Queen Isabeau's Book: Edward Red Mage, #2

Queen Isabeau's Book

An Edward Red Mage Mystery by Angela P. Wade

For the Society for Creative Anachronism, my family of choice

Edited by Leona Wisoker

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Except for the cat.

OK, and the praying mantis. He was real, too.

Contents:

Prologue: In the Court of the King

Chapter One: The Feast of Saint Cyprian

Chapter Two: Family Matters

Chapter Three: Business Unusual

Chapter Four: Uptown and Down

Chapter Five: Ogre’s Falls

Chapter Six: Saint Gabriel’s Fair

Chapter Seven: Social Calls (and Social Blunders)

Chapter Eight: The Morning After (the Night Before)

Chapter Nine: Further Indiscretions

Chapter Ten: Women are Just Plain Evil

Chapter Eleven: The True Succession

Chapter Twelve: Consequences

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About Edward Red Mage

The Mermaid and the Monster: Chapter One (excerpt)

Prologue: In the Court of the King

I blame my sisters. Half a dozen young women should have no trouble taking care of one little boy. They still managed to lose me at the castle, though, and that’s how I began my career of interfering in the business of the nobility.

When Father returned from the wars, the King invited our family to a ball celebrating the kingdom’s victory over the rebel elves. Mother refused to go—too much work to be done, she said, and no way she would ever go off and leave the apprentices to their own devices. The sisters, on the other hand, wouldn’t be kept away. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to sit home by the fire with my Aunt Sorsha and listen to her ghost stories. Then my sister Mags told me there would be food there, mostly sweets and cake, more than I had ever seen, even on the Feast of Saint Cyprian. I decided I would go after all; eating was the only thing I liked more than hearing stories.

Not that anyone gave me a choice. Father insisted on displaying his only son to the kingdom. Mother made me my first formal coat for the occasion, in a brilliant blue-green, so as to match my eyes and set off my red curls. She stuffed my chubby little body into it as if I were a wriggly and protesting sausage. I also wore a pair of pale cream hose, the first I ever owned. They itched.

Picture us: Father, huge and tall and almost terrifying, he seemed so strong and powerful; myself, small, shy, and wishing the hose didn’t itch so; and in between, seven rosy-cheeked, round-faced girls in brilliantly colored gowns. That was the first problem. I only had six sisters.

My eldest sister Debra, lining us up to count heads and wipe noses on the way out the door, noticed immediately. Betty! she cried, Betty Fuller! What are you doing here?

Betty lived down the street and was Mags’ best friend. Oh, Father, please, let Betty come! Mags said, pleading to a higher authority. I’ll be bored if you don’t. I’m too young to dance, and I won’t know anybody, oh, please, Father, do let her!

I felt cheated. First Mags convinced me to go, and now she said the ball would be dull? Besides, the green coat was the most uncomfortable thing I’d ever worn and I couldn’t wait to get rid of it.

The invitation was for our family, put in second sister Alice, who believed in the importance of following rules.

Father did not. Oh, don’t worry about that. Who knows? Her father’s got money. Maybe she’ll marry your brother someday. Then she’ll be family. Let’s go.

Betty and I both scowled. I didn’t want to marry anyone, least of all a friend of my sister. I’m sure Betty felt the same way, but she still went with us.

* * *

I had never been close to the castle walls before, much less inside them. The crowds of people filling the streets grew thicker as we climbed higher in the city, so my father raised me to a dizzying perch on his shoulder. From there I got my first view of the castle. It was not especially like the stories Aunt Sorsha told, at least from the outside. The walls were made of perfectly ordinary stone. I’d hoped for gold, or at least marble. The outer courtyard, too, looked exactly like the rest of the city, only less crowded, and many trades were practiced in one place, rather than being separated onto different streets. The gatehouse was large and intimidating though, and the guards’ blue-and-white livery was very clean. The inner gate was also large, and the doors, if not gold, were made of bronze, and covered with sculptured figures I would have liked to get a better look at.

I decided the inner courtyard was far more castle-like. It was paved with smooth stones between patches of green grass, rather than dirt, and contained a large number of flowering trees growing against the walls. Hundreds of strangers in fancy clothes filled the space. I wondered if they were all as uncomfortable as I was.

