Quillifer

by Walter Jon Williams

  The duke at one point took me aside, and said, “You wrote that you were leaving Selford, but we were greatly surprised to hear that you had joined the army.”

  “I surprised myself in that very choice,” said I. “But the army and I have now parted, and I stand before you an ordinary subject of the Crown, one who no longer rises early to the sound of trumpets, and can sleep as late as he pleases.”

  “You will want to hear news of Lord Stayne,” said the duke. “The Chancellor and I contrived to send him a warning, that any further pursuit of vengeance by him would not be viewed favorably by her majesty. I know not whether he heeded the warning, but perhaps in the last months he has had time to reflect, and come to a more civil attitude in the matter.”

  “I thank your grace for your kind intervention,” said I.

  “You may also wish to know that Lady Stayne is delivered of a son,” said the duke, with rather more care than usual, for he actually pronounced the r in “delivered.” “Stayne has an heir, and perhaps he will refrain from any action that might tend to place his son’s rights in jeopardy. Certainly, if Stayne were attainted for violence, his son would lose all property and titles.”

  I considered that this was as likely a settlement as I was ever to receive, and I said so. “And how is Lady Stayne?” I asked. “For she is blameless in all of this, so far as I can tell.”

  “Her ladyship survived the birth,” said the duke. “More than that I cannot say, but she is in the bloom of youth, and I’m sure cannot help but thrive.”

  “I cannot help but be glad,” I said. I thought that perhaps we were speaking in a kind of code, the duke to reassure me of Amalie’s health without acknowledging in speech the interest that I might have in her well-being. I was grateful for the knowledge, yet I hoped there was no great speculation abroad concerning my connection with Amalie, for Stayne’s feud had no doubt caused enough interest on the part of the court.

  Priscus arrived two days later, his grand galley sweeping up the Dordelle to the ponderous beat of kettledrums. The population thronged the green river-lawns to see him, but I did rather better, for I went to the boat-house of the Baron of Havre-le-Creag, fitted out the baron’s galley, and crewed it with some of the Cannoneers drawn from those who would not be firing salutes on that day. So, we swept out very grandly onto the lake in a boat of bright blue, trimmed with white and accented with gold leaf, and followed the prince as he approached the water-gardens around the palace. The prince himself I viewed through my spyglass, and I found him swarthy and dark-haired, with both hair and beard cropped shorter than was the current fashion in Duisland. He had a vast, beaky nose, like the prow of a ship. He wore a glittering doublet of royal purple, slashed to allow the white satin of his shirt to gleam through the openings, and a conical hat with two feathers, the red and gold of Duisland, as a compliment to his bride. He wore a short cape of white samite trimmed with purple.

  In fact, conical hats and short capes seemed to be universal among the Lorettans. Priscus and his gentlemen formed a glittering company, and seeing them all together made me realize that they stood in a somewhat different manner than we men of Duisland. For we stand square, with the weight on both feet, but these Lorettans had one foot before and the other behind, and seemed to arch forward, so that their breastbones were well to the front, with their hips, shoulders, and heads drawn back. The conical hats and short capes seemed designed to call attention to this posture. They made an elegant sight, curved like so many yew bows set up on the forecastle of the galley, and I wondered if this stance was one that would soon be adopted as the fashion by our own nation.

  Among this group were monks of the Pilgrim, but monks unlike any I had seen before. The monks in Duisland wore robes of unbleached wool, but these wore robes in brilliant colors, scarlets and blues and verdant greens; and they wore gold also, belts and prayer beads and amulets. Certainly, they seem to have transcended certain notions of humility and poverty.

  The Lorettan galley swept up to the quay built by the water-gardens, and a royal salute banged out from batteries set up by the lakefront. I could see Captain Lipton bustling about in his battery, and signaling each of his guns to fire at the appropriate time.

  The Queen waited, serene as ever, on a white palfrey, and Priscus disembarked, swept off his hat, and kissed her hand. Another white steed was brought forward for Priscus, and the two rode off together into the water-gardens, and were lost from sight.

