“I will miss your pleasant ways, Mr. Guilian,” said a voice behind him, and Luke turned to see the Leveller striding in his direction. An ice-tinged breeze was blowing in from the harbor; it lifted the edge of Raith’s cloak as he crossed the wooden walkway. “However, I feel tolerably certain you will regain your ordinary sense of balance before any such ignominious fate befalls you.”
Luke laughed, coloring slightly. He had spoken for his valet’s benefit only.
“I have been able to hire a hackney coach,” said the Leveller. “And I wondered if you would give me the pleasure of your company as far as the embassy?”
Luke accepted the offer with gratitude, then looked around for someone to help Perys with his boxes and trunks. But Raith settled the matter decisively—and quite unexpectedly—by grasping the handle of the largest horsehide trunk, heaving the bulky thing over one shoulder, and striding off, leaving a flushed and indignant Luke to assist his valet with the remaining baggage.
“No, Master Luke, you mustn’t!” Perys protested, as Luke caught the handle of the smaller trunk and tried to emulate the Leveller’s feat of strength. “What will people say?”
Lucius had no idea what people would say, never having been in Rijxland before. He suspected the reaction would be much the same as it would be in Winterscar—if anyone recognized him, which was highly unlikely. Nevertheless, he thought grimly, as he managed to get the trunk on his back and set off in the Leveller’s footsteps, he would be damned if he stood by and allowed a man like Raith to wait on him like a servant.
He smiled fiercely at Perys, who had loaded himself down with the remaining luggage and was struggling manfully to keep up. “I think of converting, Perys. Of spending the rest of my days in a strict Anti-demonic suppression of my infernal vanity. Only think how much easier that will make things for you: no ruffles, no laces, no velvets, no satins—just plain honest wool and linen.”
“Master Luke, you wouldn’t,” said the horrified valet, as they shouldered their way through the press of humanity. “Master Luke, you never would!” He had seen Luke adopt a bewildering array of ideas and poses over the years, but this one seemed much the worst.
Lucius took pity on him. “More than likely I wouldn’t. Or if I did, I could hardly be expected to stick with it long.”
He was rewarded with a wan smile. “It was just your little joke, sir.”
By now, they had left the docks and the red-brick warehouses behind and had come out on a broad avenue, where they found the hired coach waiting. They discovered that Raith and the driver between them had already fastened the large trunk on top with the Leveller’s own baggage.
“This was hardly necessary,” said Raith as he swung down from the roof, took the bags out of the valet’s hands, and tossed them up to the coachman. “Mr. Perys and I would have managed very well.”
Luke allowed his burden to slip to the ground with a thud. “No doubt you would have, but you’re not my blasted servant,” he answered between his teeth, as he flung open the door and climbed inside. He took the seat facing back, because that would be the least comfortable once the coach started to move, and crossed his arms over his chest.
Raith left Perys and the driver to arrange the rest of the baggage on the roof, and took the seat facing Luke. “I do not aspire to be your valet. But I feel no shame doing a service for a friend, believing as I do that we will all be equal on the Day of Wrath. For you, however—”
Luke continued to speak between clenched teeth. “Thank you, but I will be the judge of what is appropriate behavior for the King of Winterscar’s cousin.”
Then his sense of humor got the better of him, and he laughed, unfolded his arms, and relaxed against the cushions. “Raith, Raith, you are the very best of good fellows, but I wish you would consider my position. Back in Tarnburgh I am the gadfly, the iconoclast. I have even, occasionally, posed as the Champion of the Common Man. Then you come along with your honest principles, your sincere convictions, and you show me up for the hollow thing that I am.”
The coach lurched into motion. Raith raised a dark eyebrow ever so slightly. “You were not a hollow man when you leaped into the sea to rescue that sailor.”
Luke adjusted his broad embroidered cuffs, shook out his lace ruffles; the unaccustomed exertion with the baggage had somewhat disarranged him. “I believe I told you at the time that what I was, was an arrogant young fool. You were the real hero on that occasion. And to be brutally honest, you probably saved my life.”
