Kingdom River

Martha found it in the toilet cabinet's second sliding drawer. 'Here, ma'am.'

The Queen, quite limber, crossed a leg over a knee and commenced trimming her toenails. 'Came very close, then, to going into the river. So, I fucked one man as if I'd secretly loved him always – then had his throat cut. And murdered two more before I felt free of that weight of iron chain.' She bent closer, peering to examine a neatened nail. 'A woman, a sister to one of those men, was thrown from her window in South Tower as a reassurance to me. Her uncle did it, Martha, for fear I would destroy their family, even the babies.'

Those toes finished, the Queen crossed her other leg and began trimming. The little knife-blade twinkled in lamplight as she worked.

'I'm sorry,' Martha said.

'Sorry? Sorry for what, girl? For necessity?'

'For you.'

'Well, you're a fond fool.' Paring with quick turns of her strong wrist, the Queen ended with her little toe… then stood up off the silver bucket and shook down her robe's skirt. 'Those who think we're more than beasts, should study their toenails.' She handed Martha the little knife. 'It goes in the top sliding drawer. Now… what else?'

'Brushing your teeth, ma'am.'

'The hell with it… Did you know the Warm-time hell was hot?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'I always thought that was strange… Where are my slippers?'

'By the bed.'

'Not the woolen slippers – the sheepskins.'

'I'll look for them.'

'Oh, never mind.' The Queen seemed to swim away through gray gauze curtains to her bed-nook. 'Between Ulla and that fat Orrie, nothing is ever where it should be. I should have them whipped…' Martha, following, had to brush a drift of fine cloth from the ax handle behind her shoulder.

Queen Joan sat on the edge of her bed and began rearranging her pillows – which she did every night. The maids had found no way to place them to please her.

She plumped a goose-feather one, tossed it to the head of the bed. 'You see, Martha, Rachel would not be capable of what I did. She pretends to fierceness, but break a bird's neck before her and she goes pale as cheese.' Another pillow tossed after the first; a cushion picked up and tested with a punch. 'And I cannot live forever.'

'Then she needs a fierce husband, ma'am.'

'Oh, yes. Memphis, or Sayre, or Johnson – who's a monster – or Lord Allen, or Eddie Cline. My Newton despised Cline and so do I. Or Giamatti, or one of the Coopers, who have hated me and mine forever.'

Pillows and cushions arranged, the Queen crawled into bed on all fours, like a child, then tucked herself under the covers and drew them up to her throat. 'And all of these people, Martha – chieftains, lords-barons, lords-earls, generals, admirals and so forth and so forth – every one of them keeping at least five or six hundred sworn-men on their hold lands, all trained and armed and excused service in my armies.'

She sat half up, elbowed an unsatisfactory pillow into place. '… Their 'River Rights.' River Rights, my ass! And not one of them – well, possibly Sayre, possibly Michael Cooper – but otherwise not one of them could hold this kingdom, keep its people from under the hooves of those fucking Kipchaks.' The Queen lay down again, tugged the covers to her chin. 'Those savages are breaking my West-bank army!'

Martha saw there were tears in the Queen's eyes. It was frightening to see, and ran goose-bumps up her arms.

'I cannot imagine,' the Queen said, staring up into the bed's umbrella of pearly gauze, 'I cannot imagine what possessed those Texas jackasses. And I saw them in the grassland just before. I saw them! What possessed those idiots to campaign in open prairie against the Kipchaks, and with all their forces? Was there no Map-Lubbock, no Map-Amarillo to fortify? No notion of fucking reserves?' She wiped her eyes with the hem of the sheet. 'Are my slippers by the bed?'

'The wool slippers?'

'Any damn slippers.'

'Yes, ma'am. Beside the bed.'

'- They rode out singing hymns, were quilled with arrows like porcupines, and have left my kingdom naked!' The Queen thrashed under her covers. 'I need a husband for my girl! Hopefully, one who won't kill me for the crown.'

'A Boston person?'

'Oh, certainly, and introduce one of those half-mad oddities to the lords, the armies, the merchants and Guilds of Ordinaries as my son-in-law and heir? He would live as long as I would, then… perhaps a week, unless he flew away like some fucking bat.'

'Then, if no one else will do, why not the North Map-Mexico lord?'

The Queen sighed and closed her eyes. 'Martha, you're a young fool; it's a waste of time talking to you. You've seen him. Monroe is a boy – sturdy enough, clever enough – but what has he done? Beaten those southerners, those imperial idiots? That's as difficult as beating a carpet to clean it. That, and only the raid north by his man, Voss… The river lords would cook and eat Monroe, and the Blue generals and Green generals would gnaw the bones.'

'He seems fiercer than that.'

'And if so, then fierce enough to take the throne from me!' The Queen opened her eyes, looked at Martha in an unpleasant way. 'I won't be forced to have him!'

'But Princess Rachel – '

'Rachel doesn't know. She is a child. This is the Throne's business, and she will marry and fuck and bear children for the one I accept!… The woolen ones?'

'Yes. I can get the sheepskins – '

'Oh, never mind.' The Queen seemed older lying down, her long, graying hair spread on her pillow. Older, and weary. '… Still, perhaps a long engagement. Long enough for his soldiers to be useful against the Khan. If that suits Boy Monroe, I suppose it may suit me. Time enough, afterward; engagements are often broken… But the same baby who peed down my furs? Floating Jesus.'

The Queen lay quiet then, and Martha smoothed her covers… tucked them at her throat. 'Sleep sweet, Majestic Person.'

The Queen smiled at that, then sighed. 'Oh, Martha. You know, I still have trouble forgiving my Newton – going off to Map-Kentucky to win a battle, and die doing it. He left these lords and generals to me, and they press and press against my power, and watch for me to stumble as I grow older. They all wait to see if I forget a name, a river law, or some common word. They bribed my maids so their doctors could examine my shit, see if I have bleeding in the turds – can you believe that?'

'Your shit is stronger than most men's muscle, ma'am.'

The Queen threw her head back on her pillows and laughed. 'Oh, that's very good – and true. But for how many more years, Martha? How many more years…?'

'I'll deal with the chamber-maids.'

'Hmm? Oh, those. Those two have been under the river's skin for more than a year, dear. Without their tongues.' The Queen turned on her side, and lay looking through Martha into memory. 'Michael Cooper came to me at the time, muttering something about summary executions without notice given to the Queen's Council, and I said, 'Lord Cooper, I had to silence them before they damaged the reputations of great men, even placing some in jeopardy of treason.' That shut his catfish mouth.'

Martha reached up to the hanging lamp… lowered its wick till the flame went out. 'Then there's nothing for you now to dream of, ma'am, but pretty birds and pretty places.'

After a moment, the Queen's voice sounded out of darkness. 'The only things I wish to dream of, Martha, are the Trapper mountains, and the Trapper days…'

***