Gloriana's Masque

by Eleanor Burns

  “Damn straight they have. My men need more action to satisfy them than they’ll get banging a few insipid elf-cunts, though I almost pity old Ironface when Captain Vargric leads the main body of them back here.”

  “Which would certainly be a better time to talk about moving against her, as I’m sure you’ll agree,” urged the older man’s voice, very patiently and reasonably as far as conspirators went, but the response it provoked was gleefully snide and taunting. This fellow doesn’t know when to keep his gob shut, thought Maradith, quietly hoping that he might push his luck too far.

  “What’s the matter, Staakys? Your men forgotten how to load a musket or swing an axe? Or is it just a lesson in courage they need?”

  “My men can vouch for themselves, but I don’t need their help to wipe that smirk off your face,” replied the older man, much to Maradith’s satisfaction, not that she was warming to either of these conspirators. “For your information, Corin, I was pillaging, aye, and leading men while you were dangling from your mother’s teats, and that was back in the days when we didn’t even have muskets, so if you feel confident going one-on-one with me, then by all means let’s–”

  “Quiet! Someone’s coming,” hissed Corin, and he had not been the only one to hear the approaching steps. Maradith had already ducked around to the far side of the pillar even before the Alvere servant had stepped into the corridor. Although Maradith only allowed herself a glimpse, it was enough to ascertain that the servant was, somewhat unusually, going about her work, as she was carrying a dustpan and a large sweeping brush. Maradith prepared herself to duck around the pillar again as the servant passed by, except that she did not: instead, she made straight for the now-silent door at which Maradith had been eavesdropping. Finding it unlocked, she entered. Maradith could not see her face, but she could almost feel the poor woman’s nauseous fear as she walked in on the silent conspirators, and the tremor in her otherwise respectful voice seemed to confirm it:

  “Oh … I … I beg your pardon, Milords. I thought this was Lord Lycon’s office … I thought I’d just give it a quick sweep, while he’s at the reception … but I see it’s not … so I won’t take up any more of your–”

  “Hold it!” ordered Corin. Glimpsing around the pillar and through the open doorway, Maradith could now see him. He struck her as a rangy, scruffy-looking thug who would have appeared more to his advantage in a drunk tank than a royal palace. He slowly circled around the servant, cutting off her exit route. “You’re her serving-wench, aren’t you? Queen Ironface’s? Well, aren’t you?” he repeated, in an intimidating bark that managed to elicit a small, terrified nod from the chambermaid, and gave Maradith the instinctive, hard-to-repress urge to find some handy blunt instrument in lieu of her service baton. Even Staakys, who was still hidden from her sight, seemed to find this scene somewhat distasteful, to judge from the tone of his voice:

  “Come on, Milord. I very much doubt she knows anything. You don’t imagine Gloriana and Lord Lycon connive in full view of the domestics, do you?”

  “Maybe, or maybe not, but no harm in checking. Anyway, it’s not as if this la-di-da Lucinian longhouse is all that big of a building. Easy to overhear something you’re not meant to, eh?” You got that right, Mister Scummy Bastard. “What about it, girl?” he asked, in a tone that he might have imagined was pleasanter. “Bet you know what the gossip is around this place, right?”

  “I … Milord is mistaken, I assure you,” stammered the chambermaid, with what even Maradith had to concede was a suspicious tone. “I know nothing of … any such matters. I mind my own business, I–”

  “Alright, lass. Take it easy,” interrupted Staakys, in a soothing tone that Maradith thought had ‘good cop’ written all over it. As he spoke, a metallic clinking as of coins being passed repeatedly from hand to hand came from the room. The sweet percussion of bribery … “Let’s say you don’t know anything interesting now. It’s not impossible that you might hear something interesting later, especially with our, ahem, honoured Lucinian guests on the premises. We might even be able to give you a few hints on what sort of things to listen out for … or, shall we say, to remember if you should happen to hear them in the normal course of your duties. Wouldn’t want you to endanger your pretty self now, would we? And of course, we’d show our appreciation generously,” he added, and stopped clinking the coins. Maradith could just make out his large, coarse, rather well-fleshed hand as he held it out to the chambermaid, displaying a small but far from insulting heap of gold on his open palm. There was a tense pause, and Maradith was briefly hopeful that the chambermaid would be tempted enough to capitulate and perhaps disclose something of value, but to both Maradith’s and the conspirators’ disappointment, her sense of honour held out:

