Lord of Janissaries (39 page)

“You didn’t think that last time we talked.” Rick took the chair across from her and lifted his own wine glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers. No. Last time we talked I was sure he loved me. Next time maybe I will be, too. But just now—just now I’m not sure.”

“Okay. But he did give you the transceiver. And he told you about the rebellion among the human troops of the Confederation—”

“It’s not a rebellion,” Gwen said. “More a—a dissent. And—Rick, have you told anyone about this? Anyone at all?”

“No.”

“Not even Tylara?”

“Not even Tylara. I won’t tell any locals. Or any of the troops, either. Not unless I have to—if you and I are both killed, someone here has to know. Warner, maybe.”

“Yes, I’ve thought of that too. But don’t tell him yet.”

“I won’t. Next subject. You know more than me about what the
Shalnuksis
will do. Had any more thoughts?”

“Some. Over there—that wooden chest. It has maps, areas I think might be best for raising
surinomaz
. One good area would be along the western border of the Roman Empire.”

“Which we don’t own. Oh—have you heard about the Council this morning? I’d like you to be on the delegation to Rome.”

She nodded. “Another journey. More time away from my son.”

“Take him with you—”

“Into a civil war? Don’t be silly. But you’re right, I have to go. I can inspect the potential cropland on the way. Meanwhile, we want to begin growing madweed on our side of the border. We won’t get a full crop this year, but we ought to start experimental plots now. Get some experience with the stuff. It’s tricky, Rick. The ecology is all bound up with some little mammals that are something like rats. They swarm into the fields and die, and when they rot they fertilize the plants. They also stink to the throne of God.”

“Not to mention necrotic products—”

She nodded agreement. “I’d think those fields get pretty unhealthy. Which is one reason the peasants don’t want to grow madweed. You’ve got your work cut out to make them do it.”

“Convicts. Criminals—”

“I suppose. And when you’re done with them, when the madweed fields have killed most of them, the
Shalnuksis
will finish the job for you.”

“When?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Certainly they’ll want to trade with us as long as we have
surinomaz
, but after that—you have as much evidence as I do. I think they’ll try to find out which is our center of culture, and destroy it.”

Rick nodded thoughtfully. Certainly there was plenty of evidence. Every six hundred years, when
surinomaz
grew well under the influence of the Demon Star, the
Shalnuksis
came to Tran with a fresh crop of Earth mercenaries. Roman legionaries, Celtish warriors, Franks. And every time, when the aliens had got all they wanted, they tried to exterminate their agents. The legends told over and over of
skyfire
, and everyone knew where there were fields of glass . . .

“So we’ll want to be sure we don’t build anything modern-looking.”

“That may not be good enough. Rick, there were Tran languages in the computer on Les’ ship. They talk to locals. They’ll ask questions, and I think our University will be the first target.”

“I thought of that too,” Rick agreed. “Which is why I’m not putting much into brick and mortar. By the time your boyfriend starts dropping atom bombs on us, all the important people will be long gone to the caves. Meanwhile the traveling teams go teaching science to every villager in Drantos. And—Gwen, this is all crazy! A galactic civil war over Earth—”

“I told you, it’s not a civil war. Just a disagreement among the leaders of the Confederate Council,” Gwen said. “And I think it’s crazy too, but—” She pointed out the window.

“Yeah.” Crazy or not, they are here, on Tran. It wasn’t Earth. Given that one undoubted fact, what couldn’t they believe? “Look, your friend Les is the best chance we’ll ever have for getting off this planet. And he told you he’d come for you—”

“If he could. Yes.”

“And you believe him.”

“I remember I did when he told me,” she said. “I don’t know about now. What difference does it make? He
is
our only chance.”

“And what about the rest of us?”

“Rick, I don’t know.”

“Yeah.” But it wasn’t likely that Les would give a damn about the mercenaries. He might care for Gwen and their child. That might even be likely. But there was no reason at all for him to worry about a bunch of mercs. “Gwen, why did you want to see me alone?”

“Your wife doesn’t like me. I don’t much care for her, either.”

“She’s jealous. She thinks I’m your baby’s father. Or that I could have been, anyway. Your wanting to see me alone didn’t help the situation.”

“It didn’t hurt it, either.”

“No, I expect you’re right. Not much would.”

“And I just wanted the chance to speak English and talk without having to worry about what I say. Rick, it gets pretty bad up there in Tamaerthon. Always on guard so that I don’t give away something—”

“And you’re not on guard with me. You’re not keeping any more secrets?”

“No, of course not.”

You sure as hell did, Rick thought. For damned near too long. So how can I trust you now? “So. How are things at the University? Any trouble?”

“No. And of course I have the pistol you gave me—”

Another point of contention with Tylara. She thought she should have had André Parsons’ .45 Colt. But Tylara had plenty of experience protecting herself on Tran, and Gwen had none—

“Do you like my dress?” she asked.

“Yes. I was just admiring it.”

“It’s called
garta
cloth. Larry Warner got it. Rick, it’s a
very
close weave.”

“So?”

“So we could make a hot-air balloon from it.”

“You’re kidding. Hot damn, of course! Observation balloons! They used them in the Civil War, and the Franco-Prussian War, and—can you really sew the seams tight enough?”

