and that they brought in Chaos and Old Night to engulf them, once and for all. She yawned. If the Lords of Entropy were to manifest themselves on Earth again as they had in the legendary past she felt she might welcome them as a relief, at least, to her boredom. Not, of course, that she believed in those terrible prehistoric fables, though sometimes she could not help wishing that they had really existed and that she had lived in them, for they must surely have been more colourful and stimulating than this present age, where dull Reason drove bright Romance away: granite scattering mercury.
It was with these thoughts in mind that she welcomed the platinum-crowned Queen as she stepped up into the carriage. “By Arioch! You’re marvellous gaudy, tonight!” She smiled.
Gloriana returned the smile, relieved by Una’s deliberate vulgarity (it was considered poor taste to exhort the names of the Old Gods). She was dressed in ermine, white silk, pearls and silver, for she must represent the Polar Monarch tonight, the Snow Queen; and all were expected to reflect this motif if they attended her Court. Una’s own dress beneath the cape was pale blue, her collarette a slightly deeper blue, her petticoat white and decorated with small blue bows, a modification of the previous spring’s Shepherdess.
Meanwhile, around them, the guard mounted white horses, drew silvery capes over their traditional uniforms, placed white beaver caps with white owl feathers on their heads and readied themselves. Lord Rhoone rode up, his black beard almost astonishing in all this paleness, and bent to show an enquiring eye.
Gloriana’s lace glove waved, Lord Rhoone cried out his loud “At the trot, gentlemen!” and sleigh and escort were moving, with a screech of runners and a muffled drumming of hooves, off to West Minster and the river.
“Good news,” Gloriana told her companion. “You heard it? Poland’s rescued.”
“He’s well?”
“A trifle frostbitten, I gather, but not harmed. Montfallcon told me this afternoon. He was found this morning at a mill. The villains who’d taken him had quarrelled and run off, leaving him in his bonds, killing one of their number in their argument. Perhaps they’d intended to return-but Montfallcon’s men found Poland first and brought him to London. So all’s well and we’ll be plagued no longer by Count Korzeniowski’s anxieties for his master.”
“When shall you receive this unlucky monarch?”
“Tonight. In an hour or so. When I receive all the guests.”
“But the Grand Caliph-this proposes a difficult diplomacy.”
Gloriana pulled back the curtains for a view of the city’s lights. “Montfallcon has solved it. Both shall be presented together, with Poland announced first, since he’s Emperor.”
Una bit an amused lip. “I thought they both hoped to pay more than formal respects to Your Majesty. Do they not come to Court to'-she was almost ashamed-'to court?”
“Poland, apparently, swears he’ll marry none but me. And Arabia’s protests are only a degree less fulsome, which, considering his notoriety, must reveal as great a passion, eh?” Gloriana was sardonic. “Which would you prefer, Una?”
“Poland for companionship, Arabia for pleasure,” said Una at once.
“Arabia would admire your figure more, I think. It’s boyish enough for his taste.”
“Then pray he’ll accept me as a substitute and make me Queen of All Arabia.” Una cocked her head. “The notion’s excellent. But I suspect his ardour’s politically kindled and Ynys Scaith’s not a large enough dowry.”
Gloriana enjoyed this. “True! He wants Albion and all her Empire, nothing less. Perhaps he can have them, if he’ll give me what I cannot have.” The sleigh lurched a fraction as it rounded a corner, and Gloriana sang the chorus of a favourite song:
And Una, hearing that merry lament, became silent for a moment, causing Gloriana to regret her lapse and lean to kiss her friend. “Master Gallimari promises us many splendid diversions this evening.”
The Countess of Scaith recovered herself. “Aye-diversions! They’re what’s needed, eh? Are all the foreign embassies invited?”
“Of course. And London’s officers. And every noble from the country who will come. And every courtier. Mithras!” She put a satirical hand to her mouth. “Will the ice hold ‘em, d’you think, Una? Shall we all dance to watery doom, tonight? And half the globe’s security float out, so many icebergs, on the dawn tide?”
