The Dragon Prince

by Patty Jansen

  He gave her a penetrating look. “Many people question your trust in the eastern trader. They don’t understand why you believe his words and disregard the words of the town’s citizens.”

  By “people” of course he meant nobles. Those came with the agenda of defending the city against the eastern menace and the evil church.

  Normally, Joris Decamp tended to support her, but this made it clear how fragile her position was. They tolerated her because of Roald, because there was no one else to take the throne. As a woman, they were only willing to treat her seriously as long as she said womanly, obedient things.

  The worst thing was that she was utterly dependent on them, and they now had control of everything and would destroy all her plans.

  Chapter 12

  * * *

  JOHANNA MADE SOME sort of excuse and went to her office.

  These men were going to destroy everything for the sake of their opinions. Just because they didn’t like the church, and didn’t like Li Han, and they were afraid that Li Han would put some of them out of business that they could have spent the past few months rebuilding, but hadn’t.

  Just because . . .

  Because they were nobles and it was their sole purpose in life to stop her ideas. Because she was a woman. Because she was not a noble. Because she had saved the crown prince’s life while they hoped he’d die, because she married him while their daughters thumbed their noses at him.

  Because the common citizens of Saardam would benefit from her plan.

  And though she didn’t know how, she wasn’t going to let them destroy her work.

  She pulled a piece of parchment out of the drawer and spread it on the desk. Then she opened the pot of ink and selected a pen from the tray. Clearly, Roald had been rummaging in her writing things again, because there was charcoal in the tray. She’d already told him several times to keep it separate because it made everything black.

  She wiped her hands on the dress—it was almost black anyway, dipped the pen in the ink and wrote:

  To Li Fai. She hoped she spelled that correctly.

  The events of today disturb me greatly, but I want you to know that I do not hold you or any of your crew in any way responsible for the death of this poor man. Some members of the King’s Council may not believe you, but there is no doubt in my mind that you are speaking the truth.

  She signed off with simply “Johanna” because anything else felt preposterous.

  And then she added:

  P.S. I very much enjoyed your openness in discussing magic. It is a difficult subject in this town because most people are afraid of it. I hope we can continue our discussion soon.

  She let the letter dry for a moment and then rolled it up and sealed it before she could change her mind. She would not allow these nobles and church people to chase Li Han to Anglia, because he was innocent.

  She went to the guard station and asked the young man there to see that it was delivered.

  Next, Johanna went into the garden.

  Most of Queen Cygna’s rose bushes in the higher part of the garden had survived a year of neglect. Not having been pruned, they had become gangly, but the more hardy varieties were sprouting flowers. Johanna found a pair of pruning shears in the tool shed and set about cutting flowers that had just opened. A courtier came to ask what she was doing, and she informed him that she was cutting flowers for the poor man’s funeral, and that reply seemed to satisfy him.

  It was a bit strange being in the garden while Roald was inside. The flower baskets that she retrieved from the garden shed showed her images of Roald pottering about with jars and buckets. In one vision, a green frog climbed over the edge of a pot and jumped to the ground. Roald ran after it over the lawn. It made her laugh.

  She divided the roses between the two baskets and took them inside.

  Then she called for Nellie, who came to see her in the office, frowning at the roses.

  “I want you to do something for me.” Johanna took one basket. “For this basket, I want you to find some jam or compote from the cellar, or some spices or tobacco from Father’s store. I want you to take it to the Nieland family with my apologies for forgetting Octavio’s birthday.”

  “But that was two months ago.”

  “Yes. I’ve forgotten it.”

  Nellie frowned at her. Johanna could almost see her thoughts trying to work out whether she was serious or not.

  She picked up the other basket. “To this one, you will add a little singlet and a blanket or some such and take it to Josefina LaFontaine, who I understand has given birth to a girl.” She picked up a notebook from the desk. “Give her this, too. Tell her that I want Josefina to teach the girl how to read. And give the flowers for her cousin’s funeral.”

  Nellie nodded, but she still look confused.

  “When you visit these families, you will leave the entire basket there, and a couple of days later, we’ll send someone around to collect the empty basket.”

  Nellie gasped and raised her hand to her mouth. Now she understood. “But Mistress Johanna, you can’t go snooping on people like that. Why would you do this? You said you’d finished with this . . . magic.”

  “There are things I need to know.”

  “Why not leave the investigation to the guards?”

  “There are things no one will tell the guards—especially the women, because I bet the guards will be hesitant to question the noble ladies.”

  “But you can’t just . . . eavesdrop on those families—”

  “Yes, we can. A man has died. Another man has hurt his wife. Yet another man has threatened someone in the street about something they are looking for. I have suspicions that these things could be related.”

  “You are speaking in riddles, Mistress Johanna.”

  “Has the shepherd been here?”

  Nellie blinked at the sudden change of subject. “No, he hasn’t. It’s very strange—”

  “Then we will send him a basket, too.”

  “Mistress Johanna! You don’t spy on the shepherd!”

  “Just do it, Nellie. Unless Greetje is ready to go back home, but I don’t think she should until we know what’s going on.”

