The Queen's Necklace (19 page)

He sat down on the edge of his desk beside the oil lamp, thrust his hands into the pockets of his full-skirted brown coat. “I do not, of course, know which are the genuine treasures elsewhere, though I entertain some strong suspicions. And this being so, I must conclude that neighboring rulers must entertain similar suspicions about the Chaos Machine.”

Will cleared his throat. “If you will pardon my saying so, Your Majesty, it seems to be a—transparent deception.”

Rodaric stiffened and turned his cold grey eyes in Will's direction, as if he had just received an unwelcome surprise. As perhaps he had; it was unlikely he would have said nearly so much had he remembered Will was present.

“Pointless, too, because at least a hundred people at any one time would know the truth. It hardly seems like a secret at all. Did whoever concocted this scheme
really
believe they could keep the Jewels safe with such an obvious ruse?”

“A naïve deception, perhaps,” Rodaric allowed, “but one that has succeeded for fifteen hundred years. Perhaps because it
was
so simple. And even though so many people know a part of the truth, no one could identify
all
of the Jewels except the Maglore who created them—and the Maglore, of course, are all extinct.”

“I expect,” said Dionee, twisting her handkerchief, “that if the thieves—whoever they are—were to find out what it is they have, the ransom would be truly staggering.”

Rodaric drew his hands out of his pockets. “If they were willing to negotiate, we would be fortunate indeed, whatever they might ask. Dionee, do you have any idea how much our people depend on the Mountfalcon Jewel? We are a land-locked nation, do you know what that means?”

“That we have to pay tolls and tariffs to our immediate neighbors to bring in trade goods, to get everything we need.”

“And how do we pay these tolls and tariffs?”

“Sir, I do
know
these things. I'm not entirely frivolous. It's with iron and tin and—and coal, which they don't have.”

“And iron, tin, and coal have to be dug up out of the ground, an arduous and even dangerous process. There are ancient mines in the mountains to the northeast and southwest of Hawkesbridge, mines which have been active for thousands of years. The veins run remarkably deep, and the mines are vast beyond your comprehension. Many of the pumps that keep them from flooding are so old and
primitive, the timbers that shore up the tunnels so ancient and fragile, you would think the miners would be terrified to enter them, yet enter they do and bring up the ores we so desperately need. Do you know why?”

“Because,” Will answered for Dionee, “it's not just pumps that keep the mines dry, not just timbers that shore up the tunnels. It's the tiny engine inside the Mountfalcon Jewel, working at a distance.”

“Precisely. But not at too great a distance. And those very small gears and wheels need frequent adjustment, just as any ordinary watch or clockwork does. In the wrong hands, it would eventually run down. If the Chaos Machine is not restored to me within half a year, the mines will become so dangerous, I could not in good conscience allow anyone to enter them.”

“You say that you have half a year,” said Will. “In those six and a half months, you could send engineers down into the mines; they could repair the ordinary machinery, make the tunnels safe.”

“I doubt they could accomplish all that needs to be done in six months or sixty months. You have little idea of the depth and immensity of those mines. The first time I went down into one of them, I was staggered by what seemed to me an infinity of branching tunnels. And if we attempted to do any such thing,” Rodaric added, “everyone would know that the Jewel was missing—and that could be fatal.”

He stood up. Beckoning Dionee to follow him, he picked up the lamp from his desk. Crossing the floor in two long strides, Rodaric swept aside the moth-eaten crimson draperies at one end of the room, and led the way into the vast shadowy chamber beyond. Though he had not been invited to do so, Wilrowan could not resist following silently, several paces behind.

King Rodaric's library was one of the wonders of the Volary, rising shelf upon shelf, balcony above balcony, six stories high to a domed ceiling. The air inside was heavy with the musty odor of ten
thousand books. On every balcony perched lindenwood statues, intricately carved and richly gilded, creatures symbolizing the four elements—harpies for air, mermaids for water, salamanders for fire, gorgons for earth—which gazed down from the heights with their blank wooden eyes: silent, inscrutable, old as the palace itself.

