Robert Adams - The Kestrel

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THE BEGGAR QUEEN
Spring in the Caria River valley was a matter of opinion. The day had begun gently. By dusk, when
Theo reached the little inn at Mull, it was spitting hard, grainy snow.
He made sure his horse was decently stabled, then carried what little baggage he had into the
public room. Near the fire, a traveler sat carefully scraping his boots. With his windburned face
and patch of gray hair, he could have been any kind of steady, reliable journeyman who did his own
work and minded his own business.
Theo stopped short. The steady, reliable journeyman, when Theo last saw him, had been galloping
like a maniac on a stolen cavalry mount, his shirt in bloody tatters.
Theo dropped his traveling case. "Luther?"
The man recognized him at the same instant and in a couple of long-legged strides came to greet
him, looking him up and down with easy familiarity.
"The latest fashion in Marianstat?" Luther's glance took in the stained cloak and scuffed boots.
"I wouldn't know." Theo grinned back at him. "I haven't been there for-it must be six months now."
"Alone? The future prince of Westmark without a dozen lackeys following?"
"I did have one," said Theo. "He worked very hard at stealing my clothes and selling them. Apart
from that, he did nothing; so I finally sent him back to court."
"The right place for a lazy rascal. Now, lad, what brings you to Mull?"
"I'm on my way to the Caria Col. I want to see the mountains, and the Homgard. And you? I don't
think you're here to admire the scenery."
"No."
"What then?"
"Business."
Theo knew better than to press for explanations. Instead, he asked, "How is Florian?"
"As always. Himself."
Theo nodded. They had been there, all of them, the day Florian raided the Nierkeeping arsenal;
Mickle-he could never think of her now as Princess Augusta;
Count Las Bombas and Musket. And Zara, the russet divinity; Stock, the poet, roaring at the top of
his voice. Florian's companions, those he called "my children," who would have followed him
anywhere-as Theo might have done- He remembered himself that moming, pistol raised; and another of
Florian's children, half his face slashed open.
He hesitated, then asked, "What about Justin?"
"With Florian. He's well. Remarkably well."
The room was filling with travelers driven in by the snow. Luther motioned with his head. "Talk in
my room."
Theo shouldered his bag and followed, stopping at the foot of the stairs to ask the landlord if
any packet had come for him from Marianstat. The landlord, with a kitchen cloth tied around his
neck, was entertaining his cronies in an alcove behind the serving counter, trying to play a hand
of cards and wait on his guests at the same time. He ducked into the alcove and came back to
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advise there was none.
Luther had overheard Theo's inquiry. "Do you get much news from the palace?"
"Not as much as I'd like. Mickle-Princess Augusta-writes to me. So does Chief Minister Torrens.
They're never sure where I'll be, and neither am I- By the time anything catches up with me it
could be weeks. I send them word whenever I find a dispatch rider. It gets there sooner or later."
"Money?"
"Enough. I have a treasury warrant. King Augustine himself signed it. Do you need anything?"
Luther winked. "You can buy supper for us later."
Luther unbolted a door at the head of the stairs. The chamber was small, and the slope of the
raftered ceiling made it appear still more cramped. Except for a pair of saddlebags in the comer,.
there was no sign it had been much lived in. The table was bare, the straw mattress unrumpled. The
fire had nearly burned out in the hearth.
"The landlord claims it's the best room in the house." Luther lit a candle stub. He squatted at
the fireplace and blew on the embers- "I hope he's lying. Now, let's hear about your grand tour."
