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spoldhamauthor · 5 years ago

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Image not mine, copied from https://blackadderquotes.com/blackadder-quotes-best-queenie-quotes-from-blackadder Found it whilst searching for a suitable picture, seemed perfect to me!

Author’s Note:

I wrote this as a submission to a collection of stories. It was not successful, but no matter, I very much enjoyed writing it. The idea was to write about a well-known character, but set many years ahead. They had to have somehow become twisted or evil over time, at least that is what I remember of the criteria.

I suspect that this story was not brutal enough for that particular collection, but as I say, no matter. My husband suggested Queenie when I was wracking my brains for a character to expend upon and I jumped upon the idea.

For those of you who may not be familiar with Queenie aka Queen Elizabeth I as portrayed in Series 2 of the excellent UK comedy-drama series Blackadder for my piece. Blackadder aired in Britain in the 1980’s and remains firmly popular to this day. If you haven’t seen it, I can’t recommend it enough. Quality writing and acting, with bleak and often quite dark humour, it just gets better as you go along.

Queenie (as opposed to the actual Queen Elizabeth I, that is) can be considered borderline insane, I think. Perhaps that is not surprising, given the power that lay literally at her fingertips; the societal demands that meant she was never to be found wrong, never to be argued with, never to be found wanting in any sense. Admirers from far and wide were expected to tremble at her beauty. Even as a grown woman, sat upon the throne, she had her ever faithful Nursie at her side, to humour and flatter her at every turn. Add to that the fact that she was British royalty, the daughter of Henry VIII and of executed Anne Boleyn, and you’ve got a nutter in the making if ever there was one.

I suppose essentially this could be described as fan-fiction. Please take it as it is intended; a bit of fun. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

S P Oldham

Corpse and Corruptibility

“I must say, these heads look jolly super on their spikes don’t they Nursie? Nursie?

Queenie looked about her, tentatively turning her aching neck. She rubbed at it arthritically, reminded at once of the many heads she had ordered removed from their necks in the earlier years of her reign.

The chamber was devoid of life, other than the two empty-headed maids-in-waiting who sat before the fire, sewing quietly in the slowly fading light. Queenie felt they didn’t count. They looked up as she spoke, exchanging a glance before one of them found voice enough to say, “Nursie, ma’am?”

“Yes, Nursie! Where is she?” Queenie hissed, her previous good mood rapidly dissipating, “Never mind, you will have to do. I was saying, don’t these heads look jolly super on their spikes?”

The women shared another look. With an air of having done this a thousand times before, they set down their sewing, crossing obediently to where Queenie sat.

There had been some argument over the placement of her chair when she had first been moved into these rooms. She had found it quite unbelievable that she had to argue with anyone to have her will fulfilled. It was something she was having to do more and more, these, days.

She had won out eventually though, drawing on her aging reserves of spite, threat, malice and just enough of a retaining link to royal power that the household had backed down, submitting to her demands.

The chair, heavily and expensively embroidered, was at first appearances a lavish thing. Closer inspection revealed that it was becoming worn in patches, the metallic golden threads losing their shine, the cushions beginning to sag and to lose their stuffing. Queenie never seemed to notice its state of gradual decay; perhaps it was too close a mirror to her own self. She had it placed just inside the arched doorway, enabling her to see the entirety of her chamber, but more importantly, to see all the way down the shadowed corridor beyond the door.

The corridor was lit with slow-burning torches. Running parallel to them was a row of withered heads set upon iron spikes. Once familiar members of her court, Blackadder, Baldrick, Melchett and Nursie remained in her presence still.

The heads faced away from Queenie, towards a row of darkening windows, as if peering out onto the sweeping lawns below.

The ladies-in-waiting, standing either side of the chair, made a show of looking attentively upon the grisly spectacle.

“They do indeed look super, ma’am,” one of them ventured. Queenie thought she detected a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

“Very super indeed,” the other agreed. Queenie swore she heard a suppressed giggle. Outraged, she narrowed her eyes, making the figure of the woman bare feet away from her blur and distort. She reached out to slap her with her fan.

