The Queen's Necklace (22 page)

“Then you don't think I
am
—losing my mind?”

The philosopher shook his head emphatically. “What I think, Your Majesty, is that you are being unduly severe with yourself. I have watched you grow from boy to man, and I believe I know you better than anyone living, with the possible exception of your cousin, Mr. Guilian. This being so, I think my opinion must be worth something.”

“It is,” Jarred assured him. “And that's why I ask you to speak, not as my subject, not even as my old schoolmaster, but as what you truly are and always have been: a second father to me.”

Much moved by this appeal, the old man leaned forward and covered the king's firm white hand with his own frail one. “Why then, speaking as your second father—but not without a father's pride and affection—I would have to say that you are the sanest man I know.”

T
he city of Luden in Rijxland—Luden of the charming brick houses and the broad, pleasant canals—was entirely the invention of Men. She had not even existed during the days of the Maglore Empire, had been created out of whole cloth by the enterprising men and women of the fifty-third century, and had come to embody all the solid, comfortable public virtues and secret vices of a rising mercantile middle class. Though some Goblin taint eventually crept into the poorer part of the town, no Maglore princess had ever been carried in a litter down her pleasant cobblestone streets; no Grant or Wryneck scholar ever paced, with slow, measured tread, through the sacred precincts of her tiny university; nor did she owe a single one of her picturesque buildings to the labor or ingenuity of Goblin craftsmen. These were facts of which the citizens of Luden were inordinately proud. More than a thousand years later, they were still congratulating themselves
.

Of Luden as she was—rather than as she might have been but thankfully was not—there they had reason enough for congratulation, because Luden had practically everything that makes a town pleasant to live in
.

She had a quaint harbor, where the great, white-sailed ships lay anchored in neat rows, and she had warehouses filled with tea, porcelain, figured muslins, chocolate, sugar-cane and opium—which you might purchase openly as a headache remedy from any physician in the town. Beyond the warehouses were hundreds of remarkable little shops, where you could buy anything and everything: ostrich eggs and elephant tusks; rare old books; rings, cameos, and miniature portraits; tobacco, hemp, chinchona bark, and spices; scent bottles, etuis, and lace fans; quills, ink, and churchwarden pipes; combs made of ivory, tortoiseshell, and mother-of-pearl; patch boxes, jewel boxes, music boxes; silver tea canisters—If you could buy it anywhere, you could buy it in Luden
.

She had baroque statues set in tiny jewel-like parks and gardens; she had delicate white bridges, spanning her brackish canals. She had churches known for the sweet music of their bells as well as the brevity of their sermons; and two fine old red brick Houses of Parliament where the bluff, independent members from the country districts—honest fellows with no use for pomp or
pretense—regularly attended sessions in their mud-splashed top boots, and ate oranges and cracked nuts during debates
.

She had all these things and she had more besides, because Luden prided herself on being a city of philanthropists. In the last hundred years alone there had been built a model workhouse, a model foundling hospital (where the grateful orphans were on view two times a week in their brown stuff gowns), and a model madhouse, so efficiently run and on such compassionate principles that even the King of Rijxland himself deigned to pay an extended visit
.

So life in Luden rolled pleasantly along, with picnics, regattas, lotteries, and assemblies for the upper classes, honest labor for the lower, and a universal conviction among them all that even a crust in Luden was sweeter and more wholesome fare than a feast served elsewhere
.

As for the frail, bewildered old gentleman who was her nominal ruler: he, too, was one of the sights of Luden. Those who had been privileged to see him at his daily routine, who had the pleasure of watching him eat, drink, dress, or otherwise disport himself, always brought encouraging reports back to their friends. His physicians were devoted and attentive; he was provided with every comfort; there could not possibly be a happier or more enviable madman in any other city, anywhere in the world
.

Luden, Rijxland—Nine Months Later

22 Brumair, 6537

“T
here is something a little giddy about walking on solid ground after so many weeks,” said Lucius Guilian to his faithful valet, as they stood on the docks at Luden with their baggage piled around them. “I find I am so accustomed to walking at a tilt, if I don't find my land legs soon, I am very much afraid I will shortly fall flat on my face.”

