Quillifer the Knight

by Walter Jon Williams

  “My company performs in Howel all winter,” Blackwell said.

  “Your whole company knows you wrote Laelius,” said I. “If one of them has too much to drink in a tavern and speaks too freely, you may be the first victim of this new law.”

  The warm light of the fire danced on his face. “It may be what I deserve,” said he.

  “The government has not thought to offer a reward,” I said. “But if they do, and one of your company decides he wishes to become rich…” I left the thought unfinished.

  Blackwell waved a hand. “Where would I fly to?”

  “I can put you on one my ships. You can learn to hand, reef, and steer, and amuse the crew with your verse.”

  He found this droll. “It is a salubrious life, on the sea,” he said. “But as an actor, I am devoted to a malign and depraved existence.”

  “Go and write your verse,” said I, “and leave me alone to my own misery.”

  Blackwell obeyed, and I ate a lonely supper of beefsteak and a little wine. I reasoned we now lived under a tyrant, and that I could not alter his tyranny by any action of mine. Therefore it was best that I provide for myself and my own safety.

  Under your inspiration I considered the Committee on Monopolies, which was made up of country gentlemen chosen not for their financial acumen, but their presumed loyalty to the crown. Clearly they understood more of taverns than of business. I considered forming a company for the purpose of purchasing a monopoly, or even becoming the monopolist of canals—I could put a turnpike on every canal in the kingdom, and charge a fee for every boat, barge, or scow.

  But first, I thought, I should secure the fortune that I already possessed. Sea-Drake was on its way to Tabarzam for silks and gems, and I should make sure my cargo did not fall foul of any monopolist granted a charter by the viceroy. By the end of my supper, I had thought of a way that might be accomplished.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  October eased into a cold November. I built Mountmirail a small lime kiln, and he began his experiments on mortar that would be proof against water. I attended the Burgesses, I paid court to Floria and appealed to her regarding the canal project, and I met with the Committee on Monopolies. I met with you privately as often as I could, but not as often as I desired.

  The two Thurnmark ships captured by my Ostra had been condemned by the prize court at Ferrick, and I set in motion my plans to sell the ships and their cargo. Twenty percent would go to the crown, half to the crew, and the remainder would be mine.

  I wondered if Edevane had urged the court to speed the verdict, in order to provide me with funds to purchase Countess Marcella’s notes. If so, both he and they acted too late.

  Because my comrades on the committee knew nothing of business, I was able to unduly influence the report on monopolies. I was able to manage a vote that no ship that had left Duisland before the royal assent of any import monopoly should be subject to the monopolist on that ship’s return, which I hoped would keep Sea-Drake and its cargoes safe. I wrote to Kevin Spellman that we might form an association of merchant adventurers to purchase one of the monopolies, and that we might seek to dominate the Tabarzam trade. To that end I began to frequent the house of the Honourable Companie of Mercers. This consisted of the greatest merchants in Howel, those who traded abroad, or bought from the guilds at fixed prices and then sold for whatever the market would bear. I was not a Mercer, but the Spellman family had introduced me to this guild, and I was registered on their books as a friend and aspirant. I began to canvass the Mercers both for the canal project and the formation of a company to bid on one of the monopolies.

  The canal did not interest them, for it was far off in Fornland; but profiting from a monopoly is never far from the minds of businessmen, and here the government was preparing at a price to indulge them. They were not all merchant adventurers like myself, and so they were more interested in domestic products like salt and felt hats and fur than they were in cedarwood and cardamom. Yet I knew the competition for any salt monopoly would be considerable, and it was more than likely that the would-be monopolists would pay more for their privileges than they were worth. I knew nothing of felt hats. But my ships traveled over the world, and I knew tonnage and bottomry, respondentia and hypothecation, and I knew at least some of the principal harbors of the world, and the merchants who dwelt there.

