Chapter 8
A QUEUE of coaches lined up to get into the forecourt of the palace, a fenced compound surrounded by gild-topped metal latticework. The driver whistled for the horse to slow down. The horse seemed to dislike one of the other horses in the queue. It made snorting noises and shied sideways. The driver yelled at it, but that had little effect.
Other horses in the queue also snorted. One of them gave a soft neigh. From a bit further off came another shout. “Whoa! Easy, girl, easy.”
Father peered out the window. “What’s spooking the horses?”
From her position in the coach, Johanna could see over the wall to the right of the palace into the garden, an oasis of tranquillity compared to the forecourt. It was where the king grew his roses and where water tinkled in mysterious ponds surrounded by weeping willows. Johanna had been there once, back in the time when Queen Cygna held Children’s Day. Both the prince and his younger sister would have been there, but she only remembered Celine. She had been wearing a yellow dress and her mother had to keep telling her not to crawl on the grass. The princess chattered a lot and spoke like Johanna’s grandmother, very formal and stiff. Johanna remembered finding it funny, and she remembered not wanting to curtsy for a girl younger than her. It all seemed so painful and awkward now that Celine had been dead two years.
The rose garden now held a gazebo in her memory.
The coach reached the bottom of the steps. With a wobble of the floor and a creak of his leather boots, the driver left his position to open the door.
Father went out first and then helped Johanna, because the awkward dress with its hoops made it impossible for her to see the narrow coach steps.
A huge crowd had assembled near the palace entrance, held back by two lines of stiff-faced guards in Carmine livery. The onlookers were common people who came to watch the latest in fashion and catch up on the juiciest gossip: who went with whom, what who was wearing, that sort of thing.
The sun had just set and a soft glow of candlelight flooded from the porch and main foyer, where Johanna caught glimpses of the genteel folk in colourful garb. She’d been worried that her dress was too exuberantly blue but, judging by the line of noble ladies lined up for the entrance, it looked like bright colours were in fashion this year.
A ripple of surprise went through the crowd when Father took her by the arm and guided her up the steps.
Johanna didn’t miss the comments.
“Look, it’s Dirk Brouwer and Johanna.”
“Isn’t that a gorgeous dress that she’s wearing?”
Johanna averted her eyes. At least they didn’t say She looks like a dressed-up cow. But some of them were sure to be thinking that, or worse things like Did she buy her way into the ball?
Johanna felt uneasy. Those people on the other side of the line of guards were the ones she’d have to talk to tomorrow about accounts and deliveries of spices and cheese. She wasn’t any better than any of them and didn’t want to look like she thought she was.
She remembered another visit to the palace, when she was sixteen, the age at which all young women were presented to the King. That had been a most miserable and wet day, in which Carlotta Franzen had slipped and fallen flat on her backside. She now remembered that Prince Roald had been there, and he had rushed forward to help her up. He’d been a gangly youth, and his startling blue eyes had the expression of a frightened rabbit. Blond-haired and still soft-cheeked, the prince had not been unpleasant to look at. Carlotta had been insufferable all afternoon.
On top of the steps a throng of beautifully-primped nobles waited to be allowed into the foyer and hall, the men in rich-coloured suits, the women in frilly dresses, with extravagant hair—some wearing high-heeled shoes on which they could barely walk. Johanna knew most of them. She noticed some daintily raised eyebrows at her and Father’s presence.
The palace stood on a low rise and from the top of the steps, you could see over the entire city. To the left were the royal gardens which sloped to the Saar River. Then the harbour and the merchant district with its gabled houses and red roofs. In the distance were the windmills which kept the island on which the city was built above water, and all around, flat land, intersected by silver ribbons of canals. At the horizon there was a lighter-coloured ribbon of sand dunes, but the ocean on the other side remained out of view.
Johanna met the eyes of a young woman who had been looking at her, Carlise d’Agincourt. She had beautiful golden hair held in place with jewelled pins. Her dress was golden with white lace and fitted her narrow waist perfectly. She stood next to an older woman, her mother, who was from the de Weert family but had attained her noble status through her marriage to a Burovian minor royal.
Of course these women were all there for the same reason. Many of them were like her, from families who would not have been the first choice for the prince’s bride.
She felt very small. Father seemed so certain that King Nicholaos liked her, but seeing all these beautiful people, she doubted that he would even remember who she was.
A dog started growling and barking. It strained at the leash held by one of the palace guards. A woman lower on the steps squealed. In the forecourt, a coach horse neighed, and then another one. More dogs started barking. Men shouted orders.
Someone behind Johanna said, “He shouldn’t have brought the stupid animal. It spooks the horses.”
The woman who had squealed was Gertrude Hendricksen, one of the guests. She was here with her father, and he, of course, had the monkey on his shoulder.
Guess that explained why the horses were so nervous. Johanna shivered, although the evening was quite warm.
