Authors: Victor Gischler
Rina realized the rest of the women in the steam lodge were listening intently to their conversation.
“Maybe she acts without thinking sometimes, but I thank her for it,” Rina said. “Otherwise she might not have brought us to your camp. Although I sense this has made some of your people unhappy.”
“Yes.” Klarissa nodded. “We were discussing that before you arrived. It’s a problem we’ve already solved.”
Rina glanced at the shapes of the women in the steam
. Without the men?
Klarissa chuckled quietly as if she’d read Rina’s mind. “We claim modesty as the reason for separate bath houses, but in fact it’s good to have some time away from the men, so we can decide things quietly and calmly.”
Rina reached back for a distant memory, something she’d heard about gypsies. The men held all the titles, but the women decided matters behind the scenes. Maybe Rina had come to the right place. Maybe these people could help her.
Still, she didn’t want to be in the bad graces of the gypsy men.
“The men seemed pretty upset to have strangers in camp,” Rina said. “How’d you win them over?”
“Men.” Klarissa rolled her eyes. “Their ruffled feathers are easily smoothed.”
* * *
The gypsy passed the ceramic jug to Alem. The fumes came through the steam and almost knocked him off the bench.
“Drink, my friend,” urged the gypsy next to him. “Drink deep.”
Alem remembered what Brasley had said about this being a social occasion and not wanting to give offense. He titled the jug back and gulped.
It was as if someone had poured flaming lamp oil down his throat. He went dizzy, face hot, felt the jug being pulled from his hands.
Brasley took the jug, didn’t hesitate, drank deep. He smacked his lips and passed the jug down the line. “Good stuff. I was worried at first we would not be afforded the famed hospitality of the gypsies. I’m happy to be wrong.”
Horseshit
. All Brasley had done since entering the gypsy camp was warn that these people were pickpockets and carnival tricksters. He hadn’t offered a single kind word. Still, Alem had to admit Brasley could turn on the charm when he wanted. What amazed Alem was how
sincere
Brasley could seem. It was like Brasley’s own peculiar brand of magic.
Alem took comfort in the fact that Rina seemed immune to Brasley’s charm.
I mean, come on. She’s way too smart to fall for his act
.
Right
?
The jug came to Alem again, and he drank. Not so harsh this time. The periodic hissing sound came again, somebody pouring water for fresh steam.
“Well, we could tell you weren’t a bad sort of folk straight off.” Gino’s voice was slurred with drink, floated through the steam from a bench opposite them. “But the women get nervous. It’s our job to protect the camp. We have to be serious about it.”
“Completely understandable,” Brasley said. “You have a position of great responsibility. One wrong decision could jeopardize everything, yes?”
Grunts of approval rumbled among the men. This evidently had been the right thing to say. Simple really. Most people wanted approval and understanding, didn’t they?
Somehow the jug was in Alem’s hands again. He drank.
“This woman with you. Rina. She is … in charge?”
Was that disapproval in Gino’s voice or simply curiosity?
Brasley laughed. “Well, don’t all women think they’re in charge, really?”
More murmurs of approval among the men. Brasley was hitting all the right notes. And he did it without really admitting anything. Again, Alem grudgingly acknowledged Brasley was a clever fellow. What irked Alem was the fact that on some level, Brasley was actually
likable
.
Alem did not
want
to like Brasley.
“She seems a strong woman,” Gino said. “And … attractive.”
“Yes,” Alem said. “Beautiful.” Alem looked up suddenly, realizing he’d said it out loud.
Nobody noticed. The gypsy men seemed to accept that Brasley was the one doing the talking.
“Very attractive indeed,” Brasley said. “But, alas, a rose with thorns.”
Alem was trying to follow the subtleties of the conversation. What exactly was Gino trying to find out? And was Brasley being insulting to Rina or slyly doing her a favor by scaring Gino away? In the stables, people either kept their thoughts to themselves or said things flat out.
Every time Alem tried to figure it out, he found the ceramic jug in his hands, until the evening dissolved into nothing more than shadowed shapes in the steam.
