The Malicarn
THE SIXTEENTH SPRING IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN HANNAH I
The royal stablemaster waited for Hannah in the courtyard, a horse hitched to a large green carriage.
Three knights sat on their steeds behind it.
Hannah buttoned a cloak over her dress as she climbed in.
The sun had not yet risen, and there was a chill in the air.
Hannah had not felt actual cold for weeks.
“I’ll be taking you, my queen,” the stablemaster said, smiling through several missing teeth.
“You expect rain at all?” Hannah asked.
“Most likely. But not today.”
Kellington—whom Kreek mercifully had not reduced to squire—led the retinue.
He insisted the stablemaster come because it would be conspicuous for one of the queen’s guards to be driving a carriage.
The whole point was to exit the city without drawing attention to the fact that she was leaving.
The trip, naturally, was Sanderson and Quentin’s idea.
The rioting following the fire had subsided somewhat, though the crowds in the city remained and more strayed in daily.
There was certain to be more violence, especially as the rain stubbornly continued to not fall.
So Hannah would be shuttled off to the Mountain Keep, isolated but protected in another royal castle way up in the hills.
Hannah didn’t want to go, partly because she found the keep sad and boring, partly because it felt cowardly for the queen to leave the city.
But of course she had no say in the matter.
Sanderson and Quentin stayed behind, promising to send documents and briefs up to the Mountain Keep as needed until the mobs subsided.
Fennick, to her relief, stayed behind as well.
Hannah traveled with no other officials, just Kellington and a few guards dressed down to resemble common travelers.
They rode out of the castle courtyard after dawn.
A few commoners, waking in the streets of the city, watched the carriage roll past, but said nothing.
The train moved slowly. Kellington led, riding in front as two other knights rode behind.
They did not raise the royal standard, even once they were clear of the city and its outer encampments.
Near midmorning, Hannah peeked out the side of the carriage.
The morning dew was baked off the grass, and they were passing down a road near the river.
They would soon reach a fork that would take them up to the hills toward the Dollories Monastery, an old leaky church where Hannah had, unfortunately, stayed overnight many times when traveling.
Other than looking at the stained glass there was little to do there.
The monks were expecting them for the night, and the next day they could continue up the relative isolation of the mountain roads toward the keep itself.
But there were two roads up the mountains, and if they stayed on the main road they would come instead to the Old Village, and Gregorian’s tower.
A different path stretched toward the Mountain Keep from there, a wider if somewhat longer one.
Quentin had given orders to take the road to the Dollories, in hopes of them making it to the Mountain Keep faster.
But Hannah suspected Gregorian might be at home tonight.
“Ah, Sir Kellington?” Hannah shouted. Kellington slowed his horse and rode beside the carriage window.
“Yes, my queen?”
“Have you been on the road to the Dollories recently? Have they repaired it from the flood last summer?”
“There have been workers on that road all winter. I believe it is quite repaired.”
“Even if we finally get some rain tonight, as it appears we may?”
Kellington looked at the sky. “I am not sure of that. It is cloudy but not with storm.”
“Should we not take precaution, though? Head toward the Old Village and spend the evening? It is nearer. Gregorian would offer lodging, if there is none to be found at the inn.”
Kellington grimaced, and Hannah knew she had overplayed her hand. “Maybe, Your Majesty, but that north road is less friendly. Runs closer to the Citadel.”
“Masons are working at the mill,” the stablemaster said. He was listening in. “They will know the road.”
“Thank you,” Hannah said.
Kellington sighed. “We should stop when we reach the mill anyway. To water the horses. But we should not linger, and you should remain out of sight, Hannah.” He only used her name when he was being very serious.
The mill was a few miles ahead, down a small embankment.
The miller’s wife served food to passing travelers as well, and the mill was widely renowned as a brewery.
Several tables were arranged outside an awning on the west side.
The mill itself sat not far off, in a wooded grove next to the river.
The wheel was turning, but several men worked on the west wall, patching cracks and placing stone over a large hole.
Hannah wrapped a shawl around herself as she and her company disembarked and approached the pub. The miller’s wife appeared from within, at first with an exasperated, chiding tone that instantly went soft when she recognized the queen. Their subterfuge had already ended.
