The Mansions of Idumea (Book 3 Forest at the Edge series)

by Trish Mercer

  “No, he’s not. Not anymore,” said one of Thorne’s men. “They just promoted him to colonel. Thorne wasn’t too happy about that.”

  “I heard that too. I also heard he finally left the mountains and came down to see his father when he heard he’d been buried.”

  “It’s about time. Shin never comes to Idumea. How are you supposed to be a commander for the army if you never come back to the army’s headquarters? Check in with your father? I bet he’s gone a bit local.”

  Mahrree squinted at her husband, looking for the meaning of that.

  Perrin just shook his head slightly.

  “No, no—Gizzada said he wasn’t a stupid northerner at all.”

  Now Mahrree pursed her lips and thought of a variety of ways to disprove the phrase ‘a bit local.’

  “Best officer he knew,” a soldier continued. “Shin just liked the small village.”

  “But he’s down here now, right?”

  “Yeah, and he even brought his wife and children—a son and a daughter, I think . . . Oh, slag.”

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, slagging slag . . . shut up!”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just shut up! SHUT UP!”

  None of the Shins had moved a muscle in the last minute, too engrossed in the conversation behind them that now fell silent.

  Except for Peto who whispered, “Women and children, women and children . . . that Margo’s not doing her job. I distinctly heard the ‘s’ words—”

  “You mean,” Perrin hissed at him, “shut up?”

  Mahrree dared to take her eyes off her husband and look instead at the soldiers behind him.

  Every last one of them was staring at the back of his head, and the color was draining out of their faces.

  “Slagging son of a sow . . .” murmured another man.

  All around them conversations and laughter continued, except at the table full of enlisted men.

  Perrin set his sandwich down and caught his wife’s gaze. He mouthed to her, Don’t move.

  Mahrree noticed some movement behind him, and tried to subtly redirect his gaze, but he just studied her as if working out what do to next.

  “Uh, Father—” Jaytsy started, and Perrin shifted his gaze to her. He widened his eyes in warning.

  “But, Father—”

  “Jayts!” he snarled. “Just don’t say—”

  He noticed she was no longer looking at him, but at something above him. Slowly his eyes traveled up to see five men standing at the end of the table, each at stiff attention with his hand in salute.

  Perrin puffed out his cheeks and released his breath. He craned his neck to look behind him and saw another dozen men in anxious formation.

  “Colonel Shin!” announced Staff Sergeant Oblong. “What an honor it is to have you in our presence!”

  “And sorry for the reference about the slagging son of a sow,” another soldier behind him muttered urgently. “Not intended at you, sir.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” Perrin mumbled. He reluctantly got to his feet, his hands in the air as a kind of surrender. “I’m not about to salute you back, you know, because I was told that when the jacket came off, so did the ranking. My jacket’s currently balled up and I’m here as a hungry man looking for a meal better than what those ridiculous brassies are waiting for out there, so if you’d all just take your seats again, I’d really appreciate it. And now I’m behind in this eating contest with my son, so unless you stop all this saluting nonsense, I may get a bit annoyed.”

  Turn on the charm, Mahrree tried to send him the message. Use that smile—the good one, not the scary one. Come on, you remember how—ah, very good. Almost convincing.

  Each of the enlisted men slowly put their hands down, watching each other to make sure they did it at roughly the same time.

  “And yes,” Perrin said, trying for a broader grin, “I am completely daft, stupid, whatever, because I love the mountains, and hate everything about Idumea . . . except for this sandwich which, I have to admit, is starting to get the better of me.” He pounded his chest with his fist as if to dislodge something. “Exactly where do you put it all?”

  The soldiers grinned and visibly relaxed, some even sitting back down.

  “Please, sir,” Sergeant Oblong said, still a bit shaky, “we didn’t mean any disrespect, we just—”

  “Spoke the truth,” Perrin said, patting him on the shoulder. “I didn’t hear a word that I didn’t agree with. And if you can’t speak freely here, where can you speak? I’m only sorry I made any of you uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention. My intention was to eat a great meal. And, incidentally, my best friend is also my master sergeant.”

