Quillifer the Knight

by Walter Jon Williams

Umbrey pointedly spurned Morley, his gaze passing over him as if he were invisible, and Umbrey’s voice rose to fill the great echoing space of the chamber. “Why are enemy privateers allowed to plague our coasts without opposition from the navy? Why do our naval ships remain in port while the enemy carries away our shipping from under their very noses? Why have we lost two hundred thousand in commerce to these raids, and why must our merchants bribe our naval officers in order to provide an escort for their ships?”

  Some of Morley’s placemen hissed and booed at this slur on the naval service, but Umbrey, sure of his facts, ignored them. Morley had been lavish with his bribes and offers of office, but there were over five hundred Burgesses, and Morley lacked the resources to bribe all of us.

  “Hath His Majesty plans for relieving the tens of thousands of his subjects who stare into the face of starvation? Hath grain been purchased? Is grain being distributed?”

  Then Umbrey squared his shoulders and planted his feet firmly on the floor of the chamber. He looked directly at Morley.

  “And furthermore,” he said, “how doth His Majesty’s government justify the execution of monks for preaching the word of the Compassionate Pilgrim? Two holy men have been killed at the command of this Commission of Inquiry, a commission that has not been authorized by the Estates. And yet public money supports this commission, and this money has not been voted by the Burgesses.”

  Morley rose to answer. “The Commission of Inquiry it not a department of His Majesty’s government. It is not a ministry. It is an organization completely its own, created by private members of the clergy who are concerned by a lack of uniformity in worship.”

  Morley barely got the words out before he was drowned in laughter. His claim was ludicrous.

  Umbrey’s body seemed to inflate, as if with triumph. He appeared to loom over Morley, though they were on opposite sides of the aisle and at least three yards apart. A wide, disdainful grin spread over Umbrey’s dark face. “If His Majesty’s government did not authorize the Commission of Inquiry, or the execution of those monks, then the commissioners are guilty of murder. I move that this house issue warrants for the arrest of these commissioners, so they may be brought to the bar of justice.”

  This was too much for Morley, and he leaped to his feet shouting, and so the day went on. The crown’s proposal for more soldiers was ignored as the Burgesses wrangled over Umbrey’s questions. The party of the crown had no answers, and the viceroy’s partisans tried to replace answers by shouting and abuse. Witnessing the wrangles made me think of how much it was a grave mistake for the government to have executed Hulme and Tryon, as they had managed the Burgesses much better than Edevane’s pitiable minions. In contrast Umbrey, along with Ethlebight’s representative, Sir Cecil Greene, had their own faction well in hand.

  By the end of the day, a motion had passed that the series of questions posed by Umbrey would be sent to the viceroy for his comment. Warrants would be sent to the sheriff for the arrest of the Commission of Inquiry.

  I did not speak, as I was far too junior in this assembly to be taken seriously by anyone. In addition, I had no desire to argue in favor of the crown’s absurdities.

  Nor was I obliged to vote. No one on the government side dared to call for a division, as it would only call attention to how badly they were outnumbered, and so the Speaker—the sweat that glistened on his bald pate a clear sign of his reluctance—declared that the house was in agreement. Greene was deputed to write the inquiry that would go to the viceroy, and Umbrey himself wrote the warrants to bring the commissioners before the bar.

  The Burgesses adjourned in mid-afternoon, and again I went to Her Highness’s house, where others had already assembled. It was then I learned of the wrangles that had gone on in the House of Peers.

  The peers had raised many of the same issues as the Burgesses, but they were also concerned with violations of what they considered to be their own privilege. For when Scutterfield, Hulme, and the lord high admiral had been found guilty by the Siege Royal, it was a violation of the traditional right of the peers to be judged by those of their own rank.

