Authors: Sonia Lyris
Innel considered. Methods of torture were part of a land’s culture, like food, shoes, and harvest festivals. Burning eyes was a practice of the high plains tribes, intended to convey that prying eyes were unwelcome. Removing toes and fingers was a practice of the mountain people and had to do with the importance of being able to walk and climb.
So the tribes—conquered in the expansion wars, but never very compliant—were involved in the rebellion in Sinetel. Probably supplying them with support, possibly even weapons. Sinetel had gone a long way to find illegal trading partners.
“What did the scout know, that he might have told them?”
“Nothing, Lord Commander.”
Innel wondered at her certainty. “You brought the body back?”
A puzzled frown. “No, Lord Commander. Should I have?”
There was information that could only be discovered by examining the remains. Lason would have criticized her for this, though he was himself always missing such details. But Lason was gone now, and no one knew where. He would turn up; it was not like an Anandynar to be silent for long.
As for the mining town, perhaps they thought that this was a good time to attempt some form of independence.
They were wrong.
“Take another four companies back with you, Colonel.” More than enough to quiet the notion of rebellion. “When you have order reestablished, hang those who resisted. From the rest I want death-oaths of loyalty. Anyone who lacks appropriate enthusiasm for their words should have their toes broken.”
“Toes?”
“Yes. And not with hammers or swords. Rocks between the toes, cinched with rope. You know the method?”
She nodded slowly.
“You don’t understand.”
“No, Lord Commander.”
“They can work with broken toes. Eventually and with pain, but they can work. It is the long-term reminders that work best, Colonel. Go and take back our lands.”
Once Cern had been crowned, Innel had found even Restarn’s most loyal retainers surprisingly easy to buy off and quite willing to accept new assignments. Innel had been most concerned about the loyalty of Restarn’s mages, but he need not have been; they had long since left the city.
So, according to Innel’s network, Restarn was now completely cut off. All he had was what Innel allowed him to keep. And what was still in his head, much of which was nowhere else.
“Be careful,” he told the doctor in what was barely a whisper. “Keep him alive.”
“Yes, ser.”
“No mistakes.”
“No, ser.”
One of the things Innel had allowed the old king to keep was curled up like a cat on a palette on the floor, her blond hair a tangled, pale waterfall, her beauty still breathtaking.
Restarn looked up at Innel from the bed through half-closed eyes, his small form so withered and sunken that he was nearly lost in the sea of blankets. The room stank of herbs and sickness.
“Blessings of the season to you, Sire,” Innel said, aware that it was winter.
From the bed it seemed a very different man who stared at him, not much like the man whose gaze Innel had grown up under. He cautioned himself to be wary; fifty-six years of rule did not happen by lucky accident.
Naulen looked up at Innel, her perfect mouth and blue eyes wide, face like a frightened faun, no doubt intended to evoke in him a desire to protect.
“Leave,” he said, suddenly disgusted with her. She stood gracefully, quick and lithe, clutching the edges of her tunic, and fled the room. Restarn’s eyes opened. He watched her go.
How ill was he? He was tempted to ask Marisel.
But no, not only did he want her focus on the search for the seer, he didn’t want her tempted to improve the man’s condition. Despite the very expensive contract, Marisel dua Mage was answerable only to herself. He would trust the doctor, whose loyalty he could control.
“Innel,” Restarn said in a raspy voice, drawing the name out. “At last. What is it this time? Did you drop the signet down the shithole? Want to know how much to pay a down-city whore?”
Every time Innel came here, he had more sympathy for Cern’s moods.
“I came to see you,” Innel said. “And now that I have, I will go.”
“The girl,” Restarn said. “That was thoughtful of you.”
It brought him up short, this rare appreciation. “Yes, it was.”
“So?” Restarn asked. “What is it? What do you want?”
“I had questions.” About the tribes and towns now resisting Arunkel protection, which they had previously been happy to accept. About the one tribe that had sovereign status within Arunkel borders. About arrangements that had never been written, agreements with Houses. Things Restarn knew that he needed to know. That Cern needed to know but would never ask her father.
