Woes and Hose

by Igor Ljubuncic

  Only he had given promises before, and always failed her. He had lied to her.

  Eva missed Nicole. She missed Teresa. She even missed her own father, in a special kind of way. She missed Ruddy.

  She didn’t quite miss Dick, but she wanted to believe he was trying to change, that he felt guilty, and that he was trying to help her, in his own bitter, cowardly, princely way.

  There was a polite but persistent knock on the door. She recognized the cadence. It was Dick, as sure as a misbegotten sea monster showing up under the gray swells the moment its name was whispered by terrified sailors. But at least he knocked and didn’t just storm in. Eva could imagine she had some dignity and stature left.

  “Yes, please.”

  Dick cracked the door open, then pushed his head in, grinning, ready to dodge should she decide to toss something at him this time. So far, he had avoided both the pot of flowers and the scissors. For a fat man, he had rather quick reflexes. “Good afternoon.”

  Eva did her best to look indifferent to his presence, even pretend to be mildly miffed, but the truth was, she was bored, and she desperately needed some company.

  “Am I intruding?” he asked.

  “No, you may come in.”

  Dick was still wary as he stepped in. Then, he tossed his outrageous red silk jacket over a chair, and Eva wanted to reach for an old book lying on the tea table in front of her—and hurl it in his face.

  Be nice. At least he’s not crying for Crispin to help undress him. She glanced at his jacket. “That is not a very inconspicuous color.”

  Dick frowned. He shrugged. “Everyone in Ostfort knows me. Besides, people like to see their champion out and about. It gives them strength and hope. I might as well enjoy the finest cuts the tailors in this poxy town can sew together. Nothing like the fine Nibusi stuff I have back home, but one must do in times of war.”

  “But wouldn’t people take interest in the fact you’re visiting this house so often?” Reading books had fired up her imagination. Eva was mostly thinking about strangers bursting into her prison one night and taking her away. In Black Dawn, the heroine had unraveled a plot against the queen after she saw the city nobles frequent a shabby tavern way below their class.

  Dick grinned and winked. “This is why I make sure to visit other houses, too.”

  Eva frowned. “Have you come to tell me the war is over and I may go?”

  “If only. The sheep-lovers are still besieging the wall, and they don’t seem keen on leaving any time soon. I’m afraid you might have to stay with me for a while longer.” He looked about the room. “Are you being treated well? Do you need any more books?”

  The last thing she needed was more books. “I need fresh air. I need to leave the house.”

  Dick grimaced. “That would be quite unwise. Ostfort has never been a nice place, and with the siege in place, it’s even more dangerous than usual.”

  Eva wanted to cry. “I can’t possibly remain in this house forever!”

  Dick stepped closer to the door. “I know, but I can’t bring you into the fort. My father has spies everywhere, and it would be stupid of me to risk exposing you. If Old…the king learns that you are here, he will send all his armies to take you away. I will be forced to fuck camels, and you will never see sunlight again.”

  “That’s very rude,” she bristled.

  Dick looked puzzled. “What is?”

  “Your language! You are using foul words!” In the books, princes never swore.

  “Camels?”

  Eva felt her cheeks burn. “No, the other word! If you want me to let you stay here, you will stop cursing!” Then, she quickly recalled Nicole telling her how she ought to be nice and seductive, and sway men over with her feminine charms.

  She just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  “But…” Dick continued, his lips curled into an odd smile, “if you can somehow help me get rid of Amadea, I am certain I can convince Father to let you marry me. That way, you will be free to do anything you want.”

  I will never marry you, she seethed, but she managed to keep the words in. Uh, he could be so vile sometimes! Almost gentle and caring one moment, then a total swine the next. Why? Why? Why couldn’t he be like any other prince?

  “How can you think that way of poor Amadea?” was all she said.

  “She is far from poor. Duke Ettore is—”

  “I didn’t mean it like that!”

  Dick smacked his lips. “I was forced to marry her. That wasn’t my choice.”

  Neither was my captivity. We both have to suffer.

