Gloriana's Masque

by Eleanor Burns

  “Kind of risky, though,” pointed out Maradith, in a quieter tone, as they passed through the hall and saw a few servants milling about. Fortunately, the Lucinian guests were now about as interesting to the staff as the remaining furniture. “I mean to say, telling her that you’re onto her secret plans, that you’ve been reading her journal … I wouldn’t like to call the odds on whether she’ll give you a fair hearing, commend your honesty and tell you to bugger off, or just put your head on a spike and have done with it.”

  “Probably no worse odds than we’ll get from the Senate,” he answered, echoing her own dismal thoughts on that subject. “Even so … I’d still rather give her the chance to call this thing off of her own free will,” he declared, as they stopped at the main doorway. “She’s got it made here, if she only knew it. All we need do is buy off these Brython mercenaries and send them packing. She could still do a lot of good, you know. To think of all she achieved in a mere twenty-eight years … If we can only put the lid on this mass transition business – hush it up as much as possible – then she might live to do so much more,” he suggested, but Maradith got the sense that he was arguing with himself as much as he was trying to convince her. Kasimir was clearly not confident that his diplomatic skills would be enough to talk Gloriana out of her grandiose schemes, nor even whether he should be making the attempt. Maradith both admired his courage and pitied his conflict, but found her own thoughts on the matter much less conflicted. Indeed, she was so far from being convinced that Gloriana deserved to die, that she was beginning to wonder if the more moral thing to do might have been to arrange for Saskia to have a little ‘accident’ instead. Maybe a bit of a stretch to manage, and all too risky, but a girl must have her little fantasies …

  “In that case, Lord Citizen, would you rather I didn’t mention anything of this transition plan in the report?” asked Maradith, delicately. “As you say, it’s pretty far-fetched, so it could always be that you and me didn’t believe a word of it. Saskia will probably deny that, but if it comes down to our word against hers … I’d say there’s a good chance the Senate would give more credence to you than to some hysterical Alvere witch-doctor.”

  “We can but hope … Very well,” he answered, with strained determination. “Let’s keep that part to ourselves for now, and hope our sharp-tongued friend holds her peace … and thank you for your support, Maradith, really. I knew I could trust you to do the right thing, just as I had a nasty feeling the ‘right thing’ would turn out to be complicated and dangerous, and so it did. Such is life, but whatever happens I couldn’t have asked for better backup,” he concluded, and set off into the palace corridors with a slouched gait and a heavy tread. Like a man walking to the gallows, poor sod. She turned from that sad sight and continued out into the courtyard, now deserted, as the disgraced and dishevelled labourers had finally been allowed to rejoin the community. Maradith doubted they would find an easy welcome, but the Queen had at least been true to her word, and had not milked their humiliation and suffering for all it was worth, unlike the bastard we wanted to leave the Alvere with, as Maradith could not help but remind herself: especially since many half-smashed stone copies of his head still littered the gravel pit.

  As she walked the streets of Kadar Ydril, suspicious stares were few and far between, children continued to play in spite of her presence, and a few off-duty guards even gave her offhand nods and salutes, not exactly friendly but a definite improvement on their cold reception. Kasimir’s acknowledgement of their new queen had certainly improved the public mood, although it would probably win him fewer friends back home. Even if the Senate did not literally kill him for knowing too much, they would very likely metaphorically bury him as an embarrassment, having won what would be seen by many as a humiliating peace. If Gloriana knows her friends, she damn well ought to give him half her kingdom rather than stick his head on a spike, thought Maradith, but as she neared the Lucinian embassy, her hopes for Kasimir’s mission were eclipsed by fears for her own, as she saw Saskia leaving by the courtyard gate, quickly and furtively. She watched her from the shadows of a narrow alley as she made off in the direction of her hut, then emerged when she was out of sight and passed through the gate herself. A six-metre-high statue of Alyssa Skallagrim dominated the courtyard from an anvil-shaped plinth. Beneath one arm it carried the book of the Constitution, and in the other, outstretched arm it wielded the iconic weapon of the Hundred-and-one: a sickle blade tethered to a barge pole, forming a rudimentary pike. The whole statue was gloriously painted, the face wearing a look of serene, romanticised beauty which Maradith was somewhat sceptical that its subject – three times a mother, a farmhand since early childhood, and well into her late thirties when the first uprisings began – had ever truly possessed. That being said, at better times she would have found the artwork an uplifting sight, and the same went for the gorgeously elaborate mosaic frieze set over the embassy’s main entrance, which depicted the burning of the Summer Palace. As she passed beneath it, she idly wondered if any of the impossibly muscular and heroic-looking revolutionaries in it was intended to represent her grandfather, and what advice he might have given her today. I only ever wanted to serve his memory and the ideals he fought for, but how much of that still counts for anything, or ever did? Like as not the poor sod’s already spinning cartwheels in his grave …

