by J. L. Doty
“Aziz,” Charlie said. “It’s always good to see you.”
Delilah and Carristan stepped off the boat behind him, the twins shadowing them both. Delilah had been relentless, pressing him constantly to allow her to see Toellan. He felt somewhat foolish yielding to her wishes, but he liked having her around, and since she and Carristan had agreed to wear visual distortion rigs, they wouldn’t be recognized. Charlie introduced them to Aziz. “My niece Anna, and Lady Carristan. May I present Aziz Anat Cohannin Meth’kah’hat bin Sabatth duu Donawathat?”
Aziz simply gushed with joy. “Please. Please. Call me Aziz.”
He leaned close to Charlie. “They are both quite beautiful.”
Charlie took the opportunity to whisper, “I’d consider it a personal favor if you had your security people keep a close eye on Anna. She’s a bit . . . impetuous, and might try to go on an unsupervised lark.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Aziz hustled them into a string of grav limos lined up at the curb, and during the trip across town he made several calls. “My assistant chief of security will take personal charge of the two ladies. He will meet us at your hotel, and take them on a tour of the city while we concern ourselves with our mundane business matters.”
At the hotel Aziz introduced his assistant chief of security. The man had a name as long as Aziz’s, but insisted Charlie call him Captain Ellas. Charlie explained the agenda to the two ladies, and Delilah said, “That’s a wonderful idea.” She threw her arms around Charlie’s neck and said, “Thank you so much, dear Uncle Charlie.”
She took Ellas’s arm. “This is going to be so much fun,” she said, and marched away with him.
Aziz raised his eyebrows, but had the tact not to say anything.
Charlie and Winston wanted to review Hart & Delorm’s books with Aziz and his factor. Since Charlie owned the company, he’d had it outfit the armaments of the eight hunter-killers without billing him, which should have cut heavily into their profit margins for the year. And yet, Hart & Delorm continued operating at its usual five percent profit margin when it should have plummeted into the red.
When they explained the dilemma to Aziz, he frowned and said, “That is most curious, Your Grace.”
They sweated over the books for several hours, broke for lunch, returned, and went back to work. Every time they came close to isolating something unusual, Aziz came up with a logical explanation. About midafternoon they all decided to take a break. Winston and Charlie were alone in Aziz’s office, and Winston voiced a concern that had been growing in the back of Charlie’s mind. “I fear, Your Grace, that Mr. Aziz is hiding something.”
“Yes, that’s been bothering me too.” Charlie didn’t want to believe it of the Toellani. He liked the man, trusted him, and had taken comfort from his long relationship with Cesare.
Charlie tried to recall Cesare’s words when he’d activated the Overlord key in the blind corridor. The recorded image of Cesare had said, “ . . . And remember me to Aziz and Sague and Ethallan. They’ve been good friends for many years. You can trust them implicitly. And tell them I said, The thirteenth man will rise.”
You can trust them implicitly. He wanted to, but that didn’t seem to be the case with Aziz.
When Aziz returned it was obvious the Toellani businessman felt the strain of their unease.
And remember me to Aziz and Sague and Ethallan.
Charlie stood and approached Aziz, who remained standing. “I want to apologize, Aziz. I’ve been so caught up in all this paperwork that I forgot, but Cesare left a posthumous message for me.” The normally exuberant merchant frowned but said nothing. “He asked me to remember him to you, and wanted me to tell you he said, The thirteenth man will rise.”
Aziz reacted instantly. He gasped and shrieked like a woman, “Oh! Oh! Oh!” He paled noticeably and dropped into a chair, desperately fanning himself.
“What’s wrong?” Charlie asked.
Aziz could say only that one word in a frightened and trembling voice. “Oh! Oh! Oh!”
“Should we call a doctor?” Charlie turned to Winston. “Winston, call a doctor.” Charlie knelt down beside the trembling Toellani.
“No,” Aziz said. “No doctor . . . needed.” He slowly calmed and his breathing returned to normal. “Cesare . . . long ago . . . asked me to allow a . . . psych block. I owed him so much, I consented.”
