“Your clothes are no longer white, Highness,” said I. “Is it a sign that you have reconsidered your philosophy?”
He seemed a little abashed. “I have changed my colors, true,” he said, “but unwillingly. Prince Fosco is here, and he is King Henrico’s champion of orthodoxy. I did not wish to parade my beliefs before him, Sir Keely-Fay, lest he report to the king and I be ordered home, or even to prison.”
I considered the fierce mien of the abbot Fosco, more like a warrior than a monk, and thought that Ribamar-la-Rose might well be forgiven. “Surely a little discretion is in order,” said I. “The Compassionate Pilgrim did not insist that his followers turn martyr.”
“I shall leave the city ere long,” said the prince. “And lodge in a monastery till Fosco leaves. But my own station and standing, as head of another cadet branch of our royal house, require that I meet with him, and I would prefer this to be on cordial terms.”
“I understand completely,” said I. We walked over the ancient flagstones that led to the quay, and I saw the golden towers of the palace rising above the blue waters of the lake. We approached my boat, and the crew stepped to the quay to help me aboard.
“May I offer you a ride, Highness?” I said. “I can put you ashore at the Roundsilver palace on my way home.”
“I am returning with His Grace,” said the prince. “But he was delayed by business with the chancellor—” He gave me a sly look. “One of the chancellors. He was monopolized.”
I laughed. “His Grace is an exquisite monopole, to be sure.”
The music of female laughter floated on the afternoon air. I turned to see the princess Floria walking over the flags in the company of her ladies, and for a moment considered skipping for my boat and rowing away. But my flight would have been too visible to Her Highness, and so I waited with the prince and bowed as Floria approached. Bowed like a man of Duisland, with my two feet under me, while Prince Alicio bowed gracefully over his advanced leg.
Floria was dressed in the royal gold and scarlet, with a gold circlet on her cloud of crinkly dark hair and a carcanet of rubies close about her throat. She acknowledged the prince’s salutation, then turned her sharp eyes on me.
“I’ve seen you ride, Quillifer,” she said. “I hope the horse-ballet will inspire you to improve your horsemanship.”
“I fear that horses and I are ever at odds, Your Highness,” said I, and then hoped to turn the subject away from myself. “I trust your royal mother does well?”
“She thrives, as always. Though she fears the fire-drake reported in the Cordillerie near her house at Bonherbes.”
I was surprised. “A dragon? In Bonille?” For those unnatural creatures that flew, or swam, from the Land of Chimerae to Duisland usually landed in the far west of Fornland and plagued the stubborn, resilient people of that stormy coast. “A monster in the heart of Bonille,” said I, “is a wonder indeed.”
“I should love to see this marvel,” said Prince Alicio. “It has been many generations since Loretto saw such a prodigy.”
“I expect it’s been up in the mountains for years,” said Floria. “Eating its fill and growing fat. And now that the sheep have come down from the summer pastures, the worm has followed its dinner to the plains.”
“How large is it?” I asked.
“I know not,” said Floria, “save that it dines on sheep and calves, and must be killed before it begins to devour my mother’s tenants.”
I remembered the great ocean serpent that I had seen from Royal Stilwell’s quarterdeck, the scaled writhing body shimmering with uncanny light, the great bared fangs, the glint of intelligence in its eye. “At sea I have seen a watery version of this monster,” I said, “and even though it did not spout fire, I know not how to kill one.”
“Did not my lord duke’s ancestor Baldwine hunt such prey?” asked the prince.
Amusement tugged at Floria’s lips. “I would not sacrifice Roundsilver on this quest,” said she. “He is too lovely a lily to scorch in the drake’s fire.”
“Does not the queen have her own regiment of horse?” asked I. “A monster hunt would prove a diversion for them, I’m sure.”
“They are not trained to fight serpents.”
“Nor is anyone, I suppose. Yet here they are, with weapons, horses, and armor, and with nothing to do.”
