His voice was gravel-deep and full of the unconscious authority you?d expect in one who wasn?t often contradicted in this remote place.
Then, a little awkwardly, leaning forward with his hands on the pommel of his saddle: ?Hello, Ingolf. Good to see you again.? ?You too, Ed,? Ingolf replied.
There was a moment?s silence, and then he added:?How?s by you? Looks like the harvest was good.? ?Tolerable, around here. Bit of wilt in da alfalfa, lost some sheep to the wolves und a horse with a catamount, but a good year otherwise, so far, touch wood.?
Edward Vogeler, Rudi thought, as the man put a finger to the wood battens on the hilt of his shete.
He?d have guessed so even if they?d met on a city street. The older man might have been his comrade?s image, if you added on fifteen years, gray streaks in the beard and forty pounds; he still looked bear-strong despite the beginnings of a pot that strained against the silver buttons of his bloodred mackinaw jacket and the way his hair had receded from a high forehead lined with worry marks. The only obvious difference was a straighter nose lacking the scar and kink Ingolf?s had, and eyes that were nearer leaf green than dark blue. ?Ah…? Ingolf hesitated again; he was a proud man.?Sorry I was such a cast-iron prick when I left, Ed.?
He seemed surprised when his brother shrugged slightly and replied: ?When you stomped out, you mean? Runs in the family. All us Vogelers are a bunch of damn stubborn squareheads, yah??
His voice had the same flat-voweled rasp that Ingolf?s did, but stronger, not worn down by exposure to other lands. And with a little more of the singsong undertone, plus a tendency to use d instead of th at the beginning of words. He swung down from his horse with a grunt and all his party followed; one of the younger men stepped forward to hold the leader?s reins. ?You?d be Rudi Mackenzie?? Ingolf?s elder brother said, absently fingering a five-pointed star pinned to his coat.?I?m Edward Vogeler, Sheriff of Readstown and head of the local National Guard.?
The Sheriff offered his hand and gave one brief flick of the eyes at the other?s strange clothing. The second glance was one Rudi recognized as well, taking in his height and length of limb and breadth of shoulder, the muscle and thickness of wrist on his arm where the jacket and linsey-woolsey shirt fell back, the scars on hands and face and the use-worn binding on the hilt of his sword, and the fact that it hung from his right hip. A third glance went to Epona where she stood hipshot with her head over Rudi?s right shoulder, nipping at his hair now and then; it had a skilled stockbreeder?s grave respect for her lines. ?Rudi Mackenzie of the Clan Mackenzie indeed, Sheriff Vogeler,? Rudi said, and inclined his head politely.
He took the strong hard hand, squeezing just enough for mutual respect without foolish games. The calluses reminded him of something Ingolf had said, that Sheriffs hereabouts weren?t too proud to put their hand to a plow now and then. ?My sept totem is Raven,? Rudi went on.?Tanist by acclamation of the Clan I am, leader of this troop of traveling mountebanks by the inscrutable whim of the Powers, and glad to meet the kinsman of Ingolf. He?s been a tried friend and right-hand man to me through battle, storm and wilderness, with a quick sword and wise counsel, from the western mountains to your steading. And soon he?ll be my brother-in-law.?
The Sheriff of Readstown checked again, his eyes going wide for an instant at his brother?s grin and nod and Mary?s little wave, then handed Rudi back the letters of introduction he?d sent ahead with his half sisters. They now included one from the new Regency Council of Iowa, urgently requesting all possible help for our good friend and ally Rudi Mackenzie.
The Free Republic of Richland was free, if he understood the local politics, but they wouldn?t want to antagonize mighty Iowa. Richland?s independence suited Des Moines because they would rather not annex its problems; its borders with dangerous bandit-haunted wilderness, and what Iowa?s ruling powers thought of as the bad example of its looser system of ranks. There was one from the Cardinal-Archbishop too; Ingolf had told him his elder brother was Catholic, and notably pious, and the Sheriff bowed his head as Father Ignatius signed the air in blessing.
