Out of the Darkness d-6

by Harry Turtledove

  “I think you misunderstand something,” Sabrino said. “Shall I be very plain?” With the decoction of poppy juice in him, he could hardly be anything else.

  “Say on,” Vatran rumbled ominously.

  “You know I disagreed with King Mezentio,” Sabrino said, and the Unkerlanter officer’s big, heavy-featured head went up and down. “And because of that, you think I would be able to work well with your king.”

  General Vatran nodded once more. “Aye. It is so.”

  But Sabrino shook his head. “No. It is not so. And, sir, I will tell you why it is not so.” He wagged that forefinger at Vatran again. “It is not so because I wanted my kingdom to beat yours every bit as much as King Mezentio did. Believe me: I wanted to march through Cottbus in triumph every bit as much as Mezentio did.” He glanced down at the asymmetrical shape under the sheet on the cot. “But we didn’t march through Cottbus, and I won’t be doing any marching now.”

  “Why you quarrel with your king, then?” Vatran demanded. His voice held a certain amount of respectful wonder. Sabrino thought he understood that. From everything he’d heard, quarreling with Swemmel was something an Unkerlanter did at most once.

  “Why? Purely over means, not over the end,” Sabrino said. By Vatran’s new frown, he saw the Unkerlanter didn’t follow that. He spelled it out: “I didn’t think killing Kaunians was a good idea. I never thought it was a good idea. I thought it would make all our enemies hate us and fear us and fight us harder than ever.”

  “You right,” Vatran said.

  And much good that did me, Sabrino thought. I never imagined you Unkerlanters would slaughter your own to strike back at us. None of the eastern kingdoms would have done such a thing. You knew this fight was to the death, too. Aloud, he said, “I suppose I was. I thought we would have beaten you without doing any such thing. Maybe I was right about that, and maybe I was wrong. But that was my quarrel with my king, the long and the short of it.” Mezentio didn’t dispose of me for arguing with him, the way Swemmel would have. But he never forgave me, either.

  Vatran grunted. “This why you a colonel when war starts and you still a colonel when war stops? I wonder some on that. Make more sense now.”

  “Aye, that’s why,” Sabrino agreed. “And so, you see, you cannot rely on me to make a puppet King of Algarve, either. I am no man’s puppet, not even my own sovereign’s.”

  “You brave to say this,” Vatran observed. “You maybe stupid to say this, too. You likely stupid to say this.”

  “Why? Will Swemmel blaze me for it?” Sabrino asked.

  “Don’t know,” Vatran replied. “Wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Sabrino shrugged. “Well, if he does, he does. I’ve been through too much to worry about it. Let him do what he will do.”

  “This is your last word?” Vatran asked. Sabrino nodded. The Unkerlanter general sighed. “All right. I take it away with me. You are brave man. You are also fool.” There, for the first time, he almost tempted Sabrino to change his mind. If being a fool qualified a man for the kingship, he reckoned himself the best qualified sovereign Algarve had ever had.

  After General Vatran left, the healer came back into Sabrino’s chamber. Curious-nosy-as any Algarvian, he asked, “What did the barbarian want?”

  “He wanted to proclaim me King of Algarve,” Sabrino answered.

  He waited to see what the healer would make of that. For a moment, the fellow just gaped, not sure how to take it. Then he started to laugh. “Well, I asked for that, didn’t I?” he said. “All right, your Majesty, I’ll be careful around you from now on.”

  “I’m not anyone’s Majesty,” Sabrino said. “I turned him down.”

  That only made the healer laugh harder. “I can see why you would have. A chap like you, you have to hold out for a really good position, eh?”

  No wonder Mezentio got so testy, Sabrino thought. He ruled a whole kingdom full of people like this. I suppose I was just another little nuisance to him. Till Vatran’s offer, he’d never tried to imagine what the world looked like from the perspective of a king. Powers above! Why would anybody want the job?

  Still laughing, the healer said, “Why didn’t you ask him if you could be King of Unkerlant instead? There’s a place that could really use a civilized man running things.”