  Days of festival followed, and the Lorettan gentlemen, with their capes and curved posture, were seen everywhere in town. There were jousts in which the knights of Duisland fought those of Loretto, and the victor was judged to be Lorenso d’Abrez, one of the prince’s followers, who skillfully broke lance after lance. A water-organ was placed on a boat, and anchored in the river to play a concert for the town. There were horse-races and prize-fights, and a piper sat outside every tavern to provide music for dancing. Blackwell’s masque, The Triumph of Virtue, was performed in the ancient theater, with the nobles of both nations playing parts in their own glittering costumes. Castinatto reprised his role as the villain, and little Floria again played Virtue, but her acting this time was more lively, as if she realized that mocking her sister, as she had at Kingsmere, was no longer wise.

  All those heads on pikes before the Hall of Justice would, no doubt, agree with her.

  This was the first time a masque had been performed in public rather than privately at the court, and two thousand of Howel’s citizens, who were admitted without charge, watched the performance with astonishment.

  A few days later, there was a regatta on the lake, in which His Grace of Roundsilver’s galley took the laurel of victory from a young woman dressed as a Mermaid. The sight of a woman in Mermaid costume brought to mind the last sweet night in Ethlebight, and in an instant I felt a great swell of sadness, while tears stung my eyes. I wondered where Annabel Greyson was now, in what horrid picture of captivity I might find her, and then I thought of my family, and the thousands of others who had been carried away. I felt that no matter how well I had done, no matter what successes were laid to my account, I had lost much more than I had won.

  After this, I went for a long walk to the town, drank a few mugs of ale, listened to some music, and tried to abolish the melancholy that had crept over me. I met with but light success, and when I returned, I found a carriage waiting outside my residence. No sooner had I come into sight than the Count of Wenlock burst from it, shouting.

  “There you are!” he roared. “I wanted to see you!” He arrived in front of me, and waved a finger at my face. “I wanted to see the man who traduced my son! I wanted to see what sort of monster it is who steals my son’s victory, and claims it for his own!”

  Surprised beyond measure, I stared at Wenlock as he shouted at me, and then managed to gather my wits for a reply.

  “I have done nothing of the kind! Whoever has told you this has lied!”

  “It is you who have lied!” cried the count. He brandished a fist. “You have been spreading slanders behind my back, and trying to claim the victory at Exton Scales for your own! You will never succeed, do you hear me? I will crush you, and reveal the truth to all!”

  I was on the verge of summoning another denial when he turned and marched back to his carriage, after which he spun about again. “A statue!” he shouted, stamping on the ground. “A damned statue!”

  I watched the vehicle disappear in a cloud of dust, then walked into the house in a daze, Wenlock’s shouts still ringing in my head. There I met Captain Lipton, who whooped at the sight of me.

  “Congratulations, youngster!” he said, and waved a paper. “Your future is made, and I have made it!”

  I was more intent on Wenlock’s hostile arrival than on Lipton’s fancies, and I tried to explain what had just occurred in the road outside the house, and Lipton thumped me on the shoulder.

  “It is the honors list published this morning, and posted by the heralds!” he said. “You have been
made a knight for your actions at Exton Scales, and given a manor!”

  I looked at the list as he brandished it before my eyes. There I saw that for valorous and meritorious service in time of war, Quillifer the Younger of Ethlebight was to be made a knight bachelor, and awarded the manor of Dunnock, in the shire of Hurst Downs.

  “Where is Hurst Downs?” I asked, completely baffled.

  “I care not!” Lipton proclaimed. “It matters only that I have got it for you!”

  “How have you—” I began, but could go no further. I was beyond words, for this matter was beyond all sense.

  “I remind you that you twice promised me a bottle of claret on the field of Exton Scales,” said Lipton. “You have never made good your promise, and I think it is time you did. For we must drink to your advancement, and this speedily!”

