Chapter 214 The Midnight Treasury

A perfectly good Birth-Feast palace banquet, wrecked at the height of it — set that on any man alive, and he'd not take it kindly.

That night the King tossed half the night through and could not sleep. He turned over, sat up, and called von Klein: "Tell Voss — I mean to go look in at the inner treasury."

"Your Majesty — it's the hour of the pig already. A hard day behind you; better rest early... Or shall I call a consort over to keep Your Majesty company?"

"Go. Something sits ill at the bottom of my chest. I'll walk a little and blow it loose."

Von Klein said no more. He called maids to dress the King, and went out from the inner hall himself.

Soon the King was borne in his litter, swaying along, to the side door of the inner treasury. This door opened on the inner palace; without it stood only two inner guards.

The King's midnight coming gave them no small fright: "Reporting to Your Majesty — inside there are only the two key-mistresses on the night watch. The rest have all gone off."

"Then go — fetch Chamberlain Lambert, quick!" von Klein hissed low at the guards.

"Never mind. It's no inspection — only a look round. No need to call them out. Let the lady-officer over the store wait upon Us."

The King had no object in particular. Only, buried where no eye could reach it, today's regret — and a deep one:

In today's hall, not one man had dared stand forth and call for a full inquiry into "burned bad coin come again to Augustburg."

So that was it: in his outer court, the King had not one trusted minister to work inside the walls with him...

The lady-officers within hurried out to make their bows: "Fiona and Quinn, lady-clerks of the Keys, greet Your Majesty. We knew not Your Majesty was come — a thousand pardons for the failing welcome."

"We pardon you. Take Us in and show Us the store."

Fiona turned to open the door — and Quinn stood fixed one blink: the King had not come to look at some one treasure; he meant to go into the store itself?

"What — Our own treasury, and We may not look at it?"

Seeing the lady-officer staring at him all agape, the King could not help a smile; his mood came up a good way with it.

"No, no — Quinn will open it this very instant."

A smile off the King sent the color up into Quinn's face. She scrambled for her keys, and with Fiona opened the outer door of the private treasury; through the gatehouse, a few steps more, and they stood at the inner door.

The inner and outer keys the two of them kept apart. This time Quinn, fishing for hers, got flustered — the whole ring slipped its hoop and scattered across the floor.

Trouble now. The keys were all cut to one pattern — only the teeth told them apart. Nothing for it but to try them one after another.

"Go fetch Mistress Zara. Treasury work wants exactness before all things — that lady-clerk won't serve." von Klein instructed the little servant at his elbow.

Quinn was still down gathering keys. At that she scrambled to the King's feet, kneeling, her face hanging like a wet week:

"Your Majesty, spare me! The inner treasury has been rushed these past days and they have been adding hands — Quinn only came into the store the day before yesterday, and takes the night watch, just for fear of missing my measure by day. Who could know Your Majesty would come by night? It is Quinn's first time before the King — the panic got the better of me..."

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The King, for his part, sat himself down and considered her:

"Am I so fearsome, then? Lift your head."

Quinn raised her head slowly. Through the blur of tears she saw the young King not angry at all — a smile coming out on his face. And he asked:

"You're from Yorvik? There's a touch of Yorvik in your speech."

"Yes... yes... We came fleeing the famine, my parents and I. They went, one after the other. Quinn was at the end of every road — sold herself to bury her mother — and a kind gentleman bought her out of it.

He said the palace was just then recruiting lady-officers; told me to go and try. In the palace, food and clothing would never fail again. I took him at his word and threw everything I had at getting in.

Your Majesty, don't send me away. I can write. I've studied the reckoning classics. If I might serve as Your Majesty's lady-officer, I'd stay inside these walls my whole life long and never once ask out!"

Lady-officers were another thing from consorts. Their business in the palace was service — they were servants.

Consorts were the King's women — of the royal house.

So for taking lady-officers the bar of birth and looks stood lower. And yet this Quinn was no coarse article — fine-browed, clear-eyed, with something of an official's daughter about her.

"The lock's open."

Fiona had the luck of it — three keys tried, and the door gave. The King rose, spared never a glance for Quinn kneeling on the floor, and walked on into the store.

By now Voss and Mistress Zara were come in too, and the sight of Quinn kneeling gave them both a start.

When she had run quickly through the tale, Voss said, flat: "The rest of you wait without. A trifle like this — the King won't fire up over it."

Mistress Zara made haste to curtsy to Voss, and drew Quinn off into the gatehouse.

Inside, the store was parted into sections by the kinds of goods. The King, hands clasped behind his back, walked in between two rows of shelving.

Fiona followed at his back, ready against his questions.

The King saw Voss come along after. His eyes stayed on a piece of goldwork on the shelf, but his mouth smiled:

"That lady-clerk Quinn — no punishing her. Her father and mother are both gone; new to the palace as she is, leave her a road to live by."

Voss inclined his head and agreed, and the King was well pleased — as if he had pulled one living soul out from under Voss's hand, and was not so useless after all.

When the King had seen his fill — silks and damasks to the very walls, goldwork and silver on the shelves, chest upon chest of silver ingots — the day's shadow lifted off him at last, and he went back to his bed full-content.

Voss, before he went, gave Mistress Zara one look. When the door had shut, Zara patted her own chest and said:

"Lady Quinn — count your luck. You've dodged your one calamity."

"Thank you, Mistress. Quinn will mind her steps hereafter — never dare give you trouble again." Quinn was all reverence and terror.

But Mistress Zara laughed: "You're a woman the Grand Marshal recommended in. Even the King won't refuse the Grand Marshal that much face."

Quinn bowed, and held the bow till Zara was out the door before she straightened up.

Fiona at her side said, cold:

"Whatever your game may be, I'll none of it. You cut the keeper-ring and spilled the keys across the floor. If ever again you dare make theatre out of treasury business, I'll carry this very keeper-ring to the Mistress of the Household!"

Quinn grabbed in a fluster for the iron ring that threaded the keys — but Fiona had it in her fist already, and turned, and was gone.

Slowly Quinn let her emptied hand come down; the calm settled back over her face:

Last year's flower is this morning's mud — why not bloom tonight on the snow?

Since I am inside the palace, I will not let my name die on the air — not be shut away, unknown, in this golden, cold-beamed store.

Today ran near the edge — yes. But below me, Voss to hold my life; above, a king's heart read to a nicety. Worth it.

That little palace affair — even Voss had forgot it within days. The King's Bench, on the evidence Corin had gathered, closed the case at speed:

Bad coin laundered into the granary; the people's bones scraped and marrow sucked; blame laid on officers of the court. Goldwater's kin, its men, thrown into the great prison — heads off after the autumn.

Lora had never once shown her own face in it. But the new magistrate carried in the Princess Isolde's comfort:

The Princess had begged the King for special leave to treat the year as a disaster-year: the relief granaries opened their grain; Isfeld's runaways could come home — and every soul of them might draw two extra pecks of seed-wheat.

The Princess Isolde's good name brought good in its train to the horse-farm they had opened under the Goldmount.

Horse-wise men from the two counties came in one after another to offer service. Soon enough the stables stood, the houses stood, the fences of the pasture ran complete.

Nothing wanting now but the men gone to Eastmarch and Northmoor for horses — driving the horses home.