Mitchell Smith - Kingdom River

… As the Princess had come to breakfast, so other great ladies came to visit through the days. Some brought their children, others little dog-pets to play with – but none stayed long. The Queen preferred privacy. In these wonderful, cushioned, quiet rooms, only she was harsh and noisy, striding here and there, making rough jokes and criticizing her women's sewing as they sat at the long table in the gauze-curtain room, doing fine stitchery in linen kerchiefs, and on the Empire's white cotton underthings.

Martha had touched and dirtied a kerchief her second afternoon, and been sent down to the laundry for a bath. "With lye soap!" the Queen had called. – "I'll have no pig to guard me!" So, in a stone tub, with Mary Po pouring buckets of hot water, and the ironing girl, Walda, scrubbing with a bristle brush, Martha was made clean enough to touch Jordan Jesus' altar cloth. Then she was dressed in heavy sandals and fresh linen, in underclothes and overdress, with long sleeves like almost a lady – though one who would soon wear padded fine-mesh mail under her gown. That had been fitted-for, but not yet finished.

When done, her hair dried at the laundry hearth and pinned up, a finger ringlet before each ear, Martha took her spear, went up the many stone steps – smiled at the six soldiers as they smiled at her – and climbed past them to the Queen.

"Better," Queen Joan said, looking her up and down. "You'll never be a pretty girl, but 'handsome' may be. possible in time, though a fairly large 'handsome.' The ringlets, the ringlets have their charm." And Martha, now so clean, was invited to sit beside the Queen at a mother-of-pearl table, to sort old earrings for keepers and pairs.

"Trumpery crap, most of these." The Queen's long fingers sorted and shifted, flicking silver and gold, bright stones and stones softly-rich this way and that. "Those I had from my sweet Newton, I know and keep – what are you doing?"

"Separating the plain hoops."

"Well… the silver; put those aside."

"Yes, ma'am."

The Queen began to hum as she worked, then said, "What do you think of these?"

"They're very pretty."

"Yes. I thought so too, many years ago. Now, of course, I know better – and so they are spoiled for me." She began to hum again, fingers deft among the jewels. "I do not remember the names of half the men who gave me these… made flowery fucking speeches, bowing, asking Newton's permission to gift me this or that. Once, my sweetheart smiled at Liam Murphy – Lord Murphy's gone, of course. Whole family's gone, and a daughter eaten. Newton smiled at him and said, 'You may give my lady what you please. As it pleases her, it pleases me… though doesn't turn me from my way.' "

The Queen set green studs aside. "Poor Liam should have listened more closely… Do you think of men, Martha?"

"… No."

The Queen stopped sorting. "Martha, you're going to be with me for many years. You've just told me a lie. Never, ever, lie to me again about anything."

"I'm sorry. I do think of men, sometimes."

"And in particular? The truth, now."

"Well, I liked Ralph-sergeant."

The Queen found a little gold lump, with no pin or clasp. "Trash… You liked Ralph-sergeant. And who is he?"

"A soldier. He came to get me at my father's house."

"And why did you like this soldier?"

"He was big – bigger than me. And he was kind."

"Ah… 'kind.' I have many large sergeants in my armies, East-bank and West, but I hope not too many that are kind… Do you have a match for the turquoise?"

"No, ma'am."

"Of course not; that would be too fucking lucky. How am I to get a turquoise to match with that Kipchak squatting on Map-Arizona? This is a useless earring."

"You could give it to Lord Pretty."

"Yes, Gregory'd wear it. Damn fool…"

Through the following days, Martha had learned the attendant ladies' names and titles, learned the servants' names: Ulla, Francis, Orrie, and Sojink – a tiny Missouri tribeswoman with filed teeth and a bluebird tattoo across her face… Martha'd learned the cloth-draped spaces of Upper Solar and Lower, and where Queen Joan slept by a window in the high chamber, curtained in cloudy gray. She'd learned also to stay very near the Queen, just to her right and a little back, the spear always in her hand.

Still, Martha could go up and down the tower, and visit as she wished – but never for very long. That was decided when the Queen was choosing a robe for Wintering the Gardens, and didn't care for the velvet that fat Orrie showed her. She said, "Everything from that clothes-press smells of river mold! Orrie, take them all down to the laundry to be cleaned and pressed again. Martha, help her, and stay there to see it properly done."

"No, ma'am."

The Queen stood very still, then said, "What did you say?" Seeming startled, as if there'd been a birdsong she'd never heard before. Fat Orrie was panting like a puppy.

Martha said, "No, ma'am. I won't go down with the laundry, and stay there."

Then, though the Queen's face didn't change, she put her hand on her dagger's pommel. That knife was a soldier's weapon, long-bladed and heavy enough to weight her jeweled sash.

"I'm here to guard you, ma'am," Martha said, though she was frightened. "I can't guard you if I'm sitting waiting in the laundry."

The Queen turned her head as if she were listening to voices… then took her hand off her dagger. "Yes, that was a proper 'No, ma'am' from you. You'll help Orrie take the laundry down – then come right up again to be near me."

"Yes, ma'am."

"But, Martha," the Queen said, "don't become too free with noes."

… And Martha had been careful not to. She'd shut her mouth and opened her eyes and ears through her first days, and learned the solar chambers, the tower and its people, very well, except for the deep places below. But now, with another place to be at mid-day by the glass exactly, she was lost and wandering Island like a pony loose.

After she'd asked directions of two people – people who seemed Ordinaries, and not too great to answer – then asked a third in a granite passage along her way, Martha climbed, at last and late, two flights of stairs in the South Tower… tapped on a narrow oak door, received no reply, then slowly opened it onto a wide sunny room. It was very bright with windows. The floor, polished white marble streaked with brown, was puddled here and there by something spilled. Smelled like a lamp's Boston oil.

A man was standing by a long oak rack of weapons. He was short and seemed massively fat, big around as a cabbage barrel. He wore low boots, loose tan trousers, and a yellow shirt, and though he appeared to be only in his middle years, his hair – cut evenly in a circle just above his ears – was dappled gray. A bowl-cut, they'd called that in Stoneville.

"You're the Queen's Martha, I suppose. I'm Master Butter-boy." He set a slender sword into the rack. "Don't come late to my class again." Master Butter-boy had a pleasant deep voice, sounded to Martha like a good glee singer. His eyes were dull green, and small.

She closed the door behind her, and set her spear leaning against the wall. The streaks and spills of oil made the marble floor slippery. "I couldn't find the way, Master."

"You have no master now, only the Queen for mistress. 'Sir' will do." Butter-boy strolled a few steps nearer, moving like a pole-boater, with an easy rolling gait. He stood looking at her – and Martha saw he wasn't fat, only very wide, and thick with muscle. Scars were carved into his round face, and three blue dots were tattooed on each cheek. Thinner white scars laced his heavy forearms. " – You are the Queen's, and no other's. You might keep that in mind when some try you for this or that favor, or attempt to command you."