by Chris Walley
To the left, beyond the narrow two-kilometer string of the causeway, the land rose toward the green haze of the Great Northern Forest.
He stared at it moodily. The word forest used to refer to something pleasant and delightful, a place where children played and couples walked. Now it has become something dark and fearsome. Our world has become haunted.
High above them, the bell on the tower of Congregation Hall tolled nine.
“Well, Sergeant, we must go. Battle looms.”
“Battle, sir? I thought you were seeing this Isabella.”
“Lloyd, the words battle and Isabella are, sadly, not mutually exclusive.”
Merral’s knock at the door of the Danols’ house was quickly answered by Isabella. He had the briefest impression of a very smart blue summer dress before she clutched him in a tight hug.
“Oh, Merral!” she said with a little cry of pleasure. But she seemed to stiffen as Lloyd stepped from behind Merral.
“Let me introduce you,” Merral said, untangling himself from her grasp. “My aide, Sergeant Lloyd Enomoto. Lloyd, Isabella Danol.”
“Pleased to meet you, Lloyd,” she said, but her tone hinted otherwise.
“And you, Isabella,” came the response.
Isabella stared at the big man and then turned to Merral with a look of inquiry.
“Lloyd goes with me everywhere,” Merral explained hastily. “But he’ll just take a seat here downstairs.”
“I have plenty of work to do,” Lloyd added.
“That’s fine,” Isabella said, her tone rather too crisp. “You can use the general room on the ground floor. My sisters are out with my parents. Merral, let’s go upstairs.”
As they climbed to the top floor, Isabella turned to Merral and said in a half whisper, “What’s he for?”
Here we go, the start of the penetrating questions. Remember, whatever she says and however sweetly she says it, don’t relax.
“It’s quite simple. Vero is—rather unreasonably in my view—still worried about security. He believes there’s still a risk and is concerned that I might be the focus of that risk.”
“So, is Lloyd a bodyguard?”
He looked at her, noticing that she had take a great deal of care over her dress and appearance. There was not a hair out of place and her clothes had sharp creases in all the right places. “Yes. I’m impressed you know the word. I didn’t.”
He walked to the window of the upper room, his eyes drawn to the panorama over the lake.
“Then he’s hardly needed here,” Isabella said, moving quietly beside him. “Sleepy Ynysmant—the town at the end of Worlds’ End.” Her voice lacked affection and her right hand made a faintly dismissive gesture.
“‘Sleepy’? I would have agreed until we met the kids from Hanston Road yesterday.”
“Oh, them.” She gave a condescending smile. “With the face paint? Same gray clothes? I hear the stories. I think it’s overrated. High spirits on one side and fear on the other. Since Corradon’s speech, people have been very jumpy. . . . Would you like a coffee?”
“No thanks. Too soon after breakfast. . . . But the police took them seriously. What do you think of them?”
“Ah, the police. If I had still been in my old job, I might have been troubled. In my new role—have you heard?—of crisis counselor to Enatus, I find them intriguing, and potentially useful.”
“Useful?”
“Why, Merral,” she said, with a lift of her fine eyebrows, “you don’t think my job is just to tabulate incidents, do you? It is to define policy and, increasingly, to carry out that policy. And Lucian’s police provide me—us—with a potentially useful tool.”
With a stab of concern, Merral realized that he had completely failed to appreciate Isabella’s position and authority. He had been aware that the crisis and her own resolve had elevated her to a position of importance, but he had overlooked how high that position was.
“Lucian?” he said, struck belatedly by the name.
“Dr. Lucian Clemant—the advisor to Representative Corradon. I presume you report to him too?”
“Yes. Of course. Corradon too. Sorry. I just hadn’t realized you were on first-name terms.”
“Inevitably.” She gave Merral a bemused look. “He’s the crisis advisor for Farholme, and I, effectively, have the same role for Ynysmant. So, we are talking. Not that frequently so far, but it happens.”
The completely unexpected—but perfectly logical—link with Clemant was something Merral found troubling in a way that he couldn’t immediately express.
“Anyway,” Isabella said, “enough of that. Where shall we sit?”
“Out on the balcony?” he suggested, thinking that it might be safer to be somewhere where people could see them.
“That’s not very romantic,” she said with a slight smile. “We would be overlooked. Besides, people can hear whatever you say. And you’re famous now. Let’s stay inside.” She gestured to the sofa. “Come and sit next to me.”
“Do you mind if I sit opposite?” Merral said, painfully reminded that the mess he now found himself in with Isabella was the result of exactly such a seating arrangement.
“Well, if you must,” she replied, with a fleeting look of sour puzzlement.
“A lot has happened,” Merral said, sitting down, looking at the abstract paintings on the walls and the neatly laid out pottery items on the shelves.
“Indeed.”
“The last time we met, it all went wrong.”
“You apologized for it and the apology was accepted. It’s past. You were under a lot of stress.” Her voice was now very gentle and sweet.
It was when she spoke like this that Merral realized he needed to be especially wary. Yet the fact that he could think such a thing made him feel guilty. “Thank you,” he said.
“We need to move on.”
