It is a sensation, to be sure,” said His Grace of Roundsilver. “But the hunt is up for the author, and if he has sense, he will be in hiding.”
“Perhaps we will see him in the gallery of the Burgesses,” said I, “making notes for a sequel.”
“I hope he will not be so bold,” said Roundsilver. “There have been enough men delivered to the scaffold this season.”
I wondered how His Grace would react if he found out that the author of The Court of Laelius was a member of his own company of players.
Blackwell’s satire had, as predicted, become widely read by people who could never admit to owning or seeing a copy. Laelius was the talk of the capital, though most of the talk took place behind closed doors.
“I have seen works purporting to be sequels,” Roundsilver said. “And the original was first seen this last week.”
We were in the game room of Rackheath House, my guests assembling before going to the hall for one of my Savory Dinners. Meat and fowl of high quality were now easy to find, and at low prices, but for a melancholy reason. Due to the disastrous harvest, there was not enough fodder to maintain the herds over the winter, and they were being sold off, probably at a loss.
I wondered if the poor scarecrow scavengers who thronged the city could now buy a cutlet for less money than a loaf of bread. I hoped so, for these displaced country folk were desperate. I contributed to several charities that distributed food to them, and donated as well the broken meats from my own table.
The duke sipped from his silver goblet. He had come for the Estates, and a meeting of the Great Council, and I thought he would not enjoy either. He had left behind in Selford his duchess and the infant Marquess of Ethlebight, and I imagine he hoped to return as quickly as he could. He was here for business and business only.
“The verse,” said I, “was more than serviceable. Approaching genius in places, if you like invective.”
“I hear enough invective at court,” said the duke. “I need not read it in a pamphlet.”
Sir Cecil Greene, burgess for Ethlebight, approached and bowed. “Your Grace,” he said. “You are discussing Laelius?”
“The topic seems unavoidable,” said Roundsilver.
“It is a work of the most exquisite poison,” said Greene. “I hope it may set blood afire throughout the realm.”
“I wish for peace and good hap,” said the duke. “I hope we may avoid blood, fiery or not.”
“Then we must unite,” said Greene. “We must be firm about the misuse of the treason court. We must demand that the viceroy inform the Estates concerning the state of the war, including all the other nations that are leagued against us, and how our soldiers have fared in battle. And as for Edevane’s extortion—I heard that Thistlegorm bought his own head for twenty-five thousand royals.”
“It was thirty thousand,” said the duke. “I had it from that lord’s own lips.”
Greene puffed out his cheeks in amazement. For thirty thousand, the attorney general had been allowed to resign rather than be condemned by the Siege Royal. He was too prominent a Retriever, walking the palace in his white doublet and trunks at a time when other Retrievers were losing their heads.
“Edevane has allowed others to purchase immunity,” Greene said. “Gregory, Coleman, and Judge Hawthorne, who presided at the Siege Royal until it became dangerous for Retrievers to walk beneath the sun. But Thistlegorm…” He nodded at Roundsilver. “His fall is a pistol pointed at the head of all the peers.”
“That pistol was Scutterfield,” said I.
Though in truth the misuse of the treason court was not clear in law. Torture was illegal in Duisland, and always had been, and so was the sort of arbitrary justice produced at the Siege Royal. But it had also been accepted that, in times when the state was under threat, such practices were necessary for the salvation of the nation and its monarch. The Pilgrim knew that history provided enough examples of deep-laid conspiracy at court, and so the Siege Royal was allowed to exist, as long as it operated quietly and only in times of great danger. But once tradition accepted an institution like the Siege Royal, then who was to say how often the treason court could sit and dispense its judgment?
“And now the Commission of Inquiry,” said Greene. “What right has the viceroy to regulate the Pilgrim’s worship, let alone execute poor monks who preach in public squares? Who has authorized this commission, and who paid its members? It was not the Estates.”
“I think—” began the duke.
But we were never to know what the duke thought, because at that moment Floria entered the room with her train of ladies. She was ablaze in that dark company, her satin gown white as that of a Retriever, for while the rest of us dressed in the black of mourning, the royal family wore white when mourning their own. White diamonds and white pearls were sewn over the gown, and over the headdress that framed her face. Her disorderly hair was caught in a white snood, and her jewelry was of silver ornamented with white gems.
We bowed, and I approached Floria’s presence. “Welcome to my house, Your Highness,” said I. “You honor me with your presence, and truly you thrive in shade.”
I caught your haughty smirk over Floria’s head, your amusement at the conventions of my obeisance.
“Thank you, Sir Quillifer,” said Floria. Amusement glittered in her hazel eyes. “If you were discussing The Court of Laelius, pray continue, for I seek enlightenment as to some of its allegories. Am I represented in the work as Horatia, do you think, or as Primula?”