Raith smiled his quiet, conservative smile. “We will not argue about it. Perhaps there was heroism—and foolhardiness—on both sides. Instead, I wonder if I might ask you a question?”
“As I have certainly asked you a great many myself, I should think it only fair to allow you to do the same.”
The Leveller studied Luke for several moments. “What is it that brings you to Rijxland just at this time? There is your book, of course, but why you should risk a voyage so late in the year, I cannot begin to guess.”
Luke removed an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve. “The city, of course, is of some little interest. In Luden, I won’t have to dig through five thousand years of Goblin history to get at the truth.”
But then, under his companion’s steady, courteous gaze, he found himself blurting out: “Is the King of Rijxland—truly mad? I should tell you I was once what you might call a disciple. I studied all of his early writings, and it’s hard for me to imagine that such a superior mind could so easily become deranged. And while I was in Lichtenwald the idea that he might not be mad rather took hold of me, until I felt I could never rest until I satisfied my curiosity.”
The Leveller did not answer his question directly. “You told me, I think, that your cousin sent his own physicians to examine King Izaiah. Was he not entirely satisfied by their report?”
“Yes, yes, he told me he was satisfied. But the information came to him at second hand. Whereas you were in Luden when the king was first confined.”
Still, Raith did not answer his question. “You are wondering, I take it, whether the king was declared mad simply to discredit some of his more unpopular ideas, to keep him from putting any more of his radical policies into effect?”
Lucius leaned forward eagerly. “That is exactly what I am wondering. And so—?”
“And so, Mr. Guilian, I was in Luden at the time the king was first confined, and I have occasionally had the privilege of seeing him since. He is not a raving lunatic, but he is frequently delusional. And though his delusions are essentially harmless, and often quite whimsical, I am sure you will agree it is hardly desirable to leave the reins of government in the hands of a man who cannot always remember his own name—or worse, is able to convince himself that he is another person entirely.”
Luke fell back in his seat, feeling oddly deflated. “I suppose you are right. Well, it’s not an idea I had my mind absolutely set on. Though it is naturally humiliating to realize how far wrong I was.”
“As to that,” said the Leveller, in his slow, thoughtful way, “I do not say that your doubts on the subject are not perfectly understandable.”
Seeing how Luke’s face lit with interest, Raith continued on. “Like you, I believe that even if the king’s condition were less serious than it is, he would still be exactly where he is now. I think, too, that if he ever begins to recover—which appears unlikely—there will be some effort made in the Parliament to suppress the information and prevent the king from regaining his freedom. There are those, after all—and Lord Flinx is a name which comes immediately to mind—whose power in Rijxland would be significantly reduced if that ever happened.”
All the time that Raith had been speaking, Luke had been listening breathlessly. Now, in one long sigh, he released all the air he had been holding in. “But this is appalling. Has the king no friends, no well-wishers, to step in at need and secure his freedom?”
“The king’s friends have been silent for a long time,” Raith answered carefu
lly. “Yet they are all of them still here in Luden, and I hardly imagine they are not perfectly aware of the things I have told you.”
Luke’s vivid imagination was working at full speed now, pouring forth a variety of pleasing scenarios. He cast Raith a glowing look across the coach. “You think there is already some conspiracy in place, already poised to effect a rescue should Izaiah show signs of recovering?”
The corners of Raith’s mouth began to twitch. “I perceive that you are a romantic, Mr. Guilian. First you imagine a plot against the king, and now you ask me if there might be a second plot, this time in his favor. And naturally I recall the original theories you were so obliging as to explain to me during our voyage. If you will pardon my asking, I cannot help wondering: do you see conspiracies everywhere?”
“Why, to tell you the truth, I believe I do,” answered Luke with a slight frown. “That is, I am not the sort of person who sees Imperialists lurking around every corner—”
“I had not thought so,” Raith murmured, “for a fear of Imperialist plots is a little too commonplace to strike your fancy.”
