Masque (The Two Monarchies Sequence)

by W. R. Gingell

  “Annabel will be a little disappointed, perhaps, but some time is better than nothing. Our soldiers will need to know how to fight to Glausian conditions if we’re to aid them, and I fancy that the Glausian foot soldiers won’t be as hardy as they think they are when faced with a Civetan winter. What timescale are they willing to stipulate?”

  “Three years,” Father said ruefully, rubbing his chin.

  “Oh dear! I don’t think it will be enough, Papa.”

  “Neither do the horselords; they’re suggesting a turnaround of five years.”

  “I didn’t think the horselords were one of the regiments put forward for the scheme,” I said, frowning. “Not but what they’re right.”

  “They put themselves forward: Miryum said that it would be a challenge for them.”

  I hid a smile behind one of my dresses. “Good heavens, imagine Emmett on one of our long-haired ponies! His feet will trail on the ground!”

  Father was surprised into an uncharacteristic snort of laughter. “I thought I’d find you downhearted, Kitten! I see that I should have known better.”

  “Indeed you should, Papa! When have you ever known me downhearted?”

  “Not for many, many years, my dear.”

  “So the horselords are in favour,” I mused aloud, carefully smoothing gloves on my bedspread. “Or at least the first Regiment are, and where the First lead, the rest will follow. What did the King say?”

  Father shrugged. “Oh, you know what he’s like: he sat and smiled, and listened and watched. I wouldn’t bet either way on his decision, but I’m certain he’s made one already. We’ll have to wait and see.”

  “I think he likes watching us all run around like ants,” I said thoughtfully. The King of Glause was something of a favourite of mine, but even I had to admit that he could be infuriating. He was one of the few people I found it difficult to read, and I had the uncomfortable suspicion that he could read me only too well. It said something for him that I liked him in spite of it.

  “Who are the chief naysayers?”

  “Sir Pentus and the Earl of Horn,” Father said, leaning back against the pillows. He was watching me a little pensively. “The Mage General is also causing some difficulties. Isabella, am I being pumped?”

  “Oh, not yet, Papa!” I assured him, twinkling a smile in his direction. “I thought I’d make some casual conversation first and just edge into it.”

  “I’m glad to know you still give adequate warning when you’re about to dig for information.”

  “Well, it disarms people so! Now, Papa: was the Earl of Horn at the meeting today?”

  “No, but he’s been released. I believe he spent the morning with his wife and Louisa.”

  “Did it cause a stir, Lord Pecus arresting an Earl?” I enquired. Glause was class-conscious to a greater degree than Civet – perhaps because New Civet was still predominantly a nation of revolutionaries, despite being a monarchy once again – and I was curious to know if the nobility were suitably enraged.

  “Less than I expected,” Father said, frowning a little. “Most of the upset was caused by bewilderment and sheer disbelief that the Earl could be guilty. The question of his nobility didn’t arise.”

  “How very egalitarian of everyone!” I said admiringly. “And you, Papa? What do you think?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not an unbiased judge, Kitten. I’ve a larger stake in the affair than most people, and I find myself wishing him guilty if only to prove my own innocence.”

  I dropped a kiss on his head in passing, and said bracingly: “It’s very horrid for you!”

  “Oh, nonsense! When I think that you’re locked away here-”

  “Now, now, Papa!” I scolded. “I won’t have you upsetting yourself. Tell me about the party last night instead.”

  Father moved restlessly. “You were there, Kitten; you saw as much as I did.”

  “As much,” I allowed; “But differently. You’re the one who taught me the importance of differing perspectives, after all.”

  “I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

  I looked at him severely. “You’re not trying, Papa! Feeling, then: did you feel anything out of the ordinary?”

  “You’re a dreadful bully,” Father complained, but he couldn’t help smiling. “I’m still not entirely sure that I want you mixed up in this business, Isabella; too many people have died already.”

  “I’m already mixed up in it, and as for dying- certainly not! Pecus Manor is the safest place I could possibly be.”

  A thoughtful light came to Father’s eyes. “Hmm. I might have done Lord Pecus a slight injustice.”

