Republic

by Lindsay Buroker

  Maldynado huffed and pushed a hand through his hair. He didn’t know. He couldn’t stomach the idea of being some random worker or bouncer. Maybe he could ask President Starcrest for a job, something on his staff. Wasn’t Maldynado owed some favor for the role he had played in helping to put the man into office? Not that he should need a favor; he was imminently qualified for... er... whatever the boss might come up with. He sighed. Amaranthe really needed to come back to town.

  The door opened. Maldynado looked up warily. Evrial walked in alone.

  “Apple brandy?” he offered, raising one of the tumblers he had poured. Once a week, he spent an hour smiling and passing out cards to affluent women at the Greenscale Market to earn his free samples. The fine drink should have been served in an aperitif glass, but these were the beverage holders that had come with their “tastefully furnished flat.”

  “Do I look like I need it?” Evrial plopped down in the opposite chair.

  “Your father looked like he needed it. But he left before I could offer him a glass.”

  Evrial picked up a spoon and stirred and prodded her soup.

  “Where did he go?” Maldynado asked. “And your surly brother? Is that the same one who greeted Amaranthe with a crossbow once?”

  “No, that was Mevlar. This was Sovric. He’s actually my favorite brother.” Her face had grown glummer than a rainstorm.

  Maldynado searched for words that might cheer her up. “You should try your soup. It’s good.” He supposed he should take a sip before making such claims.

  “I will.” Evrial continued to prod. “They’re going to stay with smithing friends of my father’s, since we don’t have room, and because...”

  “I’m here?”

  She grunted, not taking her eyes from the soup bowl.

  “Did you tell them about me beforehand?” Maldynado asked. “Or was I... unexpected?”

  “Your dress state was unexpected.” A fleeting smile touched her lips. “But if they’d warned me they were coming, I could have warned you. Not that you necessarily would have changed anything about your introduction.”

  “I would too have. I would have set four places at the table instead of two. And donned my apron.”

  “Just the apron?” Evrial asked.

  “You told me I looked good in it.”

  “I believe what I said was that only you could manage to look good in a red rooster apron with real chicken feather fringes.”

  “Exactly,” Maldynado said.

  The smile flashed by again, but she didn’t lift her eyes from the soup. Though he had worked hard at the meal, he doubted it was that engrossing.

  “Anything I can do to get your family to approve of me?” Maldynado asked. “Besides wearing clothes?”

  “Don’t worry about them. You are who you are. You don’t have to change yourself for them.”

  “That’s a no, eh? They’ve already got their minds made up?”

  “They like... solid, working class men, not those who were born into a gilded lifestyle.”

  “If it helps, Starcrest and his progressives are doing their best to strip the warrior caste of its influence. Pretty soon, we’ll be nothing more than pretty faces with pretty surnames.”

  Evrial squinted at something in her bowl, or maybe at something in her mind. “Nobody’s taking your land or money, or even your right to vote or hold office. All that’s changed is that everyone else has a right to vote and hold office now too.”

  “Yes, Books is probably gloating from the spirit world. Meanwhile, the entire warrior caste is aghast and quite certain the nation’s doom is written in the stars.”

  “Maldynado?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why are there grass clippings in the soup?”

  “That’s lemongrass. It’s an imported delicacy. I had to schmooze a lot of grocers to get a free sample.”

  Evrial considered her spoon dubiously. “Isn’t this chicken soup?”

  “Yes, a recipe straight from Lady Stoatcrest’s Gastronomy Guide for Finishing School Pupils.” Maldynado tapped his jaw. “Have you ever noticed that most cookbooks in the empire aren’t designed with the male chef in mind?”

  “Perhaps that lack could explain the poor rations soldiers are always complaining about.” Evrial braced herself, then took a sip of the soup. “Out of curiosity, would you ever find life in the bucolic countryside appealing?”

  “Is this about that promotion you were offered that you didn’t mention to me?”

  “Maybe.”