  “Milord is kind … but it is not my place to–”

  “Alright, screw the nice guy shit,” interrupted Corin, his unimpressive supply of patience already exhausted. “That offer doesn’t appeal to you, then how about this one? You tell us everything you know, or I give you to my lads for a bit of sport. Lord Olfrud thinks you elf-bitches are too hot to handle even tied down, but maybe he never thought of breaking your arms and legs, and if you try biting we can always knock out those pearlies of yours. Just as long as we don’t damage your tongue, because I think you’ll really be in the mood for talking after they’ve all taken their pleasure with you. What about that, eh?”

  “You can try,” replied the chambermaid, still nervously, but the main note in her voice was now one of scathing contempt. “It depends on how far inside you you’d like me to insert this broom-handle, Milord.”

  Okay, enough of that, thought Maradith, emerging from her hiding place with a sense that whatever the Alvere lacked in wisdom they certainly made up for in courage, if not in good timing. Still, can’t let the poor girl be beaten to a pulp for the sake of a few lousy secrets. Even as she breezed through the doorway, Lord Corin looked ready to tear the chambermaid apart with his teeth, and by some miracle his expression actually worsened upon beholding the new arrival. Lord Staakys’ expression was harder to read under his mass of grey whiskers and long, braided hair. Even more than Lord Lycon, he looked like an elderly pirate with delusions of respectability, although given the company he was keeping those delusions could be forgiven. Still, even though he did not look in the mood for eviscerating Maradith, he could hardly have been said to appear overjoyed at her surprise entrance.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he blurted, expertly feigning any sense of guilt he may have felt, although Maradith conceded he might have been capable of that. It was more than she dared to assume for his comrade. “How dare you come barging in on our private conference like this, you …” he tailed off, in uncertainty.

  “Delator Maradith, Milord,” she replied, politely but with a razor-sharp edge. “Bodyguard to Lord Citizen Kasimir, the new Lucinian ambassador, pro tem.”

  “Your master is not here,” Staakys snapped back, but now with an anxious undertone. “I imagine he’s preparing for this reception, if not at it already. The throne room’s at the other end of the building, so if you don’t mind–”

  “Respectfully, Milord, my master is confident enough in the Queen’s guards that he fears no danger at the audience,” she explained, which managed to wring a short, cynical laugh from Lord Corin and soften his expression into an contemptuous sneer. “He ordered me to check the security arrangements in the palace. Understandable, I’m sure you’ll agree, in a town so recently, err, ‘liberated.’ Tensions running high, and so forth, though I wasn’t expecting to find Brython warriors and the cleaning lady going at it in here, I’ll admit. What happened, then? Did she miss a spot?”

  “You’ve no business in here, woman,” snarled Corin, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Staakys wince. That’s the idea. Nice to see the reputation of the delators counts for something. “Get the fuck out before–”

  “It’s nothing of consequence,” interrupted Staakys, emphatically. “Sta
ff discipline issues, nothing more. Lazy, feckless Alvere … Don’t know what’s good for them,” he added, glaring at the chambermaid, who stared back defiantly. “Anyway, we’ve wasted enough time over it. What say we resume this meeting later, Milord? Give the lady a chance to test all the locks and make sure the Queen’s guards aren’t asleep on duty. I wouldn’t bet on it myself, but good fortune to you, Delator.”

  “They seemed alert enough to me, Milord,” more’s the pity.