She had gone, the ladies returning to their sewing without Queenie’s consent.

“I don’t believe I gave you leave to sit,” Queenie said, effecting her most child-like, and therefore most dangerous, tone of voice, “I think you should come back here at once, otherwise I might find another use for those sharp little needles!” The last words came out a rasp, making her throat dry. She began to cough, her eyes tearing up.

“Fetch me a drink!” she snapped, gratified to see one of the women jump up to pour her a cup of wine.

“What’s that?” she snapped, snatching the cup and pushing the woman away irritably, “What did you say, Blackadder?”

At once, the women were lost to her; as inconsequential as their conversation and their sewing. The cup of wine arrested in its journey to her lips, Queenie’s attention was fixed firmly on the head nearest the door.

“I said, there was a time when you would not have tolerated such impertinence, my lady. Heaven knows, I never got away with it.”

Queenie laughed; a high-pitched, unexpected cackle, assaulting the frigid air of the chamber. One of the ladies-in-waiting jumped, dropping her needle.

“Very true Blackadder, but come on! You always knew I had a soft spot for you, surely?”

“Really?” Blackadder said sardonically, “Well, I’ve certainly got a soft spot now, that’s for sure. You had to put us on spikes, did you? It was too much to hope that your majesty might have had a nice, smooth wooden shelf to rest us upon?”

“Don’t be cheeky Blackie! I could have had you displayed on London Bridge along with all the other rotters, you know!”

“The other rotters, ma’am? I am hurt that you seem to think I could ever do anything to offend your royal self.”

Queenie pouted, a gesture once haughtily seductive. Now, it served only to compress her thin lips still further, giving her cheeks an appearance of near-skeletal gauntness, “Now, now Blackadder, don’t be naughty. You know very well what you did. I had to teach you a little lesson, that’s all.”

“A very just and deserved lesson, if one might interject, your majesty,” Melchett oozed his way into the conversation.

“You may not say, Melchett!” Queenie snapped, “I’m still very cross with you, you know! You were a very naughty Lord Chamberlain and well you know it!”

“Quite so, ma’am. Forgive me,” Melchett receded.

“In fact, now that I think about it I might just have to punish you again Melchy! I really am very cross you know,” This last spoken in softer tones, Queenie’s anger dissolving as at last she raised the wine to her lips.

The ladies-in-waiting were watching her very closely. Queenie smiled back. Once a pretty, even disarming smile, now it was missing several teeth and set in a plump and spoiled visage. There was a hard glint in her eyes where the smile did not quite reach. Time was, that would have been warning enough to anyone in her presence to choose their next words very carefully.

“Who are you talking to?” One of them asked, adding off-handedly, “Ma’am?”

Queenie paused, considering. She was sure she had been speaking to someone else just a moment ago. Someone she knew well, over whom she had influence. She took another sip of the wine.

“Isn’t it obvious, or are you trying to be clever?” Queenie replied to the puzzled lady, “Because we all know what happens to people who try to be clever, don’t we?”

“We do indeed my little angel,” the head of Nursie gushed, “They go join the church and become something to do with praying and singing and all those nice things. Unless, they are girls of course; in which case, they find a nice, rich man…”

“Od do shut up Nursie! I wasn’t asking you! I was asking these people here! Who are you, anyway?” Queenie looked each of the women up and down the length of their bodies, “What are you doing here?”

The women sighed in unison, their exasperation plain. The one Queenie had tried to hit with her fan spoke first.

“I am Ann Pastwick, Countess of…”

“Boring!” Queenie announced in a shrill voice, relishing the flush of anger on the woman’s face, “You’re boring, this place is boring and I am very, very bored! Do something funny at once!”

The lady-in-waiting who had not yet spoken stood, going to Queenie with her hand outstretched, “Another cup of wine, first?” She spoke as if to a child, persuading her have her drink before going out to play.

“Good idea,” Queenie said, relinquishing the cup, “Just be a bit quicker about it this time!”

The lady smiled, baring teeth. She went to the table to pour the wine. From her seated position, Lady Ann watched her counterpart fiddle with a vial dangling from the beads around her waist, out of sight of Queenie. She gave a small, imperceptible nod, signifying her agreement.

