As they slip from the library, the guards having dealt with the door, Hood is surprised at the sight which greets him. The rain has stopped momentarily and six well dressed footmen are standing at attention in pale lilac moonlight, clearly waiting for the emergence of Madame Masque. As she appears, one of the footmen ushers her to a large ornately carved palinquin, offering her his arm to help her ascend into the covered structure. As she does this, she turns and beckons Hood who follows dutifully, observing that the two guild members who were with them just moments ago are no longer to be seen. As he moves to the palanquin, Hood looks out over the Oval Court to see to his amazement the slow rotation of dozens if not hundreds of other palanquins about the court all being carried by livery wearing footmen, each group of footmen bedecked in slightly different designed uniforms. Beyond this graceful sea of elegantly carved vehicles, slightly at odds in terms of appearance, the bell tower towers above, a structure bound up with wooden scaffolding and looking worse for wear. In the sky, from behind a set of darkening clouds which threaten more rain, a half moon peaks out, illuminating the belfry and the obvious absence from within. Well, at least I’ve saved one valuable cultural asset, Hood thinks to himself.
“It’s quite a sight isn’t it?” Madame Masque states, motioning to the languid mill of palinquins, as she settles into the luxurious cushioned couch and smooths down her dress with one hand, the other still cradling Madeleine’s mask. “An evening ritual of the noble houses which allows not only for the enactment of petty politics and gossip trading but also a means for us to blend in.” As she says this, Hood himself settles opposite her, and is allowed one last glimpse of the view, which to Hood’s eyes resembles leaves drifting on the surface of a pond, before Madame Masque knocks twice on the glass and carefully closes the curtains on both sides of the vehicle. With the curtains closed, the cabin would be in darkness were it not for four candles held in lamps either side of both windows.
Hood feels the pitch and yaw of the cabin as the footmen lift it up and then the slow sway as they make their way - he surmises - into the slow perambulation around the Oval Court.
Hood has nowhere to stare except at Madame Masque, who in turn is staring at him. He observes again that the person currently wearing the mask is certainly not the person who he met on the underground canal, although she seems dressed in the same attire - a white silk dress - knows who he is…and this intrigues him.
Madame Masque breaks the silence: “A lot has happened in the short time that you have…absconded.” she laughs gently at her choice of the word. “You will not, therefore, be aware of Mupert’s ascension to the throne, a shift of power that has caused a lot of problems for many, including ourselves. The barbarians made the walls, and some broke through into the Oval here, but the forces of Kera-bur are too well trained - when they are eventually utilised correctly - and Commander Perriam is a stalwart of order and efficiency…and tactics. Perriam simply waited for the majority of the invaders to make the walls then opened the Iron Entrance and sent a phalanx of troops into Bellview Square so that the barbarians were in fact surrounded and fighting a battle both in front and to their rear…they didn’t really stand a chance. And that was that, except of course for the usual pantomime of power that must parade itself. And so Kerman made a grand entrance to stamp his authority upon the obvious victory that was about to unfold, and so too did his son Mupert. And, in the hours in which the battle proceeded, Kerman managed to get himself killed - an unfortunate yet quite skilful act since he at no point was anywhere near the fray. Clearly a mystery,” she says sarcastically. “Now Mupert has moved into the Castle, Perriam is still, it would seem, in charge of the army, but for how long I wouldn’t like to say, and we are, as they say, as I suppose we have always been, still at the mercy of imbeciles. Don’t get me wrong, although Mupert is immoral and lacks patience, and any kind of wisdom, he is wickedly clever, and ruthless as a knife. I believe he will cling to power for quite a while yet, but will make the lives of those over whom he rules a misery.” Madam Masque heaves a sigh and turns her mask to the window, as if to gaze pointedly into the distance, even though the curtain obscures the view. As she seemingly stares into nowhere, she begins to unbutton at a set of white silk gloves that she is wearing, carefully flicking the buttons open along the wrists, and slowly tugging them from her hands, finger by finger. “Yes, ruthlessly clever…” she continues, gently placing Madeleine’s mask by her side on the couch so that it is propped up, facing Hood, then folding the gloves and placing them in her lap. “You know, I quite suspect him of having orchestrated the entire barbarian assault, just so as to position himself upon the throne.”
Hood’s eyes narrow at this description, reminding him of the machinations of Grumpini and Mordette, and he wonders for a moment at the lengths, effort and thought that some will expend in the their plotting. Perhaps he needs to up his game…there is no ‘perhaps’ about it. Indeed, if he is to thwart whatever it is that Grumpini is up to, then he must learn as much as he can from the exploits of all and every character of ruthlessness and disrepute that he comes across, and take whatever he can from these observations, for the game is not a game.