"Not very grand," said Theo, "but it suits me better this way. I can see more on my own." He gave
Luther a wry smile "Sometimes I wonder if Augustine wants me to learn about the kingdom or if he
Just wants me anywhere but at the Juliana Palace No-that's not fair He means well I could have
stayed It was my choice
"Even so," he went on, "I still wonder Mickle doesn't care a rap if she's a princess and I'm a
commoner For Queen Caroline, it's bad enough that I was a printer's devil Worse, that I had
anything to do with Florian The courtiers already make it a royal scandal '
"Meanwhile, they pack you off sightseeing '
"I've done more than that " From his jacket, he took a wad of papers, closely written, tied about
with string. "I've been keeping a journal What I've seen, what I've done I've talked with
bailiffs, stewards, tenant farmers I've been looking at town archives, too, estate accounts when I
can get at them I put down all the figures how much yield for an artistocrat's land, how much more
for a freeholder's There's no question, it strikes you in the face-"
"That the aristocracy's made a botch of it," put in Luther "Embarrassing discovery for a future
prince "
"I copied the figures and sent them to Torrens and the king They can see for themselves "
Luther chuckled "You're a born troublemaker You should have stayed with us "
"No There must be another way to set things right Not trying to pull down the monarchy There's
terrible poverty in the countryside, in the towns, too, for that matter But if it could be worked
out fairly, everyone would be better off It's common sense-"
"It's common sense to end the monarchy altogether Start with that, not with how many bushels of
corn to an acre "
"That's only your way of looking at it ' "Mine And a great many others' " Theo put back his papers
Argument was useless Luther, like Florian, had set on one path and would see no other What
troubled Theo was whether they understood things more clearly than he did He brightened as he
reached into the traveling case "I've been doing something else "
He brought out his sketchbook and opened it on the table Since leaving Mananstat, he had taken the
habit of drawing At first, it merely passed the time But lately it had become more than idle
amusement If a day passed without adding to his sketches, he felt unsatisfied and empty
Luther paged through the book, now and then stopping to look closer at a scene a peasant woman and
her child, a gaggle of street urchins, a fishwife, a carpenter planing a board "That's Westmark
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Not your accounts and archives "
Theo warmed his hands at the fire Something had come into his mind the moment he had seen Luther
in the public room The older man appeared content to go on studying the drawings
Theo finally fumed "You knew I'd be here You were waiting "
"Yes " Luther glanced up "Florian wanted to send greetings "
"What else7 Come straight out '
"General Erzcour He commands the Caria military region "
"I know He's a good officer, I've heard What of him7"
"Florian says Erzcour must be replaced If you press your chief minister to do it, he'll pay
attention- He'll listen to one of his own people."
"I'm not one of his own people. Or anybody's." Luther raised his hands in mock defense- "Don't get
ruffled. I didn't mean it that way."
"However you meant it, Erzcour's none of my business. I can't guess what Florian has in mind.
Perhaps I don't want to. He's my friend, but I don't agree with him. He knows that. How can he ask
me this kind of favor?"
"He sees it the other way round." "Florian doing the monarchy a favor? Why?" Luther shrugged.
"Does it matter?" He closed the book. "Take it as a favor or whatever. Only make sure Erzcour's
dismissed. Pensioned off. Anything. So long as he has no troops under him.
"The king wants to make reforms. I'll give him that much credit," Luther went on. "But some of the
aristocracy and the military won't stomach them. We don't know how many are in the faction, but
they're up to some kind of mischief. It's a good guess Erzcour's with them."
"You have proof?" Theo tried to stay calm. Even before he left Marianstat, there had been rumors
of conspiracies, cabals, plots by disgruntled courtiers. They had, fortunately, turned out to be
overblown gossip "There's evidence against him?"
"Not yet. Florian suspects-"
"Only suspects?" broke in Theo. "Luther, the king will want more than that. The law demands proof
beyond question. When Cabbarus was chief minister, honest folk were ruined, even hanged, on
nothing but suspicion. Augustine won't let that kind of thing happen again. Neither will any of
us."
"Very admirable," returned Luther. "Do you think Erzcour and his friends will stick at fine points
of law? Don't be a fool. Florian's given you a warning. Take it or not."
