‘Falcio val Mond, First Cantor of the—’
He cut me off. ‘Did you think me unaware of your identity?’
‘I just assumed we were being polite.’
A thin but strident voice called out from inside the tent, ‘Fentan, just get those damned fools in here!’
‘At once, your Grace.’ He turned back to me, his features settling into a weary expression. ‘I suspect you’ll find little concern for politeness inside.’ He looked the four of us up and down as if trying to estimate how much dirt we were going to be tracking into his lovely tent. ‘You’ll have to leave your weapons outside,’ he said finally.
‘We’re magistrates,’ Chalmers protested. ‘By right and tradition we—’
‘Leave it,’ I said. This wasn’t my first scolding by an angry, self-important old crone and experience had taught me it was better to get it over with quickly and as painlessly as possible.
I unbelted my rapiers and handed them to Fentan, then signalled for the others to do the same. When Kest started to unstrap his shield, the chamberlain motioned for him to keep it. ‘Best hang onto that,’ he said. ‘Maybe if you’re quick enough you can keep some of the tea from staining the carpets.’
*
To no one’s surprise, Kest proved remarkably adept at using his shield to deflect all manner of projectiles, ranging from several varieties of almost (but not quite) lighter-than-air scones to gold-edged porcelain plates to any number of cups of scalding hot liquids.
‘You know,’ he commented, holding the shield out in front of us as the Duchess disposed of what was no doubt intended to be a lavish luncheon, ‘this is actually more difficult than trying to block normal weapons.’
A shard of broken pottery glanced off my cheek, drawing blood. ‘Why do you suppose that is?’
‘It’s the angles,’ he explained. ‘An arrow or a knife travels along a discernible arc and all you have to do is to consider distance and velocity. The Duchess’ weapons’ – he barely deflected a saucer that had been thrown with remarkable force and accuracy – ‘are rather more difficult to predict.’
‘Be thankful I didn’t think to bring my hunting bow,’ Ossia, Duchess of Baern bellowed – although somehow she still managed to sound elegant. ‘I’d have given that simpleton archer of yours a run for his money in my youth – and even now, in my autumn years, I’m confident I have the skill to dispatch Tristia of three of its most pernicious burdens!’
From her refuge behind one of the thick, elaborately carved mahogany poles that provided the tent’s main supports, Chalmers asked, ‘Is this the kind of reception you usually get from the Dukes?’
‘Only the ones who actually like us,’ Brasti replied grimly, his red hair sopping from some kind of soup that smelled deliciously of cardamom and chicken. I contented myself with a scone that had rolled along the carpet close enough to reach, figuring it was probably the only food Ossia was going to offer us today.
‘Your Grace?’ I called out from behind Kest’s shield.
‘Please don’t make it worse, Falcio,’ he whispered. ‘She hasn’t started on the cutlery yet.’
For all his intellect, Kest has never really understood the nobility. In his mind, the benefits of breeding, expensive education and advanced age should amount to some degree of adult behaviour. He forgets that being waited on hand and foot one’s entire life can turn anyone into a petulant child.
Something hard and heavy clanged against the shield. The Duchess had apparently reached the fruit bowl.
‘Duchess Ossia,’ I said, more firmly, ‘in five seconds I’m going to come out from behind this shield and when I do, if so much as a grape touches my person, then Kest, Brasti and I will take our leave of this hideous velvet monstrosity of yours, and we’ll confiscate its main support poles as compensation. Then you can see how much you enjoy parading around the countryside in a tent that won’t stay up.’
The barrage paused, and after a moment to make sure she wasn’t just looking for new projectiles, I stepped out from behind the shield.
Ossia was staring up at the decorative fringes that surrounded the tapestries. ‘It is rather grotesque, isn’t it?’
I gestured to the extravagant mess she’d made of the inside of the tent, which was now covered in bits of food and shards of broken porcelain. ‘Your peculiar choice of redecoration hasn’t much improved it, I’m afraid.’
She turned her gaze to me and favoured me with a brief, light laugh. ‘I do enjoy your wit now and again, Falcio.’ The smile disappeared. ‘However, I was illustrating a point.’