  “I don’t…” he mumbled.

  Eva forgot all other thoughts and focused on Dick’s sudden confession. What was he trying to say to her? That he was not fulfilling his duties as a husband? That the marriage was fragile and could be undone?

  But the moment was gone. Dick sauntered over to the balcony, staring over the rooftops, one hand on his hip, close to a holstered pistol, the other shielding his eyes. “We need to help each other, Eva. I need to defeat the Barvans and Nurflanders, and I need to get rid of Amadea. And I still don’t quite know how to do either.”

  Should she pity him? Of course not. He was a selfish coward. He was only trying to avoid King Ulaf’s wrath, and everything he did would be to save his own skin. He didn’t mind seeing other people get hurt.

  Except her.

  Not intentionally anyway.

  Then again, if she didn’t attempt something, she might never be free.

  Nicole’s words rang in her mind, telling her to be manipulative. Coy, seductive, forceful, pleading. Make the man believe he was in control. Win his heart over.

  I will hate myself, but I can’t stay locked in this house any more.

  “Dick…”

  Instinctively, he covered his crotch and slowly turned around. “Yes?”

  “I want to help you.”

  He put his other hand over his groin. “Yes…”

  “But you must help me, too.”

  The prince preened. “Of course. I can have a maid at your disposal day and night. And I will get you more silk and jewelry—”

  “That is not what I meant.” She tried to smile.

  Dick’s brows shot up. “Why are you snarling?”

  “Oh, nothing. My nose itches. Dick, please. I need to leave this house. I promise I will not try to flee. I promise. In the name of all the Elite Gods, I swear. But you must let me walk about the city, even under heavy escort if must be.”

  Dick looked terrified. “What if someone recognizes you?”

  Eva remembered a passage from Romance and Passion. Loredana had evaded her father’s hunters by cutting her hair short like a boy and dying it with coal. Without a beautiful mane of auburn-red hair, she was just another nondescript face in the crowd. “I will fashion a disguise.”

  Dick snorted. Her face must have changed somehow, because he immediately regretted it, and his hands cupped his tender region again. “Uh, what did you have in mind?”

  Eva pretended to think for a while before she mentioned Loredana’s scheme. To her surprise, Dick nodded. Either he liked the idea of her with short hair, or he was keen on helping her, so she would trust him or help him get rid of Amadea. Or to prove that he really cared for her and wished her to have freedom. Or he wanted to see if he could get away with it. It didn’t matter what he believed. The notion of being unnoticed elicited excitement in Eva’s heart. A wicked sort of excitement, almost like that night when she had gone to the Swan.

  That didn’t work out that well now, did it, Eva? “It will work,” she said, trying to convince both of them.

  Prince Dietrich was silent for a moment. “All right. I am willing to give it a chance. But you will not go about the city on your own. It is too risky. There will always be guards present. And you promise you won’t try to escape?”

  “I promise,” Eva said, almost too enthusiastically.

  Dick beamed. “Great. Then let us find a pair of scissors, shall we?”<
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  CHAPTER 25

  The Man with the Linden Gun

  “The swordsman is mightier, but the archer always gets to strike first.”

  —VILSTROM, FAMOUS MILITARY STRATEGIST, 2ND CENTURY

  27th Day of the Month of the Linden

  Dick swallowed. He had run out of excuses. He had run out of breath. He had run out of room to retreat on the practice yard.

  His opponent was grinning. The man knew this would be an easy kill.

  Dick hated swordplay. It was an overrated skill in an age where men could kill one another from more than a bow’s distance away with a well-placed shot of iron from a pistol barrel. There was no point huffing and panting and cutting each other like savages.

  Master Udo didn’t share the sentiment—nor believed Dick’s fingers were still raw from the old injury. The stories about his heroism in the Battle of Zgrob made the city folk love him, but that also meant he couldn’t really pretend to be incapable of gripping the hilt of a blade anymore.

  Siege or no siege, the royal prince was to train.