The entrance to the hall was golden with the candles and torches inside, and I could not see past the glare. Father carried me there and set me down, introducing himself to a very important-looking little man with a scroll and a horn. Then he introduced me: Edward Robertson Weaver, my only son and heir. That made me sound rather important too, though I felt rather small and insignificant next to all the pretty strangers. Then he introduced my sisters; I think he passed Betty off as a servant.

The inside of the great hall was bigger than my whole street. The ceiling seemed to have pictures painted on it, between the beams, but they were too far away to make out. The floor had pictures too, inlaid in the wood, but there were too many people standing on them for me to see them either. Three long rows of people dancing took up the center of the hall. Everyone else clustered around the sides, all talking at once. I was surprised there was anyone left in the rest of the city, since so many folk were there. I decided I’d better grab hold of someone’s clothes quickly, before I got lost. I reached for Father, but before I could catch the hem of his coat, he spotted someone he knew, roared out a greeting, and shoved off through the crowd to meet him, calling a hasty, Look out for the little ones! to Debra over his shoulder. I grabbed for Debra next, but she had just caught sight of Ranuld, the tall, skinny son of the weaver from two doors down. Ranuld had been to war, just like Father. I knew because Debra had talked about him all the time he’d been gone. I knew she wouldn’t want me in their way.

I looked at my other sisters, who were scattering like so many brightly-colored feathers in a breeze. Mags was closest, plus I knew she was fond of me, so I grabbed the side of her gown. I followed her and Betty and fifth-sister Phoebe off to a clear patch of floor near one wall, where they proceeded to talk about people’s clothes.

I was bored stiff. Plus, I had been promised food, and I hadn’t even seen any yet. I waited for what I thought was a polite amount of time—hours and hours, I was sure—and then tugged on Mags’ dress. She ignored me. The girls had stopped talking about clothes, and were talking about horses. Except for Phoebe, who wanted to talk about boys, though the other two told her she was too young. I tugged again. Harder.

What, Eddie? Mags said.

Mags, I’m hungry, I said, giving her the look that always got cake from Mother.

Well, we’ll find you something in a minute. Can’t you see we’re talking? I think I want to marry a knight, she continued, because they have the finest horses, and then I could do nothing but ride up and down the country all day.

What about your children? Phoebe asked.

The servants would take care of them.

Mags! I said, more loudly, and tugging again on her dress, you said there’d be cake. You promised!

I want to marry a wizard, said Betty, because then he could cast a spell to make me young and beautiful forever. And he could turn into a horse if I liked.

For some reason Mags thought that was very funny. She was still ignoring me.

Mags! I repeated, You promised!

Mags swooped down, grabbed me, and kissed me. Honestly, Eddie, you are the eatingest child I’ve ever seen. You’ll be bigger than Father before you’re fifteen. But come on, Puddin’, she said, taking my hand, I’m sure we’d all like something nice to eat and drink.

I clutched her hand with sweaty fingers and held on for dear life as she navigated the sea of ball guests, to finally run aground against one of a series of long tables covered with very white cloth. If I stood on tiptoe, I could just see what was on the table. Food. Acres of it: little cakes, and tarts, and various fruits, and odd little things made to look like they were fruit but weren’t. I blinked. It didn’t vanish.

Now, Eddie, darling, Mags was saying, tell me what you’d like and I’ll get it for you.

I was speechless. I wanted all of it. Betty and Phoebe picked up a tart apiece, and began nibbling daintily. Mags gave me a tart.

Here, love, try this. It was gone within moments, and I reached sticky fingers for another.

Now Eddie, let me help you, said Mags, and handed me a little cake studded with currants. It swiftly followed the tart, and I then tried grabbing at some fruit balanced near the edge of the table.

No, Eddie, said Mags, in her best just-like-Mother voice, You don’t want to make yourself sick, do you? Let’s find something to drink. Come along, ladies.

And once again I was towed through the crowd, until we came to another table where a servant in blue and silver livery was dispensing something little silver cups of something purple from a silver fountain.

I wonder how they keep folk from stealing these cups? Betty asked Mags in an almost- whisper.

Oh, who would steal from the King? said Mags. That’s treason!

