Lord of Janissaries (62 page)

“My lord,” Jamiy said. “If you have a moment.”

“Eh?” Rick looked up from Tylara’s letter. He’d been staring at it for a long time. His eyes felt the strain from the dim light, and he blinked several times. “What is it?”

“Carlga the smith and Fnor the master miller would speak with you.”

“How much did they bribe you?”

“A silver each, Lord.”

“Ah.” Quite a tidy sum. “Their business must be important. Bring them.”

Jamiy grinned and pocketed the money. Sometimes Lord Rick demanded a share of the bribes paid to get his attention.

The miller and smith were in their finest clothing, with leather purses and jeweled peace-bonded daggers hanging from their belts. Men of substance, Rick thought.

They stammered a bit, but their manners were good, and they were obviously accustomed to speaking to the nobility. Rick learned that the smith employed five journeymen and a dozen apprentices, while the miller was a town councillor. Even so, they had difficulty coming to the point.

“And the demonstration with the stag was indeed marvelous,” Fnor was saying. “The Royal Guardsmen in particular. Is there aught they cannot do?”

“We have sons,” Carlga said. “The miller and I both. They would gladly serve in the guard.”

“And our hearts would be gladdened to see them so honored,” Fnor added.

Aha. The point at last. Rick said nothing, and the silence dragged on. Can’t ask them direct what bribe they’re offering, Rick thought. How long do I have to wait?

“Indeed, my heart would be so gladdened,” Fnor said at last, “that I would build a new mill. Beside my present mill, for there is ample water, more than ample now with the greater rains. I would build a wheel of the sort that your clerks describe, of the kind that the Romans have. Carlga will bring his forge to that mill, so that the wheel might drive his bellows and work trip hammers in the new manner. All this at our expense, and a year’s products of the mill and forge to the guards.”

Generous offer indeed, Rick thought. But a year’s products be damned, what’s needed is a real hammer mill here where transportation’s hard to come by. There’s coal, and iron ore, and this is a damned good place for a foundry. Long way from any likely targets, too. Not likely to be bombed out.

“Your forge is fired with wood?” Rick asked.

“Aye, Lord. I have heard of using blackrock, but I have never seen a forge like that. We tried once, but without success.”

“There will not be many years before burning wood to make metal and glass will be forbidden,” Rick said. “As wood grows more scarce, you must learn to use blackrock.”

“Where may we learn?” Carlga asked.

“The traveling clerks will know, but there is a better way. Have you a son to follow in your trade? Excellent. Send him a year to the University near Tar Kartos in Tamaerthon. There he will learn to use the blackrock, and much else.”

“We would also learn the arts of making the—
guns
—which use firepowder,” Fnor added. “Master smith Carlga makes strong iron.”

“Not all strong iron is strong enough,” Rick said. “The art of making
guns
is not so easily acquired.” Especially not here in a border county ruled by a possible traitor. “Nor can I promise your sons, nor any man, a place in the guards.

“Yet you need not look so downcast,” Rick continued. “The guards are sworn as brothers, and will accept among them none who have not earned their place, and who will not take the same oath to Vothan.”

The men sobered at the mention of Vothan. Like his Earth counterpart, Old One-eye was more feared than loved. “But I can promise this,” Rick added quickly. “Let them present themselves to Lord Mason before the Wanax departs, and if they please him, we will take them with us; and if they work hard—” Dammit, what I want to say is apply themselves, but that sounds stupid in the local language— “If they will work and give their attention to the task before them, I doubt not they can earn a place in the guards.” And take the first step toward ennobling their families . . .

“So. Since I cannot grant what you asked, I cannot accept what you offer. Yet I wish the mill and forge to be built, and to that end I will loan half the cost from the Captain-General’s purse. You will repay the debt in iron, and the first fruits of the forge belong to the crown.”

“Generous, lord,” Fnor said. “You deserve your reputation. And we will send our sons to the Lord Mason in the morning. Thank you, Lord.”

* * *

Ganton sat cross-legged on the great bed, cradling a cup of wine in his lap and looking around the comfortable tapestry-hung room. It was, of course, Lord Ajacia’s bedchamber. Idly Ganton wondered where Ajacias was sleeping, and who he had displaced, and who that one had caused to move.

Morrone was hovering at the foot of the bed, casting an occasional glance at the door. “Oh, go to whatever girl you’ve asked,” Ganton said irritably. “I can undress myself.”

Morrone grinned. “Thank you, sire. But it would be best if I did my duty first.”

“Then do it. Lord Rick received a message tonight. They brought it during dinner, and he went out to read it. My guess is that it came from the lady Tylara, else why would they not wait until morning, or at least until dinner was finished?”

“Yes, sir?”

“If from Tylara, then it may have come from the University,” Ganton said. “I would know if it did.”

“Aha. Majesty, had there been letters for you, they would have been brought by now.”

“Perhaps.”

“Surely.”

“Then Octavia has chosen not to write to me.”

“You cannot be certain. Indeed, you do not know the message was from Lady Tylara, and certainly you do not know that it was sent from the University. Can you doubt that the Lady Octavia would take any opportunity to write to you? I cannot.”

“Ah. You believe then that she does not dislike me?”

Morrone shrugged. “What matter her likes and dislikes? I believe that she is intelligent. As to you—you brood too much. I am certain that my lady of the evening has a friend—”

“But are you certain your lady mother did not play the Eqeta false with a panderer from the stews of Rustengo?”

