Daughter of Independence

by Simon Brown

  ‘I missed you,’ he said.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Go back to bed.’

  He could not help noticing that she did not reply to his statement, and his stomach did a little flip-flop. Instinct told him to retreat, to go back to bed, to give Heriot the solitude she obviously wanted. But that would leave questions, and Poloma could not do that.

  ‘I did not say I was worried about you,’ he said. ‘I said I missed you.’

  Heriot looked down at her hands but said nothing.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’

  ‘About the university,’ she said. There was a tightness around her mouth that made her appear drawn.

  ‘The university?’ Poloma considered that, then said, ‘What exactly?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about a submission to the council about admitting more students.’

  ‘You know we are limited to the number of teachers we have. Avier came back with as many specialists as he could, but –’

  ‘I mean for students who don’t want to be a physic or strategos or engineer.’

  ‘What students?’

  ‘Students who want to be better at farming and fishing and mining, or making furniture or machines, or blacksmithing or whitesmithing. Any job that can be taught, or that needs years of experience to get good at. University can make it easier for them.’

  Poloma nodded slowly. ‘There is merit in that. I don’t know that a university is the best place for it, but maybe it’s a start.’

  ‘And schools. Back in the old world, the rich go to schools where they learn to be rich men and women.’

  Poloma laughed softly. ‘You want the same here?’

  ‘No. I want schools for everyone. For everyone who wants to learn, whether or not they are a child.’

  ‘Schools for everyone?’

  ‘I want to learn to read and write,’ Heriot said in a rush. ‘I want to learn to be smarter. And I know there are thousands like me in Kydan.’

  ‘The cost,’ Poloma said, spreading his hands. ‘It would be enormous. Heriot, we are only a small city.’

  ‘We are going to be a big city.’ She was shaking a little now. ‘We have to be a big city. We have to be a city where every citizen works better and smarter and faster than any other city in the world. That’s the only way we can be the equal of any city in the world.’

  ‘We cannot afford schools for everyone.’

  ‘We cannot afford not to have schools for everyone.’

  Poloma had no answer to that. He started to move away but Heriot grabbed his arm. ‘How many did we lose?’

  ‘In yesterday’s attack?’

  ‘More than sixty, I know.’ Heriot swallowed. ‘It will happen again, Poloma. And again and again. The empire will not leave us alone.’

  ‘I know. That is why we are spending so much on warships and longgons. And now we will have to spend more. The council has nothing left for schools.’

  ‘In the end, schools will do more for the city than longgons and warships. Schools give you smarter weapon makers and shipwrights and generals and soldiers and sailors. And wiser councillors. In the end, we will defeat the empire because we give everyone the chance to be their best instead of members of just one family and their pets.’

  ‘You are tired, Heriot. We will talk about this later.’

  He tried to pull away from her, but she held on. ‘Don’t patronise me. Arden never . . .’ She caught her breath, let it out slowly. ‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.’

  ‘I’m not Arden, Heriot.’

  He felt Heriot become very still.

  ‘You weren’t up tonight thinking about universities and schools,’ he said.

  ‘I was thinking about our children. I want them to be safe.’

  ‘You were thinking about Arden.’

  Heriot put her hands over her cheeks. ‘Yes,’ she said, but almost in a gasp. ‘Yes I was thinking about him. And you. And our children.’

  Poloma took her hand off his arm but did not go. Instead he fell into the chair opposite hers. ‘You were looking for him when I came in earlier. You were looking all the way to Sayenna.’

  ‘We shouldn’t be talking about this.’

  ‘Yes we should. It’s a conversation we should have had three years ago. How much do you miss him?’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You still love him.’

  ‘You know that. You’ve always known that.’

  ‘Yes. But I thought . . .’ Poloma stopped. He was no longer sure what it was he had thought. He had hoped that he could replace Arden in Heriot’s heart. He had hoped by being a good friend, a good companion, a careful and gentle lover, a good father, he might become what it was she wanted to love, what she needed to love. ‘I have failed,’ he said.