‘Which was?’
Duchess Ossia knelt down to pick up a wine glass that had escaped destruction. ‘That every time the three of you enter my Duchy you wreak havoc and leave behind a bloody awful mess.’
‘If this is about Margrave Evidalle—’
She reached for a teacup and I flinched involuntarily. ‘Of course I’m referring to the Margrave, you blithering idiot! I sent you there to do one thing: all you had to do was to discreetly learn his plans – not to contrive to have his own uncle murder him!’
Brasti stepped out from behind Kest’s shield to pick up a cloth-of-gold napkin from one of the serving trays. As he set about wiping broth from his hair and beard, he pointed out, ‘Well, once you knew his plans you’d’ve wanted him dead anyway, so we just skipped a step. It’s like you just said: we’re pernicious.’
‘He means “precocious”,’ Kest explained.
‘Saints save us from would-be heroes and travelling magistrates!’ She rose, walked back to the centre of the pavilion and sat on a smallish but intricately carved mahogany throne that matched the tent’s supporting poles. ‘The three of you disobeyed a direct order from the Ducal Council, and in the process, you’ve made a shambles of our strategy for dealing with the lesser nobles.’ She paused a moment before adding, ‘You are, without question, the worst spies I have ever seen.’
‘Actually, I suspect we’re only the second worst, your Grace,’ Kest said, his infatuation with accuracy overwhelming any sense of diplomacy, ‘since you apparently couldn’t trust your own spies to do the job.’
Duchess Ossia clacked her fingernails against the arms of her throne in barely contained frustration. ‘I will confess that of late I have found that men and women who spy for money can often be purchased by more than one buyer. Thus am I forced to choose between disloyalty and incompetence.’
She motioned imperiously towards a small table nearby upon which sat a teapot and the last intact cup. Whilst I disliked her propensity for treating everyone like a servant, she was, in fact, Aline’s closest ally among the Dukes and the nearest thing to a decent human being Tristia’s nobility had ever produced. So I served the old bag her tea.
She took a long sip, then set the cup down on the arm of her throne. ‘The country’s minor nobles – and damn the Gods for saddling us with all these wretched Margraves and Margravinas, Viscounts and Viscountesses, Lords and Daminas! – have been waiting for an opportunity to betray both me and the Crown for years.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’ Brasti asked. ‘We ended Evidalle’s little revolt for you.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘Let there be wine and scones and celebrations for all!’
Ossia turned her gaze on me, revealing a mountain’s-worth of weariness, and too late I understood why she and the Ducal Council had wanted us to investigate the conspiracy, rather than try to put a stop to it. ‘Revolutions don’t end with one man’s death,’ I said. ‘Those nobles who were prepared to support Evidalle will just take cover for now and wait for a better opportunity to come along.’
The Duchess of Baern sighed. ‘Why must you always be clever after the fact, Falcio? With a list of the names of the noble houses who were discomfited by Evidalle’s plans, I might have quietly set up alliances with them; that would have ended the reigns of those who supported treason. Then we
could have distributed their holdings to those nobles most loyal to Aline and begun—’
‘How easily you all discuss these filthy schemes and machinations,’ Chalmers interrupted, the look in her eyes making it clear she included me in her disdain. ‘We’re supposed to be magistrates. What happened to administering the law in Tristia?’
Chalmer’s indignation awoke some of my own, though I quickly tamped it down. Put Aline on the throne. Worry about the rest of it later.
Duchess Ossia took notice of Chalmers for the first time. ‘Who is this child you’ve brought before me, Falcio?’
‘I am Chalmers, called the King’s Question, and I can bloody well answer for myself.’ She turned a scathing glance at me. ‘Seriously, do you people have any idea how often you talk as if no one else is in the room?’
Ossia opened her mouth to reply, but then she paused and leaned forward to peer at Chalmers. ‘I know you, girl.’
‘I very much doubt that, your Grace. I rarely travel in company such as yours.’