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The two sit in silence for a few minutes, Hood eventually letting go of the thought that he has been chewing on, and allowing himself to be slowly lulled into a state of deep relaxation by the gentle sway of the cabin - a calming and relaxing motion, not really conducive to the contemplation of revenge. The soft pitter patter of rain begins to sound out, the sound magnified somewhat by the cabin acting almost like a sound box, and Hood stares at the smiling mask that stares back at him, the sound of the rain soothing his mind.
Finally Madame Masque turns back to Hood and seeing him staring broodily at the mask asks: “And what of yourself? It seems that your little group has suffered much tragedy.” Her head turns to glance at Madeleine’s mask, her arm to cradle it by her side, before turning back to Hood. “I thank you again for returning Masqued Madeleine to us, we were, how can I say, quite out of sorts for a while, not knowing where she had got to. Ambrosia, I presume…” she leaves the sentence hanging, waiting for Hood to respond.
Hoods eyes flick back to Madame Masque, surprised at the use of Madeleine’s real name: Ambrosia Clearwater of the House of Clearwater, a noble lineage whose seat is located here in Kera-Bur. When Hood had first met Madeleine, it was as Ambrosia. Only after the accident, after the mask, did Madeleine change her name, never using her original one again.
“Dead,” rasps Hood, his gaze a thousand mile stare, emotionless.
“I feared so, and so again, amidst your pain, we thank you for returning our sister to us.”
Hood contemplates all that is going on. Carefully considering the strange way in which Madame Masque speaks of things and about things, thinks carefully about all that he has heard her say from the very first moment she introduced herself on the boat even though…
“I must tell you then, of your other companions,” Madam Masque interrupts Hood’s thoughts.
Hood nods slowly, not really wishing to hear what he thinks he is about to hear, for he fears the worse, even though it is primarily for this reason that he has returned to Kera-Bur, but Madame Masque sits momentarily silent until a slight vibration shudders the cabin, as if another cabin has just grazed the side, and the slow sway, that Hood has become used to, changes ever so slightly to a different gait.
Upon this change, Madame Masque opens the curtains on the right side of the palanquin to reveal another pressed close up against it, and as Madame Masque pushes down the window, the curtains of the other palanquin twitch slightly before being drawn fully open to reveal, as the window of that palanquin is also pushed down, a slightly bemused Hy-Jinx, accompanied by and sitting next to another masked figure.
Hood experiences a thrill of exuberance at the sight of what he considers a friend - a strange thought, since really, he has only known Hy-Jinx for such a brief period of time. Yet the time that he has spent in her company, if at first he had not fully enjoyed it, he had come to genuinely like her, and knew that Madeleine cared for her also.
“Greetings Madame Masque,” the masked figure says, sitting forward, almost leering into the cabin.
“Masqued Maerin, I greet thee, and I see that you have our ward.”
“As requested Madame Masque,” the figure says, sitting back and indicating Hy-Jinx with an outstretched palm - a strange almost formal courtly gesture, - whilst in his other hand he holds an apple that he polishes slowly on his sleeve.
“And how goes life with our young sister?” asks Madame Masque.
Hy-Jinx presses her lips firmly closed - an unusual response Hood thinks, again giving him cause to think.
Madame Masque laughs gently at Hy-Jinx’s response. “Come, little one, I understand your peevishness. It must seem that you have been rescued from the frying pan, only to find yourself sitting in the fire. Why not let us exchange places as we travel to our destination. I think reuniting you with a friend will come as a pleasant interlude in your present predicament. Masqued Maerin, if you please?”
At this request, Masqued Maerin lets out a shrill short whistle at which the distance between the palanquins grows to allow both parties to swing open the doors, before the palanquins join again. Masqued Maerin goes to stand but Madame Masque holds up a hand to stay him. “I shall join you” she says, “please, if you will, help our ward across first.”
Taking hold of one of Hy-Jinx’s hands, Masqued Maerin, carefully guides Hy-Jinx through the kissing doors, whereupon Hood takes Hy-Jinx's other hand and guides her to sit next to him, not letting go of the hand that he holds but firmly keeping it in his.
Madame Masque rises in a stately manner and gathering and hitching her dress slightly, her gloves clenched in one hand, she steps carefully and calmly into the other cabin. “We shall leave you two then, to get reacquainted, and shall see you at the manse,” she says, seating herself next to Masqued Maerin.
Hood, realising, that Madame Masque has left Madeleine’s mask upon the couch points at it as way of alerting her, “Ah, well, I’ll leave her with you for some moments longer,” Madame Masque says, indicating with a short gesture that she is already seated and does not wish to bother with any further upheaval. “You have looked after her for so long, I’m sure you can manage a few more minutes. Oh, and just to keep you informed, you are currently riding with Kera-Bur’s most wanted criminal, about to turn onto the King’s Way where the greatest number of guards and watch in the city patrol and are stationed, so…keep the curtains closed, will you?”