But suddenly he did not want to be here, playing this game. “I see how sick you are, Sire. I will not trouble you.” A lifetime’s worth of anger seemed to come over him at once, tightening his throat. He went to the door.
“Don’t be a fool, Innel. Stay and talk to me.”
He turned back. “You will tell me what you know.” A half-question.
“That may take a while. A little today, perhaps a little tomorrow. I tire easily, as you keep pointing out.”
Innel gritted his teeth. What choice did he have? He took a step back toward the bed. “The Houses claim you made them various promises. Some of them are clearly invented. Treasury ledgers aren’t balancing. The Teva—I saw some in Arteni, riding those strange laughing horses. Could they be supporting the rebelling mining villages? Garaya’s taxes are short again. Start by telling me about the Houses.”
An annoyed grunt as the old king slowly sat up and then drank from a nearby cup. Innel did not offer to help.
“I want to see my daughter.”
“She’s busy.”
“You can make her come to me, Innel. I know you can.”
Innel gave a humorless laugh. “I rather doubt that.”
The king looked at him, silent a moment. “You took my dogs away. Bring them back.”
“I will look into it. But first—”
“Don’t trust the Houses.”
“Yes, I know that, but did you promise—”
“Of course I did.”
“What exactly—”
He waved a hand, as if it were of no consequence. “Make them new promises. As long as nothing’s written or witnessed, you can play them like two-head.”
Innel frowned. “But—”
“Remember the Karmarn Range battle? No, of course not—you were an infant. False understanding of the enemy, boy. Kill you every time. We had ten companies. No, fifteen. All those villages with their adorable little farms and trout streams? Should have been easy. Wasn’t. The Teva made that win for us. Those laughing horses. I’d trade every hoof in my stables for a breeding pair.” He snorted. “Don’t make enemies of the Teva. Forget Garaya. Get me my dogs.” He coughed a little and lay back.
“Sire. I need to know exactly what you said to the Houses.”
“Bring the dogs tomorrow. I’ll tell you about the Battle of Uled and exactly how your father died. He was a hero, boy. You know that? Seems a good place to start, don’t you think?”
At a long table sat the queen, Innel, and the ministers of Accounts, Coin, and Treasury. At the other end were many tens of large books, most open, a number of clerks standing beyond.
“Your Majesty,” said the Minister of Accounts, a man with a roundish face. “It is not possible to make the numbers come out equivalent. There are simply too many variables to be tallied thus. For example, accounting for our changing currency and metals markets—”
“Yes, that,” the Minister of Coin broke in, her voice throaty and soft. “Now that we are modifying the coinage to reflect Your Majesty’s new and may I say exceptionally handsome visage, invariably there will be some shifting in value of the old coinage being returned, and we must—”
“Allow me,” said the Minister of Treasury. “To account for that difference, these minor inconsistencies, our agencies make adjustments. Do you see . . .” He motioned to three clerks who hurried over with books, opening each of them in front of Cern in sequence. “Do you see here, and here, and here, and how those numbers are the same?”
“Yes,” Cern said, uncertainly.
Innel rubbed a hand across his eyes, spared a glance for Nalas and Srel at the side of the room.
“Just a moment,” Innel said. “Do I correctly understand that we are losing fifteen parts in a thousand of our tax and levy revenue to—what do you call it—inconsistencies?”
The Minister of Accounts was already shaking his head. “Not at all, ser. The adjustments account for these differences, which I have already explained, so that the ledgers tally, here”—another clerk, another book of numbers opened, and a finger pointing to a particular line—“and in the master ledger, equal to the amount here, in the coinage and collections books. Do you see?”
“Are we losing money or not?” Innel asked.
“It is hardly that simple, ser,” the Minister of Accounts replied with poorly veiled condescension before turning back to the queen, his expression tidy again. “Your Majesty, these practices are entirely consistent with those that His Royal Majesty Restarn esse Arunkel approved for the entirety of his 56-year rule. Nothing here is in error. Furthermore, the treasury is robust.”
“Inconsistencies, you called them,” Innel said. “Does that mean the clerks can’t read each other’s numbers? Do they need handwriting lessons? Or do you mean something else?”
