He and Luke exchanged civil bows, and fell into step together. “I could not help noticing, the last time we met, that you do not seem to approve of Lord Flinx.”
“Pardon me. As Lord Polyphant was kind enough to remind me, I don’t even live here. It is not for me to either approve or disapprove of your new Prime Minister.”
The Rijxlander laughed. “Or at least not for you to express that disapproval quite so openly. Though I must confess, I don’t care very much for the fellow myself. When he smiles that soft smile of his, my skin crawls.”
Luke eyed him narrowly, suddenly remembering that this Varian Dou was said to be a protegé of the Crown Princess, and therefore strongly allied with the opposition party. “And yet,” said Luke slowly, as they turned a corner and crossed over one of the arched bridges, “you appear to be on the friendliest terms with him.”
Mr. Dou made a wry face. “When one chooses to pursue a public career, one learns to tolerate certain people—no matter how much one may secretly despise them.”
“That is unfortunate for you. As a private gentleman, I may choose my friends with much greater care.”
Mr. Dou cleared his throat loudly. “And yet, Mr. Guilian, though you do lead the life of a private gentleman in Luden, everyone knows you are a man of consequence back in Winterscar.” He looked down at his feet. “As you say, you don’t even live here; what Lord Flinx thinks of you can scarcely be more important than what you think of him. At the same time, it would not be advisable for you to offend quite so many other people as you seem intent on doing.”
Luke came to a sudden halt, and his companion stopped, too. “I was not aware that I had offended anyone. My manners may not be the best, my opinions a little too decided, but—”
Mr. Dou was vigorously shaking his head. “No, no, your manners are excellent, and your opinions are regarded as highly amusing. Perhaps I should not have said ‘offended.’ I meant to say that you should not scandalize so many people by such marked attentions to—a certain young woman.”
Luke felt a muscle begin to twitch in his cheek. “Mr. Dou, is it your intention to offend me? Because I really must tell you, that while I may lack friends here in Luden, I think I could manage to name the requisite two if—”
“No, no, Mr. Guilian, I assure you, I assure you.” Mr. Dou was turning very red in the face. “This is meant as the friendliest warning imaginable. But of course, you are right. We are barely acquainted. In my zeal to perform a good office, I have over-stepped myself. I do most sincerely apologize.”
Luke’s quick temper cooled off, almost as suddenly as it had flared up. He was not really interested in challenging this Varian Dou, or anyone else. He was wretched with the small sword, worse with a pistol, and only moderately accomplished with the rapier. A barbed wit and a poisonous tongue had always been his weapons of choice. “No doubt I misunderstood you. There is really no need for an apology.” They started to walk again. “Indeed, sir, as you are inclined to be frank with me, I wish you would explain something that troubles me very much.”
“With the greatest pleasure in the world,” said Mr. Dou, who seemed to think he had enjoyed a more fortunate escape than he actually had.
“Then tell me why a man like Lord Flinx is not only tolerated but fawned on and courted, while the young lady you mentioned is openly scorned. I have seen people turn their backs when they see her approaching on the street, and when the Princess Marjote visits her father, she maintains an elaborate—and I must say highly inconvenient—pretense that the lady doesn’t even exist. If this is not hypocrisy, I wish you would tell me exactly what it is.”
Mr. Dou looked puzzled by the question. “Things can not be so very different in Winterscar than they are here. Surely even in the north, a man is given a certain latitude in these matters, while a woman who openly strays from the path of virtue—”
“But not,” Luke interrupted impatiently, “when the woman is—or is said to be—the mistress of a powerful man. Such women are usually courted and flattered. And if everyone here finds their sensibilities shattered, as they might well be—on account of this lady’s age, on account of the possible tie of blood between her and the king—then why is the liaison allowed to continue? Had the king his sanity, his freedom, who should stop him? But situated as he is, it seems to me that a word from the Crown Princess ought to be enough. In any case, I wonder the princess failed to intervene at the very beginning, considering the young woman may be related to her as well.”
