The King's Justice: Two Novellas

  In the gloom of the narrow passage, Slew was no more than a looming threat to my sight. With a twitch of his fingers, he might snap my neck. His instant dirk might open my throat ere I saw it move. Yet I held his bitter gaze without shrinking. The crisis of my service had begun, and of my Queen’s reign, and of Excrucia’s life. It could not be answered by cowardice.

  Slew paused there a moment. He desired haste, however, and did not delay himself with rumination. Abruptly he announced, “I will speak with Her Majesty. I will report your counsels. This choice must be hers.”

  At once, he strode away, leaving me slack-limbed. In my bravest dreams, I had not imagined myself able to withstand a confrontation with Inimica Phlegathon deVry’s most trusted dealer of death.

  After a time, however, I recalled that this passage held no further interest for me. Also I no longer conceived that I might spy upon covert movements within the Domicile. Doubtless Baron Indolent’s men were even now in their hiding places, silent and ready. No entourage had accompanied Baron Estobate past the gates of the house, and concerning the Barons Panderman and Venery I had no cause for suspicion. As for Baron Plinth, I was confident of him to this extent, that he had no war-like minions among his company. He would not thus expose his family to peril. Their safety depended upon his scrupulous detachment from Thrysus Indolent’s immediate machinations. In addition, I imagined that my Queen would not thank me for conniving against—or, indeed, for addressing directly—that stringent man on her behalf.

  By such reasoning, I gave myself leave to concentrate on a search for Excrucia.

  In that quest, to my dismay, I failed utterly. I carried no map of the house in my head, and the turnings, cul-de-sacs, and branches of the passages and stairs multiplied my disorientation. Being unable to determine my own location within the Domicile, I could not gauge where I might be in relation to any of the towers where the object of my heart might be imprisoned or guarded. In simple truth, I was too ignorant to find my way.

  Time passed while I scurried here and there to no purpose, a mouse lost in the maze of the walls. At this hour, the feast had surely begun. Ere long, I would be expected in the ballroom—and I was no longer confident that I could retrace my path to more familiar regions.

  Fortunately I stumbled by chance into the passage which had often admitted me to my Queen’s public boudoir. Thereafter I knew my immediate route. Well before my appointed appearance, I reentered the servants’ corridors several levels below my Queen’s festivities. Now I required only the flustered indication of a serving-maid and the curt nod of a butler to direct me until I gained the ballroom.

  That hall was vast beyond my preconceptions, high of ceiling and long in shape—a space of size sufficient to accommodate all of Her Majesty’s guests’ and many of the Domicile’s servants’ dancing. If rugs had previously warmed the stones of the floors, they had been removed to facilitate the steps of gavottes and allemandes. Around the walls were an abundance of chairs and divans to rest those who did not dance, or to provide respite for those who did. At each end of the hall, hearths which I might otherwise have entered upright held flames fed by logs like the boles of trees, blazing to dispel the residual chill of so much stone, and also of the storms which even now assailed the house. Ornate sconces high in the walls supported ponderous lamps to augment the illumination. Banners as large as rooftops hung from the rafters to display the heraldry of the seven Queens of Indemnie and the five barons. And at one end of the hall, between the hearth and the wall, a score or more of chairs had been arrayed for the musicians, some of whom had already gathered to unpack and tune their instruments.

  Though the guests were yet to come, I was not the first man in livery to arrive. Nor was I the last. When all had gathered, eight guards who could ill be spared from the Domicile’s defense attended the hall. Two stood to open the massive doors of graven mahogany which would admit the feasters to the ball. Four watched over smaller doors that no doubt provided access to the more private conveniences of the house. Several other doors marked the walls, but these were intended for the use of the servants and did not require men to open and close them. Thus two guards—or three, if I included myself—were left free to wander where they willed. Their nominal duties—and mine, at least by appearance—were to intervene in altercations between men in their cups, to assist guests overcome by excessive indulgence, and to aid those who suffered some mishap in the intricate dances. In addition, I had my own singular instructions. And all of us served the tacit purpose of reminding the guests by our presence that they were ruled by Inimica Phlegathon deVry.