Theo did not answer. Something was stirring below in the public room. He heard voices raised, but
not in argument or rough Joking. The tone was agitated yet subdued, an unsettling sound. Luther,
too, noticed and stepped to the door, listening. He motioned Theo to stay behind and strode
quickly downstairs. Theo waited a few moments, then, as the commotion went on, started after him.
Luther, returning, met Theo at the head of the stairs and drew him back into the room. "A wool
dealer just up from Carisbruch. He heard it two days ago. Augustine is dead. He died last week."
Theo caught his breath. In her last letter, Mickle had mentioned only briefly that her father was
ailing. That had been midwinter. If she had sent a later message, it had not reached him. He
stared at Luther. Telling himself the day would come sooner or later, he had never quite believed
it. "Then-Mickle's queen of Westmark."
"Long live the queen," said Luther, not unkindly, though his words had an ironic edge to them.
"And the prince consort. Like it or not, you're a monarchist as much as anyone can be."
"What you said about Erzcour and the rest-do you think they had a hand in this?"
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"I don't know. Kings die from time to time."
"I'm going to Marianstat." Theo started buckling his traveling case. "The landlord can let me have
a fresh horse."
"Stay the night," said Luther. "No sense being on the road at this hour. Your courtiers can wait."
"The courtiers can go hang. It's Mickle I care about. I should be with her. She'll wonder why I'm
not there already. I'll save a day if I leave now. Tell Florian I'll get to the bottom of this
Erzcour business. If it's true, he's done Mickle a service and I thank him."
"It won't rub my conscience too raw, associating with royalty," said Luther. "I'll ride a little
way with you."
"I'H go faster alone."
"Likely so. Farewell, then." He took Theo's arm. "What's the matter? You don't have the look of a
gallant off to join his sweetheart, let alone a prince consort to join his queen."
"It's-nothing." He turned away, picking up his bag. "It took me by surprise."
For a young man with every prospect of happiness, he did not want to admit how alarmed he was.
Half an hour out of Mull, the horse cast a shoe. Theo reined up at the side of the road and
dismounted, berating the landlord who had sworn the animal was fit, and himself for not making
sure of it in spite of his haste. He pulled up his collar and muffled his face for a cold tramp
back' to the inn.
The snow, at feast, had stopped. The moon had risen bright and sharp-edged. Far below, at the foot
of the rocky embankment, the Caria River glinted with a film of ice. Leading his limping mount,
Theo bent his head against the wind.
He stopped at the sound of hoofbeats. Another horseman was coming at a brisk pace from the
direction of the town. He glimpsed a squat figure crouched in the saddle- Sighting Theo, the rider
halted and called out.
Surprised to hear his name, but glad for any help that might be forthcoming, Theo ran toward him.
The rider, meantime, had swung nimbly to the ground. Short and dumpy, wrapped in a trailing cloak,
he raised a finger to the brim of his hat.
"I knew it would be you, sir- But no harm in making certain, is there?"
The voice was not one Theo could forget. The little man's face was shadowed now, but clear enough
in Theo's memory: the plump cheeks, the moist, pinkrimmed eyes. The name sprang to his lips
without his having to think of it.
"Skeit."
The man bobbed his head. "You remember, sir? in the ordinary way of things, I'd prefer it
otherwise. In your case, I take it as a compliment.
"I lost track of you for a time, sir, and nearly missed you again at Mull," he went on cheerfully.
"When the landlord told me a young gentleman of your description went galloping off for
Marianstat, I knew I'd come on the right path again."
"Following me? You'd have done better to follow your master, Cabbarus, to the devil or wherever he
is."
"I have to earn my living, sir."
"Spy? Informer? Worse, for all I know."
Skeit gave him a wounded look. "Those are very hard words, sir. I do my work. I have no grudge
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against you."
"No business with me, either."
"Now, there, sir, allow me to disagree." Skeit reached into his cloak. "You understand, it's not a
matter of ill will. That's not in my nature."
Skeit's pudgy hand, when it emerged, held a pistol.
