The Queen's Necklace (14 page)

For a day and a half he allowed his imagination to run wild, before he realized that the draper had actually hinted at something very different. “
Repeated in places where you never meant them to be heard at all
.” A confidential agent for the Crown of Rijxland? Well, why not? Who better than a religious fanatic, ripe for martyrdom, if you wanted someone hardy under torture and willing to guard your secrets with his very life?

Intrigued, excited, wishing to know more, Luke was nevertheless doomed to frustration for the next several days. The Anti-demonist proved as reclusive in his own way as the Goblins were in theirs. The rain continued to fall, a stiff breeze blew steadily across the bows, keeping the other passengers to the lower decks, and it seemed that the Leveller preferred his own company and the wind, sea, and rain, to that of the men who continued to meet in the captain's cabin. He was known to take long walks on the rainy deck, to eat all his meals alone in his cabin. Though whether this was done in accordance with the precepts of his strange religion, or motivated by a desire for solitude, not even Captain Pyke could say.

The weather did not clear until shortly before the
Pagan Queen
landed in Herndyke. She sailed into the harbor at night, and Luke did not venture on deck until the next morning.

It was a fine, fresh, sunny day, and the leaden skies and the soaking wetness of the last fortnight seemed a million miles away. Luke took up a position by the rail and watched, with idle curiosity, the party of Goblins as they tottered gratefully down the gangplank.

In the natural way of things, Ouphs were inclined to a sallow rather than a ruddy complexion, but these appeared uncommonly yellow with seasickness and wobbly besides. Yet their taller companion
moved with such dignity and self-possession that he might have been mistaken for some decent working-class patriarch, were it not for the odd articulations of his long arms and legs.

“Do Goblins have souls?” Luke wondered out loud. What had prompted the question, he was not quite certain, unless it was because that other mysterious passenger, the Leveller, was still very much on his mind.

“They do have souls, but of a vastly inferior nature, midway between the souls of animals and of Men,” said a deep voice behind him and, turning, he saw a long figure emerge through the hatchway. It was the Leveller himself, moving in Luke's direction with his dark cloak billowing around him.

With an effort, Lucius controlled his surging elation, forced himself to keep his voice light and casual. “In what way ‘vastly inferior'? If souls are, as all philosophers assure us, wholly immaterial, sublimely impalpable, how is it possible to measure or to quantify them?”

The stranger joined him beside the rail. “Perhaps I should have said undeveloped, rather than inferior. The souls of Goblins are darker in nature, less apt toward enlightenment.”

Luke gave the Leveller a sideways puzzled glance. That statement opened up some intriguing possibilities, but it was also an entirely new line of thought. “Less apt, you say, but that would imply—not entirely incapable? Nor incapable, I suppose, of achieving salvation according to the precepts of your religion?”

Again the Leveller surprised Lucius with his response. “Surely anyone with a compassionate heart must hope so. It would be insupportable to think that so many of God's creatures were doomed from the very beginning.”

Detecting some change in Luke's expression, he added quietly: “You think otherwise? Or perhaps—believing those of my faith cruel and inflexible—you are merely astonished to hear
me
say so?”

As this was
exactly
what Luke had been thinking, he had the grace to blush. For a moment, he could not imagine how he ought to answer.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, recovering. He forced himself to meet the fanatic's steady gaze. “I really know very little about your religion. The truth is, I am very pleased to meet you.” He put out one of his hands, determined to make the most of this opportunity. “If you will allow me—I am Lucius Sackville-Guilian, and I am planning to spend the winter at Luden.”

The stranger barely touched the tips of Luke's fingers with the ends of his own. “How do you do, Mr. Guilian. They call me Raith.”

Luke waited to hear more. But when no more came, he suddenly remembered that Levellers were not in the habit of giving their full names to anyone—something to do with hexes, though he could not perfectly recall the details. And he was not certain whether he ought to feel snubbed or encouraged. This Raith's manner was reserved, but it could hardly be called repulsive.

