“The Queen Mother. Down here.” Alfred was completely baffled. “Did she commit some crime?”
“Oh, dear no!” Jonathan was shocked. “She was a very great lady when she was alive. It was her corpse that proved rather difficult.”
“Her corpse,” Alfred repeated weakly, leaning against the damp stone wall.
“Constantly interfering,” said Jera in a low voice. “She simply could not understand that she was no longer wanted at royal functions. Her cadaver kept barging in at the most inopportune moments. Finally, there was nothing the dynast could do but lock the corpse away down here, where she can’t cause trouble. It’s quite fashionable to visit her, however. And it does please the dynast. He was a good son, if not much else.”
“Hush!” Tomas said sharply. “The chamberlain’s returning.”
“This way, if you will be so good,” called the man in sonorous tones.
The narrow hall and dank walls echoed back the sounds of rustling robes and shuffling feet. A man clad in untrimmed black robes bowed, stood deferentially to one side. Was it Alfred’s imagination or did Tomas and this black-robed apparition exchange telling glances? Alfred began to shiver with cold and apprehension.
They came to an intersection that formed the shape of a cross; narrow hallways branched off in four directions. Alfred darted a swift glance down the hall to his right. Darkly shadowed cells ranged along either side of the hall. The Sartan tried to catch a glimpse of the prince, or possibly Haplo. He saw nothing, and he didn’t dare take time for a closer inspection. He had the uncanny feeling that the preserver’s eyes were fixed on him.
The chamberlain turned to the left and the group trooped behind him. Rounding a corner, they stepped into a blaze of light that nearly blinded them after the dim light of the hallways. Sumptuously adorned and appointed, the cavern might have been lifted intact from the royal chambers, except for the iron cell bars, which marred the effect. Behind the bars, surrounded by every possible luxury, a well-preserved cadaver sat in a high-backed chair drinking air from an empty teacup. The corpse was clad in robes of silver thread, and gold and jewels glittered on waxen fingers. Her silver hair was beautifully coiffed and cared for.
A young woman clad in plain black robes sat in a chair near her, making desultory conversation. Alfred realized, with a shock, that the young woman was alive; the living actually serving the dead.
“The Queen Mother’s private necromancer,” said Jera.
The young woman brightened when she saw them, her expression grew eager. She rose quickly and respectfully from her seat. The cadaver of the Queen Mother glanced their way, made a stately invitational motion with its wrinkled hand.
“I will wait to accompany you out of the catacombs, Your Graces,” said the chamberlain. “Please do not remain long. Her Most Gracious Majesty is easily tired.”
“We could not think of taking you from your duties,” Jera protested smoothly. “Don’t let us inconvenience you. We know the way.”
At first the chamberlain would not hear of such a thing but Her Grace was persuasive and His Grace was careless with a bag of golden coins that happened to fall into the chamberlain’s hands by accident. The chamberlain left them, returning down the hallway, his staff thumping against the floor. Alfred watched him depart, thought he saw the chamberlain nod once at the black-robed preserver. Alfred broke out into a cold sweat. Every fiber in his body was urging him to either run or faint or perhaps do both simultaneously.
The young woman had moved to open the cell door.
“No, my dear, that won’t be necessary,” Jera said softly.
The conspirators stood together, listening, waiting for the sound of the chamberlain’s staff to disappear in the distance. When it could no longer be heard, the preserver beckoned.
“This way!” he called, motioning them toward him.
They moved swiftly. Alfred, glancing back, saw the bitter disappointment in the young woman’s face, saw her sink back down into her chair, heard her resume—in a dull, lifeless voice—her conversation with the corpse.
The preserver led them down the hall opposite to the one in which the Queen Mother was housed. It was far darker than the hall they’d just left, far darker than any hall they’d walked yet. Alfred, hurrying along next to Tomas, saw numerous gas lamps on the wall, but for some reason most of them were unlit. Either they’d blown out… or they’d been turned off.