  “No, she won’t. Not yet. She’s not been feeling well. I think her pains will start very soon.”

  “Then go to him and tell him that. Deliver a basket with some singlets and a blanket.”

  Nellie nodded, looking unhappy. “I really thought you were finished with this wood magic. I mean, that horrible thing that happened to the poor man having his life squeezed out of him by a tree would have been enough to put everyone off. Of course he is an evil man, but did he deserve to die like that?”

  “Nellie, you never cease to surprise me with your capacity to judge people kindly.”

  “It’s what the Triune teaches us to do. I’m a forgiving person, because holding grudges just makes you horrible and grumpy.”

  “But, you’re talking about Alexandre. . . .”

  “A horrible man, by all accounts, but like all people, deserved to be treated with dignity, because when you start treating people poorly, that is the end of the world.”

  “Then, Nellie, if you feel like that about what I asked you to do, I can ask someone else to go.”

  Nellie’s eyes widened in shock. “No, Mistress Johanna. I would never allow that!”

  “But you just said . . .”

  “What you tell me to do is what I do. You are much wiser than I am and I trust that you ask me for a good reason. To be perfectly honest, Mistress Johanna, and don’t tell anyone I said this, those horrible arrogant families could do with being taught a lesson.”

  Johanna laughed, and then turned serious again. “As long as no one dies.”

  “Yes.” Nellie nodded.

  Johanna sighed. “I’m sorry to ask you to do this, but you know most times I feel that you’re the only friend I have. If . . .” She shuddered. “When the time comes that the pains start and the child is about to arrive, you are t
he only person I want with me, besides Helena.”

  Nellie looked at her with wide eyes. “Oh!” And then her eyes glittered. “Oh, Mistress Johanna!” She wiped her eyes with the end of her sleeve. “Look at that. You’re making me cry.”

  “It’s true,” Johanna said.

  “Oh, mistress Johanna!” Nellie wiped at her eyes again.

  Johanna’s eyes pricked, too. Words about how scared she was of the pains were on her tongue. Or about how she was almost certain that Roald was not the father of this child. Kylian had made a pass at Nellie. She would understand how overwhelming his magic was.

  Johanna also asked Nellie to collect any wood that she could find from the warehouses and quayside near the Lady Sara and Li Han’s ship. She drew a map of the part of the quay and indicated spots where there might be wooden items that could tell her a story.

  “You have to write down precisely where you collected them,” she told Nellie.

  Some of the places would require a man to visit without raising eyebrows, like the inside of the warehouses. Nellie said that any of the groundsmen would be happy to go if she asked.

  “I don’t want people to get into trouble,” Johanna said.

  “People are happy to take risks. They adore you, mistress Johanna.”

  Nellie took her task seriously. She wanted to know if the type of wood mattered. Johanna explained that willow wood was the best, but any other wood would do. She said the best things were items that weren’t used too often. Things like tables and benches typically only told stories one day old, because they were used so much, and newer memories took the place of older ones.

  By the time the maid came in, wondering why Johanna hadn’t called for the coach, she realised that not only had she forgotten to get dressed, she was going to be late to church.

  Chapter 13

  * * *

  NELLIE GASPED WHEN she realised that. “Oh, mistress Johanna, how terrible! Quickly, I’ll help you get ready.”

  “No, Nellie.”

  Nellie stared at her, eyes wide. “What do you mean, no?”

  “I’ve been thinking about this. We have Greetje here and the shepherd hasn’t even been to visit his wife. Is that an example of a caring man or one who is sorry about what he has done? Even before this happened, I’ve been very concerned about the way the shepherd has been preaching in church. It’s like he’s gone mad, like he’s trying to get people to sign up to go to war. You can’t make magic go away by ignoring it. He should know that better than anyone. Something has happened that has made him act like this and I don’t think we should give him any more power than he already has until he calms down and we find out what it is.”

  “He’s afraid of magic.”

  “He’s a wind magician. Everyone knows that. I don’t understand what is going on with him. You know, I have looked in the Book of Verses but can’t see where it says that magic is forbidden.”

  “But even Shepherd Romulus used to say this.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think the couple of verses that he always quotes mean what he thinks they mean. The most important quote is two lines from The Book of Revelation that say, ‘And those whose magic turns to evil, let them burn in doom.’ The church of the Triune interprets this as meaning ‘no magic’, but the Belaman Church uses the same version of The Book of Revelations and they interpret it differently. The church has always fought their own battles about magic. The Belaman Church uses the word magic to mean belief, for the holy teachings. Shepherd Romulus would have been talking about that type of magic.”

  “I don’t know, Mistress Johanna. It all seems very confusing to me. None of these supposedly important men ever seem to say what they actually mean. If they talk about a woman’s ‘situation’ they mean she’s with child. If they talk about ‘magic’ they really mean the belief of the Belaman Church?”

  “Our shepherd doesn’t. He definitely means real magic.”

  “But Shepherd Romulus didn’t?”

  “I don’t think so. After all, true magic is not common in Saardam. He received his teaching from the great seminary in Lurezia.”

