Lord of Janissaries (81 page)

“They will not be long in Dravan,” Tylara said. “Caradoc will not wait for orders. He will bring the Tamaerthan troops home—here! He will come here unless he is told not to come. And what reason could we give?”

“I don’t know.” Rick opened another pouch and took out still more reports. “Here’s one for you,” he said absently.

Tylara didn’t answer. Rick looked up from his work. She was standing at the window. “He will learn soon enough,” she said. She stared gloomily down at the campus and town. “He will learn, and this will all be destroyed.”

“Perhaps not,” Rick said. “Look, Les agreed to stay in the guest house. If Caradoc doesn’t actually go looking for witnesses—”

“My husband, my love, you are not such a fool,” Tylara said. “Caradoc’s clansmen will learn. How could they not? Last night they visited the baths together. They were alone inside for time enough to grow three pair of antlers on Caradoc’s forehead. You have sealed the town gates, and closed the semaphore, but it will do no good. He will learn.”

“But what can I do?” Rick demanded.

“I do not know.” Tylara sighed. “We need a miracle. Perhaps Yatar will send one.” She stood a few moments longer at the window. Her hands were balled into fists. She drummed them against the window ledge. Then she came back to the desk, suddenly calm again. “Meanwhile, I must send a message to Dravan, and the semaphore office will not accept it without your approval.” There was a brittle edge to her voice.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t mean the restrictions to apply to
you
,” Rick said.

She held her hard look for a moment, then smiled. “I know, my love. You have much to concern you. Still, I must see to our house, and quickly, so may I trouble you to put that in writing?”

“Sure.” He sat at the desk and scribbled out an authorization. “I was hoping to keep anyone from telling Caradoc,” he said. “Stupid, of course. But it does put off the evil day. And maybe the horse will learn to sing.”

“Horse?”

“Old story,” Rick said. “Very old. A thief was about to be executed. They did that in a particularly painful way in old Persia. Before they took him away, he told the Wanax that he could teach the Wanax’s favorite horse to sing hymns, if the Wanax would give him a year.

“The Wanax took him up on it, and pretty soon, there was the thief down in the stables every day, grooming the horse and singing to it. His buddies told him he was crazy.

“‘That may be,’ the thief said. ‘But I have a year, and who knows what will happen in that time? The king might die. The horse might die. I might die. And who knows, maybe the horse will learn to sing . . .
’”

Tylara giggled, then nodded more soberly. “Yes. Time is always valuable,” she said. “But I fear that time alone will not save us.”

“So do I,” Rick said. “But I don’t know what else to do.”

“You will do what you must,” Tylara said. “That I have known all my life, and learned again from you. We do as we must.”

* * *

The four sat at Gwen’s conference table: Rick and Tylara, Gwen and Les.

“It’s just possible,” Les said. He whistled, a long falling note. “Weee-ew. You’re sure going for broke. Steel mills. Coke ovens. Printing presses. A full University. If the
Shalnuksis
find out—Rick, I don’t know what they’ll do if they find out.”

“But you can help us hide all this,” Gwen said.

“I can try,” Les said. “And as I said, it’s just possible, as long as Inspector Agzaral doesn’t change sides, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to. Yeah, we’ve got a chance—”

“We,” Gwen said. “You meant that, didn’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Les said.

And that’s clear enough, Rick thought. He’s on our side as long as we’re on his. And meanwhile Caradoc’s coming back with the army.

He looked across the table to Tylara. She sat stiffly alert, cold, almost indifferent. Yet she was polite to Gwen when she spoke to her, and even encouraged Les to believe his attempts to be charming had succeeded.

Just what the hell game is she playing? Rick wondered. And what good does it do me to worry about it . . .

There were shouts outside, and they all rushed to the penthouse balcony. Far across town there was a pillar of black smoke. “Have the Romans organized fire departments?” Rick asked.

“Sure,” Gwen said. “But they won’t be needed there. That’s the chimney in the coke oven. It catches fire every ten-day.”