  The assistant clerk at the lobby desk looked shaken when she entered, and he turned even paler when he caught sight of her uniform. Loath although Maradith always was to milk the intimidation factor that her status provided, at present she needed information more than popularity, and she fired her question at the poor young bureaucrat with all of the force and friendliness of a mortar shell.

  “You: what was that Alvere doing in here?”

  “I … err … She told me I wasn’t to say, begging your–” began the clerk, and Maradith could tell that she was not the first visitor today to have dispensed with charm in favour of simple bullying. She felt sorry for him, but not enough to outweigh her need to know what Saskia had been up to, and she cut across his nervous reply with brutal curtness.

  “You see this, Citizen?” she asked, pointing to the golden eye insignia embroidered on her left breast. “I take it you know what that stands for. Now, I reckon we can safely say that the threats of some native god-botherer pale in comparison to what could happen to anyone dumb enough to disrespect that emblem, if you get my meaning, so how about you rethink your answer?”

  “I didn’t mean no disrespect, Delator, I swear, I just …” he began, almost in a babble of panic, then tailed off, managed to rally his spirits again slightly, and resumed. “Thing is, my duty’s to protect the ambassador and his staff. She told me if I didn’t go along with what she wanted, she’d have all the guards withdrawn. Leave us all to the mercy of the mob.”

  “An empty threat, lad,” replied Maradith, still harshly but not entirely masking the sympathy she felt. “Even if she had the authority to, there is no ‘mob’ anymore. I’ve just been through the streets, and they’re as peaceful as a lichyard, if a little livelier. How long’s it been since you’ve set foot outdoors, anyway?”

  “Not since the attack. Three weeks to a month, I guess, and until there’s a stagecoach out there bound for Lucinia, that suits me just fine.”

  “Fair enough, but you’ve my word that there’s no angry mob waiting out there to tar and feather you … though if you don’t tell me what that priestess wanted in here, then tar and feathers might seem like sheets of noctys silk compared to the shit I’ll find to smother you and your career in, Citizen. Spill it, now.”

  “She wanted to use the harmonic telegraph,” he confessed, with a resigned sigh. “Don’t ask me what for, though. She shooed me out of the room as soon as I’d set the thing up for her. It’s more than my job’s worth to eavesdrop on elf-witches.”

  “I’ll bet, but any future requests to use that thing have to get my approval first,” she snapped back, but the frustration in her voice wa
s nothing to the dismay she was concealing. Talk about shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted … She sure didn’t wait long to go over our heads, curse her. “For now, I’ve a report to make. I suppose the thing is still in working order?” Please tell me she caused it some irreparable damage and it’ll be weeks before you can get the parts to fix it.

  “It’s fine, Delator,” replied the clerk, to her deep disappointment. “The condensers just need a bit of a recharge, is all. I’ll set it up for you now, if you like.”