  “Believe that if you like, but it’s my opinion the first skill they master is the art of sleeping on their feet. It’s no wonder you Lucinians trampled all over them, though how you manage to get a stroke of work out of your Alvere city-thralls astounds me. Maybe you clever buggers have invented some kind of whip using this ‘tame lightning’ of yours. Give them a nice jolt every now and again to keep them on their toes, I’ll bet that’s the secret.” No, just big slums and starvation wages, thought Maradith, guiltily, but left it unsaid. “Anyway, not to pry. Let’s be on our way, Milord. I’ve my men to see to,” he declared, and marched out of the room. Corin delayed long enough to glare corrosively at both the chambermaid and Maradith, but slouched out after his fellow officer soon enough.

  Maradith had kept her composure throughout, but inwardly she now let out a massive, albeit metaphorical sigh of relief. RepSec officers had, in the past, been the death of kings and the downfall of entire regimes, but always under orders. For a low-ranking delator such as herself to pick a fight with noble Brython warlords was likely to end as badly for her as it would have for them, at least in career terms. Not that she thought Lord Corin, at any rate, would have been an easy takedown, although possibly a very satisfying one. Once she was satisfied that they were gone and would not return, she turned her attention to the servant girl, who had relinquished her straight, defiant posture in favour of an exhausted slump, while breathing very heavily.

  “You alright, Miss?” asked Maradith, fully prepared for a cold response. Staakys’ parting comment about ‘Alvere city-thralls’ would surely not do much to raise the local opinion of Lucinians, with or without whips. However, her fears proved unfounded.

  “Thank you, yes,” replied the chambermaid, breathlessly but with sincere gratitude. “I would not have been, though, had you come but a moment later. What that so-called ‘lord’ said about throwing me to his men … I could not contain myself. He would have killed me, I know it.”

  “Shame, as he’d have looked damn good with that broom up his arse. Mind you, that was some risk you took there. I’m sure the Queen would have been happy if you’d played along, just until you could have gotten away from Lord Sleazy and Lord Sadist in one piece. You could always have shopped the devious bastards to her later.”

  “Oh, that I will certainly do. There will be Shadow Guards patrolling all over these corridors by the end of today, don’t worry,” she added, although that news disappointed rather than reassured Maradith. “As for what you say, though … It is not all that easy. You people have an idea of us: that we Alvere give our love very easily, yes?” Maradith merely gave a grave nod, seeing no reason to substitute the maid’s polite phrase with such common Lucinian equivalents as ‘lechers,’ ‘slatterns,’ or even ‘vargs in heat.’ “That has some truth in it. We give our love freely and ardently with those whom we do love. As for those who take the ways of love and make them into a weapon or a torture device … That is a worse crime than murder among us,” she declared, with a disgusted shudder. “I would sooner have died than submit to that, or betray my queen because of such vile threats … but you are right, there was no harm in lying to those evil men. I should have, if I had only thought to … but it is not easy to think, when they spew such profanities.”

  “I think I understand,” said Maradith, and now that she thought about it, in spite of all the stereotypes, it was indeed a rare occasion that the delators were called to deal with a genuine Alvere rapist. The only one she remembered had never even made it to the cells, having been lynched by his own community before the delators could arrive on the scene. Maradith herself had made sure that the vigilantes had been leniently dealt with, receiving only a few years in a labour commune as punishment. “Just make sure the guards know to keep an eye on you lot, alright? I’ll sleep easier knowing those two aren’t prowling the place looking for other targets.”

  “They will know of it. This is Lord Lycon’s office, I was not mistaken. Those two were the ones who had no business being in here. I suppose they were looking for something to … But forgive me,” she said, graciously but frustratingly, having clearly come within a millimetre of uttering some juicy indiscretion. “I should not take up more of your time. Thank you, and please … tell your master that the Queen is to be trusted. Whatever these cruel and savage Brythons may think of her, do not listen to them. She only wishes to bring good to everyone,” concluded the chambermaid, before bowing respectfully and departing. Right … Tell that to the poor sods being pillaged and raped in the border villages, thought Maradith, but she decided against ruining the woman’s day any more than it had been already. Instead, she trailed her discreetly in the hope that she might go on with her duties and maybe lead her to the Queen’s apartments, but she simply returned to the servants’ quarters, probably to report the incident. Well, that’s my good deed for the day achieved. Earning my wages, not so much. Then, as Maradith was creeping up the servants’ stairs and back into the main hall, she saw an unexpected figure coming through the main entrance: it was Hierarch Saskia, and Maradith, who was well acquainted with the guilty gait and mannerisms of novice wrongdoers, could easily tell that the priestess was eager not to be seen. Which, in my experience, makes her well worth watching …