  My head spun, but the easiest thing to do was surrender to the moment. “Let us go then to the buttery of my lord Havre-le-Creag,” I said, “and I will fill my promise directly.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  * * *

  he buttery of the Baron Havre-le-Creag was expansive, filled to the ceiling with tuns of wine, each branded with a name and date burned into the lid of the barrel with a hot poker, and bottles piled in dusty niches, labeled with cards in a spiky chancery hand. The wine steward had deserted his post some weeks earlier, after realizing he couldn’t stop the Cannoneers from drinking anything they wanted, no matter how rare or expensive. I took a pair of bottles from one of the dustier niches to the great hall, where I opened one and poured. Captain Lipton took a long drink, and with a sigh of pleasure scratched his bald head.

  “Youngster, that little princess has made of you her enterprise, sure,” he said.

  I considered this, and felt the ghost of a warning caress the back of my neck. “I do not know that I care to be so scrutinized by royalty,” said I. “I cannot see that the ending of this will bring me joy.”

  “You could give the manor back,” said Lipton. “Or better still, sign it to me.”

  “Tell me first how I came to own it.”

  It seems that princess Floria had not understood my reticence on the day of Lord Utterback’s memorial, and had thought that I was conspiring with the others to hide some great secret about the battle at Exton Scales, something to the detriment of Utterback, or the Knight Marshal, or some other great figure. Intrigued by this seeming mystery, she had contrived to interview some of the officers, including Lipton, and these had spoken of my own part in the battle.

  “Deploying the men while Utterback was off meeting the enemy, rallying the cavalry as they came back scattered, fighting in the line, leading two attacks by the dragoons on Clayborne’s artillery, defeating one of the Gendarmes in single combat, horse to horse . . .”

  “I hardly did that!” I said.

  “Youngster, I saw you. You bowled over that armored yaldson and danced your courser over him as neat as if you were in a horse-ballet.”

  “That was Phrenzy,” said I, weakly.

  Wine had filled Lipton with eloquence. He gestured broadly and continued his inventory of my martial achievements. “And then of course, fighting all day in the line, and bringing up the reserve company in the nick of time, and at the very end rallying the men beneath the guns to keep the cannon from falling into the hands of the enemy . . .”

  Which was not why I had done it, but my own intentions scarcely seemed to matter in the larger scheme of Lipton’s grand narrative.

  “So, after her highness spoke to me, and to some of the others—Snype, Ruthven, Lord Barkin, even Frere after I assured him that there was no court conspiracy involved—she thought you well deserved a reward.” He spread his hands. “And now you have a knighthood, as do Ruthven, Barkin, and Frere, and that—beyond exercising my genius in the serving of the guns at Exton Scales—was the best afternoon’s work of my life!”

  “How is it that you avoided a knighthood for yourself?” I asked.

  He laughed. “I am a mere mechanical; what do I need with a coat-of-arms? I am content with my two bottles of claret, sure, though I will take the manor if you don’t want it.” He prodded me on the arm. “It is a gentleman who wants a shield on his carriage, and that gentleman, youngster, is now yourself.”

  It would be dishonest to say that I did not feel a flush of pleasure at hearing all this, but what gratified me more than anything was learning of the testimony of my comrades.

  “How do I thank them all?” I asked. “They cannot all be satisfied with bottles of claret.”

  “They have all got their rewards. And I have got somewhat myself, for if you look toward the bottom of the list, you will see I am awarded two hundred royals. It will come as a bill on the treasury, sure, but I may hope to profit by it in time.”

  “I will redeem it at full value.”

  “Bless you, youngster!” He raised his glass. “And so we have come to the land of happy endings, sure.”

  I eventually understood Wenlock’s strange remark about the statue. Rather than reward the count with more land, or a title ranking above that which he held, the Queen had decided to erect an equestrian statue of Lord Utterback in one of the town squares. Wenlock, it seems, had sacrificed his son, not for the advancement and riches he expected, but for a statue. That the statue would assure that Lord Utterback would be remembered for generations was of little moment. Wenlock could have bought a statue for himself for much less than he had spent on the Utterback Troop.