“Indeed.”
There was silence for a moment.
“You’ve changed,” she said, leaning back in the chair.
She’s very pretty. He felt some of his resolve waning.
“And so have you,” he replied. As he said it, he knew that the creation of the new, hard-edged Isabella who sat before him was not something he wanted to comment on. It was far safer to talk about himself. “Yes,” he said, “a lot has happened to me.”
“Tell me all,” Isabella said, her voice at its most alluring.
Merral had expected such a question and had already mentally rehearsed a version of the story of the confrontation with the intruders that omitted a number of awkward elements. So maneuvering delicately around such matters as the presence of the envoy and the dreadful, doom-laden message of the steersman, he told her what had happened from the moment he left Isterrane in the Emilia Kay to when, injured and half frozen, he was pulled out of Fallambet Lake Five.
“And the next thing I knew,” he concluded, “I was a celebrity.”
Isabella beamed at him. “I am very proud of you. You’re a hero.”
“I don’t see myself as a hero. Not at all. I could have done better.”
“Well, that’s what you say. You’re very modest.” A shadow crossed her face. “But, Merral, I just wish I had known more. I thought you trusted me. After all, lots of people knew. Several hundred people at least, from what I gather. I must admit that when I heard the broadcast, I was torn between awe at what you had done and irritation that I hadn’t been told. Of course, everyone assumed that I knew all about what was going on. It was so embarrassing. I mean, I had to pretend that I had known.”
“Of course. We just couldn’t risk it. I’m sorry.”
Isabella gently touched her fine black hair as if to check whether it was still neatly in place.
On one level, I still find her attractive; on another, she scares me.
“Anyway, that’s past,” she said. “But did your parents tell you the news?” Her expression was one of anticipation.
“Yes. It was . . . well . . . most interesting.”
“They approved our commitment! Isn’t that good news?”
“To be honest, it’s taken me a bit by surprise. I wish there had been time to discuss it.”
“What’s to discuss?” Isabella said, her voice suddenly sharp. “We wanted to be committed. We made our private commitment, and now the door has opened for us to be publicly committed. To be honest, the way my parents feel about you, we could even announce a wedding date.”
The word wedding injected a new and appalling note of anxiety into Merral’s mind. “I gather,” he said, after a long moment of silence, “that your parents took the initiative?”
“Oh yes,” she said. “They looked at the situation and realized that now you’re a commander, everything had changed. It would seem a bit silly to withhold parental approval to someone who was in charge of defending our world. It would have been embarrassing. And there were the positives. In this new job, you will need all the support you could get.”
As he recognized the arguments—the same ones his mother had used—Merral’s suspicion that Isabella had manipulated her parents into making the decision was confirmed.
“It could be a lonely and dangerous job,” he protested. “I nearly didn’t come back from the Fallambet.”
“I understand that. I hope I would be supportive.”
“There’s more to it than that,” he said, realizing as he spoke how feeble his words sounded.
“Oh, I know. There’s a lot still to be sorted out.”
“I see.” To gain time he asked the question he had already asked his mother. “So who knows about it?”
Isabella thought for a moment. “It’s not been formally announced, but a lot of people suspect it’s coming. So there’ll be a reference to it in Malhan’s speech tonight.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Warden Enatus! His first name is Malhan.”
“Oh yes . . . but the speech?”
“Tonight at the reception, when Malhan gives you a medal—the Ynysmant Heroism Medal. Incidentally, I helped design it. And as he gives the speech, he will say . . . wait.” She picked up some sheets of paper from the table. “Yes, here we are. He says, ‘I also gather that you are going to be giving us some long-expected news about the status of a relationship between you and a certain young lady.’ Then he ends with this: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, will you join with me in a round of applause for Merral Stefan D’Avanos, Commander of the Farholme Defense Force, and the first hero of Ynysmant.’ All will applaud and you will then respond.”
Merral, almost physically stunned by her words, was speechless. As anger battled with confusion in his mind, he briefly—but very seriously—considered walking out of the room, getting the next flier to Isterrane, and never coming back.
“I see,” he said eventually in as measured a tone as he could manage. “Uh, how do you know what’s in the speech?”
“I wrote it. There are bits earlier about heroism that you’ll like. ‘Cometh the hour, cometh the man.’ ‘Never in the field of Assembly history have so many owed’ and so on.” She smiled with what appeared to be contented satisfaction. “Some great words. I did a lot of work researching them. . . . You look surprised. Malhan is a cute little man. He’s just out of his depth on this sort of epic speech. He’d be the first to admit it.”
“I see.”
“Don’t keep repeating yourself. Your father does that.”
“Sorry. Look, do you really want to go ahead, Isabella?”
“Yes.” Her voice held a rocklike determination. “I think that a commitment—and all it leads to—will be good for us.”
Merral took a deep breath. It was time to stop the nonsense. Remember you are a commander.
“Isabella, I do not feel this is right.” He was pleased that his voice sounded firm.
“Why not?” Her face paled.
“I think we’ve grown apart.”
“We have changed, true. But I think it will work out. I am resolved that it will.”
“I am far less sure.”
