“A badly treated dog, my lord. Sir Christopher’s constables handled me ill and I was given the worst cell in the Marshalsea. I expected better, for agreeing to your schemes. Also, my identity was not completely concealed.”
“My reward to you, Quire, is your freedom. I saved it.”
“I risked it, sir-and did not flee. I’m the best man you have in London-in all Albion-in the Empire. For I am an artist, as you know. And I am not vulnerable.”
“That makes you a doubtful servant in some ways, Captain Quire. You are too intelligent for this work. You spring from excellent yeoman stock, you were educated at John’s in Cambridge, where you might have become a much admired theologian, but you refused all respectable opportunities.”
“Creative inclinations of a stronger sort sent me to exploring my senses, my lord, and the geography of the world. I have no talent, save for what’s called evil, and in your service, sir, I am enabled to pursue my studies further. I’ve considered many callings, but all seem worthless. I like not the examples of the various professions I have encountered and I believe my own occupation, at your service, my lord, and therefore the Queen’s, to be as good as, if not better than, any. At least, you’ll agree, I’m able to judge the exact degree of evil I perform-if evil it be. These others, these scholars, lawyers, courtiers, merchants, soldiers, statesmen, who are pillars of our Realm, they throw stones over their shoulders, anxious in case they should see what or whom they strike. But I look in the eyes of those I strike, my lord. I tell them what I am doing, as I tell myself.”
Lord Montfallcon had become calmer. He was not offended by Quire’s speech, as Quire had known he would not be. Quire was given to such speeches, defining his work as a poet might define his calling. If Quire had sought to apologise, had been placatory, Montfallcon would have become suspicious of him. He employed Quire for his impertinent creativity, his courage as well as his cunning. The old Chancellor seated himself behind his desk. Quire remained by the fire. “Well, you have inconvenienced me badly, Quire. At a time when I needed no more complications. Still, it’s done.”
“Aye, my lord. King’s to emigrate for a murder he did, after all, help at, even if he didn’t initiate the deed.”
“Few believe that. Sir Christopher does not. I doubt if the Saracens will for long, when they receive their own reports of the affair. You’d best be wary, Quire. They can be a vengeful race.”
“I’m always wary, my lord. What’s my new commission?”
“You must go to the coast. You’re to play wrecker to a galleon due on tomorrow’s early tide. If possible I want no one killed, but she must come onto the sands at the mouth of the river at Rye. Already I’ve sent a skiff to intercept the pilot and place one of our own people on board. He’ll redirect the ship to Rye-claiming the frozen Thames as excuse.”
“A fair one. No ship could move into or out of London at present, without threat to her timbers. But what’s my function? This pilot can perform the task without my aid.”
“Not easily. You’ll give the plan a twist and make sure it all goes smoothly. Then the sequel’s entirely yours. I leave its details to your imagination.”
“I’m glad you continue to trust me, my lord.”
“In such matters, Quire, you’re always the most inventive. The King of Poland’s ship, the
Quire was amused. “A King? Well, my lord, you set me after splendid quarry. But I’ll need a full pack for this hunt.”
“Pick ‘em.”
“Tinkler. Hogge. O’Bryan…”
“You’ll employ that braggart, still?”
“He’ll do well at this. Moreover he’s spent two years in Polish employ, as a soldier, and we might need him for his language. I’d consider Webster-”
“No! The rogue’s been associated with certain young men at Court. He could be recognised later.”
“Kinsayder?”
“None of that gang of ink-stained would-be gentlemen will do. Some fools already think they represent the Queen. Fools who do not know the Court but merely its detritus.” Montfallcon frowned. “Besides, they’re gossips. You’d be carrying a hen-house with you.”
“Good fighting cocks, my lord, and braver than your common ruffler.”
“Aye, and more ambitious. And more inventive. I employed their kind under old King Hern, but you’re the only half-gentleman I’d care to use now, for you are not, like them, addicted to grog, airy language and promiscuous comradeship-for which they must always pay with the only currency they have in quantity: small-talk, scandal, embellished anecdote.”
Quire’s thin lips moved. “Your point’s made, my lord. I’ll draw my list later, following your advice.”
“Send me word when all’s accomplished.”
“I will, my lord.”
“Protect this secret from your hirelings, if you can.”
“I will. But it’s an unsubtle scheme.”
“The best there’s time for. We must retain Poland’s friendship. If we used diplomatic means, they’d guess at once. This plan’s so desperate none will suspect devious Montfall-con’s hand.”
“But the consequences…?”
“There’ll be none that are unwelcome, if you play your part correctly and with your usual skill.”
Quire sniffed. “My sword-that stickler Rhoone took it. I’ll leave through the Spiders’ Door.” He tugged the hood back on.
Montfallcon rang a brass bell for a lackey. “Clampe: Ask Lord Rhoone to give you this man’s blade.” He came to stand by the fire.
“The plot belongs to King Hern’s time,” continued Quire. “Let us hope none recollects how you served him. I remember…”
“You were a boy when Hern took his life.”
“I feel no nostalgia. Did I say so?”
Montfallcon passed fingers over his lids. “You and I, for all that forty years separate us, are both of another age. It’s ironic we should work together to resist a return to that darker past.”
Quire humoured him. “Or that I, most villainous of villains, with my love of such an antique art, should benefit for living in a world where justice is so much stronger. Where Virtue rules.”
Montfallcon raised his right arm and stretched it, saying acidly: “I am needed while such as you remain on Earth.”
Quire considered this, then shook his head. “On the contrary. It could be argued that I am needed while noble souls of your sort continue to exert themselves. After all, Plato tells us how vulnerable is the age of the perfect monarch.”
Montfallcon was baffled. Angrily, he changed the subject. “Some roads are impassable with the snow. You’ve good horses, I hope.”
“They’ll have to be rented.”
“Gold?”
“Aye.”
The lackey returned with the sword as Montfallcon took out his key. Quire stepped forward to draw the blade from the man’s hand. “Thanks.” He sheathed.
Montfallcon waited until the servant’s back was to them before he unlocked the box. When the servant had gone he opened it. He counted coins. “Five nobles?”
“Aye-that’ll pay for horses and men.”
Montfallcon put the gold into Quire’s careless palm. “You’ll leave before dark, this afternoon?”
“As soon as all are hired and I’ve dined and cleaned myself.”
The two men entered a smaller room and then another still smaller. A third door, hidden in a panel behind a chair, led into the walls: a way from the palace which Quire, Tinkler and their patron believed only they knew. Quire
