“And what if she has relatives, who want to revenge the wrongs done to her?” Tomi asked.
“You mean by killing the old King? Then starting a rebellion and shooting at the new King, trying to kill him, and with that bomb, too,” Colly suggested.
“Or is Balcor himself behind it all,” Mr. Bendiff wondered, “so that he has an excuse to stay on and rule here?”
Grammie had an opposite idea. “Someone could think that if the embassy has to flee Andesia, Balcor will be replaced.”
“Who’d replace him?” Joachim wondered.
It was Mr. Bendiff who raised the most practical and immediate question. “Who put that snake in your room?” he asked.
That puzzle at least was solved in the morning when, after stoking the fires and opening the shutters downstairs, Devera and Suela disappeared together out the front door, without touching the body of the snake where it had been laid out at full length at the foot of the stairs. They went out through the front door, and the soldiers did not stop them.
—
Despite the night’s disturbances, in the morning the businessman, with the Envoy—and his Secretary, too, of course, because records must be kept—met with not only Juan Carlos and Juan Luc but also Balcor and his Captain. Neither the Captain nor the Secretary spoke, and their opinions were not sought. Balcor offered little, but he was always ready to protest when the discussions became overly unrealistic (Mr. Bendiff’s vision of Apapa as a tourist center for hikers and mountain climbers, with restaurants and hotels and a streetful of shops offering special clothing and equipment for the exercise enthusiasts) or personal (Juan Carlos’s insistence on the importance of elegance and sophistication). Balcor was interested in Mr. Bendiff’s enthusiasm for the alpaca wool every farm produced, despite Juan Carlos’s objections (“It doesn’t have the weight of sheep’s wool or the elegance of silks”) and Juan Luc’s protests (“If the women are carding and spinning, the men will have to work the fields and watch the herds, and who will work in the mines?”). Only Mr. Bendiff was enthusiastic about the chili-jicama relish, but he spoke convincingly of the ease of production, the means of packaging; he had many ideas about how to label the jars and where to offer it first, so word of its excellence would precede it into the marketplace. “This is something I know,” he assured Balcor, who answered, “I believe you do.”
Mr. Bendiff continued, “The people don’t have to be so poor,” and did not go on to say the natural next sentence, The Carrera y Carreras don’t have to be so rich. That thought was unspoken, but everybody at the table heard it. At which uncomfortable point, Ari suggested, “Isn’t it better for a country’s economic well-being to have more than one source of income? If there is more than one product to bring to market, it seems as if everyone is better off, with more jobs and more ways to earn.”
As the meeting broke up, the Carrera y Carrera cousins said that, since it was a fine spring day, after the midday parade they would like to offer Ari—and the King’s brother must come, too—a ride up into the hills. Captain Malpenso would ride with them, to ensure their safety. The businessman and the General had already agreed to talk more about the methods for setting up international trading partnerships, so they were not available. But the cousins were most eager to show the Envoy, and the King’s brother, too, of course, the beauties of the countryside. Max didn’t dare admit that he had never been on a horse. For a King’s brother, who had claimed to be a gentleman, horsemanship was an essential skill. “Just do what I do,” Ari advised. “Clamp with your thighs, hold the reins loosely, and don’t be afraid. That’s the most important, not being afraid.”
Max was too anxious to even laugh. Besides, Ari wasn’t joking.
Captain Malpenso brought out a large bay stallion for Ari, and Max could only be glad that he didn’t have to try to manage such a huge animal. His own mount was a small, rather skinny gray mare, which was a relief.
Ari, however, wanted to claim the mare for himself. “She pleases me—I admit it—she reminds me of the pony I first learned to ride on. You know how boys are, I loved that little pony.”
Malpenso asked, “Is the bay not a worthier mount for a Baron?”
“We wouldn’t wish to be seen as failing to show honor to your King’s Envoy, not in any way,” Juan Carlos added.
