The King's Justice (28 page)

From some distance, Jakob Plinth shouted, “Matrimony, Your Majesty! We must speak of your demeaning proposals!”

Nearer at hand, Baron Indolent called, “Your games are at an end, woman. Now every truth will be revealed.”

Yet my Queen gave no heed to them, or to any of her guests.
Her gaze studied the ceiling, and in her mien and posture I beheld that which I would not have believed possible for her. She radiated plain dread.

Behind her, chaos reigned as every reveler clamored for comprehension. What had gone awry, they knew not. They knew only their monarch's fear—and perhaps Plinth's demands or Indolent's assertions. Such things herded them toward confusion as though they were cattle.

A second blast distressed the stones. It had the sound of an explosion—a sound that called to mind the ruin of houses.

Suddenly over the tumult of the guests came a shout from the Majordomo. In a voice stentorian as a trumpet, she commanded, “Clear the hall! Return to your rooms! You must all leave the hall and seek shelter in your rooms!”

For no more than a moment, her words silenced the clamor. Then consternation resumed with renewed urgency. “
Matrimony
, Your Majesty!” insisted Baron Plinth. “You have dealt falsely with us!” Yet the loud dismay of the gathering muffled his outcry. If Baron Indolent spoke again, I did not hear him.

The guards at the doors had left their posts, hastening toward their sovereign. One contrived to intercept Jakob Plinth's rush. With the barest minimum of courtesy, the guard redirected the Baron toward the main doors. For my part, I strove to block Thrysus Indolent's path, but too many flustered or indignant revelers intervened. Fortunately another guard succeeded where I failed. This man did not scruple to grasp the Baron's shoulders and thrust him aside from Her Majesty.

Again the Majordomo raised her shout. “Clear the
hall
!” she repeated. “Be orderly! Return to your rooms!”

Some of the guests complied. Others elected to dither. A few apparently preferred fainting.

A third booming crash resounded from the walls. Now the uncertainty of the guests became a frenzy of departure. Some fool yelped, “The house falls!”—an unthinking outburst that served nonetheless to goad the more recalcitrant members of the throng into motion. Obstacles cleared themselves from my path, and once again I saw my Queen clearly.

She no longer regarded the ceiling. Nor did she betray any lingering residue of dread. Rather she fixed her gaze upon me, imperious in her self-command, and sure of her courses. “Find Excrucia,” she instructed me distinctly. “Bring her to me.”

Confident of my obedience, she turned at once to a nearby guard. “Summon Slew. Summon Vail. There is betrayal among us.”

Stricken of eye, the man forced his way from the hall through the panicked mob of guests.

No less prompt, I flung myself to a new heading against the current of fervid departures. The guests were a great many, and I could not scan the hall effectively while they interrupted my view. Fortunately I was aided by Excrucia's dramatic raiment. Off to one side, I caught a glimpse of deep cyan, a flash of leg. At once, I shouldered a matron aside, insinuated myself through a cluster of frantic maidens, and blocked an ash-visaged gallant with my halberd, which I then cast from me. In a moment, I
contrived to catch Excrucia's wrist, halting her amid the press of fleeing limbs and bodies.

She
was not panicked. Indeed, she did not appear to know fear. My unexpected grasp merely startled her. When she turned to me, her expression offered nothing more than her endearing frown of concentration.

“What transpires, Mayhew?” she inquired with such calm—or perhaps with such focused discipline—that I was scarce able to hear her. “Does the house fall? Are we betrayed?”

“Yes,” I gasped, meaning both, Yes, we are betrayed, and, Yes, the house of the Phlegathon deVrys falls. However, I had neither breath nor clarity for a fuller reply, and in any case much that I might have said was little more than speculation and instinct. Warfare and barbarism from within the realm. Enslavement from the east. Instead I panted merely, “Her Majesty requires you. She will explain when she can.”

To this unsatisfactory response Excrucia gave no more than a firm nod. Without delay, she joined my efforts to brunt a path through the diminishing crowd.

I was hardly aware that I still clutched her wrist. I knew only that I was determined not to be parted from her.

