"Alexander, Lloyd - Westmark 02 - The Kestrel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Alexander Lloyd)

"I urge you. Majesty, to put aside your personal cares. Ail that can be done is being done. A ruler does not neglect affairs of state for affairs of the heart. The monarchy continues, while the heart-"

"What are you telling me?" cried Mickle. "That I'm supposed to go on, business as usual, and Theo missing for-"

"That is exactly what I am telling you," Ton-ens broke in bluntly. "When your father believed you dead, he lost himself in grief-and nearly lost the kingdom to Cabbarus. Your private concerns are your own, and must remain so, for you are a queen first and foremost." His tone softened. "Your work will make your waiting easier."

As Mickle did not answer, the white-haired chief minister laid a stack of documents on her desk. 'To begin, the question of Baron Montmollin's landholdings must be dealt with."

"I don't see any question," Mickle said. "His family took common land that everyone was allowed to use for grazing or farming and made it part of their private estate. Theo wrote to us about it. He found proof when he was digging through some sort of town archives. The records show it was barefaced thievery."

"Undeniably common land," said Torrens, "but it was added to the principal estate. La Jolie, two generations ago."

"Thievery doesn't count if it's big enough and old enough? Montmollin already has more acres than anyone can keep track of. Add them up, he likely owns half of Westmark. Well, this much he'll have to give back to his tenants, no matter which of his noble ancestors stole it."

"Beyond a doubt, this should be done," said Torrens, "But not hastily. It is not the moment. I urge you to act with greatest deliberation."

"Delay, you mean," said Mickle. "if it's an old grievance, the more reason to set it right as soon as possible."

"I do not advise it," replied Torrens. "The whole aristocracy will feel threatened and turn against you. Landless and landed alike throughout the kingdom will demand investigation of all such holdings; some rightfully, others merely seizing a chance for gain. It can lead only to disorder. Since your father's death, the monarchy is in too delicate a balance. Make no move to disturb it. When your position is stronger, you may do so. Until then, follow a policy of discretion."

"And don't step on any toes," Mickle retorted. "You, of all people, advise that? You risked your life standing up to Cabbarus. You weren't exactly discreet then- Now you sound like a courtier."

Torrens stiffened. Color rose to his face. "I am no courtier. Majesty, nor will I ever be- I offer you my best judgment, for the good of the kingdom-and yours. If you believe otherwise, I ask you to choose another chief minister."

"Oh, Torrens, you know that's not what I meant," cried Mickle, going to him. The former Royal Physician was her strongest resource: an honest, forthright man whom she had now unwittingly hurt. The moment passed; Torrens regained his composure, but withdrew soon after, leaving the Montmollin affair unsettled.

Later, with her mother, Mickle was on the fine edge of tears for the first time since Theo's disappearance. "I don't understand it," she burst out. "I don't know why they can't find him." Queen Caroline stroked her daughter's hair. "There is a possibility you must consider. A harsh one."

"That he's had an accident? Or could even be dead?" said Mickle. "That's a possibility I won't consider at all."

"No," said Caroline. "Perhaps he cannot be found because he does not wish to be found."

' Mickle frowned, puzzled, as the queen went on. "Six months is long in a young life. Love sworn one day is forgotten the next. This may be the case with your Theo. You, my child, must not allow it to break your heart. Affections change quickly. He would not be the first young man to find another sweetheart."

"I won't think that of him," Mickle snapped. "I don't see how you can think it, either."

She did not believe a word of what Queen Caroline had said.

She wondered if it might be true.

The rest of the day had been no happier than the beginning. She finally closeted herself in her apartments. Having given orders to admit no one, she was all the more vexed when a lady-in-waiting informed her of an individual claiming to be a Jiobfeman who sought an audience; who, in fact, insisted on it.

Before Mickle could give a tart answer, a paunchy figure in a uniform glittering with medals thrust aside the indignant courtier. To the further shock of the lady in waiting, Mickle sprang up the instant she laid eyes on the intruder and threw her arms around as much of him as she could compass. A ginger-haired dwarf, with an enormous cocked hat under his arm, had also Stumped into the room.

"Count Las Bombas!" she cried. "Musket! I thought you'd gone off to make your fortune!"

"My dear girl-dear Queen, that is," answered the portly count, "the less said about that the better." Despite the splendor of his uniform, he presented less than his customary cheerfulness; his moustache hung wilted, his cheeks sagged. "We're back from our travels and heard the news only a few days ago. I came as fast as I could to pay my respects. Which, alas, is all I'm in a position to pay."

"As usual, down to the last penny," grumbled Musket, "and he borrowed that one from me. I don't expect to see it again."