The office door opened, and Marva came in. “I do not wish to disturb you, my lady, but there is a message from the semaphore. It is marked urgent, and Lord Warner told me to bring it to Lord Rick immediately.”

“Thank you,” Rick said. He took the message paper. Tylara stood next to him and read as he did.

REGRET INFORM YOU LORD CARADOC DO TAMAERTHON KILLED IN STREET RIOTS ONE MARCH FROM DRAVAN. COURT OF INQUIRY HELD BY WANAX RULES ACCIDENTAL DEATH BY FALLING. I AGREE WITH THIS VERDICT. WANAX HAS PROCLAIMED THREE DAYS OF MOURNING AND WILL PERSONALLY COMMAND FUNERAL GAMES. WANAX HAS GRANTED LIFE PENSION AND TITLE TO CARADOC’S CHILD.

AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.

MASON.

Rick stared uncomprehendingly at the paper. He felt Tylara’s hand on his arm.

“What is it?” Gwen asked.

“Bad news,” Rick said. As he said it he felt waves of relief wash over him. He was ashamed of that. Yet—“Bad news,” he said again. “Lord Caradoc is dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yes,” Tylara answered. “Your husband, my lady. He died in our service, and whatever honors the Wanax has not granted I will give from my purse. Husband, come, and leave the Lady Rector to her grief.” She turned and marched from the room.

Gwen looked from Rick to Les. The pilot opened his arms, an almost imperceptible gesture, and she moved toward him.

Rick carefully closed the door as he left the room. We’re saved again, he thought. For a while, at least. A good man has died, but that accident has saved more than Caradoc alive ever could. We have Les, and with his help the
Shalnuksis
won’t destroy everything. Knowledge will survive.

When he reached the quadrangle, they’d put out the fire in the coke oven.

BOOK II

STORMS OF

VICTORY

PART ONE

SEARCHING

1

“Turn out the guard! Corporal of the Guard, Post Number Twelve!”

Rick Galloway turned toward the window and frowned. Sounds of shouting and running men floated up from the cobblestoned courtyard six stories below. “What in hell?” Rick muttered. Then he shrugged. “Guess I’ll find out if I need to know. Okay, Art, what’s next?”

“Next you get your armor on. Flak jacket first, then the mail.”

“Christ, Mason! I’ll roast. Look, I don’t have to wear this tonight.”

Art Mason spoke slowly and carefully. “Colonel, why do we have to go through this every week? You’re not leaving this room without armor, not without you sending me to the brig first. Look, we’ve got that nice Kevlar jacket Les brought you. Only thing like it on this planet. And don’t ask me who’s going to shoot you. You know damn well the little king has that Browning.”

“Ganton wouldn’t shoot me.” Rick held out his arms and let Mason help him into the Kevlar vest, then the fine chain mail shirt that covered it.

“I grant you that, Colonel. But I can think of some in his court who’d be glad to borrow that pistol. With or without Royal permission.” Mason tugged on the straps. “And I grant you that Wanax Ganton needs you. The problem is, he knows he needs you. Kings don’t like that. Neither do teenagers. We got a teenaged king, and if you know what he’s going to do, you’re doing better than me.”

There were more shouts from below. “Sergeant of the Guard! Post Number Twelve. Officer of the Guard! Post Number Twelve.”

“That sounds serious,” Rick said.

“Yeah, maybe I better have a look.” Mason glanced at his watch. “Better not. Can’t let the troops think I don’t trust them. Follow procedures—”

“Yeah. Follow procedures.” Rick laughed, then went to the table and poured two glasses of wine. The table was massive, carved from a wood that had never grown on Earth. The goblets were gold, hammered with scenes of men riding centaurs and hunting strange beasts. Rick handed one to Mason. “Here’s to proper procedures.”

“Yeah.” Mason sipped at his wine, then frowned as Rick drank his in a gulp. “Colonel, you drink too damned much.”

“You sound like my wife. Are you my wife?”