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one of them and that is why the carving in the Infinity of Dragonstraat seems familiar to you. It is a wonder to me that the slavemasters have not had them destroyed as they did the queen’s garden and the fire races, for all Redlanders looking upon the likeness of their queen will remember the legend that says she will return and help her people to drive out the invaders.’
    The older woman gave a braying, unpleasant laugh. ‘Why quash a story that keeps Redlanders passive and biddable as they wait for a queen who can never come?’
    ‘What happened to her? Do ye ken?’ Matthew asked.
    The sour-faced woman shrugged. ‘Of course I know. It was long ago, but to hear the Redlanders talk it might have been yesterday. The queen was betrayed to the slavemasters by her prime consul. They had been coming to the Red Land since one of their ships limped into harbour during a storm. Then they discovered there was a rich and fertile city on the edge of that vast barren land. They were respectful at first. Small trade delegations came, speaking of the possibility of mining, pretending to be interested and impressed by the way the subterranean streams were harnessed to water crops and the fabulous fire races that once graced every street and bower. And the slavemasters were lavish in their admiration for the queen of a land whose people adored her. That ought to have been a warning to her, for it showed they came from a place where rulers were not beloved. So maybe she was not quite as clever as her people claim. Nor can she have been so, for she was seduced by the admiration of the slavemasters and listened when they begged her to let them take houses and stay so that they could learn how she managed things.’
    ‘She is said to have been trusting and kind,’ said the younger woman rather reproachfully, and she continued the tale, adopting the slightly formal cadences of a professional teller of tales. ‘The slavemasters hid their teeth behind their smiles until they had the measure of the Red Land and its ruler. Then one night, they bribed her prime consul to leave open the gate to her private garden so that they could creep in and take her captive when there were no guards to defend her. She was shattered when she realised who had betrayed her and she cursed him and told him to serve his new masters henceforth. Her people would do nothing for fear of bringing her to harm, so great was their love for her. The slavemasters had learned well and so they had no fear of retaliation, so long as they had the queen. They marched her through the streets until she swooned from loss of blood, and then one of the slavemasters carried her aboard the ship that bore her away, leaving her daughter to weep and run at his heels.’
    ‘Her daughter!’ Matthew echoed, a queer note in his voice.
    The women looked at him and then at one another in puzzlement. ‘She had a daughter,’ said the taleteller, forgetting her careful cadences. ‘The stories don’t say much about her other than that she was taken away on the ship with her mother.’
    ‘Aboard a ship?’ Matthew exclaimed. ‘What ship? Where was it bound?’
    The older, sour-faced woman took up the story, seeming to relish the tragedy of her tale. ‘The ships, for there were three of them, journeyed to that distant place from whence the slavemasters came, and from whence the coup had been planned, to report on their success. As to whether they truly intended to bring the Red Queen and her daughter there as they said, no one knows. Maybe they meant all along to throw her into the sea to drown, or to sell her at the Spit. But whatever they intended, the ship carrying the Red Queen foundered along with all of the greatships that had accompanied it. Only one small ship boat survived to limp back to Redport, bearing three men and their story of a storm and rocks and terrible giant ship fish. There was no doubt the Red Queen perished, for all three men saw her drown. No doubt the