  “I don’t want to be King of Unkerlant.” Sabrino wondered if an Unkerlanter mage was somehow listening to every word he said. Given some of the things he’d heard about King Swemmel, he wouldn’t have been surprised. He didn’t want that mage hearing anything untoward. “I don’t want to be king at all, not any place.”

  “Well, all right.” The healer plucked at his mustachios, which he’d managed to keep perfectly waxed throughout Algarve’s collapse, conquest, and occupation. “If it were me, though, I’d grab anything I could get.” He plucked some more. “Maybe we ought to switch you to a decoction that’s not quite so potent.”

  He thinks I imagined the whole thing, Sabrino realized. “I suppose you’re going to tell me I made up the Unkerlanter general, too,” he said.

  With a shrug, the healer answered, “Who knows what’s real these days?” Sabrino laughed, but it wasn’t as if the fellow didn’t have a point.

  “Another letter!” Vanai said to Saxburh as she fished it out of the brass letterbox in the lobby of her block of flats. The envelope bore no return address, and was addressed to her as Thelberge. Her heart leaped when she recognized the script. “And it’s from your father!”

  “Mama,” Saxburh said. She didn’t say dada so much these days. Had Ealstan been here, had she had someone to say it to, that would have been different. Vanai was sure of it.

  She picked up her daughter and the jug of olive oil she’d bought. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs, and we’ll find out what he says.” She longed for the days when Saxburh would be able to walk up those stairs by herself; the baby wasn’t a lightweight any more. She wasn’t so much of a baby any more, either. She’d started taking her first few toddling steps without holding on to anything, and her first birthday was only a few days away.

  Of course, she didn’t care anything about the letter. “Hat!” she said, as soon as she got back to the flat. She found her special little hat and jammed it down onto her head. “Hat!”

  “That’s a hat,” Vanai agreed. She almost tore Ealstan’s letter in her eagerness to get it out of the envelope. Hello, sweetheart! Ealstan wrote. That you’re seeing this proves I’m not an Unkerlanter soldier any more. They kept me long enough to use me up, then decided they didn‘t want me with a hole in my leg.

  I would like you and Saxburh to come back here to Gromheort to live. I wouldn‘t have said that before everything that happened. Eoforwic used to be the easiest place in the kingdom for your people and for mixed couples to get along. Now. . Now I don’t know how easy it will be anywhere. I wish I didn’t have to say something like that, but I’m afraid it’s true.

  Vanai feared it was true, too. As he usually did, Ealstan made hard, solid sense. That was one of the things that had interested her in him from the beginning. Now that she’d seen a letter from his father, she had a better notion of how he came by it.

  I don’t know how your money is holding out, he wrote: a bookkeeper’s son and a bookkeeper himself, he thought of such things. If you need more, let me know. If you don’t, buy passage on the first ley-line caravan car you can and come east. Don’t wait to write us which caravan you‘II be on. You know where we live. Take a cab from the depot. This old town went through a lot in the siege, but the rubble is out of the streets and you can get from there to here.

  All my kin here can’t wait to meet you and see you and find out what you look like-both ways-and to see our little girl. Conberge is going to have a baby, too, so Saxburh will have a cousin to grow up with. And I miss you more than I can tell you, and I can’t wait to hug you and kiss you and do whatever else I can talk you into. With all the love there is-your husband, Ealstan.

  Pack up everything she
could carry? Wait not a minute? Vanai started to shake her head, then paused. She’d done that before, when she came here to Eoforwic with Ealstan. How glad she’d been to get out of Oyngestun, too! And how likely it was that getting out of Oyngestun had saved her life.

  No Algarvians lurked these days, waiting to throw her into a special camp. But she’d spent too much of her time here in Eoforwic in hiding. She had no friends here, and she didn’t really want to make any. She’d been through too much. Things might be better in Gromheort. They could hardly be worse.

  Ealstan was right. Before the Derlavaian War, the capital had been the best place in Forthweg for Kaunians, mixed couples, and half-breeds. Nowadays, Vanai doubted any place in the kingdom would be very good.

  I can go on looking like Thelberge when I show my face outside the house, she thought. Inside? Inside, I don’t think it will matter. Now that I’ve seen Hestan‘s letter, I really don’t think it will. She glanced over to Saxburh, who was standing by herself in the middle of the floor and looking enormously proud. And you will learn Kaunian, too, along with Forthwegian.