“Neither, Highness,” said I. “I think you are that lady confined in the tower, struck dumb by the gods.”
“Struck dumb?” Floria’s eyes widened. “That hardly seems like me.”
“Though if you are not in the poem at all,” offered the duke, “it is the greatest compliment, for everyone else is blackguarded.”
“In truth, Your Grace,” said Floria, “by now I have been blackguarded often enough that I can now hope only to be blackguarded in an interesting or amusing way.”
I looked up and saw the angular astronomer Edith Ransome numbered among Floria’s ladies. “Mistress Ransome,” I said. “Welcome to my house. I had thought by now you would be viewing the stars with your quadrant.”
“The summer storms were fatal to the project,” said she. “A flood swept down from the hills and destroyed the quadrant before it could be completed.”
“I hope you will be able to rebuild it in a more waterless place.”
Her thin lips crooked in a smile. “Her Highness very kindly assured me that this would be the case.”
“I am glad you are here, for I wish to introduce you to a friend of mine, who has brought a sample of a new astronomical machine.”
Mistress Ransome’s brows knit. “It is not in aid of horoscopes, is it?” asked she. “Because I am merciless about horoscopes.”
“It is about navigation.”
Floria interrupted. “If we are going to discuss navigation,” she said, “then I should like a glass of wine before we begin.”
“Of course. I fear I am a lax host, Highness.” I gestured to the yeoman of the buttery, who arrived at once to ask Her Highness’s pleasure. Wine being fetched for Floria and her ladies, I introduced Mistress Ransome to Alaron Mountmirail, who bowed over her hand.
“Master Mountmirail has invented a new engine for use in navigation,” I explained. “I thought it might be useful in astronomy as well, though I am not competent to judge.”
Mountmirail’s moon face split into a huge grin. “I recently had occasion to sail to and from Ethlebight,” he said. “And I observed the navigator working with his cross-staff in order to determine the latitude. And the navigator was young, but going blind.”
“Which is often the case,” said I, “for when doing the noon sight, the cross-staff requires the navigator to stare directly into the sun.”
“That is why I use a pinhole,” said Edith Ransome.
“This navigator did also,” said Mountmirail. “But still his vision was fading. So I had an idea—if you will forgive me, ladies—”
He went into my study to bring out his instrument. It seemed somewhat crude, for he’d made it himself, in his own workshop.
“Rather than stare into the sun,” he said, “this employs the sun’s shadow.”
It was a long staff with an upright piece and a long curved scale on the end. “You hold it thus,” Mountmirail said, “with the sun behind you. You sight along the horizon through the hole at the end. Then the sun casts the shadow of the upright piece—I call it a ‘gnomon’ onto the curved scale, and its altitude is revealed.”
“May we try this out of doors?” asked Mistress Ransome.
Mountmirail, Floria, and her ladies trooped onto the lawn, which, despite the arrival of autumn, still made a carpet of unbroken green descending to the lake. A cool breeze ruffled the surface of the water. Mountmirail demonstrated his machine, and then Edith Ransome took the device and attempted to work it. “The sun is too high,” she said. “We are near noon. I can’t view the horizon and keep the gnomon’s shadow on the scale.”
“Ah. Then you must deploy the swing-arm.”
I watched delight break out on Mistress Ransome’s beaky face as Mountmirail demonstrated his device. Floria walked up to my elbow and spoke in a low tone. “Well, you have enchanted Mistress Ransome,” she said. “And of course you have debauched another of my ladies. Have you plans for any of the others?”
I nodded. “I was going to advise Countess Marcella to bring those bills of hers to the treasury, before the government finds some way to prevent her.”
“Bills?”
I explained to Floria that her sister had lost over five thousand royals to Marcella, who had her notes of hand complete with Berlauda’s seal. Floria received this news without surprise.
“Or perhaps her ladyship should sell them to a broker at a small discount,” said I, “and let the broker then worry about collecting—of course she must find a broker who has that sort of money on hand. In any case, it should be done soon.”
“It would be a great embarrassment to the government,” said Floria, her tone offhand.
“I’m afraid it would be.”
Floria’s countenance was inscrutable. “I shall pass your message on to the countess,” said she.
“Your servant,” said I.
“That leaves Mistress Tavistock.” She nodded at her fourth lady, she of the charming overbite. “Have you plans for her?”
“Should I?”
“I hope you do not. She is engaged to marry Lord Mellender, which is a very good match for her. I cannot tell from your history whether marriage will make her more attractive to you or not, but in either case I urge you to refrain.”
I bowed. “Chenée Tavistock I shall worship only from afar,” I said.
“I am heartily glad to hear it,” said she. “It is tiresome enough hearing Mistress d’Altrey forever singing your virtues, and urging me to make use of you for I know not what project.”
