by David Weber
Roger and Pahner looked at one another expressionlessly, and Kar chuckled once more.
“Don’t worry, my friends. You may not believe it, but you’ll become accustomed more quickly than you can imagine. And at least—” he gave Rus From a sly look “—we won’t be constantly pouring water over you!”
The cleric-artificer chuckled along with the others, and Kar returned his attention to the humans.
“But before the bells interrupted us, I believe, I was about to explain to you that we don’t keep the granaries fully filled during peacetime because stockpiling like that hurts the grain trade, and we normally have sufficient warning of a war to purchase ample supplies in time. But this time the Boman came too quickly, and we were having the same problems with Sindi everyone else was. That bastard Tor Cant actually started stockpiling last season, which makes me wonder if his murder of the Boman chiefs was really as spontaneous as he wanted us to think. But he wasn’t interested in sharing any of his surpluses, and he went as far as putting a hold on all grain shipments out of Sindi ‘for the duration of the emergency.’ We got in some additional stores from other sources before Chasten’s Mouth was overrun, but not much. There’s no real shortage, yet, but it will come. Many of the merchants are rubbing their hands in anticipation.”
“What of Bastar?” Rastar asked, gesturing to the north. “I’ve heard nothing of their people.”
“Almost all of them escaped to us when it was clear they couldn’t hold against the Boman.” Bistem Kar made a gesture of resignation and frustration. “Another drain on our supplies, both of grain and of water, but not one that we could in good conscience reject. And we’d had our problems with D’Sley, as well as all the other cities, but again . . .”
“One for all, and all for one,” Pahner said.
“Indeed,” the general agreed, and turned his attention back to the human. “But what is your place in all of this? I’m told that these long spears are your innovation, and the large shields. I can see their usefulness against the Boman axes. But why are you here? And involving yourselves in our plight?”
“It’s not out of the goodness of our hearts,” Roger said. “The full story is long and complicated, but the short answer is that we have to cross that—” he pointed to the sea beyond the harbor “—to reach the ocean, and then cross that to get back to our home.”
“That’s a problem,” Kar said forebodingly. “Oh, you can get passage from here to the Straits of Tharazh if you must. It will be expensive, but it can be arranged. But no one will take you beyond the Straits to cross the Western Ocean. The winds would be against you, and no one who’s ever tried to cross the ocean has returned. Some people—” the K’Vaernian glanced sideways at Rus From “—believe that the demons which fill the ocean to guard the shores of the world island are to blame, but whatever the cause, no ship has ever succeeded in crossing it and returning to us. There’s an ancient tale of one ship having arrived from the other side—a wreck, rather, for it had been torn to pieces by something. According to the tale, there was a lone, crazed survivor who babbled in an unknown tongue, but he didn’t live long, and no one was ever able to determine what had destroyed the ship.”
“Storm?” Pahner asked.
“No, not according to the tale,” the general said. “Of course, it might be a fable, but there’s an ancient log in one of the museums here. It’s in a tongue no one I know of can read, but it’s accompanied by what purports to be a partial translation—almost as old as the log itself—and you might find it interesting. The translation seems to describe monsters of some sort, and the tales of the ship’s arrival here are very specific in saying that it had been bitten and torn by something.”
“Goodness,” From murmured provocatively. “You don’t suppose it might have been one of those mythological demons, do you?”
“I don’t know what it might have been,” Kar admitted cheerfully. “Except that whatever it was, it must have been large. And unfriendly. Either of which would be enough to convince me to stay well clear of it, by Krin!”
“You know that there’s something on the other side, though?” Roger asked.