Ari was determined. He took the little mare’s reins in his hands, while holding her muzzle so he could look into her large, dark eyes. “Gaby, her name was,” he told Juan Carlos. “Short for Gabrielle. Really, I would so enjoy it,” he insisted.
Gabrielle? But before Max could try to ask Ari—how would he do that?—what the secret message was, if there was a message in that odd statement, he was told to put a booted foot into a soldier’s cupped hands and thus was tossed up onto the back of the stallion.
He concentrated on acting confident. He might be a clumsy rider, whose skills could not live up to his boasts, but he had to appear confident. All eyes were on Ari, in any case, as the Envoy swung an easy leg over the back of the mare and settled himself into her saddle.
Max clamped his thighs tight and made sure his boots were securely in the stirrups. He held the reins low, as the others did. He hoped no one was watching him.
And they weren’t, because as soon as Ari mounted, the skinny gray mare began to hop, and sidestep, and pull against the bit. “They’ll like a good gallop,” Juan Carlos promised as the stables were left behind, and the barracks, and they ascended the first gentle slopes of the hills.
The mare didn’t wait for the others. As soon as they were beyond the corral, she took off, Ari leaning over her neck, but whether to cling there or to maintain what control he could, Max had no idea. He hoped his friend really did know how to ride, as he watched the mare—with Juan Carlos on her tail, although his mount couldn’t match her speed—round the top of a slope. Max didn’t know whether to be more impressed by Ari’s horsemanship or frightened for himself. If Max had been on that horse…
Luckily for Max, the big bay was a lazy mount who never wanted to go faster than a slow, rocking canter. For a time, the Captain tried to bring the horse to life by riding close beside Max, urging the bay to follow the example of his more lively mount, but it was no use. When Ari eventually came back into view, the mare now sweaty and breathing hard, he greeted them cheerfully. “She may look like my old Gaby, but she certainly doesn’t have her gentle spirit!” he cried. His cheeks were pink and his mouth carried a smile, but there was hardness in his eyes as he led the party back to the stables, dismounted, and waited for Max to join him. He thanked Juan Carlos—“And you as well, Captain Malpenso, for a most enjoyable outing”—but once safely back inside the guesthouse what he said to Max was, “It seems to be you they’re after. That mare wanted to kill me.”
Max didn’t argue. “Do you think Balcor has guessed who I am and what I plan?”
“Balcor wasn’t even there.”
“If I wanted to arrange a perhaps-fatal accident for someone,” Max remarked shakily, “I’d be sure that I was far away when it happened.”
“I’m glad we’re coming to the end of our time in this place,” Ari answered.
“Because why bother to dispose of the King’s brother unless you plan to get rid of the King, too,” Max said.
The Rescue
• ACT II •
SCENE 1 THE PLAY’S THE THING
When he entered the palace for the second time, Max did notice the ornate furnishings, the third-rate paintings, and the vast decorated ceilings. When he actually saw the anteroom, lined from floor to ceiling with silver, he didn’t know what to think. Except that, of course, he knew exactly what he thought of it. The final, high-ceilinged chamber in which they awaited the King—and would the Queen accompany him? was Max about to see his mother?—was lit by windows so tall that even the mountains couldn’t prevent their view of the sky.
King Teodor’s embassy waited at the front of a small group of people that included everyone worthy of invitation: all the m
embers of the three Carrera y Carrera households, including the doctor and with the exception of Juan Antonio, who as usual was needed to oversee the mines. Stefano was also present, with his wife and daughters. There were soldiers, too, too many soldiers, all standing guard at the doors, the wide doors through which the visitors had entered, at one end of the long throne room, and a smaller, carved wooden door to one side of the two thrones, which waited at the opposite end. Max stood at Ari’s shoulder, watching that carved door, waiting, and reviewing in his imagination what would happen soon, and what needed to happen immediately afterward, and what they had to wait for the dark night to get done. He patted his jacket and felt against his chest the sack of chicken blood. He reached his hand down to take the hilt of his sword. He looked over to Mr. Bendiff, who stood between Ari and Juan Carlos, prepared to be an entirely innocent, entirely shocked bystander.
