Quillifer

CHAPTER TEN

hough you say nothing, I can sense a certain degree of skepticism in you. You may have thought the preceding was a fantasy, or the concoction of a mind confined too long to a dungeon. Perhaps it is better—safer—that you think so.

But what follows is historical-factual. There are many witnesses, and if you can find one, you may consult that person.

The crowd surrounding Coronation Hill was so large it would have overspilled Scarcroft Square in Ethlebight. I eased my horse through the mass until from horseback I could see the figures standing beneath the spreading canopy in the red and gold of the Emelin dynasty. The canopy was held aloft by men in the robes of knightly orders. A little below the throne, a man in the garb of a monk addressed the crowd with well-bred sentences, while an armored man with a naked sword stood guard. Other guards, red-capped and clad in black leather, pressed with their pikes to keep the crowd well back.

A blond, rather impassive woman sat on the throne, her figure clothed in golden silk, on top of which several tabards or surcoats, all of different colors, had been placed. Two figures stood on either side of her, one a tall woman in brilliant blues and yellows whose glance, at once fierce and nervous, darted over the crowd; the other a small, dark-haired girl of about fifteen who seemed aswim in the vast embroidered acreage of her silk gown. Both wore small crowns. These, I decided, were Berlauda’s mother, Leonora, one of Stilwell’s divorced Queens, and the new Queen’s half sister Floria, who was the child of another Queen, likewise divorced.

There seemed to be an abundance of Queens in our realm. I began to feel a degree of sympathy for Floria, who was a mere princess.

Behind the throne stood a brilliant half circle of men and women, most wearing coronets and scarlet, fur-trimmed robes, and I supposed these kin of the new Queen. Another brilliant half circle faced the throne, most of them nobles by their coronets and by the banners displayed by their followers. These, more junior than the group behind the throne, were careful to keep outside the line of pikes. While the monk’s sonorous phrases floated through the still air, I searched these banners for that of Lord Utterback’s father, the Count of Wenlock, but I failed to find it.

The monk came to his beautifully rounded conclusion, and called in the Pilgrim’s name for prayer, which he then proceeded to lead himself, calling for blessings upon Duisland and its Queen. I knew that some of the followers of the Compassionate Pilgrim eschewed prayer as useless, and that the issue was one of controversy within their sect. By the fact there was prayer at all, I assumed that Berlauda had shown her own preference.

The prayer over, the monk gracefully stood aside, and the coronation continued. Notables detached themselves from the group behind the throne to recite a bit of antique verse and hand the Queen a pair of spurs, or place a ring on her finger, or waft her with a peacock-feather fan. To me these rituals were meaningless, for all they were performed with great solemnity. The orb and scepter were placed in the monarch’s hands, and she rose from the throne so that a clutch of elderly peers could drape her in a scarlet cape trimmed with ermine, a cape so long that it took eight noblemen to carry it.

Then, last of all, the Queen’s mother and the princess Floria stepped forward, carrying the crown between them, and raised it over Berlauda’s head. There was a moment of unintentional comedy as the little princess had to stand on tiptoe to hold the crown fully over the head of her taller sister. I saw that all the men in the crowd took off their caps, and the nobles their coronets, and so I took off my own apprentice cap. The nobles’ banners were also dipped, the flags bowing down.

Trumpets called, and the crown was lowered onto the head of the monarch. Cheers rang up from the crowd, and cannon boomed out from the city walls, white powder smoke blossoming from the embrasures. Coronets and caps were returned to heads or tossed in the air, and the flags were raised and flaunted overhead.

“The gods save your majesty!” bellowed one giant voice from the back of the crowd. There was laughter and applause from the audience.

Queen Berlauda, burdened by the weight of her crown, costume, regalia, and the enormous cape, made no movement—perhaps was unable to move at all—but a look of displeasure crossed her face at the interruption. Her supporters helped her gather her skirts and cape, and she backed herself onto the throne. Officiants carried away the orb and scepter, and someone handed her a paper.

