Quillifer

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ou are still awake, I see. Perhaps the tale of the sea-battle was too rousing to permit slumber. I shall proceed in a quieter key.

Four days later I was at sea again, on Sea-Holly carrying the last two hundred of the Trained Bands back to Selford. Sir Andrew had proved himself a great host, but was reluctant to establish a prize court in Longfirth, and so I set sail again, to play politician in the capital, while Kevin remained behind to see to Stilwell’s repairs, and Captain Oakeshott took Meteor a-privateering.

The voyage to Longfirth had taken but two days, but the return would take four or five, for we set out in the teeth of the wind, which meant we could not run down to the line of Selford’s longitude, but were obliged to take a zigzag course, close-hauled at first upon the larboard tack, then upon the starboard. Close-hauled, and with a high sea and a stiff breeze, Sea-Holly’s sterncastle was subject to a corkscrew motion, first swooping up as a wave passed beneath it, then descending in a serious of sharp, angry judders that left loose objects bouncing on their shelves, and stomachs bouncing likewise. For the first time in my life I was lightly touched with seasickness, though by evening I was well enough to eat supper. Not so our cargo of soldiers, who were so ill that the main deck was filled with their vile reek, and many rolled uncaring in their own spew.

Accordingly, I took the air on deck after supper, and securely wrapped in my old cheviot overcoat and my boat cloak over it, with the brim of my old apprentice cap pulled down about my ears, I enjoyed the bracing chill wind that had crossed the entire ocean to fill our sails, the spray that came in a fine briny mist from the bows, and the stars that seemed to whirl overhead in a drunken saraband as the ship pitched and rolled beneath my feet. I was alone on the poop deck, for the watch was forward, and the ship was directed by officers and helmsmen sheltering under the break of the poop.

“Wouldn’t it have been too easy,” Orlanda said, “for Sir Andrew to have agreed to your proposal, and simply given you the ship?”

Possibly I disappointed her by not shrieking and leaping like a startled hind. I had drunk enough at dinner to face the nymph with something like an equable disposition, and so I blinked spray from my eyes and turned to where she stood beneath the great triangular shadow of the lateen sail. Orlanda was wreathed in a cloak of deep forest green, with a hood over her flaming hair. Starlight glittered in her emerald eyes, and drops of spray stood like jewels on her shoulders.

“Was it not difficult enough,” I asked, “to have captured the ship in the first place, a vessel five times the size of our own?”

“Was that difficult?” she asked. “It seemed simple enough to bombard a helpless wreck until it surrendered. And your own part did not seem particularly courageous, or expert.”

“I make no claim to extraordinary bravery, or any expertise in war.”

Her lips turned up in a wry smile. “How fortunate for you, since you failed to so much as cut a bandit’s throat when you had him by stealth from behind.”

“Yet he died.”

She reached out a gloved hand and touched me on the breast, right over Sir Basil’s parchment from Oberlin Fraters Bank. “And you plundered him. Maybe you are naught but a bandit yourself, and deserve the same fate.”

My blood ran cold at her touch, for now I knew that document might doom me, if Orlanda inspired anyone to question it. I decided to stay away from that ominous subject.

“Am I to understand,” said I, “that you convinced Sir Andrew to refuse to empanel a prize court?”

“Why, yes,” she said, her face all wide-eyed innocence. “And I may inspire others to thwart you, once you reach Selford. For the virtuous and tedious Queen has lost all her friends, thanks to you, but still must depend on others for advice, and a whisper in her ear is as good as a shout from the heavens.”

“If you wished to harm me,” I said, “you needn’t have bothered with the Lord Governor, but merely inspired a lead ball to pierce my breast during the fight with Royal Stilwell. Or to strike an arm or leg, and leave me a cripple.”

Scorn mounted her face. “Oh. War.” She put all her venom into the word. “If you wish to be a warrior, Quillifer, you will find that war is its own punishment, and needs no help from me. There are missiles enough in battle for one to have your name on it, and I need not carve it there.”

