Kei's Gift

by Ann Somerville

  “Never mind the platitudes, what game are you playing? Who is that man and why do you have a Darshianese hostage in our house?”

  She regarded him calmly. “That man is your new manservant—”

  “No, he damn well—”

  “By the order of Her Serenity herself.”

  “What?” He stared at her, perplexed. “Why would Kita...? Do you have a hand in this, Mayl? Because by the gods you go too far this time.”

  “Of course I don’t,” she snapped at him. “I found out Loke was dead when the soldiers turned up at our door. Here is the note from Senator Mekus if you don’t believe me.”

  He certainly didn’t but after reading the note, he was forced to accept Her Serenity, meddling again for who knew what reason, had seen fit to foist one of the enemy onto him. “Very well, do with him as you like. I don’t want him as a manservant.”

  Her expression became brightly spiteful. “Oh, but I can’t do that, Sei Arman. Her Serenity’s orders are very specific. He’s to be your page. Do you want to tell her you’ve spurned her gift, or will that duty fall to me?”

  He could still turn the man away, but Mayl would contrive to have the fact conveyed, however indirectly, to Kita’s ears. “I suppose you imagine he will sleep in my room too?”

  “Of course. Unless you want people to speculate Loke shared your room for a reason other than the fact he was your page.”

  He gripped her shoulders. “That won’t be a rumour that will start from you, will it, my dear wife? Because once that hisk runs, others might chase after it for company.”

  She shook him off. “There’s no need to be violent. I merely point out the truth. Anyway, what difference does it make who serves you? The man is fair, sound of limb, he speaks a little Prijian—it’s not like you need more. Her Serenity obviously wants us to civilise him.”

  “Fine,” he spat. “You do it. He can bring my food and my bath and other than that, I don’t want to see him or discuss him. He’s yours to look after.”

  “As you wish.”

  He indicated her stomach with a wave of his hand. “I see you wasted no time in spreading the word about your little bastard. My father actually took me to task that he heard it from you before he heard it from me.”

  She gave him a wide-eyed look of false surprise. “Oh, that was impolite of me, wasn’t it? But I knew he’d be so pleased to hear the news, I couldn’t deprive him of the joy.”

  He shook his head in disgust. “Leave me out of your games. You have what you wanted, don’t push me.”

  “As if I would,” she said sweetly. “By the way, his name is Kei, of Albon.”

  “Who?” For a moment, he thought she was naming her lover.

  “Your new servant, of course. He has a name. They’re only mostly savage, you know.”

  “The day, Sei Mayl, I need lessons on the Darshianese from you, I will take my sword and run it through my stomach. Until then, kindly stick to the things you actually know about—infidelity and plotting.”

