Kingdom River

''Blinded for an instant…''

'Yes.' Master Butter took another swallow. 'After which, of course, more will have to be done. Never strike a first blow without having prepared a second. Each stroke, each slash, is an introduction for the next… and I am ruining your handkerchief.'

'It will wash.'

'I hope it will.' Master Butter sighed, then took the cloth away and examined it. 'And how do you go on in court, Martha?'

'Oh… I mind my own business.'

'Well, that may do for a year or so, but not forever. You're with the Queen day and night; that's too close for some lords' comfort… some generals' comfort, too. And what makes great men – and women – uncomfortable, is sooner or later set aside.'

'The Queen will keep me safe,' Martha said, 'as I will keep her safe, for certain.'

' 'For certain.' ' Master Butter threw his head back and laughed. 'You are young.' Then he said, 'By the way, a very good time to reach over and cut someone's throat – while they're laughing.'

'Yes, sir.'

'For certain…' Master Butter sighed, and took a deep drink from his blue bottle. 'Still, properly said. Our Queen is a wonder, but wonders may grow careless. You may not. Particularly not with this war to the west, since it has certainly occurred to the horse savages that our Queen presents an obstacle.'

'I won't be careless.'

'See to it… So, you two deal well enough together – must, for good guarding. And the Queen's daughter?' He handed over the vodka bottle.

'I like Princess Rachel. I don't know if she likes me or not, but she's kind.' Martha held the vodka bottle, but didn't drink. Her father had given her tastes of potato vodka, but she hadn't liked it.

'Sons and daughters, daughters and sons.' Master Butter took his bottle back, displayed it. 'Map-Louisiana work. Enamel-ware.' He sipped, set it down on the floor beside him, then sat silent for a long while, looking at Martha, blinking slowly like a wood owl.

Martha sat, her fine new ax resting across her lap, its head's blade bright as silvered glass and sharp enough to shave down from her forearm. The head's spike, on the reverse, was a slightly curved claw, coming to a needle's point. The Queen's own Weapon-smith had made it, and engraved an ancient Warm-time saying on the side of the ax's steel. Deadlier than the male.

'… My father,' Master Butter said after a while, 'was Lawrence, Baron Memphis, which does make me a 'sir,' by courtesy. Sir Edward. He was Memphis, but not a brute… would eat no talking meat.' Master Butter was silent for a time, seemed distracted in liquor.

Then he said, 'My brother, Terry, the present baron, loved our father and still honors his memory. My brother was not squatly fat, heard no voices, had no falling fits – and has no great talent for killing, either. He sends me an allowance, and, of course, as one of Island's household, I have my servant, my rooms, my place in the hall at meals. No one treats me with disrespect. Those who aren't afraid, are sorry for me… I mention this, as I'm considering you for a friend.'

'I see…'

' – Not, I hasten to add, a lover. I have whores for the one thing, and have given my Forever-love to another.' He took the handkerchief away, examined blood spots on it, then pressed it against his nostrils again. 'My love, comic as it must seem to those few who know of it, is for Her Majesty alone. So it has been from the moment I stood beside my father on the pier of Silver Gate, and saw her first come ashore to Island beside Newton Second- Son – the River rest His Majesty.'

He blew his nose gently. 'She was tall, looked like a beautiful bitch wolf, and though frightened by the noise and crowds and newness, was too brave to show it… And a foolish fat boy, despised for his falling fits, saw her, lost his heart, and never got it back.'

Martha sat silent beside him.

'This… quiet of yours, is the reason I consider you for friendship, Martha. Knowing that a friend would never repeat what I've just told you for commons' casual amusement. Very few at court would dare laugh to my face – but many when my back is turned.'

'I won't tell anyone.'

'Thank you… And that was very nice work with the ax. Most forget an ax has a heavy handle, and see only the blade and spike – as I did, to my shame. That stroke was very nice, and followed quite properly by the belly cut.'

'But your poor nose…'

'Yes. You've made a friend of me – but an enemy of my nose.' Master Butter laughed a goose's honk. 'My dear, I think the Queen chose better than she knew.'

CHAPTER 15

Sam had occasionally seen Kingdom warships at a distance, rigged for the Gulf's summer wet and ponderously tacking offshore, great white seashells of sail taut with wind – or their ranks of oars out, flashing yellow in sunlight. Banners streaming from their masts.

And in winter, once, riding high along the coast with a file of troopers, he had heard a great hissing, like some monstrous southern snake's – and seen one of the Kingdom's great ships, driven before the wind, skating the Gulf's ice on huge, bright steel runners.

But to have seen at a distance was not the same as seeing close when the Cormorant, intercepted under a storm-darkened sky by a Kingdom cutter at the river's mouth, was held rocking in the tide while a warship came drum-thundering, oar-thrashing down upon them.

'Nailed Jesus,' Margaret said, as it came.

After a shouted interchange over gusting breezes, they were invited to board by clambering up the great ship's side on a dripping rope ladder, as it heaved and rolled in the delta's swell. The ship's name was worked in bronze at its bow: QS Naughty.

Their packs and baggage followed them, knotted to slender ropes – 'whips,' by the orders given – and drawn up to the ship's deck by silent sailors, working barefoot in the bitter wind. Heavier tackle was rigged, cable and belly bands, to haul the kicking horses up one by one to the warship's deck, then to be chivied into a large shelter of heavy canvas and taut-stretched cord, made in moments.

'Your people, sir, to remain on this section of deck – and wander nowhere else.' A pleasant officer in Middle Kingdom's naval-gray cloak, jacket, and trousers – and young, a boy no more than fourteen or so, his dark hair cropped short. A blue dot tattooed on each cheek, a heavy curved knife at his belt, he swayed to the ship's motion as Sam and his North Mexicans staggered.

'My men,' Sam said, 'and Master Carey, will stay where you put them, with our packs and gear. They're to receive refreshment. My officers come with me.'

'Sir, the captain's orders – '

'Belay those orders, Fitz.' A very small man strolled down the deck, stepping without looking over fixtures, lashings, and coiled lines. This man – with hard black eyes, a weather-creased face tattooed with three dots on one cheek, four on the other – wore frosted silver moons on his gray cloak's shoulder straps.

'Captain.' The boy officer saluted himself away.

'Milord.' The small captain bowed to Sam, raised his voice against the wind. 'Ralph Owen. I have the honor to command this Queen's ship. You are welcome aboard – and your officers, of course, stay with you.'

Sam saw the man's surprise, noticing Margaret Mosten. 'A lady…'

'It's our custom.' Sam smiled. 'Captain Mosten has commanded light infantry in several battles. Presently, she acts as my aide and executive.'

'Ah…'

'And I'll introduce Lieutenant Pedro Darry.'

Pedro stepped forward, snapped to attention. 'Captain Owen. A pleasure, sir.'