With the deftness of an expert at his trade, he cocked the weapon, took precise aim, and fired.
Queen Mickle urgently needed a few handfuls of dirt. She had not, until tonight, realized how
scarce it was. Her apartments had, as always, been swept and dusted relentlessly.
Her need had sprung up suddenly at the end of the day. That morning, when Dr. Torrens, her chief
minister, arrived still without word of Theo, Mickle's patience, even then, was scraped to the
bone.
"All I want," she said, in a tone as reasonable as she could manage, "is a simple answer to a
simple question: Where is he?"
Torrens shook his head. "We have no further news, Majesty, beyond what we already know."
"Which is nothing." Mickle paced the private audience chamber, hands clenched in the pockets of
the breeches she wore in preference to the cumbersome skirts she suffered at grand ceremonials.
"The wheels of government turn slowly," said Torrens.
"Oiled with molasses," Mickle snapped. Dispatches from local constables throughout the Caria
valley, where Theo's last letter had come from, were no help. Her hopes had risen at the report of
an innkeeper in a town called Mull. He dimly remembered selling a horse to a young man resembling
Theo, but had no idea what had become of either. The clue led only to a blind alley. The officers
Mickle sent from Marianstat had learned no more.
"Have you heard from Erzcour?" she demanded. "The general advises he is eager to serve in any way
he can. He offers troops to search the valley as soon as Your Majesty gives him specific
information."
"In other words," replied Mickle, "I tell him where Theo is and he'll go find him."
Dr. Torrens watched her with concern. The girl, slight of frame, narrow waisted, with jutting
shoulders, looked more street sparrow than imperial eagle. Unlike her mother, the new queen was no
beauty at first glance. Yet there were times when her pale blue eyes made the air crackle, for she
could show the bearing and presence of a sovereign-when she chose-and her quick mind absorbed all
it lighted on. She might even become, he speculated, the strongest of the royal line. But she
still had much to learn, Torrens thought sadly, and one hard lesson was now before her.
"I urge you. Majesty, to put aside your personal cares. Ail that can be done is being done. A
ruler does not neglect affairs of state for affairs of the heart. The monarchy continues, while
the heart-"
"What are you telling me?" cried Mickle. "That I'm supposed to go on, business as usual, and Theo
missing for-"
"That is exactly what I am telling you," Ton-ens broke in bluntly. "When your father believed you
dead, he lost himself in grief-and nearly lost the kingdom to Cabbarus. Your private concerns are
your own, and must remain so, for you are a queen first and foremost." His tone softened. "Your
work will make your waiting easier."
As Mickle did not answer, the white-haired chief minister laid a stack of documents on her desk.
'To begin, the question of Baron Montmollin's landholdings must be dealt with."
"I don't see any question," Mickle said. "His family took common land that everyone was allowed to
use for grazing or farming and made it part of their private estate. Theo wrote to us about it. He
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found proof when he was digging through some sort of town archives. The records show it was
barefaced thievery."
"Undeniably common land," said Torrens, "but it was added to the principal estate. La Jolie, two
generations ago."
"Thievery doesn't count if it's big enough and old enough? Montmollin already has more acres than
anyone can keep track of. Add them up, he likely owns half of Westmark. Well, this much he'll have
to give back to his tenants, no matter which of his noble ancestors stole it."
"Beyond a doubt, this should be done," said Torrens, "But not hastily. It is not the moment. I
urge you to act with greatest deliberation."
"Delay, you mean," said Mickle. "if it's an old grievance, the more reason to set it right as soon
as possible."
"I do not advise it," replied Torrens. "The whole aristocracy will feel threatened and turn
against you. Landless and landed alike throughout the kingdom will demand investigation of all
such holdings; some rightfully, others merely seizing a chance for gain. It can lead only to
disorder. Since your father's death, the monarchy is in too delicate a balance. Make no move to
disturb it. When your position is stronger, you may do so. Until then, follow a policy of
discretion."