  Maldynado tried to imagine himself moving to that tiny, tiny village Evrial’s family lived in. What did people do there? One could only have sex so many times a day; after that, there had to be eating houses, taverns, theaters, baths, and gymnasiums to visit. “I thought your association with us had... soured your superiors on you over there,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t notice that he had avoided answering her question.

  “It had, but the captain and lieutenant have both been replaced. I heard that, with the change of government, a lot of old complaints about enforcer corruption, negligence, and cronyism came to light for the first time.” Her jaw tightened. “I wish I could say none of that existed, but I wasn’t surprised when Starcrest assigned some civilian specialists to run inquisitions and it turned up... much. In the last few weeks, numerous promotions have been offered to those with solid records. Apparently my association with Lokdon ended up being a bright point on mine.” Her expression changed to one of bemusement.

  “Guess she made an impression on the president.”

  “Yes. So... if I want a lieutenant’s position back home... it’s mine.” Evrial lifted her gaze, meeting his eyes for the first time that night. Was she holding her breath? Cursed ancestors, was this what she wanted? A dream fulfilled? And she wanted him to come be a part of it. That was good, but, smashed and dented ore carts, the country?

  “I must offer you my congratulations, certainly,” Maldynado said, trying to buy time, “but... couldn’t you get that promotion here? You’ve been working in the NoDoc District all winter. I’d thought... well, I guess I thought you wanted to stay in the city.”

  Evrial’s earnest expression faltered, her gaze dropping to his chest. “There aren’t any lieutenant’s positions opening up here. I’d have to wait for someone to get promoted or to retire.”

  “Or to get eaten by that plant,” Maldynado said cheerfully. “That might start happening soon. I hear that thing’s getting bigger and bigger every day. It’s bound to start chomping on enforcers soon, and then there’ll be all sorts of positions available.”

  She met his eyes again, but this time with irritation. “Be serious, Maldynado. If you aren’t willing to move for me, say so. I won’t be happy about it, but I’ll understand. You’re not doing anything with your life, and this is a big opportunity for me, but... Never mind. It’s not as if I expected this—us—to last.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? We’ve been having a nice time this winter.”

  “Yes, but you keep muttering, ‘I wonder when the boss’ll be back.’ ‘Have to stay in shape in case the boss comes back soon.’ ‘I bet the boss will have some great new adventures planned when she gets back.’”

  “That doesn’t mean I want us to... not be an us any more.”

  “How do you think it makes me feel when your tide rises and falls for another woman?” Evrial dropped her spoon and pushed her chair back with an audible scrape.

  “It doesn’t,” Maldynado protested. “And Amaranthe is hardly a woman, not like that. It’s just that... emperor’s warts, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself right now, all right?” And that curse didn’t work any more, blast it. The whole world was upside down and confusing as a hedge maze right now.

  “Why don’t you try getting a job like everyone else?” Evrial grabbed her jacket and headed for the door.

  “I don’t want to be like everyone else. I want a statue.” Maldynado frowned at himself; he hadn’t meant to s
ay that. It sounded ludicrous. It always had. But it had always been a joke. Hadn’t it? Why couldn’t he let it go?

  “Oh, grow up, Maldynado.” Evrial stomped out and slammed the door.

  He sat down hard in his chair and shoveled a spoonful of soup into his mouth. He curled his lip at a brown soggy thing he bit down on. “Guess Lady Stoatcrest was wrong. This recipe doesn’t tantalize and delight the female palate at all.”

  The joke fell on a silent room. He pushed the bowl away. Evrial’s words echoed in his head. Grow up. You’re not doing anything with your life.

  She wasn’t wrong, was she? Hadn’t he just been thinking that he needed to find meaningful employment? Maybe if he got... a job, a good job that required him to stay in the city, she would be willing to stay too. He didn’t want to ignore her dream, but couldn’t she eventually get that promotion here? There was more going on in the city than out in Rural District Number Seven or wherever it was her family lived. She would have more opportunity to stand out and for advancement here. He would be doing her a favor. And... and... if her father thought she should have a nice house, well, he could figure out a way to get her that here too. He would ask Starcrest for a job, an important job. The only problem was that he wasn’t sure he could get in to see the president in a timely matter. He’d admittedly made a pest of himself at that funeral. If he could talk to Starcrest, he might be able to convince the man to give him a chance, but...