Harassed by the Majordomo, the greater portion of the guests had now shoved or squeezed their way from the ballroom, occasionally trampling the fallen. With the assistance of the guards, the lash of the Majordomo's tongue and the compulsion of her voice drove the rest before her. Among the distraught, only Thrysus Indolent declined to be dislodged. Baron Plinth with
all his family had been expelled. By the expedient of tripping one guard, however, and slapping another aside, Indolent succeeded at advancing toward Her Majesty despite the last flurry of escapes.

“I warned you,” he snapped as he drew near, “as clearly as I dared. Your reign has been madness piled upon folly. I could endure no more.
Indemnie
could endure no more. Your heedlessness requires this outcome.”

Her Majesty did not deign to respond. She spared no more than a glance for the Baron's self-righteousness. Her regard was fixed on Excrucia. As I urged my friend and ally forward, my Queen scrutinized her daughter, apparently assuring herself that the young woman was unharmed. Then in an iron voice as though she addressed the hall rather than any single person, she demanded, “I have summoned Slew. I have summoned Vail. Where are they?”

As though called into existence by his sovereign's need, Slew appeared in the formal doorway. Parting the last of the guests by plain strength, he came to Her Majesty. Without preamble or courtesy, he said, “Vail follows. We were delayed by distance.”

Shaking her head, my Queen dismissed any possible explanation or apology. “You discovered the men holding Indolent's signal missiles?”

The fact that the Baron could hear her caused her no visible concern.

“We did,” Slew answered.

“You left them unharmed?”

“As you commanded. Trusted men keep watch on them.”

“Are they aware that they are watched?”

“I think not. We have been soft and wary.”

“Good. We must trust that your men will also be wary of Estobate. He has fled to ready his forces.” Her Majesty spared one more glance for Thrysus Indolent, perhaps gauging the shift of emotions across his mien. Then she instructed Slew, “Bring him.” A disdainful toss of her head indicated the Baron. “We cannot delay. Vail must follow as he can.”

Shifting her regard to Excrucia—and to me—she made her wishes explicit. “Accompany me. We will gaze upon this threat.”

Immediately she strode from the hall with Slew at her side. The man's brutal grip on his prisoner's arm elicited a gasp from the Baron, who then elected submission rather than resistance.

For the briefest moment, Excrucia and I shared a gaze of bewilderment and resolution, though I must confess that she was both more bewildered and more resolute than I. Thereafter we hastened in her mother's wake.

Still I held her. I found, however, that I no longer gripped her wrist. Somehow we had entwined our fingers so that we might hold each other.

Of our shared clasp she appeared unaware. I was altogether too conscious of it.

Though we moved at a swift pace through halls unfamiliar to me, I guessed our destination without difficulty. High on its outward sides, the Domicile was surrounded by walled balconies
as wide as avenues. It was customary—so I had been informed—for high-born men and women to walk there in pleasant weather, relishing the various vistas or each other. To the east, of course, lay only waves and water, the featureless expanse of the sea. To both south and west, the Domicile on its height overlooked sparsely inhabited hills and valleys, some punctuated with copses, small fields, and hamlets, others not. To the north, however, the balcony provided a broad view of the town which the first Queen had named Venture, the town which manned, tended, supplied, and entertained Indemnie's principal harbor. There fishing vessels, pleasure craft, and two-masted schooners plied the waters, though at night—and in such weather—all would be safely secured at the many piers that served the docks.

Some incomprehensible bombardment from the west may have been possible, perhaps by catapult. We had cause to believe that one or more armies camped hidden in those valleys. Nevertheless I dismissed the notion. To my knowledge, all Indemnie possessed no engines of war capable of delivering the blasts which had shaken the ballroom. In addition, the terrain there was inconvenient for any assault, lying so far below the house. By such reasoning, I felt confident that my Queen aimed for the northern balcony. If she feared some new
threat
, it would only be visible to the north.

Another thunder-like crash sounded at a greater distance. Halls led to stairs, to further halls and yet more stairs. Excrucia strode at my side with her jaw set and her brows knotted. For my part, I chose to number my blessings rather than to
question my boldness. I could readily believe that never again in life would I enjoy such intimacy with my companion. Therefore I elected to treasure it while it endured.