“But surely you understand that Mademoiselle already ceased to exist for women like the princess, long before she came to the king’s attention. And as to her youth—” Mr. Dou shrugged. “Other, more suitable women, had already been introduced, but the king showed no interest until they brought him Tremeur Brouillard.”
For a second time, Luke stopped in his tracks. The morals of these people vastly offended him. “Other women were introduced? Do you mean to tell me they actually paraded an assortment of doxies before that sick old man? A grieving widower, too, whose feelings ought to have been respected.”
“But it is precisely because of King Izaiah’s condition that a woman was necessary. His physicians—” Mr. Dou wrinkled his brow. “I do not perfectly understand the medical terms involved, but it has something to do with an imbalance of the male and female principles within the four humors, causing the seed to putrefy inside of him. So it was decided that he ought to ej—” Mr. Dou stopped and threw up a hand, as Luke was beginning to look dangerous again. “Well, I will leave it to you to imagine what the king is supposed to do on a daily basis, and whether you consider the treatment rational.”
“Rational? Under the circumstances, I consider it absolutely disgust—” Luke bit back the words. This entire conversation made him sick and enraged, but Varian Dou was telling him things that nobody else had been willing to discuss before.
“But do you really believe this—treatment—has been literally followed? That the young lady is anything more than King Izaiah’s nursemaid, playfellow, and friend? That he ever approaches or even addresses her in anything but the most delicate and respectful manner?”
Mr. Dou was blushing furiously. “Sir, I see that you find the subject a very painful one. I am sorry I ever instigated this really quite distressing conversation. But having gone so far, I feel I must go a bit further. Even if what you believe is true, the young woman had hardly a spotless reputation before. I could introduce you to several men who could tell you that they enjoyed her favors when she was yet at a very tender age. I could—”
Now it was Luke’s turn to throw up his hand. “I thank you, no. Men who prey on children sicken me. As for anyone who would buy the favors of a mere child and boast of it afterward—worse, openly meet and acknowledge the uncle responsible for arranging the whole vile transaction—I believe I can do very well without their acquaintance!”
In his heat, Lucius had raised his voice far more than he intended. Passersby were staring at him, some with curiosity, others with approval. These were not, however, sentiments he had really meant to submit for public inspection, so he lowered his voice. “I thank you, sir, for answering my questions. Now if you will permit me, I’ll bid you good day!”
He was turning to go, but Mr. Dou stopped him with a light touch on the arm. “Pardon me, Mr. Guilian. But I think I have said far too much—and yet at the same time, far too little. For we have not yet come to the thing I wished to say at the very beginning.”
“Well?” Luke said sharply. He was heartily wishing by now that the whole conversation had never taken place. Even his curiosity had its limits, and these had been surpassed some time ago.
Mr. Dou hesitated. “Now that we come to it, I wonder if—but there is no going back. Everything you say convinces me that you have formed a strong, one might even say a dangerous attachment. But I ask you to consider: even were the young woman a complete innocent and in need of rescue, whatever chivalrous inclinations she might inspire, whatever desire you
may have to make amends for all she has suffered, you can’t save her.
“You are the King of Winterscar’s cousin, and she is—perhaps—the great-niece of King Izaiah. It is barely acceptable for you to know her, and as to anything rash or romantic that you might contemplate: That could only spell ruin for both of you!”
For three days, Luke brooded over his conversation with Varian Dou. On the fourth day his natural curiosity—that overwhelming inclination to ferret out the solution to any puzzle, which had already sent him travelling across so many miles—overcame his reluctance to learn more of this matter in which his feelings were already so painfully involved. Having finally made up his mind to learn the truth at all costs, he decided that a visit to his oldest friend in Rijxland was long overdue.
