Irona 700 (27 page)

“He's gone crazy,” Podakan whimpered.

“I'll be right there,” she said, extracting herself from Podakan's grip with difficulty. “Close the door! I have to go and see, Pod. You tell me while I get dressed.”

“He started making funny noises, woke me. I asked what was wrong. … He didn't answer. …”

“Here, catch.” She found a towel. “Wrap yourself in this, and we'll go and see.”

His hand was icy and trembling as she led him back to his own room, which was now full of very worried marines. The tutor's face was almost black in the lantern light. His lips were everted and flecked with foam, and he was curled backward, twitching and choking.

“Send for a healer!” she said.

“Did that already, ma'am.”

It was obvious that Fiucha was dying. The best thing Irona could do was get Podakan away before it happened.

“Give me that lantern. Keep me informed; I'll be in my room.”

She took Pod back next door, to her room. “Now, you help me search in here.”

His eyes looked huge in that chalky face. “What for?”

“Snakes? Scorpions. Anything that could be dangerous.”

They peered under the bed, in the bed, behind the chest, everywhere, and found nothing. Because there was only one chair, she sat them both on the bed. Pod was still in shock, very far from the fractious, defiant rebel she knew best. When she put an arm around him, he actually cuddled close, as he had not done in years. Fagatele Fiucha had brought them closer, if not in the way intended.

“I expect Citizen Fiucha ate something bad in his supper tonight,” she said.

Just for a moment, she thought that Podakan shook his head. He said, “Snakes and spiders could come in the window, couldn't they?”

“Perhaps spiders could, and we should have known to watch out for them. The bars are only to keep people out. I don't think snakes could climb up from the ground.” But someone, or even some
thing
, could have arranged their arrival. If assassination had been the game, then the culprit had mistaken the window.

Or it might have been an accident. … “I thought,” she said, “that Citizen Fiucha fastened your chain to the bed at night.”

“I was so frightened that I pulled the bracelet off, Mom. It hurt, but I was too frightened to notice.” Pod wriggled the fingers on his left hand. She couldn't see any scrapes or bruises—but the light was bad.

A knock on the door announced one of Ambassador Golovnin's aides, whose name she had never been told. She had gathered from chance remarks that the ambassador was not generally available after he had gone to—or been put to—bed.

The aide glanced at Podakan, then said, “Bad news, Your Honor.”

She nodded to show her understanding, but she knew that Pod would have caught the message.

“It was a spider, Your Honor. The sort called a malice spinner. We do get them in the palace, but not often, and they very rarely bite people.”

She felt Podakan shudder, which was not an unreasonable reaction, perhaps, when he had been sleeping in the next bed.

“I didn't know spiders could bite people,” he whispered.

He had been the first to mention spiders, she recalled.

“Yes, they can,” she said, wondering if he meant,
I didn't know spiders could bite people or I wouldn't have picked it up and put it in his bed
. After all, an admittedly spiteful ten-year-old might reasonably consider vermin in a bed to be a harmless and hilarious prank. How could an oath to behave oneself possibly last any longer than five or six weeks anyway? To a child that was half a lifetime.

Irona said, “Thank you, citizen. Please tell the guards that my son will be sleeping with me tonight.”

She went back to bed, letting Podakan snuggle in beside her, under the covers. They lay like that for a long while, neither of them speaking, neither sleeping.

Had he put the spider in Fiucha's bed? She ought to ask him outright—but what if he confessed? He had certainly wriggled out of his manacle after the attack; he could have done so before it. Seeing the spider, perhaps? Fiucha snoring, sound asleep … It was just the sort of nasty prank Pod enjoyed. He was just barely ten, an age at which he could be tried for murder. If he were, he would probably not be executed, because he could not have known that spiders bit people; Fiucha had been in charge of him and should have done a better job of controlling him. But he might still be found guilty and brutally punished. That wouldn't bring Fiucha back. If the boy was guilty, he knew it, and maybe, just maybe, he would be shocked into mending his ways?