  Without warning, the other fellow lunged, face suddenly impassive. Dick did his best to dodge the sword point. His best wasn’t good enough. Even through the layers of padded wool and leather, the practice blade hurt fiercely.

  Dick did his best not to scream as he fell to the ground.

  Master Udo spat. “You are useless, Prince Dietrich. And you scream like a girl.”

  Dick slowly rose, panting, trying to dust himself off. Only he was drenched in sweat, and the grime had turned into a thin, wet layer of mud. He knew he looked like a child who had run headlong into a giant cake—or soiled himself.

  The rest of the class was trying not to snicker. After all, he was the royal prince, and he had defeated the Koravs in battle. But the toxic spirit of Voytech’s long-lost brother was highly contagious. The only somber face in the lot belonged to Kief. The bastard was looking almost concerned.

  “You wouldn’t be able to defend yourself if your life depended on it,” the master ranted.

  One day, I will shoot off that foul tongue of yours. “A dead assassin would disagree with you, Master.”

  The ugly son of a whore spat again. “Luck. Mere luck.”

  Dick saw Crispin hovering at the edge of the training ground, holding a towel. Dick shook his head. It wouldn’t do for him to dab his cheeks with rosewater-scented flannel now. “The Korav baan would also disagree.”

  Udo pointed at the trainees. “This lot? As reliable as a blind cannoneer. One of them will see you prance about on your horse at the outskirts of a small skirmish, gossip about it like a drunken whore, and the next day, you will have slain a hundred enemy soldiers with your farts.”

  The class did snicker this time. Dick wasn’t sure why they thought the master was being funny. Fear? He recalled the poxy bastard congratulating him after returning from Challe, but that had been a quiet, personal acknowledgment of his deed. On every other opportunity, with the fort soldiers and knights present, Master Udo only spewed venom.

  Does he think anger will make me like this sword nonsense?

  Dick said nothing. He merely waited, regaining his strength.

  That seemed to annoy the master even more. “You are a disgrace. You will never become a good swordsman. Your fighting skills are not befitting your rank. You are of no use to your brothers.”

  They are not my brothers. “I can kill men. I have done so before.”

  “By sitting down on them, maybe.” Laughter.

  Dick only smiled.

  Master Udo softened a little, trying a different approach. “Do you have any expertise with any weapon?”

  Dick motioned for Crispin to approach. If they were going to humiliate him, he might as well be comfortable. “I am an excellent shooter.”

  The master snorted as best as he could.

  One of the soldiers coughed. Dick didn’t recall the face. “Ugh, Master, Prince Dietrich is an exceptionally talented shooter. I have seen—”

  Master Udo waved the man into silence. “Bah. Pistols are for women and cowards.”

  Dick noticed a few apprentice knights and an odd veteran or two in the crowd bristle with indignation. The master had pushed too far. The Drechknights loved their named swords, but they didn’t find it beneath their honor to fire pistols and arquebuses when needed.

  You think you’re better than me, don’t you, you ugly fuck. You may be a great swordsman, but you have no finesse, no court etiquette. “Pistols kill enemy men, that’s all that matters.”

  The ugly son of a whore stubbornly raised his chin, not willing to give up. “Are you really that good? Show me.”

  The audience had tripled by the time they had setup practice targets at the far end of the yard. Straw men, with plates of armor and helmets. On the balcony above, Amadea and her ladies-in-waiting were chattering in urgent, excited voices.

  “Well, Your Royal Highness, show us your exceptional talent.”

  Dick looked at the targets. Hardly thirty paces away. He lifted a loaded arquebus and fired. The bullet pierced the plate of the middle mannequin. There was a quick ripple of applause and soft moans from the audience.

  “Anyone can do that.”

  Dick fired a pistol next. Three times. The helmets dinged as he hit each one. The straw head of the left target had caught fire, and smoke was eddying through the mouth piece, the visor and the hole squarely above it, right in the middle. For a good few moments, the yard was drowned with cheering and appreciation from the thoroughly amused crowd.