“Oh, Your Majesty! Take a seat, please. Inside, we have much finer—”
“Our men can sit outside,” Hannah said. “We just need to water our horses and we’ll be on our way.
” As she spoke, Kellington and the other knights began walking the perimeter of the house and the mill, quickly inspecting the patrons and masons for weapons or anything dangerous.
Everyone’s sympathies were suspect these days.
The miller’s wife watched them warily, but Hannah continued to smile.
“I am sure our men could all do with an ale, if you could spare a few pints.”
“Yes, of course! To serve the queen and her knights would be an honor!”
Hannah sat and Kellington returned. “A few of the masons have an ill look, my queen. I advise we not stay here once we have our drinks.”
“What kind of look?”
“Angry? I don’t know. Unkind.”
“You cannot tell a person’s politics based on their face, Kellington. Did you speak to them about the road?”
“Pardon? No, I did not. I do not believe—”
“No matter,” Hannah said, standing back up. “I can ask.”
“Hannah! You must remain concealed!”
Hannah ignored him and walked down to the mill, where three men were working by the wall and a fourth was mixing mortar in a large stone pot. Hannah approached the mortar mixer. If people knew their queen better, they would not stand so angrily outside her castle. So she reasoned.
“Good afternoon.”
The man looked up at her and stopped suddenly, his eyes wide and amazed.
He was covered in the fast-drying mortar paste, stained all over his clothes, arms, and legs, and was stirring the pot with a large wooden spoon.
He was young, only a few years older than Hannah, but large, with broad shoulders and arms like tree trunks.
A pint of ale sat on a wooden stump next to him.
“Huh, good afternoon … my highness. Your Majesty.” The man bowed, still holding on to the wooden spoon.
“Have you and your fellow masons been faring well?”
The man nodded. “Quite well, yes. I believe so, at any rate. Your Majestyness.”
“What is your name?”
“Douglas, sir, ma’am, Your Majesty Queen. Buck Douglas.”
“Well, Buck Douglas, have the masons worked on the northern road, the one just up here that heads to the Dollories?”
“You mean the one that got washed out? Yes, I heard that they repaired it. Finished few weeks back, in fact.”
“Ah, wonderful. And no injuries?”
“Well, old Gregory, him’s of the Derbyville Gregorys, went down with some sort of bad headache, so they say. And Master Felish and his whole family got the pestilience. Not that I saw them, either, but it’s what I heard. Missus Felish died, though on account of a bad egg.”
“I mean no injuries to anyone working on the road?”
“Ah, no, Your Queenness.”
“That is good to hear,” Hannah said. “I assume the madame here is looking after all of the masons? You are well provisioned?”
“Yes, ma’am highness.” He lifted up his pint of ale toward her. “Keeps us well stocked indeed. Would you like me own ale? For the queen, I would happily part with it.”
“No, thank you,” Hannah said. “Though I appreciate it.”
“For your men, then?”
“They have already been served. If they find themselves thirsty later the Inn at the Old Village will surely provide more drink for them. Best of luck on repairing the mill.”
“Please, we have several spare barrels. Take them with you. It is the master mason’s special brew. We would be honored.”
“Very well. I will have my men fetch and load them. I wish you well. And best of health to all.”
“Aye, sir, Queen, Your Majestyness!” Buck bowed again, still holding the stirring spoon with both hands.
Back at the pub, several mugs of ale had been laid out for Hannah’s guards, one in front of an empty pillowed chair for Hannah. She sat down at it and took a sip of the drink.
“Well, Kellington,” she said. “Sounds like the road is still washed out. They haven’t even begun working on it. To the Old Village we must go.”
Kellington sighed, but did not dare accuse the queen of lying.
“I did acquire several barrels of fine ale, though, from the masons. They insisted. Perhaps your men would care to put them onto the carriage? I would not like you to be without drink at the Mountain Keep.”
This perked Kellington up considerably, and they left the mill with three full casks. By the time the carriage rolled away, a dozen families from nearby cottages and farms had heard that the queen was riding through and walked down to the road to wave her on.
“See,” Hannah said to Kellington, “no one is angry to see us.”