“They guard Her Majesty’s person. It is their sole duty.”
I considered the facetious remark that, for a small recompense, I could undertake that task while the troopers went to fight the dragon, but decided against it.
Floria’s eyes narrowed, and she looked at Lady Westley’s sunburst medallion. “Have you run out of precious stones?” she asked. “Or do you compare yourself to a sun god?”
She had seen the one element of my raiment that did not tally with the rest. I concealed my annoyance behind my respectful-apprentice face and strove to shift the topic. “It is an amulet,” I said. “Bought of a mountebank in Tabarzam, to guarantee fair weather. As a sailor, you see, I worship the sun, as an antidote to storms.” And then I added, “And I have gems aplenty, an you care to view them.”
“Bring me something fantastical tomorrow,” said she, “and tell me the tale of it, a tale at least as good as that of this Tabarzam mountebank.”
I had just told Baron Scarnside that I never visited another’s house to sell gems, but I considered that an exception might be made for the heir to the throne.
“I will be pleased to call upon you. At what time?”
“Come after dinner.” A smile tugged at her lips. “I don’t want to have to feed you.”
I bowed. “I shall dine, then, on the rich and pleasing airs of court.”
As I rose from my bow, I glanced over Floria’s shoulder, and saw another royal party coming down the walk, Berlauda and Priscus surrounded by a bright cloud of courtiers. As soon as I saw them, I realized that while I had been engaged in colloquy with Her Highness, the idea of the fire-drake had not entirely left my mind, and I found that I had built an elegant little formula in my thoughts without ever having devoted any actual thought to the matter whatever.
So when Their Majesties’ party joined ours, I bowed to the royal presence, and then went down on one knee.
“Your Majesty,” I said to Berlauda. “I beg of thee a quest!”
Everyone looked at me in some surprise, and Floria was the most surprised of all, for but a moment ago I had been engaged with her in a perfectly ordinary conversation with no mention of a quest or favors, and now here I was on one knee addressing the monarch.
Berlauda looked down at me with mild blue eyes. Her placid face remained expressionless. “You may send your petition to the Chancery,” she said, and turned to sweep along the path toward her barge.
“Your Majesty,” said I, “I have no petition but to be allowed to fight the fire-drake that endangers Your Majesty’s subjects and their property.” The queen paused, and the shadow of surprise passed across her face. She looked at me again. I offered her my dutiful-apprentice face and an apologetic smile. “I believe fighting dragons is what knights are for, Majesty.”
While Berlauda absorbed this, another man came out of the crowd and knelt on the path to my left. “I beg Your Majesty’s permission to accompany this knight,” he said in the accent of Loretto. He was a tall man, about my height, but with much greater breadth of shoulder and depth of chest. I recognized him as Dom Lorenso d’Abrez, a couceiro who had won the prize at the joust, three years before, that celebrated Their Majesties’ impending nuptials. I was annoyed at this great conceited lump of brawn trying to force his way into my expedition, and even more annoyed as another man knelt on my right.
“And I, Your Majesty.” And this man I recognized as the master of the henchmen, Sir Edelmir Westley. My lover’s husband had become inconvenient in a completely unexpected way.
Vexed at this ridiculous circumstance, I said that I intended to take the quest alone, but no one heard me, as courtiers were swooping in fro
m left and right to join us. Apparently questing was the new fashion, like brimless hats or shoes with scarlet heels. Among the newcomers I saw Dom Nemorino d’Ormyl, the Lorettan knight who had sat beside me at the regatta dinner and urged me not to tempt his king with impudence.
Berlauda looked at the growing pack with what seemed to be amusement. After a baronet tried to join us, the queen said the quest would be for knights alone.
At the end there were twelve of us. The queen wished all luck and went on with her ladies to her barge. King Priscus lingered a moment, surveying us, and then looked at me and smiled. “I hope at least one of you has read the rule book,” he said, and then laughed at his own joke, caw-caw-caw!