“Yes. We’ve tested a small model, and Larry made glue from horses’ hooves. It will really work. The only problem is the cloth. It comes from the south. We don’t have enough, because the trade routes are in a mess. It’s very expensive—”

“Sure looks it. Warner got that lot?”

She nodded.

“And gave some to you?”

“He had the dress made for me,” Gwen said.

“Why?”

“None of your business-”

“The devil it’s not,” Rick said.

“Captain Galloway, I have not asked you to be my protector. I don’t ask now.”

“Sure, Gwen. I thought Caradoc was sweet on you.”

“He likes me—”

“Seems to me you encouraged him, back when you were pregnant.”

“I might have—”

“And now Warner. Gwen, I need both of them. You play them off against each other, and you’ll get one killed sure as hell!”

“No, that won’t happen.”

And there’s not a lot I can do anyway. Keep them apart? Nonsense. Warner and Gwen are needed at the University, and Caradoc goes there to see her whenever he gets the chance, and how do I stop him?

“There’s more news,” she said.

“All right. What?”

“I know of a village where they make drugs out of
surinomaz
.”

“Somebody else mentioned that. Warner?”

“Probably. Anyway, there is such a place. One of the traveling medicine-show teams came in with the news.”

“Which one?”

“Doesn’t matter. The merc with the outfit was Beazeley, but it was an acolyte, Salanos, who had wits enough to come tell me.”

“That could be important. If there’s some local use for the stuff it might be easier to get people to grow it.”

“Yes. I’ll check that out, shall I?”

“Please. And the balloon—that’s a great idea. It could be decisive in the Roman civil war. Observation of the enemy, command and control of our own forces, artillery spotting—Gwen, it could really be the winning factor.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t look too happy—”

“Should I be? More battles—”

“They’ll be fought anyway,” Rick said. “And people will starve no matter what we do, too. But at least we can save some of them, this time, and we can get civilization spread so far across this planet that the
Shalnuksis
and their goddam
skyfire
can’t root it out—”

“We can try,” Gwen said.

5

Tylara stared at the roughly whitewashed door of the farmhouse. The one-eyed image of Vothan stared back. She waited until she heard a faint click and saw movement behind the one eye.

“Who seeks entry to the house of the Wolf?” a voice demanded.

“Tylara do Tamaerthon, Eqetassa of Chelm.”

“Enter, Lady,” said a rough voice, followed by the sound of a lock turning.

Tylara stepped into the house, stamped the mud off her riding boots, then glared at the man who’d let her in. “What are your orders about tending the door, Bartolf?”

The man turned the color of a winter sunset. He swallowed. “To recognize all who come, and let them enter with hands open and empty.”

“Did you ask me to open my hands?”

“No, but—”

“But
nothing
. I might have been a spy disguised as the Lady Tylara. If I had been—” Her right hand darted into the full left sleeve of her riding tunic. Then she raised it. As the sleeve fell back, it exposed her husband’s Gerber Mark II combat knife. She’d borrowed it for just this sort of demonstration.

“You’d have been dead from that mistake, Bartolf.”

“Perhaps, Lady Tylara,” he said. “But an enemy in your place wouldn’t have lived enough longer to do hurt or learn much.” He raised his voice. “Bennok! The berries are ripe.”

The tapestry on the opposite wall of the antechamber rippled, then rose as a dark-haired, pimple-faced youth slipped through a waist-high opening it had concealed. He held a small crossbow, the sort noblewomen used for shooting birds and rabbits. Not enough, thought Tylara, then saw that the thin point of the quarrel was barbed and glistening with something green and sticky.

“Poison?” she asked. “And the point has been made small enough to enter ringmail.”

Bartolf nodded. “That was Monira’s idea. The rest was all his.” He reached down to tousle the boy’s hair. The boy carefully sidestepped out of reach.

“That was a very good idea, Bennok,” said Tylara. “Are there others who keep watch?”

“Oh yes, Lady. With the poison on the quarrel, any of us can do the work. So we all take turns.”

“Very good.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a silver piece. “This is for your good work.”

Bennok didn’t reach for the silver. “Will there be one for all the others, Lady? I can’t take it unless there is.”

Tylara tried not to sound as confused as she felt. “I think there will be silver for all of you.”

“Oh thank you, Lady. Now maybe we can buy those longbows ourselves if Bartolf goes on saying he won’t give them to us.” He darted back under the tapestry and vanished.

Bartolf was red-faced again. “I’m sorry, Lady Tylara. I should have told you. They’ve all eleven of them sworn an oath to be as brothers and sisters and have all their wealth in common. The only things they’ll call their own are weapons and clothing.”

“And Monira was the leader in this, I’ll wager?” said Tylara, smiling to show that she wasn’t offended.

Bartolf returned her smile uncertainly. “She spoke for them all when they told us. I don’t know if that was her idea, though.”

“And you don’t think you ever will?”

“No. They are good at keeping even the secrets we don’t want them to keep.”

Someday that might make trouble. Now it proved to Tylara that her idea was succeeding beyond anything she’d expected.

Thoughts sometimes took on a life of their own. This one was born in bitter sleeplessness during the early days of pregnancy. She lay awake, unable to sleep, unable to stop torturing herself with restless thoughts—

She was certain that Rick had not fathered Gwen’s child, but her mind would not let go of the matter. Let her think of stars and star weapons, and it would end with that question. That night it began simply enough, when Rick musingly told her that the starfolk would come and it might be useful to capture one of their ships.