In the center of the floor there was painted a great map of the world: twenty-five feet across from corner to corner. Though the pigments had faded and grown dingy over the years, though the names of the cities and nations, originally done in spidery-thin letters of gold paint, had been worn by the passage of many feet until only a few dull metallic flecks remained, it was still possible to make out the dim outlines of five continents, and to gain a vague impression of mountains, rivers, and seas.

Taking Dionee by the hand, Rodaric drew her toward that part of the map occupied by Mountfalcon and her nearest neighbors. “The mountains I spoke of, I should perhaps remind you, border on Herndyke, Chêneboix, and Montagne-du-Soliel. If the thieves who took the Chaos Machine were not ordinary footpads but agents of some other ruler, if it became known that the Mountfalcon Jewel was in his hands, the people who live in our mining towns might conceivably decide they owe their allegiance to that man instead of to me. Someone may be trying to expand his borders, someone may be attempting to build—an empire.”

Will felt a shiver pass over his skin; looking past Rodaric to Dionee, he saw that her eyes were wide with shock.

For nearly fifteen hundred years, the world had existed in a precious but perilous balance. No kingdom, arch-duchy, or principality was allowed to gain ascendency over the others. Alliances were forbidden; the ruling houses could not intermarry. Yet nightmarish memories of the Maglore Empire, its monstrous excesses, its long history of oppression and cruelty, still lingered on. Equally terrifying were tales of the early years of the Reign of Mankind. For three
turbulent decades, wars had been waged across the globe as men of great ambition—rulers of the strongest of the newly formed nations—strove to impose their will on their weaker neighbors. The slaughter had been past reckoning.

Gradually, order had been restored. A new civilization had been painstakingly created: a perfect Society, magnificently static. It had been designed to endure for a thousand thousand years. It
must
endure. It was a Society not only of laws, but of minds and hearts. It taught Men how to think.

And yet—the fear of a New Empire rising continued to haunt them all, the one subject that decent people seldom discussed, but could never quite banish from their minds.

Wilrowan remembered when he was a student at Malachim, he had attended a number of midnight gatherings at a neighboring college, at which some of the bolder students actually dared to discuss some of the ways a ruthless leader might go about building an empire of his own. Will emerged from these meetings feeling profoundly shaken, but also immensely stimulated—as though he had been allowed to witness some gross indecent act, which both repelled and fascinated him. An anonymous paper on the subject was even circulated through the various colleges at the university. To no one's surprise, the paper was suppressed as soon as it came to the attention of the authorities, and everyone involved was instantly expelled. Unfortunately for Will, some of his friends had been deeply implicated, and though innocent himself for once in his life, those associations had counted against him later.

“The danger may not come from any direction we might expect,” he said, staring down at the map. “It could even originate as far away as—Nordfjail.” He turned suddenly toward Dionee. “You told me it was your own idea to surprise the ambassador—but was there nothing Lord Vault did or said that suggested the scheme to begin with?”

She wrinkled her brow, trying to remember. “He
mentioned
the
Chaos Machine in a general way, wondering how old it was and where it was made, but it was Rufus Macquay who said that it might be amusing—” She stopped and shook her head emphatically. “No, Will, no. There
can't
be a connection between your duel and what happened afterward.”

“You think not?” he said grimly. “I was supposed to be dead or languishing in Whitcomb Gaol, and you were to go to the embassy with a less diligent escort.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “And even when nothing fell out as planned, I was still obliged to leave Hawkesbridge rather than face His Majesty's wrath.”

Rodaric and Dionee exchanged a significant glance: surprised on his part, chagrined on hers. “I lied to you, Will,” she said in a very small voice. “But it seemed such a harmless deception, how was I to know it would end so badly?”

Wilrowan blinked. “You lied to me—how? You told me the king was in a rage, you said he had all but banished me—was none of that true?”

“Rodaric
had
scolded me, but not about you. When Barnaby told him you challenged Sir Rufus only because he insulted Lili, he said what you had done was—was entirely understandable.”