The cheers died away, and Queen Berlauda took her oath, in which she vowed to respect the ancient rights and privileges of the nobles and commons, to do justice, to maintain the security of the realm, and to punish treason. At the word “treason” her eyes flashed, and I felt myself reappraise the scene before me. What had seemed hollow ritual now took on a deeper meaning, a monarch’s reassurance to her people in a time of uncertainty.

The bastard Clayborne, I decided, had raised the standard of rebellion after all. Resulting in confusion across the realm and a very hasty coronation for Berlauda, to prove her right before the people.

For if we have a civil war, plundered cities will be common as spots on a leopard. I remembered Lord Utterback’s words, and shivered.

I remembered other parts of that conversation, and wondered if I had failed to find the Count of Wenlock in the crowd because Utterback’s father was off with the rebel army.

Berlauda completed her oath, and the armored man with the sword raised his voice and offered to fight anyone disputing the Queen’s right. He threw down his gage, and glared furiously over the crowd, as if Clayborne might saunter out from the throng and pick up the gauntlet at any moment.

That moment of drama passed, and the ceremony grew tedious as the nobles knelt, one by one, to proffer allegiance, and office-holders knelt to kiss the royal hands in order to retain their position. It reminded me too clearly of the scramble for place and office taking place in Ethlebight, so I edged my horse toward the margins of the crowd, and then wondered where I would go next. The crowd was such that the inns were almost certainly full, and I thought that wandering a large, strange city, in the midst of what promised to be a boisterous holiday, with a fortune on my back would not be conducive to my long life or health.

Perhaps, I thought, it would be best if I could return to the country and find lodging there.

There was another blare of trumpets, and more red-capped pikemen appeared, creating a lane between the throne and the city gate. The crowd was pushed aside by a wall of pikes, and I found myself and my horse backed against the city walls. The horse snorted a warning and threatened to lash out. I was unhappy with the idea of being atop a misbehaving horse, and had very little idea how to pacify the animal, and for lack of any other idea I patted its neck in hopes of calming it.

The cannon began to fire another salute, and the horse gave a nervous leap at the first shot. I urged the crowd to keep clear and tried to find a safe way to withdraw, but the pikemen were adamant and the crowd were confused, and packed into too small a space.

I spoke soothing words into the horse’s ear, and wished I had a piece of toast or some other bribe to distract it from the tumult. Its ears were laid back, and it glared at the crowd nearby and snorted, but it calmed once the barrage overhead was over. I felt a modest glow of pride at the thought that I might be on the verge of becoming a competent equestrian, and then I glanced up to see the Queen gliding along the lane the pikemen had carved for her. Though in motion, she was herself utterly motionless, the orb and scepter back in her hands. Her impassive, handsome face looked straight ahead, and she seemed to be somehow soaring in midair.

This strange motion was explained once I had straightened in the saddle and was able to see over the pikemen. Queen Berlauda was being carried in an elaborate, gilded litter by twelve gentlemen, six before her, and six after. Behind came her mother and the princess, also floating along in chairs, and then the armored man on foot, red-faced and sweating after his long hours baking in the sun, his long sword still upright as he clanked along.

Someone shouted an order, and the pikemen formed into a column and marched into the city after the Queen. I suspected that a mistake had been made, for this in effect stranded the rest of the dignitaries in the midst of the crowd.

The mass surged toward the gate on the heels of the soldiers, and I, who had decided to return to the country to lodge for the night, was unable to make my way against the press. So I remained by the city wall, and watched the throng enter, commons and nobles and dignitaries alike all knocking elbows in one great column.

I kept an eye out for the badge of Wenlock, in case Lord Utterback’s father had been hidden in the crowd around the throne, but again I failed to see it. Instead I recognized another badge, the coins argent of Roundsilver, and my heart gave a leap. In addition to being Lawyer Dacket’s landlord, the Duke of Roundsilver was the greatest magnate in the west country, so great that he almost never appeared in Ethlebight but followed the royal court from place to place.