Slowly, they learned from Aziz that Cesare had had him cook the books for all de Lunis properties under his control. Then the old duke had his physician set a psych block that hid Aziz’s own actions from even himself, a block that would only be released when the de Lunis uttered to him the phrase, The thirteenth man will rise. And further, should anyone question the accounting, it compelled him to come up with plausible explanations. The result of the accounting manipulations was that profits were continuously funneled out of Charlie’s companies into hidden accounts. It made his companies seem less profitable than they were, though Charlie was nothing close to wealthy. But it did support his cover as the poorest of the Ten.
“You are no longer destitute, Your Grace.”
From Toellan they transited to Andyne-Borregga, and Charlie immediately sat down with Winston, Roacka, and Arthur in Arthur’s office. He’d pulled in the eight hunter-killers, leaving two of them docked at Andyne-Borregga, the other six running silent just outside Borreggan nearspace. Two more were under construction now and would be operational soon. He’d also sent courier ships to Sague and Ethallan, asking them to meet him on Andyne-Borregga. He’d asked Ethallan to arrange for the Free Aagerbanni Resistance leaders to meet Edwin Chevard there, and Sague to arrange for representatives of the independent states to meet the de Lunis there. He’d sent Ell to Kinatha to ask them to send a representative. And Telka had also received an invitation from Edwin Chevard to meet him there, though he wasn’t confident that she’d comply. None of them knew that he’d arranged to meet the others. In fact, with few exceptions, none of them knew he was collaborating with the others.
“I tell you, lad,” Roacka said. “You got a fucked-up mess on your hands.”
“I have to agree with him,” Arthur said.
“And I agree with both of you,” Charlie said.
Winston said, “But I do have some good news, got it from Pelletier, who got it from one of Theode’s servants he’s still connected with there. Theode was at Almsburg when Goutain and Nadama had a horrible row. Apparently this war that’s not a war is costing both of them dearly, and they’re quite upset about it. They can’t account for the loss of ships, and since they don’t know about the hunter-killers, they’ve concluded it’s sabotage.”
Charlie closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
Arthur asked, “What about the princess?”
“Ya,” Roacka grumbled. “She’s a complication. What are you going to do with the girl?”
Winston and Charlie had argued about this at some length, and at that moment the older man gave Charlie a pointed look. Winston thought it time for Charlie to openly reveal his right to select Del’s husband, while Charlie wanted to forget the documents existed. Charlie sighed, reached into a pocket, and retrieved a copy of the documents. He handed them to Arthur without comment.
Arthur scanned them quickly, started suddenly, frowned and reread them more carefully. When he finished he said, “Holy shit,” as he handed them to Roacka. It was one of the few times Charlie had ever heard him swear.
While Roacka read them, Arthur asked Charlie, “These are legitimate?”
Charlie looked at Winston for the answer. The older man said, “I drew those documents up myself. They’re properly registered, and ironclad.”
When the meaning of the documents finally hit Roacka he roared with laughter. “Your father was a sneaky son-of-a-bitch.”
Arthur stood and leaned on his desk. “You told me earlier D
elilah wants to know how she can help the resistance. Well, the answer’s rather simple: she can marry you.”
“What?” Charlie said. “Me? It says I get to pick her husband, not be her husband.”
“So pick yourself. You’re the best compromise candidate of all the Ten.”
“Compromise?” Charlie said, and Arthur laughed. “Besides, she’s already betrothed to Dieter. It’s not an easy thing to just dismiss that contract.”
Winston said, “I didn’t write it up, so I’m sure that engagement is not as unbreakable as they think. And more important, with Martino dead, that becomes a dangerous union. It’ll divide the Ten almost immediately, could conceivably result in civil war. Whereas you, the de Lunis, with no military resources and near destitute, would be a weak king, which would please the Ten enough to prevent strife. I have no doubt we’d have their support to throw aside her betrothal to Dieter.”
