by A J Callen
Niclas bowed and—not wishing to discuss further a subject that so easily incensed a still grieving widow—took his leave. “I shall return before the Governor’s feast this evening. Good day, my lady.”
Niclas stood on the main floor terrace eating soft cheese and a chunk of fresh, warm bread. The unruffled Rhobinian Sea nudged calm, breaking waves against the shore while Lady Tarsilla Sandruni of Omarosa’s shipping vessels bobbed high and low on the placid surf, their lanterns blinking sleepily in the early morning fog.
When this haze lifts, it will be another good day for sailing.
Niclas sipped freshly-squeezed pomegranate juice from a silver cup. He was already finding the rising sun decidedly uncomfortable, yet seeking shade under the lofty cypress and palms offered little relief. He thought better of his invigorating walk, for the air was already wet with sulfurous heat seeming to rise up from the earth’s forge to embrace its kindred fires that streamed down from the anvil of the sun.
Too much sun boils a man’s reason like an overcooked potato and I cannot afford to be soft of mind or body, Niclas thought.
Though Tarsilla was a most exquisite, gracious, and seductive woman beyond compare, Niclas sensed he might soon be overstaying his welcome in her bed, though her daily amorous demands seemed to bely his suspicion.
What was it, then? Can I even find a word to describe it?
He could not, and it was precisely because of this growing unease that he longed to wake in his own bed, surrounded by the familiar walls and cedar hedge pathways of his ancestral manor, Delcarden; the tranquil Kardi island air of late exhaled a stale, lifeless quality with a hint of something sickly-sweet coming in on the humid wind.
Had it not been for the occasional piloting of Tarsilla’s single mast vessel around the island, Niclas would have been hard pressed to find any other enjoyable activity—with the exception of her Ladyship’s most stimulating company, naturally—with which to engage himself outside of his official Council duties. Reflecting at such moments, he often regretted not departing weeks ago when the last ship had sailed for home.
At sea, Niclas could forget the problems waiting for him the moment he docked at the pier, for he did not count himself among the visiting nobles and foreigners who flocked to Kardi’s capitol of Sucaria to enjoy the tropical heat and rejuvenating springs.
Everywhere, the dense vegetation and trees rose tall like vast canopies, trapping the humid, vaporous air and making it, at times, difficult to breathe. Was it so strange, then, that some might be driven to madness or murder… or simply disappear in such an unhealthy atmosphere, thick with fawning and insidious flattery?
“Your carriage is waiting, Lord.”
Hadar, her Ladyship’s eldest servant, bowed, her wizened hands folded in front of her white tunic. “Allow me to show you to the door.”
“Thank you, Hadar, but I’ll wager you’ve more important things to do. I know my way.”
“As you wish, Lord.”
Walking down the long marble hall past statues, gilded framed portraits, and mounted swords toward the two cleanly-dressed slaves at the front door, Niclas could not help but reminisce about the opulence of his own family estate as it had been during his childhood. It was gone now, as was his family, never to return.
* * *
Governor Viator Zonaras, his plump cheeks already a shade too red, finished his second glass and motioned to the serving boy to refill it afresh. “Are you certain, Lord Delcarden? I do find it never too early in the day to enjoy a fine Kardian brandy.”
Niclas raised his hand from the terrace table overlooking the sea. “No, thank you. I will enjoy both your hospitality and your brandy at your fine banquet this evening.”
“Of course, of course, and my wife will be overjoyed, but if you should change your mind…” The Governor pulled another leg from the roast peacock. “Though I have said it before, it bears repeating. Whatever Kardi has to offer is yours to enjoy.
“It is the least we can do to show our gratitude to an esteemed member of the King's Council, and the ruling Triumvirate no less, for sacrificing so much of his valuable time. Though, in hindsight, our sense of urgency was falsely conjured.”