“Oh, yes,” the K’Vaernian replied. “Of course. The world is round, after all; the mathematicians have demonstrated that clearly enough, though not without argument from some of our, ah, more conservative religions. That means that eventually you must come back here, but the distance is immense. And in all honesty, there’s never been much incentive for anyone to go mucking about in the open ocean. Quite aside from wind, wave, and possible sea monsters,” he grinned at From, who chuckled back at him, “there’s the problem of navigation. How does a seaman know where he is unless he can close the shore every so often and compare local landmarks to his charts? And what merchant would go voyaging beyond Tharazh? We know of no cities or peoples to trade with there, and we have—had, at least—all the trade we can service right here in the K’Vaernian Sea. As to what’s happened to the one or two lunatics who have tried to cross it, no one truly knows, so it’s a fertile subject for, um . . . imaginative speculation.”
“Well, we’d heard that you’re unable to sail across it,” Pahner said, “but we’ve done quite a few things on this world that no one has ever done before.”
“They crossed the Tarsten Mountains,” Rastar interjected.
“No! Really?” Kar laughed. “And is the land beyond really filled with giant cannibals?”
“I think not,” Cord said. The old shaman had a strong gift for languages, but without a toot of his own, he lacked the translator support the humans enjoyed, and the K’Vaernian general looked at him sharply at the sound of his pronounced and highly unusual accent.
“D’nal Cord is my asi,” Roger said, “my, um, sworn companion and shield mate. He’s from the People, who live in the Hurtan Valley. It’s not only beyond the Tarsten Mountains, it’s actually farther from the Tarstens than they are from here.”
“Pretty close to a fourth of the way around the world from the Tarstens,” Pahner agreed. “And the people on the far side of the Tarstens didn’t look much different from you. No civan or turom, though.”
“Truly, we live in a time of wonders,” Kar said. “And I meant no offense to your people, D’nal Cord.”
“And I took none,” the asi said haltingly. “Far we have come, and much have I seen. Much is the same from one side to the other.” He glanced around for a moment. “Although this is by far the largest city I’ve ever seen. Voitan was just as . . . alive before its fall, but it wasn’t this large.”
“Voitan?” Kar asked.
“A long tale,” Roger said. “And a cautionary one.”
“Aye,” Cord agreed with a handclap of emphasis, and looked at the K’Vaernian levelly. “Voitan, as everyone knew, was invincible. Until the Kranolta.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Roger looked around the room and nodded in satisfaction. The space was relatively small but comfortable, placed on the seaward side of the citadel and looking out over the blue K’Vaernian Sea, and the sea breeze that blew in from the windows on that side blew back out through inner windows which overlooked a courtyard on the other side. The citadel’s bell tower was less than fifty meters from those windows, and the prince winced inwardly at the thought of what it would be like whenever the K’Vaernians’ “clocks” went off, but he was willing to accept that as the price of the windows. There wasn’t anyplace in the entire city where he could realistically have hoped to escape the bells, anyway, and the breeze wafting through the room felt almost unbelievably good after the sweltering steambath of the city streets.
The chamber contained the ubiquitous low cushions and tables, but Matsugae had already set up his camp bed and acquired a taller table from somewhere. Together with his folding chair, it made for a comfortable place from which to contemplate their next steps.
The plan was simple. They would show the K’Vaern’s Cove people some of the military technologies from humanity’s bloody past which wo
uld be within reach of their current capabilities in return for a trip across the ocean. It had sounded reasonable when they worked it all out before leaving Diaspra, but Poertena had already given his opinion of the seaworthiness of the local boats, and it wasn’t good. Roger’s head was ringing with such phrases as “deck stiffness,” “freeboard,” and “jib sails,” most of which he already knew from his own yachting days. Poertena, however, seemed to be a veritable mine of information on practical, sail-powered work boats, and that mine was saying “No Way.”
So it looked like simply putting a better sail plan on one of the local boats might be out, which would mean months of time spent building new boats. Or at least refitting one of the local boats from the keel up.
The rest of the plan was beginning to look iffy, as well. They hadn’t yet met with the local council, but Bistem Kar clearly felt that K’Vaern’s Cove wasn’t as unconquerable as Rastar and Honal had believed. If his attitude was shared by the Council in general, simply saying “Hey, here’s a few tricks. Have fun, and we’re out of here,” might not work.
