by Alma Boykin
They rode into Vindobona from the south. “It’s more dramatic arriving from the west, dropping out of the hills, but I see no point in going uphill just to come down again,” Alois opined.
Matthew, busy staring at the enormous city, made some polite sound. Blessed St. Gerald and Michael, that’s enormous! Those walls are massive! He’d thought Vindobona might be a larger version of Morloke City, with wooden palisades on a stone and earth foundation. Instead, enormous grey stone walls rose out of the river valley. The Donau Novi flowed quietly past the great city, and Matthew saw a glint of metal flash in the sun above the wall. That must be the spire of St. Gerald’s cathedral that Master Jaros’s factor talked about, the one with the shiny metal plating. Is the entire roof shiny, I wonder?
“Ah, so they finally finished the spire,” Duchess Starland exclaimed. “How long has it taken?”
“Six years, my dear,” His Grace replied. “I wonder who gets to polish it to keep it bright?”
Eleanor Starland gave the crown prince a sideways glance. “Younger sons who don’t behave, probably.”
“I wouldn’t know, Lady Starland,” Alois sniffed. Eleanor chuckled. Matthew missed the joke and concentrated on looking around without obviously looking around. Traffic had increased, with courier riders and empty wagons leaving the city and loaded hay wains and carriages streaming in. “Cavalry fields are on the northwest,” Alois told Matthew, pointing with his riding whip.
An eye-searing whiff of tannery and other industrial smells on the east wind made Matthew sneeze. He looked toward the river and saw the rows of buildings along the bank, downstream of the city. On the other side of the road, farms, orchards, and several grand estates that the Crown Prince jokingly called “small country houses,” stretched from the city west to the hills. I wonder why … ah. Nothing to use to attack the city, limited cover, and shorter supply line if someone attacks. You can’t exactly sneak up through the woods if the woods have been cut down and brought inside the walls for fuel and timber. He vaguely recalled his father arguing with the Oligarchs about the woodlots and nut farms around Morloke City, and why having trees close to the walls was not a good idea. Having tanneries, fullers, and paper makers upstream also counted as a bad thing, although even the Oligarchs recognized that much. After all, breweries needed clean water and brought in twice as much money as did the leather workers. And that money paid for guards and other things.
Soldiers at Vindobona’s southern gate halted and checked everyone who entered, giving Matthew time to study the city’s defenses. The outer wall rose about ten meters high, with arrow slits in the top two meters, below crenulations and the weather roof for the guards. After two delivery wagons and a small herd of shahma passed through the gate, Duke Starland’s caravan reached the front of the line. Matthew expected Prince Alois to ride on, but he stopped at the lowered pike as well. The soldier demanded, “Who goes there?”
The crown prince spoke for everyone. “Prince Alois, with guard and baggage train.” He turned and pointed to Don. “Duke Starland and family.” Then Alois gestured toward Matthew, “and Count Matthew Malatesta of Morloke,” the prince recited. “I stand as sponsor for Count Malatesta and vouch for his behavior.”
I can be trusted within walls, Matthew snarled, stung. Then his better sense kicked in. Or does Vindobona require a peace bond, like Florabi does? And he doesn’t know I have gold, and I don’t know how much such a bond costs. And he said the Oligarchs have been spreading lies about me. That would affect the bond. Even if that were the case, Matthew still didn’t care for the prince’s attitude.
A second man in Babenburg blue made a note of the groups and their members before the guard lifted his pole arm. “Enter, Your Highness, Your Graces, my lord.” Matthew approved of the watchful guards and the two layers of gates. He deliberately didn’t look to see if anyone had built nasty tricks into the passageway ceiling, lest he attract more of their attention. Instead he stared at the smooth stones of the wall around them. He could barely see any joints or seams. These must be the legendary Lander walls, built before the Great Fires. He made St. Michael’s sign, just in case, but nothing happened and he laughed a little. So much for Godown hating all Lander work. I guess Fr. Antonio was wrong about that, too.
The group stopped in an open area not too far inside the walls. “Count Matthew, come with me,” Alois ordered. “Until we sort things out and you’ve had a chance to speak with my father, I want you to stay in my town house.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Matthew wanted to protest, but bit his tongue. Captain Andrews had already warned him that Starland House would be bursting at the seams, and despite Thomas’s assurances and offers, Matthew did not care to stay with the boy at night. And he had no idea what lodging cost in Vindobona, especially for a room without fleas and other unwanted roommates. Matthew turned Red and followed the prince. Socks followed, snorting a little. Neither horse had been around so many people in such a confined area before, and Matthew offered a quick prayer to St. Michael-Herdsman that nothing interesting would happen.
The houses and shops amazed Matthew. Oh, he’d read about Vindobona, and New Dalfa, Florabi, and other major cities, but the descriptions couldn’t compare to the reality. The buildings rose three and four levels high on both sides of the street. Most of them seemed to be made of stone, with wooden shutters or fancy metal decorations around the little balconies overlooking the street. Creamy yellow, pale pink and green, and even light blue covered the walls, often with bright red, deep green, or pure white trim. A few houses sported saints’ niches above the doors, and he noticed a tiny house-corner chapel to St. Donn at a busy intersection near a fountain. Matthew assumed this was the upper-class district, judging by the goods on display in the shops and the well-dressed people walking around.