I saw Phoebe slipping her cup into her pouch when she thought no one was looking. I said nothing. I wasn’t going to be the one to get my sister hung. The purple stuff was sweeter and stronger than the well-watered wine I was used to getting at home, and I liked it very much. I would have asked for more of it, but Mags steered us up against a wall once more, and the girls started chattering about horses again. As if anyone in our household would ever own anything but a cart mule. I could just about see the corner of one of the white-clothed tables from where we were standing. Once I decided that Mags wasn’t paying attention to me, I slipped off to it.

I could not quite touch anything on the table. I looked to make sure no one was watching. In spite of the crowd, no one was. I reached .

A small, sugar-crusted cake slid off a platter, across the tablecloth, and into my hand. For as long as I could remember, I had been able to make things come to me, or move away, just by reaching for them and thinking about it. It was a useful skill, not only for getting cakes off of tables but also for getting one of Mother’s books off a high shelf, or tipping things over when I wanted someone to look someplace other than at me. Once I had even used it to keep a heavy bolt of fabric, falling over in the storeroom, from landing on one of my sisters.

But I had never let anyone know I could do it, not even Aunt Sorsha, who was my closest friend. I was pretty sure it was some kind of magic, and as magic, like any trade, was controlled by a guild, I would be punished if I were caught practicing without a license. I did not want to be punished. I loved my Father with the reverent devotion usually reserved for the Saints, but his punishments tended to make it painful to sit.

I helped myself to another cake, a cream-filled tart, and a little ball of something intensely sweet that had been made to look like a tiny apple. I looked back to where I had left the girls. They were still babbling away. I looked around to see if there might be anyone else interesting to talk to.

I spotted a pair of boys about my age, standing dangerously close to the dance floor. The dancers were now whirling about as if they were demon ridden, and could only exorcize themselves by spinning. The boys tilted at each other with sticks of bread. I thought about joining them. Then I decided against it. They were obviously playing tournament. Mother had never had time to take us to such amusements with father at the war. When boys on my street began discussing knights and jousting, I would ask them what they considered stupid questions. Then they would laugh at me at and push me into the mud.

I was no good at the sort of game the bread-jousters were playing, either. I was rather clumsy, and slow, and always the last one picked for any kind of sport, if I were picked at all. Plus it never helped that the entire street knew my sisters called me Puddin’. I decided not to take my chances with the strange boys and returned to where the girls were talking.

I walked up at almost the same time as Debra, Alice, and Ranuld. Mags looked at me quickly, saying, Oh, there you are, as if she’d just now noticed I’d been gone. Then she turned to our oldest sister.

Debra, please, if you see Father, would you tell him that we’re probably going to be leaving early, and we’re going to Betty’s house.

You can find your way home? Debra asked.

Of course! said Mags.

And you’re not too young to be in the streets alone? asked Ranuld.

Mags gave him a scornful look. I’ve been going to the market for Mother since I was seven, she said. We all have.

Well! said Ranuld, with something between a laugh and a snort. Make sure all you little ones are indoors before dark.

Yes, added Debra, we’ll come to Betty’s and walk you home from there. Then they disappeared into the crowd again.

I liked the idea of going to Betty’s. Her mother was dead and her father rarely home, which meant fewer chances for a grown-up to tell you not to do something. The girls did not seem to be interested in leaving just yet. Now they were talking about tournaments. Betty’s father went to see them all the time. So I decided to go back to the table for more of the apple-shaped things.

After a few of them I was very thirsty, so I looked about for the fountain of purple stuff. The servant attending it did not seem inclined to either notice or serve me. I thought the silver cups were too small, anyway, so I waited quietly until another servant arrived with a large pitcher to refill the fountain. The fountain was apparently full, though, because he simply set the pitcher next to it and started chatting with his fellow. Seeing my chance, I carefully lifted the pitcher down and took a long drink. Some of it spilled on my new green coat, but I didn’t particularly care, as I was beginning to hate the thing. It was hot, and far too tight to wear for serious eating.

I tried to find my way back to the table with the apple-things, but I must have gotten turned around. The table I did come to was filled with savories, not sweets: little tiny sausages, and puffs of toasted cheese, and little meat pies. I wasn’t bothered. I was getting tired of sweets, especially after the strong purple stuff, and anyway I’d never been afraid to try something new. I sampled a number of different dishes, all without being noticed. Apparently, all the strangers around me assumed I must be someone else’s little boy.