So Luke tried again. “I understand—that is, something that one of the other passengers said led me to believe that you are employed by the Rijxlander government—as a courier, or in some other confidential capacity.”

The Leveller inclined his head, under the shadow of his stiff black hat. Almost it seemed that Lucius had amused him.

“As a secret agent do you mean, Mr. Guilian? But there, I believe, my appearance is against me. Have you ever met anyone whose face, whose dress, whose manner, whose entire aspect more clearly proclaimed the word ‘spy'?”

With the question put to him in that way, Luke had to admit that he never had. “Which I suppose would make it impossible for you to be one. But if you don't mind my asking, what
do
you do?”

“I am employed by the Crown Princess of Rijxland, but in a purely private capacity. Indeed, I believe my position is unique: I am
the governor of her five small children and also act as their bodyguard.”

Yet again, Luke was at a temporary loss for words. “Tutor
and
bodyguard,” he managed at last. “That
is
an unusual position. I don't think that I have ever—”

“But a position for which I am peculiarly qualified. You frown, Mr. Guilian. Perhaps you have heard that those of my faith do not carry weapons. That is true, but it happens that I am remarkably quick and strong. If it were to come to a fight between us—and providing you did not take me
entirely
by surprise—it is likely that I could kill you in a matter of seconds, whether you were armed or not.”

Luke continued to frown suspiciously, not quite certain whether his new acquaintance was making sport of him or not. But Levellers, as anyone might tell you, were singularly devoid of a sense of humor. Not that this Raith seemed to be a typical Leveller, or a typical anything else. Luke remembered, too, that the linen-draper had described the Rijxlander as dangerous to know, though he had seemed to mean something quite different at the time.

But then Lucius laughed, a laugh of pure delight. This Raith represented a riddle, and there was nothing he liked more. “My dear sir,” he said with a deep bow, “I believe I desire your further acquaintance.”

Raith responded with a half bow of his own, and Luke returned to the original subject of their conversation.

“I wonder,” he said, indicating with a motion of his head the Goblins, who were still gathering together their baggage on the pier below, searching among the casks and the bales the crew had already unloaded, “I wonder that the captain was willing to carry such unusual—cargo. I have always heard that sea-going men are uncommonly superstitious and regard the presence of Goblins on board as the very worst sort of ill luck. And certainly, we've had rough weather while they were with us.”

Raith did not answer at once. He appeared to stare through and beyond the smaller Goblins as though he were hardly aware the Ouphs existed, though once or twice some movement on the part of the Grant attracted his attention. “Perhaps if we had ever been in real danger, the crew might have grown actively hostile. As for the captain: he tells me this is not the first party of Goblins he has taken on board. During the last year, he has fallen quite into the way of transporting Grants and Wrynecks in particular from one port to another.”

“But how very—curious.” Luke struggled to fit this extraordinary snippet of information in with his present theories on Goblins—theories that had mutated a number of times since he left Winterscar, theories that his cousin Jarred and his tutor Francis Purcell would have scarcely recognized by now—but the significance eluded him. “And did the captain tell you to what he attributes this unusual activity?”

The tide was rising, bringing with it swell after swell. The ship strained against her moorings, her ropes pulled taut.

“They appear to be disturbed about something,” the Rijxlander answered gravely. “Also, they are invariably travelling from north to south. From which Captain Pyke concludes that there is something taking place in the far north that is making them all profoundly uneasy.”

Luke felt a pang across his heart. “In the far north? My home is in Winterscar; my family is there. But I've been travelling for many months.” He turned away from the docks, leaned back against the rail. “I've received very few letters during that time, and I expect that several have gone astray. If you will excuse my asking, I was told you had recently been in Nordfjall. In Ottarsburg, in fact, which is not very far from the Winterscar border. Would you have any idea what that disturbing ‘something' might be?”

“I have not. I went to Nordfjall on personal business, searching
for information on certain relatives of my own, from whom I have been long estranged. I am afraid I thought of very little else while I was there.”