  Heriot stared at him. ‘No. No, that isn’t true. Don’t make this about you, Poloma. It isn’t. It’s about Arden. No one’s failed. Not Heriot or Poloma or Arden.’

  ‘I wanted to make you love me,’ he said simply.

  Heriot laughed suddenly, but she cried at the same time, and Poloma realised he was crying too. ‘You idiot,’ she said, and came to him and bowed over him and kissed him on the mouth. ‘I do love you. I woke up tonight and watched you asleep and realised I loved you, and I hadn’t known it before.’

  ‘Really?’ he said, wiping his cheeks.

  ‘And that’s what made me think of Arden, and I realised I still love him. I didn’t know I could love both of you at the same time, and I don’t know what to do about it. And I love my children more than anything else and I’m afraid for them, and I’m pregnant again and I don’t know what to do about that. I was sitting here trying to understand it all but not getting anywhere. Then you come in and oh! it’s like my heart’s everywhere, unrecognisable and lost and, Poloma, sweet Poloma, my Poloma, I don’t know what to do about any of it.’

  18

  The spirits of the soldiers in the highlands above Koegrah, raised by hard work and the security of the ditch and palisade they had built, fell with night. There was an inevitability about what was going to happen that made all of them feel physically ill, although they understood they had the advantage of foreknowledge, more than they had had the night before. Commander Sol Mikhel organised them in groups of ten, each group responsible for building and maintaining a bonfire, and each group also had plenty of firewood in reserve. Since firegons had proven so useless against the creatures, the soldiers pooled their gonblack into sachets made from cloth and tied together with leather strips, and made short fuses from small amounts of gonblack on strips of paper that were twisted and soaked in wine early in the day to make them stiff. Each soldier had a small pile of these handmade grenades, and for personal defence would rely on their hangers, although what use the short sword would be no one really knew. A few had used bayonets during the last attack and, though more effective than a firegon ball, they did not slow the creatures down for long. Still, it was hard to see how any monster could hurt you if its head was cut off.

  As the sun went down, Mikhel ordered the bonfires lit; it would take some time for them to reach full blaze. Around the palisade he set four guards, one at each point of the compass and each with a firegon to shoot when they saw their first creature, whether or not he was attacked.

  As the sky changed from a deep yellow to a bruised red and then to a slowly spreading velvety blackness, the soldiers clumped together. Mikhel made it his business to go from group to group to raise their morale, to show that he was confident their preparations would see off the enemy. If the enemy had been any other than the creatures they had seen last night, they would have been encouraged, but his words seemed hollow even to his own ears.

  When twilight was gone, a great stillness fell upon the land. Even the stars seemed to stop in their journey across the sky and the air rested heavily upon all of them. After a while, despite their anxiety, the terrifying night they had experienced and the hard day’s labour made many of them so tired they lay down on the ground and s
lept. Mikhel kept himself awake, going from bonfire to bonfire and checking regularly on each of the four lookouts. After two hours he arranged for new lookouts, made sure that those who had not slept got some sleep now, ordered food to be cooked and wine mulled.

  There was a point during the night when Mikhel had almost convinced himself that the creatures were not going to come, that they had seen the bonfires and the defences and decided to find easier prey. Or perhaps, he told himself, they only wake one night in two, or one in four, or one in a hundred, although he had no reason to think so. But as the night progressed it was as if his optimism was being worn away, and in the end he was left with the certainty that he and his men would be attacked once more.

  It was not far off dawn when the lookout in the north shot his firegon. Everyone scrambled to their feet, automatically reaching for their own firegons, and when realising they were useless grabbed their hangers in one hand and a grenade in the other.

  Mikhel rushed forward, many of the soldiers following him. ‘What is it?’ he asked the lookout. ‘What did you see?’

  The lookout pointed out into the darkness and said, ‘I saw something, but it’s not there anymore.’

  Mikhel stared furiously at him, and the man looked sheepishly at his feet. ‘I did see something, I’m sure of it.’