The lady inclined her head. She shook a few grains of powder into the wine, stirring it with a long, slender finger, allowing it to dissolve before returning it to Queenie in her chair, wiping her finger surreptitiously on her dress.

“Go on then, do something!” Queenie said ungratefully, snatching back the wine, spilling a few drops down the front of her gown.

“I shouldn’t drink that if I were you,” Blackadder warned from out in the corridor. He sounded as if he didn’t expect to be listened to.

“Oh? Why not?”

“Ah, I think I might be in accordance with Lord Blackadder on this matter, Ma’am. It is perhaps wise not to take a drink from that glass,” Melchett added, keen not to miss out on anything.

“But why not?” Queenie repeated her question, growing impatient.

“If I may, I think Blackadder might suspect, as do I, that your wine has been adulterated,” Melchett supplied.

“Adulterated. Whatever do you mean?”

“I think I know your royal majesteriness,” Baldrick’s flat, vacant tones rang out. On the spike next to him, Blackadder groaned, “Oh God, here we go. If I still had eyes, I would be rolling them like crazy right now.”

“Well? Tell me then!”

“Well, it’s like your old dad and that woman. What’s ‘er name? Kathleen something or other. Anyway, rumour had it that she did a little bit of adulterating, here and there like. That’s what’s happened to your wine I reckon; it’s been messed about with.” Baldrick finished his explanation with an air of triumph, “Hey, Mr Blackadder sir; if I had eyes, I’d been flicking them back and forth now, just to see how proud you and Mr Melchett are of me!”

“Yes,” Blackadder drawled, “And if I could bend my neck a bit more on this spike, I’d try knocking some sense into you with my own head.”

“I must say, the strange little man has done rather a good job of explaining matters, in his roundabout and somewhat stupid way,” Melchett said, “After all, when all’s said and done, it does appear that her majesty’s wine has been, well, messed about with,”

“Ooh! Don’t drink it buttercup! Tip it away at once, or you’ll have a runny tummy again, like that time you insisted on tasting the tanner’s wine and it turned out to be wee-wee,” Nursie cautioned.

“Shut up Nursie!” Queenie snapped, her colour rising, “Messed about with, you say? Who would dare do such a thing?”

Blackadder sighed, “Well, taking a wild stab in the dark your highness, I think it might be one, or both, of your ladies-in-waiting.”

“Ah, but how do you know, Mr Blackadder sir? For all her queeniness knows, it could be one of us!” Baldrick remained pleased with himself.

The silence that followed was filled with disbelief. Lord Blackadder broke it, saying in his most nasal, snake-like tones, “Your majesty, I think it might be safe to dismiss Baldrick’s suggestion that it might be one of us who is responsible.”

“Oh you do, do you? Well that’s one of the first signs of guilt, I happen to know! Protesting your innocence! Why should I believe any of you?”

“That’s right my little owlet, you show them how clever you are!”

“Shut up Nursie! Well, Blackadder?”

Despite the fact that he was missing his eyes, lips and facial hair, in spite of the fact that his remaining skin was drawn back tight across his skull, Blackadder managed to look astounded.

“Because, your majesty, we none of us have arms. Or legs, Or hands. Or even brains, for that matter, not that it’s made much difference to Baldrick.”

“Hey!”

“Oh yes! Oh yes, of course! Oh, well done Blackie! Silly me, I should have noticed that, being queen and all.”

“But you’re not queen!” The unnamed lady-in-waiting blurted out, bewildered at the apparent conversation the erstwhile queen was holding with the mouldering heads in the corridor.

“I beg your pardon!” Queenie snapped her neck round to face the woman, regretting it instantly as a sharp pang of pain shot upwards and into her jaw. She rubbed at it furiously, eyes glaring, “You didn’t tell me what your name was!”

“You didn’t give her the chance,” Lady Ann interrupted brazenly, “Her name is Lady Helena, as she has told you a thousand times before. As we both have told you more times than we can either of us remember. We cannot be held responsible for your lack of memory in your dotage.”