“—but I do believe there is a widespread, though largely unspoken, agreement among those in power to keep certain uncomfortable truths hidden from the lower orders—one that goes far beyond the falsification of historical records we discussed before.”
The coach went over a bump and began to rattle and jolt so violently, Lucius took a peek out the window to see what was happening. They were passing over one of the arched white bridges, and that appeared to be the cause of their rough ride.
When he settled back against the leather cushions, he found that Raith was still regarding him. Did he detect a flicker of concern in the Leveller’s dark eyes?
“Mr. Guilian, I believe you have made it your personal crusade to bring to light those uncomfortable truths that you mentioned just now.”
Luke bowed the affirmative.
“Why then, I hope you will satisfy yourself with that. If there should be, as I very much doubt, anything in the nature of a conspiracy to rescue the king at need, I beg you will not ready your cloak and dagger and seek to join in. I must remind you that King Izaiah’s friends have had a considerable period of time in which to lay their plans—if plans have been laid at all.
“I daresay they would find your precipitous entry into their affairs disconcerting to say the least, and your engaging enthusiasm even more so.”
Luke’s reception at the tall old house of brick and stucco which housed the Winterscar embassy was not exactly what he had come to expect. He was left kicking his heels for some little time in the chilly white marble entry hall, and even when he was admitted to the inner precincts, his welcome was not a warm one.
“I do not perfectly understand His Majesty’s intentions,” said Lord Polyphant, with a puzzled and slightly petulant air. He was a fussy little gentleman of uncertain age, who, after a hasty introduction, had spent a good fifteen minutes examining Luke’s credentials. “Have you come here, Mr. Guilian, to oversee my endeavors—or to eventually replace me?”
Luke had been standing at a broad bay window, gazing down on the busy street below, while the ambassador paced the floor in his ridiculously high-heeled shoes and perused Jarred’s letter and the accompanying passport. The scene taking place under that window was appealing in its way: there was very little hurry, very little noise, just neatly dressed people going about their business in what seemed to be a quiet, methodical manner. Every so often, by way of contrast, a brightly painted coach or sedan-chair would pass by, giving a momentary glimpse of a patched and painted face, or some incredible erection of hair and powder inside. Again for contrast, a lean figure would occasionally stalk by, a man in a stiff-brimmed black hat and long cloak, or a stern-faced woman in a black bonnet—there seemed to be quite a number of Levellers on the streets of Luden.
At the ambassador’s extraordinary suggestion, Luke spun around. “Oversee or replace you? My dear Lord Polyphant, I can assure you: no such idea ever entered His Majesty’s mind. He is very well pleased—that is, he’s not actually confided in me, but I see no reason to suppose otherwise—he is very well pleased with the work you are doing here.”
The ambassador continued to gaze at him doubtfully.
“If you will look at the date,” Luke added helpfully, “you will see that the king wrote his letter almost a year ago. I’ve made a great many stops since leaving Winterscar, and my business here, I do assure you, is entirely my own.”
Somewhat mollified, Lord Polyphant took a seat facing Luke and motioned him to be seated on a lyre-back chair. He regarded his visitor with a more benevolent eye. “Then what may I do for you, Mr. Guilian, while you are here? If there is anything I can possibly do, you will find me your most obliged and obedient servant.” To emphasize the point, he took out an elegant little gold repoussé snuffbox with the mask of a lion embossed on the lid, and offered it to Luke.
Lucius helped himself to a generous pinch, inhaled, then drew out his clean pocket handkerchief and sneezed into it. “You can provide me with a roof over my head, at least for two or three days. I certainly don’t intend to trespass on your hospitality any longer than that. What I would like—really, the only request I have to make—is for you or someone on your staff to assist me in finding some suitable lodgings.”
“Well, well,” said Lord Polyphant easily, now that friendly relations had been established. “We will arrange something.” He smiled expansively. “And, of course, you are welcome to stay here just as long as you like.”
