“By me?” Quire showed comical astonishment. “It was the two of you went willingly into the walls, ignoring the Queen’s desire, all common sense, all warnings. How can I have killed him?”
Then Quire frowned as he realised that the face of the guard on Montfallcon’s right was familiar. He hesitated. He recalled the face; it was the face of the survivor who had witnessed Quire’s killing of Ibram the Saracen last New Year’s Eve. The man was too astonished, too shocked to speak, for he was still reeling from the encounter in the walls, but it was plain that he also recognised Quire.
Quire turned away. “I’ll report this to the Queen, shall I? You’ll be wanting to send another expedition in, will you, my lord? And another?”
“We’ll find a means of controlling them,” Montfallcon promised, “and of bringing you to justice, Captain Quire.”
Quire knew that the guard would soon be speaking to Montfallcon and that justice might be closer than the grey lord realised. He instructed a palace Pensioner to take the bad news to the Queen. “Tell her Kansas is killed in a fight there. Tell her it would be best if the walls were sealed, in case this rabble of Lord Montfallcon’s breaks through.”
Quire himself remained where he was, with his back to Montfallcon and the others. He bit a knuckle.
Behind him, Montfallcon lifted his sword, then lowered it again. He had sworn to have no more public bloodshed, and he knew that if he killed Quire outright the Queen would hang him for certain. He was prepared to give his own life for Albion, but could not die until he was sure that the Realm’s course was assured.
Without a further word to them, Quire was rapidly on his way, sending his guards back to their quarters, as he took the stairs that would lead him, eventually, to Doctor Dee’s apartments. He must demand a further favour of the doctor. He must demand poison. And then Alys Finch must lure the guard and make him drink the poison. It could be easily done, that part, Quire was sure, for Alys had murdered Sir Christopher with no trouble at all. Dee was the only problem, but there was one threat to Dee which would work, as it had worked before, though Quire regretted it must now be openly made. Previously he had arranged his arguments so well that it had always seemed he must disappoint the magus through no fault of his own. Possibly it could still be done, but he had little time for his usual clever rhetoric. He must get the poison and give it to Alys, returning to the Queen before he was missed. There was no way in which he could permit that particular witness to live: he was able to identify Quire as a murderer, and now that Sir Christopher was dead, there would be nothing Montfallcon need consider dangerous. Quire could be accused, simply, and tried, simply, for a simple crime. Anything Quire might say would be interpreted as an attempt of his to escape sentence.
Quire realised that there were extra subtleties to his position, and that it was possible Montfallcon would not use the guard against him, but he was too close to fulfillment to take the risk. And the death of an ordinary guard would not be remarked. The body could, indeed, be hidden forever, if necessary.
He reached Doctor Dee’s door and knocked upon it. There came cautious sounds from within. A grille was moved. Dee’s somewhat bloodshot eyes looked out and became less wary as he recognised his benefactor.
“Come in, sir! I was just preparing her. I fear, however, that I must increase the strength of the philtre. She becomes a little difficult to control. Look!” He chuckled, pulling down his shift. “She has scratched my neck. Perhaps you can help me, Captain Quire, as you have helped me before?”
Quire showed concern. “Of course, Doctor.”
“She is the most marvellous creation. I have never known a simulacrum so fine. But I have told you this many times. Our own science has no means to produce such a perfect, near-human creature. Well, you are aware how I failed. How Master Tolcharde failed. You understand that I do not complain to you of any minor malfunction, but…”
“I understand. She becomes fierce.”
Doctor Dee nodded and sighed. “She is not tame, sir. No longer. And she is very strong.”
“I’ll do what I can. In the meantime, use caution.”
“Oh, she is so lovely. Irresistible. If she were to kill me, sir, I should die very happily.”
“I came on another matter, Doctor Dee. I need help. There is trouble in the walls. A madman leads a pack of ruffians. The madman must be killed.”
“Killed? Zeus! Who is he? Are we in danger?”
“There’s a chance of defeating him. But I need more of that poison you loaned me once before. The kind that is so hard to detect.”
Dee nodded. “Aye. I have some still. But why should it be necessary to slay a madman with poison of that sort? Any simple poison would do, if he must be poisoned. I should have thought it best if he were put to the sword, Captain Quire. You can use your sword, sir, I am sure.”
“I must have the poison swiftly.”
Dee was reluctant, alarmed by Quire’s manner. “I think…” Then he checked himself. He became afraid. “You will help me with her?”
“As soon as my business is completed.”
“You swear it, Captain?” He was pathetic.
“I have been good to you, Doctor, and asked few favours.”
“You are a very clever philosopher, sir, that I do know.” Doubtfully: “So I suppose your business cannot be evil.” Thus Dee convinced himself as he moved towards his cabinet. He handed Quire a phial. “You’ll return soon?”
“As I promised. And remember-be cautious, Doctor.” Quire skipped from the room, his spirits beginning to rise. Then he was off to find his stalking bitch, his little Alys Finch.
THE THIRTIETH CHAPTER
The summer left its stamp most solidly upon the autumn so that October in this thirteenth year of Gloriana was the warmest any had known. No breezes came to blow away the threat of war, and neither was Gloriana’s ardour for her little lover cooled. The Court’s euphoria increased, if anything, in private-while angry ambassadors prowled the corridors and Presence Chambers and grew impatient, as their masters grew impatient, for intelligence, becoming more and more dependent upon rumour, gossip and fabulation (which had increased a hundredfold since Quire’s appearance at the palace); the ambassadors, in the main, wanted reassurance from the Queen so they could inform their homelands of the practicality of peace, but, unable to provide news, they were helpless to counter the heady talk of fleets and armies, cannon and cavalry, the authority of precise-sounding terms which disguised the ugly and ludicrous facts of the chaos they pretended to describe. Maps were got out and paper fleets were launched with all the usual silly ritual and sane men looked desperately to Gloriana, hoping for the regal, maternal command to put the toys away before the squabbling became earnest.
Albion’s nobles mingled with the ambassadors, growing uncertain and quarrelsome as they waited for instruction, dismayed and disheartened by the Queen’s new mood, for she gave audience so rarely and with such misinterest that she made worse what her silence had begun. The Empire, founded on a grand myth, must have the myth sustained if it were not to disintegrate. There were many in the palace who saw the disintegration already beginning and spoke of Hern’s bad blood showing at last, and they whispered stories of the Queen’s monstrous appetites, of the legendary seraglio where every night scenes were enacted to make those of Hern’s time seem like good-hearted, innocent frolics. Yet only Montfallcon and a few of his party saw Quire as the instigator of all this. He represented himself, when he appeared, as one who sought to remind the Queen of Duty and who failed. He was, he told them, as dismayed as they were, for they must know how much infected he was by the Romantic spirit of Albion-after all, it was how he had come to meet the Queen. So they thought him a kindly dupe of the Queen’s, a sop to her tormented conscience, and said that it might be well for them all if, as Montfallcon raved, Quire did control her-that he would make the better monarch.