  Oblong smiled. “Gizzada was right about you.”

  “And I’m right about Snyd,” Perrin said to deflect the compliment. “You and the private should practice what he’ll say so that you both give the same story.”

  “Sir, I hope this isn’t too forward, but can I buy you a mug of ale?”

  Perrin frowned. “I’m not sure that’s entirely appropriate, but here’s an idea; how about I buy everyone at your table a round, provided you answer me one simple question.”

  Oblong was already grinning and several of his friends were nudging each other about the round of ale coming from a brassy. “We’d be honored, sir! What’s the question?”

  “What’s ale?”

  Oblong grinned and went for the biggest show of bravery he could. “This brassy is stupid! Never heard of ale? I think we need to give him a bit of an enlisted man education.”

  A while later Gizzada returned to the back room and stared at the scene before him.

  Mahrree and the children, occasionally chortling, remained at the table where they were afforded an excellent view of Perrin sitting near the fire pit surrounded by enlisted men singing.

  Well, Perrin wasn’t singing, Mahrree chuckled to herself. That wasn’t his style. But he was swaying with the men on either side of him, because their momentum didn’t offer him any other alternative. In his hand was a large mug, the contents of which he kept evaluating with each experimental sip. Jaytsy and Peto laughed every time he scowled at the drink.

  Gizzada hurried over to them. “What in the world’s going on here?”

  Peto sniffed. “The enlisted men are teaching the brassy a thing or two.”

  “How’d they find out he’s a brass—I mean, how’d they find out he’s an officer?”

  “Don’t worry, Zadda,” Mahrree patted his arm. “It just kind of happened. No harm done.”

  “We’ll see about that,” said Gizzada with some concern. “What’s he drinking?”

  “Your latest creation,” Mahrree said. “Ale?”

  Gizzada grimaced. He handed a sheet of parchment to Mahrree and said, “That’s for your mother. I’ll be right back.” As the large man tried to wriggle his way through the press of enlisted men to reach the lone brassy on the other side of the fire pit, Mahrree perused the page in her hands.

  “That’s the menu?” Jaytsy said, sufficiently astonished.

  “Look at those prices. Is that really a quarter slip of gold? That’s ten full slips of silver!” Peto whispered in awe. “For ‘Ess Kar Goe in Gar-Leek Gizzada.’ What is that?”

  “I have no idea,” Mahrree said. “But won’t your Grandmother Peto love to figure that out?”

  Over at the fire pit, Gizzada was pulling Perrin out of the crush of men who protested that Sarge was taking away their new buddy.

  “Up, up—this brassy’s got a reputation to maintain, boys. And several of you are driving home colonels in about an hour,” Gizzada reminded them. “How many rounds have you had?” He glared at Margo who shrugged lazily.

  “Maybe two. Shin was buying,” and she held up the full gold slip which Mahrree knew could have paid for everyone’s meal that night in the back restaurant. “Said I could keep what’s left.”

  “No more!” Gizzada said firmly to the woman, who merely went back to s
pitting in a mug and wiping it clean.

  Mahrree bit her lip as her husband walked back, a little wobbly.

  He stared into his mug. “Zadda, I think something’s wrong with this. It just doesn’t . . . taste like barley.” Perrin sat at the table and plopped the mug in front of Peto, who sniffed it. “As if you were trying to make bread, messed up the amount of ingredients, forgot about it for a while—”

  Gizzada shrugged. “Well, yes, not too far off there, actually. Gets a bit busy when we’re experimenting.”

  “—until it developed this smell and still you decided to swallow it down?”

  Gizzada bobbed his head back and forth. “You’d be amazed by what I’ve decided to swallow down. It’s how I know what’s edible and . . . what needs a bit more tweaking.”

  “And you think this doesn’t need more tweaking?”

  “The enlisted men seem to enjoy it,” Gizzada chuckled at Perrin’s furrowed eyebrows.

  Peto peered into the mug and scowled. “Looks and smells more like something you should leak out rather than drink in.” He gestured to his father’s drooling mouth, which he was wiping awkwardly with his arm.