So that message from the bishop is just as well. Richland as a whole doesn?t care to anger Iowa, but the Bossman of Richland hasn?t the power over his nobles… his Sheriffs and their Farmers… that the Heasleroads have. Or had. And so the Sheriff of Readstown won?t necessarily do his Bossman?s will. Family feuds can be the worst of all. Nor can I absolutely rely on Ingolf?s judgment this time-his brother?s feelings might well have festered like an ulcer since he left. ?Well, youse welcome here,? the Richlander squire said, hooking his thumbs in his sword belt.?Stay a day, stay a month, stay as long as you damn well please,? he went on, in a phrase that was common throughout these lands.
His brows went up as he looked along the length of the wagon train and took in the Southsiders. ?All of you. I?ll have to put your men up in the barn lofts, mostly…?
Then he saw the Southsider women and children.?Uff da! Your men and, uh, the rest,? he added.?I?ll spread?em around a little to my out-farms, if you?re here for more than a day or two.? ?That?s most kind of you, sir,? Rudi said.
And I hope none of the ones playing host to my Southsiders are of an excessive delicacy in matters of feeding and washing.
Aloud:?We can pay our way, Sheriff. Sure and we?ll also be glad to help with anything that needs doing in the way of work. Or fighting, of course.?
Suddenly Edward Vogeler smiled; it looked genuine, if also something he didn?t do very often. ?Hell, Mr. Mackenzie, my brother and I parted on bad terms-he?s probably told you about it, since he?s engaged to your sister.? ?Half sister,? Mary noted pedantically, sotto voce. ?Ah, and to be sure, that was long ago,? Rudi replied diplomatically.?And myself a stranger here.?
With better sense than to intrude on a quarrel between close kin, he did not need to add. ?We were both assholes about it, you betcha,? Edward Vogeler said bluntly.?But I had less excuse, not being nineteen. A man?s supposed to think with his dick and his fists at that age. I was already past thirty with a wife and kids.? ?Yah, yah, something to that,? Ingolf said, after an instant?s pause.?Both ways.? ?So youse?re all my guests while you?re here,? the Sheriff went on.?You?re my brother?s friends… and from what you say, my in-laws, soon enough.? ?I?ll accept the hospitality with gratitude,? Rudi said.?Though I will pay for what we need beyond a normal brief guesting, and what we need to take with us, and for gear and beasts.? ?I won?t say no to that,? Edward Vogeler said, with a firm nod. ?Yah hey, got my Farmers und Refugees to think of. We?ll dicker on that stuff. We can always buy more supplies in from upstream and down, mostly we swap around here so cash money?s always welcome. Gold, that is.?
Rudi nodded and moved-almost imperceptibly-back, removing himself from the older man?s sphere of attention. It was almost like the hunter?s trick of withdrawing into yourself to go unnoticed.
I can tell who he?s itching to talk with, and dreading it the same , he thought. Though he?s a man who takes his responsibilities seriously, I think, and would deal with me alone first if it seemed needful; also careful of his dignity, but he?s not as pompous about it as I expected, from the little Ingolf?s said. Perhaps he?s mellowed, perhaps he?s on his best behavior now… or perhaps an angry young man of nineteen was less of a judge than the Ingolf I?ve known.
The Vogeler brothers shook hands in turn, looking into each other?s faces. Then the older caught the younger in a quick strong embrace; it was short and stiff on both sides. Edward looked away slightly as he stepped back and cleared his throat before he went on: ?Mom?s dead,? he said bluntly.?Two years ago almost to the day; it was pretty quick, Doc Pham never did really know what. But she had time to tell me to make it up with you if you ever came back.? ?Then we?ve got no choice,? Ingolf said.
A moment?s smile.?Yah. Made me promise and threatened to haunt me if I didn?t, you know how Mom was.? ?Was.? Pain flickered across Ingolf?s face.?Damn,? he said softly.?I wanted to introduce her to Mary. She?d have been glad to see me married and settled. Damn and hell.?
Mary Havel stepped to her l
over?s side and took his arm. Ingolf drew a deep breath and went on: ?Kathy? Alice?? he said, naming his sisters. ?Fine. Both hitched, and their kids-oh, hell, we?ll catch up once you?re settled in. Aunt Cindy and Wanda and the girls have been cooking up a storm since we got the news and the kitchen?s like… well, I?ve been staying clear of it after I delivered the meat.?
Introductions and busyness took over; it was more than a few minutes before they were under way again through more rolling fields of grain and pasture, truck and orchard, though these were empty of houses. Rudi waited until he had a chance to speak sotto voce himself. ?Well, and you?re looking like a man who?s been gut-punched, my friend,? he said.
