Sorrowing Vengeance

by David C. Smith

  “For your protection,” the lieutenant told the three, “it would be best that you remain unseen until we get past the crowds.”

  The Khamar nodded. Adred, as he walked toward the carriage, held Rhia’s hand and asked, “What’s happened here, Lieutenant? We heard of protests by a few farmers, but that was all.”

  “Food riots,” was the answer. “Empty bellies, my lord, and short tempers.”

  “Rebels?” Rhia asked, as she stepped inside the carriage.

  “They’re behind it, my lady, yes.”

  * * * *

  The ride through the streets and down Uia Boulevard to the refurbished governor’s mansion on Shemtu Square was bewildering and frightening. The carriage was the focus of harsh yells all along its route; Adred, Rhia, and the Khamar heard the noise of thrown objects as they struck the escort patrol, and when tossed stones or bricks hit the carriage itself, they made loud cracking sounds on the wooden framework or pushed in the canvas covering with the effect of a blister erupting through skin.

  The noises of the angry crowds dwindled as they approached Shemtu Square. Adred and Rhia heard a few low blasts from horns, the clatter of boots and many horses, and the screech of metal gates being pulled open. When the carriage rumbled to a stop, it was Lieutenant Revar who opened the door and lent a hand to Rhia to help her as she stepped down. Adred and the Khamar followed.

  Adred was shocked by the changes that had taken place in Shemtu Square. He had not been there since the previous winter—after the riots but before the rebuilding had begun. The square was no longer an open area fed by half a dozen streets and able to accommodate busy crowds of shoppers and strollers. The great fountains were gone; the small shops opposite the governor’s mansion were absent; the city library, which had stood at the southeastern corner of the square, was blocked up with wooden boards and bricks. The entrance to the mansion, once open to the square, was now protected by a tall stone wall, and admittance could be gained only through a heavy metal gate guarded by solemn soldiers.

  “They’ve changed everything,” Adred told Rhia her, holding her hand.

  She had never been to Sulos before, and she could not imagine what he must be feeling.

  Adred stared at the library like a child befuddled by the sight of a familiar parent who has suddenly transformed. “The library,” he said. “The first thing they take away…ideas.…”

  When a small squad of soldiers emerged from the mansion and came down to the carriage, Lieutenant Revar asked Adred, Rhia, and the Khamar to go with them and bade the three good afternoon. The trio was escorted through the iron gate and up a broken pathway, past burnt gardens, and onto the central portico. There, the Khamar handed his letter of introduction to a commander of the guard, who led them indoors and told them to wait in the wide foyer.

  When their escort returned, he was in the company of a tall, robed man, middle-aged and obviously a minister of the city assembly. “This way, if you please.” He led them down another hallway, up a flight of stairs, and into a small room decorated with tapestries, carvings, and fresh flowers and plants. Adred was relieved somewhat by the color of the place. The windows were open, and a slight sea breeze fluttered the wall hangings.

  “General Vardorian will see you presently,” the minister ex­plained. “He is in a meeting with city representatives and—others. My name is Vulus.” He bowed and exited just as a servant entered with trays of drink.

  The servant poured goblets and handed them around, then excused himself.

  Presently General Vardorian entered, alone. “Please.…” He lifted an arm, indicating the couches and chairs. “Sit. Make yourselves comfortable.” And once each of them had introduced himself, Vardorian said to the Khamar, “You come on instructions from the king?”

  “You’ll find everything is in order, General.” He handed Vardorian a scroll. “I apologize, my lord, for intruding upon your schedule, but King Elad insisted that this visit be kept unannounced.”

  “That is necessary from time to time,” allowed the general. “I do understand.” He opened the wooden holder at one end, tipped out the rolled parchment, broke the royal seal, and read. Vardorian made a low sound as he finished the letter. He rolled it up again, dropped it into the carrier, and set it on the table before him. Thoughtfully he poured himself a cup of wine, then turned in his chair to face Adred. “You are a…very fortunate young man, aren’t you, Count Adred?” Vardorian smiled.

