Sky of Swords

by Dave Duncan

  “The secret door?”

  “Was closed.”

  “And the outer door to the other room?”

  “I was informed later that it had been found bolted on the inside.”

  “This was a few hours after your betrothal was announced?”

  “It was.”

  “Had you agreed to receive your fiancé in bed that night?”

  “He had implied he was planning to drop in. That was why I had made sure both doors were bolted.”

  There was a pause, as if the chairman was mapping out his route very carefully. He risked another question. “You honestly expect the honorable commissioners to believe that both the Prince and an assassin entered through a bolted door and then the killer went out again, bolting the door on the inside?”

  “No.”

  “Inform the commissioners of the names of the lovers who regularly came to you by the secret door.”

  “Again I protest that question.”

  “Again I insist that it is relevant and your refusal to answer is to be taken as admission of guilt. However, I can inform the commissioners that the testimony of several former members of the notorious and disbanded Royal Guard will be placed before them tomorrow and—”

  “What did you do to them?” Malinda screamed. “Produce the men themselves and let the commissioners see what—”

  “Silence! One more unauthorized remark and you will be charged with contempt of Parliament.” In the murky candlelight and under the brim of his hat, the chairman’s face looked even more like a skull than usual, and the shadowed eye sockets directed their ghoulish stare at Malinda in warning. He meant contempt of Pestilence and Nightmare, of course: behave or suffer.

  Why did it really matter if he painted her an assassin when he had hung enough other crimes around her neck to sink her without a trace? Why was he risking so much on this last accusation? Because in the eyes of the other ruling houses of Eurania, assassination was the great unforgivable, the supreme villainy, worse even than the trumped up charges of treason—all dynasties were rooted in treason if one looked back far enough. It was the false friend and poisoned kiss that kings really feared. If she could clear herself of this taint, then there might still be enough foreign outcry to save her neck from the block. It was a long shot, but the alternative was certain death.

  “The witnesses affirm,” Lambskin said, “that the accused accepted at least one guardsman into her bed every night. She herself has testified that only members of the royal family and swordsmen of the Royal Guard knew of the secret door. So now, mistress, will you admit that the most logical explanation of your cousin’s murder is that either you murdered the Prince personally or one of your lovers did and you bolted the door again after he left?”

  “That is not the most logical explanation.”

  The inquisitors flanking her chair did not accuse her of falsehood. The commissioners stirred and exchanged glances. She had won a point! Now the chairman would have to ask her to elaborate. However much he could and would make her suffer for it later, tonight she could clear herself of this, the most dangerous charge.

  He chuckled mockingly. “I doubt that the commissioners agree with your peculiar personal logic.” His rasping voice was hoarser than ever after three day’s haranguing and badgering. “However the hour is late, and we are all anxious to adjourn. Guards, you may remove—”

  “Wait!” said a shrill voice. All eyes swung to the Honorable Alfred Kildare, Speaker of the Commons, four seats to the chairman’s right. “I wish to hear the witness’s explanation.”

  The chairman scowled. Whether his feelings had for once escaped his control or whether he sought to intimidate the Speaker, he scowled most horribly. “I repeat, the hour is late.”

  “A few more minutes will not hurt.” Kildare had withstood King Ambrose in full roar; compared to him, Horatio Lambskin was an ill-tempered butterfly. The last time Malinda had seen the Speaker she had called him a lowborn meddling upstart and worse; she had threatened to throw him in a dungeon in the Bastion. But today he was the only one of them with the manhood to do his duty. Good chance to him!

  The chairman conceded defeat. “Very well. Witness, you will be brief. What in your view would be a more logical explanation?”