It dawned on me that I had not yet seen a corner screened off to contain a chamber pot, nor, in a place as elegant as this, was there likely to be one. This was the sort of place that had its privy outside. I started hunting for a door. I found one leading into a garden filled with roses and more people who acted as if I weren’t there. No outhouse was visible, though, so I stealthily concealed myself behind the largest rose bush, lifted my coat, and watered it.

Once more, I must have been turned around, because the door I chose to go in by was not the one back into the hall. It led into a small room, which was dark except for the afternoon sun coming in the doorway and a window. It was strangely quiet, after the crowds, and cooler. I liked that. I looked around. The room contained a pair of couches with cushions, a table, and, most wonderful of anything I’d seen that day, a large shelf full of books.

I had never seen so many books in one place in my life. My mother, an unusually well-educated woman, owned three. My grandfather, the source of her education, owned a copy-shop and bindery, where books were made. He had a collection of about fifteen books of his own, plus working copies. This room must have held at least fifty. I was certain that this must be a library of every book in the world.

I pulled a few cushions off the nearest couch to make a nest in the patch of sunlight from the window, selected a large, red book from the shelf at random, and curled up with it. At last I felt free to unbutton my coat, and it was blissful to be able to draw a deep breath again. I opened the book. I could not read all the words, but the pictures were fascinating, and I could just about make out that this was the life of some long-ago monster-slaying heroine. The girl in the book saved the world from evil, over and over. The beam of light through the window lengthened. My eyelids drooped. I fell asleep.

It was dark when I woke up. I was frightened at first, not knowing where I was. Then I remembered: the King’s library. It was unlikely any monsters would dare come into a room full of books about monster-slaying. My eyes grew accustomed to the moonlight from the window. I carefully replaced the book on the shelf and the cushions on the couch, and then went back into the courtyard. It was empty. As I watered the roses again, I remembered what Mags had said about being at Betty’s before dark. What if she were gone? What if I’d been left behind? I was frightened again, not of monsters, but of Father, who was likely to wallop me. Then I thought for a moment. Suppose Debra had thought I was with Mags, and Mags thought I was with Debra? That would explain why they’d all left me. They wouldn’t do it on purpose, I was sure. I was never that much trouble. So my sisters would have to take the beating, not me. Probably. I was no longer afraid. Much.

I found the door back into the hall. The candles had mostly burnt out, but there were still torches. Everyone was gone, except for a few of the blue and white clad servants, who were grouped at the far end of the hall, talking. I couldn’t pick out much of what they said, but I caught words like at last, and my poor feet! and finally several of them said something about tomorrow, and they left without cleaning the hall. There was still food left on some of the tables. No one else was about, and, lacking other entertainment, I began to stuff myself with whatever looked most interesting.

I ate.

And I ate.

And I ate.

I ate until my stomach, stretched drum-tight with my stolen feast, bulged beneath my shirt as if I had somehow swallowed an entire ripe melon. I began to feel understandably unwell. Very unwell. In fact, more unwell than I had ever felt in my young life. Nothing tasted right any more. The mere thought of eating even the tiniest morsel made my insides lurch dangerously. I groaned.

Queasy and bloated, I clutched my belly in both hands and wondered what sort of horrible fate awaited greedy little boys who threw up in the King’s great hall. Death by hanging, I was sure. If I didn’t simply die of overeating. I was certain if I didn’t get rid of some of my ill-gotten gains, and quickly, I’d pop. I decided I’d better go outside.

I barely managed to waddle to my rose-bush before vomiting. Afterwards, I felt better. The air outside was cool on my face, and though I still felt rather full, I no longer feared I was about to burst. I decided to stay outside, under the roses, until I figured out the best way to escape without being caught by grown-ups. I was pretty sure I could find my way home, if only I could get out of the castle. Now that the big, bronze doors had been locked for the night, there was no way to get out without being noticed. I could wait until morning, I supposed, but then I’d have no chance of slipping home without anyone knowing I’d gone missing. I’d surely be spanked after being gone that long. I sat down in the dirt with a sigh. I was likely to be spanked no matter what I did. I decided I’d better try and wait until morning and try and slip out without being seen. I’d rather be beaten by my father than by strangers. At least I knew my father was too fond of me to actually hurt me. I wasn’t too sure of the King’s guards.

I was just about to nod off to sleep when I heard voices. I pulled back deeper under the roses and held my breath.