He offered an obsequious bow, displaying the beaded sweat on his thinly-matted pate. “And for that, I hope you will accept my deepest, humblest apology. I did not want to send that petition to Avidene but you know how vexing superstitious freemen and peasants can be, and certain nobles who should know better, for that matter.”
“None can fault your good name for upholding the duties of high office. My final report to the Council will include mention of your exemplary and loyal assistance during my enquiry. Your personal attaché, Sir Nechtan Razmig, has been most helpful.”
“You are most kind, my lord, and I will be certain to convey your high praise to Sir Razmig once he returns from his special errands in the eastern plantations. Know that we live only to serve the Council and our future King; although we have the utmost respect for the Holy Seer, do you not find it strange that her Holiness should invoke such an arcane ritual as the Rites of Succession after all these centuries?”
Niclas gazed toward the north where distant Avidene lay many leagues across the sea. “I cannot deny it is a perplexing turn of events. The Council was preparing to vote—as is our right—when I returned, yet we must bow in reverence to her wisdom.”
“Certainly, my lord, but am I to understand that slaves are also chosen along with the offspring of nobles and freemen?”
“Apparently so. I am looking forward to reading Lord Rabek’s first report from Farrhaven when I return.”
The Governor coughed and wiped his mouth. “Astonishing. Simply astonishing. Did you ever think we would live to see the day when a slave was called upon to choose the next King of Miradora?”
“And I have no doubt there are many more astonishing things we shall see, should we live long enough. There is a sacred reason for the Holy Seer’s choice after these many centuries. Perhaps she sees something approaching on the horizon that we do not espy?”
“If you say so, my lord. Many a storm lies in wait to trap the unwary fool who does not first augur his destiny in the heavens before starting his journey. Let us pray, then, it is concluded quickly and our new King duly and safely crowned.”
The Governor sipped his brandy. “So, you will be leaving us shortly to deliver your report to the Council? I understand Captain Grenfall will be returning to Avidene in less than a fortnight.”
Fresh worries and doubts crowded into Niclas’s already apprehensive thoughts; he would have to return to Avidene before the last frost of autumn, and although he had been anxious to depart weeks prior, he was not eager to do so now.
He gazed out across the sea. The thought of returning to his manor estate, near empty save for loyal Trumak and a few remaining freed servants, shackled his heart with a weight of chain that was often near impossible to carry. Strong drink could lift the burden but only for a few, short, squandered hours.
And then there’d be Juliana Caerhope to face, herself demanding and deserving of a proper account of Niclas’s reckless, inconsiderate actions.
She is entitled to more than the letter Trumak delivered, though I am certain she would prefer to throw both the letter and me into the fire.
“Lord Delcarden?” The Governor, his cheeks stuffed and puffed like a grotesque chipmunk, swallowed a mouthful of dry chewed pheasant. “I say, are you planning a return voyage?”
“Forgive me. I am always taken by this most spectacular view of the sea.” Niclas turned back to his anxious host. “I must admit, Governor, that I am enjoying the pleasurable sailing weather, though too much sun does not suit my inclination. I will be giving it considerable thought in the coming days and notify you when I have made my decision.”
“Of course, of course, and before the sad day of your departure, might I assume we are both agreed as to the general, shall we say, thrust of your report to the Council?”
&nb
sp; “To the extent that I may discuss it with you, I have found nothing out of the ordinary that cannot be explained by the reasons I have thus written.”
Governor Zonaras burped and wiped his greasy lips on a folded napkin. “Oh, I’m so relieved to hear that. When I first read the petition, I knew there was not a single name on that parchment that could not be explained as one poor soul or another fleeing either bad debts, bad blood, or bad company, any of which may have proved their calamitous undoing. Is that not true, your Lordship?”
“Are you not forgetting the bad water too, Lord Governor?”
The Governor coughed hard as though a small pheasant bone might have found lodging in his overgorged throat. He grabbed a cup of water and gulped it down.
