The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [60]
“Mery,” the queen said in a soft, cold voice, “why don’t you run along?”
“Yes, Majesty,” she said, and started to scuttle off. But she turned and looked shyly at Leoff. “Thank you,” she said.
“Mery,” the queen said, a little more forcefully.
And the little girl was gone.
The queen turned an icy eye on Leoff then. “When did Lady Gramme commission you to teach her child music?” she asked.
“Majesty, I know no Lady Gramme,” Leoff said. “The child has been hiding here because she likes music. I discovered her today.”
The queen’s face seemed to relax a bit. Her voice softened incrementally. “I shall make certain she bothers you no more.”
“Majesty, I find the child delightful. She has an excellent ear, and is quick to learn. I would teach her without compensation.”
“Would you?” The chill was back, and Leoff suddenly began wondering who exactly Lady Gramme was.
“If it is permitted. Majesty, I know so little of this place. I do not even know, frankly, if I am employed here.”
“That is what I have come here to discuss.” She took a seat, and he stood watching her nervously, the crutches tight under his arms. In the hall, a guard stood at either side of the door.
“My husband did not mention hiring you, and the letter you had from him seems to have left your possession.”
“Majesty, if I may, the fire in the malend—”
“Yes, I know, and Duke Artwair saw the letter, and that is good enough for me. Still, in these days, I must take great care. I made inquires about you in various places, and that took some time.”
“Yes, Majesty. Of course I understand.”
“I do not know much about music,” the queen said, “but I am given to understand you have an unusual reputation, for a composer. The Church, for example, has censured your work on several occasions. There were even allegations of shinecraft.”
“I assure you, Majesty,” Leoff began quickly, “I have done nothing heretical, and am certainly no shinecrafter.”
“Yet that opinion comes from the clergy in Glastir. They said that your works were often indecently orchestrated.” She shrugged. “I do not know what that means. They also report that one of your concerts provoked violence.”
“That is true in only the most abstract way, Majesty. Two gentlemen began arguing about the worth of one of my compositions. They did come to blows over it, and they had—friends—who joined them.”
“So there was a brawl.”
Leoff sighed. “Yes, Majesty.”
“The attish of Glastir said your music had a corrupting influence on the crowd.”
“I do not believe that to be true, Majesty.”
She smiled faintly. “I think I understand why my husband offered you this position, though it went long unfilled. He was somewhat at odds with the Church, and especially with Praifec Hespero. I suppose he did this to devil him a bit.” The smile vanished. “Unfortunately, my son is not in the position my husband was. We cannot afford to provoke the Church—at least not much. On the other hand, you did prove yourself a friend to this kingdom, and Duke Artwair’s good word in your behalf is worth its measure in gold.” Her brow creased slightly. “Tell me what the Church dislikes about your music. Precisely.”
Leoff considered his words carefully. “Majesty, your last court composer—what was your favorite of his works?”
She blinked, and he suddenly felt cold, for presuming to answer her question with a question.
“I really cannot say,” she said. “I suppose it may have been one of his pavanes.”
“Can you hear it in your head? Can you hum it?”
Now she looked annoyed. “Is there a point to this?”
He balanced on the crutches so he could clasp his hands in front of him. “Majesty, music is a gift of the saints. It has the power to move the human soul. And yet for the most part it does not. For almost a hundred years, music has been written not with the heart, but with the mind, almost arithmetically. It has become sterile, an academic exercise.”
“A pavane should sound like a pavane,