The Red Queen (4 page)

‘It were her, I tell ye, only her as a futureteller might see her years from now,’ Matthew was saying, running dirty fingers through his unruly brown hair, making it stick up in all directions.

‘You are a fool,’ snapped a tall, sour-faced Landwoman standing nearby. ‘That is no vision of the future but a carving of the last Red Queen of this land, and she is long dead and buried in her brother’s crypt.’

‘There are many carvings of her throughout the Red City,’ said a younger woman in a kinder voice. ‘No doubt you have seen one of them and that is why the carving in the Infinity of Dragonstraat seems familiar to you. It is a wonder to me that the slavemasters have not had them destroyed as they did the queen’s garden and the fire races, for all Redlanders looking upon the likeness of their queen will remember the legend that says she will return and help her people to drive out the invaders.’

The older woman gave a braying, unpleasant laugh. ‘Why quash a story that keeps Redlanders passive and biddable as they wait for a queen who can never come?’

‘What happened to her? Do ye ken?’ Matthew asked.

The sour-faced woman shrugged. ‘Of course I know. It was long ago, but to hear the Redlanders talk it might have been yesterday. The queen was betrayed to the slavemasters by her prime consul. They had been coming to the Red Land since one of their ships limped into harbour during a storm. Then they discovered there was a rich and fertile city on the edge of that vast barren land. They were respectful at first. Small trade delegations came, speaking of the possibility of mining, pretending to be interested and impressed by the way the subterranean streams were harnessed to water crops and the fabulous fire races that once graced every street and bower. And the slavemasters were lavish in their admiration for the queen of a land whose people adored her. That ought to have been a warning to her, for it showed they came from a place where rulers were not beloved. So maybe she was not quite as clever as her people claim. Nor can she have been so, for she was seduced by the admiration of the slavemasters and listened when they begged her to let them take houses and stay so that they could learn how she managed things.’

‘She is said to have been trusting and kind,’ said the younger woman rather reproachfully, and she continued the tale, adopting the slightly formal cadences of a professional teller of tales. ‘The slavemasters hid their teeth behind their smiles until they had the measure of the Red Land and its ruler. Then one night, they bribed her prime consul to leave open the gate to her private garden so that they could creep in and take her captive when there were no guards to defend her. She was shattered when she realised who had betrayed her and she cursed him and told him to serve his new masters henceforth. Her people would do nothing for fear of bringing her to harm, so great was their love for her. The slavemasters had learned well and so they had no fear of retaliation, so long as they had the queen. They marched her through the streets until she swooned from loss of blood, and then one of the slavemasters carried her aboard the ship that bore her away, leaving her daughter to weep and run at his heels.’

‘Her daughter!’ Matthew echoed, a queer note in his voice.

The women looked at him and then at one another in puzzlement. ‘She had a daughter,’ said the taleteller, forgetting her careful cadences. ‘The stories don’t say much about her other than that she was taken away on the ship with her mother.’

‘Aboard a ship?’ Matthew exclaimed. ‘What ship? Where was it bound?’

The older, sour-faced woman took up the story, seeming to relish the tragedy of her tale. ‘The ships, for there were three of them, journeyed to that distant place from whence the slavemasters came, and from whence the coup had been planned, to report on their success. As to whether they truly intended to bring the Red Queen and her daughter there as they said, no one knows. Maybe they meant all along to throw her into the sea to drown, or to sell her at the Spit. But whatever they intended, the ship carrying the Red Queen foundered along with all of the greatships that had accompanied it. Only one small ship boat survived to limp back to Redport, bearing three men and their story of a storm and rocks and terrible giant ship fish. There was no doubt the Red Queen perished, for all three men saw her drown. No doubt the slavemasters would have suppressed the truth, but too many heard the tale and in no time it swept through the city. The slavemasters took many hostages and used their weapons readily and wrought much bloodshed, for they expected to be overthrown, but to their amazement, the Redlanders did not rise up.’ Her final words were said with a sneer, and with an expression of disgust, she made a gesture to the young storyteller, who took up the tale once more.