  Lord Chancellor Oldershaw managed the peers better than Morley had the Burgesses, but he was even more outnumbered, for the peers were nearly unified against the crown. The attack on the government was led by Lord Scarnside, the premier baron of Bonille, with whom I’d had that disagreeable encounter the day of the horse-ballet, and by Lord Slaithstowe, who had briefly been attorney general under Queen Berlauda. Slaithstowe could dispute fine points of law with the chancellor, while Scarnside could outshine anyone in point of pride. His effortless conceit and self-regard raised the peers in defense of their dignity, tradition, and honor, while Slaithstowe demolished the government’s justifications.

  Not only did the peers pass a bill making the peers immune to any court but themselves, they insisted that peers not be judged, as was customary, by a jury chosen from their number by the lord chancellor, but by the entire body of the peers sitting together. Which meant of course that no peer would ever be convicted of anything, for peer families were so interconnected by marriage and interest that they would never vote to condemn one another.

  As for the rest of us, apparently we could continue to be murdered by the treason court. That was none of the peers’ affair.

  The peers also petitioned the crown that the young Prince Aguila be raised in Duisland, and his welfare and education supervised by a board of governors chosen from the greatest men in the realm, which is to say themselves.

  The peers did not offer comment on the war, which they viewed as the king’s affair, or taxes, because taxes were the business of the Burgesses.

  Her Highness Floria had so many callers, and their dissection of the day’s events was so excited and so intricate, that I never had the opportunity to speak with you in private, but only to yearn at you from over the heads of the others.

  You were amused, I think, but nevertheless I hope you appreciated the sincerity of my devotion.

  * * *

  When we Burgesses reported to our house the next morning, the serjeant-at-arms informed us that our sitting was delayed till noon. The reason for this was soon apparent, for a number of Burgesses had traveled to the house by way of the Hall of Justice, where they found the heads of Greene and Umbrey mounted on pikes and dripping upon the paving-stones.

  I remembered Greene’s words to me in Ethlebight: The viceroy cannot rule the Burgesses through terror. Apparently we would find out if he could.

  A number of Umbrey’s faction, fearing the Siege Royal, vanished into the town. The rest of us waited and watched the peers troop past in their carriages, for they were not being kept out of their own chamber.

  I thought about my part in the business of The Court of Laelius, and I briefly considered joining the flight of Umbrey’s faction, but decided that I should avoid anything like the appearance of guilt. No one had yet seen Blackwell’s head on a pike. Yet fear crept on soft feet along my spine as I entered the Burgesses at noon and saw that the scarlet-and-gold royal canopy that normally graced the peers had been set up in our house, and that a throne sat beneath it.

  A deadly silence filled the chamber, broken only by the shuffling of feet as the Burgesses moved to their places. I took my high seat just below the coffered ceiling, and all waited in silence.

  The silence was broken by the opening of the door behind the throne and the marching in of half a dozen of the Yeoman Archers, each carrying a halberd. After they had grounded their arms, Viceroy Fosco swept in. He paused before the throne for a moment, his long white staff in his hand, his dark eyes narrowed and suspicious, his falcon nose raised high as if to sniff out subversion. Most of us took off our caps in the presence of the representative of majesty, though a few kept their caps defiantly on their heads.

  I did not want to die for a cap, and so I removed my own.

  Fosco continued to glare at us for a while, and then sat on the throne, his white staff draped over the crook of
his elbow. The Speaker announced to us all what was perfectly obvious, that the viceroy wished to address the house, and formally invited Fosco to speak. Fosco removed papers from his robes and began his speech in a sharp, angry tone.

  “It has come to the attention of the government that treason has been practiced in this house,” said he. “The Siege Royal has acted to curb this danger, and now the traitors Umbrey and Greene have even been executed. Lord Slaithstowe and Lord Scarnside have been removed to Murkdale Hags for interrogation.”

  Fosco’s fury made his hand tremble, and his papers shivered before his eyes. He flapped the pages out once or twice, then refocused his attention on his script.

  “The House of Burgesses has in its insolence voted to send a list of questions to the throne. We are pleased to answer them now.”

  He let one of his papers drift to the floor, and he read from the next.