  Malinda drew a deep breath and began to gabble as fast as she could. “First, my ladies found no weapon in the room, so I could not have been the murderer.” It must have been a rapier or a stiletto. Dog’s Sword would not drill a hole through an opponent, it would chop him in half. “Second, I am a light sleeper and would certainly have heard a struggle or a body falling, so the corpse was brought in already dead and placed where I would fall over it; furthermore it was lying on its back and there were blood smears on its chest, so it had been stripped after death—my cousin was killed with his clothes on. As for the locked door, it is common knowledge that the Dark Chamber has a device called a Golden Key that will open any door; whether it will draw a bolt closed also is something the chairman can discuss better than I.”

  As Lambskin opened his mouth, she rushed on. “There is no need to invoke conjuration, though. Prince Courtney may very well have known of the secret doors—he had been snooping around court for forty years—but it is absolutely certain that the Dark Chamber did, because its records go back before the palace was built, and therefore the most logical explanation of the paradox is that there is another secret way into one of those two rooms.”

  The chairman said, “That is the most absurd—”

  “Let her finish!” Kildare squealed.

  “Thank you, Mr. Speaker,” she said. “I am grateful for a little courtesy. As a final fact to be weighed, I remind you of the legal maxim: Who benefits? What good came to me from that bizarre crime? Within an hour my own Grand Inquisitor returned with a squad of men-at-arms and carried me off, prisoner, here to the Bastion. The case against me is ridiculous, but the case against Horatio Lambskin, who was then Grand—”

  “The witness is lying!” one of the inquisitors shouted at her ear.

  “The witness is raving!” the chairman snapped. “Guards, remove—”

  “Wait!” shouted several of the commissioners in tumult. Truly, it was a night of miracles, for the spokesman who emerged from the hubbub was the chinless Lord Candlefen, on his feet, flushed and squeaking with rage.

  “Your evident bias is unbecoming, Lord Chancellor. I am quite put off by it, I must say. You have accused the witness of innumerable rather unspeakable crimes; it is only fair that she be allowed to, er…register a few remarks….”

  “Thank you, Cousin,” Malinda said as his outrage dwindled. She could hardly breathe for the pounding of her heart; sweat ran into her eyes, making her blink. “You all know that Lambskin here was my Grand Inquisitor, a sworn member of my Privy Council. He betrayed his oath by plying me with false information on the strengths and whereabouts of both rebel armies, and probably in many other ways. He was eating out of all three bowls, and when Prince Courtney reneged on the promise of the golden chain, Lambskin had him slain and his body left in my bedroom to dispose of me also. He then claimed the chancellorship as his reward from his other traitor master—”

  “Silence!” The chairman slammed his fist on the table.

  “The witness may denigrate me, but this inquiry will not hear sedition against our Sovereign Lord King Neville! I trust that none of the noble lords or honorable members supports such treasonous remarks?”

  He glared to left and right, and the commissioners subsided into tremulous silence. The penalties for treason would cow anyone.

  “I have not finished!” Malinda shouted. “I claim the right to make a statement in my defense.”

  “This is not a trial,” the terrible old man said sourly, “so there is no such right. However, the witness will be provided with pen and paper and allowed to submit a written statement to the inquiry.

  “Silence, mistress! One more word and you will be removed.

