The old sailor was shrewd behind his twinkle. “What’s your vocation, Captain, I wonder?”
Hilarity. The Queen and Lady Lyst fell into one another’s arms again. Quire pretended embarrassment while he and Ffynne exchanged their private irony in a swift glance. “Not much, I fear. A small talent for acting, I suppose.” He referred, they thought, to his performance at the Tilt.
Sir Thomasin said: “My friend Montfallcon considers you a spy. Sir Christopher Martin is not yet permanently replaced.”
“Oh, Sir Tom!” cried the Queen. “Captain Quire would be nothing so base as a thief-taker!”
“Secretary, then?” Lady Lyst blinked, hearing her own slurred voice with some shock. She relapsed.
Gloriana became sad, then stifled the emotion. Quire was quick to understand and changed his tone at once. “My vocation is to serve the Queen in any way she will. I’ll let her decide my fate.”
She took his hand and sat him down between herself and Lady Lyst. “It will take much consideration. I shall question you, Captain, as to your proficiencies.”
Sir Orlando Hawes appeared upon the terrace above. He wore conventional shades of dark colours, purple and black, for he joined in the mourning, as did most of the court, of Lord Ingleborough, whose funeral had earlier taken place. With his black skin, he was almost a shadow, but Quire noticed the eyes linger on little Alys as she danced and ogled her lovers. Quire was greatly satisfied with her work. She had become his stalking bitch, and he had developed in her a lust for treachery as another might develop a lust for gold or pleasure.
Sir Orlando hesitated, seemingly saddened by the sight of this private masquerade, perhaps embarrassed by its echoing of the costumes of his own ancestors. Then, slowly, he took the steps into the garden, removing his black feathered hat as he bowed. “Your Majesty. Lord Ingleborough is entombed.”
The Queen resisted guilt as, the minute before, she had resisted sadness. “Did the funeral go well, Sir Orlando?”
“It was attended by a great many, Your Majesty, for Lord Ingleborough was loved by the people.”
“As we loved him,” she said firmly. “The people were apprised of our inability to attend?”
“Through ill-health, aye.” He straightened his back and stared about him.
“I have seen too much of misery these past months,” she told him. “I’ll remember Ingleborough alive.”
Sir Orlando looked towards Sir Thomasin. “We missed you at the feast, sir.”
“I saw Lisuarte buried. It was enough. I was never one for public ceremonies, as you know.”
Sir Orlando disapproved. His opinion of Sir Thomasin had ever been low. He did not acknowledge Captain Quire at all.
“Lord Montfallcon spoke in the Queen’s name, Your Majesty,” he continued. “As her representative.”
“So Sir Thomasin has already informed me.”
“He is with me. And Lord Kansas. He sent me ahead to request-”
“Perhaps he would prefer an interview this evening?” she suggested.
“He is wearied by the day’s events. It would be best, Your Majesty, if you saw him now.” Sir Orlando gestured back at the terrace. “He is on the other side of the gate.”
The Queen looked enquiringly at Quire, who shrugged acquiescence. It would not do to show malice toward Montfallcon. Not yet.
“We shall receive the gentlemen,” said Gloriana.
Another bow and Sir Orlando had returned to the gate to bring back Lord Montfallcon and Lord Kansas, who were also in the uniform of mourning.
Quire saw the Queen become guiltily aware of her own unsober costume. He squeezed her hand and whispered: “They’ll drag you down if they can. Remember my words-trust no one who would make you feel guilty.”
She rose, as if he controlled her, and went smiling to greet the three nobles. “My lords. I thank you for coming here so soon. The funeral went off, I’m informed, with proper dignity.”
“Aye, madam.” Montfallcon bowed slowly. Kansas followed his example. The Virginian was troubled and sympathetic, whereas Montfallcon was merely accusatory. Quire knew a moment’s anxiety when he contemplated Kansas. “You’ll forgive us for intruding upon your"-Montfallcon cast a mighty glare over the garden and its occupants-“games.”
“Of course we do, my lord. In such melancholy times we must divert ourselves. It does no good to brood on death. We must be optimists, eh?”
These were unfamiliar words from her, and Montfallcon looked to Quire as the suspected author.
“Will you not join us, my lord?” asked Quire with mock humility. Then, as though he checked his malice, “But I forget myself. Lord Ingleborough was your dearest friend.”
“Aye.” Montfallcon looked through Tom Ffynne. “I have none left now. I must be self-reliant.”
“You are the strong central pillar of the Realm,” flattered Gloriana, linking her arm through his. He started, as if he would pull free, but courtesy forbade it, as did habit.
He let her lead him towards the maze. “There was a reason for my visit, madam.”
Lord Kansas, Captain Quire and Sir Orlando Hawes stalked in the wake of this pair, three black and ill-matched birds of passage.
“And what’s that, my lord?”
“Business of State, madam. A meeting of the Privy Council must shortly be convened. We have news. Your guidance is required.”
“Then I shall call the Council together for the morning.” She was anxious to show that she did not reject all Duty.
“Later today would be better, madam.”
“We entertain our friends presently.”
They went into the maze. Montfallcon’s head disappeared entirely, but Gloriana’s could be seen, together with her silk-clad shoulders, over the top of the hedges. Then Quire went in, then Kansas, and finally Hawes.
From where she sat, Lady Lyst began to giggle. She saw the Queen’s auburn, ruby-studded hair. She saw the crown of Sir Orlando’s tall hat, the top of Lord Kansas’s head, with its cap and feathers. Wheldrake came to sit beside her, wanting to know why she laughed. She pointed. The two visible faces, at different points in the maze, were very grave. The bobbing feathers looked like carrion birds, scuttling along the tops of the hedges. Even Wheldrake, who was at his composition, allowed himself a smile or two.
“Why have they gone into the maze?” he asked.
Lady Lyst was unable to answer.
When Doctor Dee came up, having changed from black to robes of lightish purple, the Thane of Hermiston, in the dark mourning set of his clan, beside him, he could not see the joke at all.
“Where is Captain Quire?” asked the Thane, placing his large hand upon his red beard. “And what’s all this idolatry? Is there no piety left at Court at all? Why is everyone so naked? And with Ingleborough scarcely put to rest?”
Master Wheldrake said: “It is the Queen’s pleasure. She is bored with Death’s company.”
“Captain Quire,” said Lady Lyst with significant hilarity, “is in there!”
The Thane and Dee looked towards the maze. “Everyone is drunk, I think,” softly said the Thane, by way of interpretation and possible excuse. “Though I would not expect it of our visiting sage.” He spoke of Quire, whom he regarded as his greatest prize.