The Duchess’ eyes narrowed. ‘The stores at Castle Aramor – you were always scampering about the skirts of that old woman, the quartermaster. What was her name again?’
Chalmers looked surprised. ‘Zagdunsky, your Grace.’
‘I remember now. I consulted with her extensively some years ago, when I was considering the administration of my own palace.’
‘You tried to hire the King’s own quartermaster away from him?’ Brasti asked.
‘Indeed – and I made a generous offer too, but as I recall, we caught a certain red-faced little hellion spying on our conversation who was apparently unhappy at the possibility of being removed from the home of the Greatcoats. She made a great fuss about it, until Zagdunsky assured me she couldn’t leave her current post.’
Chalmers looked pale. ‘That was more than ten years ago – I was just a child! How could you possibly recognise me?’
Ossia smiled. ‘A woman of noble birth rarely survives to old age in this country unless she soon learns to see more deeply and remember far longer than her enemies do.’ She rose from her throne and stood in front of Chalmers, examining her as if she were a painting. ‘I remember that look, too,’ – she raised a finger – ‘there, in the eyes. You have gained in years, but not in wisdom, I see.’ Ossia turned to me. ‘You will leave the girl in my care, Falcio. Perhaps there is still time for me to train her to—’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ Chalmers said.
‘Oh? And why not?’
‘Well, for one thing, I don’t like you.’ Chalmers set her sights on me. ‘For another, he doesn’t get to tell me what to do.’
The Duchess apparently found that amusing. ‘How trying it must be, First Cantor, to have those beneath you so stubbornly refuse to follow your orders.’ She pinched the lapel of Chalmer’s coat between thumb and finger. ‘Though it appears you’ve forgotten to give her a proper coat.’
‘It’s complicated,’ I started.
The Duchess turned her glare on me. ‘You’re a bloody fool, First Cantor. So desperate to reunite your lost magistrates that even once you knew – you knew – that this child wasn’t a proper Greatcoat, still you broke cover to rescue her, with no regard for the—’
‘Tell me I’m not a Greatcoat again, your Grace,’ Chalmers said, pulling away from the Duchess, ‘tell me twice more for luck – and then go back to your palace and retrieve that hunting bow of yours. I’ll meet you in the circle at your convenience, you sour old—’
‘Ha!’ Brasti chortled. ‘She sounds just like you, Falcio.’
‘Shut up,’ Chalmers and I said at once.
Duchess Ossia took her teacup and lifted it up in a mock toast. ‘And so ends Tristia, once the very pinnacle of culture and civilisation, dissipating in misery while the great Falcio val Mond rushes across the land in search of anyone in a long coat who happens to share his fanatical devotion to a dead King’s dream.’
I’d long ago come to the conclusion that one of the duties of the First Cantor of the Greatcoats is to subject oneself to the mockery and insults of the nobility in the interests of keeping the peace, but the memory of Vois Calan and the women struggling to keep their families and their villages alive clashed violently with the obscenely opulent setting in which I was now being told off.
‘Perhaps, your Grace, the country would be doing better if the Dukes were to devote more of their wealth to taking care of their people and less to—’
Ossia laughed. ‘Is that what you think? That the country falters because of my tent? No, First Cantor, if you want to see the treasury of Baern at work, go back to Aramor and ask that pitiful handful of soldiers Valiana has managed to assemble to show you the swords and crossbows we’ve sent. Examine the tools and forges the crafters are using in their desperate attempts to rebuild the castle. Go to the infirmaries and look closely at all the medicines in the crates marked with my seal.’
‘I didn’t—’
‘Didn’t what? You didn’t know that Baern was the only Duchy paying its taxes to the Crown these past months? Why should you? You’ve been far too busy chasing rumours of lost Greatcoats to worry about the cost of holding a country together. But tell me, First Cantor, how long do you think I’ll be able to continue after I lose control of my own Duchy?’ She looked at all of us. ‘Don’t you understand, you fools? I’m hanging on by a thread here – and what good will it do to put Aline on the throne if her closest allies lose all power to support her?’
