Читать книгу The Queen of the Night - Alexandra Okatova - Страница 3

To provide a place where the Queen’s potential suitors could stay, a huge hotel complex spanning almost the entire Kingdom had to be built.

The Kingdom itself was very small and there wasn’t much money in the treasury. Thus, the hotel had to be built with individual contributions instead of public money. The wealthy could invest their thalers into the construction, hoping to receive future dividends. Many were willing to contribute as everyone wanted to benefit in one way or another from shares of the hotel, which was tentatively called «The Queen of the Night Shelter», Queen of the Night being a brand of the Kingdom.

The Queen was the most beautiful queen in the whole world. She was only shown to her potential suitors for two hours a day – from midnight to two o’clock. Except for the only maid in the house, nobody would see her again until the next midnight.

No one else was allowed in the Queen’s chambers, but all day, the maid scurried through the palace, coming and going with viands. She prepared dresses for the Queen, sniffed and scrutinized everything. Every conversation with the Queen was in written form, maintained by the same old woman, the Queen’s servant. Such had been the arrangement since time immemorial.

A young and inquisitive astrologer once tried (in vain) to find out the extent of time immemorial; everything had been forgotten and the Queen of the Night had become an urban legend.

This persistent young man then visited and explored all of the libraries in the Kingdom. There were only three libraries: one in the capital at the Queen’s palace, the second one at the Carmelite Monastery, and the third was at the prison. He had no luck at the palace library – manuscripts there were carefully checked and selected to ensure that anything that might tarnish the Queen’s dignity and honour was carefully cleaned out. Thus, the inquisitive man could find nothing but glittering praises for the Queen.

The prison library was more helpful. There were innumerable volumes with endless lists of potential suitors for the Queen of the Night. The lists contained only the name and clan of the applicant (for example, «Hardy-Strong-Boozer» or «Chamber-pot-Aethelbeald»), as well as their date of death. A page contained a hundred names; the death dates were aligned in a row, and deaths occurred every day. Thanks to this list alone, the young astrologer was able to establish the historical origins for the Queen of the Night.

There were eighteen volumes altogether. It turned out that the story of the Queen of the Night originated somewhere in the middle of the sixteenth century. Since then, about two hundred thousand people had disappeared. It’s good that these were mainly foreigners that came to ask for the Queen’s hand in marriage. Had the suitors come from within the Kingdom, then nobody would have been left, the young scholar thought. He wasn’t able to obtain any other details from the prison library.

* * *

Within the books of the royal library, the Queen of the Night was described as a virgin of divine beauty, with the whitest skin, hair like ebony, and juicy, perfectly-shaped lips, rosy cheeks, and passionate black eyes.

The young astrologer wondered how the Queen was able to remain so beautiful and young for centuries. It had probably been her descendants, beautiful maidens like her. But in both the royal library and at the prison, there were no details about the weddings of any of the Queens of the Night. So, it was indeed the same girl, which was very strange.

The young astrologer was twenty years old, but he could not remember the Queen of the Night ever choosing someone amongst her suitors. However, urban legends stubbornly insisted that the Queen of the Night was a beautiful girl with a slightly grim appearance. She would speak with each potential suitor for two hours a day – or rather, a night. Perhaps each of the candidates had intentionally or unknowingly committed a crime against the Queen and had been executed. Or maybe executing a candidate was part of the Queen’s ritual. As you’ll recall, the prison records only had a list.

The young astrologer, unlike the others, took a fresh look at the problem and was completely confused. It was quite possible that the whole thing was just a black PR campaign to maintain a continuous influx of suitors, men who were lured from around the world by powerful advertising, which would ensure that the hotel was always full of guests and that the suitors would bring money to help the kingdom prosper.

There remained only one place where the young astrologer hoped to find out something more about the Queen of the Night: the monastery of the discalced Carmelites. There, wearing shoes was a sign of sin, from which stemmed vile behaviour. This was a place where virgins, widows, Beguines, and Mantellates lived faithfully, fulfilling vows of obedience, chastity, abstinence, and self-denial, despising seductive shoes by walking barefoot.