  The assumption made Adred feel somewhat ill-at-ease.

  “King Elad makes no mention in his letter, however, of the young lady.”

  Adred scratched his beard. “Rhia was arrested with me in Bessara. The charges against her are false, and I felt it my duty to insist upon her freedom when I heard from the capital. Excuse me, Lord Vardorian, but I’m not aware of what King Elad says, precisely, in his letter. If you could—”

  “He mentions his nephew and his sister-in-law.”

  “I see.” Adred heard Rhia take in a breath, and he glanced at her.

  “I’ve ceased to be astonished,” Vardorian told him, “by things that seem astonishing. I have lived a rich life and experienced a great deal. Revolutionary aristocrats, however—that still takes some getting used to. But so far as I know, we have no record in our offices of Prince Galvus and Princess Orain living in Sulos.”

  “They are here anonymously, Lord Vardorian. Or at least, they’ve taken aliases.”

  “I see. And where are they now?”

  “I know the address where they were living last winter,” Adred told him.

  “Last winter? They were here during the Shemtu Rebellion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know for certain—forgive me, but I must ask—that they are still alive?”

  The silence in the room was very loud as Adred answered, “They were alive last winter, after the rebellion.”

  Vardorian grunted thoughtfully, sipped more wine, then stood. He pulled his chair from beneath the table and moved it across the floor so that he might be closer to Adred and Rhia. He relaxed, his attitude quite informal, and told them, “I’m not going to interfere with what King Elad has requested; I’m certain that you and he understand far better than I the temperament of members of his family. But I must tell you that if you can gain their support for—what shall I call it?—the voice of reasonableness in this city, then we all have much to gain. It may be, Count Adred, that this happens at a very opportune time.”

  “Why is that?” Adred asked.

  Vardorian was frank. “I was appointed Acting-governor of Sulos immediately following the uprising. I think the city was shocked by the degree of violence; everyone became aware, too late, of the devastation that had been wrought, and even the rebels saw in the outcome of it more harm than good. I look upon myself, Count Adred, as a servant of the practical; I don’t make it my business to place blame. I try, instead, to solve problems, to make things…manageable. I agree that our society suffers from certain imbalances, but I don’t think that anything unfair can be repaired overnight by acts of violence.”

  “I agree with you, Lord Vardorian.”

  “Good. Good.… For three months after the revolt, the streets were calm. Tensions seemed to have abated; promises were made to the working people that reforms would be investigated. The city was at rest for the duration of the winter. I’ve spent every day of my office since my arrival here acting as an arbiter among conflicting factions in Sulos. Some still want vengeance; some want to try new things; some are willing to give our present system time. However.…

  “What you saw on the streets as you made your way here are people out of work and rioting for food. I’ll explain. Two weeks ago, planters and growers in the Diruvian Valley, just outside the city, refused to begin sowing their wheat and barley in protest against the business firm that owns those fields and that purchases grain from the farmers.” Quickly, then, Vardorian sketched for Adred the chain of events that had led to the general’s being sent there.

&n
bsp; “That dissent,” he explained, “was the start of it. Four days ago, rebels and workers broke into storehouses just outside the city and have refused entrance to anyone. They will not allow any of the meal, grain, or bread in those storehouses to be shipped into the city, and eighty percent of the bread that comes into Sulos is stored in those houses. Four businesses are involved, and representatives of all four have agreed to act as I require of them. But the rebels are hoping that the people, in need of that bread, will turn against the business community unless certain demands are met.”

  “What are their demands?”

  “They want the leases to all the grain fields in the valley renegotiated so that the growers are not at the mercy of the business houses. They want work guarantees so that no one is cheated, and they want the profit from their labor distributed in new ways. They want to be certain that no one in Sulos is without bread, for whatever reason. Bread for the people, they say, comes before business profits. There’s even some talk of the workers gaining controlling interest in these business houses; as it stands now, sons inherit them from their fathers, and thousands of persons’ skills and livelihoods are treated as just so much property.”