Grammie was a servant and couldn’t be at the formal reception, to see with her own eyes her son-in-law and—as they all hoped—his wife. She wouldn’t be able to aid and abet Max’s plan. This worried her. “I should have come as the Baroness. I’d be a good Baroness, and if I had I’d be right there, to do whatever I can, and we might have that kitchen boy we’ve asked that Juan Carlos for, as well. Oh”—and she had wiped her dry hands on her apron—“never mind me. I hate being left out, especially now, when I might be of some use for more than my chicken-slaughtering skills. Ignore me, Max,” she said. “I’m just…anxious, and I…This has to work.”
“You would have made a great Baroness,” Max told her. “You would have been brilliant.”
“But then who would have kept the house, and cooked?” Grammie asked, and he knew he had said the right thing.
Now if he could only think of the right thing to say to the King, so that everyone would believe there was reason for them to draw their swords…Once again, Max reached down across his hip to touch the hilt of the sword he had put on for this very formal occasion. He was well-rehearsed, Ari had seen to that; but Max knew from experience how different a rehearsal was from the actual performance.
And this performance would be more difficult, because he and his father would be improvising the scene. He’d have to figure out how to cue his father, too, so that the scene would play out as it had to, with the body of the King lying in a puddle of blood and Alexander Ireton, through the use of Ari’s diplomatic skills, taken into the Envoy’s custody to be locked up in one of the guesthouse bedrooms, probably in chains, then carried back to Queensbridge for trial. Max wished he could have gotten a copy of this script to his father, but that was impossible. At least he could be sure that his father knew a play was being performed, and Max knew what a skillful and practiced actor William Starling was. Of course he could be trusted to play his part well.
The carved door swung wide. Led by Captain Malpenso, four soldiers entered, to take up positions behind the thrones. The Captain stood stiffly beside the King’s throne, looking over the gathered guests the way a hawk on the hunt looks down at a family of rabbits, to select its dinner. Two footmen in green and silver livery, their bearing so erect that Max knew they, too, were soldiers, rolled a crimson carpet out from the carved door to the shining thrones, then stood at attention, one behind each throne. At last the King appeared, his Queen at his side, and the assembly shifted on its feet and inched forward. The royal couple walked along the carpet at a stately pace.
General Balcor followed them in, but nobody paid him any attention.
Oh, but they were splendid, the King and Queen of Andesia. The royal couple was young and handsome. Her silver tiara sparkled with gemstones, and on his crown each of three peaks was topped with a pearl that shone white against the gleaming silver. His long red cape was lined with ermine. His red military uniform bore silver buttons, the sword at his side was sheathed in silver, his boots had a polished glow, and his face…his face held solemn majesty. The man was every inch a King. His Queen, too, was regal, in a gown of white silk embroidered with silver threads that was styled high at the waist in the medieval manner, so that it bellied out in front of her. Their smiles were full of confidence, as befits a Queen and her King.
Max watched the royal pair, who stood smiling in the way that he remembered so clearly, the stars of the performance taking their bows, and joy rose up in him, a joy that was so warm and bright that he struggled to keep it from his face, out of his eyes. There was no time for joy, now, nor for celebration and relief: Their hands were clasped between them in a signal that Max recognized—trouble.
He took a deep breath. Curtain going up!
The assembled guests sighed at the magnificence of their monarchs, and a few gloved hands applauded.
The King stood in front of his throne, his Queen at his side, and waited. When the entire room had quieted to an expectant silence, he spoke. “My people,” he called out, in a voice that carried down into the farthest corner of the long room. He looked into the small audience, but his gaze didn’t settle on anyone in particular as he made his announcement. “On this auspicious day, we ask you to join in the happiness of your Queen and ourselves: We are pleased to tell you that in not very many months there will be a child.”
The burst of air that emptied Max’s lungs was not admiration. It was shock. And sudden understanding. And the recognition that he had been given the insult that would provoke the King into a duel everyone present would believe in. This was indeed The Queen’s Man.