Though the duke came but seldom to Ethlebight, I recognized him from his appearance at some of the large festivals. He was a slight man, a little below average height, with delicate features and gray strands in his long, fair hair. He rode a beautiful, high-spirited chestnut with a flaxen mane and tail that flashed like red gold in the sun. A spray of diamonds shone on his deep blue velvet bonnet, and more diamonds glittered on his fingers. Beneath his scarlet duke’s robe, with its ermine trim, he wore a long velvet tunic of a brighter, brilliant red shade, patterned all over with swooping, intricate painted designs in radiant gold. Red and gold, the royal colors. Gems had been sewn all over the tunic, and their flashing, reflected light, combined with the soaring yellow patterns, gave Roundsilver a shimmering effect, and made him difficult for the eye to fasten upon.

I wondered if all the money in my rucksack would have bought that tunic, and I thought it would not.

Beside Roundsilver, on a matching chestnut, rode a small, dainty woman, slim and vivacious. She seemed about my age. Masses of her blond hair had been caught up in braids and coiled about her head to form a setting for her coronet, and she also wore an ermine-trimmed cloak. Her silk gown seemed to be made entirely of silver, and like the duke’s was patterned with elaborate designs and sewn with gems, and covered with a cloud of silver tissue. She laughed as she rode, and spoke continuously, while the duke looked at her fondly.

I urged my mount forward. “Your grace!” I called. “My Lord of Roundsilver!”

They didn’t hear me, or pretended not to; and I rode forward and bawled the name again. At this the duke turned to me, and with a quick glance of his dark eyes seemed to itemize me, add those items together, and find the sum less discouraging than it might have been. It was impossible to have a conversation in the gateway, not with the flood of human beings pouring through it, and so he gave a little wave of one glittering hand, telling me to follow.

I urged my horse through the mass and followed the brilliant couple through the dark tunnel of the gateway, and into the broad street beyond. There the duke slowed his horse and allowed me to reach him.

I pulled off my cap. “Your grace!” I said. “I have come from Ethlebight. The city has fallen.”

Surprise crossed the duke’s delicate features. The young duchess, hearing the news, reached for her husband’s hand.

“The usurper’s taken the city?” he said.

The usurper. The bastard Clayborne, then, truly had risen in rebellion.

“Nay, your grace. Reivers out of the old Empire. They have taken half the people for slaves, including the mayor, the Lord Lieutenant, and the Warden of the New Castle. I am sent to implore the Queen to send aid, and money for ransom.”

Their horses walked slowly on as Roundsilver considered this, his hand still clasped with that of his duchess. “It is not possible today,” he said. “The Queen is hedged about with duties and ceremony, and of course the great dinner. We shall have to do it tomorrow.”

I heard “cewemony” and “tomowwow,” and realized the duke either could not pronounce his r’s, or perhaps chose not to.

“And your name, Goodman?” the duke asked.

“Quillifer, your grace. Son of the alderman Quillifer.”

The duke gave no sign he had ever heard of my father. “You come alone?”

“I am secretary to an embassy sent by the city, but we were taken in the Toppings by Sir Basil of the Heugh. The alderman Gribbins was killed, and Lord Utterback is held for ransom. I managed to escape, and have ridden these three days to the city.”

Again I felt the dark eyes assess me, coming perhaps to a different conclusion than before.

“Do you have lodging?”

“Not at present, your grace.”

“There is not a bed to be had in the city,” the duke said. “You may stay at our house till you find a place. I will leave instructions with my steward to find you a bed and some clothes.”

I tried not to smile at that instwuctions. “You are very kind, your grace.”

“Today, the Queen provides a coronation dinner for the entire city. We must dine at her table, but you will have no trouble finding a meal anywhere in town.”

“I’m sure not, your grace.”

“You’ll deliver your report to me tomorrow, and I will consider how best to get the news to her majesty.”

“Very good, your grace.”

And so, now on speaking terms with one of the great men of the realm, I rode into the capital.