  Those who coveted monopolies viewed their privileges as the ability to place a surcharge on all suitable transactions taking place within the realm. But I had thought that a monopoly would find most of its benefits abroad. The Empire of the Aekoi, for one, was dominated on its periphery by warlords, chieftains, and pirate fleets, and lone ships under a lone master found it hard to cope on any kind of fair terms with these rapacious brigands who viewed all the world as prey. But if the ships belonged to a monopoly, they could treat with the reivers on far better terms. They could act as a state, and sign with foreign powers documents that would have the effect of treaties. Their ships could convoy together for self-protection, and play the warlords against one another in order to win privileges on foreign soil.

  “If only I had money,” I told you one evening, as we lay in sweet exhaustion on the Count of Rackheath’s feather mattresses. “I live day to day, and at any moment may find myself at the mercy of moneylenders.”

  You propped yourself on one elbow and gazed at me. Soft candlelight gave your face a flickering glow, and your scent danced in my senses. “Yet one of your great ships brought in a cargo of spices and gems. And your privateer has taken two prizes.”

  “Yet I cannot sell either the spices or the prizes. All the money in Duisland has gone into the grain markets.”

  “Well,” you said, “our merchants profit from starvation. You should do likewise.”

  I passed a hand over my forehead. “I have sent ships abroad to buy grain, but when it arrives, I must sell it to these same predatory merchants who have withheld grain from the markets while the prices rise. I myself have no means of storing grain, and I have not the resources to sell it to bakers or to the people.” I sighed. “So my fine plans for a monopoly may come to nothing, because I lack the means to invest in my own scheme.”

  “Can you store the grain on your ships?”

  “Yes, but that means the ships cannot travel. If they sit in port, they aren’t making money.”

  “But you tell me there is no money to be had in any case.”

  “There is,” said I, “but abroad, not here.” I turned to you. “If I fly this country on my ships, will you come with me?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Candlelight flickered in your black eyes. You lowered your head and dug your chin into my shoulder.

  “Ask me on the day,” you said, “and perhaps the answer will please you.”

  * * *

  About that time the fever that had killed Queen Berlauda crept west from Loretto and began to rage in Duisland. The paupers in the streets suffered badly, for starvation had already weakened them. The theaters were closed, and large public meetings restricted. Only the meetings of the Estates went on, and our halls echoed with hacking coughs more than they did with speeches. Two Burgesses collapsed on their benches and were carried from their seats on planks. One of them died.

  We had been called to the house in order to pass a new land tax. Last year’s session had raised the tax from two to three crowns per royal, and now we were to raise it from three to four. The bill passed—as all the government’s legislation did—by acclamation, without a vote. At least a third of the Burgesses had ceased to attend at all.

  We remained after the vote because Morley wished us to pass an Act Against the Despoliation of Grain Houses, for by now the desperate public was storming granaries and carrying off the contents to feed their families. Its was already illegal to loot a granary, but now it would be even more illegal than before, with even more hideous penalties.

  I sat waiting on my bench high in the room while Morley droned through the bill, and sick
Burgesses coughed and rattled about me. Then a herald in a bright tabard came to Morley and handed him a paper, and when he read it, he turned pale.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “we are summoned to the Bar of the House of Peers.”

  Which meant some great announcement, because the Burgesses still had much business, and we would not be prorogued until we had done it. I imagined there would be some proclamation about the war, perhaps the news that Priscus had taken Seaux-en-Laco, the city he and his father Henrico had been besieging for the last four months. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that it’s peace,” said Mallett, as we assembled for our procession.

  “I fear so,” said I.

  We made our formal procession to the House of Peers and shuffled our way to the Bar. Coughs echoed off the great hammer-beam ceiling. Fosco sat beneath the great canopy, his white staff in a clenched, jeweled fist. His jaw worked as he watched us, as if he was grinding treason between his molars, and his glance was so fevered I wondered if he had caught the grippe that was blasting the town. Fosco presided over only a few dozen peers, for they had not been expecting any business that day. Morley bowed to the viceroy to signal that we were ready to hear his address, and Lord Chancellor Oldershaw asked Fosco to address the Estates.