Morrone laughed again. As indeed, Ganton thought, he must, for if there were any hint that I was serious—I should watch my tongue, even alone with my only friend.

Then Morrone’s laugh died and his voice became very serious. “Are
you
certain that you are not getting yourself into more of a coil about the Lady Octavia than she deserves?”

“And why do you reckon her deserts?” There was a hint of danger in Ganton’s voice.

“Majesty, it is my duty to advise you.”

Yes. It is, Ganton thought. And indeed, you were one of the few who supported me when I thought to bring the Lady Octavia north on this tour. But I did not, through the advice of the Lord and Lady of Chelm, and Chancellor Yanulf, and Camithon—

“Advice! I hear nothing but advice, from my first visit to the jakes in the morning until you blow out the last candle at night! Only Yatar could listen to so much advice!”

“Yatar does not need advice,” Morrone reminded him. “You do. Or you have said you do. You are of age now, and the time has passed when I could speak to you as once I did, but I will, once more. Ganton, my friend, if ever you wish my silence, you have only to say so, and I will remain your friend yet.”

“Ach, not you also!” Ganton shouted. “They all say that! All, all, they threaten to withdraw their counsel, and though they do not always say so, it is in their minds, that my father lost his throne through failure to listen to his advisors. And yes, yes, that is true enough, but much of what I hear is senseless! Yet must I listen, and smile, lest someone with more power than wits be mortally offended! Surely there is more to being Wanax than this?”

Morrone made a wry face. “I offered one of the rewards of majesty, and you made free to insult my mother for reply.” He grinned to show he wasn’t offended. “And there is little chance that Lady Octavia would ever know, though why you remain so tender for the feelings of Lord Rick’s hostage to the Roman alliance I will never know.”

“Is she no more than that?”

“How can she be else?”

“If Lord Rick and Chancellor Yanulf think of nothing but hostages, why have they not gathered in the children of Publius’ dead sister?”

Morrone shrugged again. “The discussion grows serious. Will you have more wine?”

“Yes.”

Morrone poured and brought the goblets to the bed. “Caesar’s other grandchildren are not important because they cannot be offered in marriage. Not when the eldest is five. While the Lady Octavia is ripe enough. Majesty, think you that I oppose your suit?”

“Of course not.” Morrone had more than once been messenger when the University authorities tried to keep Ganton and Octavia apart.

“For indeed, were she queen, the way might lie open to more than ever we dream,” Morrone said. “Rome itself.” He stepped back and raised his hand in the Roman manner, and there was no mockery in his voice at all as he said, “Hail, Caesar.”

“Only if—only if Lord Rick permits it,” Ganton said.

Morrone nodded. “Aye, for the moment the starmen hold power over us. But they will not forever mock the anointed of Yatar!”

That phrase, and the way Morrone said it, reminded Ganton of something, someone else who’d said that in just that way, but the wine and the venison and the lateness of the hour overcame him before he could remember who it had been.

23

The morning ritual was the same here as at the palace. Rick dressed, put on armor, and with Mason beside him came out for his first appointments. His personal guards waited for him in the corridor. Today they were commanded by Padraic, the under-captain of the Mounted Archers. Four guardsmen walked ahead, then Rick and Mason, followed by Jamiy and Padraic.

Mason hadn’t much cared to have a new man armed and behind his captain, but he hadn’t any choice. Caradoc went with Tylara to the Garioch, and somebody had to be Mason’s second-in-command of the MPs. Padraic, son of a Drantos lord and a Tamaerthan mother, knew the customs of both lands, and had been loyal since the archers were formed. There wouldn’t be anyone better . . . which didn’t stop Art Mason from worrying.

Rick had no trouble reading his companion’s mind. Mason worried a lot about loyalties. At least, Rick thought, he understands why we’ve got to expand the leadership, bring in locals and govern by Tran customs and law, and not just be a flock of wolves here. Mason understands. And Gwen. I think Elliot and Warner. The rest—well, the rest of them saw what happened when Parsons tried taking over by force, but I’m not sure how well they learned the lesson. And how loyal are they? To me, to anyone?

They reached the chamber set aside for them by their host. Beazeley and four locals stood guard outside.

“All secure?” Mason asked.

Beazeley grinned. “Yes, sir, all secure
now
.”

“Eh?”

“Found two different listening places,” Beazeley said. “Alcove behind a tapestry, about like you’d expect. But something different.” He opened the door and led the way inside a stone chamber about twenty-five feet square. “Behind that tapestry, there, by the window. That was one. And see that picture there? Back of that’s a corridor. Real secret passage.”

“Who was in there?” Mason demanded.

“Unarmed clerk types,” Beazeley said. “Real anxious to prove they were unarmed, too.”

Rick nodded. “I expect they would be. Have you secured that corridor, then?”

“Yes, sir. I put two MPs at each end of it. Nobody to go in without your permission. Rest of the room’s clean, as far as I can tell.” Beazeley laughed. “I didn’t look too hard for electronics.”

“No. Thank you,” Rick said. “All right, we’ll deal with Lord Ajacias later. Meanwhile, Art, go escort the king, please. And I expect we’ll need wine, and a pot of that stuff that passes for tea. Morrone will have to see to that.”

“Yes, sir,” Mason said. “Okay, Jack, let’s go.”

Rick paced around the room. It held a carved slab table, two side tables, three comfortable chairs, some benches, and a solid-looking cabinet that probably unfolded into a writing desk. On a whim Rick went to it and opened it. There were no dwarves inside, but it did have goose quills, parchment, and ink.