“No, no, absolutely not, but that is a completely different matter altogether and not a part of the petition. Baerwald Flax was a drunken lout who knew the old, unused wells had turned foul months ago. The notice was proclaimed by the town crier for the benefit of every illiterate freeman and posted in the square for all to see—as required by the law, I might add.”
“Never fear, Lord Governor; that, too, shall be noted in my report.”
“And will you also make a mention, my lord, since it bears repeating, that Kardi, as the largest island in the Rhobinian Sea, has many different provinces and diverse peoples, yet even the poorest among us can draw clean water from our many wells… so, as to the clay-brained idiocy of fools, I am absolved of all responsibility.”
“Calm yourself, Lord Governor. Poor irrigation canals and overflowing manure run-off ditches are not the Council’s concern unless it should affect a significant proportion of our citizens. So, that was an unfortunate incident and nothing more.”
The Governor’s wide, puffy smile reached almost from ear to ear. “Exactly, and to think this would have been a preventable misfortune had those lazy sod tillers nailed the skull and crossbones within the prescribed period, vexes me to no end.” He sipped at his brandy.
“So, you will be certain to include in your report that I ordered the freemen tiller responsible to be heavily fined and publicly flogged before your arrival, exactly as our dearest friend, Lady Tarsilla Sandruni of Omarosa, has attested.”
A small smirk rose by the corner of the Governor’s flabby mouth. “So, as I was saying, my lord, as to the thrust of your intentions on our fair isle, would you not agree to the reasons I have given?”
Niclas would have liked nothing more than to slap that lecherous leer right off the Governor’s visage with the back of his hand, but that would, undoubtedly, beget another petition of complaint. The faster he was finished with Count Borodin, the better.
Consider it a courtesy of rank that I do not bloody your fat lip, rendering it as red as the cherries in your bowl.
Niclas plucked up a cherry by its stem.
“It would appear so, considering the sworn testimony attesting to each person’s character. Missing thieves, prostitutes, and slaves do not engender much concern within the King's Council. Our citizens depend upon us to deal with more important matters that require our attention and resources until our sovereign is chosen.”
“Precisely, and that is exactly what I told Count Borodin, but would that bloody foreigner listen to reason?”
The Governor tossed the pheasant bone onto the tabletop and snapped his oily fingers for more brandy. “And here you are, my lord, honoring a peace treaty between our great and glorious Kingdom of Miradora and that heathen Salak pigsty, but where is the Count to testify on behalf of his own petition? Where is he, my lord, I ask you?”
“I have received message that he is to return to Kardi from Salak by the next waning of the moon.”
The Governor sipped his third brandy.
“Well, it rather makes you wonder, does it not? Why would the petition’s author not be present when he was in such earnest for you, and you alone, to arrive in the first place? He expressly asked for the presence of your noble personage, yet skulks away like a scoundrel in the night before you even arrive.”
Niclas leaned closer. “What are you insinuating?”
The Governor ran his stubby fingers down his gold-embroidered sleeves as though trying to straighten the fabric. “Nothing at this point, except to say that we must be on guard against those foreign provocateurs seeking to spread unrest among our content and obedient serving class, and so looking to destroy our cherished institutions and way of life.
“Though I have no say in the matter, I am not happy to see the Varza delegation here either. Those greedy bloodsuckers have been stirring up all kinds of mischief in the borderlands, have they not, my lord?”
“That is not our present concern, Governor.” Niclas exhaled and turned the ruby insignia ring on his finger. “Count Borodin will give me a clear account of the reasons for his absence, yet as to requesting my presence, there is but one answer. Lord Algar Caerhope of Maydestone is too old for such a long voyage and Lord Ronas Tiberion of Coranthium is not responsible for honoring the treaties between our kingdom and others.”
“Yes, yes, our enviable rule of law and crown. Leave the Holy Seer and her monks to fend for our mortal souls, I say, while we battle to protect everything else of a more, shall we say, substantial nature.” The Governor raised his glass. “To the true protectors of the realm, we who serve the Kingdom selflessly and ask nothing more except that we may still prove worthy and find favor in the new King’s eyes.”