Though the hour was very early on a frosty morning, there was a stir of activity on every side: sailors shouting to their mates in the rigging, carpenters hammering, dockworkers stamping, passengers embarking and disembarking, wagons rumbling, and from somewhere came the scent of burning pitch.

“I will miss your pleasant ways, Mr. Guilian,” said a voice behind him, and Luke turned to see the Leveller striding in his direction. An ice-tinged breeze was blowing in from the harbor; it lifted the edge of Raith's cloak as he crossed the wooden walkway. “However, I feel tolerably certain you will regain your ordinary sense of balance before any such ignominious fate befalls you.”

Luke laughed, coloring slightly. He had spoken for his valet's benefit only.

“I have been able to hire a hackney coach,” said the Leveller. “And
I wondered if you would give me the pleasure of your company as far as the embassy?”

Luke accepted the offer with gratitude, then looked around for someone to help Perys with his boxes and trunks. But Raith settled the matter decisively—and quite unexpectedly—by grasping the handle of the largest horsehide trunk, heaving the bulky thing over one shoulder, and striding off, leaving a flushed and indignant Luke to assist his valet with the remaining baggage.

“No, Master Luke, you mustn't!” Perys protested, as Luke caught the handle of the smaller trunk and tried to emulate the Leveller's feat of strength. “What will people say?”

Lucius had no idea what people would say, never having been in Rijxland before. He suspected the reaction would be much the same as it would be in Winterscar—if anyone recognized him, which was highly unlikely. Nevertheless, he thought grimly, as he managed to get the trunk on his back and set off in the Leveller's footsteps, he would be
damned
if he stood by and allowed a man like Raith to wait on him like a servant.

He smiled fiercely at Perys, who had loaded himself down with the remaining luggage and was struggling manfully to keep up. “I think of converting, Perys. Of spending the rest of my days in a strict Anti-demonic suppression of my infernal vanity. Only think how much easier that will make things for you: no ruffles, no laces, no velvets, no satins—just plain honest wool and linen.”

“Master Luke, you wouldn't,” said the horrified valet, as they shouldered their way through the press of humanity. “Master Luke, you never would!” He had seen Luke adopt a bewildering array of ideas and poses over the years, but this one seemed much the worst.

Lucius took pity on him. “More than likely I wouldn't. Or if I did, I could hardly be expected to stick with it long.”

He was rewarded with a wan smile. “It was just your little joke, sir.”

By now, they had left the docks and the red-brick warehouses behind and had come out on a broad avenue, where they found the hired coach waiting. They discovered that Raith and the driver between them had already fastened the large trunk on top with the Leveller's own baggage.

“This was hardly necessary,” said Raith as he swung down from the roof, took the bags out of the valet's hands, and tossed them up to the coachman. “Mr. Perys and I would have managed very well.”

Luke allowed his burden to slip to the ground with a thud. “No doubt you would have, but you're not my blasted servant,” he answered between his teeth, as he flung open the door and climbed inside. He took the seat facing back, because that would be the least comfortable once the coach started to move, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Raith left Perys and the driver to arrange the rest of the baggage on the roof, and took the seat facing Luke. “I do not aspire to be your valet. But I feel no shame doing a service for a friend, believing as I do that we will all be equal on the Day of Wrath. For you, however—”

Luke continued to speak between clenched teeth. “Thank you, but I will be the judge of what is appropriate behavior for the King of Winterscar's cousin.”

Then his sense of humor got the better of him, and he laughed, unfolded his arms, and relaxed against the cushions. “Raith, Raith, you are the very best of good fellows, but I wish you would consider my position. Back in Tarnburgh I am the gadfly, the iconoclast. I have even, occasionally, posed as the Champion of the Common Man. Then you come along with your honest principles, your sincere convictions, and you show me up for the hollow thing that I am.”