The library was located in a dilapidated wing of the monastery. Angry old nuns didn’t want to let the young astrologer into the monastery. After much wrangling, he was finally taken to the abbess, Teresa of Avila. She looked at the astrologer skeptically:

«Are you sure you aren’t looking for a bride here at the monastery?» she inquired.

The young man told her he simply wanted to find documentation supporting the story of the Queen of the Night. The old abbess became lively and interested in his research:

«So, does this mean that you’re doubting that she’s been alive for five centuries?» «Don’t you doubt that too? I want to verify this story. Help me», he requested.

«Please allow me to see your library; I’m sure I’ll find an answer to all these questions. I was unable to find anything at the palace and prison libraries. It means the answer is here». In his youth, he was sure that there were no questions whose answers couldn’t be found at the library.

«It’s ok, but remember that this is very dangerous!» said the abbess.

The young man ran to the monastery library and sat there for three days. The nuns, who hadn’t seen a man in a long time, vied with one another in their attempts to bring him food and drink, but the abbess personally brought him bread and milk. The astrologer went to the toilet himself, refusing the bucket that had been kindly provided for him. The toilet was where the cunning lay sisters tried to catch him, but the housekeeper chased them off with a broom.

After three days, the young man, pale and tired, but with a burning enthusiasm in his eyes, appeared before the abbess and outlined his own completely impossible version of events:

«I found part of an agreement between the Queen and the black magic master. The Queen was bewitched», he claimed firmly.

She was given eternal life as a beautiful maiden, but the young man couldn’t determine from the mysterious agreement what she had given in exchange for her eternal life. A rather substantial part of the document was missing from the agreement. The document was torn at a most interesting place. Someone had barbarously torn off a palm-sized piece of the parchment. Judging by the size of the lost piece, it had been lost forever, but died honourably on the battlefield of body hygiene. The young man didn’t reveal his fantasy because he was scared.

For clarification and verification, he needed to enter the palace.

«I’ll need to go to the palace and see what’s happening there for myself», he insisted.

The abbess was categorically opposed to that.

«They won’t let you in! Firstly, you will not be allowed into the palace if you’re not there as a suitor, and if you enter as a potential suitor, you’ll disappear like the others, and I won’t see you anymore. Secondly, you won’t have time to discover anything because the guards will find out you’re a spy and execute you. But wait! I have an idea, something you can do! You’ll dress up like a nun!»

«No», he began to yell.

«Yes», she said. «It is not up for debate!»

The young astrologer was led to the refectory because it was the most spacious room, where his presence wouldn’t offend the feelings of the holy sisters. The monastery had not had this much fun since its inception. The mother abbess couldn’t deprive the girls of this pleasure.

The young man had a small beard. In order to make him look like a young girl, it had to be shaved off. The astrologer suffered most when a young nun, standing face to face with him, rose on her tiptoes and began to shave his rosy cheeks and plump upper lip. Losing her balance, she wobbled and fell into his chest. Since she had something to rest on, she let herself fall and didn’t want to let go until others, equally wishing to be in her shoes, pushed her aside. His silken beard was completely shaven from the young man’s face and he resembled a village simpleton, red as a rose – the girls burst out and vied with each other in their attempt to feel his shaven face. They didn’t calm down until all of them had touched him. The young astrologer was ready to sink into the ground, but the reenergizing romp gave him pleasure.

Under muffed giggles, he was stripped to his underwear and the girls began dressing him in monastic robes. Each of the young nuns tried to touch his body, hold their fingers on his shoulder, or encircle his waist with their palms, pretending to take measurements. He refused to remove his underwear. They put a very prickly woollen shirt on him, then a brown hooded robe of undyed wool, and then a white bib and a girded leather belt with beads. They took away his boots. The nuns advised him to hide his legs – his feet were too masculine.

The satisfied sisters showed their new novice to the abbess and she was very pleased.

«Dear», the abbess admonished the young man, «The main thing is that you must not forget that you are mute!»

The young man actually lost his voice for a moment:

«Why mute?» he squeaked with surprise.

«You have to be dumb, my dear, you have to!» she smiled. «The dress perfectly matches you, but once you open your mouth, you will be immediately exposed», she said.

«How will I be able to find out anything if I’m mute?»