Ingolf shook his head.?We spent six months fighting like cats and dogs before I left,? he said.? Just short of fists, and that only because we were afraid we?d kill each other if we started. I?d forgotten we got on well enough, sometimes, for years before then. And family is family. And…? ?And your brother knows this is just a visit, not a homecoming for good and all.? ?Yah, yah. There is that. And hell, he?s right: we were both complete dicks about it after Dad died. I couldn?t stand the way he tried to step into Dad?s shoes with me… and he went all Godalmighty about it too… but damn and hell, he was the Sheriff and he had to show everyone he was bossman here. I guess he was too scared not to be stiff, and he?s not the most flexible man in the world anyway.?
A deep breath.?Still, I?m glad I didn?t show up alone and broke, and glad it?s just a visit, too. Maybe we get along better when we don?t have to get along, you know what I mean? It?ll be… interesting to see what else has changed.? ?And maybe seeing it?s a different place will make it easier for you to leave… really leave,? Mary said from his other side.?To let it go when you ride away.?
Ingolf looked at her and grinned, his worn hard wanderer?s face handsome for an instant.?Another reason I love you: you?re smart.?
Mary sighed with a touch of theater to it.?I?ll just have to settle for marrying you strictly for your looks, I?m afraid, bar melindo,? she said, and they both laughed.
They turned a corner as the road bent elbow-fashion around a clump of woods and could see the…
Not quite a town, Rudi thought, looking at the cluster of buildings half a mile away. Not quite a castle. Not quite a farmstead. Something of all three. ?Ed?s been busy,? Ingolf said, after a long moment, standing in the stirrups and shading his eyes with a hand.?About a quarter of that?s new. And a lot more of the old ruins were still standing when I left. It?s… tidier.?
Readstown proper was about half the size of most Mackenzie duns, perhaps six-score souls in all, including the dozens of children who came tumbling out, wild with excitement over the newcomers. They kept their noise at a distance, though, and the dogs were notably disciplined; there were only a few growls and barks when they?d been called to heel, despite Garbh?s bristling stiff-legged presence. All that was a welcome change from some places they?d stopped on their trek.
There was no curtain wall or palisade around the settlement, not as such, but all the dwellings and workshops at its core had stout fieldstone reinforcement for their first stories, steel shutters with firing slits ready to swing over all the windows, and thick-built covered walkways with loop-holes in their walls linking them together into a series of gated courtyards that would be a hard nut to crack.
For anyone without, say, two hundred men and a siege train, Rudi thought. Give me that many, with mantlets and three or four well-served twenty-four-pounders from Corvallis Ordnance Corporation or the Portland Armory, and I could have it in an afternoon. But they haven?t seen war on that scale here. Yet.
The barns and pens were at some distance, leaving a clear field of fire all around and no shelter for attackers. It was a bit hard to tell what was left over from the old world and what was post-Change; certainly everything had been heavily modified. And more torn down for materials or to get it out of the way, leaving only overgrown foundations and roadways amid small turnout pastures, gardens that included flowers as well as vegetables where lawns had been, and clumps of trees where houses had stood.
At the blank-walled outer face of the largest house of the complex was something he was sure was new, once he realized it wasn?t a silo. It had that shape, save at the top where crenellations barred teeth at heaven; a squat four-story tower of stone and concrete and girder, with the snout of a catapult showing on a round turntable at one upper edge. A pole bore a plain brown flag marked with a bright orange wedge.
The tower?s a good bit younger than Ingolf, or even me, Rudi thought, and murmured a question. ?Yah, Dad built it,? Ingolf said.?Used a silo as the shell and built up around it. Finished it the year he died, the year I left. The catapult?s dual purpose, you can switch out the throwing trough fast; a thousand yards with bolts, five or six hundred with twelve-pound roundshot or incendiaries. This little four-eyed weedy guy from Richland Center built it. Out of old truck parts mostly, the Bossman sent him?round to get all the Sheriffs? places up to scratch. All the ones who?d pay. I watched him do it, watched pretty close.? ?Hmmm,? Rudi said.?Perhaps I was a little hasty in deciding how easily I?d take the place.?
Ingolf nodded without taking umbrage; it was the natural thing for someone in their line of work to think about, seeing a defended steading for the first time. ?That gives me an idea,? Rudi mused.?Do you think you could put one together??