"And don't step on any toes," Mickle retorted. "You, of all people, advise that? You risked your
life standing up to Cabbarus. You weren't exactly discreet then- Now you sound like a courtier."
Torrens stiffened. Color rose to his face. "I am no courtier. Majesty, nor will I ever be- I offer
you my best judgment, for the good of the kingdom-and yours. If you believe otherwise, I ask you
to choose another chief minister."
"Oh, Torrens, you know that's not what I meant," cried Mickle, going to him. The former Royal
Physician was her strongest resource: an honest, forthright man whom she had now unwittingly hurt.
The moment passed; Torrens regained his composure, but withdrew soon after, leaving the Montmollin
affair unsettled.
Later, with her mother, Mickle was on the fine edge of tears for the first time since Theo's
disappearance. "I don't understand it," she burst out. "I don't know why they can't find him."
Queen Caroline stroked her daughter's hair. "There is a possibility you must consider. A harsh
one."
"That he's had an accident? Or could even be dead?" said Mickle. "That's a possibility I won't
consider at all."
"No," said Caroline. "Perhaps he cannot be found because he does not wish to be found."
' Mickle frowned, puzzled, as the queen went on. "Six months is long in a young life. Love sworn
one day is forgotten the next. This may be the case with your Theo. You, my child, must not allow
it to break your heart. Affections change quickly. He would not be the first young man to find
another sweetheart."
"I won't think that of him," Mickle snapped. "I don't see how you can think it, either."
She did not believe a word of what Queen Caroline had said.
She wondered if it might be true.
The rest of the day had been no happier than the beginning. She finally closeted herself in her
apartments. Having given orders to admit no one, she was all the more vexed when a lady-in-waiting
informed her of an individual claiming to be a Jiobfeman who sought an audience; who, in fact,
insisted on it.
Before Mickle could give a tart answer, a paunchy figure in a uniform glittering with medals
thrust aside the indignant courtier. To the further shock of the lady in waiting, Mickle sprang up
the instant she laid eyes on the intruder and threw her arms around as much of him as she could
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compass. A ginger-haired dwarf, with an enormous cocked hat under his arm, had also Stumped into
the room.
"Count Las Bombas!" she cried. "Musket! I thought you'd gone off to make your fortune!"
"My dear girl-dear Queen, that is," answered the portly count, "the less said about that the
better." Despite the splendor of his uniform, he presented less than his customary cheerfulness;
his moustache hung wilted, his cheeks sagged. "We're back from our travels and heard the news only
a few days ago. I came as fast as I could to pay my respects. Which, alas, is all I'm in a
position to pay."
"As usual, down to the last penny," grumbled Musket, "and he borrowed that one from me. I don't
expect to see it again."
"Nonsense," protested Las Bombas. "I find myself in merely, what shall I call it, a fiscal pause."
"What about your elixir?" Mickle asked. "Your rejuvenating potions?"
"Excellent as ever," the count replied. "I wish I could say likewise for the customers."
"If things get worse," said Musket, "he might have to make an honest living."
"A prospect I intend to avoid at all cost," said the count. "I have already attempted to tread the
path of rectitude and can attest that virtue is its own reward; indeed, its only reward-
Marvelously satisfying in a dreary sort of way. Along the lines of meat and drink, however, it
leaves something to be desired. I prefer to admire it at a safe distance."
During this, knowing the count's inclinations, Mickle had ordered that food be immediately brought
for her visitors. Las Bombas attacked his victuals the instant they arrived. If his fortunes had
suffered, his appetite had survived undamaged. Musket, though half the size of his master, boasted
an equal capacity.
