The Queen of Swords

by R. S. Belcher

  Martin reddened at the accusation. Rutledge grunted in indignation. “Your honor, that is a bald-faced lie! My client…”

  “Mr. Rutledge,” Judge Davenkirk cut off the attorney. “That is enough! I expect you to comport yourself in my courtroom with some gentlemanly decorum.” He looked over again to Maude. “Miss Stapleton, my apologies for such behavior in my court. It goes beyond the pale of the normal adversarial process demanded of the legal system, and is just plain rude behavior to a lady, and I will not brook it here. I knew your mother, a most gracious and intelligent woman, in spite of her radical politics, and I met you a few times when you were very young, Miss Maude. I see her in you.”

  “Thank you, your honor,” Maude said, and she meant it.

  “Please be seated,” Davenkirk said, “and thank you for your candid answer.”

  Maude made herself blush a little and sat down as demurely as she had stood. The judge regarded the opposing counsels before him, and mopped his already sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “Andy, I’m gonna review these documents and take Miss Mansfield’s…”

  “Mrs., your honor,” Arabella said. “I was recently married. Mrs.”

  “Congratulations on the nuptials, Mrs. Mansfield, then,” the judge said. “I’m gonna take her application under consideration. You have to admit, Martin knows everyone in this town. It might be a factor in her being able to acquire competent and unbiased council.”

  “There’s no proof that this woman is competent to practice law,” Rutledge said.

  “The plaintiff is prepared to proceed at the court’s pleasure, your honor, with no further delays,” Arabella said in the same professional voice for the court, but her gaze was on Rutledge and a slight crease of a smile curved her lips, all for Rutledge to see, and not the judge, who was examining the papers before him. “We have no desire to waste the court’s time with frivolity.” Rutledge grew redder and turned to address Davenkirk.

  “Your honor,” he said, choking back the desire to raise his voice again, “the defense is prepared to stipulate to this … woman’s credentials and proceed. My client is eager to put this unpleasantness behind him as soon as possible.” And as quietly as possible, too, Maude thought. Maude glanced back in the gallery to see Alter Cline sitting, writing notes into a small book. He gave her a slight nod and Maude turned back to face the court. “As such,” Rutledge added, “we request the plaintiff sign an agreement proclaiming that no appeal will be forthcoming from the judgment of this court based upon the grounds of incompetent representation.”

  Arabella waited a moment to pause as if she were weighing the option, but her mind was already racing far ahead. She fought with all her considerable self-control to hide her intent. She turned to Maude, arching an eyebrow—it was the first sign of excitement Maude had seen in her lawyer since they entered the courtroom.

  “We agree to the defense’s request, your honor,” Bella said. “Shall Mr. Rutledge draw up the agreement, or would he prefer I do it?” Rutledge almost chuckled.

  “I’ll be happy to oblige the lady, your honor,” Rutledge said. “I can draft something this afternoon.”

  “Plaintiff will of course want to review the document prior to agreeing to it,” Bella said, “and we’d like the court to review it and sign off on it as well. Unless the defendant objects?”

  “Not in the slightest, madame,” Rutledge said, obviously quite pleased with himself.

  “Very well then,” Davenkirk said, raising his gavel. “I will review these documents Mrs. Mansfield has provided me with, and we will adjourn until tomorrow, say at 10 A.M.” He banged the gavel. “Next on the docket, Cooley?”

  Outside the courthouse, it was hot and bright. There wasn’t even a gentle wind off the ocean to move the thick air. The traffic of people, wagons and horse-drawn trolley cars moved busily along Meeting Street this Saturday morning. Arabella and Maude exited by the arches at the corner of Broad and Meeting.

  “That went splendidly,” Arabella said. “Better than I expected, in fact.”

  “Did it?” Maude replied. They crossed Broad and a man driving a carriage stopped for them and doffed his hat. “I have to say, you certainly were right about the judge, but Arabella, is it really going to help our cause pretending to be something I’m not? I did what you told me to do, I was as sweet as pie, and I put on the demure act, but I’m here to claim what’s mine, legally, and I don’t see how behaving like that does anything but support their view of women. It doesn’t help us.”