Strangely perhaps, I found this cause at least for a little optimism, knowing that any death in battle would be the result of chance and not divine malevolence. Yet death in combat was still death, and I desired not to make its acquaintance either way.

“So, our contest will continue in the courts, then,” I said.

“The courts, the palaces, the bedrooms,” she said. “You do not discriminate, and neither shall I.”

“You know,” said I, “I am beginning to feel honored, that you pay such attention to me.”

“See if you feel honored,” said she, “when I am done.”

And then she vanished into the night and spray, and left me alone on the deck, to ponder my fate.

* * *

As soon as I returned to the capital, I wrote to the duke and begged the favor of an audience. He returned that I should come to dinner the following day, and when I arrived, I found it a magnificent occasion, with the barrel-vaulted hall filled with many of the great men and ladies of the realm, all sitting at the table like an unimaginative imitation of the fresco over their heads, with all the gods and goddesses roistering with their wine-cups.

The duke’s two cannons had been memorialized in sugar-paste, with all the ornaments, scrollwork, dolphins, and spells faithfully reproduced. Each gun was six feet long and covered in real gold leaf, and was displayed as a centerpiece, along with edible cannonballs, rammers, tompions, and other items of the cannoneer’s art.

The two glittering figures of the duke and duchess presided from the head of the table, but as I was at the other end, in the company of secretaries and lawyers and poor relations, I could see them only by craning my neck around the sugar-paste battery, and then only when they stood to offer a toast or make a speech.

The dinner was intended to honor the Knight Marshal, Sir Erskine Latter, who had just been made the Queen’s Captain General and placed in full command of her majesty’s array for war. The little I could see of him did not raise my confidence in early victory, for the great veteran was elderly, with gray hair cut level with his earlobes, and he stooped as he shuffled along, between a pair of attendants who, I decided, had the duty of picking him up if he fell. He was swathed to the chin in a coat of sable fur, as if even this room, with its blazing hearths and scores of diners, was too cold for him. When he spoke in response to the praise of the other diners, I could not hear him, and I was thankful that I did not serve in his army.

I lost track of the number of dishes, with their fanciful stuffed chimeras, breads and pie-crusts in the shape of bastions and towers, marrow-bones mounted to look like cannon and stuffed with spiced mincemeat, jellies in the form of the Knight Marshal’s blazon, powder-horns filled with sugared fruit, and desserts in the shape of laurel crowns. I had a bite or two of each remove, drank more fully of the wines that were paired with each dish, and asked those about me for the news.

The Estates General had concluded their business, I was told, and having done their duty, had dispersed. Now the Queen was filling vacant offices with great efficiency, having spent the last weeks judging, as well as she could, the character, talents, and loyalty of the hopeful applicants.

Those who intended to replace the Chancellor were disappointed, for he had been retained in his office and made Baron Hulme, which further outraged those among the nobility who had disparaged him for being a commoner. He would now have to guide the finances of the nation from the House of Peers, which would make it more difficult, as the power over the budget largely rested with the Burgesses. He would need a deputy in that House, and there was much speculation concerning who that worthy gentleman would be.

As I mentioned that I had been away in Longfirth, I was asked about the news there, and I considered letting my neighbors know about the capture of Royal Stilwell. But I decided to keep that information a secret until I had conferred with his grace the duke, and instead said that Sir Basil of the Heugh had been found there, and killed.

“Was he hanged?” asked one of the lawyers.

“I killed him myself,” said I, “for I had been his captive, and recognized him on the street in Longfirth.” I was then obliged to tell the whole story. This news rapidly spread the length of the table, and came to the ears of the duke, who rose and called for attention.

“I have been told,” he said, “that the outlaw Sir Basil of the Heugh has been captured and executed. This report is of interest to many of us, as Sir Basil has been a plague on the realm, and has held for ransom a number of our friends. Can the bearer of these tidings kindly confirm this news?”

I rose, which caused a stir among the company, as I was known to many of them, and not all of them were my friends, while others knew me only as someone out of favor with her majesty. I waited for the murmur to die down, and then spoke.