  Adred contemplated this. “Good for them,” he smiled.

  “There is more,” Vardorian told him. “I’ve been in meetings with representatives from the four business houses and with representatives from the valley growers. We’re trying to reach a decision mutually beneficial to both sides. However—”

  “King Elad,” Adred interrupted, “has just issued a notice that workers’ sirots are to be investigated. Very probably, they’ll be instituted.”

  “That is true. His edict, however, was announced just after this latest rebellion began. And the workers distrust it, anyway.”

  Adred frowned. “I don’t blame them, given what they’ve put up with so far.”

  “Now.…” Vardorian rubbed his hands together, reached for his wine cup, and sipped before continuing. “Sulos, as you know, is a shipbuilding center, a trading port, and one of the most important fisheries in the empire. Consensus is growing among the working people in every industry and trade in the city that if the grain companies do not come to terms with the growers’ demands, then workers in all other areas—as a show of solidarity—will stop producing, as well. I don’t have to tell you what this would mean. The people of Sulos would suffer, but the effects would be felt throughout the entire economy, and quickly. The workers know how to take care of one another if they agree among themselves to hold the business community for ransom, as it were. I want to come to terms with the rebels and the working people, and so do most of the members of the business community. I’m taking everyone at his word. We want no further bloodshed in this city, Count.”

  Adred nodded thoughtfully; he felt Rhia rest a supportive hand on one arm. He glanced at her; she showed him a strong smile. She had remained quiet during all of this talk with the governor but had been listening intently. What had she been saying to people in the street when Adred first saw her? “I’ve seen old men and old women in this city picking food from the alleys that even dogs wouldn’t eat! Why are they living this way? Why are they eating everyone else’s garbage?” And what had he warned her about? “You can’t change a society that’s existed like this for hundreds of years.” And she had told him, “Yes, we can. We can change it. We are changing it.”

  “What it comes down to, I think,” Vardorian finished, “is less the idea of profit, or even the fair distribution of profit, than the idea of dignity. Am I wrong? The working people are not fools; their spokespeople and their literature insist that if they were allowed their dignity, and everything that that implies, then matters of profit and the distribution of goods would take care of themselves.”

  “That sentiment,” Adred affirmed, “is at the heart of the revolution. The true revolution. Not…mobs and assassina­tions, but people fighting for values. They want to start over, General. They want a new beginning, new rules for the game—as it were.”

  Vardorian stood. “We must come to terms with this quickly,” he said. “Whenever you wish to visit the Princess Orain and Prince Galvus, let me know. I’ll send an escort with you.”

  “Thank you.” Adred looked at Rhia. “Thank you.…” And, realizing what was occurring, the profundity of it, he found himself imagining a fire nearly burnt out but with the coals still glowing beneath the ashes; he imagined a breeze fanning those coals into new life. He looked at Vardorian. “Now,” Adred told him. “I’m ready to go right now.”

  * * * *

  The sky had begun to cloud by the time they reached the apartment house; the air was thick and muggy, promising rain.

  Adred was the first out of the carriage, and he lent his hand to help Rhia step down. The Khamar followed. Adred told Rhia that he had best go in without her, at least at first, but he asked the Khamar to accompany him. They entered the apartment house; it smelled of old refuse and stale air, sad lives. Up the stairs to the third floor, and the door Adred remembered. He knocked. Almost instantly it opened, and Adred faced a man he did not know. Tall, wide-shouldered, balding, in his middle years—a dock worker.

  The man’s eyes hardened as he looked from Adred to the Khamar, and back again.

  “Is Galvus here?” Adred asked him.

  “Who?”

  “Galvus.”

  From inside came a woman’s voice. “Thios, who is it?”