Una shook her head. “If I know my lord Montfallcon he’s seen that girders support the ice from bank to bank. Why, I suspect he’s had the ice replaced with obsidian and painted, he fears so for any possible harm which might befall you.”
“He’s a tigress and I the cub, in that respect,” agreed Gloriana. “But look!” She pointed through the gauze. “The ice is real!”
They were on a hill from which could be observed the curve of the great Thames, glinting with frost and snow, broad, shining black between the deeper black of the buildings which lay on both sides, like a massive forest hung with so many yellow lanterns. As they watched, more and more lights appeared and slowly the scene was transformed from black to glowing grey, and white, and hazy amber, and the river became pale glass in which moved small figures, seemingly reflections from an invisible source, and then the road had dropped so steeply it was no longer possible to see anything but the snowy hills and, ahead, the two battlemented towers of London’s North Gate, the Bull’s Gate, where the Queen’s carriage must be greeted and she must be welcomed and formalities exchanged between Lord Rhoone (on behalf of the Queen) and the glowing, half-tipsy Lord Mayor.
All this over, the sleigh continued, bumping mightily now, for the snow was not so thick on the cobbles, between lines of waving, torch-bearing, cap-flourishing, cheering citizens to whom the Queen smiled, bowed, blessed with nodding hands, until the gates of the Little City of West Minster were approached and these passed and shut, so that for a few moments the sleigh slithered in comparative silence, along the broad avenue, past the great Colleges and Temples of Contemplation, the Ministries, the Barracks, to the wide embankment upon the quays where, in better weather, the ships of visiting monarchs would dock. On this embankment awnings were already arranged and Una could see carriages disappearing, having delivered their illustrious cargoes. Foor-boys and footmen sped from position to position, ostlers stood ready, a choir of trumpets was prepared, at the tall Graecian columns flanking the steps down to the quay. These steps were covered by awnings, also, and carpeted. Braziers burned, like warning fires, along the length of the embankment walls, to provide both light and heat, and above them waved ranks of banners in a glory of multi-coloured silk reflecting flames and surrounding snow. And over these flags stood a rich ebony sky, in which no stars glowed. It was like a larger canopy, covering the whole of the city: a canopy through which a few flakes of snow dropped, to heap themselves where they could, or die spluttering in the fires.
Gloriana clapped her hands and nudged Una’s ribs before she recalled her own majesty, and became the grave, beautiful symbol demanded by the occasion. Una assumed a similar gravity.
The door of the sleigh was opened by Lord Rhoone. The Queen descended. Una followed.
Between the columns they paced, whilst a brassy fanfare announced the Queen; down the steps to where two great torches burned, held in the hands of pages clothed from head to toe by the skins of the polar bear. Behind the pages lords and ladies bent their heads. Also in whites and blues and silver, with powdered faces, the courtiers in the shadows made by the torches reminded Una of a ghostly assemblage, as if the dead rose to pay homage to Albion’s Empress on this misty Twelfth.
From quay to wooden steps the awning stretched, and down they went with measured dignity, to a side carpet laid across the ice where, covered still, a path led to their pavilion, three-sided, tall, of billowing silver silk, with a throne for Gloriana of delicate silver filigree, and a white-cushioned chair for Una, as the Snow Queen’s chief attendant.
Above, on the embankment, Una saw, as she waited for Gloriana to seat herself, a lowing processing of reluctant oxen; she heard the honking of geese, who would share the oxen’s fate, saw the stacked tinder and logs of the fires on which these creatures would be cooked, their juices soon to splutter, their skins to crackle, their savoury meat to swell, proud and tasty in the heat. Una licked her lip and, seeing that the Queen was down, went down herself with a shiver as her farthingale tilted and let a sharp breeze to her knees.
Over the center of the ice was a platform, like a scaffold, on which the musicians sat, tuning their instruments as best they could. The awnings and carpets beyond the Queen’s pavilion were, for contrast, green and
