by Simon Brown
‘Kevleren?’ Idalgo suggested, not altogether warmly.
Paimer refused to respond. He used his hands to flick some dust off his jacket and pants, and found his own way to the throne room, now converted into his centre of operations. As soon as he entered there was a great deal of bowing and scraping from the considerable number of people who had gathered there. He glanced around him, saw there were very few in the Rivald army uniform; except for members of the Hamilayan army, almost all were civilians. He took up station near the largest desk, set just away from the largest window in the room’s north wall, and said, ‘For those of you who do not know me, my name is Duke Paimer Kevleren.’ He flicked the edge of his red wig, as if to signal that this was how he was to be recognised in the future. ‘Her Majesty Lerena Empress of Hamilay has assigned me Lord Protector of her province of Rivald. One of my first duties is to make Beferen fit for habitation once more and ensure it looks the part of a provincial capital. As well, I will be assigning governors to various regions and large towns. You should know that Chierma Axkevleren, once governor of Hamewald, occupies that chair again, under my command, and is even now administering the north of the province.’
He took a moment to let all of that sink in, especially his repeated reference to Rivald as a ‘province’, and took the opportunity to study his audience more carefully. Most of them had tried valiantly to dress appropriately, but after the pillaging that had followed the taking of Beferen few had clothes of any value. One or two had managed to save an embroidered jacket, a fine hat, silk pants or even a cravat, but every one would have been considered slightly shabby in Lerena’s court. Even rustic. A few soldiers managed to look fine despite their soiled, cut and often singed uniforms. One in particular caught Paimer’s eye.
I know him, he thought. The officer was a tall, wide-shouldered fellow with a waist no longer pretending to be trim. The face was slightly jowly, past its best, and the hair starting to grey. His posture struggled for the proud, the haughty even, but the man avoided making eye contact with anyone and Paimer knew it was all a pose. A sabre dangled against his knee.
Cavalry, then, Paimer realised.
And then he knew. Recognition made him smile, but Paimer tried not to be smug about it.
‘I know you have all been through a great deal lately, what with revolution, invasion and conquest,’ he resumed, ‘and it may take you some time to adjust to being part of the empire, but that will not be considered an excuse for laziness, disobedience or obfuscation. Treason will be dealt with summarily and severely. When I issue an order I will brook no resistance nor any delay. Know also that I will not brook corruption. This will also be dealt with summarily and severely. On the other hand, I expect to be told when one of my orders cannot be carried out for practical, financial or logistical reasons. Although I am not a complete stranger in Rivald, I know there is much for me to learn about its history, economy and people, and I promise to acquire the knowledge as soon as possible.
‘All of you here tonight will be receiving instructions in the next few days. Please report to this office every morning until you have your assignment. I look forward to working with you for the advancement of Rivald. I would now like to talk privately with any officers of the old Rivald army. The rest of you may go.’
It took a while for the crowd to disperse, and when they were gone the few remaining seemed too small a number for such a large space. Paimer sat on the edge of his desk and waved forward the Rivald officers. There were about twenty of them, and his own escort stayed on their flanks, keeping a watchful eye on their movements. Paimer was not worried. He could see by their expressions that the officers meant him no harm; in their present condition all they had was the remnant of their former pride, and he knew how to use that.
‘You are going to rebuild Beferen,’ he told them. ‘You will organise civilian labour to clear rubble from the streets so supplies can get through. You will organise civilian labour to tear down damaged houses and rebuild them before winter. You will organise civilian labour to ensure the city has a reliable water supply and drainage system: I want water in and waste out.’ He met the gaze of each of the officers. ‘Who is the most senior officer among you?’
The men nervously exchanged glances. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the officer he recognised, fairly certain it would be him; the man’s reaction would determine how far he would trust him. Paimer saw him swallow, look down at the ground and then behind him as if checking his path of retreat, and finally draw a deep breath and take a step forward.
‘I believe I am the senior officer present,’ he said in a heavy voice, as if the words had a long way to come. He bowed. ‘Your Highness.’