  “Come here,” Vanai called. “Come here-you can do it.” Saxburh toddled about halfway to her, then fell down and crawled the rest of the way. “Good girl,” Vanai said, scooping her up. “How would you like to go to Gromheort and meet your grandfather and grandmother?”

  Saxburh didn’t say no. No wasn’t a word she’d discovered yet. From things Vanai had heard, that would change when her daughter turned two or so. Vanai checked her dwindling store of silver. She didn’t know what caravan fares were like these days, but, unless they’d gone altogether mad-which most prices hadn’t-she still had plenty to get to Gromheort.

  She took the money. She packed a couple of tunics for herself and clothes and cloths for the baby. She made sure she had a length of golden yarn and one of black so she could renew their sorcerous disguises. And she packed some food for herself and her daughter, though she was glad Saxburh was still nursing. That made travel much more convenient.

  The silver went into her handbag. Everything else filled a duffel bag. She put Saxburh back into the harness that let her carry the baby without using her hands, then went downstairs. When the first of the month came, the landlord would come knocking on the door for the rent, and he’d get a surprise. Till then, who would know-who would care? — whether she was there or not?

  She headed for the street corner to get a cab to the caravan depot. She knew she might be there for a while, and hoped Saxburh wouldn’t decide to fuss.

  “Hello, Thelberge,” someone said, pausing on the corner along with her. “You look like you’re going somewhere.”

  “Oh … Hello, Guthfrith,” Vanai said. The drummer and singer was about the last person she wanted to see. As she was, he was wearing a purely Forthwegian sorcerous disguise. That made her ask, “Or should I call you Ethelhelm?” She wanted him to remember she knew who and what he was.

  He grimaced. “Ethelhelm’s dead. He’s never coming back to life. Too many people, uh, don’t understand what happened during the war.”

  Don’t understand how you got too friendly with the redheads, you mean, Vanai thought. Ethelhelm had started out as a bold foe of the Algarvians. But his Kaunian blood let them put pressure on him that they couldn’t use against an ordinary Forthwegian. And he’d buckled under it, cozying up to them to help keep the comforts he’d earned as a leading musician in Forthweg.

  He went on, “I don’t suppose I’m the only one these days who’s going by more than one name.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vanai answered, though she did perfectly well.

  “Oh, I doubt that,” he said-in classical Kaunian.

  Vanai made herself shrug. “Sorry-I never learned that language. What did you say?” She didn’t want to give him any kind of hold on her. Spinello had taught her what men did with such things. She didn’t know what Ethelhelm wanted from her, and she didn’t care to find out. She looked down the street for a cab, but didn’t see one. Where were they when you needed them?

  “Hat!” Saxburh said-in Forthwegian. Vanai hadn’t taught her any Kaunian yet, for fear she would blurt it out at the wrong time. This, Vanai thought, would have been exactly the wrong time.

  Ethelhelm took no notice of what the baby said, though. He just nodded to Vanai and said, “Why are you worrying? It’s not illegal to be Kaunian anymore.”

  “If you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to shout for a constable,” Vanai said. “I don’t want anything to do with you.”

  “You wouldn’t have shouted for a constable when they had red hair,” Ethelhelm said. “I know what you are.”

  “You don’t know anything at all,” Vanai told him. “And I know what you are, too: somebody who sucked up to the Algarvians when it looked like a good idea. Now you can’t even wear your own face, because too many people know what you did.”

  The face Ethelhelm was wearing turned red. “You stinking Kaunian bitch!” he exclaimed. “I ought to-”

  “You ought to dry up and blow away.” Vanai saw a cab and waved frantically. She let out a sigh of relief when the hackman waved back and steered his carriage through the traffic toward her. Eyeing Ethelhelm, she added, “And if you try bothering me anymore, I’ll put a curse on you the likes of which nobody’s seen since the days of the Kaunian Empire. If you don’t think I can, you’re wrong.” She set down the duffel bag, slung her handbag to the crook of her elbow, and pointed at him with both index fingers at once.