  “We bring melancholy news to the Estates,” said the viceroy. “It has pleased the Compassionate Pilgrim to relieve the mortal suffering of King Henrico and King Priscus, and to take them into his eternal realm, where he and they will reign forever.” A great murmuring began among the Burgesses, and so it was with difficulty that I heard the viceroy’s next words.

  “Their Majesties had decided not to retire to the capital during the winter, and were with the army at Seaux, sharing the hardship of their soldiers. Their sacrifice should serve as a glorious example to their subjects, and shows they are fully worthy of their ancestors.”

  He rose to his feet and thumped with his staff on his dais. “The Estates General will be prorogued for at least several days. But stray not far, for warrants will soon be sent.” He raised his staff.

  “The king is dead! Long live the king!”

  We duly echoed that ritual phrase, but by then I was hurrying for the door. Once I was free of the House of Peers, I dashed to the river, where I found my boat and crew and had them row like madmen for Wenwyn Hall and Princess Floria. From the boat I jumped to the quay and crossed the lawn to the rear portico. I knocked, and to the footman who answered said that I urgently needed to speak to Her Highness, and then I waited while Floria was called from the company of her ladies. When she appeared, I took off my boat cloak and offered it to her.

  “Highness, will you walk with me? My good woolen cloak will keep you warm.”

  Curiosity and calculation crossed her face, but her eyes held steady on my own, and she nodded. I draped her in the cloak, and then we walked out along the sere grass between her house and the quay.

  “King Priscus has died at Seaux-en-Laco,” I said. “His father is dead also, and now an infant is heir to our two realms. The Estates have been prorogued for a few days while the viceroy decides what course to adopt.”

  “The Pilgrim give them rest,” she said in a soft voice. She kept her hazel eyes downcast on the sward ahead of her footsteps

  “I think this will alter your situation, Highness,” I said. “I felt I should give you as much warning as possible.”

  “I thank you,” said she.

  “If you need anything whatever,” said I, “I hope you will call on me.”

  She paused then, and looked at me with appraising eyes, as if she were a jeweler valuing a gem. “I will find myself beset by Lorettan princes desiring marriage,” she said. “May I count on you to challenge them to duels?”

  “I hardly think you need my aid in fending off suitors,” said I. “But you may have any help that is within my power.”

  “I think I will sponsor that canal of yours, Sir Quillifer,” said she. “For it will furnish us opportunity to speak together.” She turned and began her walk back to her house. I could see your face among others at the window, all wondering what construction to give to my unorthodox visit. “I now,” she said, “must prepare my household. So I will return your cloak, and you may return to your own business.”

  “My business is prorogued,” said I.

  “I hardly think so,” said she, “for you will not be satisfied until you have adopted every occupation in the world. Come tomorrow, after dinner, with news of the canal.” She unclasped my cloak and handed it to me, and with a smile left me standing alone on her porch.

  * * *

  Floria was right, for I found employment for myself immediately. When I returned home, I found a message from the privateer pinnace Able, which I owned jointly with the Spellman family. Able had arrived in Longfirth after an unprofitable cruise, and I wrote to the captain to buy cargo he could sell in Fornland, and to wait for a passenger I would send him. I also wrote to the lank-haired gunner Peel to be ready to go to Fornland to fight kitlings and wyverns, and to visit me for instructions. His previous work for me on the dragon quest had resulted in his promotion from journeyman to master in the Loyall and Worshipfull Companie of Cannoneers, and now I would add to his fame.

  In the morning I went to visit Alaron Mountmirail to see how he fared at discovering a mortar proof against the corruption of water. To my surprise I found him sharing a rose-scented tisane with Edith Ransome, Floria’s astronomer, while his mechanical birds darted about the studio and an automaton of cogs and wooden rods produced some wheezing notes on an organ.

  “Mistress Ransome,” said I. “I hope you are enjoying the morning.”

