Ontogeny

Chapter 13b

"What's going on?" asked Matron Darniss, seeing two of the King's ministers and Field Marshall Amberley hurrying along the palace corridor towards the conference rooms. They were whispering to each other on low voices, but fell silent as they saw the two women watching them from the Green Room and watched them warily until they were well past. "There's no committee meeting scheduled for today."

"It's not for the likes of us to poke our noses into," said Jasmina, the airbrained maid who was currently polishing the brass ornaments, a task that stretched her intellectual capacity to its limits. What she lacked in brainpower, though, she made up for with her seemingly limitless capacity to perform mind numbingly boring tasks. Until just a few weeks ago she had worked for the Duke of Duplaine in his mansion in the Pann Hills. She had been one of those swapped with a member of the palace staff in an attempt to get rid of the spy everyone was so scared of. Darniss had taken an instant liking to her because of her habit of telling everything she saw and heard to everyone she met. For Darniss, it was like suddenly having a second pair of eyes and ears. She had made friends with her, therefore, and made sure to talk to her at least once a day to see if she'd seen anything interesting.

Jasmina was currently humming a little tune as she rubbed a brass candlestick with a yellow rag, occasionally pausing to dip it into a little can of polish that stood on the table beside her. Darniss had heard from the stores clerk that they were having to buy twice as much polish as they had before, the result being that the palace metalwork had never gleaned so brightly. Everyone except Darniss was too preoccupied with their troubles to notice, though.

"Simple, honest folk like us just get on with our work," the maid continued, running her rag around the inside of the tin to scrape up the last little bit of polish. "We don't trouble ourselves with the affairs of our betters."

"As you say," said Darniss, wondering how the little twit would react if she knew who she really was. Her ancestry. The glories behind her and ahead of her. "Still, one can't help but be curious, and there's no harm in thinking about it."

"Of course not," agreed Jasmina, completely oblivious to the fact that Darniss had just directly contradicted her. "Those Above wouldn't have given us brains if they didn't expect us to use them." She scrubbed away at a spot of the candlestick that didn't look any less bright than any other part of it to Darniss.

"Something's going on," the Matron continued. "I expect the other maids have noticed things. I expect they tell you all about it, since you're so well liked and respected. I know they all value your opinion."

"Well yes, of course they do. The runners have been sent out, all across the city. Summoning people for a big meeting. Nobody knows what it's all about, though."

Another figure strode past. General William Lanier. One of Helberion's most senior soldiers, looking splendid in his uniform complete with a whole chest full of medals. He gave the two women the briefest of sideways glances as he passed them, then put them out of his mind as he strode on. Darniss felt a surge of anger rising within her, and promised herself that he would pay dearly, one day, for such casual disregard.

"It's the War Council," she realised. "The King has summoned the War Council."

Jasmina's eyes widened in fear. "Has Carrow declared war, then?" she asked. "Are they invading us?"

"Possibly," mused Darniss. She'd thought they were going to wait for the Empire to lodge a formal complaint against Helberion, which would make it very difficult, politically, for them to intervene in the war, but perhaps there'd been a change of plans. She felt a surge of excitement and looked around at the wooden carvings adorning the ceiling, the paintings hanging on the walls and the deep, luxurious carpets on the floor. Maybe all this would be hers very soon now. Mandeville had told her once that, once the war was started, it might all be over in just a few weeks. She imagined herself mistress of the palace, all the palace staff grovelling before her. She imagined herself watching the executions of all the great generals and ministers who paid her so little regard at the moment. She would wear her best pearls at their executions, she decided, and would stand right at the front of the crowd where they'd see her. Would their eyes widen in recognition at the last moment before the axe fell?