“Or your encroaching insanity,” Lady Helena added, spitefully.

It had been a long time since Queenie had felt such a surge of rage. It was true that she lived with a permanent undercurrent of anger, always simmering just under the surface. She also carried with her a deep, unfathomable well of bitter resentment at old-age and ignominy. The anger she now felt was something different; old and familiar, like the row of heads so dear to her. As comfortable and known to her as her favourite bedroom slippers. It was a welcome visitor to her gloomy chamber.

“How dare you!” She roared, setting loose a strand of greying hair to frame her face on one side, “How dare you speak to me like that! I can have your head chopped off, you know! With just a click of these fingers. Look!”

Queenie raised her empty hand, resting the tip of her thumb on her middle finger; or trying to. A warm swelling coupled with a deep, ever-present ache, had made its presence felt there for some time now. It was all she could do to reach that finger with her thumb. She could add no force to it once it was there. The motion alone caused her pain. Her thumb slid uselessly away, sliding over her papery skin, producing no sound at all, simply contorting her digits into near unnatural shapes with the effort.

“Bugger!” she swore aloud, “Here!” She thrust out the goblet of wine, spilling yet more of it down her front. Alarmed that the poison might be spilled and wasted, Lady Ann rushed forward to rescue it.

“Now you’ve had it!” Queenie sneered, attempting to click her fingers on her good hand instead. It worked, though the sound it made was feeble at best. She beamed at the ladies, eyes shining with excited malice, “Guards!” She shouted, prompting another coughing fit.

Seeing her chance, Lady Ann nudged the wine back into Queenie’s hand. She took it without even noticing, resting the goblet on the stained arm of the chair.

“Guards?” She called again, a trace of confusion entering her features.

“Madam, there are no guards,” Lady Ann said placatingly, “They were removed some time ago now, remember? It was decreed that they were wasted here, in the highest, dustiest, loneliest part of the palace. Even if anyone knew you were here or how to reach you, why on earth would they want to? Who would care enough to fight their way in here to you?”

“Now that’s just unkind,” Nursie chided from the corridor, “Very unkind indeed. That’s what comes of girls being left to play together for too long, if you ask me. Mind you, it makes a change you being on the receiving end, my little stinging nettle. I remember you playing with young Lady Alison in the nursery one day, when she held your dolly for only a tiny moment, and you made her cry, you were so nasty to her. Why, you…”

“Yes, thank you Nursie!” Queenie cut her off hurriedly, “I have just been mortally offended if you don’t mind, thank you! I don’t want to know about some silly tiff when I was little, which I don’t believe you about, by the way. I’m quite sure Lady Alison was mean to me first. But I do want to know what’s going to be done about this. Well, what are you going to do about it, Blackadder?”

“Me, my lady?”

“Yes, you Blackadder. Why must I always repeat myself?”

“If I may be frank my lady, I fail to see what on earth you imagine I can do about it.”

“You’re a Lord in my court, aren’t you?”

“Well, I was once, yes. But that was before you cut off my head,”

“Oh yes. Gosh, why do I keep forgetting about that?” Queenie giggled absently, “It’s no excuse for slackness though! I still expect you to do something about it!”

“Yes, I thought you might. You really are a mad old cow, aren’t you Queenie? I mean, you really are completely barking. As barking as a rabid dog from Barking whose seen the postman coming and has got free access to the letterbox. aren’t you?”

“I see,” Queenie snipped, “So you’re choosing to side with these two harpies, are you?” She ignored the sharp intake of breath her insult drew from her ladies, “You might want to be a bit more careful about your behaviour round here,” she went on, “I can still have you punished. Don’t forget that.”

“Yes, about that. Let’s examine that for a moment, shall we? As it stands, or as you stand, since I am only upright if I am held up by a spike but no matter; as it stands, I am reduced to nothing more than a head. Not even a complete head, at that. I am missing my eyes; my lips have rotted away. My eyebrows, moustache and beard appear to have crawled off to die elsewhere. My ears have shrunk against my bones like barnacles against the hull of a ship and my skin is so stretched and thin it could be the plot for Shakespeare’s next play, yet you think you can punish me further? Very well then, my lady; do your worst.”

