Fireworks and Darkness Read online

  ‘You are supposed to bow,’ said the princess coldly, and Casimir went hastily down on his knee and bent his head the way he had been shown. ‘I see you have not been properly instructed. Never mind, we will pass over it this time. Stand up, Casimir Runciman. I want to talk to you.’

  She indicated a spot about three feet away from where she was sitting. Casimir approached uncomfortably. The princess got up from her desk and went over to a side table where a silver pot was keeping warm over a spirit lamp. She poured herself a tiny cup of strong black coffee and laid a delicate biscuit on the fluted saucer. Then, when she had stirred her coffee, she returned to her seat.

  ‘So,’ she said. ‘Our problem is this: your father, whose politics are regarded as unsound to say the least, and who has the added handicap of being a foreigner in Ostermark, has involved us in what is apparently a personal vendetta. He has laid crown property open to an attack by magic, in which you, his son, nearly died. He also tried to lie to me about it, which, since he escaped arrest by the Queen’s Guard only on my personal intervention, I consider not only an affront but a dangerous impertinence. How long he remains free is, I imagine, entirely dependent on the outcome of whatever investigations the procurator has ordered. The question I must ask now is how much you know about this.’

  Casimir felt his face drain white. He should, he knew, have expected this, but when the guard had come to collect him he had somehow assumed that Simeon would also be present. Now he did not know what to say. It was hard to be sure how much it was safe to admit to, and how much Simeon himself had already told the princess. Casimir guessed he had tried to fob her off with the story he had told Ruth on the night of the display, that it had all been an unfortunate accident. If so, the ploy had obviously failed. The princess knew enough to recognise magic when she saw it, and Casimir knew too, that she would be intelligent enough to realise if he lied to her.

  ‘Your silence already tells me you know quite a lot,’ said the princess after a few moments had passed. ‘Casimir, before you start trying to make excuses for your father, I think it might be helpful if you recognised the degree to which our interests overlap. Your father wants to protect you from further attack. I want to make sure Her Majesty’s wedding passes off safely and without incident. Perhaps you should reflect on this and also remember that I have considerable resources at my command which might be of help.’

  Casimir nodded mutely. For a moment the princess waited as if expecting him to say something, but he did not. In the end, she was the one who broke the silence.

  ‘You may have some coffee if you wish. When you have poured it, sit down over there.’

  She pointed to a small, uncomfortable chair. Casimir went to the side table and clumsily poured some coffee with his bandaged hands. He didn’t really want it, but there seemed no polite way of refusing. He looked for milk or cream but there was none on the table, so instead he slopped three spoons of sugar into the porcelain cup, and then realised he had stirred it with the spoon from the sugar basin. Casimir laid the wet spoon awkwardly on the tablecloth and took two tiny biscuits. The cup rattled in the saucer as he went to sit down.

  ‘Good,’ said Princess Christina. ‘Now that you are comfortable, I think it might be best if I explained myself directly. My dilemma is this. I could go to Her Majesty and tell her a security risk has arisen regarding the wedding, but she is very busy, and there is not a single shred of proof that this man Circastes is any threat to her at all. Alternatively, I could cancel your father’s warrant. That would leave us without a firework display, which would be a disappointment; it would ruin him and you, and it would also reflect badly on me since I was the one who assigned the warrant in the first place. I need hardly tell you there were plenty of people who were against my granting it to a foreigner with a dubious reputation such as your father’s. On the other hand, if I do nothing at all and Margrave Greitz, as procurator, subsequently finds out that there is a risk, my position is going to be extremely awkward. My future brother-in-law learned to hate me when we were still children. Our mothers were enemies. He also resents the fact that my aunt, Princess Amalia, bequeathed command of the Guard to me instead of to my sister. So, tell me, Casimir. Do you think there is any threat?’

  Casimir hesitated. ‘Simeon doesn’t think so.’ ‘No, he doesn’t,’ said Princess Christina. ‘But Margravine Winterhalten doesn’t agree with him. I can see she’s very worried. You don’t like her, do you? I know she can be irritating. But she is also extremely intelligent, so neither can I entirely dismiss what she says.’

