Quillifer the Knight by Walter Jon Williams

Author:Walter Jon Williams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery / Saga Press
Published: 2019-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Warm both with brandy and the fury running through my veins, I dressed in dry clothes and left the palace for the gardens. The mist had evaporated along with Orlanda, and a cold winter sun shone down on brown grass and the bare earth that awaited spring flowers. Shepherds’ flutes were twittering, and shepherdesses walked with crooks dressed with garlands or ribbons. I turned the corner of the palace to return to the quay when bells began to toll. I remembered the last time the bells at Ings Magna had rung, followed shortly by Edelmir Westley’s fist striking my jaw, and so a foul mood deepened as I stalked through the withered gardens, kicking pebbles out of my way as if they were an army of my enemies.

I stepped out onto the quay and saw, walking toward me, Princess Floria and her ladies. They were dressed as shepherdesses, wearing broad hats and carrying ribbon-decked crooks.

The anger in my mind seemed to reach a peak, and then receded as I began to consider my situation more carefully. Orlanda had predicted with her smug little smile that I would turn into a vile informer and send the little princess to the scaffold. In that moment I decided that I would defy this fate that Orlanda had arranged for me, and that I did not care if it made an enemy out of Edevane. I would cope with that when the moment came.

I stepped off the path and bowed as Floria approached. “Highness,” said I, “it seems you thrive in the shade, and in the sun, too.”

“Ah,” she said, “it’s the naufrageous sailor.”

“More naufrageous now than ever, Highness,” said I. “My galley was rammed and sunk in the regatta.”

“You seem to have no luck on the water,” Floria said. She flourished her crook. “Perhaps you should consider the bucolic life of a shepherd. I believe it is one of the few occupations you have not yet adopted as your own.”

“Alas,” said I, “I have no dog to bark the wolves away.”

“Dogs are easy to come by,” said Floria. “Here at court, every great officer of state walks at the head of his pack, each hound snuffling at his master’s heels for a whiff of power and treasure.” She gave me an appraising look. “Even the lord rat-catcher should be able to find such a pack.”

“Such dogs are useless in the face of wolves, Highness,” said I. I glanced over my shoulder at the palace, with its ringing bells. “Have we declared another war?” I asked.

“Possibly on the Estates General,” said Floria. “But no—my royal sister has announced that she is with child.”

I donned my pious-anchorite face. “May the heir thrive,” I said.

I detected a flicker of awareness below Floria’s eyelids. By this I knew that she understood my meaning, that the heir I hoped to thrive was Floria herself. Yet surrounded by ladies whose loyalty could not be guaranteed, she could not respond directly.

“Amen,” she said simply.

“I heard that Her Majesty was planning to migrate to Loretto,” I said.

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