A very cute rationalization, Your Honor. You wouldn't accept it from anyone else. You swore to obey the laws, remember?

No, she couldn't betray her son, Vly's son. She wasn't going to mention her suspicions to anyone. But, Irona vowed, when she got back to Benign, she would take her son up to the palace to witness some sessions of the Juvenile Court so he might start to understand the stakes in his chosen sport of raising hell.

The Year 721

N
othing seemed to help. To Podakan, the defendants in Juvenile Court were merely losers, and thus beneath contempt. Irona took him to watch some public floggings. He enjoyed them. He found a public hanging hilarious, screaming with mirth as the dying man jerked and twisted on the end of his rope. Admittedly most of the other spectators were doing the same.

Akhtang Korovin was a large, ungainly man, with too-long gray hair and wrinkles set in a perpetual glower; a man accustomed to respect and instant obedience. It was not easy for him to be on his knees before a woman, but Irona left him there out of sheer fury.

“I chose your establishment, citizen,” she said, “because you have a reputation for harsh methods and strict discipline. You assured me you had never met a boy you could not train. The word you used was ‘break,' I believe.”

“I am confessing to you now, ma'am, that I have met my match in your son.”

“You let a mere child defeat you so easily?”

“I have tried everything I know! I beat him every day, because the other boys dare him to see how many strokes I will give him. It does no good. He smiles in triumph when I tell him to return to his seat, and he often goes right back to doing whatever I forbade him to do. If I ignore his rudeness and disobedience, he attacks one of the others. He smashes things. A few days ago I was beating him and he … defecated on the floor! He looks five or six years older than his age and behaves like a two-year-old.”

“Are you saying he is stupid? Or insane?”

“Not stupid! Never that, ma'am. Yesterday I set the boys an assignment to memorize ten lines of the
Apremiad
. I have learned not to call on Podakan to recite, but today he jumped up when I would have passed over him and rattled off not just the ten lines I had set but twenty, or thirty. … I had to shout at him to get him to stop. I don't know how long he would have gone on. And of course the rest of the class was screaming with laughter …”

With a big effort, Irona managed to keep a straight face at that story. Obviously the battle was no longer to educate Podakan but to keep Podakan from making the teacher look a goat in front of the class.

And Podakan was making her look a fool, too. He would certainly know that his tutor had come calling on her and would guess why. Not funny, tragic.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I accept that you have tried. And you were my last resort. Tell me, what else can I try?”

“Ma'am, I would not presume—”

“Do presume! I will not take offense. What would you do with him if he were your son?”

The teacher winced at the thought and shook his head.

“Please? Any ideas at all?”

Very reluctantly, the old man said, “Only the last resort.”

“Meaning?”

“Apply to the courts to have him declared incorrigible.”

“And sold into slavery?”

“You did ask me, ma'am.”

The following day, Irona took Podakan down to the slave market to watch the pathetic wares in their chains. That sobered him up for a couple of months. Then he started randomly beating her own slaves, who dared not even defend themselves. If he was like this at twelve, how would he be at fifteen?

Putting her political mind to the problem, she devised a possible compromise. She had the petition to the court drawn up and called in a notary to explain it to Podakan. Still not certain whether she was about to sign it or not, she had to go as far as to ink her seal and poise it over the tablet before he cracked and fell on his knees.

“No!” he screamed. “I'll behave!”

“You've promised me that before, hundreds of times.”

He looked up at her with his father's eyes, flooding tears.

“Dam,” he whimpered. “
I can't help it!
”

Which was what she had already concluded. “And I can't put up with it. So what else can I do with you?”

“Make me a slave just sometimes?”

So it was agreed. After each outbreak of spite, vandalism, or cruelty, Podakan would be turned over to Tidore, to dig, weed, saw wood, scrub floors, clean out latrines, sleep on straw, eat slave food. Only when Tidore testified that he was doing everything required of him and Irona was satisfied that he had been punished enough would Podakan be released. He accepted that arrangement. Often he would come straight to Irona and confess his sins in a voice that soon became astonishingly like his father's.