“Your report errs in only one detail, your grace, that the outlaw was executed. Sir Basil is dead, but he was killed before he could be brought to a judge.”

“Do you know the circumstance?”

“I do, your grace.” I then related the story again, as modestly as I could, emphasizing the chance nature of the encounter, and the supposed sanguine history of the dirk.

There was a greater stir among the company when I finished, and then I heard a merry laugh from engineer Ransome, who as the creator of the duke’s two great guns was seated far up the table.

“Quillifer it was who also brought to justice the assassin Burgoyne,” said he. “Perhaps he will soon bring a like fate to all the rogues and renegadoes of the kingdom.”

“I intend to leave a few for the Queen’s Captain General,” I said.

The Captain General nodded his gray head, and said something which I did not hear. Her grace the duchess kindly offered a translation.

“The lord Knight Marshal says that such a doughty and valiant fighter as yourself would surely distinguish himself and win renown in the army.”

I smiled. “I thank the Knight Marshal for his flattering words, but I already serve the Queen as a privateer, aboard the ship Meteor.”

Which caused more of a stir, because though Meteor’s capture of the Lady Tern was known, my connection with the former was not.

The duke smiled, raised his glass, and said, “It seems you serve her majesty thoroughly, in many spheres. To your very good health.”

I thanked his grace and the others for their courtesy, and pledged them in return. After the feast ended and the diners, stuffed with glories both martial and culinary, began to totter upright, I made my way through the throng in the direction of the Roundsilvers. I viewed the Knight Marshal as the old warrior departed the feast, upheld by his two gentlemen as he shuffled along, and saw the sable coat part to reveal the broad ornate belt wrapping his narrow midsection. From this belt dangled a number of jeweled charms, and I saw also a religious medallion worn about his neck, containing a parchment with a quotation from the Pilgrim. The Captain General, I saw, was not leaving his campaign to chance, but invoking every form of spiritual aid known to man.

Were he not just proclaimed the greatest soldier in the realm, I might have considered him a superstitious, senescent fool.

As I watched the great captain depart, a hand touched my arm, and a familiar voice spoke in my ear.

“Thank you for killing Sir Basil. Did you by any chance retrieve aught of my ransom?”

I turned to find Lord Utterback offering his sardonic smile. He was dressed to take his place in this shining company, and wore the magnificent blue-and-yellow suit. Gems flashed from his collar, and from every finger.

“Sir Basil carried very little money,” said I, after I had recovered from my surprise. “He either hid your ransom, or sent it ahead to Steggerda, where he was bound.”

“Even dead,” said Utterback, “he remains an inconvenience.”

“But I rescued your slinkskin gloves, which I found in his luggage. If you call on me, I will restore them to you.”

He laughed. “Thank you! For sake of the gloves, I forgive your fault in not finding the ransom.”

“How does your lordship?” I asked. “Excellent well, from all I perceive.”

“Well enough.” He smiled. “Though my deeds have scarce equaled yours,” said he. “Capture of Lady Tern, sticking an outlaw like you stuck that stag at Kingsmere, capture of an assassin.”

“Yet strangely, the events at Kingsmere did not win me glory,” I said.

“What did you expect?” He shrugged. “I would not have stuck my finger in that hell’s pottage of conspiracy, and my position is far more secure than yours.” He gave me a searching look. “Indeed, I expected that you would be downhearted, and instead I find you leaping from triumph to triumph.”

“Hardly that,” said I. “In sober fact, you might find that my life has been cursed in quite a singular manner. Let me say that, when next we have a few hours, I can contribute much to our old discussion of Freedom and Necessity.”

“I will look forward to it. But I had hoped to cheer you by offering you a post, and instead you have already turned it down.”

“Have I?” I was surprised. “I must be the most inconsiderate wight on earth.”

“You declined the Knight Marshal’s offer to join the army,” said Utterback. “I am myself to be a soldier—my father has decided I am to command a troop of cavalry, which he will raise at his own expense.”

