The woman put her hand to her mouth in apprehension, but remained out of reach.
Paeotan opened the book, and pointed to the first picture.
‘Gaien,’ Bridget said.
Paeotan pointed to the next page.
‘Book,’ said Kallie in Rahain.
‘Ball.’
‘Orange.’
‘Shoe.’
The woman said something to Paeotan, and the boy put the book down.
She approached.
Paeotan pointed at her. ‘Simiona,’ he said.
‘Simiona,’ Bridget repeated.
Killop stared at the woman. She had been there, he thought, the day they had been moved to the school. She had been with the old man who had saved them from the pit.
‘Hello, Simiona,’ he said to her in Rahain.
Her mouth opened in astonishment.
‘Hello,’ she replied.
Paeotan smiled, and pulled over the sack of food, and a couple of chairs. He pushed the food through the bars, and sat. Simiona settled down next to him, and watched as Paeotan began the lesson.
The three captives learned the Rahain words for numbers that night, reciting them over and over, and watching as Paeotan drew the symbols that represented them onto blank sheets of paper. They were also tested on the words he had taught them over the previous evenings. Simiona sat back and observed, her face a bewildering mixture of emotions. Finally, as the night wore on, she interrupted Paeotan, asking him something. Killop listened to her voice, trying to discern any words he recognised, and trying to get a feel for the rhythm of the language. Bridget seemed to be picking it up faster than he was, her mind never forgetting a word once it had been taught to her.
When Simiona stopped talking, Paeotan turned to the captives. He spoke to them in Rahain, enunciating each word with care.
‘Simiona,’ he said, ‘wants you to sing.’
‘Sing?’ Killop repeated. It wasn’t a word he knew. He looked at Bridget, who shook her head.
‘Yes,’ Paeotan nodded. ‘Sing. La la la…’
‘Ahh, he means sing,’ Bridget said in the Kellach tongue.
‘Well, I’m not singing,’ Killop muttered.
‘I’ll do it,’ Kallie said.
‘Yes, we sing,’ Bridget said in Rahain to Paeotan and Simiona.
Kallie edged closer to the bars, shut her eyes, and started singing, a low, mournful song, a lamentation for the death of a twin. It was a song Killop had heard many times during the war, at the graveside, a song of loss for the heartbroken. Painful and beautiful, it rose shivering into the still air, chilling his heart. Killop lowered his head, to hide the tears falling down his cheeks.
He wiped his face as the song finished, and saw that Simiona was also in tears. He noticed for the first time that she wore a thin silver chain around her neck, a sign that she too was a slave, though one in a rare and privileged position.
‘Very good,’ Paeotan said, his eyes moist. ‘Thank you.’
Killop took Kallie’s hand, and they sat in silence.
Simiona and Paeotan stood up, and pushed the chairs back away from the cage.
‘Good night,’ Paeotan said.
Simiona’s eyes lingered on the captives for a few more moments. She shook her head, and followed Paeotan to the door.
When they had gone, Bridget turned to Killop. ‘Did you recognise her?’
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Her master is the old man who brought us here.’
‘Aye.’
‘I don’t remember her,’ Kallie said. ‘Do you think she might help us?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘They seem amazed that we can learn their language, as if they think us no better than beasts. If we can prove we’re not, then… I don’t know.’
‘What the fuck can she do?’ Bridget said. ‘She’s a slave.’
‘Aye,’ Killop said, ‘but she’s a slave that gets to walk about on her own at night. She must be close to the old man, he must trust her.’
‘Aye,’ Bridget said, ‘but can we?’
Chapter 5
Party of One
Rahain Capital, Rahain Republic – 18th Day, First Third Summer 504
‘As far as I can see, my good man,’ Laodoc said, resting his glass of brandy on the dark pine table, ‘there remains no reason for us to stay together.’
‘Are you saying that you want to disband our alliance?’ asked Pleonim, his eyes widening.
‘The war is over,’ Laodoc replied. ‘We lost. Well, Rahain won, but we, the peace coalition, were defeated.’