After the king left, I rose and invited the others to my house to plan the expedition, but none cared to hear me, and they wandered away in twos or threes, engaged in animated conversation. At the end I stood more or less as I had begun, with Floria and her ladies. Floria’s face was split in a merry smile.
“I thought you said you didn’t know how to kill one of these beasts!” she said.
“Nor do I. But I shall find out.”
She laughed. “Gorge it with those idiots,” she said, “and kill it while it’s sleeping off the feast.”
I snarled. “I will if I can.”
“If you succeed,” she said, “you will have the thanks of a royal queen of Duisland.” And then she paused and smiled. “Not my sister, of course,” she added, “but my mother.”
And then she and her ladies laughed, and trailed their merriment all the way to the royal barge.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I will take the star sapphire,” said the princess Floria. “Though I don’t know quite what I’d do with it. Use it for a doorknob, perhaps.”
The sapphire, a remarkable dark blue color, had not been faceted, but cut as a cabochon, which made its shape something like a flattened egg. The six silver rays of the star blazed across the gem’s dome like an exploding firework, and there were times when I thought it was the finest thing in my collection.
I had not brought my strongbox to the palace, but only a selection of the largest and finest stones, each wrapped in velvet, and the whole array carried in a leather bag. For each piece I had a prepared a story, and I felt justified in doing so, as Her Highness had practically commanded me. The star sapphire, for example, I said had been set on the crown of an idol in Mirandazar, until it had been looted at the fall of the Kangavid Dynasty. I continued the gem’s history with a series of lurid murders until I sensed Her Highness growing weary of the tale, at which point I brought the sapphire to Tabarzam and put the stone into her hands, and with a candle showed her the magic of the star, the rays that moved with the light over the gem’s dome.
“It’s large enough for a doorknob,” I said, “but I think it would make a fine pendant or ring.”
“Oh, ay.” Floria turned the stone in her fingers and watched the star shift across the cabochon. “I will think of something.”
“Your Highness wishes no other gems? This may be your last chance, for I may be eaten up by a dragon.”
Her darting hazel eyes steadied as she gazed at me. “Whatever possessed you to volunteer for that quest?”
I had come to think this was an interesting question. In truth, the idea had come in a rush of inspiration, and before that moment I had had no intention of going on any adventure more perilous than a regatta. Which made me wonder if the idea had been mine at all.
According to the ancient epics of Bello and his imitators, divine beings float invisibly among us, whispering their ideas into the ears of mortals, and moving us like pieces on a chessboard, to war or love or doom—all of which I had thought a poet’s conceit, until I had met such a being. Orlanda, I knew, was working to blight my life. She had poisoned the queen’s mind against me, and caused the wreck of Royal Stilwell, and wrought I knew not what other mischief.
I had wondered if Orlanda had put the idea in my head, and was even now in the Cordillerie, teaching the fire-drake how best to encompass my ruin.
“Why did I volunteer?” I asked. “Purely out of compassion for your distressed mother.”
Floria barked a laugh, and I saw amusement on the faces of her four ladies. For we were not alone in her parlor—no royal lady would ever let herself be found alone with a man, for her chastity was an instrument of the state, and subject to the state’s necessities.
“You know,” said the princess, “you didn’t need Her Majesty’s permission to fight this dragon. You needed only to go and do it, if that’s what you wanted. The queen would hardly have stopped you.”
“I felt I should tell someone,” said I, “so that if I am lost on this adventure, someone might search for me.”
Floria was amused. “My sister has no reputation for scouring the wilderness after lost gentlemen.”
I prepared an invoice for 190 royals, offered it to Floria, and then hesitated.
“Perhaps I should give it to the lord chancellor?” I said. “Or the lord treasurer?”
“The money will come from my household accounts.” Floria took the invoice, and I felt a pang of trepidation. If a member of the royal family chose not to pay money owed, what was the remedy? I could hardly take her to court.