‘The legend that the Red Queen would return was already being whispered among the enslaved people, for she had sworn it as she was led through the streets. “Do not resort to blood and violence to free yourselves, my beloved people, for all things have their purpose, even this. Know that no matter what happens now, your queen shall come again and in that joyous moment, you will know it is time at last to throw off your shackles and be free.” So great were the love and faith of her people that even when news of her death was known to all, still they believed the Red Queen’s promise that she would return.’

‘She
dinna
say she’d come again,’ Matthew muttered cryptically. He looked at the sour woman. ‘What of th’ daughter?’

The older woman gave her harsh laugh. ‘Have you eaten the dreams of these foolish, docile Redlanders even as you broke bread with them? The daughter was a child, little more than a toddler. She would have drowned or been eaten.’

‘But if she survived? If she were swept ashore somewhere far away and lived?’ Matthew asked, almost trembling with eagerness.

The older woman gave him a look of scorn and stalked away leaving the younger to follow, casting an apologetic look back at Matthew and Gilaine. When they were alone, Gilaine reached out to lay a hand on Matthew’s shoulder, her expression eloquent with questions. He came out of the trance into which he seemed to have sunk, his eyes burning.

‘Dinna ye ken?
Dragon
mun be related to th’ Red Queen,’ he said intensely. ‘Th’ resemblance ’twixt her an’ the Red Queen is too great for there not to be blood between them, an’ mind how Elspeth found her in a ruined city on the West Coast. An’ she’d a mortal fear of water . . . Ye should ha’ heard th’ caterwaulin’ th’ first time Kella tried to get her in a bath.’ He rose then, saying, ‘Do ye ken what this means?’

Gilaine shook her head, looking bewildered.

‘It means
Dragon
is heir to the throne, which means the Red Queen
can
return. Ye gods, maybe her mam had a future vision that showed it to her, an’ that was why she told th’ Redlanders she’d return when they were bringin’ her to th’ slavemasters’ ship. The madness is that, had she not bade them wait till their queen returned, they might have fought fer their freedom and overthrown the slavemasters at once.’

Gilaine must have farspoken him, for now Matthew frowned and looked startled. ‘Aye she said so, but I dinna expect she actually meant there were a purpose in th’ enslavin’ of her people beyond the low purposes of the slavemasters.’

The dream changed again and now I was looking into a small, crowded tavern. It was night and ill lit so that I could hardly see the faces of people sitting and talking or moving about carrying mugs. It was clearly a Land tavern, however, though it seemed to me I could see Norse and Sadorian attire, which suggested I was dreaming of the present, or of a period not much removed from it. But what had summoned it to me? I had no control over what I was seeing in this dream, and it was not until a servant bearing a tray laden with food went to a table in an alcove, that I saw Rushton’s face; the past then, for he could not possibly have returned to the Land yet. Steadying the tray on her hip, the serving girl placed a lit candle in the centre of the table and I saw that Jakoby sat opposite Rushton. The girl finished setting out their meals and departed, promising to return with mugs of ferment.

The tribeswoman waited until she’d left then said grimly, ‘I am sure.’ She leaned across the table and added, ‘The spice purchased by Councilman Kana did not come from Sador, even if Daffyd is right about Salamander being of my race.’

‘It is true,’ said a Sadorian man seated beside her. He leaned forward into the light too, and I recognised Hakim, who had been with us on Norseland when we entered the Beforetime portal in Ariel’s demesnes. He bore a scar high on one cheek, the result of the explosion triggered by the opening of that portal. ‘I spoke to those who were part of the trade in Halfmoon Bay. The spice was brought by Herder ship after a deal was struck between Councilman Kana and Ariel.’

‘If Ariel was part of it, then Salamander was involved,’ Jakoby interrupted. ‘The point is that the spice received by Councilman Kana was red. Spice from Sadorian groves is yellow. So this spice came from some other grove, only there
are
no other groves in Sador. Nor can spice grow anywhere in the Land. The weather is too damp.’

Rushton frowned. ‘What are you saying then, that it came from the slavemasters’ land? Elspeth always believed there was another Gadfian stronghold, and now that we know the slavemasters are Gadfian, it is clear she was right. You know that she thinks Salamander comes from that place?’