The next blast caused the stones beneath my feet to lurch. It was nearer, louder, more ominous. I heard—or perhaps imagined—shattered rock falling to smite the waves at the base of the Domicile's seaward cliff. Then a broad entryway to the balcony appeared before us. For the space of no more than a heartbeat or two, I wondered whether Inimica Phlegathon deVry clad in her festive splendor would dare exposure to the storm. Then with a snort of derision I dismissed the notion. No deluge, however wind-whipped and punitive, would daunt my Queen on the occasion of her reign's betrayal.

True to my expectations, she hastened into the open air and proceeded directly to the balcony wall so that she might gaze out over Venture.

Fortunately the downpour had lessened during the ball, though the winds and lightnings had not. Through curtains of rain and acrid gusts of strange smoke, the other observers and I were able to descry the harm wrought upon the town—and the cause of that harm.

Mere fathoms beyond the longest piers, a tall-masted ship black as night lay at anchor. At first, wiping my eyes repeatedly, I perceived only that this vessel was half again larger than any ship built on the isle, and that its outlines were unfamiliar in ways difficult to name. But then a long jet of flame streaked the rain, an appalling boom echoed the storm's thunder, a
shipwright's merchantry near the wharves flew apart in splinters and fire, and my gaze was drawn to examine the foredecks of the intruding craft more closely.

There I beheld five massive devices, apparently of iron, with heavy tubes jutting from them. Attended by teams of sailors or marines, these devices were rolled back and forth, and their tubes raised or lowered, presumably to adjust their aim. One of these had been set facing the Domicile with its tube angled higher than the others. While I gaped at it, the tube spoke flame and fierce concussion. An instant later, some projectile struck the cliff below the house—far below. Stone and fire sprang from the impact while our edifice trembled as though gripped by a momentary ague. Yet I saw no indication of damage, felt none. The smoke of some eruptive many times more violent than the powder which carried fireworks aloft passed through the rain to sting my eyes and nostrils.

The other devices did not trouble themselves to hurl malice at our unattainable eminence. Rather they delivered cruel imprecations and ruin to various regions of the town.

There their destructiveness was terrible to witness. Entire buildings were torn apart. Merchantries, stables, warehouses, pubs, inns, chandleries, garment and sail makers, residences, houses of entertainment, all were helpless before the blasts. People ran everywhere, some then trampled by squalling horses, others impaled by or buried under debris. They, too, were helpless. No event in Indemnie's history had prepared them to confront such a catastrophe.

Swallowing bile, I understood that the enemy vessel was entirely capable of reducing the whole town and much of its inhabitants to rubble and charred meat in a matter of hours.

Excrucia had released my hand to brace herself upon the wall as though she feared that she might plunge to her death. Rain-matted hair veiled her mien. I could not guess what dreads filled her mind, what fates she considered. Rainfall had soaked her raiment, causing it to cling more intimately to her form—a sight which I might otherwise have coveted, but which I now ignored. If she feared for herself, I feared for her more.

Too much alarmed for any other word or movement, I turned to my Queen—and was taken aback by the individuals assembled around her.

Four guards were there. Them I had expected. And I was not displeased to see that Slew still clenched Thrysus Indolent's arm painfully. But I was surprised by Baron Panderman's presence. Hulking like a bear, he stood with his back to the wall of the house, a glare of madness or drink in his eyes. Near him was Baron Plinth, rigidly outraged, and undiminished by the drenching of his face and apparel. He appeared to be awaiting speech with his sovereign. And Vail also had arrived. His habitual erect carriage had deserted him. He stood somewhat hunched to one side before Her Majesty as though he sought to protect the long cut streaming below his ribs. Red stains gathered in the pools surrounding his boots.

In the entryway, the Majordomo barred all others from the balcony.

As I turned, Inimica Phlegathon deVry did the same, putting her back to Venture's devastation. In appearance, she reflected the carnage of the town. Her elaborate tresses had become sodden tangles, and her coronet sat askew. All her jewels had surrendered their brilliance to the rain. The former magnificence of her gown resembled a bitter defeat, drooping precariously from her shoulders as though to deny the effect for which it had been created.