“Perhaps the Lord Commander’s attention might be better spent overseeing the security of the empire, Your Majesty?” the Minister of Treasury asked the queen.
“I assure you that I—” Innel began.
“You must be so very busy in this difficult time,” said the Minister of Coin to Innel, her face a sudden mask of sympathy.
“Yes, of course, but that isn’t the point.”
The Minister of Accounts looked at Innel. “Ser, no monarch in near a thousand years has been able to remove all of the minor record-keeping inconsistencies that naturally arise in the course of accounting. Do you think we ought to be more capable than our esteemed ancestors?”
“You call them inconsistencies—” Innel tried again.
The Minister of Treasury stroked his bare chin as he spoke in a flat tone. “We are happy to call it anything you like, Lord Commander, though what this has to do with the administration of the armed forces is really quite unclear to me.”
“The military accounts for a large portion of the crown’s expenditures. If there’s corruption, and I suggest we call it that, because I think that’s the word you’re looking for, then those missing funds are not going to horses and wagons, ships and soldiers. The crown does not keep its influence across the empire merely by fattening the purses and midlines of aristos and bureaucrats.”
“Of course not, ser,” replied the Minister of Coin without so much as a hint of a smile. “That’s why we have the Charter Court.”
For a moment Innel suspected the minister of humor.
“Innel,” Cern said. “Perhaps they’re right. They have been doing their jobs for some time.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” replied the Minister of Accounts with obvious relief. “We are grateful to you for your confidence in us. We do know our trade; we have devoted our lives to it.”
It was too rich not to respond to, but Cern’s hand was on Innel’s, keeping him from replying. With effort he stayed silent.
“We are done for now,” she said. “You may all go.”
The ministers stood, bowed deeply and stayed bowed for the time it took their clerks to bow to Cern, gather the books, and somehow bow again with the books in hand. The crowd backed out of the door.
“You, too,” Cern said to Nalas and Srel, who left much more quickly.
“Your Majesty—” Innel began as soon as they were alone.
“Innel, we can’t fight on every front. You yourself told me that I needed to trust my ministers. Do you intend to restructure the treasury? Audit all the ledgers? Count all the coins in the mint?”
“The numbers—”
“It’s paper and ink, Innel. Not the thing it represents, which comes from the empire’s lands and her subjects. The treasury is, as they say, healthy, and you, I think, do indeed have other things wanting your attention. Is this not so?”
It was. He nodded uneasily.
The books were wrong. Given how much he himself was tapping the very healthy treasury, hiding some expenses in the complications of accounting, he knew perfectly well they were missing something. And if they were missing one thing, they were certainly missing more than that.
So it nagged at him. But she was right, and it was, perhaps, best to let it sit quiet for a time.
Innel glanced at Nalas standing at the window, watching Execution Square’s single resident this cold spring morning.
Colonel Tierda stood at attention in front of him, her eyes flickering to the same view before returning to look straight ahead. She would be keenly aware that he would not have called her back from Sinetel if he had been pleased.
Outside, now at day four, the man was still and impressively alive. Around his neck was a leather thong, tight enough to have sunken into the red and swollen skin of his neck. His hands were tied behind him, only the noose keeping him from falling over. The other end of the leather thong traveled over a scaffold, where it was counter-balanced by a series of lead weights attached to a water bag just in reach of the man’s mouth.
As Innel watched, the man turned to the nipple of the water bag, legs trembling. Then, instead of drinking, he turned his head away, expression a mix of agony and resolve. Thus the balance of water did not shift, the weights remained the same, and the noose did not tighten.
The man’s self-control was admirable, but eventually he would be thirsty enough to drink, and the noose would tighten sufficiently to slowly strangle him. The tricky part of the contraption was making sure the water nipple was always close to the man’s mouth. Putar was to be congratulated for the design.
Had Innel cared to bet, he would give the man until sunrise tomorrow to succumb. A handful of men and women who did care to bet stood at the edge of the square, hunched over, wagering on the man’s future: days he would live, times he would cry out, sips it would take before he died.