The coach lurched into motion. Raith raised a dark eyebrow ever so slightly. “You were not a hollow man when you leaped into the sea to rescue that sailor.”

Luke adjusted his broad embroidered cuffs, shook out his lace ruffles; the unaccustomed exertion with the baggage had somewhat disarranged him. “I believe I told you at the time that what I was, was an arrogant young fool. You were the real hero on that occasion. And to be brutally honest, you probably saved my life.”

Raith smiled his quiet, conservative smile. “We will not argue about it. Perhaps there was heroism—and foolhardiness—on both sides. Instead, I wonder if I might ask you a question?”

“As I have certainly asked you a great many myself, I should think it only fair to allow you to do the same.”

The Leveller studied Luke for several moments. “What is it that brings you to Rijxland just at this time? There is your book, of course, but why you should risk a voyage so late in the year, I cannot begin to guess.”

Luke removed an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve. “The city, of course, is of some little interest. In Luden, I won't have to dig through five thousand years of Goblin history to get at the truth.”

But then, under his companion's steady, courteous gaze, he found himself blurting out: “Is the King of Rijxland—truly mad? I should tell you I was once what you might call a disciple. I studied all of his early writings, and it's hard for me to imagine that such a superior mind could so easily become deranged. And while I was in Lichtenwald the idea that he might
not
be mad rather took hold of me, until I felt I could never rest until I satisfied my curiosity.”

The Leveller did not answer his question directly. “You told me, I think, that your cousin sent his own physicians to examine King Izaiah. Was he not entirely satisfied by their report?”

“Yes, yes, he told me he was satisfied. But the information came to him at second hand. Whereas
you
were in Luden when the king was first confined.”

Still, Raith did not answer his question. “You are wondering, I take it, whether the king was declared mad simply to discredit some
of his more unpopular ideas, to keep him from putting any more of his radical policies into effect?”

Lucius leaned forward eagerly. “That is exactly what I am wondering. And so—?”

“And so, Mr. Guilian, I
was
in Luden at the time the king was first confined, and I have occasionally had the privilege of seeing him since. He is not a raving lunatic, but he is frequently delusional. And though his delusions are essentially harmless, and often quite whimsical, I am sure you will agree it is hardly desirable to leave the reins of government in the hands of a man who cannot always remember his own name—or worse, is able to convince himself that he is another person entirely.”

Luke fell back in his seat, feeling oddly deflated. “I suppose you are right. Well, it's not an idea I had my mind absolutely set on. Though it is naturally humiliating to realize how far wrong I was.”

“As to that,” said the Leveller, in his slow, thoughtful way, “I do not say that your doubts on the subject are not perfectly understandable.”

Seeing how Luke's face lit with interest, Raith continued on. “Like you, I believe that even if the king's condition were less serious than it is, he would still be exactly where he is now. I think, too, that if he ever begins to recover—which appears unlikely—there will be some effort made in the Parliament to suppress the information and prevent the king from regaining his freedom. There are those, after all—and Lord Flinx is a name which comes immediately to mind—whose power in Rijxland would be significantly reduced if that ever happened.”

All the time that Raith had been speaking, Luke had been listening breathlessly. Now, in one long sigh, he released all the air he had been holding in. “But this is appalling. Has the king no friends, no well-wishers, to step in at need and secure his freedom?”

“The king's friends have been silent for a long time,” Raith answered
carefully. “Yet they are all of them still here in Luden, and I hardly imagine they are not perfectly aware of the things I have told you.”

Luke's vivid imagination was working at full speed now, pouring forth a variety of pleasing scenarios. He cast Raith a glowing look across the coach. “You think there is already some conspiracy in place, already poised to effect a rescue should Izaiah show signs of recovering?”

The corners of Raith's mouth began to twitch. “I perceive that you are a romantic, Mr. Guilian. First you imagine a plot against the king, and now you ask me if there might be a second plot, this time in his favor. And naturally I recall the original theories you were so obliging as to explain to me during our voyage. If you will pardon my asking, I cannot help wondering: do you see conspiracies
everywhere
?”