Queen's Play - Dorothy Dunnett [45]
Lymond said ruminatively, ‘That’s what I wondered until today. I have an unspecified commission from the Queen Mother to be on hand during her visit to France. Which is why I am formed so fowle. I now know why she wants me, by God. Did you see the float on the bridge?’
Abernethy shook his bald head.
‘Mary, Queen of Scotland, was in it, my merry mahout,’ said Lymond coolly. ‘And her aunt and two of her cousins. A private prank which one person too many knew about. Someone tried to assassinate that small child today, and it was the same person who tried to kill either O’LiamRoe or myself. Who is Pierre Destaiz’s employer?’
Well past its zenith, the October sun shone red into the grain of the canvas, spilling curious shadows on the wall. Beyond the flap, an elephant could be heard siphoning hay with a dry rustle over her back, and whining breathily as the cowardie checked her.
There was a silence. ‘I am,’ said Archie Abernethy at length. ‘When he’s here to employ.’
‘Who is he?’
‘A Rouen man. He was at the St. Germain menagerie when I went there in ‘48, with two others. They had one animal each—Dod, think of it!’ said the Keeper, showing his teeth. ‘The beasts they had in the old King’s day: hundreds of livres’ of them—lions, ostriches, bears, birds. Peter Giles did nothing but travel around and send him stock. And then the old King died, and what was left? A lion, a bear and a dromedary. That’s what was left. I’m telling you,’ said the mahout, rocking himself, ‘it was pitiful.’
‘What brought you?’ asked Lymond.
The Keeper shrugged. ‘I’m getting old. But after Constantinople and Tarnassery I couldna see myself in a bit hutch in some lady’s garden, looking after a wee puckle peacocks, or an old done lion and some doos. Giles told me King Henri here was building a grand new place at St. Germain and restocking, so I got the elephants together and came. You can’t beat experience. I was in charge of them all, the birds and the hunting cats too, in six months. Yon one Destaiz didn’t like it.’
‘Did he know you were Scots?’
Abernethy spat. ‘Would I get a job, would I keep a job anywhere with elephants, if it was known I was Scots? I’m Abernaci of St. Germain, the King’s Keeper and Hughie’s mahout; and in the whole of France, the only ones who know different are one or two travelling showmen, a moneylender, and a woman who lives in a house called Doubtance and kens not only my name but my soul, if I have one.—And yourself.’ His shrewd eyes turned on the other man. ‘I know I can trust you, but you’ve only my tale to believe. You’ve been gey confiding for a man of your sort, Crawford of Lymond.’
‘You don’t need reassurance,’ said Lymond. ‘And neither do I. You identified me at Hérisson’s and told me so. You ran your guts out with those elephants today. You’re Turkey Mat over again without your nightcap; and I remember you more clearly than I want to for a murderous, reliable Partickhead rat.—But I wish to God you’d tell me all you know about Pierre Destaiz. He’s attempted arson and bulk murder both in less than a week.’
‘I’ve done you a good turn you don’t even know about,’ said the Keeper complacently. ‘I told Sir George Douglas I’d met you in Ireland, passing through five years since. He was giving you a gey queer look in yon cellar. But what with the tale and the hash I made of it with my English, he was ready to laugh himself into fits and forget it. As for Destaiz … He was heading for trouble. I never took to him. He was in the procession with me, but he’d put in days helping his friends with yon damned whale, and he’d disappear for twenty-four hours at a time. But if he was working for someone else, I never heard of it.’
‘He was,’ said Lymond mildly. ‘But he knew he was being followed. Piedar Dooly’s enquiries the first day possibly put him on guard.… Destaiz filled the urns and strapped them on Hughie’s back?’
‘He did. And would Piedar Dooly be a wee, dour black fellow like a goat, that was haunting us all day Saturday, and upsetting the elephants?’
‘It sounds like him. He’s O’LiamRoe