  “The aspersions against the officers of the navy were libels,” he said, “and the libelers have now been executed.”

  He frowned down at his pages. “It is not the business of the crown to relieve the hunger of paupers,” he said. “If we purchase grain, we purchase it not for paupers, but for servants of the state. If paupers need relief, private charity, the city corporations, and the county officials are competent to execute this function.”

  He looked up, his dark eyes passing over the sullen faces of the members. “The war and its conduct lie within the privilege of His Majesty,” he said, “and I charge the Burgesses not to meddle with it.”

  The viceroy smiled then, but the smile was so distorted it may as well have been a sneer. “The Burgesses have done us the inestimable favor to point out that irregularities existed in the creation of the Commission of Inquiry. We now will correct this by placing a bill before you that will regularize the commission, and grant immunity for any mistakes they may have made in the past.”

  He gave a nod to the Speaker. “Master Speaker, you have our leave to continue.”

  The Burgesses then, under the Speaker’s direction, passed all the legislation the viceroy desired. The king got his twenty-five thousand soldiers—and I thought he would have little trouble recruiting so many, for many were starving, and soldiers in the army are supposed to be fed. The law equating libel with treason was passed. The Commission of Inquiry was officially established, and the commissioners forgiven their usurpations and murders. There was no vote on any of these bills, for no one dared to call for a division, and the bills were recorded as being passed by acclamation and sent on to the peers.

  After this Fosco rose and gathered his robes about him. “I leave you to deliberate on the matter of raising taxes, for this is your business. But I charge you not to take too long about it.”

  As the viceroy swept from the room with his escort of halberdiers, I felt in myself a growing fury and disgust. Fosco had determined to rule through tyranny, and the Estates General, our chief defense against tyranny, had submitted. I myself had done nothing and made no protest. I heartily wished the Burgesses had risen in a mass and torn Fosco to pieces along with anyone foolish enough to defend him—there were five hundred of us, after all—but the two leaders of the majority had been killed, and now there was no leader but Morley, whose position was gained through his meek submission.

  And here I was, numb and silent on my bench. I hardly needed Orlanda to remind me that I was a mere placeman whose ambition had now brought him to a position of utter slavery.

  The Burgesses now began to consider what are called “ways and means,” exploring methods of financing the projects of the government. Morley assigned members to various committees to study the problem, and to my surprise I found myself a member of the Committee on Monopolies.

  The Burgesses formally recessed, and the committees withdrew to rooms elsewhere in the old college building, or to alehouses in the vicinity. My committee was led by a justice of the peace from a county south of the Cordillerie, a jolly fellow called Mallett with a red face and a pointed gray beard. He led us to the Hanged Man Tavern, sat us about a table, and produced a paper. “The viceroy wishes to raise money by selling monopolies,” he said, “and desires our opinion concerning what items should be placed on offer.”

  “Who is to bid on these monopolies?” asked I. “And what are the terms?”

  “Monopolies will be awarded based on bids submitted to our committee,” he said. “They will be awarded for three years, and then bids will be submitted again.”

  I looked at the list and saw that it included salt, sugar, furs, indigo, cotton, silk, grain, wine, brandy, felt hats, gemstones, saltpeter, and a long list of spices. Half the list seemed to be aimed directly at my own cargoes, but I decided to begin my objections with a commodity in use by all.

  “I see that salt heads the list,” said I. “I am willing to wager that another committee is considering a tax on salt while we debate selling a salt monopoly.”

  “Ay,” said Mallett. “I have no doubt. Would you pledge with me a glass of beer to the health of His Majesty?”

  “Willingly,” said I. “But I must say first of all that you cannot tax a thing and then sell a monopoly on that same thing.”

  “We are to make a report,” said Mallett, “not pass a law. Someone above us will judge all these things.”

  “I also do not see how a monopoly given to a private entity can be enforced,” said I. “Say that a monopoly is granted on brandy. How does the monopolist enforce his rights? Must he form his own customs service at his own expense? Or may he call on the resources of the state?”