  ‘I don’t think Circastes can be a threat to Her Majesty,’ said Casimir firmly. ‘Simeon told me it was a personal grudge between the two of them. I don’t see how what’s happening can be a danger to anyone but him and me.’

  ‘No?’ The princess sipped her coffee, and Casimir politely followed suit. ‘But I’m afraid I can. Tell me, Casimir. Is your father a magician, too?’

  The coffee was strong as medicine, and so hot it burned Casimir’s mouth. Hastily he picked up the biscuit and bit into it, but it was marzipan, which he hated, and since he couldn’t spit it out, he forced himself to swallow it. The princess watched him over the rim of her own cup as if she were following its passage down his throat.

  ‘There’s no need to look so alarmed, Casimir,’ she said. ‘I’m not accusing your father of anything. But on the other hand, you must know that there are laws against this sort of thing. Magic is still a proscribed act; we may not have burned any magicians in the last fifty years, but it’s an old fear, and there are plenty of people who would do it if they had the chance. I am also aware of your father’s political opinions. You’d be surprised what he’s said to my face. He’s told me he doesn’t believe in governments and that we should all be ruled by nothing more than our consciences. He also hopes that, one day, these dreams will become reality. And of course there is nothing wrong with his having these opinions, as long as they remain only that—opinions. So tell me, Casimir. Have you any reason to suspect otherwise?’

  ‘No!’ cried Casimir. ‘No. He’s never done anything, I promise you.’ In his anxiety he almost spilled his coffee. The princess looked at him with surprised blue eyes.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘Please calm down, Casimir. You won’t help anyone by becoming hysterical, your father least of all. But to return to the subject. I need hardly tell you your father has acted strangely, both at Friday’s firework display and just now during our interview?’ She paused. ‘I see you realise he has. It makes me concerned that this man Circastes could…influence him. In that case, it would be up to you to come to me so I could help him. Do you take my meaning, Casimir? Don’t pretend you don’t understand. You know these things can happen, don’t you?’

  Casimir was silent.

  ‘Yes. I see you do,’ said Princess Christina. ‘Well. I think I’ve made my point, so we’ll leave it at that. Finish your coffee, Casimir. I’m sure we’ll see each other again very soon.’

  Casimir gulped down his coffee to the last bitter grains. Princess Christina opened a drawer and produced a small, gold object. ‘Take this. If you need to see me at any time, it will make sure you are brought directly to me. And Casimir,’ she added, ‘I’m sure I needn’t tell you that this conversation is not to be repeated to anyone. Especially not to your father.’

  Casimir returned to the anteroom, the taste of Princess Christina’s marzipan lingering on his tongue. In his hand was the token she had given him, a gold ring like a wedding band, with a pattern of roses around the rim. There was no crest or royal device or motto, nor was the ring especially valuable. It was anonymous and unremarkable. Casimir knew the princess was far too clever to have given him anything that would be traceable if it fell into the wrong hands.

  He put the ring in his pocket. A footman was waiting for him with his own coat and shirt and when he had changed back into them he was shown out, this time via a route that afforded him a glimpse of the state apartments. The
chandeliers in the great ballroom were being filled with wax candles for the queen’s Christmas ball, and the voices of the servants echoed hollowly in the cavernous space; in another room, he saw musicians practising on strings, oboes and recorders. It was all glass and parquetry and red silk curtains, as grand and decadent as Casimir could possibly have hoped for, but he was too disturbed now by what had happened to pay it much attention.

  He had told Princess Christina virtually everything she wanted to know. On the balance, he thought, it was hard to imagine how he could have escaped with doing anything else, but the difficulty now lay in guessing how she was going to use what he had told her. Nominally at least, the princess controlled the Queen’s Guard. Casimir had never been able to understand how Ruth and her friends managed to reconcile this fact with the princess’s supposedly liberal politics, but perhaps they knew things he did not. The myths were legion, and he had never worked out exactly how much control Christina wielded over the guard and how much its procurator, her future brother-in-law, wielded over her.