  The demeanor of the guards at this time was casual in the extreme, nonchalant or disgruntled according to their individual perceptions of the Domicile’s straits. At intervals, they treated me to distrustful glances. Soon, however, the last of the musicians arrived. And when they had taken their places, settled themselves, and begun to play a soft introit, the Majordomo entered. At once, the guards assumed postures of correct attention. Thereafter neither they nor the Majordomo—nor, indeed, the musicians—regarded me at all.

  As I have remarked, the Majordomo was ever a shrill harridan, a veritable harpy of supervision and meticulous effort. On this occasion, therefore, I was surprised to see her resplendent in a dowager’s finery, all cuffs and ruffles, laces and skirts, necklaces, earrings, bangles. Her colors were royal purple and demure ecru, and to her lips she had positively nailed a pleasant smile. Briefly she scanned the entire hall with a glance both cursory and penetrating. Then she clapped her hands as though she imagined that she had not yet gained our heed.

  In a voice carefully modulated, she announced, “The ball of Her Majesty Inimica Phlegathon deVry IV begins.”

  So saying, she stepped aside. Obedient to her signal, the guards opened the hall’s formal doors. Amid a confused clamor of conversation and eagerness, the first of my Queen’s revelers arrived.

  So high within the house, I was able to hear the muffled rumble of thunder and the softer thrash of rain until the accumulating noise of the guests masked other sounds.

  First in order of precedence, though not of entrance, came Baron Jakob Plinth with his wife and daughters. Within the general swirl of skirts, gowns, and badinage, Thrysus Indolent entered, having claimed the arm and companionship of a maiden unknown to me, a young woman much exposed by her raiment. Behind him followed Baron Panderman and his comrade, both with their legs splayed to preserve their balance. At their backs strode Baron Glare Estobate alone, glowering like a man who would have preferred to expend his energies among slatterns or sheep. And last came Baron Praylix Venery in the midst of an escort of women whom he pleased—or perhaps merely piqued—with a spate of gossip and rumors, some or most no doubt scurrilous.

  Ahead, among, and behind the barons walked or scampered the throng of my Queen’s other guests. All had presumably been formally introduced at the feast. Now they eschewed such niceties in their anticipation of dancing, courting, and other forms of excitement. They entered with a bare minimum of dignity, talking, laughing, or complaining together as though they expected the ball to be the summit of the year—or perhaps of their lives entire.

  Honesty compelled me to confess, if only to myself, that I had never seen the like. The village where I had been reared had evinced no desire for such doings. And since entering my Queen’s service, my experiences had been restricted to the serving regions of the house, the secret passages, and my laborium. Some few trysts among the serving-maids and scullions had ill prepared me to comprehend the energies which goaded these revelers to their present fever of attraction and repulsion, modesty and concupiscence.

  Now I could not imagine a mask better suited to disguise traitors and conceal betrayal.

  As though to confirm my observation, thunder sounded through the ceiling, a blast of force sufficient to disquiet the high windows.

  When most of the guests had gained the hall, the musicians ceas
ed their playing. Decorum dictated that the ball itself could not commence until Her Majesty commanded it, and she had yet to appear. In her absence, the guests milled about, expanding their presence to fill much of the ballroom, entertaining themselves with quips, persiflage, and assignations, and supplying their eagerness with goblets of wine delivered by a flotilla of simply clad serving-maids. Prompt to my duty, I began to circulate among the flows and eddies of the gathering, taking what I hoped was unobtrusive care to remain within hearing of Glare Estobate and Thrysus Indolent. My two comrades in livery also wandered here and there, but they paid no apparent heed to any particular coterie of guests.

  Within that press, the Majordomo was conspicuous by her withdrawal. She stood apart with her back to the wall near the musicians, observing everything, acknowledging nothing. No doubt she, like the guests, awaited her sovereign.

  For my part, I awaited Excrucia. I had begun to fear that her mother would forbid her presence. Indeed, I deemed it probable that Excrucia had not partaken of the feast. How could my Queen be certain that one or another of her foes would not again stoop to poison? Yet the necessity of a taster would have been an intrusive reminder that the safety of the Domicile was an illusion. It would have consorted ill with Her Majesty’s private intentions.