‘About the stronghold she is undoubtedly correct, but about Salamander, she is wrong,’ Jakoby said. ‘Nor did the spice come from the Gadfian stronghold either, unless the Gadfians have chosen to dwell somewhere cold, which I doubt. Spice grows red only where it is cold, and unlike yellow spice, it must be kept out of direct sunlight after being harvested if it is to remain potent. When Hakim questioned the dreamweed makers, they told him they were given clear instructions that the spice be kept cool lest it spoil.’

‘Maybe the Gadfians do live somewhere cold,’ Rushton said. ‘Even if they hate the cold as you say, they were fleeing their homeland after the Great White. Perhaps the only land that they could find that would support life was cold. Look at how the other Gadfians settled on tainted land. Or maybe their stronghold is mountainous, and spice is grown on the coldest heights.’ Rushton sounded impatient. ‘I do not see why it is so important. It is not as if anyone in the Land blames Sador for the dreamweed trade, least of all Chieftain Rolf, who had to clean up after it.’

‘According to the overguardian of the Earthtemple, the seeds of the plans to invade both our lands sprouted in the place where the red spice grew,’ said Jakoby flatly.

The dream frayed and, released, I descended to the deepest layers of my mind. Hearing the haunting song of the mindstream, I looked and saw it below me, a glimmering thread of silver. A vague anxiety arose in me that the coercive armour I had woven would prevent me balancing the pull to merge against the pull to rise, but I need not have worried. I was able to engage the opposing forces to hang in balance above the mindstream, as I had done so many times before.

But my presence, armoured in spirit matter, produced a stronger effect than usual. The mindstream grew agitated, roiling and bubbling directly below me, until a wavelet bulged and detached itself, to rise towards me.

It engulfed me and I found myself looking at a smoke-filled hallway. The light filtering through the fug was dim and bloody. There was an explosion in the distance and two dark figures came hurtling towards me. Another more distant explosion stopped the pair, who were panting hard. One of them was the Beforetimer Cassy. Her companion was a tall, lean man with a frightened expression and skin even darker than Cassy’s molasses colouring.

‘What’s happening, Ishmael?’ Cassy cried, coughing.

‘It the beginning of the end, what else?’ her companion answered in a despairing voice. He drew a white cloth from his pocket and motioned her to hold it over her mouth, lifting the end of his shirt to cover his own.

‘It can’t be!’ Cassy sounded aghast, ignoring the kerchief. ‘Hannah didn’t warn us!’

‘Ain’t no use saying no to what is,’ the man said. ‘As to Hannah, Lavender say she wants us in t’other wing, now.’

‘Hannah is
here
?’ Cassy cried. ‘But how did she know . . . how did she get in . . .?’

‘Hush girl, it obvious,’ the man chided in his deep musical voice. ‘She musta foreseen this an’ used her powers to get into the complex. Lavender say she with the animals now and gonna need my help to get them free.’ He smiled a white almost mischievous smile, incongruous in the chaos.

Cassy seemed too distraught to take in what he had said. ‘If it has truly begun, it is too late for all of us, even if Hannah is here.’

‘Lavender tell me Hannah say things ain’t what she thought. She say there is shelter here for all of us. But first we got to free the animals . . .’

Cassy stiffened, eyes widening. ‘The flame bird! I have to go to him.’

She snatched the kerchief, pressed it to her mouth and set off at a run along the smoke-filled passage. She had not gone more than a few steps when a door opened and a young woman with paper-white skin and hair like a crest of black thorns stepped out through a door. I recognised her as a Beforetime Misfit coercer I had seen in another past-dream. She had entered Doktaruth’s mind while mindlinked with Cassy when they had been trying to learn more about Sentinel. She was clad in the same plain blue heavy trews and soft white shirt as on that other occasion, but there was something green and glittering smeared around her eyes, and a tiny black bead was fixed above one brow like a drop of hardened sap. She was clearly startled to see the others, but she lifted her hand to show them what looked to me like a memory seed.

‘Got it!’ she said in triumph. There was another explosion somewhere and she scowled. ‘Pity it’s too late to be of any use.’

‘No,’ said Ishmael. ‘Hannah is here and she says there is a way for us all to survive. She wants us to come to her, but Cassy . . .’

‘I have to free the flamebird,’ Cassy said urgently. ‘Maybe he can still fly fast enough to get away.’