"We've tried everything," Las Bombas went on between mouthfuls. "My finest attractions: hypnotism,
fortune-telling, sleight of hand. They met with a remarkably strong lack of interest. Ah, my dear,
I long for those golden days-golden in every sense of the word-when we were all together. What a
superb Oracle Priestess you were! And Theo-if he'd stayed with me he could have blossomed into a
first-class mountebank, he had a gift for it. Where is he, by the way? Occupied, no doubt, with
his princely duties? He's one -to take that kind of work seriously: a flaw in an otherwise
promising character; but he can't help it. Send for him, my dear. I'm eager to see the lad."
"So am I," said Mickle. "He's vanished. Not a word, not a trace." She quickly told Las Bombas what
had happened and how all efforts to find him had failed.
"Impossible. People don't vanish into thin air. In the days of Cabbarus, yes. Not anymore. He must
be somewhere."
"I know that," said Mickle. "Tell it to those bumblers searching for him- There's been so much
delay, shilly-shallying, dispatches sent back and forth, it makes my teeth ache.
"Will you do me a service?" she continued, following an idea that had been in her mind since Las
Bombas arrived. "The payment will be very worth your while."
"Accept money from a friend? Never!" declared Las Bombas. "Yes, well," he added hastily, "it's
better than accepting it from a stranger. My dear Mickle, I should be delighted to oblige you
without thought of compensation. Since you've thought of it, however, I'd not be so insensitive to
refuse."
"Do you still have your coach? And Friska?"
"Both in fine state. The coach does not require nourishment, and Friska is content with her modest
portion of hay. I wish I could say as much for myself. Yes, we all stand ready at your command."
"I want you to go to Mull, in the Caria valley, for a start," said Mickle. "Theo could have been
there just before he disappeared. Wherever he is, find him. You and Musket can do it better and
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faster than all the troops, constables, and inspectors put together. You'll have money, as much as
you want. I'll order the Royal Treasurer to give it to you now, cash in hand."
"Excellent!" Las Bombas heaved himself to his feet. "We'll turn him up for you. Consider it done.
We depart immediately." "No," said Mickle. "Not until tonight. There are too many busybodies in
the palace during the day, too many noses in other people's affairs."
"I don't see what difference it makes."
"Because," Mickle said, "I'm going with you."
The count stared at her. "The queen of Westmark? Personally? Out of the question! It's-it's not
fitting. It's beneath royal dignity."
"Blast royal dignity," said Mickle. "Besides, I won't let on I'm queen of anything. I'd never get
the truth out of anybody. You'll think of something we can pretend to be. Torrens can manage
without me for a while. I'll leave a note for my mother where she'll be sure not to find it until
it's too late to send after me."
"My dear girl, it simply won't do. The hardships of the journey-"
"We've gone through worse," Mickle said. "I'm afraid something's happened to him. My mother has
the notion he's changed his mind, that he doesn't want us to marry. That-that he's set his heart
on somebody else. I don't believe it, but if it's true I want him to tell me so. To my face,
straight out."
"I'm sure it's not the case," the count said. "Even if it were- Great heavens, girl, you can't ask
me to be responsible for your safety and comfort."
"I'll answer for my own safety and comfort- Of course, if you don't want to take me with you, I
won't force you."
Las Bombas sighed with relief. "Now you're being sensible."
Mickle grinned at him. "I'll go alone." While the count sputtered a protest, she added,
"Naturally, then, you couldn't expect to be paid."
"Where your safety is concerned, mere gold cannot influence me in the slightest. It's a matter of
reasonable judgment, of conscience." The count puffed out his cheeks and passed a hand over his
brow. "Ah-there's no question. You'd be better off with us. Very welt, I agree. It's my patriotic
duty."
Las Bombas having yielded to conscience and duty, Mickle instructed him to make everything ready
for their departure. To speed him on his way and protect him from a sudden attack of
afterthoughts, she wrote out a treasury draft which she put into the reliable hands of Musket,
telling the dwarf to have the coach waiting that night in an alley beyond the palace.
So it happened that Queen Mickle, as the Juliana bells rang midnight, urgently needed a supply of
dirt.