I was very flattered that I had been hymned in this way, but I responded lightly.
“A project? I hope to build a canal from Ethlebight to another harbor on the coast.”
“Ay? You have once more adopted a new occupation? Well, that will keep you out of mischief here in the capital.”
I nodded at the engineer. “Master Mountmirail was supposed to be working on the canal when he decided to invent his astronomical engine. His mind flies from one thing to another like one of his mechanical birds.”
“And I imagine you have found a way to profit by that astronomical engine,” Floria said.
“I intend to manufacture them,” I said, “and pay Mountmirail a fee for the right to do so.” I shook my head. “He is brilliant, but has only a primitive idea of commerce. He would give away all his ideas if he could.”
“How lucky that you are here to see to his interests.”
I gave her a sharp look, and she returned a serene smile. “Tell me about this canal. But I’m not dressed for the outdoors, so let’s leave our astronomers and go inside.”
“Of course, Highness.” We left Mountmirail chatting happily with Mistress Ransome, and as we strolled back to the house, I told her how I hoped to save my native city. “But no one knows how to build a canal,” I said.
“Of course we do,” Floria said. “Howel is full of canals.”
“But they are ditches that connect two bodies of water that are at the same level. The Ethlebight Canal will have to go up and down hills using locks, which we don’t know how to build. But Mountmirail tells me that the real problem will be the danger of the water leaking out.”
Floris looked at me in surprise. “Leaking out? Water does not leak out of the canals in Howel.”
“Nay,” said I, “but that water is the same level as the lake, or the Dordelle, and these are the same level as the water below the soil. There is no place for the water to leak to, for below the ground everything is wet. Whereas if we are to build a canal where the water flows above the level of the water under the ground, the water will ooze out unless we seal the canal with some kind of impermeable substance.”
I was about to step ahead to open a door for Her Highness, but my footmen were alert and swept open the doors and bowed as Floria passed. As she walked into the game room, she gestured to the yeoman of the buttery, who refilled her goblet. She took a sip, then turned again to me.
“What sort of impermeable substance?” she asked.
“The old Aekoi engineers lined their canals with a kind of mortar that repelled water,” said I, “and you can see this in the old canals that survive in Bonille, but the secret of its manufacture is lost. I had thought about lining the canal with Ethlebight brick, but bricks must be fixed with mortar, and if the mortar is washed away, the canal will still fail.”
“Master Mountmirail admits he has no solution?”
“The canal could be lined with clay,” I said, “but the clay would have to be renewed every few years as it washed away. But Mountmirail will begin work on the problem once I have built him a lime kiln, and I’m confident he will find a solution before the first spadeful of earth is turned.”
Floria smiled. “It must be useful to have such a prodigy in your service.”
I waved a dismissive hand. “He is not in my service, Highness. He labors for me only so long as I provide interesting work for him. And if you look for genius, have you not Edith Ransome?”
“She is brilliant, ay. But her interests and conclusions are of little practical use to me. Whereas you will get a canal, an astronomical engine to sell to every mariner in creation, and ink in bottles.” She sipped her wine again, and then the dinner gong rang. She touched my arm. “Perhaps I will sponsor this canal of yours, Quillifer. But you will have to forego your plans to name the canal after yourself, and instead name it after me.”
I was so astonished that it took me a moment to recover. “Your name may grace the project, of course. Though I had no plans to name the canal after myself.”
Floria’s eyes widened in feigned surprise. “How unlike you, Quillifer, not to trumpet yourself. Are you sure you are feeling entirely well?”
Roundsilver approached to take Floria into dinner. She took his arm, then turned to me. “I desire immortality, Quillifer,” she said. “And if it must come in the form of an astronomical observatory and a stretch of water, then I will take what I can.”
Between my duties as host, the discussion of Laelius and politics, and the necessity of explaining the canal project to possible investors, I was unable to find a private moment with you till the afternoon was far advanced. I found you in a corner of a parlor, and I hastened to embrace you and feast upon your lips. “Can you stay the night?” I asked.
“Floria will have us all return in a body,” you said. “She will not have it said that she lost one of her ladies at a gentleman’s house.”
“You would not be lost,” said I, “for I would keep you under my eye every moment you are here.”
You smiled and kissed my nose. “Yet I must attend Her Highness tonight. I might have some time free tomorrow afternoon, and I will send a message if I can call upon you.” You freed yourself from my arms and adjusted your myrrh-scented hair.
I told you that Floria had offered to sponsor the canal, and you laughed. “I have been urging her to make use of you, and now you make use of her. The canal will provide your excuse to visit us, and so we two may see each other all the more.”
“And without the tedious necessity of my seducing a royal princess,” said I, “and as a consequence, being condemned to death.”
You gestured with your fan. “We may keep that plan in reserve then,” you said. “For there is no gain without risk.”