  “We’re here to win this, Maude,” Arabella said. “You told me this was a war for you, one that you had planned. I was part of that plan. I’m your general, and you’re going to have to trust your general or fire me.”

  “Well, since you won’t let me pay you, that might be a bit difficult,” Maude said. “Okay, general, explain what happened in there and how it helped us.”

  “Tea and food first,” Arabella said, nodding to a small cafe across from city hall. “Even mock court with my brother used to cause me to be famished. This was so much better!”

  “And I’ll pay, if you please,” Maude said. “No army fights well on an empty stomach.”

  They were seated and their orders taken. It was dark and cool in the restaurant. The belts of the mechanical ceiling fans squeaked overhead as their paddles rushed about.

  “So,” Arabella began, “tell me your impressions of the judge.”

  “He knew my mother,” Maude said. “He genuinely liked her but disapproved of her involvement in the women’s movement. He’s an old southern gentleman.”

  “That he is,” Bella said, sipping her mint iced tea. She paused for a moment and admired the chilled, ice-filled glass. “I really need to take this back home with me, it’s wonderful. You have excellent judgment when it comes to people, Maude. You pegged him, spot on. Yes, he’s an old southern gentleman, an antebellum knight. His honor doesn’t care for uppity Negros or mannish women. We need him sympathetic to your plight. I’m unsure how long that will last but I’m thankful for any advantage it gives us, even short term. If we went in there, bustling all shoulder-to-shoulder with poor Rutledge, he would have shut us down in five minutes.”

  “Poor Rutledge?” Maude said. “That man is a wolf on two legs. He plans to demolish us, Bella, and he’s going to enjoy it.”

  “I do believe he is already hoisted on his own petard,” Bella said. “It couldn’t have worked out any better if I had planned for it.” She took a bite of a small cucumber finger sandwich, made an approving sound and popped the rest of the sandwich in her mouth.

  “I still don’t understand,” Maude said. “He’s trying to get you kicked off the case before it evens begins.”

  “And he’s already failed,” Arabella said, wiping her lips with a linen napkin. “Because the mean old man called you a bald-faced liar in front of our host, Judge Davenkirk…”

  “… and no proper southern gentleman could allow that sort of behavior in his presence,” Maude said, nodding her approval. Arabella lifted her iced tea and Maude joined her. They clinked the glasses together, quietly. They each took a sip.

  “He came to your rescue, Maude, just like I suspected he would, and you played your part perfectly. We’ve cast Rutledge as the cad and villain of the piece, and severely diminished his ability to bluster and bully, which I intuit is a considerable amount of his courtroom acumen. He’s got the weakness I’ve seen in a lot of successful attorneys—he’s not hungry anymore.”

  “Masterfully played, general,” Maude said. “‘All warfare is based upon deception. When we are able to attack, we must seem unable.’ It’s from a Chinese philosopher my Gran had me study when I was a child.”

  “Sounds like my kind of lawyer,” Bella said. “I’d love to read him.”

  “Only if you can read very old Chinese,” Maude said, with a smile. “Besides, I do believe that you could have shown him a thing or two.” Bella laughed. “The first shot in the war,” Maude said.

  * *
*

  Maude returned to Grande Folly that evening. Isaiah gave her a note from Cline that he had something of great import to discuss with her at her earliest convenience. Maude prepared a reply for the reporter and then went back to combing through Gran’s extensive library to see if she could find any mention of the Sons or the Grail of Lilith. The archives were even more extensive than she recalled from her years living here. There were books, parchments of vellum, papyrus, animal hides, scrolls and even ancient artifacts, like the stone tablet resting on the reading table among the towers of books, with its stick figures and ankh. The tablet was the first thing Maude had ever touched in this room, so many years ago. She thought of her first time stepping into this room, into Gran’s fantastic world, as she ran her fingers across its smooth surface, worn by the caress of time. Maude searched through the night fruitlessly, but she found nothing with any references to the Daughters, the Sons, or the Grail.

  * * *

  The following morning, Rutledge and Martin approached Maude and Arabella in the great well inside the courthouse. Rutledge brandished a copy of The Charleston Courier newspaper. “Take a look at what this foolishness has cost your family, Miss Stapleton!”

