Sylvriss gazed down at the key lying in front of her. ‘This is the key to their door?’ she asked, eyes wide.
‘Yes, Majesty,’ said Dilrap, hitching up his robe on to his shoulders.
Sylvriss picked up the key gingerly. ‘How did you get it?’ she asked with some awe. She had just returned from riding and, dressed in her riding clothes, with flushed face and shining eyes, she looked magnificent. Dilrap basked in the radiance and beamed rather inanely until he realized what he was doing, then he stammered and fluttered alarmingly.
‘The cellars in the Westerclave are only part of the old servants’ quarters, Majesty,’ he said. ‘I think the King surprised more than the Lords when he had them arrested. Apparently nothing was ready, but even the Mathidrin knew that Lords couldn’t be kept in the ordinary cells, so they put them in this little suite of rooms temporarily, until the Lord Dan-Tor returned. But like most temporary arrangements it soon became permanent.’
‘But the key, Dilrap,’ said Sylvriss. ‘Where did you get it from?’
‘From the locksmith, Majesty,’ came the reply.
The Queen’s face darkened a little. ‘Is he to be trusted?’ she asked.
Dilrap’s manner was reassuring. ‘Majesty, it doesn’t… ’
Sylvriss silenced him abruptly with a sudden but discreet hand movement.
‘Honoured Secretary,’ she said, quite loudly. ‘I as-sure you, you worry unnecessarily.’
Dilrap looked nervously into those soft brown eyes for confirmation of the presence he felt behind him. The Queen stood up, and, casually placing the key in her pocket, stepped around him and walked towards the tall figure standing silently in the doorway.
‘Lord Dan-Tor,’ she said. ‘This is a pleasant surprise. We see so little of you these days. Perhaps you could assure the Honoured Secretary that his concern for me is unnecessary.’
‘Majesty?’ said Dan-Tor, puzzled.
The Queen levelled a gently accusatory hand at Dilrap, who felt he was now sufficiently composed to turn and face the unexpected visitor. ‘He fears I’m too diligent in the nursing of my husband. He fears I may preserve the King’s health at the cost of my own.’
‘Majesty,’ said Dan-Tor. ‘The Honoured Secretary’s concern does him credit. The healer’s burden can be heavy, especially when an illness is as intractable and unpredictable as the King’s. I regret that the problems of State have prevented my helping the King as I have in the past, but-’
Sylvriss interrupted him. ‘Lord Dan-Tor. It’s more important to the King that you continue to carry the burden of State, heavy though it may be. He’s quiet now, but far from well, and the merest mention of State affairs unsettles him. Sadly I cannot carry your healer’s burden, or I would.’ She became confidential and almost childlike. ‘But I can nurse him. I carry out your instructions meticulously. I give him his potions and tablets as you’ve prescribed and soothe him when he’s restless; it’s little enough but at least I feel that I am helping both him and you.’
Dan-Tor looked at her enigmatically. ‘The King is indeed fortunate to have such a Queen, Majesty. But please remember that you must seek me out urgently if his condition deteriorates-no matter where I am. The King is the mainstay of the State. His well-being must override all other considerations.’
‘Of course, Lord Dan-Tor,’ said Sylvriss. ‘But I mustn’t burden you with the Honoured Secretary’s concerns, must I? What is it you wanted to see me about?’
Dan-Tor affected diffidence. ‘At the risk of incurring your displeasure, Majesty, I had hoped to talk to you again about the matter of an escort for you when out riding.’
Sylvriss raised her hand to stop him. ‘Now it’s you who’re too concerned, Lord Dan-Tor. I need no escort.’
‘Majesty,’ insisted Dan-Tor. ‘The times are unsettled. We’ve rioting and disturbances in our streets now, I can’t… ’
Sylvriss interrupted again. ‘Rest assured, Lord Dan-Tor, no one will harm me. Besides, where will you find horsemen in Fyorlund to escort me?’
Dan-Tor conceded. ‘That’s true, Majesty. But I’m still concerned. If the situation becomes worse, I fear even your popularity won’t be shield enough.’
‘Lord Dan-Tor. I, above all, don’t wish to add to your many difficulties. If indeed the situation in the City worsens, then perhaps we’ll discuss this again. In the meantime, I beg of you, rest easy in your mind about my well-being.’
Madam, you can break your stiff Riddin neck for all I care, Dan-Tor thought, but the blame would probably be laid at my feet. ‘As you wish, Majesty,’ he said reluctantly and, with a deep bow, he was gone.
Sylvriss breathed out a long slow breath and closed her eyes briefly. Then taking out the key from her pocket she waved it at Dilrap. ‘The locksmith, Dilrap. Is he to be trusted?’
Dilrap, still fidgety from the sudden intrusion of Dan-Tor, smiled nervously. ‘He doesn’t need to be trusted, Majesty. The key’s of a type that’s used for many rooms, he’s constantly making the like to replace lost ones. The boy noted the number when a guard dropped it.’
Sylvriss nodded. ‘We must get it to the Lords imme-diately,’ she said resolutely.
Dilrap threw up his hands in agitation. ‘Majesty, that will serve no purpose. The boy tells me that the door is bolted as well as locked. Besides, it couldn’t be done. He’s constantly watched when he’s with them and only able to communicate very cautiously with the Lords, using some secret sign language. We must be careful how we… ’ He paused.
‘How we use him.’ Sylvriss finished his sentence. Dilrap bowed his head. ‘It’s a shameful word to admit to, Dilrap,’ she went on. ‘But it’s true, for all he’s a willing agent. We must be careful what we ask of him, and you’re right to remind me. I mustn’t let my distance and security make me callous.’
Or careless, she thought. If the boy were exposed, then so also would be Dilrap and herself, and Sylvriss knew that if that happened, Dan-Tor would take delight in destroying her helpers while leaving her untouched. He would relish silently laying their agony at her feet.
She slipped the key into her pocket. ‘This is impor-tant even if we can’t use it immediately,’ she said. ‘Tell the boy he’s done well, and to take great care.’
A group of Mathidrin rode into one of the small squares that were liberally dotted about Vakloss. The brightly decorated houses and shops looked gay in the strong sunshine, and the trees swayed busily in the breeze. The square was littered with stalls and a large crowd was milling around, buying, selling, bartering, arguing, laughing.
The hubbub fell slightly as the Mathidrin entered, a small knot of black intruding into the coloured throng, but it picked up almost immediately, and seemed in fact to rise to a new pitch.
The leader of the Mathidrin looked around bleakly at the happy crowd. Over at the far corner of the square he saw another group of Mathidrin sitting drinking in front of a shop. He sniffed, and his mouth curled in an unpleasant sneer. Then, casually, he raised his right hand and idly rubbed the side of his nose. Nearby stood a stall which glittered and sparkled with mirrors and crystal ornaments. The stallholder looked up at the black rider thoughtfully for a moment and then walked towards him, his face breaking into a broad smile.
‘Welcome to our little market, sirs,’ he said. The Mathidrin made no response. Unabashed, the man continued, addressing the whole patrol through its leader. ‘May I offer you a drink, gentlemen? Or perhaps I can find you bargains for your ladies.’
He winked.
The leader looked down at him contemptuously, sighed and then, turning away, jerked his horse’s reins. The horse moved sideways and bumped into the smiling man. He staggered and muttered something.
The Mathidrin leader spun round, eyes blazing. ‘What did you say?’ he growled.
The stallholder held his gaze, all smiles gone. He spoke loudly and clearly. ‘I said, be careful what you’re doing with your nag, cockroach.’