  She sneered at him again as he turned to leave. Gods, could this day get any more appalling?

  ~~~~~~~~

  Kei didn’t know who was more horrified, the ‘golden general’ or himself, but Sei Arman probably had a slight edge in the ‘most angry’ stakes. What in hells was that damn woman doing? Was she unaware of how this man felt about Kei’s people? Was this how a successful general was usually rewarded?

  He was dragged back to the kitchen, but oddly, Mykis wasn’t surprised or put out by the rudeness of his master. Kei was simply informed where he could draw bath water, and that he should attend his new master in an hour—told by the water clock in the kitchen—to provide him with enough hot water to fill a hip bath. What a hip bath was, he had no idea. The sniggering of the servants increased when Mykis told them what had happened—Kei didn’t need to know Prijian to work that out. It seemed Sei Arman was not well liked by his servants. Perhaps he had to have slaves sent to him because he was so hated, which didn’t bode well for his own term of imprisonment.

  Gods, he was tired. Every limb ached and his hands shook slightly from fatigue, but he wasn’t allowed to sit idly this time. The cook indicated by gesture he should take the slops out to the midden, then set him to scrubbing pans in water so hot it was close to scalding. No one offered him any of the food being prepared, or indicated how he should even obtain a meal. He didn’t want to ask. He’d had enough abuse for one day, and going to bed hungry was something he could endure. If he had a bed at all, that was.

  Mykis returned, and struck him across the shoulders with his cane. “Don’t you see the time? Your master has been waiting half an hour for his bath!” He struck Kei again, who was tempted to take the cane and snap in half, or possibly shove it up the horrible man’s nose. “Hurry up, you useless boy!”

  “Yes, sir,” Kei muttered, hastily rolling down his sleeves and heading to the taproom. Mekus obviously expected him to go on his own this time—perhaps Mykis didn’t want to risk the wrath of his master again.

  He struggled with the fully filled bucket of hot water down the halls, desperately trying not to spill anything on the mosaics, and found the door. He knocked and heard a curt “Enter”. He did so, and bowed. “Your bath water, my lord.”

  The general turned, and gave him a glare. “Don’t just stand there, put it into the bath.”

  “Um...where is it, my lord?”

  The general’s lips tightened as he got up from his desk and indicated a covered box, the lid of which unfolded to reveal a metal container, slightly raised. “Fill it and get out of my sight. You’ve forgotten drying cloths and soap, bring them on your return.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Kei said hastily, anxious to get away from this man’s roiling, sickening hatred.

  It took two more trips to fill the bath to the general’s satisfaction, and then the man rudely told Kei to leave and not return for two hours. In that time, he was set again to cleaning dishes and scrubbing huge, food encrusted pots. There were over a dozen servants in this house, and every one of them came in to have a good look at the new arrival. Their opinion of him was universally unflattering, and keeping his temper in the face of their verbal insults and gestures was difficult. With some relief he noticed two hours had passed and he could escape, although whether the general was actually better company, he couldn’t really say.

  He found the man dressed in a kind of long robe, which Kei assumed was for relaxing in one’s bedroom since it looked too heavy to sleep in. He stood waiting for instructions, unsure of what exactly he was supposed to be doing. It was nearly midnight, by his reckoning, and he’d had no real rest for nearly two days. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could continue.

  “Empty the bath, then you sleep in that corner,” the man said, revulsion pouring off him. “Keep out of my way.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He began to scoop the water out, but the general curtly informed him he should use the taps at the bottom of the bath for that. He set the things to flowing, standing uncomfortably under the intense blue gaze of his master. As he bent to turn the tap off, he heard the general say in a low voice. “I hate you Darshianese, just be clear on that point.”

  He straightened and turned. “Yes, my lord. Can I ask why?”

  He was sure he was about to be hit, such was the anger he felt coming off the man. “You killed my friend. Wantonly murdered a non-combatant.”

  “Where, my lord?”

  “At Darbin. A cowardly attack on my supply train.”

  Ah, that incident. “Your...friend? Your servant?”

  “My page. Loke.” The general stared with such powerful loathing in his eyes, Kei almost expected his clothes to be set on fire. “Died in agony from a hole in his gut put there by a bomb thrown by your filthy kinsmen.”

  Kei nodded sympathetically. “Stomach wounds are very difficult to treat—”

  He found himself slammed against the wall, the general’s breath hot in his face. “Are you mock
ing me?”

  “N-no, no, my lord. Of course not.”

