Succession

This would be the first time she slept since the funeral. In her dream she'd pressed her cheek against the cold stone windowsill to watch the city streets below. The procession was already moving. A long line of black carriages. The afternoon sun, warm and dim. Thick smoke from the shipyards cast long, tawny shadows on the twin spires of the Royal Palace. The lead horse halts at the palace gates and suddenly she stands naked in front of it all. Flakes of soot fall spiraling like whirligigs. Peasants wailing and guards shouting. The voices of men hushed to whispers as she entered the Great Hall and she walked barefoot and naked and trembling and her skin was blackened with ash. Someone called her name. Than someone else. Than the whole crowd. Jane. Jane. Jane.

“Jane!”

She gasped awake. She lay on her side on the thinly-padded bench of a carriage. A single lamp hung dim and flickering from the ceiling. The scent of burning oil. The world itself seemed to rattle to the steady clacking of the horses’ hooves. An old man in blue councilor's robes sat across from her and he looked concerned.

“My liege,” the old man said softly. His white beard swayed side to side with the carriage. “I apologize for my impropriety. You were having a nightmare.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“Since sundown. It must be past midnight now.”

Jane sat up and straightened her hair bun. She studied the old man, who bowed away from her gaze. His beard was long and white. A horse nickered. Jane reached into her breastpocket and pulled out a small mirrorbox and opened the lid. In the frail light of the lamp she examined her face. She touched a patch of dried blood on her left cheek.

“Did it really happen, Edwin? It feels like a dream.”

“Yes, my liege. Things went exactly as we planned.”

“And the Willoughbys?”

“Your men should already have them arrested.”

“Should. Will we know tonight?” 

“Probably not, but…”

“But?” Jane furrowed her brow.

Edwin smiled. “If the plan failed we would never have made it across the Lotus Canal Bridge. So sleep easy tonight, my liege. The fact your head is securely attached to your shoulders is news enough.”

The driver snapped the reins and the horses jerked back, sending Jane tumbling into the door. The old man stood ready to catch her with his outstretched arms but she steadied herself and waved him off.

“They wouldn’t execute me. The merchants know I am the legitimate heir, despite this whole”—she gestured broadly—“affair. They need to keep me alive.”

"Of course, sire."

Jane scratched her hair and stared through the windscreen. Ahead, the gray road ran long and straight into the rim of the earth. Treetops roiled like black waves. They sat in silence for perhaps another quarter hour as the carriage rumbled and groaned. Perhaps a whole hour. Jane was not sure. A minute on this road was an hour and an hour could be ten days. 

“Edwin, where are we exactly?”

“A few minutes away from Penrith, I would guess.”

“We’re headed to Penrith?”

“Yes, my liege.”

“What time is it now?”

“We left the last outpost about an hour ago. As to the exact time, I don’t know. I don’t have my watch.”

“Ask him."

The old man knocked twice on the wood paneling that separated them from the driver. The hooded driver held out his hand and pointed his thumb down. 

“What does that mean?”

“He says he won’t stop,” Edwin said.

“Tell him I will put his head on a damn pike.”

“Of course, my liege.” Edwin rapped on the door again. Then he shouted into the glass, “By Royal Decree, you are ordered to stop this carriage!”

Jane’s mother once taught her that all power was a game of who-blinks-first, so she knew repeating a command was a sign of weakness, so she bit her lip and waited tensely. She tried to recall the driver’s name, but it escaped her. She tried again with the driver’s face. At last, the driver tugged on the reins, causing the horses to whinny and buck. The carriage groaned as it veered to the side of the road and wobbled to a stop. A cloud of dust enveloped the carriage.

“Allow me, sire,” Edwin said.

“No. I’ll do it.”

“Very well.” The old man grabbed the door and unlatched it and swung it open and stepped out. He held the door open for her. 

Jane shuffled to the exit, gripping the doorjamb for balance. The old man extended his hand through the door but Jane shook her head. “No, I’ll manage.”

She descended the three metal footholds onto the gravel road. The cold spring air pierced through her brown cotton tunic and she shivered as she exhaled and she could instantly see her breath bubbling. Ahead the stars shimmered weakly. A half-moon was peeking over a patch of woods some half mile in the distance.