  The headline on the morning paper proclaimed “Shipping Baron Anderton and daughter clash in court over inheritance rights.”

  “They say there’s no such thing as bad publicity,” Arabella said, scanning the article.

  “This Alter Cline is no local newsman, either,” Rutledge said, snatching the paper away from Bella’s gaze. “He’s a damn Jew carpetbagger from some northern newspaper! He said this story was going to run in papers in Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York! Perhaps as far away as St. Louis and San Francisco!”

  “I’d curb that kind of language if I were you, Mr. Rutledge,” Arabella said. “Quite a few Jewish folks here in Charleston. Your sheet is showing.”

  “Maude, do you have any idea what this kind of scandal will do to my business?” Martin said. “They shamelessly mention your mother in here as well, and her connection to the suffrage movement!”

  “You were embarrassed by Mother, too, Father, I know,” Maude said. “I’m sure her ‘featherbrained hobbies’ were bad for business as well.”

  “You have no call to talk to me like that,” Martin said. “I loved your mother, and I supported her in everything she did, even the things that never fully made sense to me.”

  “How magnanimous of you,” Maude said. “You tolerated her being a public humiliation to you, how you must have suffered.”

  “You know absolutely nothing about your mother and me,” Martin said. “How could you, she died bringing your ungrateful self into this world! How dare you to presume to know my heart when it comes to Claire! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

  Maude tensed; it felt as if she had been punched. Arabella took her by the arm and led her toward the courtroom. “All right, enough of this. Come along, Maude.”

  “Martin,” Rutledge said, “lower your voice. Your health! And let’s not give the damn press any more material for their scandal rags.”

  Alter Cline was just entering the well. Martin turned to the reporter and strode toward him. “You libelous son of a bitch!” Martin shouted across the well, his voice echoing everywhere. “You wrote this garbage, how dare you!”

  “Every word of that story is accurate and true, Mr. Anderton,” Alter said. “You may not like it but don’t impugn my honor, sir. I stand by my work.”

  “Honor? Sir, you know nothing of that word! I should challenge you to a duel for such unworthy use of the English language!” Martin shouted.

  “A duel?” Alter said. “That’s barbaric, Mr. Anderton! This nation has seen more than its share of needless bloodshed in the past years! Surely, sir, you are not suggesting to gun down an agent of the press for doing his job, and reporting the facts!”

  Rutledge pulled Martin back from Cline with the assistance of one of the court bailiffs.

  “He means nothing of the sort,” Rutledge said. “We are seriously considering action against that fishwrap that employs you, Mr. Cline! Good day, sir!” Rutledge hurried his client to a quiet meeting room to calm him down. Alter found Maude, pale and silent, on a bench outside the courtroom.

  “Maude, are you all right?” Cline asked, sitting next to her.

  “He blames me for killing my mother,” Maude said softly. “No wonder he never wanted to be home with me, kept me at arm’s length all those years. I took the love of his life away from him.”

  “People say things in anger,” Cline said. “Terrible things. He didn’t mean it. He’s your father, he loves you.”

  “I am very adept at telling lie from truth, Alter,” Maude said. “Sometimes it’s a curse. He does love me, the largest part of him loves me very much, but a part of him hates me, and hates me true. I pushed that part out into the light.”

  “Maude,” Alter said. “What you’re doing is right. You deserve to be able to live your life as you please, and Constance belongs with you. What I’m doing is my job. Your father…”

  “This is ugly,” Maude said. “It’s all so ugly. Damn him for being so stubborn, so sure he’s right and I’m wrong. Damn him for making me do this.”

  The tears were hot and wet on her cheeks, and they surprised her. She controlled her body; she only cried if she willed it so. She touched them to make sure they were real, then looked at her wet fingertips as if they belonged to someone else.

  “Maude,” Alter said, softly.

  Maude closed her eyes and focused her breathing, stilled her heart, controlled all the things she had learned how to control, but the hurt was strong and sharp and it refused to bow to reason, to control. How do you stop pain that has no physical source, no threshold of severity?

  Not here, not now. No, you can’t.