At this point, the king interrupted her. “I don't recall that I said precisely that. But I did indicate that Wilrowan's misdeeds might possibly be overlooked this one time. Why did you tell him otherwise?”

“Because
I
wanted him out of the way. He would have spoiled everything if he knew what I was planning.”

Will ground his teeth. “So I would have done. My compliments, Dionee. You have apparently succeeded in doing Macquay's work for him, and in doing so, have undoubtedly brought disaster on us all.” He flexed his hands. “I have half a mind to take you by the throat and strangle you.”

But then, catching sight of the king, he added under his breath: “With His Majesty's permission, of course.”

“Thank you, Wilrowan, that won't be necessary,” Rodaric answered coldly. “I know she has lied to you and treated you abominably, but I'll thank you not to forget when you address her that she
is
the queen.” He turned away from the map, led the way back into his study. “I suppose,” he said, with a sigh, to Dionee, “that I might have stopped you from committing this folly as well as Wilrowan.”

“But, sir, you didn't know. How could you know?”

“I would have known everything, had I decided to accompany you to the embassy that day. Of course, it is my custom to avoid these lengthy and crowded affairs—hardly the wisest course for a man with a young and flighty wife, as we see now. It is certainly a selfish policy, I have always known that. As for continuing to conceal from you the true nature of the Chaos Machine: indeed, Dionee, I think I should have trusted you. Flighty you are, but I can't believe you would be wicked enough to betray a confidence, or careless enough to do what you have done had you known the truth.”

As the king returned to his seat behind the desk, Dionee knelt down beside his chair in a rustle of satin. “Then you are not really angry with me?”

Setting the oil lamp in its original location, Rodaric glared down at her. “Just at the moment, I could
murder
you, Dionee. But considering I'm hardly blameless myself, I rather suspect I'll eventually forgive you.” He turned to Will. “You are not, perhaps, the first person I would have chosen to trust with this secret. But now that you are involved, I believe I am glad. I suppose I can rely on you to make inquiries among your—less savory connections?”

Reaching down, Will gave Dionee his hand and raised her to her feet. “If the Chaos Machine was taken by Hawkesbridge footpads, I will find a way to get it back. But if it's been spirited away by agents of some other king, prince, or duke—the thing has been missing for three days already and could conceivably be in Rijxland, Chêneboix,
Montagne-du-Soliel or Montcieux, and well on its way to Herndyke, Bridemoor, or Château-Rouge.”

“No,” said Rodaric. “I think not. In maintaining the mechanism, I have become attuned to it. There is a kind of vibration within the tiny gemstones that make up part of the machinery—in short, I don't believe the Chaos Machine could go very far or cross our borders without my knowing it.”

Will frowned thoughtfully. “If there
is
a species of magical sympathy at work, that may prove useful in recovering the Jewel.” He remembered sitting on Lili's big white bed, asking what she was reading. “I had Mandeville in my hands just two days ago—I wish I had the book now!”

But thinking of Mandeville suggested an idea. “The University of Hawkesbridge owes its very existence to the king's warrant. All the professors have taken an oath to serve the Crown. And the faculty at Malachim College is made up entirely of magicians and natural philosophers—who might be able to suggest a course of action.”

Rodaric considered, then came to a swift decision. “I will write to the chancellor and ask him to arrange a meeting with his two best men.

“In the meantime,” he added, “say nothing of this and trust no one. As you say, there is no telling how far this plot may extend—or who may be involved in it.”

Tarnburgh, Winterscar—Eleven Months Earlier

26 Boréal, 6537

“I
t is the wrong house,” said King Jarred. “I have never been here before, and I certainly never intended to come here now.” As he spoke, an inexplicable creeping sensation, a clammy revulsion, moved across his skin.

His coachman and two footmen exchanged a puzzled glance. “Your Majesty—” the coachman began, but his voice died and he could only shake his head in total bewilderment as Jarred opened the door of his tiny, ornate coach, pulled down the steps for himself, and climbed back inside.