  “All that is yet to be decided.”

  I frowned down at my glass. “Say that I sail to Tabarzam to buy silk. Say I am gone a twelvemonth, and when I return, I find that a monopoly has been granted on silk, and that I must sell only to a single person at whatever that person is willing to pay.”

  Mallett laughed. “Then you will be in a sad state, Quillifer. Come, let me fill your boozing-can.”

  Over the afternoon the Committee on Monopolies managed no business whatever, which I found more comforting than not. After the meeting I took my boat to Her Highness’s house, and I found you waiting for me by the boathouse.

  “Her Highness is not receiving today,” you said. “She heard about the executions, and decided not to let people attend her when they are angry. She does not want it said that she listens to seditious or heated talk.”

  “Commendable caution,” said I. “I have practiced commendable caution all day, and it has made me sick of myself.”

  You put a hand on my arm. “What choice did you have? Your death would have meant nothing.”

  I looked at you. “If it did not mean leaving you behind, I would throw up my office and join my privateer.”

  “Then I am glad that I restrain you. For if you cannot see opportunity in this day’s doings, I very much overestimate you.”

  This brought me up short, and I considered your words. I had not viewed the day as anything but an exercise in murderous tyranny, and had not considered the ways in which tyranny might be of use, even profitable.

  You stepped close, and even in the chill wind of autumn I could scent the myrrh in your hair. “You chose the life of a courtier,” you said. “Then you must be the best courtier in Howel. For are you not the great dragon-slayer of Duisland?”

  “Well,” said I, “that, at least, I am.”

  Gravely you kissed my cheek. “I must return to Her Highness,” you said, “but I hope to see you again in a day or two.”

  I returned to my galley and sped home along the lake. On the way I encountered the galley belonging to His Grace of Roundsilver, and hailed the great lord as we drew up to him.

  “I am leaving on the first boat south,” he said to me. “If I can arrive in Selford ahead of the great gales of winter, I shall be the most contented man in the world.”

  “Please tender my very best wishes to Her Grace,” said I.

  “You may join me on this voyage if you are so minded,”
Roundsilver said. “There is nothing here but death and desolation.”

  “Alas, Your Grace,” said I, “I hold an office.”

  “And now perhaps you understand why I have never held an office in my life,” said he, and then he turned thoughtful. “Yet you are a monster-slayer,” he added. “Perhaps a monster might be found in Fornland, that you must come away to kill, and you will be excused attending the Estates.”

  “If I can bring the canal into being,” said I, “there may be some good come of this session.”

  The duke looked at me with a skeptical eye. “Well,” he said, “you can but try. I will tender your greetings to my lady.”

  When I arrived at Rackheath House, I was told that Blackwell waited in the parlor, and that he was drunk.

  “This is nothing new,” said I, and walked to the parlor, where I found the poet huddled miserably on the floor by the fire. I closed the door behind me, then advanced toward Blackwell. He turned to me, his appearance wild.

  “It’s all my fault, isn’t it?” said he. “My Laelius killed those men.”

  “Now I see why the vanity of poets and players is proverbial,” said I, and as anger flashed in his indigo eyes, I added, “Umbrey and Greene did not die for writing your poem. They died because they defied the viceroy.”

  “Yet I made Fosco furious. They are making ballads out of some of my verses.”

  I had not heard this, but was not surprised. “If you wish to assign yourself blame,” I said, “you can blame yourself for the new libel law. But that law has not yet been passed by the peers, or received the royal assent, and no one has been arrested on those libel charges. So when someone is convicted and executed on those charges, then you may feel wretched, but until then you may not feel any more wretched than I, who in fear of my life did vote for that very law.”

  He turned to the fire. “Well, we are brothers in misery, then.”

  I drew a chair near the hearth and sat. “Your patron Roundsilver is leaving for Selford,” I said. “You might want to go with him.”