Rina and Klarissa moved from the steam room to a quiet bath area, both sharing a large tub of hot water. It soothed her aching muscles. Day after day in the saddle had toughened her, but she was sore too. The wooden tub was big enough to fit another five women without crowding but she and the gypsy woman were the only ones. The others had drifted away.
Rina assumed that was by design. A private conversation.
Klarissa told Rina of her people. A people without a homeland.
The camp they were in was as close to a permanent settlement as existed among the gypsies. Technically the camp was located in the southernmost holdings of Baron Kern, but it was deep in the forest, hidden. With an hour’s notice, the gypsies could pull up stakes, hitch horse to wagon and vanish. From Klarissa’s words, Rina inferred there were many such camps spread throughout Helva. How many and how large they were, well, that was different. Klarissa was sharing information with an outsider. She remained guarded. For a displaced people without a home, secrecy was second nature.
But now Klarissa sensed an opportunity. At least, that was Rina’s intuition. The woman thought Rina could help her somehow.
“We have similar problems,” Klarissa said. “My people … and you.”
Rina sank low into the warm water, up to her chin. “How so?”
“We’re homeless, aren’t we … Duchess?”
Duchess. No doubt left, is there? She knows who you are. Never mind how
.
Okay, let’s try the direct approach
.
“What do you want?”
If she was offended by Rina’s frankness, she didn’t show it. “How honest shall we be with each other?”
“You seem to know who I am,” Rina said. “In which case you probably also know I have little to lose.”
“And everything to gain,” Klarissa said.
Rina nodded slowly. “I can only promise to listen and to keep an open mind.”
Klarissa’s smile warmed, her eyes softening. “Well said.”
A long pause.
“Klaar is a remote duchy,” Klarissa said. “You could describe its relationship with the rest of Helva as distant, yes?”
“We a loyal part of Helva,” Rina said. “We serve at the king’s pleasure. But custom in recent years has been that we ask little of his majesty, and his majesty takes little notice of us.”
“But now you need him.”
Rina thought about it a moment. “Let’s say we need help from
somewhere
. Whether it’s from the King of Helva or from some … other friend.”
“I’d like us to be friends, Rina.”
“I’d like that too.” Rina even meant it. She had a good feeling about the woman.
“I know something of Klaar.” Klarissa said it lightly as if changing the subject. “There is an area where the boundaries of three baronies meet. Sparsely populated except for a small village along Lake Hammish.”
“I know the place,” Rina said. If she tapped into the spirit, she could easily visualize one of her father’s maps, see every river ever valley and forest and ridge. She didn’t bother.
“Good land. Good timber,” Klarissa said. “Good hunting. A shame more people don’t live there. The Perranese have it now, I guess. A shame.”
She’s shrewd. A land grant for her people. As duchess, I could make it happen. It would be law. I could take a small part of each barony and tell Hammish and the others it’s a war tithe. They’d have to sit still for it. So she helps me get Klaar back from the Perranese somehow, and in return, her people get a little chunk to call home
.
But how? Was there a gypsy army? Rina estimated only a few hundred people in the camp and many were children or elderly.
When in doubt, resort to honesty. “I haven’t been duchess long. I’m not sure what is possible or how to go about it or anything. But I think … I think I understand what you’re asking for.”
“Please,” Klarissa said. “I ask for nothing. We are a poor people with many needs, but we’re also a proud people. It has long been our tradition to ask for nothing, but to accept gifts from friends with gratitude and loyalty.”
Klarissa moved across the tub and stopped in front of Rina. Another inch closer and their chests would press together.
“Allow me to show you what I mean,” she said. “I want to offer you a gift. Something special. Naturally, you may refuse, but I don’t think you will.”
That depends on what you have in mind, doesn’t it?
The woman had moved a little too close for Rina’s comfort.
“Look at my face,” Klarissa said.
Rina looked.
“Look at my eyes.”
Like some of the other gypsy women, Klarissa had dark eyeliner around her eyes. Many of the women had gone a little strong with the lip rouge also and used brightly colored eye shadow. Rina found it a bit garish. In the dim light of the bath house, Rina had assumed Klarissa’s makeup was the same as that of the other women.