‘We know each other, do we not, Leader of a Thousand Marquella Montranto?’
‘Indeed, your Highness. I had the pleasure of escorting you to the capital on the occasion of your first visit to Rivald.’
‘Just over a year ago, was it not?’
‘That recently?’ Montranto seemed surprised. ‘I thought it had been much, much longer.’
‘A lifetime, I know,’ Palmer said sympathetically. For a moment everything that had happened to him over the last year flooded into his mind and he scrabbled quickly to hold on to his still fragile sanity, the sanity he realised he had almost lost completely while in Lerena’s company. Thank the Sefid she had decided to leave him behind in Rivald!
‘Your Grace?’ Montranto said with concern.
‘I have a job for you,’ Paimer said quickly.
Montranto stood more erect and made to salute, but Paimer waved his arm down.
‘You will be my liaison with these other fine officers. You will pass on to them my instructions. You will have a desk here in this office.’
‘Thank you, your Highness.’
Montranto leaned forward slightly, bowing in a fashion that Paimer found irritably intimate.
‘I will hold you responsible for their performance,’ the duke went on.
Montranto’s face stiffened. ‘Of course,’ he said shortly and returned to attention.
A feeling of loneliness and isolation flooded Paimer then, coldly and unexpectedly. He stood here alone, unknown and without any friends, or even an acquaintance except for the ageing, overripe cavalry officer standing rigidly in front of him, a man Paimer remembered now he had disliked almost from their first meeting.
‘You have me,’ Idalgo said. Paimer looked over his shoulder and saw his Beloved sitting in his chair behind the desk.
Montranto and the other Rivald officers craned their necks to see what the duke was looking at.
Paimer turned back to them, smiled tightly and said, ‘Right, thank you. Except for Leader of a Thousand Montranto, you can leave now. Return tomorrow morning for your orders.’
After the officers trooped out, Paimer said casually, ‘We will have to change your rank, you know.’
Montranto appeared crestfallen, and Paimer wondered what he had said to disappoint him before realising how Montranto had interpreted his words. ‘I don’t mean a demotion. But now that we are all members of the one empire, we can’t have you keeping the old Rivald title. What’s the equivalent in her majesty’s armed services to leader of a thousand?’
Montranto cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. ‘Ah, commander, I believe.’
‘Very well. You are now Commander Marquella Montranto. Understand, however, this gives you no authority over Hamilayan soldiers. It is not a post command. Not yet anyway.’
‘I understand,’ Montranto said.
‘Conversely, your orders come directly from me, and not from any Hamilayan officer.’
Montranto nodded, regained some of his former, almost martial composure.
‘What a peacock,’ Idalgo said sneeringly.
‘Very well,’ Paimer said to the officer. ‘Return tomorrow. Early. We have much to do.’
Paimer sent his guard out with Montranto. He was all alone in the throne room now.
�
�Not entirely alone, as I constantly remind you,’ Idalgo said.
Candles guttered with a gust of air that came from somewhere up near the roof. Paimer looked up, but in the dim light left to him could only just make out huge timber rafters. He recalled how windy Beferen was, and how every building here, including the palace, was clinker-built from rough-hewn planks of local conifer which seemed to give access to even the slightest breeze. He could smell pine resin. Quite sweet really, he thought. Building in wood had its advantages.
‘Ignoring me won’t make me go away, your Highness,’ Idalgo tried again.
Paimer refused to answer. It had been a mistake to acknowledge him earlier, but he had been caught out by Idalgo’s interjection. The Beloved always seemed to know when he wanted company the most. It was uncanny.
No, Paimer corrected himself. Not uncanny. It was wrong.
*
Chancellor Malus Mycom was a short man with a sharp face, and despite a perennial problem with a dry scalp, possessed a full head of dark hair. He had two styles of walking. The first, his natural style, with head held back, his nose almost in the air, taking long, almost gliding and purposeful strides, he used in public, and with a dash more arrogance in his step in his own domain, the University of Omeralt.
