Fire and Gold

by Sarah Ann Watts

part 2 of 3

Meanwhile for me there was the Countess to attend, and together we took our leave. I could tell that she, poor lady, thought me her only friend in the world. Although deception is my trade, nevertheless I felt sorry for her. When we reached her chamber her maid was waiting for her.

‘My grandmother left her to me,’ she told me.

This was an older model and wheezed to a halt, handing her mistress a key. I don’t think I will ever get used to the sight of a key connecting with flesh. I had to look away as light and awareness returned to the servant’s eyes. They say these automata are harmless and they have no will.

I often wonder what would happen if a way could be found to raise their torpid intelligence. Would they then raise torches and storm the palaces demanding redress for the ills we have visited upon them? The automata turned her crystal eyes on me and curtsied. She was dressed in the style of the previous century, a veritable antique.

‘Pandora, please bring tea.’

I sighed. Evidently the lady desired my company and I would not be able to make my excuses as I had intended.

‘Honey and lemon?’

‘Just lemon,’ I said.

The Countess Taisiya smiled at me. She still had her own teeth. ‘Dear Spyridon, he doesn’t alter at all.’

This was true though I preferred not to think about it.

‘I am in need of tranquillity. I have in mind to visit my estates in the country,’ she said.

The automata had taken the bag of coins and the scroll and concealed them in some compartment in her person. I imagined the lady had been successful in obtaining a title to land and serfs. I was bored, wishing myself anywhere but that stifling apartment. I sipped my tea and smiled at the Countess’ pleasantries.

‘Your uncle said that he would lend me his carriage and I would be royally escorted.’

She looked at me uncertainly, faded eyes heavy with unshed tears. It occurred to me that maybe she had loved the late king for more than the favours he had bestowed upon her.

‘You may trust his word, Madame.’

All the time I was thinking about the jewel that hung so negligently at King Milan’s collar. I couldn’t read Spyridon’s intentions. There was some missing piece to the puzzle.

It was only as the maid returned to collect the glasses that I thought about the heavy chatelaine that hung around her etiolated waist. The seams of the ancient brocade were fraying, showing the ‘skin’ beneath. Suddenly the last piece shifted into place. The keys to wind the clocks and servants might also open doors.

The Countess saw my glance and smiled. ‘I should be most grateful to your uncle for his kindness, willing to grant any boon.’

For a moment my mind revolted. I knew Spyridon had few scruples. Then I realised that she was offering me not faded charms but a way in, if I chose to use it.

‘Pandora!’

The automata glided towards me, wheels concealed by her skirts, a perfect facsimile. I remembered long hours wasted when I had been rigorously schooled in the court deportment that she replicated with such ease.

The Countess spoke simply to her as one might to a very young child. ‘Give the princess my keys, Pandora.’

For a moment I’d swear the automata hesitated, but then her face shifted into a mask of acquiescence. She extended a tool from her hand and cut through the clasp. I thought the chatelaine would fall to the floor but the other hand blurred to catch it.

Then she placed the cold heap of metal in my hand. I had thought hers might be cold, but like a reptile she was warmed by the fire burning in the hearth. The touch was disconcerting but not unpleasant.

It belatedly occurred to me that Countess Taisiya was far from defenceless. As if she read my thoughts, she lifted her chin and said, ‘Your uncle need have no fears. I shall be quite safe on this journey with my dear Pandora to take care of me.’

Then to complete my embarrassment she smiled, leaving me in no doubt that the two of them were far better acquainted than I had thought.

I took the keys from the chatelaine. With any luck they would help me unlock my heart’s desire. I needed that cluster of rubies to pay my ransom.

* * *

It was late and the sconces were burning low as I flitted along the corridors. If caught I would play the ingénue, lost on my way from some aristocratic bed. Who would dare to question me? It wasn’t so great a risk. In the days of the late king young women were often found wandering corridors in a state of undress. Few remembered that even if they pleased His Majesty they would have to lace themselves back into their own dresses afterwards.

This staircase was private for a reason. I risked little, and the first key unlocked the door. Now I had to remember what the Countess had told me and find my way to the heart of the regal apartments that nested like boxes inside each other.

I moved swiftly through the sumptuously appointed rooms, the library and the billiard room then the antechamber, where tonight no one kept watch. The King had not retired to his rooms.

The door was hidden behind a portrait of the Ancient Empress. Her meek son’s one act of defiance was to let in his mistresses under the gaze of his mother. Cobwebs hung from the lintel, showing me this way was disused. It was well known Milan never slept in the royal bedchamber, having more pleasant diversions elsewhere.

Pushing aside the dusty tapestries, I stifled a sneeze. I found myself in the bedchamber. Then I placed the last and smallest key in the great casket that held the Empress’ jewels. It clicked as the intricate mechanism unravelled and I probed gently, letting the gears fall slowly as I worked my way to the heart of this mystery. Daniil could have used his enhanced capabilities to open it in seconds. Indeed, when I saw the empty nest of velvet, I was afraid he had anticipated me.