“But I do have military resources, and we just learned that, while I’m not wealthy, I’m far from destitute.”
Arthur shook his head, shared a look with Winston and Roacka. “Brother, no one but us knows that.”
Winston added, “And there’s no reason we can’t keep up the pretense. At least until after the wedding, and even then we can reveal the extent of your resources over a period of years, allow the Ten to come slowly to an understanding that they have a strong king.”
“King.” Charlie shook his head, couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I . . . I can’t be king.”
“Charlie,” Arthur said, adopting a calm, almost fatherly, tone of voice. “You’re the only man who can thwart Goutain, and the only man who can hold the Realm together without civil war. You’ve already been running the show all these months.
“You’re already our general.
“You must be king.”
As soon as Sague arrived on Andyne-Borregga, Charlie met him. His reaction to the phrase The thirteenth man will rise was far less dramatic than Aziz’s. He merely blinked several times, poured a strong drink, tossed it down like a spacer in a bar, then turned to Charlie and calmly said, “You’re better off financially than we thought, Your Grace. I do apologize for the deceit, though in my own defense, the deception was your father’s.”
When Ethallan arrived and he spoke the phrase to her, she fainted, though she recovered quickly. And when Charlie added it all up, his fortune was considerable, though the cost of bringing his military resources fully online would seriously strain that money immediately.
“Your Grace,” Delilah said, pulling Charlie away from his thoughts. “You wanted to see me?”
They had space aplenty on Andyne-Borregga, so Arthur had arranged a suite of apartments for Delilah more appropriate to her station. She received Charlie in a large, spacious sitting room.
“Yes,” he said. “I wanted to see how you were settling into your new apartments.”
She spun around, indicating the room about her. She wore a simple, floor length dress of a light fabric in pale colors, and her skirts flared out with the motion. “They’re quite grand, though still a prison, are they not?”
He grimaced. “I would apologize, but it can’t be helped. Though, that may soon change.”
“Oh, how so?” She stepped in close to him, uncomfortably close, or perhaps too comfortably close. She had to know how she tempted him, how much he was drawn to her.
The way she teased him, he had a feeling she knew exactly that.
He stepped back, handed her the same copy of the documents he’d shown Arthur and Roacka. “You should examine these.”
Her eyebrows lifted, she took the documents and began reading them as she paced a slow circle around him. He turned to follow her, and as she walked and read, a smile slowly formed on her face. She circled him four times before she finally stopped and faced him. She waved the papers in his face. “Are these legitimate?”
“Very much so,” he said. He proceeded to explain how Cesare had acquired them from her father and willed them to the de Lunis, and how Winston had made sure the registry of the documents was indisputable.
“Your father was a brilliant strategist,” she said. “I doubt he could have anticipated how this would play out. But still, to have prepared such a contingency.” She turned her back to him. “And who’ll you choose for my husband?”
“That’s your choice,” he said. “If you wish, I’ll tear those documents up and they’ll never see the light of day.”
She turned back to him. “How gallant of you, but also foolish. That would leave the choice up to my father, or worse, Nadama. I love my father, but he’s merely a tool at this point, and he and Nadama would lead us to disaster.”
“Then you make the choice,” he said, “and I’ll make it official.”
“Well, let me see,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who are the candidates? There’s Dieter . . .” She raised a finger, indicating a count of one. “Besides being a pig, he’s wholly inappropriate. With Martino dead, Dieter’s too wealthy and powerful to be allowed that close to the throne. The Ten won’t allow it.” She then proceeded to give a number of additional reasons why Dieter would not satisfy the political needs of the Realm. And as she spoke she took a step toward him, forcing him back a step. “Then there’s Telka’s heirs,” she continued, raising a second finger, taking another step and forcing him to back-step again. The Duchess de Vena was also much too powerful. One by one she eliminated all of the original Nine, raising a finger and taking a step for each until she had him backed against a wall. With nine fingers held up she took a tenth step, and with his back to the wall he could feel her breasts press against his chest as she whispered in his ear. “That seems to leave only one candidate . . . Your Grace.” She leaned her head back to look into his eyes, though she didn’t step away from him. And standing there pressed against him, she told him why his military weakness and destitute finances made him the only acceptable candidate. “So, you’re eligible, your rank is appropriate, and you’re weak militarily and financially. In short, you’re the only suitable candidate who is no threat to the others.”