* * *

Three days later, I sat in a book-lined cabinet overlooking the park in the Selford home of the duke, and completed a letter to Kevin Spellman.

He had said “our house,” but his grace lives in a palace, one grander than anything found in Scarcroft Square. It occupies the entire west side of a park in the fashionable district just below the Castle, & is faced entirely with Ethlebight brick in all colors, the finest endorsement for our town which you can imagine. There is a great hall with a loge for minstrels, a long gallery full of paintings & statues, a library beneath a dome of faceted crystal, & marble pillars nearly everywhere.

The steward was a little put out to have to find a place for another guest, for the place was v. full of the duke’s friends, but soon enough my horse was stabled & I was lodged, provided with water for washing, and after a little delay some clothing was found for me, belonging originally to one of the duke’s musicians killed in the streets by a runaway horse. I was informed that the style was a little out of the fashion, but the shirt was of patterned silk, the doublet and trunks of brown velvet, & the linen v. fine. I was given a matching brown velvet bonnet, with a badge in the royal colors of gold & scarlet. I who had lately been captive in a dungeon was now a picture of magnificence. (And how I came out of that dungeon is a story so strange, and full of wonder, that I will not set it down in this letter, but confide it to you when next we meet.)

I felt apprehensive that I had no secure place to stow my fortune, but decided that I was unlikely to be plundered when everyone was out of the house on holiday, so I put my rucksack under the bed & went into the city with a high heart.

The city was all a-bustle with crowds & the scent of cooking. In every square were geese & hens turning on the spits, and lambs and goats cooking alongside great chines of beef. Barrels of small beer were lined up like batteries of artillery, and cheat and raveled bread piled on tables like fortress walls. For the Queen on her inauguration was determined to feed the entire city, & there are near four hundred thousand within the walls, & an hundred thousand visitors + folk from the suburbs had come to the feast as well. Acrobats tumbled for the meiny, & daring men & women performed on ropes stretched from one tower to another. Minstrels sang, & players performed on rude stages. Prizefighters battled each other with pollaxe, staff, and sword-and-buckler.

Seers and monks also preached on street corners, but were generally ignored.

This great holiday was framed in only a few weeks, since word of the King’s death and Clayborne’s rebellion came to the city, & though there was some confusion & shortages here and there, such was the good humor of the crowd that all mishaps were forgotten.

I ate my fill for the first time since that last absurd banquet in Amberstone, & being full of cheer decided to scale the hill to the great palace, & view the Queen at her meat.

The castle, like much of the city, is of white sandstone, and ornamented with carvings, vines & fruit & fantastical animals, all so abundant that the keep looks as if it were swathed in lace. Everywhere is seen the triton of Fornland, the griffon of Bonille, & the red horses of the Emelins. Faces of gods & zephyrs gaze down from the corners, and in one tower live a tribe of howlets, who looked down at the banqueters with their great staring eyes.

The royal party was at a great table set out in the inner ward, & the crowd of gawkers, your correspondent among them, shuffled along from one gate to another. The Queen spoke little but seemed pleased with the day, though she spared a few glances for the young man who served her, beautifully dressed in blue & silver, his doublet aglitter with diamond studs. The divorced Queen, Berlauda’s mother Leonora, sat by her daughter’s elbow, & “triumph sat on her brow,” as the poet saith. She looked upon the banquet, the castle, & the throng as if all belonged to her, & perhaps it does.

The little princess Floria was at the Queen’s left, & like her sister said little, but watched everyone with bright, sparrow-like eyes. Floria’s mother, the divorced Queen Natalie, sat by her & talked without cease.

Around them were the nobility, who are of course relatives of the Queen, & amid them Their Graces of Roundsilver, who seemed friends with all, though of course I know not the relations between the members of this family, or whether or not any member, behind a pleasant-seeming face, was thinking of dropping poison into his neighbor’s cup.

They were eating swans, if you please, which birds were presented roasted, but yet fully dressed in their feathers. I don’t know the trick of it.