Her expression held a flicker of alarm. “Is there anybody else?”
“The issue is simple—I just want to end this!” Indeed, even if Anya did not exist, I would not want to be married to the person this woman has become.
“Are you serious?” Isabella exclaimed. The bite in her words made him aware that anger bubbled just below the surface.
“Yes.”
“But you can’t go back now!” Her voice sounded as taut as a stretched wire. “The town is expecting the announcement. Everyone knows. It’s common knowledge. That’s why it’s in the speech.”
Merral hesitated. Think tactically. Outmaneuver her. “Look, marriage between us just won’t work.”
“We will have to make it work, won’t we?”
Merral took a long deep breath. “Isabella, let me say this. I might wed you in the ceremony, we might share a house and even a bed, but there would be no real love between us. You can’t force that. Our marriage would be a cold disaster. Why would you want that?”
“I think . . .” She swallowed. “We could make it work. I know we could.”
Why would anyone want a loveless marriage? Wouldn’t celibacy be better?
“And if we couldn’t?” he asked, sensing that he now had the advantage.
“I would just have to pretend that everything was fine.” Isabella hesitated. “I would occupy myself with all that being a commander’s wife in Isterrane involved.”
A commander’s wife in Isterrane? A light broke into Merral’s mind. Of course. I’m no longer a forester in remote Ynysmant. I’m a commander in the capital. Isabella might find the escape from Ynysmant and the position of power an adequate compensation for being in a counterfeit marriage.
“You hate being here, don’t you?” he asked.
She smiled, but the action seemed more like baring her neat white teeth. “This place is slow, dull, and narrow-minded. I could do better. I will do better.”
“Look, it’s over.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “It’s a bit late now.”
“I will tell them there is no commitment.”
“Then our world will know that Commander Merral D’Avanos doesn’t keep his promises.” The sarcasm was like a blade.
“You wouldn’t do that.” But as he said the words, he realized that she would. Ignoring a strong temptation to storm out, Merral waved a finger at the papers on the table. “Can you remove that passage?”
“If I wished to.”
“Then please, will you remove it?”
“No.” In the look she gave him, he saw defiance and control.
Suddenly, a solution came to Merral and it was all he could do to avoid breaking out in a smile. It was a solution that was fitting and satisfying and one that would give her a taste of her own medicine. Isabella had manipulated people to get what she wanted from him. He would turn the tables on her. Nevertheless, it was only fair to warn her.
“Isabella, if you don’t remove that phrase about us, I promise you that you’ll regret it.”
“Is that a threat?” She gave him a cold look.
“Let’s call it a statement of cause and effect.” He rose. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. But let me repeat myself. If Enatus says that tonight, you will regret it.”
Isabella stood, her expression a mixture of anger, fear, and puzzlement.
He turned his back on her and walked down the stairs.
“Lloyd,” Merral said as he forcefully closed the door of the Danols’ house behind him, “are you committed or engaged?”
“No, sir.”
“Don’t be in a hurry.”
“You sound pretty sour, sir. If I may say so.”
“Lloyd, I am sour. Very sour. Let’s go back to our house.”
7
Upon returning home, Merral retired to his room, saying that he had some work to do. There he sat with Vero’s report on guerrilla warfare and tried to focus on what was in it. But he had not been there long when his mot
her knocked, entered, and closed the door crisply behind her.
“Merral dear,” she said in the lowest of voices. “I do hope you had a good meeting with Isabella. I won’t ask what happened. That’s private. But I wanted to say something about our decision. I’m so sorry we didn’t consult you. I did think about it, but . . . well . . . your father was desperately keen.” She gave a rueful and disapproving shake of the head. “He really wants to see you settle down. He’d like grandchildren nearby. The girls are too far away. It’s all very sad.”
As she ran her fingers through her hair, Merral could see a lot more silver there than there had been. “And, of course, I didn’t want to oppose him. It would be quite wrong to publicly disagree with your spouse. But I’m sorry now, that I didn’t take a stand. Very sorry.”
She made an excuse, then quietly left.
Merral sighed. Now what?
Unable to return his mind to the report, he decided to sort out some of the things he wanted to take to Isterrane. He felt certain that he was not going to be back in Ynysmant for some time and there were things that he wanted with him. He picked up the silver egg of his castle tree simulation; he had invested too much time and energy on that to leave it behind. As he packed it into a travel bag, he realized how much he looked forward to spending time inside the simulation of the massive life form that he had created. “It’s a simpler and saner world in there,” he said under his breath and was surprised—and a little alarmed—at his words.
As he packed some shirts into his travel case there was a quiet knock on the door. His father entered and closed the door softly behind him.
“Son, I need to say this to you, while she is busy.” He gestured down toward the kitchen.
“I’m sorry about Isabella,” he said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. “It was your mother’s idea to agree with the Danols. She couldn’t bear the idea of being made to look stupid. But please don’t blame me. Please. It wasn’t my idea.”
And before Merral could say anything, he had gone.
After a lunch in which Merral tried—and largely succeeded—in leading the conversation away from Isabella, he decided to take Lloyd to find Jorgio.
