“Many lawyers would know,” I said. “But of course, we have few advocates left in the city, and these are consumed entirely in preparation for the delayed assizes. I myself may claim a clear proficiency in the art of the petition, as Master Dacket drilled me ceaselessly in the praxis.” I drew closer to the apothecary. “Do you know, sir, that the wording in the induction is drawn from Mallio’s Rhetorica Forensica, and in the Rawlings translation, not in the Delward as you might expect?”
“Not the Delward,” Gribbins muttered, “but the Rawlings.” His voice sounded like a blind mouse scrabbling in its nest of paper.
Within another two minutes, I had secured my post as the secretary for the Embassy Royal.
* * *
The Embassy left not the next day, for an astrologer hired by Gribbins had declared the day inauspicious, but on the afternoon of the day following, which the occultist declared ideal.
“A pity that this magus, so perfect in his auguries, did not forewarn the city’s sack,” I said to Kevin.
“He could not scry the stars,” Kevin said. “Remember the night was cloudy.”
We stood in the square and watched the loading of the expedition’s grand carriage. The carriage was a great, heavy object, tall and stately as a galleon, and like a galleon festooned with ornaments and carvings painted gold, knights and monsters twined in battle. A smaller, much plainer carriage, like a light, agile pinnace, carried the baggage.
The Court of the Teazel Bird, whose King the great carriage bore in procession, was a fraternity of wealthy burgesses who dressed as knights and lord of ancient times, and named themselves after the legendary heroes of the Teazel romances. They feasted regularly in their towered palace on Scarcroft Square, and sponsored jousts and other entertainments on days of festival. But now most of them, including this year’s King, had been carried away by the corsairs, and the survivors were content to loan their carriage to the Embassy.
“That great heavy thing will take forever to reach Selford,” Kevin said. “Wouldn’t a fast messenger serve better?”
“A messenger will not serve Gribbins’s vanity,” I said. “He wishes to make a grand entrance into Selford, and become a great figure at the court.”
“And Lord Utterback does not check this?” Kevin said. “He puts up with this preening fathead?”
“Utterback can’t be bothered to oppose or propose. He can barely be bothered to speak.”
“Ah, well.” Kevin made a sour face. “Ethlebight will then be on its own for the winter.”
“The winter will at least drive the corsairs from our door. Those little galleys of theirs will never bear our winter gales.”
A small group came from the broken doors of the city hall, Gribbins and Utterback, Judge Travers, the Cobbs, and Sir Stanley Mattingly clanking in armor. When the reivers had occupied Cow Island, Sir Stanley had brought the entire household away from Mutton Island, marching them along the mucky causeway at low tide, and with as many sheep and goats as his shepherds could bring. The dependents now lived in the Forest of Ailey, feasting on mutton where the corsairs were unlikely to find them; and Sir Stanley had donned armor and come riding on his big-framed yellow horse to Ethlebight, where he anointed himself the savior of the city.
In my capacity as secretary to the council, I had transcribed the great debate between Sir Stanley and Sir Towsley Cobb over which would be appointed Deputy Lord Lieutenant and placed in charge of the county’s defense. The two had shouted and roared and proclaimed, and in the end, Sir Stanley had outbawled both his rival and his sons and secured the appointment. Sir Towsley had to be content with becoming Deputy Lord Warden, an appointment meaningless as the Lord Warden commanded only royal troops, and the royal soldiers in the New Castle had all been taken or slaughtered.
In any case, the appointments would have to be confirmed by the King.
I appreciated the scene as a kind of low, earthy comedy; but otherwise couldn’t help but note that one candidate for commander of the military despised me as a Butcher’s son, while the other had shot at me only a few days earlier. I kept my eyes on my wax tablet when Sir Stanley glanced my way, and decided that, under the circumstances, I was not destined for martial renown.
At least I was pleased the milkmaid Ella was safe. I pictured her lying on a bed of moss in the Forest of Ailey, her heart-shaped face turned up to the night sky, the moonlight a shimmer in her dark eyes. Did she think of me, I wondered, as she lay there, and wonder how I fared, caught in the fall of the city and perhaps killed? Did she mourn me, without knowing I was alive? Did she long for me, alone on her verdant couch?
Gribbins began to speak from the steps of the city hall. The alderman had prepared a farewell address, and he was determined to read it even though my audience consisted of perhaps a dozen bystanders, plus the footmen and servants atop the carriage. I stood in an attitude of respect while my mind returned to midnight thoughts of Ella, languorous on her bed of moss. A voice murmured in my ear, one with the accent of Bonille.
“Ambition is laudable in its way. But advancement comes in its season, and a man who grasps at a passing opportunity with such desperate fervor runs the risk of becoming ridiculous.”
I turned to Judge Travers and bowed. “You refer to our vaunting embassy?”
“Not at all.” Amusement played about Travers’s lips. “If anyone, I refer to you, and to your great petition.” He reached out a hand, not unkindly, and touched my shoulder. “I trust you have acquired a copy of Rhetorica Forensica in the Delward translation, and not the Rawlings?”
I felt heat rise to my face. “My lord, I have so provided myself.” The Delward was part of the booty from Crook’s bookshop.
“That is well. I have assured Alderman Gribbins of your ability, but he will want to check your work.”
“I hope that he shall.” I realized that I spoke a bit more defiantly than I intended, and I lowered my voice. “I thank you, my lord, for your kind interest.”
“I think you may do well in the capital,” Travers said, “particularly if you learn to mask your ambition behind a pretense of humility.”
I felt my lip curl in anger. “Sir, I have lately encountered much in my life to keep me humble.”
Again the judge touched my shoulder. “I believe, young Goodman Quillifer, that I did say pretense.” And with a smile, he turned away. Kevin’s voice came into my other ear.
“That seemed unnecessarily cryptic.”
I let out a breath, then turned to Kevin. “Nay,” I said. “Not cryptic enough.”
Judge Travers had warned me against grasping for advantage; but that grasping was what I saw all about me, a greedy rush for vacant offices and honors, the candidates all a-froth with vaunting and vanity. Why should I refrain when everyone else was clutching with both hands?
At last the Embassy Royal left the stairs and went into the carriage, and I gave a farewell embrace to Kevin and followed Gribbins into the carriage. The scent of leather and polish rose to my senses. I took the little sword from my belt, tucked up my lawyer’s robe around me, and prepared to sit next to the alderman. I became aware that Gribbins was staring at me with his rheumy blue eyes.
“What mean you here?” said the alderman.
“I, sir?” I was surprised. “I mean to sit. Would you rather have this place?”
“Young man,” said Gribbins, “you are a servant. Admittedly, a secretary is a superior sort of servant, but still your place is atop the carriage, or with the luggage in the servants’ conveyance.”
I was too startled to be offended. “As you wish, sir.”
I opened the carriage door and prepared to step out, but Gribbins put me another question.