‘But someone in the council needs to stand up to the war coalition,’ Pleonim said. ‘Their arrogance grows by the day. They’ll be casting their greedy eyes on the Plateau next, you know it! Do you think war with the Holdings will be as easy as it was against those southern savages?’
‘Now, now, councillor,’ Laodoc said. In the shadows around the table sat the rest of the Hedgers, the small bloc of eleven city councillors led by Laodoc. ‘I’m sure you Liberals will do a fine job of opposing the war coalition. For us Hedgers however, some of us feel that it might be time to rebuild a few bridges…’
‘Cross over to the other side, you mean.’
‘See here,’ Laodoc said, getting irritated, ‘you Liberals knew perfectly well why we were opposed to the war, and even though those reasons were different from yours, you still welcomed our votes in the City Council. But we lost, Pleonim. Rahain went to war. And with our defeat today on that damnable Kellach Slave Bill, the Hedgers no longer see any purpose in maintaining our coalition with you. As of the next session of the City Council, we shall consider ourselves free to vote as we wish.’
‘You’re right,’ Pleonim said, sliding back into his comfortable armchair, a brandy glass balanced between his slender fingers. ‘We did know your reasons for opposing the war. The market being flooded with cheap imports of coal and iron from the conquered Kellach territories would destroy your little mining cartel, and cost you all dearly.’ He looked around the table at the men and women of the Hedgers, who were glowering at him. ‘I see I am right,’ he said, ‘but this does not gladden me. I had harboured foolish hopes that once you saw the brutality and senseless waste of the war with the Kellach Brigdomin, and witnessed the imperialistic hubris of the high-handed bullies in the war coalition, you would come round to our view.’
He rose to his feet. ‘I now realise I was mistaken. I will convey your intentions to the Liberal Party leadership.’ He put down his glass. ‘Thank you for the drink, and good night.’
He turned and strode across the floor of the members’ bar, picking up his jacket and hat from a servant by the door.
‘He took it well enough, I thought,’ Laodoc remarked, gesturing to a waiter for more brandy.
‘And now, Laodoc,’ Niuma frowned, pointing at him, ‘we need to talk about how to undo some of the damage our ill-fated alliance with the Liberals has caused us.’
‘We should have dissolved the coalition as soon as war was declared!’ someone else complained.
‘We no longer have confidence in your leadership of the Hedgers,’ Riomac said.
Laodoc spluttered. ‘Hold on, old chap.’
‘Before the war,’ Riomac said, ‘we Hedgers could lend our votes to whichever bloc best suited our interests, play off all parties against each other and, I’ll admit, it was good fun while it lasted. But you went too far, Laodoc, and the war coalition will never trust the Hedgers again, at least not under its current leadership.’
‘So you’re after my job, then, Riomac?’ Laodoc chuckled. ‘You clearly haven’t understood the party’s constitution, my fine fellow, since it explicitly states that, once elected, leaders serve a term of five years, with no recourse to being replaced, unless through death or criminal conviction. I have two years to go, I’m afraid.’
‘And I’m certain,’ Riomac smiled, ‘that you’ll make a wonderful leader of a party of one.’
‘What?’
‘We can’t
replace you,’ Niuma smirked, ‘but we can leave.’
She stood, and the others followed her to their feet.
‘With immediate effect,’ Riomac said, ‘we all hereby resign from the Hedgers.’
Laodoc sat, his mouth hanging open, as they shuffled past, averting their eyes. The last to leave, Juarad, stopped next to him.
‘Best of luck, Laodoc,’ he said. ‘No hard feelings, eh?’
‘What will you do now?’ Laodoc asked.
‘Most of us,’ Juarad said, ‘are joining the Merchant Party.’
‘But they’re in the war coalition!’
Juarad shrugged. ‘Sometimes it’s just easier to be on the winning side, for a while at least. What about you?’
‘I don’t know,’ Laodoc said, his hands trembling. ‘I’ll admit to being a little bewildered by what has happened.’
‘If you would take my advice,’ Juarad said, ‘join the Liberals. They’re the only party that would have you now, I imagine.’
He stuck out his hand. Laodoc grasped it limply.
‘Farewell, old chap,’ Juarad nodded, then walked away.