  Remembering my duty, however, I also remained alert for some indication of the sign that Baron Indolent had discussed with Baron Estobate—the sign that would launch their treachery.

  Without forewarning, the Majordomo again clapped her hands, and at once the musicians struck up a regal announcement. As one, the guests turned toward the great doors.

  At the entrance to the hall stood Her Majesty Inimica Phlegathon deVry and her daughter, Excrucia.

  As ever, my Queen outshone all other women in beauty and splendor. In a gown of palest green designed in every detail to emphasize both her lush womanliness and her royal stature, she accepted the accolades of her subjects, smiling with the beneficence of a summer sun. A choker of diamonds encircled her neck, ornamenting her loveliness with dazzles. From her ears hung rubies like drops of the earth’s blood, while the emerald set within her royal coronet enhanced the auburn luster of her tresses. Altogether she was more than a woman—more, indeed, than a sovereign. She was an icon of every blessing that provided Indemnie with wealth, prosperity, and independence.

  Yet her arrival won no more than a glance from me. My gaze was fixed upon Excrucia, for I had never before beheld her so bedizened, so simply and yet so elegantly clad, or so entirely desirable.

  Her only ornaments were the net of pearls in her hair and the bracelets of sapphire at her wrists, embellishments too unassuming to detract from the startling effect of her raiment. Where every other woman present wore some variation of a gown—dresses that both offered and withheld their charms—Excrucia was attired from neck to toe in a fitted silken sheath of deepest cyan, a garment that appeared to shimmer with every movement. However, it was neither forbidding nor austere. A slit from collarbone to navel teased the eye, while similar cuts on either side below her waist revealed enticing glimpses of her legs. So clad, she was farther from plain in my sight than any living creature.

  And for the brightness of her gaze I had no adequate language. I knew only that it entranced me utterly. The lost and grieving girl with whom I had last spoken was gone, hidden away at her mother’s command—or by her own resolve. In that girl’s place stood a woman neither humbled nor self-doubting. I had long known her intelligent, insightful, humorous, studious, concerned, courageous, even severe, but until that moment I had not known her ravishing.

  When my Queen was content with the approbation of her guests, she made a gracious show of presenting her daughter, a gesture that earned fresh appreciation from the assembly of men and women, gallants and maidens, all openly astonished. Thereafter the Majordomo gave a new command to the musicians, who at once launched themselves into a lively air that pleaded for dancing. Within moments, half or more of the guests were twirling each other around the hall, while those too elderly, infirm, or captious to be seduced by such pleasures withdrew gradually to the walls, some standing to observe the dancers, others resting their bones in the chairs and on the divans.

  Among the dancers none was more prominent than Baron Panderman, whose unsteady bulk remained upright only because one luckless maiden or another supported it. However, Baron Venery with his shrill laughs and jibes challenged his drunken peer for notice. In contrast, Baron Indolent glided discreetly across the floor, graceful, elegant, and full of self-appreciation, with his young woman obviously charmed in his arms. Solitary in a corner, Baron Estobate glowered at the proceedings, while Baron Plinth sat without visible emotion beside his wife on one of the divans.

  My Queen herself did not dance. Playing the part of a distinguished hostess, at once too grand to be approached and too modest to offer herself, she floated apparently at random among her guests, smiling at all, engaging with none. Excrucia, however, was immediately swept away by a sequence of ambitious swains, each seemingly bent upon claiming her as his own.

  For my part, I continued to wander as I had been instructed. By a strict effort of will, I prevented my eyes from following Excrucia wherever she went. My duties were serious in all sooth, and I schooled myself to attend them seriously. Therefore I assumed the pose of a mere emblem, a symbol of my sovereign’s rule, and pursued my purpose with a grave tread, neither pausing to overhear nor neglecting to give heed. Yet whenever my gaze chanced to encounter Excrucia, she returned it with an air of awareness—indeed, with a distinct nod—as though she knew my mind and wished me to understand that she was prepared for whatever I might require of her.