The Year 724

T
he Gren, it seemed, had disappeared. Nothing had been heard of them for almost five years.

On the last day of 723, First Rudakov 670 sent for Seven Irona. She was not surprised, because rumors had been circulating all day, and there wasn't a rumor in the world that Sazen Hostin hadn't either heard or started. What she had not expected was to be shown into the cozy, intimate room where she had tried to convince First Knipry that the mating rocks of Kadowan were not fixes, on her last meeting with him. Rudakov used it as his personal office, and there was no one else present.

He smiled wearily when she entered and gestured to the chair on the opposite side of his table, which was piled high with report tablets. He looked worried and bowed. Of the four Firsts she had known, Rudakov was the least impressive, and not improving as the years mounted.

Formalities first, of course. …

“Glad you could come, 700,” he said. “I expect you were just about to go home and prepare for the festivities.”

“Not yet, Your Reverence. What can I do for you?”

“Bad news, I'm afraid. The Gren are back.”

Sazen had told her so just before noon. She was the expert on Gren, so why had she not been sent for sooner? Why had the Seven not been called into emergency session?

“Trading or raiding?”

“Raiding,” he said. According to Sazen, it was more like an invasion in force. “Reports read a bit hysterical, probably exaggerated.”

“They haven't told anyone what they've been doing for the last five years, have they?”

The Gren had traded some hideous rugs and rotting hides for Irona's flexible weapons, and then just vanished back into the desert. Since then, the only sign that anything lived out there had been a negative one: an army exploratory expedition, which Irona had recommended and the Seventy approved, had vanished without trace. So had a second, sent to find the first.

“Breeding lizard children on lizard women, from the sound of it.” The First sighed. “And now they are all full-grown already? I told you it sounded fishy.”

“We knew it was only a matter of time.”

“You did. You warned us. Some of us kept our fingers in our ears. I don't doubt for a moment that both the Seven and the Seventy will want you to lead the response, 700. I'm calling an emergency meeting of the Seven for Day Two. I thought you should be forewarned so you could have some recommendations in mind.”

If Irona were wearing the crimson instead of him, the Seven would have met hours ago, the entire government staff would have been told to cancel their holiday plans, and everyone would have begun working day and night to mobilize the entire Empire. She said, “Thank you, Your Reverence. Thoughtful of you.”

Irona was not at all surprised that bad news about the Empire was soon followed by bad news about Podakan, news bad enough to ruin the Midsummer Festival for her.

Day Two was likely to be worse. It began soon after sunrise with Irona and Veer sharing a very glum breakfast.

“Let's get it over with,” she said.

“He won't be awake for hours.”

“If I say so, he will be.”

Veer sighed and got up, knocking over his chair. He pulled the bell rope beside the fireplace and managed to resume his place at the table without further accidents. In a moment, the door was opened by Tiatia, one of the house slaves. She was barely more than a child, and yet she looked as if she felt the bony hands of death around her throat already. In fact she must be suffering from a severe hangover and near-mortal terror. She flopped down on her knees.

“About last night,” Irona said. “If I ever find you in bed with a man again you will go to the slave market with no reserve price. Understand?”

“Oh, yes, ma'am, and thank you, ma'am, it won't ever—”

“Now tell our son to come here at once. If he won't wake up, warn him I will send the porters with buckets of well water.”

Greatly relieved that nothing terrible was going to happen to her soon, Tiatia scrambled up and fled.

Our son.
Irona did not look at Veer. She knew how much he disliked being classed as Podakan's father. He admitted to hating Podakan, and there were times when she almost did so herself. This was one of them. Vly's child would have broken his heart.

“How can you prevent it happening again?” Veer asked. “If she won't consent, he'll rape her.”

“As far as I'm concerned he already has. And he won't, because he isn't going to be here.”

Veer guessed at once what she had in mind. “Is that wise?”

“He's going to be the Empire's secret weapon.” Irona wasn't sure how much she was joking.