After I had my glimpse of our nation’s charming family, I descended into the town again, & participated once more in the revels. I had my freedom to celebrate, & my lodging in a palace, & a fortune, & I was of a mind to let the world know of my joy.

I had found my way to a little square, & beneath the chestnut trees I met a maiden, apprenticed to a milliner, she flown in wine & inclined to be merry. I offered her the most civil attention until her brother, for some reason vexed, came & fetched her away.

Have I mentioned to you the inconvenience of brothers? Here is another example.

It was the weather, & not the night, that put an end to the celebration. For clouds had loured down upon the city, & now began to drench the streets with a great storm. Summer, which had lingered long over our country, had turned to winter in but a few hours, & I was thankful that the storm had not caught me on the road. And so I made my way back to the duke’s palace & to my room, where I found my fortune where I had left it, lit a fire, and slept warm beneath a blanket of scratchy wool.

In the morning, I broke my fast with the guests of my lord the duke, friends & members of his affinity, some from the Ethlebight or elsewhere in the West. These knew nothing of the fate of our city, & it was my task to give them the despairing news. I fear I caused many of them great distress, for I knew not the fate of their friends and relatives.

The meals in the great hall are served with a magnificence I had not imagined. Before the meal, we go to the Table of the Ewer, where the Yeoman of the Ewery helps us wash our hands in clean, scented water. Then we go to the cup-board, where we are each presented with a beautiful blown-glass cup brimming with wine—we each have a cup, rather than share a cup with four or five people. And when we are seated, we each have a linen napkin, rather than have to share a surnap. We each have our own fork and spoon, though of course we bring all our own knives.

Yet there is not much to do with our knives, for there is the Carving-Board, where three Master Carvers cut our meat before servants bring it to the table. (I have to say I would have done a better job.)

The duke and his bride seem v. much in love. They are forever touching, or holding hands, or offering one another compliments. It is v. pleasing to see them together.

Afterward the duke took me into his cabinet, a room which he has filled with his treasures. There are small delicate statues carved of alabaster or chalcedony, medals & caskets in gold & silver, enameled & ornamented with mythological figures, miniature portraits set in precious frames, cameo figures of old kings, ancient coins cleaned & mounted for display, rare minerals, porcelains brought from the furthest east, & the bones of beasts and monsters. The coffer ceiling is painted a deep blue, with golden figures astrological, & beneath it hangs a stuffed cockatrice, its feathers hanging limp, its death-dealing eyes now replaced by glass.

I could have spent half a day viewing the contents of the room, but even on brief inspection I could discern the duke’s tastes, which sit in the most extravagant realms of high emotion. The small statues are for the most part of naked athletes or warriors caught in the extremes of triumph or desolation, & the medallions on the precious caskets are of kings dying of mortal wounds or Queens in the final agonies of suicide. The subject matter is extravagant beyond reason, but the work is fashioned in the most perfect & exacting style, by masters of their craft.

I do not know whether this is the epitome of taste here in the capital, or merely a predisposition of my lord the duke.

The duke, for his part, showed extravagance only in his dress, which was of a brilliant green silken robe wrapped about his body & painted all over with fruits & vines & dripping red hearts. He wore also pointed slippers & a kind of turban with tassels. I believe this is a costume for the duke at home & not the fashion, for no one else dressed in this style.

His grace showed none of his whimsy or extravagance when he interviewed me, but was v. grave and courteous when he asked me for my report. I presented to him everything I knew of the attack on the city, all the names & numbers I had gathered for use by the Embassy Royal. He asked what the city most needed, and I said not food, for the corsairs plundered the warehouses but left the granaries alone, but that soldiers were needed + supplies for rebuilding + money for ransoms. He shook his head and said that money & soldiers were going for the war, but that he would give freely from his own coffers, & urge his friends to do the same. He also said he would exert himself to create some manner of committee, or association, to raise & bring aid to the city.