All of which sounded as if it might mean yet another battle, and Roger wasn’t sure he was ready for that.
He gazed out over the sea and sighed. He’d spent most of his seventeenth summer blue-water sailing off of Bermuda, where, unlike Pinopa, sailing was the recreational province of the rich rather than a matter of economic survival. The blue-water races in the Atlantic were comradely competitions between members of the monetary elite and their handpicked crews, and the yachts used bore as little resemblance to what was needed here as a race-flyer bore to a hover-truck, but given the choice between sailing a cargo sloop through a Mid-Atlantic gale and battling the Boman, Roger was sure what his answer would be. Even with the possibility of sea monsters thrown in for good measure.
Someone knocked on the door, and he turned towards it. The guard outside was Despreaux, and she refused to meet his eye when she opened the door to let Matsugae enter. The incident in Ran Tai still lay between them like a minefield, and he had to get past it. Ran Tai had proven that it wasn’t smart to get too close to the troops, but it was even less smart to have a bodyguard who was poisonously angry with you. And it wasn’t as if Despreaux could ask for a transfer, so, sooner or later, he had to talk to her about it and try to smooth the waters.
Besides which, he was still deeply confused about his feelings for her.
He sighed at the thought, then smiled again as he heard Matsugae puttering around behind him. The little clucks as the valet straightened the eternal mess were soothing.
“Are you glad to be out of the kitchens, Kostas?”
“It was a very interesting experience, Your Highness,” the valet replied, “but, all things considered, yes, I’m quite glad. I can always go back and putter there if the mood takes me, and it’s not as if I’m really still needed at this point.” With over five thousand total persons, human and Mardukan, with the column, cooks were easy enough to find.
“But we’ll all miss your atul stew,” Roger joked.
“I’m afraid you’ll just have to suffer, Your Highness,” Matsugae responded. “It’s funny, really. I gave that recipe to one of the Diasprans, and he just stared at me in shock. I suppose it’s the equivalent of Bengal tiger stew to humans. Not what they’d consider normal fare.”
“‘Skin one Bengal tiger . . .’” Roger murmured with a chuckle.
“Exactly, Your Highness. Or perhaps, ‘First, fillet the Tyrannosaurus.’”
“I can just imagine Julian’s stories about this little jaunt once we get home,” the prince said.
“Perhaps, but the jaunt isn’t over yet,” the servant retorted. “And on that subject, you have the meeting this afternoon with the K’Vaernian Council. I obtained some cloth in Diaspra. It’s not as fine as dianda—the threads are somewhat coarser, and the weave isn’t as tight. However, it made an admirable suit, and I found enough dianda to line it and provide two or three dianda shirts to go with it.”
Roger glanced at the proffered garments and nodded, but he also cocked one eyebrow quizzically.
“Black? I thought you always said black was only for weddings and funerals.”
“So I did, but it was the best dye Diaspra had available.” The valet looked uncomfortable for a moment, then shrugged. “It’s what they make their better priestly vestments from.”
“Works for me,” Roger responded with a smile. “You know, you really have been a tremendous boon throughout this entire hike, Kostas. I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”
“Oh, you would’ve made do,” the valet said uncomfortably.
“No doubt we would have, but that doesn’t mean we would have made do as well as we have.”
“I suppose it is fortunate that I learned a little something from all of the safaris on which I’ve accompanied you,” Matsugae conceded.
“A vast understatement, Kosie,” the prince said fondly, and the valet smiled.
“I’ll go make sure the arrangements for this afternoon are in place,” he said.
“Very good,” Roger said, turning back to the window and allowing Matsugae his space. “And pass the word for Cord, Eleanora, and Captain Pahner, if you would. We need to have our positions clear before the meeting.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the valet replied with a small smile. The Roger who’d taken off from Earth would never have given that order with such certainty, assuming that the need to worry about preplanning would have occurred to him at all. Which it wouldn’t have. At least this “little jaunt” had been good for something.