  “Honorable commissioners,
over the last three days you have heard the witness confess that even as a child she was in frequent rebellion against her father and liege lord, King Ambrose IV; that she gave her aunt, Princess Agnes, a conjuration that caused her death; that she connived at a massive deception to conceal the true facts of that murder; that she and the traitor Roland between them arranged for her father to be at Wetshore at a time known to his sworn enemy, the Baelish King; that she spoke with the Bael on his ship and obtained promises from him, and that he, having allowed her to disembark, then slew her father, the said King Ambrose of Chivial; that when Master Secretary Kromman was murdered shortly thereafter, she was cognizant of the killers’ identity and failed to report it to the authorities; that she proceeded to Ironhall and bound a troop of half-trained swordsmen as her personal Blades upon improper authority; that while under her direction these killers caused the deaths of fifteen innocent people in Sycamore Square the following day; that she conspired with the traitor Roland, accepting money she knew to be embezzled; that she suborned the servants of the crown in raising a private force, although she was aware that this was a treasonous act; that she flouted a lawful command of the Council of Regency by leaving the place where she had been confined for her protection and coming into the presence of the King’s Majesty, namely her brother, the late Ambrose V; that she deliberately shortened the child’s life by withholding spiritual treatment from him in his sickness; that he died very soon after she had fed him his last meal with her own hand; that she then conspired with others to slay her brother, Lord Granville, and did claim the throne of Chivial although she was excluded from the succession by reason of her marriage to Radgar Æleding; that the confessed traitor Roland was treacherously assassinated here in the Bastion while her guest, but that she passed off his death as natural and failed to initiate a proper inquiry or hunt for the murderers; that in her unlawful position as ruler of the land, she committed divers acts, including the improper execution of her husband, the said Radgar Æleding, in a hasty and illegal manner before he could be properly questioned about the conspiracy in which they had joined; that it was by her warrant that mercenary troops sacked the town of Pompifarth, causing the death of hundreds of people and widespread loss of property.” The chairman paused, and for a moment even he displayed normal human weariness. Then he rallied in a final burst of venom. “You have also just heard her peculiar explanation of how unknown malicious persons disfigured her bedchamber floor by leaving upon it the naked body of her cousin, Prince Courtney.

  “Guards, remove the prisoner. The inquiry is adjourned.”

  40

  I told you so.

  SIR DOG

  Back up the twisted stairway she went, back to her cold, cramped, and lonely little cell. The men-at-arms thumped the door closed behind her, clattered the lock shut, and doubtless then marched away. There was no sign of Pestilence or Nightmare, but a stub of candle stood upon her chair, flickering a tiny flame in the windy darkness, and beside it an inkwell, a quill, and a single sheet of paper. Exhausted, the Queen flopped down on the pallet and huddled herself up small to stare at this wonder.

  The Chancellor had kept his word! She could write out her defense. She had only one page and perhaps one hour left on that candle; no doubt the paper would be removed at dawn, ready or not. She wondered whether it was Lambskin or his master who was so spiteful—whether she was being punished for slighting the grim old man or for the death of Granville. Neville might not be the master in that team, only the puppet. After so long in her solitude, she could not even guess.

  The lock clattered again, hinges squeaked, and she cringed, fearing it would be Pestilence and Nightmare coming to carry out the Chancellor’s threat to hand her over to “the men.” They had not specified whether they meant the Bastion’s professional torturers or miscellaneous ruffians. She had gambled that their intimidation was only bluff. They would gain nothing by maltreating her now. All the same she was relieved when a single man-at-arms entered and closed the door quietly behind him. He seemed no threat so she ignored him.

  After three days she still did not know what the trial had signified. That brief intervention by Mister Speaker—may the spirits favor him forever!—suggested that Parliament was not totally under the Usurper’s heel yet. Alas, the powers of the crown in dealing with treason were almost unlimited. More than likely the inquiry would wind up its parody hearings tomorrow…approve a report the day after…allow one day for each house to debate…. Probably they would move right after that, before foreign governments could lodge protests.

  “Five days!” she told Winter. “In five more days they’ll come for me and cut off my head!”

  “Over my dead body,” Dog said.

  She hit the far door with a bruising crash and turned around to scream at the apparition—not madness! Not that! She was not going to go crazy like her mother—

  He caught her in his arms and ended the scream before it properly got started. He had sounded like Dog. His kiss tasted like Dog’s. He hugged like Dog. He smelled like Dog. He was much lumpier than she remembered Dog; under his peculiarly flimsy cloak he seemed to be studded with a variety of odd packages and hung about with a coil of rope—but he was Dog.

  Eventually they came apart one finger width. “You’re all bones!” he growled.

  “You’re all sharp edges.” They kissed again.

  “You’re trembling.”

  “You’re real! It’s really you. Not a prisoner too?”