  She lowered her tisane and smiled. I do not believe I had ever seen her smile, and I found the expression on her severe face more than a little eerie.

  “Have you come to see Alaron’s antihydraulic mortar?” said she. I could not help but notice that she and the engineer were on first-name terms.

  “Antihydraulic mortar? Is that what it is called now?”

  Mistress Ransome’s smile sharpened. “You are not the only one who can invent new words, Master Quillifer.”

  “ ‘Antihydraulic mortar’ is not bad, for a beginner,” said I, and turned to Mountmirail. “Have you made progress?”

  “Not yet,” said he. “I have barely started.”

  He took me past the new lime kiln to the work shed, and showed me how he had employed hammers, mortars, and his own grinding machines to create piles of powdered limestone, shale, gypsum, and clinkers, and to these he proposed to add various quantities of clay, sand, and ash, and test the result.

  “It seems that you are employing anything that might repel water, and just adding it in random proportions,” said I.

  “Not quite random,” Mountmirail said, “though you are not far wrong. There is nothing written about mortars and plasters that I can find, because all recipes are held secret by the guilds, and so I must write my own.”

  We discussed his experiments for a while, and then I turned to Mistress Ransome. “I was going to report this to Her Highness later today,” I said, “but your account may arrive first.”

  “There will be little substance to it either way,” she said. “Alaron’s experiments have hardly begun.”

  “Then I shall leave him to his work.”

  I returned home to find Peel the cannoneer waiting for me. I gave him his instructions and some money, and told him to travel to Longfirth, where Able would take him to Fornland.

  After dinner I took all the documents that Mountmirail had prepared for the canal project and carried them in my galley to Wenwyn Hall. In Her Highness’s parlor I waited, sipping from a cup of mulled wine, while she met with Lord Chancellor Oldershaw in her cabinet. To secure both Floria’s privacy and her virtue when she was closeted with a man, Chenée Tavistock acted as chaperone and viewed the meeting through a window opened into the next room.

  Lord Oldershaw was the highest ranking officer of state, and had held his position
since the foundation of Berlauda’s reign. He had not been required to ransom himself, as Thistlegorm had, and as he was in charge of the courts, whatever irregularities had taken place at the Siege Royal must have occurred with his knowledge. I was inclined to wonder whether he had taken a portion of Thistlegorm’s ransom, and of the others who had bought their lives with silver.

  That he was closeted with Floria was hardly surprising. I was certain that many of the great folk of the realm were quietly conferring with one another in order to best manage the state, their lives, and, of course, their own fortunes.

  The meeting went on for about an hour, and then Oldershaw withdrew. I bowed as he passed me, a stately man with a body in the shape of a hogshead of wine, and with little swinish eyes. He carried the rod of his office, and his black mourning gown was so covered with brocade that he crackled as he walked.

  I was called into Floria’s cabinet, a small room that smelled of cedar, with shelves of documents and books. Floria, in her white samite, glowed like a beacon in the small, dark room. She had turned her face pale with a mixture of egg white and talcum to which had been added ground pearls, which gave her skin an unearthly glow, as if she were a shimmering queen of faerie. A carcanet of emeralds enclosed her throat, and her gown was closely sewn with pearls and white diamonds. At her waist was the golden pomander mounted with the star sapphire I had sold her. She looked no longer a young, coltish girl, but every inch a monarch.

  I closed the door behind me and sat at Her Highness’s invitation. “I hope the meeting with his lordship went well, Your Highness,” I said.

  She gave me an under-eyed look. “Well enough,” she said.

  “He seems a portly man,” said I. “Perhaps he is stuffed with ransoms.”

  Her hazel eyes flashed. “If he is,” said she, “it is not your business.”

  “Truly, Highness.” I looked at Mistress Tavistock through the window into the next room. “I have heard of anchorite monks who walled themselves up, but who left such a window so that they could view holy ceremonies, and receive instruction. I believe these windows are called hagioscopes.”