“I shall you know. Don’t push me Blackadder, you should know me better than that by now,”

“I can think of an additional punishment or two, if it please you, your majesty,” Melchett said ingratiatingly.

“Certainly Melchy! I’m always interested to hear what you have to say, as you know. What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing but fresh air, just as when he was alive,” Blackadder jibed.

“Pay him no attention Melchy, he’s just put out because he’s about to be told off! Come on then, what do you suggest?”

“Only this, madam. Blackadder was quick to point out that his eyes are missing. That means the sockets are empty. Perhaps you could fill them with something? Fresh manure from the palace stables, maybe? A handful of the scraps from table in the Great Hall, after the dogs have finished bringing it back up, for instance?”

“Ooh Melchy, there’s a thought!” Queenie’s eyes flicked upward as she sought to contribute, “I know!” She clapped her hands together in gleeful delight, pleased with herself at having thought of something, “I could pour molten gold into them!”

“Gold? Majesty, no! Surely gold is too rich a commodity…”

“No, no. Gold’s fine with me,” Blackadder assured her hastily. Queenie ignored him.

“Melchett, did you just tell me ‘no?’” Her voice had become hard and dangerous, her mood changing as quick as a wink.

“Forgive me, your majesty, I quite forgot myself. I trust that in your wisdom, you understand that I spoke with your best interests at heart.” His voice rose an octave, hopeful he had done enough to allay his queen’s wrath.

The ladies-in-waiting were growing impatient. They looked down at the babbling old queen in dismay. Of late, her behaviour had become ever more erratic, her lapses back into times past more frequent and more bizarrely detailed than ever. Resentful at having been designated her ladies-in-waiting, they had talked often of a way out of their dire situation. They each felt like prisoners themselves; as shut out of the way and forgotten as Queenie herself.

The poison had been an obvious choice. Yet it still carried with it a risk. No one would really care if the old queen dropped dead tomorrow. She couldn’t last very much longer anyway. But she couldn’t blatantly be killed. Old or not, mad as the erstwhile Lord Percy’s underpants or not, she was still royalty. If they were too obvious in their endeavours, they could well swing, or worse, for her murder.

Hence their nervousness. They had discussed dropping the powders into her wine just the night before. The plan had been to get her into bed, then slip them into her customary warm drink which she took to help her drift off. That way they could say she had simply died in her sleep, warm and comfortable in her bed.

They had brought the plan forward when Queenie had offered the insult as to their names.

“Enough is enough, after all,” Lady Ann said quite openly to Lady Helena, aware that Queenie was too engrossed in some strange conversation with the voices in her head – or in the corridor - to take any notice of the real people around her.

“Quite so,” Lady Helena agreed, “But now what? The way she is going, there will be no wine left in that goblet! She will tip out all of the poison. Do you have any more of the powder?”

“A little, yes,”

“Enough to do the job, should we need it?”

“I think so, yes,” Lady Ann said again, “It would at the very least make her exceedingly ill. She is old and frail, it might be enough.”

“We will just have to get her to drink it then,” Lady Helena said, determined.

“I think you can be quite rude to dear old Blackie sometimes, Melchett. I really do,” Queenie seemed to have forgotten Melchett’s utterance of the word no, “But you have raised an interesting question. If Blackie has no eyes anymore, as in fact none of you do, then how does he know my wine’s been messed about with?” She finished with an air of finality, as if she had asked a question no one could possibly hope to answer.

“Quite simple, my lady; I heard it.” Blackadder supplied smoothly.

“Heard it? Heard what?”

“The powders, my lady. I heard the tiniest splash as they spilled from their vial into your wine, followed by a light fizzing as they began to dissolve.”

“Oh gosh Blackadder, how clever!” Queenie was impressed, blushing coyly like a maiden enamoured with a gentleman at court.

“Oh please,” Melchett huffed, “My lady, how is that possible? Just as he no longer has eyes with which to see, Blackadder no longer has ears with which to hear, either.”