Ingolf blinked at him.?If I had the parts, and a smith and a machinist, yah. Why?? ?A thought. Later, later.?
Not a real fortress overall, he thought silently. But ample for the need.
There was an earth dam and pond to the east where a stream ran down towards the Kickapoo. Two beam-and-plank mills on fieldstone foundations stood there, with big overshot wheels turning merrily. One building gave off the low throbbing notes of millstones grinding flour, and the other a long rrrrrrrrrrrr as a ripsaw went through hard wood; the white water stopped while he glanced that way and the sound died, as someone within closed off the flue gates for the day. Two small churches reared white steeples halfway between there and the hamlet, one Catholic and one Lutheran. A two-story brick building that was probably a schoolhouse for the district stood near them, with an archery range and baseball diamond and football field beside it. Other structures in the distance held the tannery and soap-boiling sheds and similar necessary but smelly trades.
Willing hands bore their animals away to be fed and watered-he had the usual bit of bother convincing Epona that these were friends-and a crowd ushered them through the courtyards. They passed storehouses and weaving sheds, a smithy with its pile of scrap and baskets of charcoal, a combined carpenter?s shop and cooperage in a fragrance of sawdust and sap and varnish and glue, a yeasty-smelling brewery and distillery and cider press, the laundry and the clinic, and all the other dependencies of a great man?s household. He could feel Edain turning like a hound at a scent as they went by a well-equipped bowyer?s workstead, with rows of recurves hanging to dry inside and billets of ashwood ready to be split and smoothed for arrow shafts.
It all seemed well laid out and solidly built, and…
Clean, he thought, sniffing. They?re careful of filth here.
The judgment he made was by a standard no older than he was himself, and a rural one which thought a whiff of horse manure and barn straw perfectly normal, as long as it wasn?t allowed too near the supply of drinking water. The verandah of the main house was close enough to the bakery and kitchens for the smell to make his nose twitch with something as familiar as stables and far more welcome; roasting meat and fresh warm loaves, pies baking and dishes more complex making an intriguing medley.
Mathilda gave a little sigh of pleasure at the aroma. ?I don?t know whether real food is a relief from trail rations, or just makes it harder to go back,? she said.?I can hardly remember what it was like when campfire cuisine was the exception.? ?I?m a good camp cook!? Rudi said, smiling at her.?And Father Ignatius is better.? ?The operative word is camp,? Odard observed dryly.?As in, scorched, raw, stale, monotonous, or all of the
above.? ?You?re a lousy camp cook yourself, Odard,? Mathilda observed. ?I never wanted to learn,? he replied.?Why should I? I?m a baron , for God?s sake. It?s not my job.? ?You?re a baron with no servants, just now, or haven?t you noticed in all the time we?ve been on the trail?? Mathilda answered, taking the sting out of it with a smile.?And I?m a Princess without a retinue. Except for you, of course.? ?There?s nothing better than fresh trout done over a campfire on green sticks,? Edain observed, smacking his lips.?Or salmon baked in clay in the embers, with a few?taters beside them. Good enough for a Beltane feast, that is.? ?Trout. Right. And how often have we had that?? Odard said dryly. Edain looked up, counting on his fingers with a thumb.?Four… no, I lie, five times.? ?In the whole trip. And the twins could burn water; their idea of cooking is frying hardtack in the bacon grease, or grilling venison,? Odard said.?Virginia is no better when it?s her turn-stew, flatbread, fried steak, flatbread, stew, fried steak, flatbread. You say you?re tired of steak and stew and flatbread and she looks at you as if she was saying: you?re tired of food? ?Hey, I can fry chicken too!? Virginia said, glaring at him.?And I can make flapjacks and do beans, or eggs if we could get?em. Biscuits, if I had an oven. Fred thinks puttin? salt on the roast is fancy cooking; I?m lookin? after the kitchen when we?re hitched.? ?We could leave it all to the Southsider women now,? Ritva pointed out sweetly.?They?d be glad to burn the water for us.?
Everyone shuddered; Rudi wasn?t a fastidious man, but he?d led the effort to get them to stop spitting in the stewpot for luck before calling everyone to eat. ?Mathilda?s not bad,? he observed.?She set herself to learn, and she did. Dab hand with a pot roast, in fact.?
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