“Well said, Lord Governor. Now, if you will excuse me.” Niclas rose from the table, weary of this obsequious noble and his trite banter. Any more bootlicking from this glutinous toad and I will have to buy a new pair of boots.
“I thank you, once more, Lord Governor, for your confidence and generous hospitality. I am certain you have more pressing matters to attend in preparation for the Feast of Saint Kaja.”
“How most understanding of you, my lord. We still enjoy the old customs here and I am saddened they have fallen out of favor in most parts of the Kingdom.”
“I have not attended a feast since I was a child.”
“Then you are certainly in for a most pleasant surprise tonight. All the last-minute checking of food, drink, and entertainment to ensure an enjoyable evening for all, and I guarantee there shall be none of that tedious sermonizing that puts everyone to sleep. Bishop Firmin Jubert likes to enjoy himself as much as the next man; none of that high priest hooded silence and renunciation for that one. Oh no, quite the opposite, I can assure you.”
“Indeed, the Bishop seems a most a gregarious and amiable man. I could not imagine him being secluded in a monastery or having to abide by the tedious formalities of the Avidene Court.”
“Oh, quite right, quite right. Though some do speak ill of the man, I have found him to be a most agreeable sort, well suited to life on our idyllic little paradise. We prefer our festivities to be less ceremonial than you might be accustomed to in Avidene. The Feast of Saint Kaja is one of the few times when nobles and freemen eat, dance, and indulge as they will—and often together, I might add.”
Governor Zonaras rose awkwardly, his bulging stomach catching on the table edge, rattling the silver plates and cutlery and almost overturning his brandy glass. “Well then, we are looking forward to Lady Omarosa and your Lordship gracing our humble celebration this evening.” He bowed. “Please allow Uray to show you to the door.”
Niclas quickly followed the dark-skinned servant, the boy’s head remaining lowered, and his downcast eyes never looking up. Despite all the Governor’s fawning, the meeting had been satisfactory yet he could not understand why he still felt so ill at ease.
The strange sensation of veiled misgivings seemingly lying beneath the man’s placating gestures bewildered Niclas, as did those of the other nobles he’d met upon his first arrival at Kardi after so many years.
Perhaps I had better send word to Captain Grenfall at the earliest opportunity, Niclas thought.
* * *
Niclas instructed the driver to return to
Lady Omarosa’s manor.
At some length, the carriage passed by a familiar swathe of sand dunes curling between sunny, grassy banks. Niclas could not help but smile, for it was there he had first savored Tarsilla’s seductive charms when they were formally introduced during that dangerous summer of their impetuous, lustful youth.
It had come to be a searing month of midnight trysts and secret liaisons that might well have ended in marriage and children, but thankfully, both agreed, did not need to.
A young lady bearing the illustrious and powerful Izadian name deserved a noble of comparable wealth and influence; that was certainly never going to be a mere Aronbach of Delcarden, the title and its legacy—even in Niclas’s youth—already long associated with dreadful misfortune and tragedy.
His pleasant reverie now broken, Niclas’s troubled thoughts returned to the Council business at hand and to which details he should include in his final report.
All the Kardi nobles had been most accommodating of his requests, swiftly providing all assistance asked without hesitation or complaint.
Yet, aside from the petition, Niclas still could not stop thinking of the anguished Sucaria peasant women, their eyes still red with mourning.
As long as they would live, these poor, simple peasants would never obtain a clear answer as to why their husbands and loved ones—who had lived their entire lives on this island—would have done something so reckless and inexplicable as drinking water from a tainted well. And for that reason alone, how could Niclas possibly dismiss their sworn testimony filled with such inexplicable suffering and loss?
In all good faith, he could not do that, just as he could not brush aside the unsettling suspicion that all was not so enticing and untroubled as it appeared to be, here on the exotic Island of Kardi.
Chapter 3
Tarts and Trotters