Changing his coat, he snatched up his hat and a lacquer walking-stick, and set out on foot. He was somewhat reluctant to present himself at the house of the Crown Princess, where he had never been invited, but much to his relief, he soon discovered that no such intrusion was going to be necessary. Strolling down the street in the direction of the asylum, he met the five young children of the Princess Marjote out taking a walk, with the lean, long-legged figure of their tutor and bodyguard pacing behind them.
Lucius could not help smiling at the picture they presented: the royal children, so stolid and ordinary, and their grim Anti-demonist preceptor. As Luke watched, the smallest one stumbled and the Leveller swooped down like a great black crow, scooped her up in his strong arms, and continued on without breaking step, with the rosy-faced little girl perched comfortably, if somewhat incongruously, on his broad shoulder.
“My dear Raith, how extremely fortuitous,” said Luke, stifling his amusement. “You are the very man that I wanted to see.”
“It is a pleasure to see you also.” With his usual meticulous courtesy, Raith proceeded to present Luke to his charges, one by one. When the whole party began to move forward again, Lucius fell into step at the Leveller’s side.
“There is something I particularly wanted to ask you. But as the matter is—somewhat confidential—I suppose we should put it off for another time.”
“You need not worry that anything you say will be repeated.” The schoolmaster gestured toward the child on his shoulder, then indicated the older ones, who had gone ten paces ahead. “This one does not yet speak—and as you can see, the others are engaged in their own conversation.”
“Well then—” said Luke, after a momentary hesitation. “I have been told, Raith, that if a man wants information he should come to you.”
The Leveller smiled. “Mr. Guilian, you surprise me. I thought we were agreed, a long time ago, that I was simply too conspicuous for a secret agent.”
“But not for a master of spies. What does it matter how conspicuous you are in yourself, if you are the one who sends out the agents, who organizes their movements, and collects their information?”
Raith continued to look amused. “Let us pretend, for the sake of discussion, that what you have guessed is true. What then?”
Luke took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Then I would ask you to tell me everything you know about a certain young lady. I think you can guess who I mean.”
The smile faded, the dark eyes grew sober. “I believe that I knew, soon after I met you, that you and she were likely to discover a meeting of minds.”
“Yet you said nothing of that—nothing that I remember—when we spoke of her before.” As they walked, Luke slashed at the air with his lacquer walking-stick.
“After all,” said Raith, “I knew that even the most innocent friendship might seriously threaten your peace of mind. I also knew that any warning I might give would only serve to pique your interest.”
By now, they had reached one of the parks in which the city abounded, and the young prince and his sisters moved further ahead. The ground was still bare and the trees leafless, but there were bronze statues, a three-tiered fountain, and a boxwood maze for the children to explore.
“I am tempted, Mr. Guilian, to tell you a story. Not, I hasten to add, one I received through any mysterious agency, but one that was told to me by Mademoiselle Brouillard herself.”
“One of her fairy tales?”
“Perhaps. I will leave you to determine that for yourself. It certainly begins like a fairy story. Once upon a time, there was a young girl, who lived with her father—”
“Yes, I know,” said Luke, with a look of disgust. “She lived in a palace on the moon.”
The Leveller shook his head. “Not at all. She lived, I was about to say, in Montcieux. She was a perfectly ordinary little girl, no more vicious—or virtuous—in her habits than our young princess here. Unfortunately, her mother was dead and her father was addicted to the vice of gambling. He had a habit of borrowing money to pay off his debts, then losing that money and borrowing still more. When he died, his debts were considerable, and there was nothing left for his daughter to live on. She was, by then, some twelve years of age and beginning to show some promise of beauty. Some of her father’s friends—they were very bad men, I regret to say—came to her with offers of protection, on such terms that, even so young as she was, she knew better than to accept. But there was another man, who said he had been married many years before to the girl’s young aunt who died soon after the marriage. He seemed—more respectable than any of the others who had approached her before, so she accepted his invitation and went to live in his house.”