  Mikhel swallowed. It was his own fear that was making him so angry. ‘You did the right thing.’

  He was striding back to get someone to replace the lookout when he heard a shout from the south, then a shot, and then a scream. He recognised that sound. Before he could stop them, all the soldiers now rushed in the other direction.

  ‘Get back to your positions!’ he ordered them, but no one paid heed. By the time he reached the palisade on the south side of the hillock he had to push his way through. There was nothing to see. For an absurd blink of time, Mikhel wondered what all the fuss had been about. Then he realised the lookout who was supposed to be there was missing.

  He pushed soldiers away from the palisade. ‘Get back to your positions! Move!’

  But it was too late. More screams, from the lookout he had just left in the north, then the one in the east. Before any of them could reach their right post at the palisade the creatures were already climbing over it. Many of his men fell before the first onrush, but the rest had the sense to retreat to the bonfires, and with their backs to the flame they swung with their hangers at anything that came within chopping distance. Mikhel, desperately worried for his men, almost got caught out. He saw three of the creatures rushing towards him, their yellow eyes glowing, and he ran for the closest bonfire. Fingers grabbed the back of his jacket, almost pulling him off his feet, but he half twisted and slashed with his sword and he was free. He leaped towards his men and they pulled him into safety.

  Mikhel studied the situation while he caught his breath. They had lost nearly ten of their number already, and some of their attackers were dragging them away even while the few who were still alive howled for help. Without hesitation, he pulled one of the makeshift grenades from inside his jacket and hurled it towards the sound of the cries, knowing they were better off killed cleanly. There was a muffled bang and a bright flash. Two of the creatures reeled away, their bodies streaming flame, their mouths open in silent screams. Some of his soldiers followed his example, and more grenades were thrown at the enemy.

  The creatures fled, scrambling over the palisade, leaving behind the soldiers they had slain; several of the monsters writhed on the ground, desperately, futilely crying to put out the flames that slowly consumed them. The soldiers gathered around, aghast, as the bodies burned, letting off a foul-smelling green smoke. One lasted longer than the others, long enough for Mikhel to recognise Master of Horse Mon Ouncel.

  Mikhel pulled back and fought to hold his stomach down. The creatures were originally human after all. Mikhel had half-hoped they were monsters, caricatures of human beings, but seeing Mon Ouncel had revealed the horrible truth. These things not only killed men, but transformed them as well.

  The soldiers waited tensely for the next attack, but it never came. At first light they buried their dead in one grave, and buried the ashes of the creatures in another.

  ‘We must move,’ Mikhel told them when they were done. ‘We will march south until we meet our reinforcements.’

  ‘And then what?’ one of the soldiers asked.

  ‘Then we turn and fight,’ Mikhel said. ‘We can’t let these things reach a big city like Koegrah. We must stop them.’

  ‘How?’

  Mikhel licked his lips. ‘Fire kills them,’ he said, mustering as much certainty as he could in his voice. ‘We will stop them with fire.’

  *

  Not long after he woke, a messenger from Kadburn came to Poloma to tell him that the Hamilayan admiral had been found dead, presumably murdered by one of his own. Poloma breathed a great sigh of relief. He had not known how he could let the man live, and had dreaded having to pass a sentence of death upon him. But as well as easing the burden of his conscience, as he pondered the consequences he found that a lot of other things started to fall into place. He quickly wrote out instructions for Kadburn, Galys and Avier and made sure the messenger understood their importance.

  He sat by himself for a while in the very room where only a short while before Heriot had told him she loved him. He felt elated and, in a way he could not explain, relieved. Heriot loved him and Arden, and he could see how that was the way it must be. Heriot had given him a great gift. Now it was his turn to return it.

  He woke Heriot and the children and told them to dress formally. ‘Today we see off the dead.’