  Despite its name, the Queen’s Guard had nothing at all to do with the queen. In the past, it sometimes had. Queen Elsabetta’s grandfather, King Frederik II, had been soft in the head; as he grew increasingly madder, his wife Sophia had been appointed Regent against the wishes of most of his council. On the advice of her brother, Nicholas of Osterdale, Queen Sophia had drawn from the Household Guard enough men with the right talent and disposition to create a separate and efficient spy network of her own. The Queen’s Guard had quickly become a force to be reckoned with, and, on her death, Sophia had bequeathed it to her son’s wife, Queen Elsabetta’s mother, Elena. But Queen Elena’s had been a less exceptional personality than her mother-in-law’s, while her husband, Frederik III, had been interested in little else but amassing paintings and building palaces. A series of strong procurators, all drawn from Sophia’s family, had been all it had taken for the Queen’s Guard to slip from royal control; the Osterdales soon used it to take effective charge of the royal council, and were later strongly implicated in the downfall of Elena’s successor, Astrid. By the time its command had descended to Astrid’s daughter, Christina, it was a moot point as to whether it reported to anyone at all. The Queen’s Guard—Sophie’s Leeches in popular parlance—policed the city, controlled the press and monitored public opinion; it even had its own prison, the notorious Undercroft, into which people disappeared seemingly at random. Outside of Starberg, its powers were only slightly less despotic. While few people in Ostermark had any direct dealings with it, it was a rare man or woman who was not afraid to hear its name mentioned in conjunction with their own.

  And now the queen was to marry the procurator, her cousin, the Margrave Greitz. Elsabetta, gentle, musical and politically obtuse, was more interested in her viols and recorder-players than in government; she was also reputedly in love with her cousin. That the match might not be wise had apparently not occurred to her. At least, that was what Ruth said, but plenty of other people were concerned enough for there to be widespread mutterings in the city. The Queen’s Guard was powerful enough without its procurator becoming effectual King of Ostermark. As for Princess Christina, Casimir guessed it could only erode her already equivocal position further.

  He arrived home to find Ruth’s coach waiting—he supposed, inevitably—in the mews that ran along the back of Fish Lane. The kitchen window was open and there was a faint smell of woodsmoke from the chimney. As if on cue, when Casimir let himself into the yard, the back door opened and his father appeared. He had shed his red coat and waistcoat and wore his shirtsleeves rolled up over his elbows, the neck of his shirt unbuttoned despite the cold.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘Stop making excuses. I said, where the hell have you been?’ Before Casimir had a chance to answer, Simeon grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him so hard he lost his balance and fell heavily on the cobblestones. A sharp pain shot through his knee and then Simeon dragged him to his feet again and dealt him a stinging slap across the face. Casimir yelled, partly from pain, but more from shock. Even allowing for the wintry weather, Simeon’s hand against his bare flesh was icy cold.

  His other hand twisted in Casimir’s collar and he slapped him again, the way he had when Casimir was seven and had almost drowned swimming in the swiftrunning upper reaches of the Ling. Casimir struggled to free himself. Meanwhile, two other people had appeared in the doorway of the house. One was Ruth, which was not surprising, but the other was a tall, dark-haired man with a beard and a tatterdemalion aspect. He stepped forward out of the shadows, and his face was the mirror image of Casimir’s own.

  ‘Come on, Simeon,’ the man said mildly. ‘Don’t you think you’re overreacting a little? The boy’s just stepped out for a moment. No harm done that I can see.’

  For a split second, Simeon paused. He looked from Casimir to the newcomer, and then he let go Casimir’s shoulder and jerked his head curtly towards the house. Casimir scuttled inside. As he passed Ruth in the doorway she pulled back her cloak, as if even the touch of his sleeve would somehow contaminate her.