Chalmers looked aghast, the fierceness draining out of her. ‘Oh, Gods . . . it’s my fault – I was the one who fell for Evidalle’s trap. If I hadn’t gone to that wedding, the rest of you wouldn’t have had to save me. None of this would have happened if only I’d—’
‘Don’t torment yourself, child,’ Ossia said, reaching out a hand and holding her chin, just like Cestina had. ‘Had you not taken the Margrave’s bait, some other fool in a long coat would have done so, and Falcio val Mond, being what he is, would have leaped to their aid just as he did yours.’
‘And what would you have me do instead?’ I asked quietly.
I hadn’t meant the question as a signal of my surrender, but Duchess Ossia took it so. ‘The Ducal Council meets in ten days’ time, Falcio, to vote once and for all on whether or not to put Aline on the throne.’
‘What choice do they have?’ Brasti asked, looking at me. ‘Aline’s the heir, so it’s her or—’
‘Secession,’ Kest replied. He was watching Duchess Ossia closely. ‘That’s what you’ve been avoiding saying outright all this time, isn’t it, your Grace? That’s why you’re so concerned with the minor nobles rebelling, why your fellow Dukes have been slow to pay their taxes.’
She nodded. ‘Tristia wasn’t always one nation; it began as separate city states, each with its own sovereignty, its own laws.’ She took a long sip from her tea. ‘Dukes were called Princes in those days. That has an appealing ring, don’t you think?’
The weight of her words came crashing down on me. Saint Zaghev-who-sings-for-tears, if you’re dead, how is it you manage to keep torturing me? ‘What’s the price?’ I asked. ‘What will it take to make the other Dukes vote our way?’
‘That is precisely what my fellow Dukes are negotiating amongst themselves even now, Falcio. But whatever their list of demands, I can assure you of two things: first, they will be offensive to you, and second, you’ll have no choice but to agree.’ She rang a small silver bell and a moment later her chamberlain appeared at the entrance to the tent and held the flaps open for us to leave.
The Duchess sighed. ‘We enter an age of politics now, Falcio, not of outraged idealism, nor daring deeds in search of perfect justice. The time for preposterous heroics has passed.’
‘Well, if that’s true, then we’re in for a spot of trouble,’ Brasti muttered once we were outside.
‘Why is that
?’ Kest asked.
‘Preposterous heroics are the only things we’ve ever been good at.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Fallen Castle
Politics and sailing have a great deal in common. They both require complex navigation skills, they both feel slow yet actually move quickly, and they both make me nauseous.
‘We could have accepted Duchess Ossia’s invitation and travelled with her,’ Kest reminded me.
Moonlight shimmered on the surface of the river, reflecting the stars as they began to appear overhead, the beauty of the image marred only by the food currently departing my stomach at speed. He stood next to me as my latest meal become part of the waters below. It had become a familiar sight. It was probably a metaphor for something.
‘M’fine,’ I mumbled.
Taking the river route saved us a day or two, but that would hardly justify arriving back at the castle to present myself to the heir to the throne in substantially worse condition than when I’d left. Ossia’s caravan would have been the wiser choice – or at least the more comfortable choice – but I couldn’t bring myself to suffer ten days of the Duchess pointing out every weed-filled field or broken-down barn as further proof that nothing the Greatcoats had done since the King’s death had made the slightest difference to the country’s wellbeing. Puking up my guts every two hours was a pleasant occupation by comparison.
I was more concerned with how little I was sleeping. The ever-present queasiness left me in a constant state of hazy confusion. Days and nights flowed into each other without my notice: light bled into darkness, clear skies dissolved in rain and then faded into fog, and over it all came the incessant bellowing of sailors unfurling this or belaying that . . . it all blended together into a thick soup, punctuated by my periodic vomiting.
‘You don’t have to babysit me all day and night, you know,’ I told Kest as I wiped spittle from my lips. Whenever I looked up from the railing, he was there, standing next to me with a book in hand. He’d lift his eyes from the page and raise an eyebrow to see if I needed anything, then go back to his reading. By now I was fairly sure he’d memorised the barge’s entire collection of navigational manuals.
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