But I decided to trust Floria, as if I actually had a choice in the matter. And I consoled myself with the thought that, if she had intended to rob me, she would have taken my every stone.
* * *
From Floria’s parlor I went to the Chamber of Audience, the tapestry-brightened, sunlit room where Their Majesties’ thrones sat golden beneath the canopy of state. It was what I thought of as an adulation day, for there was no activity or entertainment planned, and instead the courtiers strove to outdo one another in praising the appearance, wisdom, and every single utterance of the monarchs. This was not a game that I could play, not because I was more honest than the others, but because I was beneath Berlauda’s notice, and the monarchs would rate my flattery as of less consequence than the buzzing of a fly.
I entered the room in hopes of finding His Grace of Roundsilver, who I found standing by his golden duchess. I approached them and bowed. Her Grace turned to me with concern shining from her blue eyes.
“You purpose to fight dragons now?” she said. “What prompted you?”
“I have asked myself that question,” said I, “and I have no answer. But at least I shall have a bodyguard of eleven gallant knights.” I turned to the duke. “Perhaps your ancestor Lord Baldwine employed a stratagem that would be useful?”
“That was a long time ago, in the period of the Sea-Kings,” said the duke. “He left no prescription for monster-fighting, and there are few written records of him. But the legend states that he covered himself with muck and slime, dug some sort of tunnel beneath the place where the serpent came to drink, and stabbed the drake with a sword as it passed.”
“I have seen Baldwine portrayed in a pageant,” said I, “and no muck or slime was presented.”
“Place not your trust in pageants,” said the duke, and made a slight gesture of his hand that seemed somehow to encompass the entire pageant of the great palace, the strivings and rivalries of the courtiers, and perhaps the world itself. I shook my head.
“I cannot imagine Dom Lorenso d’Abrez and the others covering themselves in muck.” I smiled. “Though I should like to see it.”
“Here comes another of your band,” said the duchess.
Approaching came the master of the henchmen, Sir Edelmir Westley. He was a self-assured man of five-and-twenty, with long, well-dressed black hair, black eyes, and a pointed beard. He clearly shared his lady’s passion for gems, for stones glittered on his fingers and belt, and he wore a pendant set with baroque pearls. He bowed to Their Graces, and then turned to me.
“Sir Quillifer,” said he, “those of us on the expedition had a meeting this morning—”
“Was I not invited?” I asked.
The black eyes did not blink. “I suppose w
e could not find you,” he said.
I gestured in the direction of the lake. “I was on the water this morning,” said I, “in plain sight of all.”
Sir Edelmir paused to absorb this, a picture of amiability. “I am heartily sorry that no word came to you. I was not among those who organized the meeting, and truth to tell, it was barely organized at all.”
I bowed by way of accepting the apology. “What was the substance of the meeting?”
“It was decided that we should all leave the day after the Burning Bull Festival, after meeting at Oliver’s Cross in the morning.”
“When is this festival?”
“The first of November, Sir Quillifer.”
I knew nothing of burning bulls. In Fornland this would be the Final Flowers Festival, to mark the end of autumn.
“Did the meeting decide anything else, sir?” asked I.
“That we should draw lots to determine the order in which we fight the dragon.”
I looked at Sir Edelmir in surprise. “Why don’t we fight it all together?”
He gave me an easy smile. “That would hardly be sport.”
“Sport? I thought we were to kill a dragon, not challenge it to a game of tennis.”
Sir Edelmir laughed. “I think it is better this way. If we were to fight all together, twelve knights could never agree on what to do, and we’d get in one another’s way.”
I thought all eleven of them were in my way before we even started, and was tempted to say so. But Sir Edelmir had apologized very gracefully to me, and I supposed I might in theory owe him an apology as well, for sporting with his wife. So by way of changing the subject, I complimented him on his pendant.
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