  Inside, the kitchen looked frowzy and untidy, dirty plates and cups on the table, and a scattering of unfamiliar possessions around the room. A grubby canvas pack sat steaming on the hearth and a bedroll stood propped in the corner. Casimir’s eyes went straight to the stained military topcoat hanging over the edge of the table. Its brass buttons and epaulettes had long since been cut off, but Casimir recognised it immediately, for he had seen the same coat every winter for as long as he could remember. A moment later the coat’s owner came into the kitchen. He had grown a little fatter and greyer in the twelve months since Casimir had seen him, and a few more lines had developed around his eyes, but otherwise he was the same: Casimir’s uncle, Joachim Leibnitz, his mother’s brother, who had been gunner’s mate with his father and their friend for as long as he could remember.

  ‘Hello, Cas,’ he said. ‘I see you haven’t lost your talent for getting into trouble.’

  Simeon came in behind him and shut the door. ‘You’ve got some explaining to do,’ he said shortly. ‘I told you to stay inside. And you left without dousing the kitchen fire. It was still burning when we got back.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ The fire was, Casimir thought, an adequate explanation for his father’s anger, but he did not think it was the real one. ‘I couldn’t help it, I had to go out. Princess Christina sent for me to go to the palace.’

  ‘Christina sent for you?’ Ruth’s words came out almost as a hiss of shock. Casimir felt piqued. Ruth’s reaction, however, was completely overshadowed by Simeon’s. He said nothing, but left the room abruptly. A moment later they heard his footsteps running up the stairs.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Joachim.

  Ruth shrugged. She sat down at the kitchen table and dabbled a manicured fingertip in a puddle of coffee.

  ‘I don’t know what the problem is. He won’t tell me, just that there’s this man called Circastes who wants revenge on him. If you want to know more, perhaps you’d better ask Casimir.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I will.’ The expression on Joachim’s face left Casimir in no doubt that he knew exactly who Circastes was. A moment later the kitchen door opened and Simeon re-entered.

  ‘I was right,’ he said. ‘There’s a guardsman hiding in Petersen’s house opposite. They’re watching us.’

  ‘You mean, we’re not going to be able to get away?’ blurted out Casimir. The words had scarcely left his mouth when he realised his mistake.

  ‘What do you mean, get away?’ said Ruth ominously. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Nowhere,’ said Simeon. ‘Nowhere at all.’ He shot Casimir a savage look and stalked back out of the room.

  Immediately Ruth shoved back her chair and hurried after him. The workroom door slammed shut. A moment later the sound of voices could be heard along the passage, softly at first, then raising swiftly in
anger.

  ‘Well,’ said Joachim in conversational voice, ‘I will say this. She’s certainly nothing like your mother.’

  ‘No,’ said Casimir. ‘She’s not.’

  He sat down at the kitchen table and buried his face in his hands. He was trembling. But even while he felt swamped by his own stupidity, Simeon’s anger, and worst of all, the prospect of the Queen’s Guard at their door on the very night they had planned to escape, a small warning beat like a pulse inside his brain. In the three hours since Simeon had left to go to the palace, something had happened. He did not yet know what it was, but the dynamics of their relationship had shifted, and he was sure it could bode no good.

  Joachim moved his topcoat to the chair Ruth had just vacated and retrieved his pack from the hearthstone. His fingers ripped through the fastenings and it fell open on the table; he removed the top layer of clothing and started emptying it of letters, small books, pamphlets. He had not quite finished when the door creaked open and Ruth’s face appeared.

  ‘Casimir, my coachman has arrived. I need you to let me out.’

  ‘You know where the key is.’

  Ruth shook her head. Casimir sighed and pushed back his chair. He followed her along the passage. As they entered the shop, she turned and spoke to him in a low, swift voice.

  ‘Casimir, I have to talk to you. I must know what’s happening. Your father tried to resign his warrant for the wedding—’

  ‘I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘You do know.’ She stared at him angrily. ‘You’re as bad as your father. Keep your secrets to yourself then. I don’t expect you to tell me the truth. But whatever you do, don’t let Simeon try to leave Starberg. The mood he’s in today, he’s capable of anything. I’ve never seen him like this.’