Are you sure it will work? said the taller of the two men who entered the courtyard. His face was pale in the moonlight. He had pale eyes, too, but his hair, pulled back from his forehead, was glossy and dark. He wore dark clothing as well, with a depth and drape I could tell even in moonlight was velvet . It sparkled with a few well-placed stones. He was wealthy, and probably very important.

I could not hear what his companion said to him, nor could I see much of his face, as it was shadowed by a hood of much-less costly fabric. I could tell by the way it hung in bunches that it was probably coarse linen.

And folk will think it was an insect? the rich man asked. You swear? For if anyone suspects anything, I and all my servants will deny ever having seen you, and your intestines will be festooned from tree to tree along the South Road by sunset.

I covered my mouth. I didn’t want to be sick again, not while this dreadful person could hear me.

I assure you, it will be thought to be hornets, said the second man, in a soft voice I didn’t like at all. It is rare, to be certain, but there have been cases in which they have been known to kill.

I caught sight of his face, as he turned toward the moon. It was dark-skinned, and his eyes glittered like jet beads. He was an elf. I wondered if he was one of the ones my father had been fighting in the war.

Elves, and the war, confused me. I knew they had started the war. But I also knew that not all of them believed in fighting, and that some of our people believed we should not be fighting them. Most confusing of all were the people who said the elves had a right to fight us. They had been in this land before we had, and were only trying to take back what was theirs. I had asked my Mother, many times, to explain this to me, but she had only said that some elves were good people, and some were bad, just as there were good and bad men.

I was certain this elf, and this man, were bad ones. I stayed very, very still . My insides still felt sick enough without their being festooned anywhere. They passed out of the courtyard into another room of the castle.

I was terrified, even after the pair was gone. They had been talking about killing someone. Killing him with a hornet, if that could be believed. I knew if I were discovered they would certainly kill me as well. I curled into the smallest ball I could manage and froze.

* * *

I don’t know how long it was until I heard voices again. I didn’t move, afraid it was more bad people come to talk of more dreadful things. But these people were much louder than the dark pair had been. There were more of them, and they carried lamps.

Now, are you certain he’s here, young mistress? one voice said.

Where else could he be? Please let us keep looking, my mother’s having fits.

It was Debra. Any beating my family might dish out was better than hiding from horrid people under a rosebush, petrified with fear. I crawled out.

Debra? I said timidly. Debra, I’m out here, in the roses.

My sister pounced on me with a cry of joy and dragged me out of the dirt. Ranuld was with her; I could see him half-smiling at me as Debra scooped me into her arms. Oh, where have you been? Debra cried. We’ve all been so worried!

I didn’t go anywhere, I said, which was mostly true, if you didn’t count leaving the ball room for the library. Everyone else left. I stayed here.

You poor little thing! Debra said, and kissed me. Then she took a good look at me in the light of the lamps held by half-a dozen sleepy-looking servants. Edward, you are utterly filthy. What have you been doing? And why were you wallowing in that rose bed?

I, uh, I was hiding, I said.

Hiding? Whatever for? 

I was afraid to mention the two terrible men. The servants looked harmless enough, but they might be secretly working for the man in black velvet. Ah, um . . . I got sick.

You got sick?

Uh-huh. I tried to look pitiful. I think I ate too much cake. Am . . . am I going to get a beating?

Now Ranuld was chuckling softly. He’s been here eating cake the whole time? We should have known we’d find him here wallowing like a pig in slop!

Before I could protest the insult, Debra snorted. Ranuld, don’t tease the baby!

As if being called a baby was an improvement over being called a pig.

One of the servants tapped my sister on the shoulder. If your brother is all right. . . . He looked very tired.

Oh, the greedy thing is fine, said Ranuld. Let’s just get him home before your mother works herself into a fit. Here, let me carry him. You’d break your back lugging this fat little piglet all the way home.

I was far too tired to complain about being called a piglet. In fact, I fell asleep in Ranuld’s arms and didn’t wake until he handed me off to Mother at home, who immediately began fussing over me and washing my dirty face with a handkerchief and spit.

Oh, my poor baby man-child, she cooed, oh, my dear lambkin! Shall I get you some supper?

That thought made me feel a bit ill.

I should say not, said Debra, since the little beast ate himself sick on cakes at the party.

Eddie, is that so? Mother asked. I nodded, shamefaced. "Debra, you were supposed to be looking after him. All you girls were.