  I heard also that he was preparing to sue for a divorce in the House of Peers. He required a new heir, and his wife was past the age of childbearing—he needed a young girl, and he was already inquiring after the daughters of his friends.

  Eventually, I learned where Hurst Downs lay, which was in Bonille, along the stretch of the south coast between Bretlynton Head and Melcaster. The size of the grant, and the state of the manor of Dunnock, were unknown, and I must visit the place to discover its boundaries and condition.

  Indeed, it was time to deal with a great many matters, none of them in Howel. The war being over, Lady Tern and Royal Stilwell would find employment returning troops to Selford, and then would be returned to their owners, which is to say Kevin and myself. Sea-Holly would have similar convoy duty, but ere long, new cargoes would have to be found for her.

  I also felt that I was justified in returning to Ethlebight, not as a man who had failed at everything he attempted, but as the great hero Sir Quillifer.

  But first I hunted down Frere, Snype, and Lord Barkin—Ruthven had already gone home—and I thanked them and toasted their own success. That done, there was one more person to thank. As I attended the various celebrations for Priscus and the Queen, I often saw Floria, but she was always surrounded by ladies and lords and guards, and I could not manage an interview. Eventually, there was nothing to do but put on my lawyer’s gown and my apprentice cap, travel to Ings Magna, and find her in the palace.

  It was a day when no celebrations were scheduled in the city, and the Queen was at home. No one prevented me from entering the Chamber of Audience, which was a beautiful, sun-filled, warm room, filled with brilliant silk hangings and carved with wonders and phantasmagoria, a delightful contrast to the cold, gloomy Great Reception Room in Selford. Neither the Queen nor Priscus were present, though I saw some gentlemen of Loretto strolling through the room, their bodies curved like willow wands. I found the princess right away, walking with some of her ladies before a tapestry of the Compassionate Pilgrim delivering his wisdom to his followers. I approached and bowed. She looked at me with a stern expression.

  “Don’t expect any ceremony,” said Floria. “The Queen isn’t about to tap you with a sword. And you’re not in one of the great knightly orders or anything; you’re a plain knight bachelor.”

  “I’m sure it’s more than I deserve,” said I.

  “Her majesty is cross with me for adding those names to the honors list,” said the princess. “I might have implied that I did so at her command
—that is what is said, though for myself I cannot remember.”

  “Who was it who suggested the statue?”

  A slight smile touched her lips. “My memory remains fallible on that point. Perhaps you should take my arm and remind me where to put my feet.”

  Having the little princess on my arm made me feel very like a broad-shouldered ban-dog trotting in the company of a spaniel. I had to shorten my steps to avoid dragging her across the floor. Her ladies fell back a few paces to give us a degree of privacy.

  “I must thank you once more, highness,” said I. “You saved my life, and now you have offered me honors.”

  “I have not heard that you have acted otherwise than to uphold the Queen’s authority and dignity,” Floria said. “Her majesty will realize this in time, has she a moment or two for reflection.”

  I thought that Berlauda did not seem to have a particularly reflective character, but did not say so.

  “In the meantime,” said I, “Her majesty seems to dislike me. The last time she saw me, she called for the Yeoman Pregustator.”

  Floria gave a sharp little laugh. “Perhaps some women are immune to your charms.” She gave me a sidelong look. “Certainly, the Marchioness of Stayne was not.”

  I felt myself straighten. “I assure you that—”

  “Oh, be silent!” she said. “I saw how she looked at you. At court we call her Lady Languid—but Lady Languid she was not, not when she gazed at you. And of course, there was the aftermath, with the husband trying to have you murdered.” Again she looked at me sidelong. “A case I have reason to remember well.”

  I felt my mouth going dry. “I hope the gossip of the court does not—”

  “No,” she muttered. “It does not. No one conceives Lady Stayne would so debase herself as to lie with a Butcher’s son.” She gave that sharp laugh again. “Sometimes, I think I am the only person here with eyes.”