The second style, gaze fixed on the ground, his shoulders slumped, his hands held before him in a tight bun, he used whenever visiting the palace precinct; when he was in the presence of royalty he exaggerated everything so he seemed the most humble, the most unworthy of supplicants. Mycom fervently believed his obsequious posture made him more of a favourite in court, not understanding that the Kevlerens, who as a rule prized loyalty and love above sycophancy, did their best to avoid him. The exception was Her Majesty the Empress. His oleaginous manner aside, something Lerena struggled with, she understood his mind was perhaps the finest in the kingdom, at least in secular matters. Naturally, when it came to the Sefid, no one approached her own knowledge, but in almost everything else Mycom was a font – a fountain! – of learning. As importantly, he had the strategic wisdom that made best use of that learning, making him Lerena’s most important advisor, together with her cousin, General Second Prince Rodin Kevleren, the head of Hamilay’s intelligence service.
On a personal level, Lerena detested the chancellor, and found his appearance repulsive. But she was empress, and her personal likes and dislikes had to be subordinate to her duty.
She saw him enter the aviary from its only entrance, a narrow wire door halfway up the dome’s side. He stood there for a moment, not knowing he was observed by her, and flattened his hair with the palm of his hand. Little waterfalls of dandruff spilled onto the shoulders of his jacket.
‘He’s perfectly revolting,’ Yunara said.
‘And perfectly useful,’ Lerena countered, not giving a second thought to the fact that she could see him as clearly as if he had been standing in front of her. If she had given it any thought, she might have said she could see like an eagle. The analogy would have pleased her.
‘I don’t see how. He’s not even a Kevleren.’
Lerena laughed softly. ‘So few are, sister,’ she said. ‘I’ve killed most of them off.’
‘Nonsense,’ Yunara said. ‘You still have Uncle Paimer. And Cousin Rodin. And I’m sure I’ve seen one or two others around the place who did not come with you to Rivald.’
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ Lerena said vaguely, concentrating on the chancellor as he carefully made his way down the spiral wrought-iron staircase to ground level. He was such a small fellow. A particularly clever mouse.
The court sergeant formally announced him when he got close enough. Mycom bowed so low his nose almost touched the ground. When he looked up he wore his usual ingratiating smile.
‘Welcome once more, Chancellor,’ Lerena said. ‘It is heartening to see you again.’
‘Your Majesty, how wonderful to have you safe and sound back in your capital. And congratulations on your success! All Omeralt is abuzz with the news of your victory over Rivald.’
‘What a cockroach!’ Yunara whispered in Lerena’s ear.
Lerena pretended to be flattered by his words. ‘Why, thank you.’ Then she frowned slightly. ‘But at such a cost!’
Mycom’s smile faltered a little, but he managed to retrieve it before it was lost. ‘Indeed, and all Omeralt mourns with you for the loss of so many of your family. As always, the Kevlerens demonstrate how much they are prepared to sacrifice for the good of the emp –’
‘Yes, yes,’ Lerena said, trying not to sound impatient. ‘Kashell Grey thane has already been at me for details for her new play. She is going to call it . . .’ Lerena drummed her fingers on the tips of her knees, ‘. . . something or other . . .’
‘Kevleren Apotheosis,’ Yunara said.
‘That was it,’ Lerena said.
Mycom looked at her blankly. ‘Your Majesty? What was it?’
‘Kevleren Apotheosis,’ Lerena repeated, annoyed he did not catch it the first time. ‘The title of Kashell Grey thane’s new play.’ Then she remembered Mycom would be able neither to see not to hear Yunara. ‘Well, she will primp it up, as she always does, exaggerating numbers and giving us grandiloquent speeches, and we will have to sit through an interminable number of performances.’
‘I look forward to the premiere,’ Mycom said.
There was a pause then, with the chancellor and the empress regarding each other. After a moment, Mycom shifted his feet uncomfortably. ‘Your Majesty?’
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘You asked me to attend you this morning. Was there something specific you wished to see me about?’
‘I am waiting,’ Lerena answered.