«Observe, notice, analyse. Here’s a message to the Queen. I sometimes communicate with her and she recently asked me to give her a recipe for a light herbal sleeping drink. Have it. You can pass it to her. Now, farewell my dear. All the best», she said, and kissed him on the forehead, then made the sign of the cross.

When he turned to leave, she lightly slapped him on the buttocks. He turned red like cancer and angrily glared at her, but she had already disappeared behind the gates.

Unable to withstand the heat, the young man removed his woollen shirt in the nearest grove and remained in his trousers and robe; it immediately became easier to breathe.

The road to the royal palace wasn’t long. Along the way, surprised peasants watched the tall, slender, broad-shouldered nun quickly walk the road to town with rapid, wide steps. ‘She’ waved ‘her’ arms. ‘Her’ flushed face was concentrated and if someone tried to talk to her, she shook her head and mumbled, though it was clear she understood everything perfectly.

The old gatekeeper couldn’t understand what the young nun wanted, watching as ‘she’ twisted her arms to show her walking, bending low to the ground, blowing on ‘her’ hands, portraying knocks on her open left hand with her right fist, then making a pouring motion with the left hand towards the right. ‘She’ made a stirring motion like making tea, and mimed drinking it and falling unconscious. ‘She’ even lay snoring for a few seconds to make it more convincing.

The gatekeeper replied:

«I understood everything. You had a backache and could barely bend, making you perform your job poorly, and as a result your abbess reprimanded you, deciding that you eat too much and don’t work enough. Therefore you decided the best thing to do was to take poison».

I do not know how the porter, and we, dear reader, it is clear that in fact wanted to show a young man, I poor nun gathered a wormwood, Motherwort and other herbs, dried, was crushed, brewed and drank and went to sleep quietly.

The gatekeeper watched the nun with pleasure until ‘she’ slammed ‘her’ right hand on ‘her’ forehead and sharply picked up ‘her’ hem and lifted ‘her’ robe to the waist and, before the eyes of the amazed gatekeeper, pulled out the letter from the abbess from ‘her’ belt and smiled.

The gatekeeper cautiously took the letter but when he saw the monastery seal, he immediately understood everything and ran down the stairs to the Queen’s chamber.

The astrologer leaned against the wall and sighed with relief.

* * *

He decided to sit in the kitchen, believing he’d be able to learn everything that would interest him from there. He easily located the kitchen from its smell. There he was warmly welcomed and served a plate of food. He sat at the table where the other servants and guards were having their dinner presently. The young nun, folding ‘her’ large hands in a prayerful gesture, moved ‘her’ lips for a few seconds and then grabbed a spoon, and scooped vigorously and noisily sucked the hot soup. The guards smiled and began to glance at the ‘girl’ with interest.

After the dinner, the men silently gathered around the nun and the most impudent amongst them grabbed ‘her’ knee. The ‘nun’ was so surprised that her eyebrows few up under the hood. The next moment, this insolent guard slid down the wall to the floor, smiling blissfully at the same time. The rest now looked at ‘her’ respectfully and went about their business.

The cook, plump like a donut, looked at her approvingly:

«Very good, that’s the way! These men have gone absolutely bonkers. My dear, are you mute?» she nodded assiduously. «That’s okay, I’ll talk for the two of us. Today, I’m cooking the evening meal for the Queen».

The order was received in advance because it was very difficult to find some of the ingredients. The experienced cook knew the recipes of simple dishes by heart: for example, candied chrysanthemums cooked in wine, and raspberries, dried under the moon and glazed with spring mountain breeze, which gave them a cool, fresh taste.

To be served was wine, the glare of the full moon splashed on it, reflected by the icy mountain lake, and potted nightingale tongues, which had been soaked in a centenary storage in an oak barrel of cognac. There, the goblet of tongues in cognac was kept for three days in the hall on a harpsichord, where musicians, one after the other, continuously performed Vivaldi. The paste wiped through the thinnest of gold foil was served in gold thimbles garnished with petals of violets.

Some of the recipes had to be found in old cookbooks with copper clasps resembling the jaws of wild beasts. And so it was this time: apart from dishes familiar to the cook, the Queen ordered the heart of a roe deer stuffed with a phoenix egg, baked in the wings of a bat on a fire of rose bushes, in a sauce made from the blood of new born rabbits.