Now upon closer examination, the makeup smudges at the corners of her eyes weren’t smudges at all. They were small, finely drawn feathers like little teardrops. The dark liner under each eye was in fact, tightly packed runes, written with a steady hand.
Rina blinked.
Not makeup. A tattoo.
“Now, when I thrust at you, you slap the blade aside,” Tosh said. “But let’s try it slow at first a few times, okay? We don’t want any accidents.”
“Right,” Tenni said.
They’d been practicing every day since that horrible night when Tenni had hacked the Perranese corporal to death. It had been ugly and messy, and even though Tosh had been reluctant to teach basic swordsmanship to her, he had to admit it was better she know how to handle herself.
And anyway, Tenni was pretty, so it was a good excuse to spend time with her.
Tosh stabbed the sword at her a couple of times at half-speed, and she batted his blade away easily. She was a fast learner. They both used Perranese swords, which had proved to be fairly easy to come by. Drunken warriors left them all the time at the brothel, and some were too embarrassed to come back and ask for them.
“We’ve been working mostly on defense,” Tosh said. “Want to try some attacks today?”
“Finally.”
Tosh frowned. “Don’t be so eager. Unless there’s a battle tomorrow, there’s no hurry.”
“There’s always a battle. It never stops,” Tenni said. “Every minute these foreigners infest our home, the battle goes on in our hearts. I’d kill every one of them if I could.”
Oh, Tenni, please don’t think that. You’re too young and pretty to be filled with hate
. “Well, until the battle moves from your heart to the streets of Backgate, let’s take it slow.”
Tenni frowned, but took up the basic defensive posture.
“Now, for a simple thrust, you’ll want your feet to be—”
Tosh froze at the sound of the hatchway above creaking open and slamming shut again. After agreeing to teach Tenni, he’d decided the cave below the brothel where he’d hidden from the Perranese was the best place for the lessons. He didn’t want anyone else to see. More to the point, he didn’t want word of it getting back to Mother. Maybe she wouldn’t care that he was teaching one of her girls swordplay.
Or maybe she would.
Tosh tensed and waited, heard soft footsteps coming around the bend in the tunnel.
The two girls stepped tentatively around the corner. Darshia’s hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. With her was the hawkish brunette who’d lost a brother when Klaar had fallen. Prinn was her name. Both wore loose clothing and carried Perranese-style long swords
“We’re not late, are we?” Darshia asked.
Tosh frowned. “Late for what?”
Darshia held up the sword. “Well … uh …”
Tosh glared at Tenni. “Tenni!”
“What?” Eyes wide and innocent. “Oh, them? I just thought, well, you know. The more the merrier.”
“Have you told
anyone
else?”
The girls all shook their heads quickly.
“No one else,” Tenni said. “We promise.”
Tosh blew out a sigh of relief. “Okay. Fine. But nobody else knows. Tenni, this is your big idea so you’re now deputy sword tutor. Start showing Prinn and Darshia the basic defensive stances, and then later—”
More footfalls came around the bend. Tosh turned his head, saw the girl with the chubby face and sandy, frizzy hair called Freen. She was holding a sword. There were two more girls behind her.
“Is this where we do the sword fighting?” Freen asked.
Damn it!
* * *
General Chen ate at the former duke’s desk in the castle study. Chicken breast and field greens and something called a baked … what was it? Ah, yes. A potato.
Potatoes were brilliant things. He’d also had them mashed with a heavy dose of butter and fried with salt. Sixty bushels of seed potato were already on a ship back to the emperor. He would not be surprised if such a thing changed the Imperial economy. Or maybe not. In the meantime, Chen had enjoyed potatoes with nearly every meal. Often double helpings.
Chen felt his belly. A very thin layer of softness had formed over the middle. Had his men been indulging in the local cuisine as much as he had? Perhaps too much butter on the potatoes.
Giffen chose that moment to enter. He nodded a slight bow to the General, and Chen gestured him to sit.
“You’re finding the duke’s apartments comfortable?” Giffen asked.
Chen smiled tightly. Giffen had assumed he would be moving into the duke’s rooms when he began his puppet rule of Klaar, but as they were the best rooms in the castle, naturally Chen had taken them for himself.