“Good point Melchy! Blackadder?”

“With respect my lady, that is not true. I do have ears. They just happened to be shrunk and stuck to my head, that’s all.”

“There you go Melchett, there’s your answer. Silly!” She added, as an afterthought. She chewed her lip, all at once sullen.

“What am I supposed to do, I wonder? If I let on I know about the wine, they might get angry with me and kill me some other way. Hit me with the poker on the hearth or something. I can’t very well call out for help, there are no guards to hear me. What should I do, Blackadder?”

“Hmm, a tricky situation ma’am. I beg grace to think it over for a moment or two.”

“Of course, Blackie. You too, Melchett! Get thinking!”

“And me, my little sugar plum?”

“Oh lord Nursie, no! You’re no good at thinking. Just hum a rhyme or something. Quietly, mind you!”

Silence fell, underlined only by the gentle, tuneless humming of Nursie trying to recall a nursery rhyme, failing miserably. Queenie raised the goblet to her mouth, also raising the hopes of her ladies-in-waiting. They held their breath as the rim of the cup touched to her lower lip.

“Excuse me your royal haughtiness, but I have a cunning plan.” Baldrick announced. The goblet halted. The ladies held their breath.

“Yes?” Queenie raised a brow, “Is it a very clever plan?”

“Oh god,” Blackadder intoned a second time.

“It is my lady. It’s as clever as my cousin Frederick when he entered the local three-letter word spelling competition in my village.”

“So, not very clever at all then,” Blackadder sneered, “If I recall correctly Baldrick, your cousin Frederick lost that competition to the village cat. When asked, in fact, to spell the word ‘cat.’ My lady, If I may be so bold, I believe that I may have a cunning plan.”

“Is it actually a real cunning plan Blackadder? Not a stupid one like your grubby friend here just had?”

“My lady, I can assure you that my plan is far brighter, more feasible and a damn sight cleaner than anything my grubby friend could ever hope to think of.” Blackadder assured her, “However, I will have to ask you to rise from your chair a moment…”

Lady Ann and Lady Helena’s nerves were frayed. It was all Lady Ann could do to stop herself physically forcing the wine down Queenie’s throat and having done with it, when the woman shoved the goblet out to be taken from her once more. Her hand was shaking as she accepted it, putting it carefully down on the solid oak table in case she spilled any more of its contents.

“Help me!” Queenie demanded, struggling to rise from the chair. Lady Helena took her outstretched arm, helping her to her feet.

“Do you retire to your bed, my lady?” Lady Helena asked hopefully, “Should I turn down your covers? Perhaps Lady Ann should make your posset?”

“Bed? Pah!” Queenie spat, “I am stretching my legs. Get back to your wretched sewing before the light fails altogether,” she instructed. She hoped the ladies had not heard the tremble in her voice, giving her fear away.

It seemed they had not. The air heavy with nameless anticipation, they sat heavily, picking up their work begrudgingly, bending to their task.

Queenie cast a last, searching glance at them before stepping out into the corridor. It was a lot colder out here, the glass of the leaded windows letting in the night air. She shivered, forcing herself to stroll at a queenly pace down the corridor until she was amongst the one-time members of her court once more.

“Well, Blackadder?” she whispered as soon as she had drawn level with his decapitated head, “what’s the big idea?”

“Simply this my lady. You must somehow get your ladies-in-waiting to drink the wine instead of you.”

“Genius Blackie!”

“I had the same idea you know,”

“No you didn’t Melchy! Now then Blackadder, how do I get them to drink it?”

“Well, therein lies the problem, ma’am. I admit I hadn’t got that far. How indeed? You could simply insist upon it. They are your ladies-in-waiting after all. It’s their job to keep you safe, as far as they can.”

“But that would give me away, wouldn’t it? They would know I am on to them,”

“Yes,” Blackadder sounded deflated, “It would. I admit it’s a puzzle, your majesty.”

“Well come on you lot!” Queenie hissed, “Think of something. Put your heads together!”

“Oh! Put your heads together! How clever my little love! How funny!” Nursie roared with laughter.