  “I doubt it,” I said dryly. I thought I heard Vadim giggle, but when I glanced over at her she was solemn-faced. “I daresay Lord Pecus is quite able to bear the brunt of your displeasure. Now, out with it!”

  “Bully,” Father reiterated, but he sat a little more at his ease. “It was a few minutes before Melchior and I came across Lord Pecus. I was in the great hall looking for Melchior, but it felt as though I was somewhere else as well. I put it down to the whisky, but the more I think about it, the more I remember the wallpaper.”

  “Wallpaper?” An involuntary frown creased my brow. “The great hall is stone, Papa.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I mean. I felt for a moment as though I was surrounded by wallpaper in vines and flowers.”

  “Like the wallpaper in the room where you found Lord Pecus,” I said, in a low voice. A prickle of cold crawled down my neck. “You met Melchior only a few seconds later?”

  “Yes. He was running; he said that something was happening and that we needed to stop it.”

  “Then you’re placed at the scene without a witness. How convenient for someone!”

  “It’s worse than that, Kitten.”

  “You’re beginning to think you might have done it, aren’t you?”

  He nodded again. “I felt the pain in my cheek before Melchior got there. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but I can only assume that it must have been Lord Pecus’ mark.”

  “I won’t have Lord Pecus bullying you into thinking you’ve committed murder!” I said indignantly, my eyes flashing. “Just you wait until I see him next!”

  “It was just a thought, Isabella. I know I didn’t do it, but all the facts together buzz in my head until I’m not sure anymore.”

  “How are you managing by yourself?” I sneaked a look at him over the top of a morning dress I was shaking out, and caught the worried crease between his brows.

  “Oh, very well, Kitten,” he told me, with a very good assumption of ease. I narrowed my gaze at him but didn’t call the bluff. I would have to get my brother Kit on a commlink and have him over here as quickly as possible. Father needed someone to manage things for him.

  “When is the next conference? I seem to remember that there were three scheduled for this week.”

  “We reconvene this afternoon,” Father said. “We’ve only broken for recess. I think this one might last all day.”

  “Papa! What are you still doing here?”

  He looked mutinous. “Melchior can manage without me.”

  “You know very well that he can’t! Melchior is good for diplomacy only so far, and then he loses his temper. Oh, Papa, it was sweet of you to come, it really was! But do go back now, and finish your meeting.”

  Since Father did not look convinced, it was perhaps fortunate for the wellbeing of the conference that Damson tapped at the door that moment, with the information that visiting hours were over. She looked unhappy and flustered despite the beautiful mask, and I gathered that she was expecting to be railed at.

  I bestowed a warm smile upon her, and said: “Thank you, Damson. You will show my Father out, won’t you?”

  Father opened his mouth to protest, but I pulled him to his feet with an admonitory look and kissed him above the left eyebrow. “Off you go to your conference, Papa. Make us proud!”

  I spent the rest of the afternoon
and much of the evening unpacking my wardrobe. It’s an extensive one that takes an army of maids several hours to unpack, so I was somewhat surprised when it all fitted into the closet provided for my use. Surprise turned to unmitigated approval when Vadim showed me the scrolling trick that presented all of my ensembles in a sliding display at the wave of a hand, and I spent far longer than I should have grandly sweeping a hand sideways to send the skirts and bodices whizzing past in a flurry of material. I found myself wishing that I had had something of the sort when I was at Trenthams: though perhaps it was just as well that I hadn’t, since I could very well imagine Annabel convincing me that we ought to ride the clothes rail to see where it led.

  Damson appeared again some time later, while Vadim and I were still gleefully observing the closet. Keenan had disappeared underneath his bed once again, but he scrabbled out with great dispatch upon Damson’s announcement that dinner was ready.

  I had sent away my lunch tray untouched earlier, too preoccupied to eat, and it now occurred to me that I was really quite hungry.

  “Send a tray up,” I told her, closing the closet door with some slight discomfiture. It was a little off-putting to be discovered playing with a magic bauble as though I were eight instead of twenty-eight. “Vadim, leave the wardrobe alone, you’re too old to play with such things.”