“I am sure you will be a great captain,” said I, though in truth I did not know what qualifications Utterback had for such a post, unless it were a rich, willful father.

“I had hoped you would join me,” said his lordship. “The Utterback Troop stands in need of a secretary.”

I laughed. “You’d hoped that I would be so downcast that I’d go off with you? A fine plan, were it not for the deadly war for which you are bound, and for the cavalry, which would bring into unnecessarily sharp relief my tentative relationship with the equine species.”

“Ay,” said he, “for knife fights with outlaws are so much more temperate and congenial than battles.”

“That was as close to battle as I hope ever to be. Yet”—I took his arm and spoke into his ear—“I have more news from Longfirth, which I hoped to deliver privately to his grace before I spoke of it in public. Yet the news might concern you as well. Perhaps we should go board the duke if we can.”

Lord Utterback and I made our way to the duke, who was saying farewell to a number of his guests. He saw us together and remembered, I guess, that I wished to speak with him, and he asked us to await him in his cabinet. So, Utterback and I took ourselves there, and amused ourselves by looking at the curiosities, the chalcedony statues, the enameled and gilded caskets, the ancient coins, and the carven cameos.

My lord told me of the Utterback Troop. He had raised men in Blacksykes, where his mother’s family lived, and his father was Lord Lieutenant, but they were all hopeful youths with no experience, and he hoped to leaven his troop with veterans, who he proposed to find in the capital. “You will see my heralds beating drums, posting bills, and promising bounties,” he said.

“What sort of bounties?” asked I.

“What do you care? You will not join me.”

Lord Utterback had received martial training, as did all men of the nobility, but he had never commanded any detachment of soldiers greater than the few country lads he had led into Ethlebight after the reivers’ attack. So, while Utterback would be coronel of the troop, a seasoned soldier named Snype would serve as his second-in-command, and would teach the men their drill.

This reassured me a little that Lord Utterback would not, at the first opportunity, ride straight into folly.

The duke presently joined us, and I unfolded to him and to Utterback the story of Royal Stilwell’s capture, and my fear that the Crown would reclaim the ship without paying prize or head money.

“We shall go to the Chancellor tomorrow,” he said. “I will send a message to him now.”

He proved as good as his word. Early on a cold, wet morning in which rain clouds prowled the sky, we went to the home of the newly raised Lord Hulme. The Chancellor lived in a house very large and rambling, with thatched roofs that straggled, like unkempt hair, down to the windows—it was not grand or imposing, for the house was a place of business, not a palace. Men of affairs already bustled in and out, amid and through an amiable collection of dogs which romped about the courtyard. We met his lordship in his private study, a place as dark and disorderly as his office in the palace, and he offered each of us a tisane that filled the room with a strong herbal scent.

We informed the Chancellor of the capture of Royal Stilwell, and of our concerns. He listened gravely, and then leaned forward with a frown.

“My understanding of the privateering commissions is that they were intended to aid Ethlebight by allowing its seamen to make captures,” he said. “How is establishing a prize court here in Selford, and awarding monies to sailors here and in Longfirth, intended to aid your city?”

“The owners and officers,” said I, “and many of the men of the Meteor, are drawn from Ethlebight. Much of the money will come to our city because we live there—we will rebuild our homes, commission new vessels in the shipyards, and ransom our friends, who will return home and amplify the wealth of the town.”

“In that case, why not apply to the prize court we have already established in Ethlebight?”

“We have two great prizes,” said I. “Both Lady Tern and Royal Stilwell are too large to enter the port of Ethlebight. We would have to sail to Amberstone, then carry the ships’ papers, et cetera, by land to Ethlebight for judgment by the court.” I saw Lord Hulme raise a hand to begin an objection, and I spoke quickly to head him off. “Which is a mere inconvenience, I agree. But what is more to the point is that this will cause delay.”

The Chancellor raised his eyebrows, and again I answered the question before it was asked. “Both Tern and Stilwell are great galleons suitable for war. We had intended to lease these warships to the Crown, for her majesty’s use in securing the sea against any further incursion by Clayborne.”