“I don’t get it,” Baldrick said plaintively.

“Shut up Nursie, do! You’re making enough noise to wake the dead!”

“Oh! There she goes again! Wake the dead indeed!”

“It is mildly amusing, I suppose,” Melchett conceded, uttering a few deep, harsh gulps that Queenie could only assume was laughter.

“Is this what we are come to?” Blackadder was peeved, “Are we really reduced to staring endlessly out of a smeared and greasy window, expected to laugh at what seems to be passing for humour these days, from Nursie, of all people?”

“Oh come on Blackie, you must admit it is a bit funny,” Queenie cajoled him, “Don’t be an old grump!”

“Don’t lose your head!” Nursie guffawed.

“Ha, ha, ha!” Baldrick joined in, suddenly getting it. His laughter sounded as if he was speaking each word individually, “Ha, ha, ha!” he added for good measure.

Blackadder couldn’t help himself. Perhaps all the cold, empty years impaled on a spike had finally got to him. He would have thrown back his head, but he couldn’t do it without toppling off the spike. Instead, he settled for roaring with laughter along with the others.

“Just listen to her, cackling like an old witch!” Lady Ann’s eyes were wide, “Lady Helena, she is getting worse. Truth be told, I am growing a little afraid of being closeted in here with her.”

Lady Helena nodded, “As am I. I wish we could persuade someone at court to believe us about her! They cannot know how much worse she is these days! Perhaps we should fetch someone?”

They stopped, shocked into silence at the increasingly loud, bellowing laughter emitting from the frail form of Queenie, out of sight in the corridor but not beyond hearing.

“What on earth can she find so funny?” Lady Helena leaned forward, whispering.

“Who can know?” Lady Ann shrugged, “She is quite mad.”

“Perhaps one of her heads has told her a joke!” Lady Helena persisted, a wicked gleam in her eye. The ladies giggled together, then Ann shuddered.

“It is morbid though, is it not? They say those heads belonged to some of the most trusted and beloved of her court. That love and trust did nothing to save them.”

“She must have had her reasons,” Lady Helena mused, “Though I was surprised she was given leave to keep them in here, with her. Remember in the early days, when the heads were fresh? When we would walk into a cloud of humming black flies? Remember the stench of rotting flesh whenever we had to travel that corridor?”

“Hush, Lady Helena, I cannot bear to think of it!”

“No. I suppose at least now the heads are dry and flaking. They cannot cause offence anymore, though I confess to putting my own head down and averting my eyes whenever I have to pass them by.”

“Me too,” Lady Ann admitted, “Yet that insane old queen talks to them as if they were still alive and vital! As if the people they belonged to really were in the room with her!”

“I can barely understand a word when she converses with them,” Lady Helena said, “The odd scrap here and there, perhaps. If what I have managed to make sense of is true, then it would appear those old heads out there were at least as mad as she was.”

“As long as we don’t start hearing them talk, we will be fine.” Lady Ann placed an encouraging hand on Lady Helena’s knee, though the look in her eye was uncertain.

Lady Helena rested her hand on top of Lady Ann’s, returning the reassurance, “I should faint clean away, should that happen!” She tried to laugh, but it didn’t come out right, somehow.

“Ladies! I require your assistance!” Queenie called to them.

“At least she has stopped that awful laughing!” Lady Helena said.

Lady Ann’s brow furrowed, “Am I imagining things, Lady Helena? I could swear I can still hear muffled laughter? Giggling perhaps?”

Lady Helena paused, listening. There was something disturbing the air; some low noise she could not identify. She stood abruptly, dismissing it as her imagination.

“This place will do things to your mind,” she said, reaching out a hand to help Lady Ann to her feet, “Come, let’s see what the wild bird wants. And fetch the wine.”

“Are you ready?” Queenie asked the members of her court. As one, each of them replied with a ‘yes.’

“And you’re sure this will work, Blackadder?”

“As sure as I can be, my lady. No one in their right mind would be able to shrug off what we have planned. That’s why you are all right with it, after all.”

