“You think Captain Quire a villain then, with his eye upon the throne?”
“I have no great dislike for Quire. He would make an excellent King. If his motives were not at odds with mine I’d tolerate him. But Albion’s fabric rots before our eyes. The glamorous tapestry Montfallcon wove cannot be allowed to drop all at once and reveal the reality beneath-neither nobles nor commons could accept it. The curtain must be raised inch by inch, over a period of years.”
“There are holes in the tapestry already. That is why so many nobles side with the Perrotts. They see corruption beneath the brocade-or think they do.”
“There’s no real corruption here. Just a bereaved woman’s euphoria, which will pass. But Quire has let the extremes of it be seen. Some view the entirety-a little entertainment like this one-and think it must represent a greater, unseen horror. Romance inspires the imagination and makes imagination grow-but if that imagination’s misapplied, searching for ugliness rather than for beauty, then a terrible force is unleashed.”
“You share Captain Quire’s dislike of Romance.” “I share that. But I do not share his hatreds, Alys. And worst, most destructive of all, is his hatred of himself. It is what binds him so, though neither will admit it, to the Queen.”
“You think he loves the Queen truly?”
“If it is possible for Quire to love anything.”
“You were speaking of Oubacha Khan and the expedition you plan with him-following Montfallcon’s tracks into the walls.”
“Aye. The cat, Oubacha Khan thinks, might lead us to the Countess of Scaith. It’s a faint hope-but we go secretly, with fifty Tatars, fully armed. They’ll easily defeat the rabble, I’m certain. They are the greatest fighters in the world. Oubacha Khan, you see, loves the Countess. He thinks her the victim of a plot-either Montfallcon’s or Quire’s-and would find her, even if it means finding her corpse.”
“You dredged the well, you two?”
“Aye, and discovered only a vagabond, probably some denizen of the walls.”
“When do you leave?”
“Very soon.”
“You’ll tell Montfallcon?”
“No. He’s bound to betray us-inadvertently. He is no longer in control of any of his senses. He has not been for some time, or he would long since have detected Quire’s work, since the murder of Lady Mary. He now speaks of destruction as the only answer to our ills.”
Alys Finch saw her master, Quire, returning, and she frowned to herself.
Quire was stopped by a weeping Wallis. “Quire-Captain-the boy betrays me,” Wallis whispered. “Speak to him. I am dying with the pain he causes me.”
Quire smiled down at poor Wallis and patted him on the head. “Of course, I shall.” He looked about for Phil. Starling was enjoying the attentions of half a dozen ladies and seraglio gallants, but he saw Quire at once and he laughed, mocking them both. Quire sighed. “He lacks grace, that youth. He always did.”
“You must make him behave.” Wallis was tense.
Quire’s gesture was not encouraging. “How?”
“He is your responsibility.”
Quire smiled slowly. “As the Queen discards them, I accumulate them.” He would be happier when his work was finished.
“He kills me,” said Wallis simply.
“Find another,” said Quire. “There are so many here. They’d be flattered by attention from one of your station.”
“I love him.”
“Ah,” said Quire. He was looking over to where Sir Amadis and Lord Gorius were rising, ready to leave. He put a hand to his lips. Then he saw the Queen. She was very drunk, beckoning to him. “I must go. Duty, Master Wallis.”
Abandoning the wretched Secretary, he moved between the cushions, ascending the dais at Gloriana’s summons.
“Let us retire,” she said. She could scarcely speak for drunkenness.
Quire saw that Sir Ernest had fallen over the sleeping body of Lady Lyst and now slept also. Half the guests were in a like state. The denizens of the seraglio crept quietly back to their various quarters. Quire let Gloriana put a hand on his shoulder and steady herself. She towered over him. He summoned more of his strength than he would normally reveal and began to help her down the steps.
“My children,” she said.
Quire was puzzled.
“I promised to see the girls.” She pointed towards the end of the hall. “They are through there. In the adjoining apartments. Not in contact, of course, with…”
“I know,” he said. “But it will have to be tomorrow. You spend the day with them tomorrow.”
She remembered, or was prepared to think that she did. She let him lead her past the twin guards, along the passage, through one set of rooms, until finally they reached her ordinary bedchamber. With a jingle of jewels, she fell upon the bed and immediately was snoring.
Quire had helped her to this state and was satisfied she would sleep for several hours. Employing a tenderness which had become a habit with him, he dragged off most of her trinkets and what clothes would come away easily, pulled a coverlet over her and left the room. A finger to his lips and servants were aware of the Queen’s condition. He went to the main door into the corridor and was about to open it when he heard voices murmuring on the other side. A phrase: “Are we to be ruled by a whore and a cutpurse?” He gave himself a crack to see through. “It must be destroyed. It is Albion’s shame. There is a way.”
The Thane of Hermiston and Lord Montfallcon were speaking softly as they walked together along the passage. Quire had not expected this combination. They were unlikely companions. He did not think there was much to fear from them, however. Doubtless their respective delusions brought them together. He closed the crack and when they were gone he was off along a familiar route to the East Wing, where he would later keep an appointment. He went early because it was always his habit to be on the scene much sooner than he was expected. By this means he had, in other days, kept himself alive.
He reached the gallery overlooking the garden where, that spring, Gloriana had played her role as May Queen. He walked swiftly. Moonlight passed through all the many windows so that it was almost as bright within the gallery as it was in the garden below. Casually, Quire looked out as he moved. Then he paused and found himself a shadow into which he could withdraw. He could hear peculiar sounds coming from the garden, a creaking and a rustling, a clattering, as if someone tried to chop branches from the trees. He let his eyes grow used to the darkness and began to notice that the growth which surrounded the entire garden, providing food and shelter for the deer, seemed to be swaying. He realised that someone was on the Tree Walk. He had used it himself, once or twice, and knew that it was firm. At last he heard sharp, almost regular sounds-snick-snick, snick-snick-and saw two figures come into view. They were fighting with swords as the Tree Walk swayed and groaned. They staggered this way and that, falling against the rope rails, sometimes making the walk swing at right angles, clinging on as they continued to duel.
Quire watched for some time, conscious that now he might be keeping his visitor waiting, but he must see the outcome, even though he had guessed who the duelists were. After all, he had almost encouraged the fight.
Snick-snick, snick-snick. It was as if some mad gardener had chosen this hour to trim the trees. The creaking grew more animated. The rustling increased. The duellists shuffled and danced along the Tree Walk, sometimes in sight, sometimes not.