  “Thanks, I’ll manage,” she answered, sullenly, as she made for the communications room with as dejected a gait as Kasimir’s. Whatever was to transpire in there, she had no desire to share the experience with anyone else. Once within the room, she closed and locked the door before cranking up the generator. The condensers were charged by a small water wheel turned by one of Alvenheim’s abundant and energetic mountain streams. It took a couple of minutes for them to warm up, which was more like a few years in Maradith’s grim, overheated imagination. Eventually, however, the row of acid-filled jars with their cores of copper and zinc discs started to bubble satisfactorily, and she sighed, settled down into a chair that placed her at mouth level with a horn-shaped tube of varnished wood, flicked a brass switch, and spoke, keeping her tone flat, professional, and very clear

  “Wynnadunn switchboard? This is Delator Maradith in Alvenheim. Put me through to the Presidio, highest level priority. This call is expected.”

  She had all of the current official pass-codes committed to memory just in case they were attentive enough to check her authority to be making such demands, but force of reputation often spared delators from such inconveniences, so she was not overly surprised when the operator simply connected her in seconds, without question or protest. The voice that, shortly afterwards, reverberated from the drum-shaped diaphragm units mounted at each corner of the ceiling was actually a familiar tone to her, in spite of the scratchiness that could not conceal its habitual disdain, at least whenever it’s talking to me …

  “About bloody time, you sorry excuse for a delator,” declared the disembodied voice of Commissioner-General Rakoff. “You ever make me endure another conversation with that shrieking banshee of an Alvere, and I swear I will find some way to make your moribund career even lowlier, if possible.”

  “My apologies, sir,” she replied, rather stiffly but with some tentative relief. Saskia might have managed to get through to the Presidio, but perhaps in her hurry and her hysterics no-one had taken her seriously after all. “I had to assist Secretary Kasimir with–”

  “Never mind him. It’s the talk of Lyssagrad how that Alvere-loving sap practically went on his knees and swore allegiance to this rebel queen, and now we find out she’s not only a rebel insurgent; she’s a Lucinian traitor to boot,” said Rakoff, disappointing Maradith’s hopes. Although he might not have enjoyed Saskia’s ‘shrieking,’ it had obviously not stopped him from absorbing its content. “Leave the secretary to worry about his own future, if he’s got one. You need to concern yourself with Lucinia’s. That senile old witch babbled a load of nonsense about some ancient elf-magic being used to turn everyone into Alvere, though I could hardly make head nor tail of her ravings,” he scoffed, and even through the buzz and distortion, Maradith could tell that he was lying. Bastard. So you’re in on the Senate’s ‘retirement plan’ as well, are you? I do hope they scourge your sins on a daily basis when you get to these temples. “Anyway, that’s beside the point. If Gloriana is actually Dr. Kyttsen, then she’s a bigger threat than we first realised. Especially working for the Brythons. She needs to be taken care of without delay.”

  “I get that, sir, but she’s not set foot in Lucinia for fifty years,” said Maradith, with very little hope that this argument would wash. “Any information she’s got on us is well out of date, and we’ve got the information on her new weapons.”

  “I’ll be sure to pop a medal in the post,” replied the commissioner, his sneer carrying surprisingly well down several hundred kilometres of copper wire. “Regardless, the orders stand, and these are directly from Grand Senator Korvyne himself. Dr. Kyttsen needs to be definitively dealt with, and it wouldn’t hurt if it could be done in such a way that sows dissension between the Brythons and the Alvere. They’re both less of a threat without her, but Alyssa forbid we should give them a common cause to fight for when there’s no need to. How long do you think you’ll need to get the job done?”

  “I … err … I’m not sure if–”

  “Enthusiastic as ever, I see,” he interrupted, contemptuously. “I expected no less, but Kasimir would insist on taking you, and I couldn’t go over his head quickly enough to force someone more reliable on him. Still, if you don’t care about the Republic, you might spare a thought for your poor mother. Still alive, isn’t she? Somewhere up north, if memory serves. I expect she prefers to keep at a discreet distance from her disappointing offspring. Be a shame, though, to give her even more cause for disappointment … to say the least, if you’re planning on turning traitor. Poor old woman like that locked up in a labour commune … Not a very nice send-off to give her. Does that remind you where your duty lies, Delator?”