  She made the tears stop. It felt wrong to do that, to force her emotions to hide inside. It felt like dying. Alter’s handkerchief was in his hand. He offered it to her. She took it and wiped her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You can’t control everything,” he said. “It’s not the way humans work.”

  Maude said nothing. She clutched the wet handkerchief tight, and sighed.

  “You ready?” Alter asked.

  “Yes,” Maude said, her voice even and strong again.

  14

  The High Priestess (Reversed)

  Abomey, Kingdom of Dahomey, Africa

  August 15, 1721

  Existence, for a time, was pain. At first it was sharp and unbearable, twisting, then over time it lessened to dull but constant, married to fever dreams and nightmares, near madness, sweating, and restless, plodding agony. The pain was relieved by the cool darkness of not being, a desert of awareness, deeper and emptier than sleep.

  As Anne felt the clammy, sticky, misery-soaked walls of living settle back about her, she heard voices near her body—a man and a woman—she thought the man’s voice was Adu’s. The woman’s voice was older, dry, almost a rattle, but with an energy hidden in it. They spoke a language she didn’t know, or recall if she knew, but she seemed to understand them.

  “It’s still close,” Adu said. “We could lose her if we don’t give it to her.”

  “Then we lose her,” the raspy woman’s voice said. “She is neither ready, nor worthy of it. I doubt she ever will be.”

  “Because she’s white?” Adu asked.

  “Because it’s in their nature to think they deserve everything,” the woman said. Anne tried to laugh at that but slipped on the knife edge of awareness back into the abyss of nothing. Awareness again, an inching ache in her belly. It hurt to breathe, it hurt not to. The same voices again, sounding like they were in a different spot, but close, like before.

  “Why are you so convinced that she’s worth all this?” the old-sounding woman asked. “She’s a thief and pirate. She’s here to plunder Carcosa, pick it clean, like any good white.”

  “And do you recall the circumsta
nces of our first meeting?” Adu said. “I was a thief, trying to steal one of your chickens as I remember. You wanted to skin me alive.”

  “I still do,” she replied. “That was my favorite chicken. What’s your point?”

  “I know Nimue disappointed your mother so terribly,” Adu said.

  “She stole her very last secret, and then she murdered her, cast her as the villain, and her stupid white dupes were more than willing to accept all of it,” the old woman said, the poison dripping in every word. “Look what they are doing to our lands even now.”

  “I remember what Nimue Poole did,” Adu said. “I was there if you’ll recall. It took me a long time to let go of that anger, that betrayal; we cannot control those things outside us, we can only control how we let them change us.

  “You have to try to let go of your hatred. It’s unhealthy and it blinds your wisdom. Besides, you must see something you like, or you wouldn’t have traveled all this way just to look at her and ask me about her. She’s got your interest. She’s more than a thief. She’s passed the first trials already.”

  “Perhaps she got lucky,” the old woman said.

  “You call this pegging lucky, you bracket-faced old bat,” Anne muttered and then drowned back into the emptiness, into cool limbo.

  Another voice, close to her, breath pungent from strong drink. This one she recognized; it was Belrose. “Just a dab to wet your lips,” he said in a soft voice, near her ear, “you have a wound of the gut, so no drinking, yes?” The wine was bittersweet, and wet, and wonderful on her lips, and she couldn’t stop licking them.

  “Get stronger,” he said, “and there’s more where that came from. Hell, we’ll drink a whole vineyard dry.” A coarse, hushed chuckle was his laugh. “You fought too well to perish now,” the mercenary said. “You need to live so you can brag about it. Get better, beaute.” Awareness darted away again, just ahead of the raking pain that came from drawing breath.

  Adu’s voice, near her ear, some liquid in a cup, hot and bitter, tasting of green, earthy jungles, at her lips, in her dry mouth, slowly drinking it, feeling it move down her throat and into her aching, shrunken belly. “Not too quickly,” he said. “This will speed your recovery. You want your answers, you’ve earned them. I’m convinced you can be exactly what she needs, but you have to live first, Anne Bonny. Even more important, you have to want to live. You have no idea what you are truly capable of, only an inkling of what a treasure this world can be. I will point you to her, I can give you answers, but you have to come back first, come back from the dark.”