“Continue.”
Quire’s stance grew more relaxed. “My art encompasses many talents. I work directly upon the stuff of the world, whereas other artists seek only to influence it, or represent it.”
“A difficult art. There must be dangers in it, not found by other artists.”
“Of course. My life and liberty are constantly at risk.” Quire became serious. “Constantly, my lord. When, tomorrow morning, you visit the Queen, on Lord Montfallcon’s behalf, you will be putting my plans and possibly my liberty in danger.”
Lord Ingleborough smiled, almost forgetting his pain. “So Montfallcon has told you. And you are here to plead.”
“No, my lord.”
“Then to charm me into giving up my word.”
“I meant, my lord, that Lord Montfallcon has told me nothing directly and that I am not here to plead. I overheard your conversation. I saw you gathering and followed. I am, as Lord Montfallcon guessed, familiar with the palace’s secret parts.”
“You were eavesdropping, eh? Well, I’ve done the same, in the old days. Did you kill the Countess of Scaith?”
“No.”
“I thought not.”
“You believe Lord Montfallcon slew her?” Quire’s tone was neutral.
“Well, he was never her friend.”
“The rumour says she’s fled the land.”
“There’s no evidence. More evidence to say she’s dead. But we are off the original subject, Captain Quire.” Lord Ingleborough’s strength was leaving him again. The twilight grew steadily deeper. “Well, I had best tell you what I intend to do. It is my duty to honour my word to Montfallcon and inform the Queen of her danger from you. You have confessed to me that you are a killer, a spy, and worse. I admire your honesty as I admire all honesty- honest cruelty, honest greed, honest crime. I prefer it, as many of us, to the hypocritical kind. And I’ll tell that to the Queen.”
“She knows what I am already,” said Quire in a small, furious voice.
“You have told her everything?”
“She recognises me for the artist that I am. She is deceived because she would rather be deceived by me than by you, or Lord Montfallcon or the Grand Caliph of Arabia.”
“I understand you. But I must list your crimes-as Montfallcon sees them-in the morning. I do not think you mean personal harm to the Queen. Not now. But I think you could, in time, do great harm to the Realm, and corrupt the Queen. You are much cleverer, you see, than Lord Montfallcon gave me to understand.”
Captain Quire bowed acknowledgement. “If you had been my patron, this position would not have come about between us.”
“What are your plans, Captain Quire? What do you seek to achieve here?”
“To amplify and define my senses,” said Captain Quire. “I answer the same to all such questions.”
“But you must have plans. Are you loyal to Albion?”
“Anyone can claim that. What is loyalty? A belief that what one does for another is the best thing one can do? Well, I do not interpret. I have been told that what I do is best for Albion.”
“So you do serve a master. Who?”
“I have a patron, my lord.”
Ingleborough gasped as pain came hard into him again. Quire stepped to the brandy and poured, putting the cup to the writhing lips.
“Thank you, Captain Quire. Who is this patron?”
“It is not my habit to disclose such names.”
“You spoke freely of Montfallcon.”
“Never when in his service, my lord.”
“This patron’s task for you?”
“The same, he tells me, as Lord Montfallcon’s. To save Albion.”
“But he is at odds with Montfallcon?”
“In some respects.”
“Perrott? Is Perrott alive and employing you?”
Quire shook his head. It was growing cool. He stirred. “So you will speak with the Queen?”
“Aye, Captain.”
Captain Quire folded back his cloak and displayed a scabbarded dagger.
Lord Ingleborough looked at him through the gloom and shrugged. “Murder me? With so many witnesses?”
“Of course not. I am not sufficiently well-established at Court.”
“Yet your gesture was calculated.”
“I promised an example of my art.”
“So you did.”
Quire looked into the darkness of the courtyard. “Well, I have caught your catamite.”
“You have Patch!” Lord Ingleborough raised both swollen hands to his face. “Ah!”
“I secured him as soon as I knew your intention. I have been playing with him this afternoon.” The dagger was touched. “He’s mine. Yours again, if you swear silence regarding me.”
“No.” Ingleborough was shaking, his voice all but inaudible. “Oh, I will not.”
“He’ll be safe. If you tell he’ll be killed.”
“No.”
“You admitted you had no evidence against me. The Queen will want some. She will be anxious to retain the friend she has in me. You can imagine that, my lord.”
“Of course. But I must do my duty-all the more so now. I must warn the Queen.”
“Then Patch will begin to die.”
“Spare him.” The voice was a far-away wind. “I beg you. You’ll serve no purpose in harming Patch. I love him.”
Captain Quire drew out the slender dagger in his gloved fist. “Already my little pudding prick has pricked poor Patch’s little pudding. Heated and inserted-so…why he’ll die the old, famous buggers’ death.”
Lord Ingleborough groaned.
“Promise silence, my lord-from Patch as well as yourself, of course-and your page shall be restored.”
“No.”
“You cling to a word reluctantly given-and slay, in terror and in pain, your darling.”
Lord Ingleborough was weeping. The side of his mouth twisted.
Quire straightened up. “Shall I go to fetch him, my lord?”
“Just bring him back, Quire.” His speech slurred.
“And…?”
“Bring him back, I beg you.”
“You’ll be silent?”
“No.”
“Then I must keep my word, too. Whatever befalls, I’ll bring you a memento. An eye? Or a tender, tiny testicle?”
“Please spare him.”
“No.”
“I love him.”
“That’s the point of my capturing him.”
Ingleborough began to tremble. His mouth opened and shut rapidly. His eyes glared and his colour became quite ruddy, then turned blue.
With some delight Captain Quire recognised the symptoms. “Easy, my lord. Your heart is failing.” He took the brandy from the table and held it a little way from the hand that reached for it. “Frequently it is the heart which fails