But could his mother really be pregnant? Had the sickliness of which everyone spoke been not a matter of poison but of pregnancy? Or was this a costume of pregnancy, a strategically placed pillow?
Max set about adjusting his script. The question of pregnancy could be settled later, but right now, he had a duel to incite. Besides, his father was speaking his first lines and Max had a cue to listen for.
Responses in two languages came quickly, and the overwhelming tone was that of rejoicing at good news. King Teodor’s representatives clapped their hands quietly, as behooves strangers who happen to be present at private celebrations.
After a minute, the King held up his free hand to announce, “Be the child a male or a female, it is the heir to the throne of Andesia our Queen carries. We so declare it.”
Later, Ari would report to Max that some were surprised to hear this, but at the time Max was too shocked to hear anything. Neither of his parents so much as glanced at him. It was as if they didn’t know he was there, or as if they didn’t recognize him. He willed them, either one of them, to just look at him. But he was the unwelcome younger brother, and both King and Queen refused to see him.
Juan Carlos stepped forward. “Majesty,” he said, with a low bow, “our happiness at your news is large. But I must tell you: Never has there been a female heir in Andesia. General Balcor, is that not so?”
The General bowed his head, slightly. “It is so,” he answered, and nobody asked how he had become so knowledgeable about the history and traditions of a nation his army had only recently occupied.
King William of Andesia was not dismayed to hear this. With a benevolent smile on his mouth and in a voice rich in royal wisdom, he proclaimed, “Into the history of every nation will come a time of change.” He handed his Queen into her throne. Seating himself beside her, in his own silver chair, he went on. “Just as this welcome delegation is also a change, opening a doorway between Andesia and the great world beyond.” As he said this, with a voice full of welcome, he looked at Ari, where he stood at the front of the gathering, General Balcor beside him, and he looked at Mr. Bendiff, at whose elbow Juan Luc waited, and then—finally—his eye fell on Max.
Fury, an overwhelming fury, burned in the King’s eyes and stiffened his jaw, brought heat to his cheeks and pulled his body up, out of the throne. He took two steps forward, and threw his long cloak back to free his arm.
Max knew that furious face and those two threatening steps forward. The action was under way. He met the King’s glance with a mocking inclination of his head, and
a smile.
“What is that man doing here?” the King cried. He raised an arm to point at Max. “In our presence. In the presence of our Queen. When he was so clearly unwelcome!” the King raged.
Max had never played the role of the evil younger brother, but he had watched it being performed; he had cued the actor, and he knew his lines. He put a hand onto the hilt of his sword and stepped out from his position behind Ari.
Ari ignored Max, and answered, “Alexander Ireton is here as my Private Secretary. My trusted Private Secretary,” he declared, a portrait of one of the old Barons Barthold come to life, with the Barthold arrogant lack of interest in anyone else’s opinions or feelings.
“This is not a man of whom the word trust can be spoken,” said Max’s father, the King in his castle, in front of his throne, with his soldiers around him.
“He is in my service,” answered the Baron Barthold, unimpressed and uncowed.
Max interrupted, deliberately insolent to both men. “I think the Queen at least will be glad to see me. I think she might be very glad indeed to, at last, see me again. Is this not so, my lady?” and he glanced carelessly at the woman still seated on her throne, without really looking at her, because his attention was on the man in front of him. Max saw that his father had understood where in the scene they were. The King set his own hand on the hilt of the blade that waited at his side.
“My Queen is nothing to do with you, and she never has been,” the King snarled, and turned to Ari. “No decent person would have to do with him.”
“Sir, you insult me,” Ari said, in the voice of a powerful man whose pride has been touched. His hand went to his sword, so that now there were three of them, ready to set to it.
The assembly had begun to understand that some deep and serious quarrel was afoot. The King sensed this and looked at his people, and his soldiers, and his General. It was Balcor to whom he spoke. “This is a private matter, General, between me and this…brother. It is an affair of honor. Let no man interfere.”