There were three classes of ships in the navy: royal ships owned by the Crown; ships owned by nobles and prominent men, who at their own expense, and from gallantry or hope of royal favor, allowed the Crown use of their ships in war; and the most numerous category, ships contracted to the Crown for the duration of the conflict. Most of these were small vessels intended to support the larger ships, and to carry supplies and troops, but it was not unknown for large warships to be made a part of the fleet in this way.

The Chancellor’s eyebrows were still lifted, like the leaves of a drawbridge raised to allow a boat to pass beneath. “You propose to lease her majesty’s own flagship back to her?” he said.

“A court has not yet ruled whose flagship it is,” I pointed out. “According to De Jure Praedae, any ship taken by an enemy, and retaken before noon of the following day, is considered a recapture, and not a prize of war. But Royal Stilwell was held by the rebels for months, and therefore was not a recapture, and is therefore a fair prize of war.”

“De Jure Praedae is a learnèd exposition,” said the Chancellor. “A classic of legal literature and theory, but it is not the law.”

“For myself,” said Lord Utterback, “I like the title. The Law of Booty is fine, straightforward language, is it not?”

The Chancellor refused to be diverted, so I continued my exposition. “There is also the matter of precedent,” I pointed out. “Soldiers and sailors both fight out of self-interest—soldiers for pay and plunder, and sailors in hope of prize money. Neither sailors nor officers will do their utmost if the Crown denies their reward.”

“Yet,” said Hulme dryly, “they all proclaim they fight out of purest love for her majesty.”

The privateers have never made such a claim, I thought, but I decided it is best not to say so.

“There is also the matter of Lady Tern,” said I. “For if her majesty wishes to condemn that prize quickly—for reasons of state of course, as the ship belongs to one of her greatest enemies—then a prize court could be established here, and if it proceeds with despatch, the Crown will have its twenty percent soon. But if the Queen does not care to expedite that process, we will send the ship to Amberstone and have it condemned by the prize court in Ethlebight, and the Crown must wait for its money. And I will send to Master Spellman, who owns the Meteor, and have him send Royal Stilwell to Amberstone as well.”

For there was little doubt that the Ethlebight prize court would happily condemn any ship brought before them, for the benefit of the city and its citizens.

“Well, well.” Hulme placed his gloves hands together, his jeweled rings softly shining in the dull light coming through the narrow window, and leaned back in his chair. “Well, well.”

We waited for a long moment, and then Hulme said, “Well,” again. Then he looked at Roundsilver and Utterback in turn.

“I will speak to her majesty. You will support me?”

“I will do anything to bring help to Ethlebight,” said Lord Utterback. Roundsilver nodded his agreement.

“Very well, then, let us go. You will allow me to sound her majesty first, to see if she is in any way inclined to receive your proposals?”

Again the two nodded. Hulme then turned to me. “Goodman, I think it best you not come to court with us. I regret extremely her majesty’s prejudice, but on a matter this delicate, I think your name is best unspoken.”

I said that I understood, though I found it disheartening at how my part would be underplayed. It seemed that I should be congratulated for the capture of Royal Stilwell, not spurned.

The three lords set off for the palace, while I slumped away toward my lodgings in a spattering rain. A short distance from the Chancellor’s house, I passed by Allingham House, the Selford residence of the Marquess of Stayne. It was a fine place, of the brilliant white sandstone common in Selford, with niches for martial statues of Stayne’s ancestors. I passed beneath their stern, threatening eyes and looked up at the high windows spangled with a fine jeweled scattering of raindrops that reflected the warm golden light within. I wondered if Amalie was there, and whether she was looking down at that moment. Suddenly, I seemed half mad with desire, and for a moment I dreamed of climbing the front of that building by fingers and toes and going from window to window in order to find her chamber. I stared up, rapt in this inner vision, but then the clouds opened and a hard, cold winter shower pelted down, and my fantasy dissolved like sugar-paste in the rain.

I drew my overcoat up over my ears and ran for home.