  Vadim gave a short, surprised giggle, but said a suitably submissive “Yes, lady” with a bowed head.

  I glanced away from her to find that Damson was still just inside the door. Her flawless mask was unemotional, but her clasping fingers and taut shoulders told me she was steeling herself to make an unwelcome announcement.

  “What is it, Damson? It won’t get any more palatable with waiting.”

  “Lord Pecus’ orders, my lady-” she hesitated.

  “He seems to give quite a few of those,” I said, refraining from pursing my lips by great effort of willpower. After all, it was not Damson’s fault. “Which particular orders are these?”

  “The master says you’re to accompany him at dinner,” Damson said, in a gasp.

  “Is. That. So?” I said, slowly and lightly. Damson took a fresh grip on her apron, but this time I was too angry to show her the consideration she deserved. “You may tell Lord Pecus that I’m not inclined to accept his invitation.”

  “My lady, please!”

  “I’m sorry, Damson. Return to your master and tell him just what I said. I’ve lost my appetite.”

  She left in a distraught whirl of apron, and I threw a quick, narrowed look around the room. Two pot-pourri bowls- wonderful! I would have to make sure I was near enough to the dressing table to reach one without difficulty.

  “Vadim, get my night things, quickly! Keenan, begone!”

  I scrambled into my nightdress with more haste than elegance, counting myself fortunate that Lord Pecus ordered his dinner for such a late hour. My nightdress would not be out of place.

  “What are we doing, lady?” Vadim asked, panting a little as she bundled up my discarded outfit for washing.

  “Getting ready for bed,” I told her unhelpfully. She looked disappointed, but I only smiled saucily at her and said: “Off to bed with you, Vadim! If you should hear a little noise in a moment, feel free to disregard it.”

  I was sitting at the dressing table, brushing out my hair, when a loud, abrupt tattoo was pounded on my door. I smiled at myself in the mirror, and rose from the low stool. My bowl of pot-pourri was to hand: I was ready.

  “Who is it?” I called out.

  “Dinner is ready,” said Lord Pecus’ voice. It sounded as though he were speaking through clenched teeth. “You have five minutes.”

  “I’m not coming down,” I retorted. “Go away!”

  “Lady Farrah, if you’re not out of your room in the next few minutes, I’ll fetch you out.”

  I winced, but it had to be said. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  The puerility of it was embarrassing. Fortunately, Lord Pecus was too annoyed to notice. “Two minutes, Lady Farrah!”

  “I absolutely refuse to come out!”

  Of course he burst through the door. It cracked against the massive slabs that formed the stone walls, sending splinters flying, and I didn’t have to try very hard for the startled jump as Lord Pecus strode into the room.

  I gave a maidenly shriek, and in a moment of truly inspired acting, snatched my dressing gown from the bed to my chest and assumed pose #35, Maidenly Horror. Hands clasped below the breasts and clutching my dressing gown as if to protect girlish modesty, eyes wide- maybe finishing school had been useful for something after all. I thought I might have gone too far, but Lord Pecus, who at my shriek had stopped two strides into the room with a look of horror on his mask, hastily turned his face to the wall. He tried to utter a disjointed apology but I threw one of the pot-pourri bowls at him, and it smashed satisfyingly on the wall, cutting off the attempt. His shoulders hunched, but he didn’t dodge. I was enjoying myself immensely: after a debacle of this magnitude, I was bound to have my evenings to myself. Lord Pecus made another essay at an apology, his massive shoulders still hunched like a schoolboy, but gave up and slid hastily out the doorway with his head ducked when I threw the second pot-pourri bowl disconcertingly close to his left ear.

  I tried to shut the door behind him, but it hung limply like a broken wing on a bird, so I left it where it was and took my silly giggles to the pillows where they wouldn’t be heard. I was crying tears of laughter when Vadim’s big eyes appeared over the footboard of the bed.

  “Are you all right, lady?”