  “I know my duty, sir,” she answered, coldly and dejectedly. “I’ll get it done in the next few hours, one way or another. I suggest you make ready to extract the secretary and the embassy staff, though. I can’t imagine they’ll be all that welcome around here, with the Queen out of the picture.”

  “That would look too suspicious. You’ll need to sit it out unless we want to make it blatantly obvious that this was Lucinian work, but I trust you to stay alive, at any rate. It’ll be worth your while if you can manage to. I’ve no doubt Lord Citizen Korvyne will reward you with a position more to your liking when all of this is over and done with. Just get it done quickly. Whether or not she’s a witch as well as a traitor, she’s a menace to us all. I expect good news by tomorrow, Delator.”

  The drums went silent, leaving Maradith with only the gentle hum of the generator and the maelstrom of her own thoughts. She flicked off the receiver switch, and exited the room with a dazed look, oblivious to anything the reception clerk said as she left the building and re-entered the streets. Wandering slowly back in the direction of the palace, she kept mostly to the narrow alleys, even though many of them were overlooked by dangerously ruined, battle-damaged buildings. Her only reason for this was that she did not feel like being seen, but even that was small comfort as she had to put up with her own company, even if no-one else did. Still, it was a mostly successful strategy, although she did stumble across a couple of slumbering Brythons. Lord Corin’s men, by the look of them, she thought, to judge from their dirty, slovenly grey uniforms, their filthy and unshaven faces, and the stench of stale mead that hung upon their rasping snores. Also, unlike most of the Brython troops in the town, who bore no arms openly by the orders of Lord Lycon, these two were both packing deadly force, albeit only of the melee kind. Each of them carried a seax on his belt. With a subtle, dexterous hand, although the mariners were so comatose she might have used her feet with as little chance of awakening them, Maradith drew one of these weapons. As swords went, it was crude and nasty enough: short, round-handled, and single-edged, more like a large machete. Still, it’ll do. Her mind now made up, Maradith sighed, steeled herself, and continued back to the palace.

  Once in the east wing, and with the seax hidden beneath her robe, she retraced the route Saskia had led her down two days before, to the massive double doors of ornately-carved silverwood that led to the Queen’s chambers. She could hear the sounds of raised voices as she approached, and was briefly disturbed to think that Kasimir might still be in there, remonstrating with Gloriana. Maradith would have been a lot more comfortable without him as a witness. Fortunately, as she came closer, it dawned upon her that both of the speakers were women, and that the tone was not exactly that of argument. Although one of the voices was loud and excited, the other – that of the Queen – w
as trying its best to exert a calming influence.

  “… until Lord Corin and his men are at a discreet distance from Kadar Ydril, at the least,” urged Gloriana. “Besides, it would be as well to perform a few simple tests before we attempt the full ritual. These are not mere adept’s toys and baubles we are messing with. Any mistake could have catastrophic results.”

  “Your Highness is right, and wise,” said the excitable voice, with forced restraint. “Nevertheless … it’s been over fifty years, Virana. How can you bear with any more waiting?”

  “A few more hours on top of fifty years? Very easily if it improves our odds of not having wasted all those years, and please do not use that name in the palace, Hermylla. You know I don’t like formalities with my old comrades-in-arms, but walls have ears. Lucinian ears in particular might be bad, if they recognised that name.”

  “Those two pompous idiots? What use are they now? We should just lock them up where they can interfere no more.”

  “You’re forgetting the Brythons, I think. They just reached a handsomely profitable deal with Secretary Kasimir, which has bought us a lot of breathing space. I doubt they would thank me for sabotaging it for no apparent good reason.”

  “Maybe not the man so much, but what about this delator woman?” asked Hermylla, in a deeply suspicious tone that Maradith could only wish she still had the self-respect and patriotism to feel offended at. “She’s been snooping around all over the place, from what I’ve been hearing. What was she doing anyway, that day when Miryam found her prying in Lord Lycon’s office?”