When the cook read the recipe aloud, the astrologer went cold and started sweating on his forehead. It was one thing to have candied chrysanthemums and quite another to have the heart of a roe deer in bat wings with a sauce made from the blood of new born rabbits, not to mention the phoenix egg. Yuck! Phoenix had long been entered in the Red Book. There were no doubts that the Queen was bewitched. She urgently needs to be rescued, the young man thought.

The cook went to the basement where the necessary products were stored on ice and the young man rushed to help her.

* * *

When they returned they saw that a royal valet was in the kitchen idling about. The valet brought the fairly rumpled letter the gatekeeper had received earlier and handed it to the cook. She looked at it attentively and disapprovingly said:

«It’s totally awkward for me to prepare this broth. I already have so much to fuss over here, and you want me to start preparing a sleeping drink. Oh!» she said joyfully, «how nice that you happened to be here. Please prepare a medicine using this recipe!»

The young astrologer was ready for anything, except a hunger strike, and gladly accepted. The only thing that worried him was how to push the cook to tell a story about the Queen.

He defiantly approached a painting on the wall, which was so grimy and old that it wasn’t clear what was shown there: Jonah in a whale’s belly or a knight, saying goodbye to life after a fight.

«I see you’re interested in history. This picture has been hanging here since long before I started working here», the cook replied. «I don’t know what’s drawn here. I think it’s a big wedding cake with sugar drawings of the bride and groom, but I can’t say for certain. To the housekeeper, the painting depicts a mahogany sideboard with an inlay and bronze handles, while the guards said that they see a shackled prisoner led to an execution site. The Queen’s servant should be asked because she’s so old that she’d know for certain».

The cook said:

«The Queen doesn’t change. After a dinner with another contender for her lily-like hand in marriage, at two o’clock at night, she’ll slowly pass across the balcony, admiring the stars and turning her face and shoulders to the moonlight as we do to the sun. When I was young, I often looked at her from behind a curtain in the living room while the sad, pale candle floated, barely touching the parquet with her legs, her eyes blazing like black diamonds, her hair fluttering and her waist such a thin sight it could easily ft in your joined palms. Sweetie, your hands are so big. Didn’t you grow up in the village?»

The young man looked down and nodded modestly.

«For the first year, I went to look at her every night. Every night, I was so frozen that, until morning, I couldn’t get warm enough. I then started going once a month, and later once a year. She never changed; the cold coming from her became stronger and stronger. The last five years, I didn’t go to look at her at all and I began to feel better. What am I even saying? It’s good that you’re mute and no one will cut off my head. You won’t be able to tell anyone and nobody will ask you to tell!»

* * *

Our explorer knew he had found traces and was on the right track – the investigation moved on from a dead end and his idea that the Queen was bewitched was confirmed.

He continued to work on the sleeping drink for the Queen. The work was in full swing and the cook forgot about conversation, and all that was needed was cooked, steamed, and cooled down.

A Queen’s servant visited the kitchen.

She was an ancient old woman with a wrinkled face, a pair of slanting small black eyes, and thin avaricious lips, densely painted with red lipstick. She had a hooked nose and was thin with what was called a widow’s hunchback, spidery hands with dull red nails and swollen joints, and her grey-streaked hair was coquettishly gathered in a crooked bunch, rusty hairpins protruding from it in different directions. Wrinkled like a gutted turkey, her neck was covered with torn but expensive and rare Venetian lace. Her large, curved foot seemed to prevent her from walking; she stumbled and dragged her bad foot. She stuck her nose into all the pots and pans, then glared at the nun and shouted:

«Hurry up, you chook! The Queen doesn’t like waiting!»

The cook bowed submissively:

«Madam, everything will be ready right this moment. Madam, please take the sleeping tincture; this nun prepared it; what a sensible girl she is».

The old woman took a vial of the dark mixture and hid it in her rags; apparently the poor old woman doesn’t sleep well, the astrologer thought.

The old woman was gone.

Both the cook and the ‘imaginary’ nun breathed a sigh of relief and began to serve the meal. Everything was ready in five minutes; the young nun took a tray of gold plates and cutlery to the Queen’s chambers. She wasn’t there.