He marveled at her blue eyes and tried not to stammer as he said, “Winston . . . and Arthur . . . had much the same reasoning.”
Her tone turned thoughtful. “But you know, no matter how weak in resources, I don’t think you’ll ever be a weak king.” And with that she kissed him, a long, slow, careful kiss, and whatever parts of her body were not pressed against him at the beginning of the kiss were definitely so by its end.
She suddenly pushed away from him, turned, and walked halfway across the room, then turned back to him. “So, I’ll marry you. That’s settled. But I have conditions.”
She marched back toward him. “One, you’ll not whore around on me. You will not maintain concubines and mistresses. I’m it for you, Charlie Cass. Agreed?”
He swallowed and said, “Agreed.”
“Two, this is the shittiest proposal a girl could imagine. I expect you to go away, think about it, come back, and properly propose.”
She didn’t wait for his agreement. “And three, I expect you to make me fall in love with you. Do that, and we can be wed.”
She turned away from him, marched to the door, stopped, and turned partially back to him in an all too familiar pose. She tossed a hip at him, winked, and said, “We may yet have that dance, spacer.”
CHAPTER 28
FEW MASKS REMAIN
“You must tell them, Your Grace,” Ethallan said.
Charlie paced across the conference room where he was about to meet with the three leaders of the Free Aagerbanni Resistance: Tarlo, Dirkas, and Somal. Ethallan and Arthur had ganged up on him, arguing for him to drop the fictitious Chevard persona. “I can’t declare myself openly. It’s too soon.”
“She’s right, Charlie,” Arthur said. “They’ll never truly trust an unknown like Edwin Chevar
d, and will support him only so far as he can provide something they need, like this station and its services. But Charlie Cass, the legendary commander who beat Goutain at Solista, the man who brought two thousand men through the most abominable prison conditions, and brought them home alive. That’s different.”
“Your Grace, please forgive me for putting it this way,” Ethallan said, “but it’ll not be hard to get them to support the de Maris bastard.”
“No,” Charlie said. “Not yet. Let me try it as Chevard, and if that doesn’t work then I’ll reconsider.”
Since there was too much danger the Aagerbannis might recognize Arthur, shortly before they arrived he left the room. Charlie switched on the distortion field and Tarlo, Dirkas, and Somal entered the room moments later. Since their first meeting, Charlie had met with Tarlo informally a couple of times on Andyne-Borregga, and they shook hands cordially. Dirkas and Somal were somewhat more reserved since this was only the second time Chevard had met them. Ethallan served them tea; they traded bits and pieces of intelligence on the resistance and other activities. It was becoming clear that Goutain’s naval forces were stretched to the limit, having suffered a steady stream of losses through attrition.
“But I don’t understand,” Tarlo said. “We’ve been comparing notes with the other independent states, and we can’t account for the losses he’s apparently suffered.”
Charlie had thought about this carefully. He needed to show credibility. “It’s the hunter-killers.”
“I’ve seen those ships,” Tarlo said. “They couldn’t engage even a small destroyer.”
“The what?” Dirkas asked, looking at Charlie and Tarlo. “What are you talking about?”
Tarlo said impatiently, “They’re small warships called hunter-killers. No more than about a fifty-man crew.”
While Tarlo and Dirkas argued, Somal stared at Charlie as if she wanted to see into his soul. He interrupted the two men by tossing a single sheet of paper onto the conference table between them. “That’s a list of ships those hunter-killers have destroyed, along with dates, times, and coordinates. They total three battleships, six cruisers, and fourteen destroyers. They don’t engage them. They sneak up on them and hull them with a big warhead. Frequently, there are no survivors. And the list doesn’t include commercial shipping.”