Until half a year ago, Mickle had spent most of her life as a street urchin- She was able, thus,
to slip into that role again with great ease and even greater enjoyment: It was a welcome relief.
Though she had also been an eager student of housebreaking, apprenticed to one of the finest
burglars in Westmark, she understood that leaving the Juliana by stealth would present a few
unique difficulties for the ruler. Guards of honor lined the corridors, sentries were posted
throughout the courtyard and at the gates. The disguise of urchin would be essential in rejoining
Las Bombas. The queen of Westmark, Mickle realized, had much power and little freedom.
She ripped and frayed a pair of breeches and a shirt until they looked properly disreputable. She
could not say as much for herself. She had tied back her hair and scuffed her boots; but she
needed grime, and the apartments were disgustingly dean. Mickle tried the fireplace. The day had
been mild, no fire had been lit, and all traces of ash had been swept away. Reaching up the
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chimney, she finally scraped off an ample amount of soot, which she streaked over her face and
hands and rubbed into her clothing.
Satisfied with her new appearance, Mickle opened the casement and stepped out onto the ledge. She
swung nimbly upward and clambered to the rooftop, stopping Just short of the peak. From there,
flattened against the roof, she pressed along silent as a shadow in the direction of the palace
wall until she reached a comer that would let her descend without having to cross too large an
expanse of open courtyard.
A sentry paced below. Mickle slid easily down the nearest rainspout, stopping a short distance
above the ground. She had planned to go the rest of the way as soon as the man's back was turned.
He was infuriatingly slow. Instead of continuing his patrol, he stopped, leaned his musket against
the side of the building, and yawned leisurely, giving every sign of lingering some while.
Silently berating him for a lazy lout, she decided to wait no longer. Las Bombas had ranked her
among the best mimics and ventriloquists he had known. Relying on those gifts, Mickle took a deep
breath.
An instant later, seemingly from around the comer nearest the sentry post, came a furious meowing
and spitting, followed by barks, growls, and yelps- The guardsman seized his musket and ran to
settle the most ferocious cat-and-dog fight he had ever heard.
Mickle grinned with satisfaction. She had lost none of her skill. She dropped to the flagstones
and raced across the courtyard. Legs pumping, she struck the wall at full tilt. Her speed and
momentum carried her halfway up. Her fingers caught at the slightest handholds in the cracks and
crevices. Gaining the top, she swung over without breaking stride and dropped lightly to the
street.
She crouched a moment in the darkness. Her mimicry had roused the kennels. From the palace grounds
rose the baying of every hound in the royal pack, and the shouts of their bewildered keepers.
Mickle vanished into the shadows.
The ram was a magnificent specimen, with horns thick as a man's forearm curling above the shaggy
brow. Deep-chested, coated with long white fleece, it lay on its side against an outcropping of
rocks. It was not quite dead.
Three men in hunting costume, followed by their gun loaders and the local foresters, walked
briskly over the stony ground. Afternoon sunlight sparkled on the blue white peaks of the
Domitians, the high range at the eastern border of Westmark. The hunters were some leagues beyond
this frontier, well within the neighboring kingdom of Regia.
"Bravo, General!" Duke Conrad of Regia clapped his hands. He was a stocky man with ruddy cheeks.
"Excellent shot! They are elusive beasts, one rarely sees them. A favorable omen for your visit. I
congratulate you."
"Your Highness promised good hunting." General Erzcour tended toward fleshiness. His large, heavy
face and prominent cheekbones made his eyes appear especially bright and sharp. He had the habit
of slightly pursing his lips, which made him look as if he were about to taste something pleasant.
"We have not been disappointed."
"Certainly not in the matter of Regian game." The third huntsman. Baron Montmollin, was the
tallest of the party. Although the eldest, he showed little trace of age in his finely drawn
features- Hunting, for the most part, bored him; he strode along with his companions, an
expression of polite indulgence on his face.
"Nor shall you be disappointed in anything else, I assure you," said" Conrad. "We are largely in
agreement already; the small matters can be settled quickly and happily."