Without a knock, the door flew open and in walked the problem, with one hand behind his back. Newly turned fifteen, Podakan Lavice was already taller than most grown men, although not quite a match for Veer yet. His oversized hands and feet suggested that he still had more growing to do, quite apart from filling out his adolescent lankness with bulk. He took after his grandfather, Akanagure Matrinko, having inherited much of his brutishness as well as his size. He was barefoot, clad only in yesterday's stained smock, and his hair looked like kelp on a rock. Long hair was the style now, so his had to be longer than anyone's. His eyes were scarlet and his head must be pounding, but he made an effort to look cheerful.

“Greetings, Dam. And you, Machin. Lovely morning.”

Irona pointed at the floor in front of her.

He shrugged, walked over, and knelt. Then he produced the bucket he had brought and set it between them. At least it hadn't been used yet.

“Just in case,” he said. “Where do you get that awful wine, Machin?”

“Last night you abused one of my slaves,” Irona said.

“Not abused, Dam. She loves it.”

“So that she can bear a freeborn child, which you will have to raise?”

He shrugged, but the smile had gone. “We're still only kids. No problem yet.”

“Do you believe that or is it just what you tell her?”

He shrugged again. As long as the girl believed it, he could get what he wanted, so what else mattered?

“You remember our agreement?”

“Agreement, my ass. You're going to sell your fifteen-year-old son into slavery for humping one of your slave girls?”

He was right, of course. No judge would agree.

“Oh, Podakan, we haven't had to paint the slave mark on your shoulder for months. I was really hoping that you had started to behave like an adult.”

“That's exactly what I was doing last night. It's fun!” He glanced at Veer as he said that. He didn't need to mention that Veer had failed to father any children with Irona in more than a dozen years.

“Silence! She is my slave and I will decide who sleeps with her, if anyone. I am going to have you stripped and tied up in the courtyard, and have Tidore give you five strokes of a rod on your buttocks, with the entire household watching. I'm sure he won't hold back.”

Podakan didn't speak, but his irises slid up until white showed under them, so he looked blind. She knew it as a sign of suppressed rage and thought of it as his killer look. Given the chance, he would now go away to smash something or hurt someone.

“Irona,” Veer said, “I think you'd better leave his tunic on. He's one of those twisted people who enjoy pain. You exhibit him naked and he's likely to display an erection, just to embarrass you.”

“Blabbermouth!” Podakan said. “I was saving that as a treat for her, fat man.”

“Thanks, Veer,” Irona said. “Earlier yesterday, Podakan, where were you?”

He blinked a few times until his eyes returned to normal. “It was Festival, remember? Down in the Old City, celebrating with the guys. Who got chosen?”

“Some boy from the Old Town.”

His mouth opened and then closed. He knew she was lying.

“Come to think of it,” Irona said, “it was a girl, Apolima. Seems promising, I hear. Kao Bukit was there, of course. And his father.”

Silence.

“Daun saw you, Podakan.”

“Didn't see him. Saw Kao, though. He was a little slug five years ago. He's still a slug and not much bigger.”

“Podakan, I have told you before that you are not eligible to go to the choosing, because you were not born in Benign. A year from now, I will—”

“—will certify to the priests that you're a citizen and I'm your little boy. Then I swear to obey the laws and it's done. I'll be a citizen, but I can't be a Chosen. I think I've got it now, Dam.”

“But you went to the choosing anyway, when you're only fifteen. That is sacrilege! Do you know what would have—”

“Didn't!” the boy snapped. “Didn't try to go in that side. Liado's dad's off on the mainland; he'd no one to take him, so I said I'd go with him and pretend to be his uncle.”

“No! Oh, Podakan, that's as bad, almost.”

He smirked. “Didn't have to. The priests didn't even ask.”

It was plausible. He certainly looked like an adult, if a baby-faced one, and there was no rule against a friend or older brother escorting a pilgrim.

“So you didn't break the law. That is good, Podakan Lavice, because do you know what I was planning to do? I was planning another ten strokes of that rod. That is absolutely nothing compared to what the court would give you, and brand you as well. So you escape that, but you still get the five. And you and I still have to get through one more year before I stop being legally responsible for your actions. Do you want to get me flogged?”