Finally they entered the foyer with its chandeliers and stained glass windows and smooth mosaic floor with the Carmine House’s crest—the rooster—in stone of various shades of brown. It was noisy in here, with talk echoing back from the ceiling. Chamber music floated in through the open doors which led into what was called the garden room, a big and luscious hall, where all official functions were held.
A courtier came to take Johanna’s overcoat and Father led her into the hall. The dais with the king’s, queen’s and prince’s chairs was at the far end. A long table had been set up here, with a pristine white tablecloth and precious gold-rimmed plates and crystal glasses. A chamber orchestra played at the bottom of the steps to the dais. More groups of dressed-up noble guests stood here and there on the floor.
If the royal family was in some kind of trouble, this hall definitely showed no sign of it.
Long tables with glittering silverware were set around the perimeter of the room, tables groaning with delicate porcelain, crystal glasses, carafes of wine, gold tableware and dainty candle holders with slender white candles. Servants were carrying in trays of exquisite canapés, fancy cheeses and unfamiliar fruit, and covered dishes with huge silver lids that left wonderful smells in their wake.
No one was dancing yet. People stood talking in knots of garishly-coloured costumes, ruffled collars and fluffed-up hair, in a display of the latest Lurezian fashion. Johanna hated to think of how much money in clothing, footwear, hats and jewellery was walking around on the dance floor. That was probably her merchant upbringing talking.
All these women must have spent the entire day in front of the mirror. The scents of heavy perfume and powder threatened to overwhelm her. What was she doing here? This was not how Father had brought her up. This was not the type of life she wanted.
A couple of nobles deep in discussion burst out in laughter as Johanna and her father passed. Amongst them stood Octavio Nieland, a tall imposing figure. He wore his dark hair in a ponytail, sleek and simple. His shirt was quality silk, cream-coloured, with simple ruffles, and his overcoat was dark blue. He held a long-stemmed glass with a be-ringed hand. He met Johanna’s eyes over the rim of his glass. His eyebrows rose.
“Johanna, how nice of you to join us.” It sounded like what on Earth are you doing here?
He gave a little bow. “We must hav
e a dance later tonight.”
Johanna shivered. This man was beating down Father’s door to ask her hand in marriage?
The people in his group had stopped taking and all looked at her. His sister Julianna was there, in a dress very similar to the pink dress Mistress Daphne had shown Johanna. Except it looked stunning on her. Julianna Nieland, of course, had the figure of a lady, the wide hips and the narrow waist.
Her skin was also naturally pale, not ugly and freckled like Johanna’s, and the red paint on her lips and the blushes on her cheeks had been applied with a subtle and delicate hand, and probably not by the maid. The others in the group were their cousins, the young men in colourful trousers and jackets with high-heeled boots and frilled shirts, the young women all dressed up like sugar cakes and acting as if it came natural to them.
Father led Johanna away from the group, giving a polite bow to Lady Suzanna Nieland, who must be well into her seventies by now. The lady regarded the newcomers over her monocle with an expression of curiosity.
“What a bunch of empty-headed peacocks,” Father muttered, and he didn’t seem to be overly concerned about whether or not the Nielands were within earshot.
Whether they were or not, or whether the surreal sweet strains of music drowned out Father’s words, Johanna could still feel their gazes prick in her back when she and Father reached the other side of the hall. One thing she knew for certain: Octavio Nieland didn’t want to marry her. He wanted to own the Brouwer Company. She would be an unfortunate part of the bargain and would probably be treated as such.
On the other side of the hall, Father found a group of his colleagues, older, grizzled company owners, captains and other men of boats. The men, merchants or minor nobles, were from mixed heritage, as was common amongst merchanting families. Many of the well-off citizens from all the surrounding countries sent their sons to Saardam to work. Johanna had seen most of them before, and knew all their names. The way they stood slightly apart from the nobles and other guests made it clear that they were also not regular guests at occasions like this. The king had really cast his invitations wide this year.
There was the half-Lurezian Captain Murain who traded fabrics up and down the rivers. With him was his Estlander wife, Lora, a short rotund woman who was the opposite of what Johanna imagined her mother to have been like. She laughed a lot but spoke with such a terrible accent that Johanna had trouble understanding her.
There was the Estlander merchant, Master Deim, whose brother lived in Saardam and who owned seagoing ships and was in partnership with a Saarlander noble family to crew and kit out the ships. He was a man of tall tales, and only interrupted his current story, about foreign ships shadowing his brother’s, to greet Johanna and her father exuberantly.
With his soft face and friendly eyes, Master Deim was one of these people hard to dislike, but oh, he was such a chatterbox.
The other men greeted her father with claps on the shoulder, and bows to Johanna, calling her sincere but laugh-worthy names, like fair lady and golden maiden. She guessed it came with their eastern and southern heritage, because those people were always more pompous. But they were also more open and generous with compliments.