They halted a few paces from the ram. It was watching them. The animal struggled to lift its head
and make a thrust with its horns.
Duke Conrad turned to Erzcour. "The locals call these creatures rock rams. The more proper term is
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Domitian mouton. Is this your first? Splendid' You must indulge us. General, by observing one of
our Regian customs."
He gestured to the chief forester. Drawing his hunting knife, the man walked up to the ram and cut
its throat. Duke Conrad knelt and dipped his fingertips.
"Allow me. General- It is a very old custom. These mountain fellows would be much put out if it
were not observed." He touched Erzcour's forehead and cheeks, leaving imprints like scarlet
flowers.
"Now, Erzcour," said Baron Montmollin, "you look quite the savage."
"As a warrior should be," replied the duke. He wiped his fingers on a handkerchief and threw it
aside. "I would even suggest," he went on Jokingly, "that our troops follow the example of those
native tribes that paint their faces to terrify their enemies."
"Some of our older court ladies," rejoined Montmollin, "have already adopted that practice."
Conrad, laughing at the baron's sally, ordered the foresters to deal with the carcass and led his
guests down the slope. They were in high good humor by the time they reached a clearing in the
wooded valley, where grooms waited with the horses.
There was no sign of King Constantine, who was to join them there. A groom reported that His
Majesty had sighted a stag at the last moment and had set off after it.
"We shall not wait for him," Conrad told his visitors.
"My nephew sometimes lets impulse, instead of policy, lead him. He knows where to find us. I can
speak for him in his absence."
"I hope Your Highness can also speak for his safety," Erzcour said.
"Have no concern," replied the duke. "He is an excellent huntsman." He added lightly, "In any
case, should some untoward event occur, the crown would revert to his eldest blood relative. And
so, gentlemen, you would simply have me to deal with. That would not be disagreeable to you and
your colleagues? Speaking theoretically, of course. Your plans would not be affected. We Regians,
once fixed on a course of action, maintain it." He cocked an eye at the baron. "Your present
sovereign is not so reliable- Unfortunate. I hear, Baron, she is called the Beggar Queen."
"So she is," replied Montmollin, "and I would prefer to see her queen of beggars instead of queen
of Westmark. We are adequately provided with beggars on the streets; we do not require one on the
throne."
The duke and his party rode back at an invigorating pace to the royal lodge. In the main room,
where trophies of antlers and animal heads covered the walls, a table had been set with
refreshments,. Conrad motioned for the servants to withdraw. The baron had strolled to the gun
racks and was examining a silver-mounted pistol.
"An exquisite weapon," observed Montmollin. "It would make death almost charming."
"Almost, but not quite." Conrad laughed. "Keep it, Baron. I see you are a connoisseur. As for
death, I must say frankly that your king's demise has made our task easier. Your Beggar Queen is
new to her throne. She has not, I gather, consolidated any great support among her ministers, the
army. or even her subjects. It is our moment of opportunity. We must act quickly, however, before
that moment is lost to us."
"We are prepared to do so," Montmollin said, going to the table. "The first move, my dear Duke, is
up to you."
"Our course of action is simple," said Conrad. "General Erzcour has already communicated with my
staff officers. They agree that Regian troops will attack Westmark through the Caria Col. After a
token resistance, General Erzcour will surrender and order all units to do likewise. We shall
advance through the Caria valley. The way will be clear for us to press on to Marianstat and
capture it. We shall offer generous terms, insisting only on the abdication of the queen. She will
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摘要：

file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/2%20The%20Kestrel.txtTHEBEGGARQUEENSpringintheCariaRivervalleywasamatterofopinion.Thedayhadbegungently.Bydusk,whenTheoreachedthelittleinnatMull,itwasspittinghard,grainysnow.Hemadesurehishorsewasdecentlystabled,thencarriedwhatlittlebaggagehehadint...

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