I also told him of Basil of the Heugh, & how he had taken Lord Utterback and Stayne captive, and I told him of Stayne’s circumstances & intentions as I understood them. (And here is another matter best not mentioned in a letter.)

Then the duke rose & said he & the duchess must dress to go to court, where he would do what he could for us, & he left me at liberty. So I took my heavy pack with me, & first thing bought a purse, & then filled it with silver. I walked through rain to the Guild Hall of the Worshipfull Societie of Butchers, where I found many of that sodality taking a blithe holiday—for it may be a festival for the multitude when a meal is given to the city, but for the Butchers it is work, & now that the city is returned to its normal life, the Butchers have a day of leisure.

As I know the passwords of a journeyman of the guild, I was admitted to that society, & met the Dean, who made me welcome. He had corresponded with my father on guild business, & gave me a proper condolence for the loss of my family, & for the tragedy that befell Ethlebight. And straightaway he arranged for a Leave-Taking, which is a ceremony of the Butchers to say farewell to one of their number, & a great honor to my father. The Leave-Taking will occur in four days’ time.

I asked if I might store some money in the coffers of the guild (for we do such favors for our members) & I was shown to the strong-room, where I deposited a third of the money, & all the gems & gewgaws. I asked for a recommendation of some reliable bankers, which he gave, & I went to two of the countinghouses, & placed in their strong-rooms each a third of the money, & so I have now safeguarded my fortune, & made certain that the failure of a bank, or the looting of a strong-room, will not bring me down.

I do not wish to remain in clothing borrowed from a dead man, for I have worn nothing else for many weeks now, so from the bankers I went to a tailor, & commissioned two new suits, one suitable for court. There are colors that are forbidden—scarlet & gold, collectively or individually, may be worn only by members of the royal family and their kin, which includes much of the nobility—though different shades of yellow & red are permitted, like mustard or cramoisie—and the tailor pushed me to garb of a sober brown. So I ordered a staid brown suit, but also a more splendid array of deep blue velvet slashed to reveal a silk shirt of sky blue worn beneath, with trunks and hose to match. It should be most dashing. Perhaps I am influenced by the splendor of his grace the duke.

I returned to the duke’s for supper, & found the company reduced, with many returning to their homes, & others gone for Ethlebight to see to their property there. The duke informed me that he was unable to make headway against the throng about the Queen, all men greedy for honors & office, for it is certain that the Queen will change the composition of the Great & Privy Councils, & make appointments to other offices besides, but nothing is known for certain, so all manner of people permit themselves hope. Nevertheless, he spread word of the fate of Ethlebight in the ears of the court, & spoke in particular with those who come from the West or have interests there.

In the two days since, I have found myself an apartment, though I have not yet moved in, a place with a private stair in the house of a member of the Butchers’ Guild. His kind wife offers to cook me meals. But more important than this, the private stair is off Chancellery Road, which is the principal route of business that runs up the hill to the Outer Ward of the Castle, & which is dominated by the Royal Court, the High Court, & the Moots, where lawyers are lodged, & their apprentices instructed. Should I obtain certification by one of the Moots, I may hope to lodge there & practice law within the capital.

And in my travels about the capital, & my conversations with the duke & duchess & their guests, I have come to understand much of the current state of the court & of the kingdom. For I am no longer in the Kingdom of Duisland, but rather the Kingdom of Women.

For not only is there a reigning Queen, but also the Queen’s mother, Leonora, who has long resented the way the late King put her aside, & who, all are convinced, plans to exercise power through her daughter. While over in water-girdled Howel, the eastern capital, we find the Countess of Tern, mother of the bastard Clayborne. Clayborne, the duke confides, would never have rebelled had it not been for the ambitions of his mother, & of his stepfather, Lord Andrian, both of whom wish to rule the land between them. And there is the divorced Queen Natalie, who has v. great ambitions for her young daughter the princess Floria, but who has neither powerful friends nor an office through which she might wield patronage.