  “You just need to find someone you’re sure can get in the door.” Maldynado drummed his fingers on the table. “With the boss gone, that leaves one person you know as a sure thing.”

  Maldynado finished dressing and headed for the door. Time to go a-visiting.

  • • • • •

  Sespian dodged the jab, blocked the punch, and stepped in behind it to thrust a jab of his own at the bare ribs. His knuckles grazed them, but Maldynado moved quickly for a large man, and he leaped back, spinning to face Sespian again, his fists raised. A judge might have awarded a point, but the light tap hadn’t even knocked the smile off Maldynado’s face, so Sespian readied himself to try again. Maldynado tapped his ribs to acknowledge the hit.

  “You’d be dangerous if you trained more than once a month,” he said.

  Sespian had scored more blows than he had in the past when sparring or wrestling with Maldynado, not that there had been time for much training on that whirlwind of chaos Amaranthe had swept him through last fall. Still, he had the sense that Maldynado was being easy on him.

  “I’m studying to be an architect,” Sespian said. “If I ever find myself boxing with my clients, it’ll mean I failed dreadfully somewhere along the way.”

  “In which case, it would be useful to be able to defend yourself. What if the roof falls in on some house you designed, and the cranky retired soldier-owner unleashes his battering rams on you?” Maldynado tapped his fists together. Apparently, he considered those battering rams.

  “I can defend myself against most people adequately,” Sespian said a touch stiffly. He had let himself be talked into this evening at the gymnasium more because of Sergeant Yara’s pleading tone than anything Maldynado had said. He didn’t care to receive lectures during his recreational time. He had thought they would go straight to the baths and steam rooms.

  “Hm.” Maldynado smiled and waded in, leading with a barrage of punches.

  The sudden frenzy surprised Sespian, and he almost took the first fist in the face. He danced back, though, giving himself time to recover. The ring marked the boundary, and he could only retreat so far, but he soon had his rhythm and blocked each blow without giving more ground. Maldynado had six inches on him and tried to press in, to intimidate him into backing out of the ring. Sespian waited for his moment, then, after deflecting a chain of blows so hard that jolts ran up his forearms, he threw extra weight into his last block, forcing Maldynado’s arm across his chest. He swept his leg in at the same time as he grabbed Maldynado’s shoulder from behind, pulling with his arm and thrusting with his hip, intending to throw him to the ground. But Maldynado writhed like a greased snake, and Sespian lost his grip. Before he knew what had happened, he found himself on the ground with a foot on his chest.

  Sespian sighed. “I did say most people.”

  “Yes, you did.” Maldynado winked, removed his foot, and offered a hand.

  Sespian accepted it—he had received a lecture in the end after all, a physical one, but he had deserved it. Maldynado had spent a year training with Sicarius; Sespian should have treated him more warily.

  “Let’s get washed and prettied up for the ladies,” Maldynado said.

  “I haven’t a lady to impress, but Trog might be pleased by a clean bedmate.”

  Maldynado stared at him. “That’s... the cat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you sleeping with the cat?”

  “He’s the only one who tormented Ravido during his unsanctioned rule. I believe he’s deserves a lofty station.”

  “I, ah... yes.” Maldynado started down the hall toward the baths and steam rooms. “But I’m perplexed. I thought you and Starcrest’s daughter were... enjoying each other’s company.”

  Sespian tripped over an invisible crack. “What? No, of course not. Not in any way that involves beds.” Whatever had caused Maldynado to reach that conclusion? “The other day, when you saw us together, it was because she had asked for help with the plant.”