Laodoc sat back in his leather armchair, staring at the empty table in front of him.
‘Sir?’
He glanced up. It was the waiter he had summoned.
‘Your brandy, sir,’ the servant said, placing a full bottle onto the table.
Laodoc stared at it. Some occasions, he reflected, positively cried out for drunken oblivion.
Several brandies later, a small group approached Laodoc, as he sat brooding in the deep shadows of the alcove.
‘Father,’ his eldest son, Ruellap, said. ‘May we join you?’
‘If you must,’ Laodoc replied. ‘Though if you’re here to gloat I would suggest another time.’
‘No gloating, father. I promise.’
Ruellap sat, along with two other politicians from the war coalition. One of them, Ziane, a famous old member of the Conservative Party, gestured to a servant for drinks and glasses. Next to him sat Yaelli, a prominent Merchant.
‘I assume you’ve heard?’ Laodoc said.
‘We have,’ Yaelli nodded. ‘I’ve just returned from a meeting with the Merchant Party, where we voted to accept your old Hedgers.’
‘All ten of them?’ Laodoc cried.
‘Indeed,’ Yaelli said, grinning, ‘which, at a stroke, doubles the Merchant Party’s representation in the City Council, making us the third largest party…’
‘Yes, yes,’ Ruellap said, raising his eyebrows, ‘and over-taking my Patriot Party, as you have already informed us, Yaelli. Several times in fact!’
‘So the damned war coalition is now utterly dominant,’ Laodoc muttered, the brandy loosening him. ‘You outnumber the Liberals two to one. I suppose you’ll be planning the next invasion soon, eh?’
‘You cannot fight destiny, father,’ Ruellap said, as servants set down drinks for them.
‘Ahh, destiny is it now?’ Laodoc sneered.
Ruellap shook his head. ‘Why is it so painful for you to admit that we are the superior species in this world, father? Technology, wealth, culture, science, no one can match us. Only the Holdings come even close.’
‘So, son,’ Laodoc said, ‘what will the Patriot Party’s advice be? What will they propose in the High Senate as our next adventure?’
‘If I had my way, father, I would have us take the Plateau.’
‘And how would you accomplish this feat?’ Laodoc asked, his voice rising. ‘Where would you find another hundred thousand soldiers, eh?’
‘The answer is staring us in the face, father,’ Ruellap said, while Ziane and Yaelli listened in. ‘We should organise the Kellach Brigdomin into a new slave army. Imagine it, they would smash their way across the entire continent!’
Ziane spluttered, spraying wine across the table.
‘My young friend!’ the old conservative cried, wiping his face with a napkin. ‘The very last thing we want to do is arm the savages in our midst! And you should forget these bold notions of conquest, at least for now. We have a peace treaty with the Realm of the Holdings, and a clearly defined border across the Plateau. We would hardly be leading by example if we were to break our word, and invade without good cause. No, we should be negotiating with the Holdings, each defining our spheres of interest on this continent.’ He looked around the table. ‘I hear they’re having a spot of trouble with their war in Sanang. We should be pushing them hard for talks now, while they are distracted.’
‘I heard some gossip today you may find interesting,’ Yaelli said. ‘Apparently their queen is dying, poisoned in a conspiracy involving their religious leaders, who are stridently opposed to the war.’
‘Really?’ Ziane said. ‘That is interesting indeed.’
‘There’s more,’ she went on. ‘I also heard that their king-in-waiting, the queen’s brother, is in the pocket of the Holdings church, and he’ll end the war in Sanang the moment he is crowned.’
‘Their church is pacifist?’ Ruellap said. ‘That would be excellent news, neutering the only armed force on the continent that could possibly stand up to us.’
‘It’s terrible news!’ Yaelli retorted. ‘Just as our trade with the Holdings is picking up, and our access to Sanang goods is improving, the Holdings turn isolationist? Have you any idea how popular and lucrative this trade is?’
Ruellap shrugged. ‘I prefer Rahain products, myself.’
‘I confess a certain fondness for chocolate,’ Ziane said, patting his ample stomach, ‘and sugar, and, yes, a few other things. You are correct Yaelli, that is a valid concern.’