Mycom’s eyebrows raised a fraction. ‘Waiting?’
Her sharp eyesight noticed the wire door opening again, and her second guest entered. ‘No longer. He is here.’
Mycom turned sideways, bowing as he did so, so as not to give offence, and squinted up at the door. ‘I cannot see who it is, your Majesty.’
‘My other chief advisor, Chancellor. My cousin. My noble general in charge of all our spies.’
‘Ah,’ Mycom breathed, understanding at last, pleased as always to be included as one of the empress’s two chief advisors.
They waited until the new arrival joined them. General Second Prince Rodin Kevleren was no taller than the chancellor and, except for a fringe of grey hair that circled his head like thin clouds, was quite bald. His usual miserable expression balanced Mycom’s irrepressible cheerfulness, and Lerena liked to think of them as her bookends. Rodin’s naturally dour nature made him hard to be around sometimes, but as far as Lerena was concerned he was family, and at least his scalp did not flake like Mycom’s.
Rodin bowed to Lerena, Mycom bowed to Rodin. Rodin, as was his way, did his best to ignore Mycom, and Lerena smiled benevolently at both of them.
‘Well, here we all are, together again,’ she said. ‘Let’s have it then.’
Mycom and Rodin exchanged glances, as much as to say, ‘Go on. You must know what she’s talking about.’
Lerena sighed impatiently. ‘When I left Omeralt to claim Rivald for the empire, I left you two in charge of Hamilay during my absence. Rodin? Your report, please.’
‘Of course,’ Rodin said. ‘The report.’ He pursed his lips. ‘The official report, naturally, is still being compiled, under my instruction.’
‘A verbal report will suffice for the present,’ Lerena said.
‘Excellent,’ Rodin said, in a tone which suggested he found nothing at all excellent about it. He was starting to sweat around the neck and behind his ears. ‘The report,’ he muttered.
‘Your Majesty,’ Mycom said, diverting attention away from the prince and to himself, ‘I believe his Highness asked me to gather the pertinent information for a verbal report so he could have time to concentrate on the more detailed written version.’ He made a show of smiling at Rodin. ‘May I continue?’ he asked.
Rodin cleared his thr
oat. ‘By all means, Chancellor.’
The empress listened as Malus Mycom demonstrated one of his greatest gifts. With aplomb, the occasional jest, and a generous helping of statistics, he managed to say an enormous amount about very little.
When he was finished, Lerena said, ‘So nothing of note happened during my absence?’
‘Other than those events under your direct control in Rivald, life went on as normal,’ Mycom said.
‘Taxes?’
‘Paid.’
‘Building maintenance?’
‘Completed.’
‘Justice?’
‘Done.’
‘Trade?’
‘Flourishing.’
Lerena pouted. ‘I don’t know why I even bothered returning,’ she said. ‘You and Rodin seem to have everything completely under control.’
Mycom and Rodin again exchanged glances.
‘But that is all that happened, your Majesty,’ Rodin said hurriedly. ‘There was no excitement, no glamour, no . . .’ He smiled weakly at Mycom.
‘No inspiration,’ Mycom said smoothly. ‘The old way merely continued. Now that you have returned, the world can renew itself.’
‘This is sickening,’ Yunara muttered.
‘I agree,’ Lerena said, but laughed.
Mycom and Rodin politely laughed with her.
‘So there is nothing needing my immediate attention?’
Actually, your Majesty, there is one issue about which we have had no directives,’ said Rodin, his voice revealing renewed authority now that he was on more familiar ground. ‘It is not urgent but will as time goes by increasingly impact on Hamilay.’
‘Goodness,’ Lerena managed to say. ‘And this issue concerns?’
‘Kydan, your Majesty. What do you want done about Kydan?’
*
‘We have a problem,’ Feruna said, looking at one of his account books.
‘What problem is that?’ Governor Chierma Axkevleren asked.
‘Three tunweight of coin collected in taxes.’
‘Why is that a problem?’
‘It’s in the coin of the realm.’