Jane squared her shoulders. The dust cloud had barely settled, but the young monarch took a deep breath anyway. The air was cold and scentless. She cleared her throat. Edwin gave her a look that said ‘You don’t have to’ but she knew she could not allow a mere horsedriver to disobey her so she ignored the old man. She walked with her head held high. Gravel crunched under her boots. Shivers from the cold. The headlamps seemed to grow brighter as she approached the driver so she shielded her eyes with her palm. There, she stood in front of the horses. She couldn’t make out the driver’s face. The lamps were too bright.

“Dismount, soldier,” Jane ordered. Then she added, “What’s your name?” 

The driver didn’t move or speak. In the shadow of the lamplight the driver and his carriage became one and the black leather reins that extended from this dark mass looked as if they were tendrils belonging to some entity not of this world. 

“You will answer your King!” Jane bellowed.

The closest horse stamped, and the driver hushed it. Then he spoke in a monotone so deep it sounded as if he spoke through the horses’ mouths: “Please return to the carriage, Your Majesty. We have a schedule to keep.”

“Who is your garrison commander?” She crossed her arms. Her patience was growing thin. 

The driver snapped the reins and both horses cantered a step towards Jane. She skipped aside, fuming. “Hey! I asked you—” 

“We must be going now. Please return to your seat.”

Jane lifted her hand, squinting at the light, and tried to examine the driver. She could see the edges of his hood glowing in the lamplight but his face remained a mystery. The horses’ nostrils flared with steam after each heavy breath. In their dead eyes she saw her own reflection and in them she was just a cold and scared girl in a simple brown tunic. In an instant, the feeling of power evaporated from the young monarch. 

Jane looked away. “Just… Get us there quickly.”

Her hands were ice cold when she came back to Edwin. He held the door open for her and she climbed in. Then he followed and latched the door and sat across from Jane and tapped the windshield twice. The driver gave a thumbs up. 

“Your Majesty,” Edwin said. The carriage rumbled to motion. “What did he say?”

“He needs to hurry.” 

The old man’s shoulders fell as he sighed “Yes. Let him hurry. It feels like we’ve been on this road for hours.”

“Haven’t we?”

“Truth be told, my liege, I woke up not long before you. My memory is failing. I can sleep my whole day away in my old age.”

Jane leaned in and patted Edwin’s left knee. “Get all the sleep you need. You deserve it.”

“Sire?”

“Yes?”

“He said we’re a few minutes from Penrith?”

“Yeah. A few minutes.” Jane didn’t know what else to say. “A few minutes at most.”

“Good. Good. There is still much to do,” Edwin said with a thin smile. 

Jane sighed. “It never ends, does it?”

“It will soon, my liege.”

“What’s our plan?”

“I will have an arrest warrant dispatched by fast horse when we arrive at Penrith.” Edwin looked up at the stars. “We’ll have the border secured within the hour.”

“Will they surrender?”

“Better. They’ll be asleep.”

“She never did things this way. But then again I am not her.”

“We must minimize the political fallout. Any earlier and it would make the morning papers. Any later and we risk a protracted firefight. Not that we’d lose, no, the Palace Guard is far too overwhelming in firepower. But if we do it in the early morning, we can pacify the southern garrisons and censor the whole thing by noon.” The old man ran his hand along the gray padded bench. “Do not worry, my liege. Everything is under control. By midweek you will be sitting on the Century Throne to receive your crown.”

Jane’s mouth curved into a thin smile. “All thanks to you, Edwin.”

“I serve King Jane, Lord Protector of Alnwick, the first of her line. May she reign for a thousand years.” Edwin bowed deeply. His head was almost touching Jane’s knees.

Jane sat leaning against the wooden paneling and watched the driver’s head bob up and down. The wooden wheels thudded along the gravel and dirt. The creak of the metal frames. The scent of lamp oil. The old man’s words still echoed in Jane’s head. King Jane. Not just Jane but King Jane. She whispered it to herself. The name had a nice ring to it. Full of power, yes, full of power.