  Adred began to tremble; he recognized Orain’s voice. “Let us in, please. It’s important that I—”

  Thios didn’t open the door, but behind him, footsteps sounded and then, just inside—

  Orain. Her blond hair dull, her eyes gray in the dim light, her face pale and thin. Orain.

  Adred breathed again.

  As she whispered his name silently.

  “Please,” Adred insisted. “Let us in.”

  The dock worker had the defensive attitude of a man guarding his possessions, but Orain said quietly, “Thios.…” She touched his shoulder.

  The door was opened. Adred entered; Orain stepped back. The Khamar remained in the hallway, tall and resolute, one hand on the sword at his side. Thios lingered on the threshold, uncertain what to do.

  Adred asked, “Is— Orain, is Galvus here?”

  They could not look away from each other. It had been so long—only months, but it had seemed so long. And now, full of emotion at seeing her so quickly, as though she had come back to life in front of him, Adred wanted to hold Orain, reach for her and hold her.

  And her eyes danced nervously, watching him, her bright eyes, and she trembled.

  “He’s here, he’s—”

  More footsteps.

  Adred looked beyond her.

  “Mother, I—”

  Galvus stepped from an adjacent room and saw. He lost his expression. Adred. And, just outside the door, an imperial guard.

  Galvus, too, had changed. He was pale, thinner; he had grown his beard, and he was dressed in patched clothes, worn boots, no ornaments.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked Adred in a low voice. He wasn’t angry, simply surprised.

  Adred looked again at Orain.

  She, understanding his discom­fort, nodded to Galvus and then went to Thios and whispered to him. “It’s all right. He’s an old friend. Maybe you’d better— I’ll speak with you later, Thios, please.”

  “Are you sure it’s all right?” He looked at the Khamar.

  “Yes, yes, it’s all right. I’ll explain later.…”

  Doubtful, Thios made his way down the stairs. Orain watched him go, then turned into the apartment. She seemed relieved to have the dock worker gone.

  Adred was still standing in the middle of the room. Orain walked to Galvus and held his hand.

  “I was in prison,” Adred began abruptly. “In Bessara.”

  “The revolution?” Galvus asked.

  “Yes. Yes. Elad ordered me freed.”

  Orain let out a sound of relief. “Th
en he’s still alive?”

  “Oh, yes,” Adred answered.

  “We never thought he’d actually died,” Galvus explained. “Only…news was intermittent, and we weren’t sure.”

  Adred threw his hands behind his back. “He ordered me set free, but only if I would come here. Try to help settle what’s happening.”

  “You mean,” Galvus interpreted, “the rebellion in the valley.”

  “Yes.” Adred, still uncertain, searched for words. “I’d better come right out and say it. You see, he sent me here specifically to talk with you. Galvus—Elad needs your help.”

  The young man stared at him.

  * * * *

  Adred told them everything. The Khamar escorted Rhia upstairs and she sat with Adred, Orain, and Galvus as they sipped tea and talked at length. Galvus told Adred what he had been able to accomplish in the city: the buying of supplies and food staples for the poverty-stricken with money obtained through channels of sympathetic friends in the capital. “I have three people in Sulos who know who I am, and they divulge nothing. I get my money from the capital whenever I need it, just as I used to when we were staying with Count Mantho. We’ve developed a network to distribute what’s needed. You have no idea how desperate these people are.” After a moment: “Well, no…maybe you do. But it’s abhorrent to me to think of these people of means who have no social conscience whatsoever.” Galvus claimed, however, that he was not actively involved in the revolution, although he knew many rebels by name.

  Adred explained to him what Elad wished. Keeping in mind his discussion with Lord Vardorian, he guaranteed Galvus that the acting-governor would help in whatever way he could to ameliorate the current problems between the working people and the business interests.

  “But we must act now, Galvus. We must go out to the valley and speak with these men. We must show them that we mean to do what we say we’ll do—that Elad and Vardorian are sincere, that no good can come of more violence and dissension. We must have a plan and stick to it.”

  Galvus nodded thoughtfully as he tapped the ends of his fingers together.