Apparently, we must also consider Marcia, the Countess of Coldwater, the new Queen’s best friend. When the late King divorced Leonora, he ordered her & the princess to lodge at Coldwater House on the north coast, & Marcia became a kind of older foster-sister to the princess. And now Marcia is expected to have much influence with her, perhaps as much as her mother, for the Queen has confirmed Marcia in her father’s title, one of the few to descend in the line female.

And beside these yet another woman has come into play, for the bastard Clayborne has not risen in his own name, but as regent for young Queen Laurel’s unborn child, who, an it be male, is the rightful King of Duisland.

Those of Queen Berlauda’s faction say that Queen Laurel is not with child, but that she is held hostage in Howel, & that five or six months hence, an infant will be produced that is in no wise the child of King Stilwell. Whereas Clayborne maintains that not only is Queen Laurel praegnatis, but that astrologers & learnèd doctors & great scholars & practicers of grammarie have confirmed the child is male and destined for a long and healthy life.

His grace the duke has said that he is not inclined to believe in the existence of this heir, as the King’s attention had lately been caught by a young lady-in-waiting, & that it was she with whom the King bedded in the months before his departure for Bonille. Which affair was why Queen Laurel left in advance of the King, & also why the two princesses lagged behind, not wanting be seen compliant or approving in the business of the King and his new paramour.

Whereat her grace, hearing this, gave only a deep sigh, & said “Poor Laurel!” For it is certain that this young girl, whose only fault it was to be caught & held by a roving King, is now mewed up as a prisoner, & fated either to be used by those who care only for their own advantage, or viewed as a traitor by Berlauda’s faction. She may never see the light of day again, & as one who was but lately held prisoner myself, I feel great sorrow for her—and greater sorrow for the child, if he exists, for he is certain to fall prey to one side or the other . . .

I, having coming to the bottom of the sheet of paper, paused for a moment to read what I had written, and began at once to feel I had been too bold. What might be an acceptable opinion spoken aloud in the intimacy of a dining room or a private closet had a fatal look when written on a piece of paper. The country was at war, and the land was filling up not only with armies, but with informers and spies. There were private companies that carried mail through the kingdom, but I had no doubt that the government could read such mail whenever they desired. What would one of Berlauda’s partisans make of those words about the Countess of Coldwater and her ambitions? Or of my sympathy with the unfortunate Queen Laurel and her unborn child? And might mere sympathy be construed as treason?

I should, I thought, tear up the pages, and took them in hand with the intention of doing so, and then I hesitated. Perhaps, I thought, I should instead find a reliable captain to carry the letter to Ethlebight, or at least as far as Newton Linn.

But ships would not sail until the reivers were gone, and word had not yet come that they had sailed away.

I put the letter down, and looked at the two others I had penned that afternoon. One to Gribbins’s widow, informing her of her husband’s murder, and urging her not to pay any ransom that might be demanded of her. The other was to Lord Utterback’s father, the Count of Wenlock. Wenlock had not been seen at the coronation not because he had declared for Clayborne, but because the Queen had sent him north, to his wife’s native country, to be Lord Lieutenant of Blacksykes, and there raise forces to fight the bastard Clayborne.

I wrote Wenlock of the circumstances of Utterback’s capture, praised Utterback’s behavior before the ferocious outlaw Sir Basil, and said little about my own escape. I also informed Wenlock that I possessed Utterback’s signet, which I’d poured into my rucksack along with all the other rings and jewels, and not noticed until I’d taken it out, three days earlier, at the guild hall. I would keep it until his lordship advised me what to do with it.

I had also the signets of the Marquess of Stayne and his faction, but I cared less about these. Still, I supposed I could inquire of the duke where to write his marchioness.

These letters, I thought, I might freely address and send. Though whether anyone would carry Mrs. Gribbins’s letter to besieged Ethlebight was still unknown.

I folded and tucked the letter to Kevin in my doublet, and then folded and addressed the other two.

I carried them out of the cabinet and down a stair, and there found a page who told me that I was summoned for dinner.