  “It’s a rather acquired taste,” Gizzada admitted, sliding the mug out of Peto’s reach.

  “Zadda, what exactly is ale?” Mahrree asked.

  He looked into the mug. “How much did he have?”

  “That was his only one.”

  Gizzada’s shoulders relaxed. “Only half gone. Good. Ale’s bit like mead—”

  “Mead!” Perrin exclaimed. “I don’t drink mead!”

  “—but stronger. I know, sir; you don’t drink. That’s why I’ve rescued you. And also why such a small amount has had a rather pronounced effect on you,” Gizzada noted, as if evaluating a questionable dish and second-guessing the addition of the pig’s snout.

  “Oh, dear,” Mahrree stifled a giggle. “For how long will it affect him?”

  “He’ll be fine by morning. Bit of a headache, perhaps, but . . . I’m so sorry. I had no idea things would . . .” He gestured to the fire pit where Oblong was now singing a weepy solo comparing his long-lost girlfriend to a variety of produce items. “Maybe I let this batch brew just a tad too long. Oblong!” he shouted. “Women and children!”

  Peto turned to his sister. “All right—I give up. What do turnips have to do with women?”

  She shrugged back. “Still trying to figure out how an ear of corn is like his love.”

  “So!” Mahrree said loudly over the crooning of Oblong, and held up the menu. “For my mother?”

  Gizzada beamed, while Perrin placed his forehead carefully on the table and moaned quietly about too much cheese.

  “She is well, right?” Gizzada asked as he sat next to Mahrree.

  “Fine, fine—not even much damage to her home.”

  Gizzada nodded in relief. “Always the lovely lady. Well, she and I had many discussions about food at the Inn, and one day we speculated that if you made just the right kind of sauce, and came up with an elaborate enough name, you could convince people eat just about anything.”

  “Like gar-leek ess-kar-go?” Jaytsy asked.

  “Miss Jaytsy, at this moment I have two very fine colonel brassies dining on that right now, as well as three Administrators, and it’s nothing more than a garlic and leek sauce covering . . . snails!”

  The Shins burst out laughing, except for Perrin who patted the back of his own head comfortingly as he drooled on the table.

  “Tell Mrs. Peto we were right,” Gizzada grinned. “I want her to have the evidence. This here—” he pointed out another item written in a flowing handwriting, “nothing more than goose livers. And this—fried frogs and onions. Right here—squirrels. And this item—simple river crawdads.”

  “Those ugly things? Like big water roaches?” Jaytsy exclaimed. “People eat them?”

  “The elite of Idumea,” Gizzada clarified, “who don’t know these litter the rivers and can be scooped up by ten-year-olds and brought to me by the bucketful for a generous two full slips of silver, then boiled and sauced and plated in ten minutes—the elite think they’re enjoying a delicacy no one else in the world can afford. So they happily pay five times more for one ‘lobster bisk’ than I pay for a whole bucket of them.”

  “So that’s how you do all of this,” Perrin mumbled into the table. “Feed all of these people giant sandwiches that—ugh—fill an entire family for just half a slip of silver, because the brassies up front pay a full weeks’ wages for—urrrp, excuse me—for snails you likely picked out of your own garden and what in the world have you put in this ale?!”

  His family chuckled as Gizzada nodded. “He’s coming out of it already. The bigger the man, the quicker he revives. By the time you leave, no one will be the wiser that he was gulping—”

  “Sipping,” Mahrree reminded.

  Gizzada nodded. “—sipping an enlisted man’s drink. But yes, that’s a bit of what I do. I see myself as bringing some balance to the world. The world may not be fair, but my little corner of it is. Everyone at my restaurant eats well, according to what they think ‘well’ means.”

  Perrin pulled his head up from off the table and wiped his chin. “Zadda,” he said as he propped his head on his hand, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t remember you being so . . . insightful. How did you get so clever?”