“And was your search successful?” Luke asked politely.

For the first time, Raith displayed a strong emotion. His eyes flashed in the shadows under his hat; his mouth compressed into a thin, hard line. “Unfortunately not,” he said, in a voice of suppressed passion. “The people I was looking for died many years ago, and those who knew them best have all disappeared.”

Then the Leveller collected himself, became so cold and calm and stern again, Luke almost believed he had imagined that moment of intense emotion. “I might have stayed longer, have asked further questions, but I had neglected my duties in Rijxland for some months already, and I was naturally eager to return home again.”

T
he
Pagan Queen
weighed anchor the next morning. From the time she entered the Troit, the wide channel between Herndyke and the isle of Finghyll, the wind continued to blow cold and steadily. In the mornings, her sheets and her blocks were misted with ice; in the warmer afternoons, an unpleasant odor rose from the hold. She had taken on a cargo of uncured sealskins in Kjellmark, and because she was driven off course by the storm, and therefore already two weeks late delivering them, they had begun to rot.

Yet the days which followed were great days for Luke, as he strove to advance his acquaintance with the mysterious Rijxlander. They spent hours together walking the deck, while Lucius asked question after question, attempting to draw Raith out. He was particularly fascinated by the man's religion.

The people that Luke knew best changed their religion as they changed their fashions: They were today Proto-deists, next month Neoprotonists, and no one could say what fancy would strike them in six months' time. These conversions were easy, painless, unattended by spiritual or moral upheaval. Luke suspected that it was all a part of the Grand Scheme of “our damned interfering Ancestors”—though
in this case he rather approved. Religion crossed national boundaries. It was therefore a little dangerous—it would be
very
dangerous, if taken too seriously. Fortunately, few people did take it seriously.

But Levellers were different. They were born, lived, and died in the same stern religion; from cradle to grave they devoted their lives to the precepts of a single demanding creed. What could possibly be the attraction?

“The Anti-demonists took me in,” said Raith. “I was a dirty little orphan boy begging for my bread, and they had every reason to despise me, yet they were generous and offered me a home.”

“Despise you—how?” said Luke. “Dirty and wretched you may have been, but still you were an innocent child.”

Raith shrugged a broad shoulder under his voluminous cloak. “I was hardly innocent. My parents were—essentially—criminals, and I was born with the sins of my fathers lying heavy on my soul. Yet for all that, those good people were moved to accept me among them, and they struggled—how they struggled, against every inclination of my own wayward nature, against every obstacle I could throw in their way!—to make something decent of me.”

Luke frowned. The picture in his mind was not an engaging one: a circle of grim fanatics attempting to beat and bully one small boy into submission. “I have been told,” he said tentatively, “that Levellers use their children harshly. That they are swift to punish and slow to forgive, even ordinary childish transgressions.”

Raith considered a moment, standing still and silent, a dark silhouette against the moving background of blue sky and wispy white clouds. Up on the forecastle, the first mate shouted to his men, ordering them to trim the yards as the wind was getting a bit ahead. There was a sudden bustle of activity on every side.

“Perhaps the discipline we practice
is
somewhat harsh. My own temperament being what it was, I needed that discipline, I craved
that discipline. I would have been abandoned to sin without it. Being unacquainted with children my own age when I was a child myself, I cannot say if their other fosterlings feel such gratitude. For me, it was a great thing, a miraculous thing, that they were willing to take such pains to save me.”

“And what of the young prince and princesses you have in your charge?” Luke brushed aside a lock of dark hair, which the wind had loosened from his satin hair ribbon and blown into his eyes. “Do you practice on
them
the same methods that were applied to you?”

“I could hardly do so,” said Raith, with the hint of a smile. “Their mother would be horrified if I attempted it. And I must admit I have never found it necessary. My young charges are exceedingly conformable. A word or a look is usually enough to bring them into line—though I have been told they are less easily managed when I am not present.”