  That was a bluff, nothing else but. So was her threat. Even the most ordinary modern mage could counter any ancient curse. She’d studied the subject; she knew as much. Forthwegians who hadn’t studied it reckoned the Kaunians of imperial days very wise and very dangerous. Here, despite his mixed blood, Ethelhelm counted as a Forthwegian.

  He went from red to pale in a heartbeat. His own fingers twisted in a sign to turn aside sorcery-not an effective sign, if the knowledge Vanai’s grandfather had drilled into her was true. “Powers below eat you,” he said. His right hand folded into a fist.

  I’ll kick him right in the crotch, Vanai thought. That’s where it’ll do the most good. A wagon in front of the cab had stopped for no apparent reason. She glared at it. Get out of the way, you miserable whoreson!

  Ethelhelm drew back his fist. Before he could swing, someone with a loud voice said, “You don’t want to do that, pal.”

  “Thank you, Constable!” Vanai said fervently. “This man’s been bothering me, and he won’t go away.”

  “Oh, I think he will.” The constable spun his truncheon on its leather loop. “Either that or he’ll get his face mashed. We don’t put up with hitting people on the streets.” He stepped toward Ethelhelm. “Which way’s it gonna be, buddy?”

  “I’m leaving,” Ethelhelm said, and he did.

  “Thank you!” Vanai said again. She’d never been so grateful to any Forthwegian except Ealstan in her life.

  “Part of the job, lady,” the constable said. “Is that cab stopping for you?”

  “Aye, it is,” she answered, and turned toward the driver. “The central ley-line caravan depot, please.”

  “Sure thing.” He climbed down to hold the door open for her. “Climb on in-careful of your baby. Here, let me have that bag.”

  He closed the door behind her. The constable walked off. Would he have helped me like that if he’d known I’m a Kaunian? Vanai wondered as the cab started to move. She shrugged. No way to know, though she had her doubts. One thing she could do now, in the near-privacy of the cab: renew the spells that kept her and Saxburh looking like Forthwegians. With luck and a decent caravan schedule, she wouldn’t have to do it again till they got to Gromheort.

  “Supper soon,” Elfryth told Ealstan, as if he couldn’t have figured it out himself from the savory smell of chicken stewing with onions and mushrooms. His mother smiled at him. “It feels good, having one of our babies back in the house with us for a while.”

 
“Babies?” Ealstan said. “Just because I’m toddling around. .” He could walk, but was glad to have a cane in each hand to help bear his weight. Then he smiled, too. “I wonder if my daughter’s toddling yet.”

  “She’s what? About a year old?” Elfryth asked. Ealstan nodded. His mother sighed. “I wish I could see her. I hope Vanai paid attention to your letter.”

  “You’re not the only one.” Ealstan’s tone of voice made his mother laugh. His ears got hot. “I mean …”

  “I know what you meant,” Elfryth said. “If anything goes to show you’re not a baby any more, that does. That and your beard.”

  “I was already wearing a beard when I, uh, left,” Ealstan said. Ran away because I was afraid I’d killed Sidroc, was what he’d meant there. He grimaced. I wish I had killed him. Then he wouldn‘t have killed Leofsig, and Leofsig was worth a hundred of him. A thousand.

  Thoughts like those were probably going through his mother’s mind, too. She’d been there when he and Sidroc fought. She’d been there when Sidroc smashed Leofsig with a dining-room chair, too. She’s been through a lot, Ealstan realized-not the sort of idea he was used to having about his mother.

  She said, “It’s a lot thicker now, though. It was a boy’s beard then. It isn’t any more.” She hesitated, then added, “It reminds me a lot of your brother’s, there just before-” She broke off. She’d been thinking of Leofsig, too, then.

  Ealstan limped over to her and leaned one of his canes against his hip so he could set a hand on her shoulder. He’d gone off to Eoforwic and Conberge had got married, but his older brother would never come to the house again. Elfryth smiled up at him, but unshed tears made her eyes brighter than they should have been.

  Someone knocked at the door. “Who’s that?” Ealstan and his mother said together. She went on, “I’ll find out. I can move faster than you can these days. Stir the chicken, if you please.”

  “All right,” he said to Elfryth’s back. She was hurrying toward the entry hall. Ealstan plied the big iron spoon.