  “By sitting here, listening to the people—the real people of Pools and Idumea, not those snobby folks with servants . . . uh, forgive me, but—”

  “Like my grandparents,” Jaytsy said matter-of-factly. “Don’t worry—we know what you mean,” she spoke for her family.

  Gizzada smiled appreciatively and patted her hand. “I come back here a few times each day and just listen. You can learn a lot about people and how they see the world, especially when you remember you don’t know more than they do.”

  Perrin gave him half a smile. “Good advice.”

  “I always thought so. I learned that from you, sir, back in Edge,” the former staff sergeant said respectfully. “You always listened to me, to all of us, no matter our rank or how long we’d served. May not have agreed with us, but you listened.”

  Perrin looked down at the table, a bit embarrassed. “And had you warned me about ale, I would have listened too,” he grumbled. “I appreciate that you do all this, Zadda,” he gestured hazily to the room. “Even if you don’t have to.”

  “Again, something I learned from you. There are things we may not want to do, but must do. That’s what you told me, remember?”

  Perrin rubbed his eyes. “Zadda, right now I’m struggling to remember my age,” he sighed. “What are you talking about?”

  “The day you handed me a stack of silver slips and told me to find you white clothing so you could sneak around in a snowy forest looking for twelve Guarders that turned out to be fourteen,” Gizzada said quietly.

  Perrin nodded slowly and massaged his forehead.

  “And I said to you, ‘Are you sure this is the best idea? I can’t imagine why you want to do this.’ And then you said, ‘I’m not doing it because I want to, but because it needs to be done. Someone has to do it. Might as well be me.’”

  “I wished I remembered that conversation,” Perrin mumbled.

  “You don’t have to. I remembered it for both of us,” Gizzada told him. “It took a few years to sink into my fat brain, but I’ve realized that I don’t need a commander or an administrator to tell me what I should do. I can choose to do things on my own. I used to be a ten-year-old trying to find a way to help my mother pay her taxes. Wasn’t her fault her husband died, or that my grandparents couldn’t help us. She did the best she could, but the king didn’t think it was enough. I wished then I had some man giving me full slips of silver for playing with crawdads in the river for an hour. And now, I can, and I do.”

  Perrin held up an unsteady finger to make a point, but was instead distracted by its wobbling around.

  “Remarkable,” Gizzada whisp
ered to Mahrree. “He holds his ale worse than a toddler.”

  “You’ve given ale to a toddler?!”

  “No! Well, not intentionally. Little boy’s mother was in here selling baskets, you know, and the child discovered a neglected mug—”

  “Hush,” Peto shushed them in mock soberness, “it’s trying to speak.”

  “The point,” Perrin stared at his pointing finger. He gave it a worthy snap and gave up. “The point is . . . Gizzada, you’ve done good things here. And now, I’m going to take a little nap.”

  ---

  An hour later the Shin family readied to head back to Idumea. As a more stable and alert Perrin buttoned up his jacket, several of the enlisted men stood to salute him. The colonel just rolled his eyes at them.

  When the Shins’ driver came in, he feigned shock passably well that such a place existed—even though the Large Gizzada he’d ordered earlier was waiting for him. A waiter came from the kitchen with the word that the colonels up front were also finishing and would be ready to leave in ten minutes.

  Gizzada embraced the Shins goodbye and showed them the best way to sneak through the alley and to the livery stables without being noticed by anyone of importance.

  “That man is the silverest brassy I ever met,” Oblong declared as the door shut behind the Shin family.

  “Hear, hear!” many soldiers called in agreement.

  Oblong nudged Gizzada. “Sarge, he’d be a great High General, wouldn’t he?”

  Gizzada smiled. “Not only would he be, he will be. It’s not something he wants to do, but it’s something he realizes he should do. Don’t worry about Snyd or Thorne in the mansion,” Gizzada said to the closed door. “In about two years, I’ll be delivering a few Large Gizzadas to the mansion at least once a week, compliments of the owner. World’s going to be a better place, men . . .”

  ---

  “Now that was an experience,” Mahrree chuckled as the coach lurched forward.

  Perrin dropped his cap on the seat next to him, grabbed his head and moaned. His children giggled.