  Nellie sighed and shook her head. “It’s all so complicated. But for what it’s worth, I think that the church would be a bad enemy to have.”

  “It is, but instead of going to the nightly service—because how much gossip would I start by coming in late—”

  “Less than by not going at all?”

  “I don’t know about that. But anyway, I don’t want to disturb the service and call attention to myself, so I’m going to light a candle for Auguste LaFontaine in the Belaman Church—”

  Nellie gasped.

  “Mother used to go the Belaman Church. I could call myself a member even if I haven’t been baptised. I think you taught me something today about treating someone with dignity, even if it’s someone you don’t like and who hasn’t treated you with dignity. Next time Auguste’s family come into the church for the funeral, they will see a candle with a card that has a royal seal and they’ll know that I sympathise with their loss. And also, Nellie, just because the old bearded men of the Belaman Church don’t like the Church of the Triune and declare that it’s no longer part of their church, that doesn’t mean we have to agree with that. As far as I know, they teach the same things and fight against the same evil magic, even if they use different names for it. Anyway, after I’ve lit the candle, I’ll go and pray in shepherd Carolus’ church. They don’t have evening services, so I can enter there without disturbing anything.”

  So it was done.

  The home of the Belaman Church, the small but ornate building around the corner from the marketplace, had “miraculously” survived the fires. The Holy Father Fabricius was Burovian. He spoke with a thick accent that noble children often mocked—and got clipped on the ear for doing so.

  Johanna used to go to this church to pick up her mother. In those days, the streets seemed so much more colourful.

  Her early memories were of walking down the street on Father’s hand and seeing people stream out of the little building of the Belaman Church. There had been a wedding and all the guests were dressed in vibrant colours. Some of the women wore costumes that included headbands with hundreds of dangling coins. They were colourful people, mostly dark-haired and olive-skinned. Several men were playing lutes while the happy couple, both in cream-coloured silk, stood on the church steps.

  Whatever happened to that Saardam?

  Those people must have left, too, gone to Lurezia or any of the big towns.

  Johanna alighted from the coach in front of the building. It looked smaller than she remembered, and had recently been cleaned.

  She went up the steps and pushed the door. It creaked.

  Johanna peeked in. The noise brought no reaction from inside. Candles flapped in sconces attached to the pillars that supported the roof.

  Johanna took a candle from the box on a table in the foyer and dropped a Phoenician gold coin in the donations box.

  She then walked down the aisle. There was such a difference between this church and the wooden building of the Church of the Triune. The walls behind the altar and along the sides were covered in brightly painted murals depicting scenes from the Book of Verses. There was a lot of gold and blue paint, and neither of those colours was cheap. Almost every side panel of the outer wall told its own story. Sometimes there would be a statue or a little altar dedicated to this or that saint. The floor displayed elaborate mosaics.

  She couldn’t help but think of the splendid building in Florisheim where she had prayed to the saint Magdalena whom the people in Florisheim worshipped as saint of mothers and children. And the saint had granted Johanna her prayers. Even if Roald’s seed didn’t work, the saint had granted Johanna a child.

  She placed the candle on the tiered shelves where other candles burned and leaked wax all over the wood. She inserted her card in the groove in the wood that ran along the front edge of the shelf. In the memory of Auguste LaFontaine, in sympathy with th
ose who mourn his loss. Queen Johanna Carmine de Lacoeur van Leeuwen Brouwer.

  She knelt on the bench and said a few words of prayer.

  Only when she rose again did she become aware of the dark-robed figure kneeling at a bench in front of the giant mural of the Lord Saviour. The mural depicted Him as a bearded man. His friendly face had always fascinated her as a child.

  The man who sat on his knees was the Holy Father Fabricius.

  How long had he been sitting there?

  He didn’t look up, but sat with his head down, his hands folded in prayer. Johanna sat on the frontmost pew and waited until he raised his head.

  “It is a good thing to see you here, Your Highness.”

  “I came to light a candle for the poor young man who drowned in the harbour.”

  He nodded. “It’s so sad.”

  “Tell the family that I sympathise with them.” She rose and stepped into the aisle.

  He dipped his head. “It is terrible. Magic stirs in the belly of this town. Every time something bad happens, I tell the citizens: there will be death and destruction until you vanquish this foul magic.”

  His eyes were intense.

  Johanna nodded a lame agreement and retreated down the aisle, remembering suddenly why she had started attending the Church of the Triune’s services. The Holy Father Fabricius always said things like this, as if it were his task to make everyone afraid.

  The coach that waited in front of the church then took her to the much smaller church building two streets away that was the home of Shepherd Carolus.

  He was a much more cheerful fellow and came to Johanna with open arms when she entered. Since coming back to Saardam with him, he had tamed his straw-like hair, but he was as tall and gangly as ever.

  “Welcome, welcome. I feared we’d never see you again in this humble building. Come and share a prayer to the Holy Father.”

  They did. Because all things in the church came in threes, Johanna dedicated her prayer first to Auguste LaFontaine, then to Roald in the hope that he wouldn’t remain scarred by finding the body and then to Li Fai because he is innocent and doesn’t deserve all this trouble.