  “At that range, it’s hardly challenge,” Master Udo ranted on, unrelenting, but there was a tremor of doubt in his tone.

  Dick handed the pistol over. “We need a longer distance, then.”

  “There’s nowhere in the castle with a longer line of sight,” a gruff voice suggested.

  “We could close off a street,” someone whispered.

  “I have a better idea,” Dick said, feeling buoyant. They want a spectacle, I’ll give them a spectacle.

  The city watch had to keep the throng away from climbing to the top of the wall, afraid people would suddenly riot or panic, fall off and break their necks. Only a small number of soldiers, knights, Master Udo, and of course, Amadea and her flock of servants, were allowed onto the parapet.

  With deliberate nonchalance, Dick drank a cup of wine before sighting down the barrel of an arquebus. It was sunny and windy, not ideal conditions to shoot, but he knew how to compensate. The glare did make his eyes water.

  The fields to west swarmed with Nurflander infestation.

  “Get them, Your Highness!”

  “Silence. Let the prince concentrate.”

  “Everyone, keep quiet.”

  Dick let the tension rise. “Well, Master Udo, choose your target.”

  The ugly fuck could have chosen something too far away, but if Dick scored that hit, he would become the laughing stock of every soldier in the city. Instead, sensibly, he pointed out a Nurflander, squatting in the grass just past the last row of houses of a nearby village. Still, it was a fair distance off. No other soldier would even dream of wasting gunpowder on such a remote, improbable shot.

  Dick nodded.

  He steadied his breath, his aim, let the background details turn into a blur. He fired.

  The bullet slammed into a rooftop just to the left of the Nurflander. The squatting man didn’t even notice.

  “You missed,” Master Udo hissed. The crowd sighed.

  “Again,” Kief said. “Let him shoot again.”

  The crowd held its breath again.

  Dick frowned at the weapon he was holding. “This arquebus needs alignment.” He tossed it away. The second example looked newer, with a grip that still wasn’t slicked by endless hours of sweaty palms and wax.

  The weapon’s owner, a tiny, balding man, nodded enthusiastically. “A lucky gun that is, Your Highness, sir. The stock’s made of linden, and ‘tis the Month of Linden. Should bring you luck, Your Highness,
sir.”

  Dick put his left elbow against a crenelation, waited for the wind to abate a little, and fired again. The shitter just folded quietly. No one among the Nurflanders noticed his death. No one considered the chance anyone firing their guns at such a range—let alone being able to hit anything.

  There was a collective gasp of awe among the Monrich soldiers.

  “What a shot!”

  “Incredible.”

  “Impossible.”

  Kief raised his hands. “Unbelievable.”

  The gun’s owner, cupped his cheeks, like a proud father. “Praise the Saint!”

  The audience joined in the exultation, chanting Dick’s name. The besieging troops did stir now, looking up toward the wall, trying to figure out what was happening. For an instant, Dick feared they might form up and assail the walls, perceiving the tumult as a surprise attack.

  “Be quiet!” Master Udo barked. But it was pointless. He had completely lost control of the situation.

  Dick stabbed Voytech’s twin with a hard stare. Thank you, you poxy fuck. You just made me even more popular with the city folk.

  Sauntering like a peacock, Dick joined the mass of soldiers, every single one trying to pat his shoulder, the royal chasm of rank and status forgotten for a moment.

  “Prince Dietrich,” Master Udo called, plowing through the mass. “Wait.”

  What now. The cheering subsided. The soldiers tensed.

  Dietrich turned around. “Yes?”

  “I am impressed,” the master said, not too loudly—but not too quietly either.

  “Thank you,” Dick offered back, feeling all generous and princely. Not so smug anymore, are you? Ahead of him, he saw foreign coin exchange grubby hands, the faces of winners all toothy and leery, the faces of losers, sour and scrunched.

  A thought struck him.

  “Hey you!” Dick shouted, grabbing the initiative like a favorite pair of teats.

  The wall sentries raised their eyes, trying not to panic. For the common man, drawing the attention of royalty was never good idea.