The council chamber was rather smaller than Roger had expected. The long room at the foot of the city’s central and tallest bell tower was low-ceilinged (for Mardukans) and filled to capacity by a cross-section of the city. The actual Council—fifteen representatives of various groups within the city—sat at one end, but the other end was a public gallery, open to any voting citizen of K’Vaern’s Cove, and there wasn’t enough room to sneeze at that end.
The city-state was a limited republic, with the franchise restricted to those who paid a vote tax, which amounted to ten percent of a person’s yearly income. It was the only direct tax levied upon the citizenry, but there were no exceptions from it and no exemptions for the poor. If you wanted to vote, you had to pay the tax, but even the poorest of the poor could come up with that much if they were frugal. It was obvious to Roger that although the vote tax provided a goodly chunk of income for the city, it was really intended primarily to limit the vote to those willing to make a genuine sacrifice to exercise their franchise. Other taxes and duties levied on warehouses, imports, and port usage by ships not registered to a K’Vaernian citizen provided the majority of the city’s operating capital. Which, of course, raised interesting questions about future budgets now that the Boman had managed to eliminate at least two-thirds of the Cove’s usual trading partners.
The Council was elected “at large,” with the whole body of citizenry voting for all council members. In effect, however, each represented the particular social group from which he came. Some were guild representatives, while others represented the entrepreneur class that was the economic lifeblood of the city. Still others represented the class of hereditary wealth, and a few were even representatives of the poorest of the city’s multitudes.
All of which meant that the Council was a diverse and—to Roger’s eye—fairly hostile bunch as it greeted the human and Diaspran representatives.
The spectators behind the visitors were an even more diverse lot . . . and considerably more lively. The public gallery was open to all voters on a first-come, first-served basis, and while there were tricks the rich could use to pack the chamber if they really wanted to, the current audience seemed to be a pretty good cross-section of the city. And a raucous lot they’d been as the Diasprans began their presentation.
Bogess had started with a precise report on the Battle of Diaspra, complete with a long discussion of the preparations, including
some of the more controversial training methods introduced by the humans. Those preparations had occasioned some loud and derisive commentary from the crowd of onlookers, but it was his description of the battle which had drawn the most responses. As seemed to be the case for the entire planet, the K’Vaernians had never heard of the concept of combined arms or, with the sole exception of the League cavalry, disciplined mass formations. Bogess’ description of the effectiveness of the shield wall had been scoffed at so loudly by the raucous crowd that the chairman of the Council had been forced to call for order. His description of the effect of the Marines’ powered armor, however, had drawn the loudest response. At first, his account had been greeted with stunned silence, but that had quickly given way to loud derision and the mockery of disbelief.
“They are very noisy,” Cord commented to Roger.
“Democracy is like that, Cord,” the prince responded. “Every yammerhead who thinks he has two brain cells to rub together gets his say.” As he spoke, he noted that there were many Mardukan women in the group. They were just as vociferously involved in the debate as any of their male counterparts, and he decided that that was probably a good sign. It was certainly unlike anything they’d seen elsewhere on Marduk, with the sole exception of the reconstituted government of Marshad.
“I must say,” the old shaman grumped, “that I would prefer some less noisy method of doing business.”
“So would I,” Roger agreed, “and the Empire is a bit less wide open and raucous than these people are. We’re a constitutional monarchy with a hereditary aristocracy, not a direct democracy, so I guess you could say we’re more representative than democratic. Then again, direct democracy wouldn’t work very well for something the size of the Empire of Man, and all of Mother’s subjects get to vote for their local representatives in the Commons. Every citizen is absolutely guaranteed the rights of freedom of speech, public assembly, and the vote, too, which means sometimes we get just as loud and noisy as these folks are . . . or even worse.”