  “No one can treat gut wounds. It’s impossible, my medics told me.”

  The tight grip the man had on his shirt was strangling him. “It’s not impossible,” he said, trying to stay calm. “Just difficult.”

  “Liar!” A little spittle hit Kei’s face. “Liars and murderers, everyone of you!”

  “I am a healer, my lord, not a murderer. I don’t believe in killing.”

  Close up, Sei Arman’s eyes were even more astonishingly blue and intimidating. “You make me sick. You’ve been forced on me, but you are not wanted, do you hear? You killed that which I loved, and if I could, I would have you all slaughtered without thought. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Kei swallowed, trying not to throw up. “But I didn’t kill your friend.”

  “I don’t care. Your kind stinks, you offend me. I have to have you serve me, but nothing will make me like it, or accept you. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, my lord.” How many times is this man going to say the same thing? And what in hells does he want me to say? “Shall I empty your bath, my lord?”

  With a growl he was set free and the general stalked back to his desk. “Hurry up. Don’t trip and break your foolish neck or I’ll have to replace you with another of your degenerate kind.”

  “No, my lord.”

  Kei left with the bucket of cold water, his heart sinking. He had been right—this man’s hatred was likely to crush him, crush them all. How could he hope to survive months with someone like this? “Hurry up, you pampered bastards,” he muttered to the absent Rulers of Darshek. “Or there’ll be no one here to rescue.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  He slept like the dead, and for once, dreamlessly. When he woke, he found the general already at his desk. The slight noise Kei made moving about drew his attention to him. “Go and get my breakfast,” he was ordered. The general didn’t even glance at Kei as he spoke.

  Good morning to you too, Sei General Arman, Kei thought as he moved on stiff legs to the kitchens. He had to ask for the man’s food in broken Prijian, which the cook pretended for quite a long time she couldn’t understand, even though there were precious few reasons why he would be standing there asking for anything, and then took the tray back to the general’s room. It was accepted without a word of thanks, the food on it eaten quickly, and then Kei was ordered to take it away.

  “My lord, what shall I do today?”

  “Whatever you’re told. I won’t return until after supper. Don’t cause trouble for my wife’s staff or you shall suffer for it.”

  “No, my lord.”

  Wonderful—a whole day at the mercy of Mykis. He took the tray back, wondering how he should ask for his own food. No one seemed willing to help him, even though they were perfectly able to tell him how to clean the dishes and oh, yes, do the others while you’re there, boy.

  He worked under the direction of the cook for at least two hours. By then he was very hungry indeed, so he dared to ask her, “Food, for me?”

  She grinned and indicated he had to wait until lunch—another four hours. He couldn’t argue with her—didn’t have the words, and even if he did, she wouldn’t listen anyway.

  He was put to scrubbing floors, and hauling buckets of water in and out of the taproom, taking out scraps, cleaning pots and the enormous spit oven. All the while, he had to try and ignore the hunger pangs until he was finally given some bread and cheese and barely enough time to eat. He had only just gulped the last bite down when Mykis came and looked at him in disgust. “Gods, you’re filthy. I told you, we run a clean house here.”

  “My lord—”

  He yelped as Mykis’s cane struck his arm. “Do not speak until you are spoken to!” Kei shook his head and rubbed his arm. Mykis pulled him up by his collar. “Go and wash immediately. I will not allow slovenliness in this household.”

  His other clothes were almost certainly still wet, but he could only nod and say, “Yes, sir.” Anything else would earn him a beating, and a rebellion might end up with him being killed. He couldn’t let himself that happen if only because it would mean death for the others from Ai-Albon. He could only grit his teeth, and do what he had to do to get through this.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Arman sent a polite message of thanks to Kita and damned her to the pits of all six hells in his heart for her interference. His mood was not improved when he called on Blikus and found his next employment was to take charge of the troops on Kuprij—more meddling from Her Serenity. “She thinks you should spend more time with your wife at this time,” Blikus told him dryly, his expression telling Arman what he thought of such sentimentality. Arman could hardly tell him how little joy the prospect gave him either.

  He should have expected it though. With Ritus in southern Darshian and Jozo in the north, there was a gap in the command structure. Arman was the natural person to fill it, but he intensely disliked the reasoning for the decision. He never wanted his personal life discussed, and he didn’t want his career directed by broody women. He also resented that Kita thought it appropriate to interfere so directly in his domestic arrangements. He desperately needed a friendly ear to bend on the topic and so he went in search of the only one now left to him. Of course, he couldn’t even walk there on his own any more—the dignity of his new position required a permanent escort of soldiers, where once he only had them at his home. He wouldn’t even be allowed to walk off his bad tempers in privacy any more.

