"Master Carey exaggerates, sir. Just fun cards, small stakes; never enough to make anyone angry. Also, no involvement with any lady having serious connections."
"That's a comfort. Go on."
"Well, sir…" Darry brought his chair forward, sat at attention. "Well, sir – this is no court, in the sense of the Emperor's court at Map-Mexico City. It's… really more like chieftains gathering at a tribal longhouse in the mountains, or north, along the ice-wall. Though the longhouse in this case is stone, and miles each way." Darry paused, considering. "It isn't that there aren't manners here, sir, and decent precedence – there are. But it's all damn shallow."
"Meaning," Margaret Mosten said, "keep a sergeant with you, Sam."
"Yes," Darry said. "Absolutely. Not that murdering you would be undertaken lightly, sir."
"Glad to hear it."
"But it wouldn't be, well, regarded as… memorable."
"And no fucking consideration as to what might happen then?" Margaret leaned over the table like a storm. "With the Kingdom at war, and our army marching into Map-Arkansas?"
"Ah, but you see, Captain, the people who are the considering sort, wouldn't be the ones who killed our Captain-General." He smiled at Sam in encouragement.
"One or more of the sergeants," Margaret said, "and either Pedro or me in any public gathering."
Darry nodded. "We have no dots on our faces, sir, is what it comes down to. We aren't Boxcars."
"Neither was the Queen." Sam reconsidered the berry brandy, poured the barest taste into his glass and drank it… breathed its stinging sweetness in and out.
"No, but she is now, sir. She was married to their king – and, I understand, murdered to hold her own once he was gone."
"Watch your tongue, Pedro. Even stone walls can grow ears."
"Oh – oh, nothing out of the way in that sort of killing, of course, sir!" Darry said. "Admirable, really. An admirable lady… who having been a tribeswoman herself, knew what needed to be done."
"I'd leave the subject, Pedro… Margaret, will you go and persuade Ansel to part with a fucking pigeon. I'd like to get that message sent. And Pedro, you might keep in mind that those people at Island who do 'consider' before they act, might consider it useful to put one of my people into the river, as an indication we're not wanted here, long-term."
"I suppose that's true!" Darry seemed startled at the notion.
"So, if you find even your charm suddenly overvalued by new friends, a new lady, you might be careful what dark corner you're invited to."
"I keep an eye on him, milord." Master Carey carried in a bird basket, with Margaret marching behind him. "I've been Sancho to his Panzo, or whatever… keep close to any fun, or lady."
"Tediously so," said Lieutenant Darry. "It was a question, sir, but I chose our Louella." Carey set the basket on the table. "She's small, but swift. And spirited – flies so hawks can kiss her ass."
Louella set a bright black eye to the basket weaving, examined them.
"Sir," Margaret said, "it would be a mistake. They'll think you have no confidence in them. They'll start looking over their shoulders for more messages."
"Good point, sir," Darry said. "Still, there's Miss Murphy's Law…"
"Pedro," Margaret said, "be quiet."
Sam closed his eyes for a moment… saw Howell in camp, unrolling the bird's tiny message-paper and reading it. Then saying, "Well, for Weather's sake. What the fuck's the matter with Sam?"
"Alright… Take the bird back, Ansel."
There were two very hard knocks on the suite's heavy door. It opened partway, and Sergeant Mays leaned in. "Her Majesty an' the ax-girl to see you, sir."
Master Carey snatched up Louella's basket, and waddled swiftly back to his room as the Queen, in a long wolf-fur cloak, came in past Sergeant Mays, her armswoman behind her.
"Where's that fat man off to?"
Sam stood with Margaret and Darry, and bowed. "Honored to welcome you, ma'am… Carey's our schemer, spy, and supply person. Secrecy's a custom with him, so he snatched our pigeon away."
"One of your Master Lauder's people, I suppose?"
"I'm sure of it."
"This habit," – the Queen stood in the middle of the room – "this habit you have of being so directly honest as to insult those you speak to, I find very unpleasant."
"I apologize, Queen. I do it to unsettle those older and cleverer than I am."
"And that's exactly what I mean – that sort of thing you just said."
"Perhaps I should try a little lying. Will you sit, ma'am? Have wine… berry brandy?"
Queen Joan shook her head, then was silent, as if she'd forgotten why she'd come. Her ax-girl watched Sergeant Mays, since he stood closest to them.
"What is it, ma'am?" Sam said. "What's happened?"
"… Nothing. Nothing's 'happened,' Monroe. I visit where I choose, when I choose." Sam saw, by the hanging lanterns' warm light, that the Queen was pale as cotton sheeting.
"They're on the river?"
"Our difficulties," the Queen said, "our… difficulties are still our concern."
"They've taken St. Louis."
The Queen made a sound in her throat, and clawed her fingers as if she were about to fight. Then, spreading her arms wide, her long wolf cloak swinging open, she began a slow-stepping dance of fury. Her ropes of pearls swaying with her furs, she turned in drifts of flower scent, eyes rolled back, teeth bared to bite. She danced in paces her ax-girl mirrored to stay within reach. "I'll kill… that fucking Kipchak. Every person, everything he loves, I'll kill. I'll skin his wife, his child – I hear there's to be a child. I'll skin that baby slowly, for him to see – and his horses, skin his horses alive before I skin him, roll him screaming in salt, and serve him roasted!"
It was a promise frightening to see danced and almost sung. Sam noticed Sergeant Mays stand back a step, and saw that Margaret had closed her eyes, as if the Queen were a fire burning too close.
When Queen Joan stood still and silent, Sam went to her and took her hands while the armswoman watched. "Give me your warrant, dear."
"… I am not your 'dear.' " But she let him hold her hands.
"Give me your warrant to assist you in this war, to command, so our armies can fight together."
"So you can prepare to take my throne – boy?" She pulled her hands away.
"I swear to uphold you on your throne, Queen – uphold your rule against any and all. I swear it on the memory of my Second-mother… And will hold to it," – he smiled – "no matter how inconvenient."
"Never," the Queen said. " – Never." She turned and walked out. Her ax-girl, following, glanced back to be certain of no surprise, then closed the door behind them.
"What do we do?" Margaret said into silence. "Sam, what do we do, now?"
"What do we do…?" Sam took a deep breath. "What I do is keep trying to persuade the generals and admirals here to cooperate with our army."
"Won't do it, sir, without her." Carey, out of his room like a mountain marmot, appearing in the hall. "Boxcars think we're shit, sir."
"Sad," Pedro Darry said, "but true." An ancient phrase.
"Then fuck 'em," said Sergeant Mays.
"No. We need these people." Sam reached for the brandy, noticed Margaret Mosten's glance, and set the crystal jug aside. "I'll go to the river lords, tomorrow – "
The chamber's door swung open again, and Queen Joan's ax-girl stepped in. "Her Majesty," she said.
The Queen stood in the doorway. "I've… changed my mind." She stared at them a few moments, then said, "Dear God." One of Warm-times' shortest sayings.