This was a handsome offer, but not one that Luke was inclined to accept, having no desire to subject himself to a tedious round of embassy teas, embassy balls, and embassy dinners. “In fact,” he said, determined to make his point and stick to it, “if you can’t recommend any rooms yourself, I suppose I might ask Raith to advise me. He is bound to have some sort of suggestion to make; the man appears to know practically everything.”
This casual mention of Raith’s name produced the most extraordinary response. The ambassador stiffened and his already prominent eyes bulged. “Raith—did you say Raith? Excuse me, Mr. Guilian, but are you by any chance referring to the Raith, Raith the Anti-demonist?”
“Unless there is more than one gentleman by that name professing to the same religion,” said Luke, affecting innocence, “I suppose I must be.” He had not expected such a vehement reaction, though he was not, for that reason, above thoroughly enjoying it. “Why do you ask?”
Lord Polyphant was beginning to huff and puff. “But this is extraordinary. You have only been in Luden a matter of hours, a matter of minutes almost. How did you manage to make so vastly unsuitable an acquaintance?”
At this, Luke frowned. While it had been amusing enough to shock the ambassador, he did not enjoy hearing his friend criticized. “I had the pleasure of meeting Raith during the voyage over. As to being an unsuitable acquaintance: he is school-master to the children of the Crown Princess, surely a most respectable occupation.”
“A respectable occupation—were that all!” Lord Polyphant said darkly. “But that is not the only work he is said to do for the Princess Marjote, and if you’re to be staying with us here at the embassy—!”
But then, remembering that Luke would not be staying at the embassy for any appreciable time, he became a little calmer. “You will know your own business best. But really, I’d not pursue that particular friendship, if I were you. The man is uncanny. All the mystery and intrigue in this boring little city tied up in the one man—it’s simply too much.
“Besides,” he added, sliding the snuffbox back inside his waistcoat pocket, “the Levellers don’t receive him. He’s been defrocked, or excommunicated, or cast into outer darkness—whatever it is they do to punish their own kind. The charge, as I recall, was working hexes.” He shook his head ominously. “For all that, he seems to have some sort of hold over them, or they over him. Perhaps I shouldn’t say so, since you and I are hardly acquainted, but if I we
re you, I would stay strictly away from the fellow.”
“Not at all. You can say anything you choose,” Luke answered frostily. It seemed to be his day for receiving unsolicited advise. Oddly enough, he found himself resenting Lord Polyphant’s contribution as he had not resented Raith’s. In any case, he had never been one to allow others to choose his friends for him, and he had no intention of beginning to do so now.
16
Autumn breathed a last fluttering gasp in Luden, and winter came on with full force. Snow piled high on the redtiled roofs and in the red-brick streets; it dusted coaches, sledges, and sedan-chairs; it frosted the statues and the bare black branches of all the trees in the public parks and gardens.
Meanwhile, Luke had taken a comfortable set of furnished rooms in a three-story house with a stepped gable roof, overlooking a frozen canal. He hired a cook, a coachman, and a brisk young footman to assist Perys, and leaving this skeleton staff to unpack his things and put the house in order, he sallied forth to explore the city.
This kept him amused for a fortnight, and when the novelty wore off he was more than ready to settle down by a sea-coal fire, with his books, his papers, and a bottle of port wine.
He had picked up some mildewed histories in one of the bookshops. The pages were badly foxed, and the quaint old lettering difficult to read, but leafing through one of these volumes, he was immediately struck by the use of so many different type-faces, which appeared on the page in an entirely random fashion.
Staring raptly down at the book, he felt his pulse begin to race. Someone had told him, once, that varying letter shapes were sometimes used to encrypt a cipher. Could the printer and the historian, working in concert, have concealed a series of secret messages inside this apparently innocent text? Of course there were several different types here, instead of just two, but perhaps—perhaps only two were used in the cryptogram itself? Perhaps the other letters, in the other types, ought to be regarded merely as blanks? Luke took a deep breath and released it slowly, certain he had hit on the most likely solution.
The Queen's Necklace Page 17
