Slowly it started to unroll. Dilrap’s eyes widened and a quiver ran through him preparatory to a reflexive lunge after the escaping document. The quiver ended in a violent twitching as his hand groped blindly under-neath his load in a vain attempt to stop the accelerating scroll, while his chin clawed frantically at the top of the pile to steady an ominous sway that had begun to develop in the whole stack.
Sylvriss watched spellbound as the saga unfolded itself in front of her with the predestined order of a classical tragedy.
The chin triumphantly trapped the topmost docu-ment and stopped the incipient sway, but the middle of the stack bellied forward, intent on explosive self-destruction. Chin clinging valiantly and hand flailing futilely for the lost scroll which was now laying a paper pathway along the corridor, Dilrap took a step forward as if to overtake the swelling bulge. Malevolently, his father’s robe chose this time to embrace his feet and, with a woeful cry, Dilrap rolled to the floor amidst the fluttering shower that had been his charge.
Hitching her hood forward again and biting her lip to stop herself from laughing, Sylvriss bent forward and picked up some of the nearer scrolls and papers.
‘Majesty, Majesty,’ cried Dilrap, his alarm intensify-ing as he scrabbled on all fours to relieve his monarch’s consort of this servant’s work.
Sylvriss held out a hand to help him, but he affected not to see it and struggled to his feet unaided, only narrowly avoiding pulling down a velvet curtain and dislodging a carved head from a pedestal.
‘Dilrap,’ said Sylvriss sympathetically.
‘Majesty,’ Dilrap repeated, looking around at the debris and gesticulating vaguely. Sylvriss tossed back the hood of her robe and smiled gently at him. Dilrap was destroyed. He was so fond of his Queen. He grieved constantly for her suffering, and admired beyond words her steadfast courage. She was one of the few who called him by his name. Most used his title and even made that sound like an insult. She made him feel calm and at ease. And she was so beautiful. So beautiful.
She was fond of him too. He reminded her of a fat old pony she had had as a child, but she sensed other qualities in the man, and she too quietly grieved for his plight.
‘I’m sorry I startled you, Dilrap,’ she said. ‘But I wanted to speak to you about something.’ She gestured to a passing servant and gave orders for the papers to be collected and taken to Dilrap’s office then, taking his elbow, she said, ‘Come with me.’ There was a brief flurry of hitchings and adjustments before Dilrap fell in with the sauntering pace of his Queen. She walked for some time without speaking. Dilrap cast surreptitious sideways glances at her. It seemed to him that she was changed in some way. Her face was different-less strained-younger, flushed, even. Then, as if on a whim, she turned off the corridor and, walking through an elaborate archway, came into the Crystal Hall.
Two Mathidrin standing guard at the archway clicked their heels as she passed, and she acknowledged their salute with a nod and a gracious smile. At every opportunity, in every little way, she was determined to ease herself into the affections and respect of all Dan-Tor’s minions, however loutish. It would have been easier for her by far to be cold and distant, but that would have been easier for them too. No, she thought, some affection for me amongst his men can do nothing but hinder him and might prove helpful one day. I’ll show you how to train horses, you long streak of evil.
The Crystal Hall was so called because of its strange translucent walls and ceilings. They shifted and shimmered constantly with every imaginable colour. Their smooth surfaces were broken only by thin veins of a golden inlay, curling and sweeping into elaborate leaf-like patterns. Somewhere behind each surface could be seen figures and landscapes that seemed to flicker in and out of existence with the slightest movement of the head; sometimes near, sometimes distant.
It was a beautiful place and it exuded tranquillity, but no one knew how or when it had been built, or who had built it. In fact no one now knew even the name of this strange craft of inner carving.
Dan-Tor never visited it.
Sylvriss led Dilrap over to a broad seat underneath the pattern of a huge tree etched out in fine golden threads. These were flush with the surface of the wall, but the inner work made the trunk seem solid and whole, and the branches shimmered as though sunlight were falling on them through waving leaves. A close examination would reveal countless tiny, multi-coloured insects moving among the crevices of the bark. The leaves, too, flickered and shone as if a breeze were blowing through them, and as different seasons shone their different lights into the hall so the leaves seemed to change and fall.
Sylvriss sat down and gestured Dilrap to do likewise. Dilrap did as he was bidden, and folding his hands in his lap awaited his Queen’s pleasure.
He had neither the stature not the dignity of his late father, but he had a substantial portion of his consider-able intellect and a memory that was superior by far. It was his saving grace as the King’s Secretary and prevented life becoming totally intolerable for him. However, this, his real worth, was unknown to most, not least himself, being constantly overshadowed by his circumstances and his excitable and nervous disposi-tion.
In the Queen’s company, however, given a little time, he tended to relax and be more at ease, and his truer self would emerge. Perceptively, Sylvriss judged that despite being utterly fearful of Dan-Tor, his loyalty to the King was unquestionable and his devotion to her total.
He was worth more than her humorous affection, she knew. The very contempt in which many of the Court held him meant that secrets which were jealously guarded from other ears were discussed almost openly in his presence. Often, no more heed was taken of him than of one of the Palace hounds. But, Sylvriss noted, he never gossiped. Never sought to protect himself by winning the spurious esteem of others with some display of his knowledge of the intimate details of Palace life. He absorbed all his embarrassment and discomfiture and, presumably, resentment in some inner place. His sole defence was his defencelessness.
The tree shimmered as the sun emerged from be-hind a cloud and its light burst into the Hall.
‘Dilrap,’ she began. ‘I need a friend. An ally.’
‘Majesty, I’m your most devo… ’
She waved him to silence. ‘No, Dilrap. I need no Court pleasantries from you. I know what you are.’ She stared at him for a moment, then plunged. ‘You’re a man trapped by circumstances in a public office for which he considers himself totally unsuitable. Circum-stances made all the more bitter by the fact that his father ranked as one of the finest Secretaries any King has ever known.’
Dilrap bowed his head. Sylvriss pressed forward. ‘But your father didn’t have a sick and wayward King to deal with, nor… ’ She paused significantly, watching him carefully. ‘Nor, Dilrap, did he have to deal with the likes of Lord Dan-Tor.’ She offered no embellishment of her description of Dan-Tor. It was not necessary.
Dilrap looked up and caught her gaze. Strange, came a slow, almost reluctant, thought from deep inside him. Strange that I’d never seen that-that simple, obvious fact. Sylvriss held his gaze and nodded in confirmation of what she had said.
‘Your father towers in your life as once he towered in this Palace,’ she said. Then with great deliberation, ‘But no man could have contended with the Lord Dan-Tor. No man.’
Dilrap lowered his eyes again. ‘Majesty, I don’t un-derstand what you’re saying. What is it you want of me?’
‘I want a friend, Dilrap. An ally.’
Dilrap made no reply.
Sylvriss took a deep breath. She must continue now. ‘Dilrap, you underestimate yourself totally. You always have. For anyone who cares to look, there are qualities in you which make you at least as fine a Secretary as your father. The reason your office is burdensome to you, and why you’re the butt of so many in the Court, is that Dan-Tor wishes it so. He wants no one around him or the King who might be intelligent enough to interfere with his plans.’