‘There’s a trader from Jade Falls newly arrived in the capital.’ Yaelli continued. ‘She has just returned from two years at the frontier between the Holdings-occupied Plateau and the Sanang forest. I met her, and she provided us with some samples of her goods. Their quality is astounding, and by my calculations, she’s going to be one of the richest merchants in Rahain once it’s all sold. It would be tragic indeed if we allowed trade to suffer due to the backwardness of the Holdings religion. We need to focus on pushing ahead with the tunnel through the Grey Mountains, get it finished, so we can move our traders, and if necessary our army, up onto the Plateau as quickly as possible. That is how we should be using the Kellach slaves.’
‘What say you, father?’ Ruellap asked.
He shifted in his seat, looking at his political opponents: conservative, merchant and patriot. He suspected they were only being friendly to him because they no longer saw him as a serious threat.
‘You lot squabble as much as the peace coalition did,’ he said, taking a drink.
They smiled politely.
‘No, really, father,’ Ruellap said. ‘What do you think?’
Laodoc straightened, slurring his words. ‘Son,’ he said, ‘you utterly humiliate me in the City Council, ensure my every suggestion and amendment is soundly defeated, and now you are asking for my advice?’
‘Come, Laodoc, old fellow,’ Ziane said. ‘Don’t be like that. We’re here to show you that we can still be friends, once we’re off the floor of the council chamber. Politics is a filthy business, but we needn’t carry the dirt with us wherever we go.’
Laodoc stood up, swaying. He steadied himself, putting a hand on the top of the armchair. He picked up the half empty bottle of brandy, and slipped it into the folds of his dark robes.
‘You are not my friends,’ he said, earning disappointed and aggrieved scowls.
He turned and staggered towards the door of the bar, hearing someone’s voice call ‘pompous old fool’ at him. He hoped it wasn’t his son.
Beoloth was waiting for him in the courtyard of the council chambers, along with the other politicians’ slaves and servants.
‘Master,’ he said, bowing. ‘Let me collect your carriage.’
Laodoc waited in the warm, dry air of the enormous cavern that held the majority of the capital’s government buildings. The lamps had been dimmed for evening-time, an
d they would be darkened further nearer midnight, to mimic the natural world outside. To his right, the towering domes and spires of the High Senate loomed, making the council chambers, for all its architectural glory, seem small and insignificant by comparison.
Laodoc sighed.
The High Senate. While each of the seven cities had its own council to run its local affairs, the High Senate ruled all of Rahain; its fifty senators elected for life. Seven were appointed from each city, with the capital alone contributing eight. Whenever a member of the High Senate died, the others would select a new candidate from the City Council where the dead senator had originated. This was Laodoc’s dream, to be selected to join the High Senate. At sixty-three, he was still two years away from meeting the minimum age for a senator, but the campaign to be selected took long and careful planning. After having managed to offend every other party in the City Council during the course of a single evening, he knew that his hopes had been set back by a few years at least.
He got into his carriage as soon as Beoloth swung it round to the steps of the council building, and pulled the window blinds down. He sat in silent self-pity as the carriage lurched its way home.
When they arrived, Laodoc staggered through his cold and empty mansion, until he came to his small study, which held an old desk, two snug armchairs, and shelves overloaded with books. He took a glass from a desk drawer. As he was standing pouring himself a large brandy, there was a knock at the door.
‘Go away.’
The knock came again, a little louder.
‘Damnation!’ Laodoc cried. ‘Enter, then!’
Simiona shuffled in, her head down.
‘Sorry, master…’
‘Well?’ he shouted at her. ‘Out with it!’
‘I’ve been waiting to speak with you all day, master,’ she said, keeping her eyes lowered. ‘Maybe now is the wrong time.’
‘No,’ he said, calming a little. He should really watch his temper with the girl. ‘Go on, tell me.’
‘It’s the Kellach slaves, master,’ she said. ‘I visited them last night. They have been learning to speak Rahain, and have been making great progress! And, master, the woman with the red hair, she sang me a song!’
The Queen's Executioner Page 7