  Karus was the first person genuinely relieved to see him back safely. “Arman, come in, come in, welcome home. Such a successful campaign you’ve had. This will do you a lot of good in the long run.”

  Arman held his arm and made Karus stop. “Pei...Loke died.”

  Karus peered into his eyes, and nodded slowly as if he had confirmed something. “My dear boy. I’m so sorry.” He patted Arman’s hand, his expression solemn. “Though it may not comfort you yet, the gods have him in their care, I’m sure.”

  Arman had ceased to be sure of any such thing, but he bowed his head respectfully. “And how are you, Karus-pei?”

  “Well, very well. Come and talk to me in the garden. I’ll have cool drinks brought to us.”

  Arman noted Karus moved more slowly than he had before Arman left on the campaign, and a sudden fear seized him that he would lose the only friend left to him. If Karus died, he would truly be alone. The idea made him feel physically ill, but he clenched his fists and said nothing of his fears. They would only upset Karus if he gave expression to them.

  Instead he admired the last of the autumn flowers and the tree colours in the shade of a tido palm as Karus asked him about the campaign and how Loke had died. Unfortunate it was just as Arman was describing the attack in Darbin that their refreshments were brought. He glared at the woman who brought the drinks. “I wasn’t aware,” he said with bare politeness, “you were to have a hostage billeted with you.”

  “Oh, yes, when they asked who was willing, I offered immediately. The state is paying for all the costs, and I wanted to practice my Darshianese. Arman, this is Jena.”

  The woman, whom he vaguely remembered seeing on the journey south, bowed to him. “My lord,” she said politely.

  “Pardon me, Pei,” Arman said in Prijian, “but I am not exactly enamoured of the race right now.”

  “Because of Loke? I suppose you might hold a grudge there.” Karus tapped the tray and told the woman in Darshianese to leave it and go. When they were alone again, he leaned forward. “Arman, what you described doesn’t sound like any more than a youth carried away with patriotism. I doubt it means the race is evil to a man.”

  “You didn’t see it, Pei,” Arman said coldly. “They have no honour, and no sense of familial love or loyalty at all.”

  “You surprise me with this observation. But since it upsets you, let’s speak of other things.”

  Karus turned the talk to the latest reports from Andon, and let Arman recover his tempe
r. Lunch and the afternoon passed more peacefully, and fortunately, the Darshianese woman didn’t appear again. Karus was a balm on his soul, and over dinner, he could speak a little more openly of Loke’s loss and his feelings concerning it.

  “Was it wrong, Pei? He wanted to go, but I could have forbidden it. I should have forbidden it.”

  He stared at his wine glass, seeing Loke’s pain-glazed eyes in the dark liquid. Karus, when he spoke, was kind. “If you were to ask Loke, even knowing what happened, I know he would still have gone. You were that boy’s world. His sorrow would be that you’re alone now, but never that he died in your arms. A sweeter death, even with the pain, he would not have wished for.”

  “It is irrational for me to grieve thus, I know.”

  Karus tapped his hand gently. “No. Never say that. Your grief is deep because your loss is great. Loke was a gift from the gods, who have taken him back to their bosom. Come, I haven’t paid my respects. Come with me, my friend, while I do so.”

  Standing in front of the garden shrine, with Karus at his side praying piously, the tears Arman had held in check ever since Loke’s body had been cremated, coursed freely down his cheeks. The darkness hid them so he doubted Karus knew he wept. The gods would know, but he wondered if they cared at all. He wished he knew Loke was truly safe with them, and longed for the childhood surety of his faith. To question it was to lose the foundation of his entire life. He was adrift in his sorrow, and only time would tell if he would drown or swim.

  Chapter : Utuk 4

  Kei lost track of the days. He wasn’t sure if he’d been in the house of Sei Arman for two weeks, or longer. Counting time by meals was pointless—he never knew if he would eat or not. Most often not. He washed more often than he ate, in fact, changing his clothes sometimes three times a day in a futile attempt to stay as clean as Mykis insisted. He had been given two sets of Prijian clothing—odd with all the ties instead of laces but comfortable enough to wear—but the effort of keeping them washed and himself clean, while carrying out the many tasks requiring his attention and his alone, was a losing battle. Every night he went to sleep with fresh welts on his back or his arms from new beatings, and the disgusted complaints of Mykis in his ears.