“Oh, dear Blackie. You are a one!” Queenie stroked his cheek, sending a sliver of loose skin to waft to the floor like a pallid, grey feather.

“Anything for you, your majesty,” Blackadder reciprocated.

“Right then, get ready everyone; here they come.”

The ladies approached the doorway together, arm in arm. Lady Ann held the poisoned wine in her free hand, though it shook violently, unsure of what she would find out there in the cold, grisly corridor.

The lights flickered in the draught from the window, giving the effect of movement to the faces staring out of them. Outside, darkness had finally begun to lower its cloak, pressing against the window as if it might come in and defeat the candles.

Apart from the high colour in her face coupled with a slight breathlessness, Queenie did not appear any more deranged than usual.

“My lady?” Lady Helena enquired.

“There you are! You took your time.”

“Begging your pardon my lady, we came the moment you called,” Lady Ann argued, “Perhaps you would like your wine now?”

“Ah! The wine,” Queenie said cryptically, “the wine,” she repeated, once more chewing her lip thoughtfully, “Tell you what Lady Ann, why don’t you take a sip yourself?”

“Me? Take a sip? But why?”

Alongside her, Lady Helena sighed, uncoupling her arm, “Isn’t it obvious, Lady Ann? She knows,”

“What do you mean, she knows? How can she?”

“Well, I certainly know now, anyway!” Queenie spat, “I know you were going to poison me! I know that’s why you won’t drink the wine! And I know you want me dead!”

The lights flickered violently, guttering so low that for a moment the ladies feared they might go out altogether. In the strange glow it looked like the heads were moving again.

“But how can you know?” Lady Ann repeated softly, “I gave you no clue, you saw nothing!”

“No!” said Blackadder, turning to face her on his spike, his bone rubbing against the metal to make a weird scraping noise, “but I heard you, you little murderess!” The remaining heads turned on their spikes behind him, offering their support, each of them muttering quietly.

The ladies screamed in unison. Lady Ann dropped the wine, sending the goblet clattering across the stone floor, the red liquid spattering harmlessly. That it looked like blood dripped from the severed head did not escape her attention.

They backed out of the corridor, eager for the safety of the chamber, never taking their eyes off the cursed, haunted heads. Lady Helena fell, tripping on her long skirts, nearly taking Lady Ann with her. They screamed again, Lady Ann abandoning Lady Helena and running for the bedroom. Lady Helena scrabbled to her feet, running after her.

Behind them, Queenie was laughing again, a sparkle in her eye that hadn’t been there for the longest time.

She went to Blackadder, heaving the spike that bore his head out of the floor and holding it high. She went to Melchett and did the same, until she was brandishing them both like lances.

“Okay boys, you’re coming with me! Be sure to speak up now!” Queenie ordered, marching through the doorway into the chamber, turning towards the bedroom after her ladies-in-waiting.

“Have fun!” Nursie called after them as they went, “Remember to play nicely, my little cactus.”

“Shut up, Nursie!”

The corridor fell silent, aside from the horrified screams and pleas for mercy that reached there from the bedroom.

“You know, I never did understand why Queenie had us all executed,” Baldrick said conversationally.

“No? Well I shouldn’t worry dear, she always was a fickle child,” Nursie offered.

“Even so, it was a bit rude of her wasn’t it? I mean, I had a turnip in my larder, all fresh and untouched. I would have got another three or four meals out of that!” Baldrick was indignant now, “Why did she do it?” he said again, plaintively.

“Well you can never know for sure with these royal ones, you see,” Nursie sighed, “Do you remember me saying just now, about the dolly little Lady Alison was playing with?”

“Yes,”

“Queenie loves that dolly. Kept it all her life you know, always has it with her somewhere. She used to say that dolly could speak to her. She tried telling me that dolly told her to hit little Alison. That was why I was so very cross with her. I mean, really! Whoever heard of a dolly talking, much less telling a little girl to do unkind things!” Nursie shook her head, her expression cross. Or it would have been.

“Crazy!” Baldrick murmured softly.

S P Oldham.

#blackadder #dark comedy #fanfiction #fanfic #indie

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