  One always had to be extra careful when trailing Alvere, their senses being so keen, but Saskia had very considerately dulled hers by pulling up her coarse, thick woollen cowl. Why exactly she imagined this was an effective camouflage was anyone’s guess, not that Maradith was complaining. In her case, pillars, alcoves, and the empty pedestals of purged statues served as far more effective concealments as she followed the priestess to the first floor, along the corridors, and at last to an ostentatious set of double doors carved in silverwood, with crowns and stars highlighted in gold leaf. Okay, fair enough. I’d have probably worked out that this was the royal apartment sooner rather than later … What happened next was considerably more confusing, as Saskia bowed her head before the doors, touched the lock with the fingertips of her right hand, and held that posture for several seemingly pointless seconds. Just as Maradith was beginning to fear that she was needlessly wasting her time in pursuing some aimless madwoman, the lock mechanism clicked and the door swung open under the continued pressure of Saskia’s fingers.

  Enlightenment dawned upon Maradith, but it was all she could do to suppress a chuckle. Should I tell her I could have picked that lock in less than half that time? Probably best not. Might be interesting to tell Citizen Kasimir about it … Might just depress him, though. Telekinesis, like telepathy, was one of those once-impressive skills that society had long since written off as being both impractical and unprofitable, to say nothing of elitist, since few non-Alvere were born with a natural potential for them. Of course, the fact that the Alvere still had a far greater proportion of natural psychics among their population made some cynics suspect that was part of the reason why supernatural skills were no longer valued in modern Lucinia, but Maradith saw no need for a racist interpretation. At the end of the day, if any uneducated bugger could operate a steam crane after less than a week’s training, it made a lot more sense to use that for lifting heavy loads than to hire some expensively-trained adept to levitate them. Not to mention that there was little chance of either crane or operator placing a curse on their employer in the event of wage disputes.

  Still, having practical skills was all very well, but not having to use any skills at all was better, so before Saskia could lock the door behind her, Maradith darted out from her hiding place and sli
pped behind her, into the room, closing the door as she entered. She made barely a sound as she did so, to avoid alerting anyone else on the first floor, but it was scarcely possible to pass so close to Saskia without her noticing. The priestess’s first reaction was an open-mouthed stare in which surprise, outrage, and panic fought for dominance. Maradith would have laid good money on her deciding to try and bluff it out, and she would not have been out of pocket.

  “What in Evādon’s name … ? This is the Queen’s apartment, you oaf,” blurted out Saskia in reasonably well-played fury, but with sweat pooling on her forehead. “If you think diplomatic immunity gives you leave to trespass here, I suggest you ask the opinion of the Shadow Guards. They will be glad to correct you.”

  “That’s right. I’m a naughty girl,” replied Maradith, stonily. “Shall we ask for their opinion on clerical immunity while we’re about it, or are you going to tell me you’ve just lost your keys?”

  “I … err … It’s no concern of yours,” she snapped back, rather feebly. “This is private business.”

  “I’ll bet it is. You want some more bad news? These corridors will be crawling with guards by tomorrow, so today’s probably your only chance to get this ‘private business’ done. So then, how about you quit wasting time, tell me what you’re in here for, and maybe we’ll get it done twice as fast … whatever it is?”

  “Why should I trust you?” asked Saskia, with narrowed, glaring eyes. Maradith rolled her own eyes in exasperation before answering.

  “You reckon if you tell me nothing that I’ll just sod off and leave you to it, do you? No, I’m more than happy to just stand here and watch until you do something interesting, but since I’m going to find out whatever you’re up to anyway, you might as well make it quicker and easier for us both.”