“You mean usually or just right now?”

“I'll add one more stroke for insolence. And we'd best get it over with now, because we'll be leaving in a few days.”

“Going where?” he growled suspiciously.

“To Achelone. There's a war on, and I expect to be appointed admiral.”

His face lit up, and he flexed the muscles in his arms. “Can I row this time?”

Two frantic days later, Irona embarked on her flagship,
Foam Racer
. For commodore she had recruited her old associate, Mandalagan Furnas. This was to be no token force of a couple of hundred marines. The Seventy had insisted on mobilizing the entire Empire against the Gren, although Irona had argued that there was no way Achelone could feed an army of tens of thousands. Her advice had been ignored in a panic of war fever. Now her only hope was to get there first and organize some sort of a reception for everyone else. If Caprice favored her, she might manage to defeat the invaders before the allies' forces arrived, so she could send them straight home again. The worm in the apple was that nobody had yet discovered how to kill Gren.

With her was Daun Bukit, still her trusted chief of staff. Sazen Hostin was traveling on another galley, but he would join her when they reached the front, and then it would be quite like old times. She had made sure there was room on
Foam Racer
for Podakan, who was a much bigger handful than he had been on her last trip to Achelone. She could count the days until she would wash her hands of him, although Caprice alone knew what would happen to him then.

He had gone on ahead, either childishly eager to watch the preparations or unwilling to trust his badly bruised buttocks in a sedan chair. She had given him a pass to enter the naval docks and found him down there, gaping around in glee at the bustle of marines and porters, chandlers and carpenters, and dozens more. Momentarily, he was a kid again.

But the first thing he said was, “I wanna row!”

As tactfully as she could, Irona said, “Rowers sit on sealskin cushions, dear. They slide back and forth with every stroke. I doubt if your backside is in good enough shape to do that all day.”

“Pain never stops me, you know that. It's a test of manhood. I bought an oarsman's cushion. I wanna row!”

“I'm proud of your courage, but if you lose the stroke and tangle the others, you may injure other men as well as yourself.” Seeing his stubborn look, she added. “Ask Commodore Furnas if you want. Just don't say I order it!” She foresaw no problem, because she had warned Furnas the previous day.

By the time she boarded, though, Podakan was proudly sitting on a rower's bench, surrounded by grown men no taller than he and parrying their lewd banter like a veteran. Somehow he had acquired the correct attire of leather shorts. Apart from a lack of hair on chin or chest, he didn't look at all out of place, and she felt an absurd knot of pride in her throat, as if she had created him the way Veer created a portrait. At times Podakan seemed to go from five years old to twenty-five and back again between breaths.

Commodore Furnas had trouble meeting Irona's eye. “You didn't tell me he'd be one of the biggest men aboard, ma'am.”

“He's a child, Commodore. He can't row all day!”

“I've doubled him up with Sturge, there. He's a good hand, ma'am. He'll keep his arms folded until he sees trouble coming, then take over the oar. You ought to be proud of yon lad! Grown a lot since the last time we went to Achelone.”

In some ways he had. He still had to learn that other people mattered.

She was more open with Daun as they stood on the steersman's deck waiting for something to happen.
Foam Racer
was at anchor. Furnas was being rowed around her, checking the trim. The hands were shifting stores as the bosun bellowed orders. No one was listening to the passengers.

“He didn't try to pass himself off as sixteen at the temple,” she said. “He was waved in through the adult gate.”

Daun said nothing, just stared at the man in question, heaving bales and barrels around with the crew, playing at being one of them. Marines had to accept discipline, and Irona could not imagine Pod ever doing that.

“You saw?” she asked.

“Didn't see that, ma'am.”

Oh, Goddess!
So Pod had not merely walked through the adult side, he had passed himself off as Benign born, lying about this age, pretended to be one of the pilgrims. She did not wonder which one was lying. She had trusted Daun since before Podakan was born.