  “Hope not. Brought you this.” He fumbled under his cloak and pulled out something that had once been a flower. It was badly mangled and smelled more of him than of rose; she could not see it in the dark, but she did not need to. She choked on tears. “Oh, Dog, Dog, Dog darling! No one has ever given me anything more welcome.”

  “Better go now. Finish this later. What’s outside?”

  “Just a walkway.”

  He grunted. “How far are we from Rivergate?”

  “Right above it. The walkway is, I mean.”

  He made a pleased sound. “Couldn’t be better. Let’s try that.”

  “But—”

  He eased her aside, although she wanted to cling to him like ivy. He did something to the lock, and it clicked.

  “Golden Key?” Her voice was lost in the squeak of the hinges. Of course there had to be enchantment involved when a rescuer appeared like this. It was not illusion! It was really Dog! “They have White Sisters!” That use of spiritual power might have been detected.

  “Didn’t meet any.” Dog strode out and stopped to survey the iron bars overhead. Even as he did so, the moon fled behind a silver-edged cloud, leaving him in starlight. The wind ruffled his cloak, his hair shone like milk. “Was afraid…might have to kill some. Where does that other door lead?”

  “Don’t know.” She was staying very close, unable to keep her hands off him. “The Rivergate’s just below us.” And if that conjurement he had just used had been detected, then the Yeomen would be on their way already. Tower windows overlooked this walkway.

  He pulled off the lumpy cloak and the coil of rope he wore over his shoulder, dropping them both. He jumped, caught hold, went up, swinging his boots up to hook in the bars farther along. He clung there like a bat, face up and back down, with Sword dangling below him like an icicle. He grunted, came down again. “Any of these bars loose? Rusted? Need to move two, maybe three.”

  Her mind was muddled by shock. She could think of nothing except DogDogDog…loose, rusted? “Along here,” she said, and took his hand—that big, hard, familiar hand—to lead him to the far end, where water dripped off the other tower and moss had crumbled the mortar. “Try here. I’ll get the chair.”

  The moon peered out cautiously, just enough to give her a shadow as she ran to her cell and hurried back with the chair. Dog stood on it, peered, fingered. Then he said, “Stand clear!” and went up again. The moon vanished as if it disapproved, leaving him only a dark shape against the shining clouds. He grunted. She realized h
e was trying to pry bars loose, pulling with hands, pushing with feet. In a moment he came down and rubbed his hands, muttering angrily under his breath.

  “It can’t be done!” she said. “We’ll have to leave the way you came. Let’s go, love! Let’s hurry, not waste time here.”

  “I would if I thought you could use the cloak. Here.” He lifted his baldric over his head and handed her Sword in its scabbard. “Keep this handy.” He went up again to try another place. “Must have been given these muscles for a reason…ah!” Something scraped, metal on stone.

  She hugged herself, shivering, wishing she had her blanket but terrified to go and leave him again in case he vanished like a bubble. Besides, she was guarding Sword. Somewhere in the distance men’s voices spoke loudly in the still of the night. Not shouting, not raising an alarm. Probably just changing the guard. Another bar scraped…

  Escape, escape, escape…It might have taken half an hour. It felt like years. At the end of it, Dog stood upright to catch his breath, rubbing one bleeding hand on his cloak and hugging her to him with his other arm. He had pulled two bars completely out, but they were not adjacent. He had loosened several others at one end only and bent them down, but he had not yet made a hole large enough for an escape.

  “Need more light,” he muttered, and kissed her again. “They’ve been starving you,” he mumbled when they broke loose.

  “Not really. How did you get here?”

  “Walked in the gate. Followed them when they took you back to your cell. We weren’t certain where you were being held, see?”

  “This is conjuration!”

  “The cloak is. It’s a Dark Chamber secret, but the College has copied it…. Lothaire stole one for us…not really invisibility, just unimportance. You knew I was there and paid no attention.”

  “I was sure I was seeing a man-at-arms.”

  “It does that.” He hugged her tighter. “I’d put it on you and send you out, but it doesn’t work for smart people. Ah!”