune, I resolved to see what I
could do to make amends, because much of the blame rests
on my shoulders. I misjudged Radgar."
Malinda sat for a while, struggling to think her
way through a thicket of weariness and sorrow and
confusion. Likely she would trust this Wasp even
without Burningstar's endorsement. He had an air
of competence and frankness, of simplicity even, and
yet there were depths to him. No lightweight,
certainly, this friend of kings.
"You admit you were Radgar's friend, yet I
cut off his head."
The former swordsman met her gaze steadily.
"Should I seek revenge for that, Your Grace?
From what I heard I had rather be grateful to you for
ending his suffering. If I did want vengeance,
would I not leave you where you were an hour ago?"
She nodded dumbly. "Then I gladly
accept you as one of the Queen's Men and I am
grateful to you for your service this night, as I am
grateful to the others. But I will not go
to Drachveld, much as I appreciate the Queen
Regent's kindness in her own sorrows."
The other three exchanged worried glances,
perhaps wondering what her captivity might have done
to her thinking. They would have much more to worry about
soon.
"Then where would you have us go, my lady?"
Audley demanded.
Not yet. She must be certain. "First let me
speak with Sir Winter and Sir Jongleur."
The lanterns had to be shuttered before the door
could be opened, and it was several minutes before the
cabin was bright again. By then the others had
arrived and Malinda was sipping a mug of meaty
soup, which seemed to boil all the way down her
throat and burn through every vein. Sir Wasp had a