  With the passing of time and music, waltzes became intricate patterns of bows and sweeps for which I had no name. At other moments, younger participants pranced to the strains of gavottes, joined by their elders only when the musicians offered more stately allemandes. If Thrysus Indolent or Glare Estobate engaged in any conversations more private than common courtesies, I did not observe them, though I often paced near them. Altogether the ball offered no hint that it might at any moment degenerate into disaster.

  Nevertheless my apprehension grew with the lateness of the hour. My Queen had yet to announce the outcome of her many proposals of marriage. Indolent and Estobate had indicated that they awaited only some nameless sign to launch their betrayal. For differing reasons, Baron Plinth also no doubt waited, though his demeanor acknowledged no possibility of impatience. Thunder grumbled in the hall with increasing ferocity, and at every clap and burst, Her Majesty glanced aside as though in fright quickly concealed—as though she anticipated a fearsome intrusion that only she had foreseen. Yet nothing untoward occurred.

  Having no other outlet for my suspense, I assumed the temerity to step so near to Baron Indolent that our shoulders brushed. He did not appear to notice me. His attention was on his companion, his eyes feasting openly on her scarcely constrained bosom. When I moved beyond him with no murmur of apology to attract his regard, I held crumpled in my fist a square of white muslin from his sleeve, the handkerchief that he had intended as a last signal for Baron Estobate if all others failed.

  Childishly proud of my daring, I gazed for a moment at my Queen as though I sought her approval. However, she did not take note of my appeal—and in any case she could not know what I had done. Rather her attention was fixed across the hall on the Majordomo. Apparently she desired that woman to meet her stare.

  Almost immediately, the Majordomo did so. Turning to the musicians, she gestured for silence.

  They halted their efforts in mid-strain. Many of the dancers stumbled as though they had been upheld by the music and could not manage their feet without it. Others exclaimed in surprise, while some over-excited youths shouted for the music to resume. Then, a few at first, the rest in a sudden rush, all eyes turned to Inimica Phlegathon deVry.

  At that moment, a blare of thunder struck
with such force that the entire ballroom shook. Thick as mist, dust drifted down from the rooftrees.

  So startled was I that several heartbeats passed ere I understood—well, anything at all. In a daze, I saw my Queen flinch outright. I saw Baron Estobate run instantly from the hall. I saw Baron Indolent wheel from his companion—wheel not to pursue Glare Estobate, but rather to approach Her Majesty. Obliquely I perceived that Baron Plinth had leaped to his feet and now followed Thrysus Indolent toward my Queen, apparently seeking to forestall his fellow conspirator. Yet I comprehended naught until the realization found me that no natural thunder conveyed such deep destructiveness. No thunder of the world had the power to disturb the solid stone of the Domicile.

  From some distance, Jakob Plinth shouted, “Matrimony, Your Majesty! We must speak of your demeaning proposals!”

  Nearer at hand, Baron Indolent called, “Your games are at an end, woman. Now every truth will be revealed.”

  Yet my Queen gave no heed to them, or to any of her guests. Her gaze studied the ceiling, and in her mien and posture I beheld that which I would not have believed possible for her. She radiated plain dread.

  Behind her, chaos reigned as every reveler clamored for comprehension. What had gone awry, they knew not. They knew only their monarch’s fear—and perhaps Plinth’s demands or Indolent’s assertions. Such things herded them toward confusion as though they were cattle.

  A second blast distressed the stones. It had the sound of an explosion—a sound that called to mind the ruin of houses.

  Suddenly over the tumult of the guests came a shout from the Majordomo. In a voice stentorian as a trumpet, she commanded, “Clear the hall! Return to your rooms! You must all leave the hall and seek shelter in your rooms!”

  For no more than a moment, her words silenced the clamor. Then consternation resumed with renewed urgency. “Matrimony, Your Majesty!” insisted Baron Plinth. “You have dealt falsely with us!” Yet the loud dismay of the gathering muffled his outcry. If Baron Indolent spoke again, I did not hear him.