  “Oh, Vadim, Vadim! I have never been better! Go to bed now, there’s a good child: tomorrow is a bright, bright new day!”

  Chapter Two

  Damson was somewhat subdued the next morning. I took it for granted that Lord Pecus had been sharp with her and was surprised, since I had never thought of him in the light of an unreasonable master. However, as the morning wore on it began to be impressed upon me that Damson was showing me the cold shoulder.

  I was amused, but willing to placate, so I said with a faint smile: “Am I forgiven yet?”

  She dusted the hearth with some energy. “Forgiven for what, lady?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to discover, Damson. I have the lowering feeling that I’ve hurt your feelings.”

  “Oh, no, lady!” she said at once, melting with pleasing promptness. “Only the master was upset, and he’s so lonely; we all thought you’d be company for him, you know. And if that weren’t enough-”

  She stopped short, and I prompted: “And?”

  “Nothing, lady.”

  I was further amused to note that she was blushing.

  “I take it you’re experiencing problems with a gentleman friend?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing that would interest you, lady,” Damson said hastily.

  “You greatly underestimate my interest in the affairs of others,” I said frankly, drawing a surprised giggle from her. Since she really didn’t seem to want to discuss the matter, I asked instead: “How are Vadim and Keenan doing below stairs?”

  Damson was cautious. “Too soon to say, lady; but I hope you won’t judge us all by the footmen.”

  “If I were in the habit of judging all by a few, I wouldn’t be a very good diplomat,” I told her comfortingly. “Mind you, there are people who have voiced their doubts as to my skills before, so you never know. Oh, are you finished? Very well; send Vadim up to me, if you please.”

  I entertained Melchior as my sole visitor that day. He consoled with me, but absentmindedly; and patently disbelieved my innocent gaze when I informed him that my stay had been so far uneventful.

  “But it really has, Melchior!” I assured him. “I only threw a pair of pot-pourri bowls at Lord Pecus, and as they were very ugly I do think I’ve done him a good turn! If he tells you anything else, it’s a shocking untruth!”

  Melchior grinned. “You want to be careful I don’t give Pecus some pointers on how to handle you, Carrots.�
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  “You’ve never been able to handle me,” I pointed out, and added: “Or Annabel, for that matter. Lord Pecus is doing quite well on his own.”

  “You mean you have him wrapped around your little finger,” retorted Melchior, still grinning. “How’s the investigation going?”

  “Slowly.” It was one of the particular sore points that I nursed against Lord Pecus: situated as I was, it was almost impossible to continue my investigation, and it really had been stimulating.

  I looked up to find Melchior smiling impishly, and demanded: “What is it, Melchior?”

  “I may be able to help you with that,” he said. “Alexander said I could fix you up with a semi-detached commlink, since you can’t produce ’em yourself. What you use it for has nothing to do with me.”

  “Melchior, you wonderful man!” I said warmly. “I need to contact Kit for Papa, and see if Su can manage on her own, and oh! very many other things besides!”

  “Your firstborn is the usual payment, Carrots. Hmm, on second thoughts, maybe not: that might be more trouble than I’m prepared to take on. What do you want the link fixed to?”

  I ignored the first part of this exchange as beneath notice, and looked around swiftly for an object with a sufficiently mirror-like surface. At length I selected my hand mirror: it was pretty, and I was a little sorry to lose it, but I had the bureau mirror after all, so I tossed it lightly to Melchior and sat down at the bureau chair to observe him.

  There was a moment of heavy silence before he looked up distractedly from the mirror.

  “I wish you wouldn’t stare at me.”

  “I know,” I said simply, propping my chin on the palm of my hand. “That’s why I do it. It’s taken me a long time to perfect a silence this loud. One doesn’t achieve excellence without practice, you know.”

  “Yes, but must you practice on me?”

  There was a note of real pleading in his voice, so I left him to it and wandered out onto my stone balcony. I found it pleasant to lean lazily against the cool stone balustrade: the warm Glausian air had become somewhat stuffy inside, and though the triad glowed around me there was a light breeze sweeping through the tops of the trees that was very refreshing.