They stopped by the fountain, where Luke leaned on his stick, staring moodily down into the pool at the base. A thin coating of ice covered the water, and the surface was broken by a thousand tiny, intersecting lines. “But it was not a safe house for a young girl to live in,” he said in a flat voice.
“At first it appeared to be. The girl was inexperienced, and it was a long time before she was capable of understanding what sort of man her supposed uncle was. Even then—no one had offered her any insult, and she had no other place to go. But when she was a year or two older, and the promise of beauty had been fulfilled, the uncle asked her to play hostess at his dinner parties, to entertain his guests, and—you can guess the rest. Of course, she refused.”
“Until he threatened to throw her out into the streets to make her own way?” Luke’s fingers on the head of the walking-stick clenched and unclenched.
“He did threaten, but the girl stood firm, even when he tried to assert his authority by claiming she was his natural daughter. She said she would rather starve in the gutter; she said she would rather die. So he cast her out, and she spent two weeks living on the streets, begging for her bread in the dead of winter, fending off the violent approaches of the men that she met there. At the end of a fortnight, she decided there were worse fates than death or dishonor, and she returned to her uncle’s house.”
Luke glanced up at him. “You sound sympathetic.” His own sympathies were most thoroughly engaged, but he had expected something quite different from Raith. “Surely you, with your high moral standards—”
“You forget,” said Raith, “that I know too well what it is to be young and friendless, entirely dependent on the kindness of strangers. Had I not been taken in by good people, what should I be now?”
The five children had left the fountain and moved on to the boxwood maze, so Raith and Luke moved on, too. “That Mademoiselle Brouillard resisted evil so long as she did, I think remarkable. Yet sin is sin. Someday, she will be called to account before a wiser judge than I am. He will know how far to condemn her—I do not.”
There was a long pause. “But do you think—do you think she is leading that sort of life now? That she is, as they say, the king’s mistress?”
“Mr. Guilian, I do not think anything of the sort. The girl and King Izaiah are like two children together. I am happy to think that she has, for a time, been allowed to reclaim some part of that childhood she lost too soon. I do not like to think what will become of her, should she ever be forced to return to her old way of life.”
Luke winced inwardly, for that was another question he had avoided thinking about. “Surely so long as she remains with the king she is safe, surely so long as she enjoys his protection—”
“I think that you cannot have visited the asylum in some time. We hear that the king’s condition continues to deteriorate. He has good days and bad days, but the bad days come with increasing frequency, and his dementia has taken a frightening turn.”
Luke felt his heart sink. “But this is terrible. I mean, it’s a terrible thing in itself, that excellent old gentleman losing his way—but what becomes of Tremeur if the king turns dangerous to himself and others?”
“That,” said the Leveller, “remains to be seen. But I cannot help thinking the results would be disastrous—for Mademoiselle certainly, and possibly for the rest of us.”
36
Spring came to Luden. The ice broke on the canals, the brackish water warmed, and for many weeks it was impossible to smell anything but canal anywhere in the town. Gradually, however, noses adjusted.
Luke was occupied, just at that time, exploring graveyards. His deciphering of books at home had given rise to the notion that additional messages might be hidden, in the form of anagrams, on tombs and cenotaphs throughout the city. Unfortunately, he had no idea which tombs and inscriptions might be involved, so he had set out to copy every potentially interesting epitaph he happened to find.
He was kneeling, one day, in a Proto-deist cemetery, in the bright new grass at the foot of a tilted gravestone, scribbling in a leather pocket-book. When he chanced to look up, he discovered, much to his surprise, a small female in a long scarlet cloak and a broad straw hat liberally embellished with feathers and satin butterflies, regarding him pensively from a low marble monument.
“Tremeur,” he said, rising quickly to his feet, brushing off his knees. He had never addressed her by her name before—it was always “Duchess” or “Your Hereditary Grace” —but the word seemed to slip out naturally.
The Queen's Necklace Page 38