It seemed unlikely that the King would not have secured the jewel. Then I heard the sound I’d feared: the heavy tread of the guards which meant that Milan was on his way back. So early? It was known that it was his usual practice to ride into town after the tedium of court ceremonies. I suspected my uncle had mixed some drug in his tobacco to make him sleepy.

It was fortunate that I had means to change my dress. I would have to enter with the crowd and trust that the courtiers would be too busy fighting for favour to notice that I didn’t belong. My relatively modest garb should mark me as someone’s servant.

There was little time to affect the transformation, yet somehow I managed it. As the crowd entered I became part of it, jostling for position with the best of them, though I took care not to cause offence.

King Milan was laughing, leaning on the arm of his favourite. He murmured something in his ear then dismissed him with a smile. My heart skipped a beat when the favourite moved towards the door to the secret stair. I had left it unlocked. Careless, but I didn’t want to cut off my path of retreat. Fortunately he went past it through another, more recent door, which led to a more private series of rooms. Soon, I thought, the King might follow him.

So the ceremony began. The King attended by the highest in this kingdom as he prepared for bed. As each garment was discarded, the noble who received it left the room, taking the light he carried with him. The room gradually darkened until finally only one servant and myself remained.

I had tried to fade discreetly into the background, not daring to disrupt the ritual. Leaving at the wrong time with the wrong courtier might prove a fatal offence. I was hoping that the King had merely mistaken me for one of his usual attendants. He had so many it must be hard to remember faces.

Finally the servant withdrew. I thought maybe, lurking in the shadows, I had been forgotten and soon I could make my escape.

Milan sighed and leaned over in his bed as if to blow out the last candle. Instead he stood up and said, ‘I know you’re there. Did my grandmother send you? Did you plan to knife me in my sleep?’

His face was pale yet I was surprised that he didn’t reach for any weapon. In truth the courtiers had carried away each and every one of his garments, leaving him in the king’s nightgown, a ceremonial robe designed for a giant. He should have looked vulnerable but he didn’t, standing with the light from the dying fire playing across his face.

‘I’m no assassin.’

‘Then maybe you’re just a thief.’ He glanced towards the open casket and held out his hand, dangling the ruby from its gold chain. It was the size of a baby’s fist. ‘Did you come for this?’

He passed his hand over his face. He looked tired. ‘They say the stone is so red because of all the lives that have been shed to possess it, that with each death the colour darkens, that it feeds on hearts’ blood. What do you think?’

I came out of the shadows then with my knives in my hands. ‘I don’t know. I’d say it feeds on greed, not blood. Greed is in the heart of people, not in the heart of a stone.’

He shrugged. ‘Will the stone content you then or will you take my life as well?’

His mood troubled me. The drug shouldn’t have taken away so much of his will, and I am no great threat by myself. I was concerned that he showed no defiance, only weary resignation. It seemed that he no longer cared.

The door opened and his friend stood there, a pistol in his hand, levelled at me.

It was only then that I saw a flicker of emotion on the King’s face. He spoke to his friend as if they were alone in the room. ‘I told you to leave. Save yourself, Jacques.’

Jacques shook his head and their eyes met.

Milan sat down on the bed as if granting audience. It was a tense tableau: me with the knives, within striking distance of the young King; the King unarmed, and the gun on me if I moved nearer. ‘Listen, did you hear the guards leave? The Empress doesn’t like my revolutionary ideals or desire for independence from the Empire, let alone the company I keep. Jacques and I were going to ride for the border tonight, but we left too late.’

The door to the king’s staircase opened again and Daniil stood facing Jacques with his duelling pistol in his hand. I wasn’t sure if that improved the odds in my favour or not.

Then Daniil said, ‘You know that if any one of us fires a shot we’re all dead? There’s a legion out there, and I am under orders to deliver King Milan to Kassia to attend the Empress’ bicentennial birthday celebrations. I have his invitation here.’ He handed a scroll to Milan.

Jacques drew closer and read it over the king’s shoulder.

Daniil smiled at me. ‘It’s an order granting me dispensation for the detention or disposal of the King’s person at Her Imperial Majesty’s pleasure.’

Milan gave the scroll back and spoke to me. ‘So you see it saves time and the need for a trial if you cut my throat now. That’s unless I agree to “reform” and have my ways mended for me, and that is never going to happen. I think you are a friend and brought a vial of mercy for me. Still, I’d rather not take a chance on waking up in captivity, or worse.’

Daniil studied his nails and the emerald that glinted in the candlelight. ‘Sadly, Her Majesty was not specific in her commands concerning your person. Unfortunate, as usually she is most specific in her more intimate commands relating to her pleasure in the imperial bedchamber. As I see it, we could come to some kind of arrangement that would enable me to satisfy the Empress’ demands by helping you to leave her domains.’

Milan shrugged. ‘You told us there is a legion out there.’

‘Nevertheless, suppose I could buy you safe passage across the border?’

‘Then I’d need wings and a miracle.’

Daniil glanced at me and I held out my hand. ‘For the price of the ruby, a miracle could be arranged.’

* * *

Proceed to part 3...