  “Sespian, that’s... a very capable young lady. When a girl like that asks a man for help, it’s because what she really wants is his company. And probably to make him feel good about himself. In her presence. Because of her presence.”

  Sespian snorted. “Does Sergeant Yara ask you for help?”

  “I’m still waiting.” Maldynado held the door open for Sespian, and they walked into the changing rooms. Already clad in sparring togs, they did not take long to undress and grab towels. “Does this mean you’re not planning to visit the president’s hotel anytime soon?” Maldynado asked.

  “Not unless she asks me too.”

  Maldynado scratched his jaw thoughtfully as they passed into the baths, steam hazing the air, the walls dotted with moisture. “I suppose you could gain access of your own accord, based on your unique former status.”

  Sespian was about to ask what he meant, but he spotted a familiar face among the men sitting at one of the steaming pools. Professor Edgecrest. Despite sitting in a relaxing area, he looked grumpier than he did when grading the test papers of particularly challenged students. Several of the men around him shared equally dyspeptic expressions, to such an extent that Sespian wondered if something was wrong with the water.

  “Good evening, Professor,” Sespian said, slowing down. Maldynado was heading toward the larger, cooler pool to swim. “Is everything all right?”

  Edgecrest and the three men on either side of him rotated toward Sespian as one. They were all middle-aged and older gentlemen who, judging by the slack muscles and potbellies, preferred academia to soldiering or other physical labor.

  One sneered at him. “Look who strolled by to gloat.”

  Sespian glanced over his shoulder, expecting Maldynado or someone else to be the subject of this comment. There wasn’t anyone behind him. “Pardon me?”

  Edgecrest nudged the surly one with an elbow. “Don’t be insolent, Klav.”

  “Insolent? To an eighteen-year-old boy? Who just happens to personally know the judge?”

  Sespian would have corrected the man—he was twenty, thanks to a recent birthday—but he was too bewildered to bother.

  Edgecrest’s elbow thumped into his comrade’s ribs again, this time with enough force to quiet him. “Congratulations, Sespian. It’ll be a privilege to see your concept turned into reality.” He lifted a finger and pointed it at Sespian’s nose. “But don’t think that means you’ll get out of the work you promised me. Not to mention your studies. You still have a lot to learn.”

  Sespian’s mouth had been dropping farther and
farther open while the professor spoke. “I... Sir? I won? The design competition for the president’s... I won?”

  “I think I’m going to throw up,” the surly man muttered.

  “Be gracious,” the fellow next to him said. “He’ll probably be your boss someday. Again.”

  “Cursed nepotism.”

  Sespian frowned at the men and thought about confronting the surly one, but Professor Edgecrest sighed and explained first.

  “You’re looking at some of the contest losers. Some of them have been working in the business for three or four decades.”

  “Oh,” Sespian said, feeling sheepish. No wonder they’d found his delighted wonder at the news irritating. “I’m sure they had brilliant entries, and it was just luck that favored me.”

  “Luck or knowing the judge,” Surly muttered.

  Sespian lifted his chin. “I was told the judging was done blind, without names on the designs.”

  “Sure it was.”

  Some of Sespian’s sheepishness was fading. It would be childish, he supposed, to shove the sneering man into the pool, and even less acceptable to hold his head under.

  “Sespian, you coming?” Maldynado called from the large pool. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Good evening, Professor. Gentlemen.” Sespian was proud that he kept his tone cordial.

  He was even more proud—and stunned—that he had won. He had only dared hope to make a good showing. Sure, he would have to finish his formal schooling, but maybe he could look forward to a successful career sooner rather than later. Clients might start offering him work before he finished his education. He had no delusions about becoming wealthy as an architect, but he could at least afford better scraps for Trog.

  By the time he hopped into the water beside Maldynado, he had forgotten the surly architects.

  “Listen, Sespian,” Maldynado said. “I could use a favor. I need to get in to see President Starcrest, and I thought if you were visiting with his daughter, well, I could come with you and sort of slip in between his appointments.”