Not used to this kind of male attention, Johanna found it a bit embarrassing.
She remained next to her father, listening to their laughter and familiar tales, normally spun in the comfort of her father’s study. Master Deim, already red-faced from the wine, leaned closer to her than necessary. “You know, if your father is going to invest in seafaring ships, he’ll need to buy protection. There are many lands beyond the Horn, but not all of them are friendly.”
She nodded politely. Each year several ships went missing in seas past the Horn. The land route to the silk-country was much more reliable, and shorter. Yet there was much more glamour associated with the high seas. Sailors who left and returned safely were celebrated as heroes. Something lived on the other side of the Horn that did not like other people coming there. There were tales of monstrous creatures, sea serpents and dragons. Ships went missing each year.
A servant came past with a tray of glasses and Master Deim was the first to take one. Johanna took a glass, too.
He lifted his to her and took a good swig. “Might as well enjoy the good life while it lasts.”
“While it lasts?” His words sent her heart into a rapid beat. Had he seen ill omens on the wind? Johanna could usually sense if a person had magic. Master Deim had not struck her as such a person, but then again, sometimes people surprised her.
He laughed. “Last time I went drinking, the wife locked all the doors on me and I sat all night in the street. Cold, it was, too. So this time, I’ve been smart and I’ll sleep in the barn. At least all those cow ladies do is fart in the water.” He laughed again, a rolling belly laugh that, no matter the sad rumours surrounding his marriage, made Johanna laugh as well.
Sea cows farted. A lot. Bubbles in the water. The image of Master Deim sleeping in his finery amongst the harnesses and bags of potatoes next to the bubbly water was priceless.
She should calm down about Loesie’s warning. So far, there was no proof that any of it was true. The willow wood did not usually lie, but Loesie was clearly possessed by something evil, and anything she had touched should be treated with suspicion.
Master Deim’s face turned serious. “You know, between you and me, I worry about my wife’s churchgoing. I think I’ve been a good person all my life. Paid all my dues and never harmed anyone. Gave a whole lot of poor buggers jobs who would’ve starved otherwise. What right does this Shepherd have to say that we are bad people? We are not, and this country has prospered because of us.”
“I understand,” Johanna said, but she felt uneasy. Did us mean merchants or people who had magic? Magic that was more common in people from the east, like him, and like her mother?
Many of the Brouwer company deck hands, too, were refugees or ex-mercenaries from eternal petty conflicts on the eastern Estland border. People there starved to death, so the lucky ones came to prosperous Saardam where they hauled sacks of potatoes or cheeses all day, and could afford to feed their families.
She looked away, and noticed Octavio Nieland observing her from the other side of the hall. His intense expression sent a chill down her back. Dark and brooding, Nellie called it. Others called him handsome, but all those descriptions were just different words for bully to her. There was no way she would ever agree to marry him.
She turned away from him, back to Master Deim and his uncomfortable conversation, but could still fell Octavio’s gaze pricking at the back of her head.
Father was talking to another merchant on Johanna’s other side. He gave the appearance of being relaxed but she could see that he was nervous, with his thumbs jammed in his belt. He wasn’t drinking. “Gerald, have you met my daughter, Johanna?”
“No, I have not.” The fellow was grey-haired, with a short, neatly-clipped beard. He wore a long, elegant coat and a simple white shirt. No lace. He took Johanna’s hand. “My pleasure, madame.”
“You’re Burovian?” She recognised his accent.
“Yes, indeed, I am. How did you guess?” He laughed.
“He’s the captain of the ship that brought Roald back,” Father said, his voice full of meaning.
Whoa, did he belong to the religious order that the king was said to have offended?
The man laughed. “Not sure if you’ll thank me for it, but it’s true, lady.”
“And how are things in Burovia?” Johanna studied his clothes, but could see no sign that this man was a monk.
“As good as can be.” There was meaning in those words, too, but Johanna had no idea what he was trying to say.
He smiled as if she knew what he was talking about.
Johanna turned to her father, but he was talking to the merchant next to him. So she chatted to the Burovian merchant, but became none the wiser about his mysterious remarks.
Looking around the circle of her father’s acqua
intances, all well-to-do merchants and boat people in their fineries, it struck her that there was a reason Father had joined these men: they were all from outside the city and they would either have magic or employ someone who did. None of them belonged to the Church of the Triune.
As potential bride to the prince, she was their spearhead: religious enough on the surface to be attractive to the royal family, but ultimately loyal to them. If the choice was Church or magic, Johanna would have no choice but to choose magic. Magic went with merchants and people who owned boats. She was their pawn, their puppet, their spearhead into destroying the influence of the Church in Saardam so that they could conduct their business freely along the rivers regardless of borders. Why hadn’t she seen this coming earlier?
Her head reeled.
At that moment, a fanfare of trumpets blasted into the crowd. Conversations dissolved, groups split up and people lined up on both sides of the hall.