  When they were ready they slowly walked to the Great Quadrangle where the Herris Terminus of the steam carriage was located, and were joined there by many of the city’s most powerful and influential. As the carriage chugged over the bridge to Kayned, they saw the prisoners being walked across the span below. In the channel Poloma could see sailors readying the Hetha. It was almost summer and the day was already very warm. The air was increasingly humid, and the monsoons would soon come, sweeping in from the northwest. But for the moment the skies were clear and the river looked like a great shaft of gold, and the three islands of Kydan like inset jewels.

  ‘It is beautiful,’ Heriot said, softly touching Poloma’s arm.

  When they reached the Kayned Terminus they were met by Galys and Avier.

  ‘Are all the arrangements made?’ Poloma asked.

  Galys nodded. ‘I admit to being mystified.’

  Poloma smiled, turned to Avier. ‘Have you taken from Hetha everything you think might be useful?’

  ‘She carries nothing we need, with the possible exception of the longgons. They are the old style, of course, but well made. And the gonblack, and some of the rigging and sails. But naught else.’

  ‘We don’t need the steam engine, or its boilers?’

  Galys shook her head. ‘Our engineers and boiler makers say it is an old style, not suited for our purposes, and not very efficient.’

  Kadburn joined them while soldiers shepherded the prisoners into ranks along the foreshore. ‘What are we all doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘Seeing off the admiral,’ Poloma said. ‘We are burying him at sea.’

  ‘Why do him the honour?’ Galys asked. ‘Why not just dump his body in a hole somewhere and cover it up?’

  ‘It’s politics, Strategos,’ Poloma said. ‘And theatre.’

  ‘Theatre?’ Galys said, smiling. ‘As in Kashell Grey thane?’

  ‘Something like that. Not as bombastic, perhaps.’ He nodded to a lighter making its way to Hetha from Herris. ‘That’s carrying Agwyer’s remains?’

  ‘It is,’ Kadburn said. ‘I did not think it . . . politic?. . . to bring him across with his fellow Hamilayans.’

  ‘So Hetha is to be the admiral’s hearse?’ Galys asked.

  ‘Hetha is to be the admiral’s coffin,’ Poloma answered. He turned to Avier. ‘Is she ready?’

  Avie
r nodded. ‘The cocks are nearly out, and the pump dismantled. She’s a heavy lass, and wide abeam, and should go down quickly and mostly even.’

  ‘Then as soon as the corpse is aboard, Commodore, tow her out, well away from the shallows, and sink her.’

  Avier nodded and left.

  ‘I’m not sure I understand the politics,’ Galys said. ‘Or the theatre.’

  ‘We are sinking the empire’s greatest ship,’ Poloma said.

  ‘Avier thought Hetha was a dead loss,’ Kadburn pointed out.

  ‘She may well have been, but to the public in Hamilay she was the queen of the new age of military technology. And we are going to sink her. And on board will be the admiral who dared sail her – or steam her, I suppose – against the independent city of Kydan. It is good for our people to see that, and it is good for the prisoners to see it before we give them the good news concerning their future; it will give them all much to think about.’

  ‘And the other captured ships?’ Galys pointed to the other three ships, now tied up next to Kitayra Albyn in the shipyard. ‘Are they to be ceremonially sunk as well?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Poloma replied. ‘I have a special fate for them.’

  *

  Mycom and Rodin together were called to the aviary. They met outside the chancellery and made their way to the alcazar. They ignored the cries of the dozen or so sacrifices held in the pen in the alcazar’s forecourt, made their way through the maze of corridors and adjoining rooms until they reached the skyway that joined the alcazar to the dome. They paused halfway along the skyway to look down on Omeralt, and both glumly realised that the city was not what it once had been. Although late spring, when the city’s gardens should be alive with flowers and the smell of creation, there was virtually no colour at all apart from the butter-yellow stone used to construct most of the city’s buildings.

  ‘It’s because your family is almost extinct, you know,’ Mycom said. ‘The biggest gardens in the city were all attached to the alcazars owned by various branches of the Kevlerens. Now that they are gone, so have the gardens. No one looks after them anymore.’