“We’re passing through the merchants’ district,” Prince Alois explained once they got through an especially narrow passage. “The palace district is on the northern side of the city, with many of the nobility’s town residences in that area. It’s the oldest part of Vindobona, the only bit that wasn’t rebuilt after the huge fire a hundred years or so ago. The walls predate the Great Fire, but most of the city has been built and rebuilt since then. Everyone gives directions from St. Gerald’s, since you can’t miss it.”
“That’s sensible, Your Highness.”
Several people tipped their hats to the prince, and he acknowledged them with a wave. “It is. You’ll find the Imperial riding stables and archives east of the palace district, north of the cathedral. The cathedral library is in that area as well. I understand that you are interested in old books and such?”
“Somewhat, Your Highness.” I’m not going to play my castle card unless I have to. Matthew wrinkled his nose as they passed a cheese seller’s wagon. Godown did not intend for man to eat blue food, especially not smelly, fuzzy, or shiny blue food. The wine merchant’s display caught his eye, however. I’ve not gotten drunk since this summer. I’m overdue.
Traffic thinned and the ground-floor shops disappeared, replaced by ornately carved wooden house gates on the ground floors of the buildings. One set stood open and Alois halted, waiting as a carriage drawn by four matching black horses drove into the street. “Incoming traffic has the right-of-way between the second hour after sunrise and midnight.” Matthew added the information to his rapidly-filling collection. Luckily, they rode only another block before Alois stopped again, this time leading Matthew, some of the guards, and the baggage wagon into a large, airy courtyard in a pale-blue building with a stream painted across the front wall. Servants appeared as if out of thin air and Alois swung down from the saddle.
“Easy, Socks,” Matthew soothed the stud as he got down from Red’s back. The horses sidled a little until he got them calmed down.
“Nervous around people, sir?” The groom held his hand out for Socks’s lead rope.
Matthew waited until both horses had their attention focused on him before responding. “No, just not
used to being confined and surrounded unless we are on the battlefield. They are both warhorses. I’ll see to them.”
“You don’t trust my staff?” Prince Alois inquired, giving Matthew a suspicious look.
“I trust your staff, Your Highness. I don’t trust Socks not to be stupid, especially if someone crowds him on the left side. A damn fool of an innkeeper’s hostler jabbed him with a dung fork some years ago, and since then he’s been touchy.”
The dark expression cleared. “Ah, understandable.” Alois looked around for someone. “Pedro, once Count Malatesta finishes with his mounts, show him to the green guest room.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” a voice called over the din in the courtyard. Matthew followed the groom to the stables and took care of Red and Socks, checking their tack and giving them close inspections. One of Red’s shoes felt a little loose. It’s always something. I wonder how much farriers charge here. If one’s loose, all of them probably need to be reset.
Which reminded him. Matthew heaved the saddle packs over his shoulder before any of the servants could touch them. No point in tempting anyone, he thought. He did let one of the serving boys carry his other bag, the one with his clothes and traveling kit. They returned to the courtyard. “My lord?” a neatly dressed older man with a twisted left arm began. “I’m Pedro. If you’ll follow me, please.” Matthew did as asked. Pedro led the way across the courtyard, past a wall fountain, and into a shadowy passageway. “This way.” He opened a door, revealing stone steps. Matthew followed up two levels. Another door opened and wooden floors replaced stone in a long hallway. Windows set high in the thick wall let in the afternoon light. “This is the guest wing, my lord. At the moment you are the only person of note in residence besides Their Highnesses.” Pedro opened a door. “Here, my lord.”
Ah, this is most suitable. Matthew set down his burden with care, so the coins didn’t clink. The sturdy wood and leather furnishings and the arms rack in the corner near the prayer bench showed that this was a man’s chamber. He recognized the blackwood of the deceptively plain bed. Thin strips of precious bloodwood formed an elegant pattern in the headboard. A quick glance around revealed the close-stool and nightsoil box in a separate, smaller side room, along with the washbasin and a bathing tub. “If you prefer, there is a hot bath for you to use on the ground floor,” Pedro’s voice offered from behind him.
Matthew thought for less than an instant. “I believe I will take advantage of His Highness’s generosity, Pedro, if someone would show me the way.”
That seemed to be the right response. “Certainly, my lord. If you have any laundry, please leave it there,” the servant pointed to a large covered basket. “The maids will do it this afternoon and return it tomorrow.” Pedro gave him a close inspection, as only a long-time manservant could, and added, “His Highness also has leather workers on staff.”
I think that means my vest and boots do not meet his standards. Tough. I’m a fighter, not a courtier. On the other hand, if his boots needed repair, he’d have to get it done somewhere. “That’s good to know.”
After a hot wash and some meat-filled buns, Matthew settled into one of the chairs in his room. Now what? First he needed to meet with the king. Then he needed to learn more about fighting off threats larger than mere raids. Capt. Kidder and his men had stopped the Turkowi army, but that had been twenty and more years ago. The heathens were not going to stay south of the Morpalo River. They’d already begun raiding north, nibbling away at land and people, testing and wearing at Morloke, Scheel, the Empire, the Magwi, and Godown only knew who else. And I need to get Marteen back from the grubbers of the Council. Before Mischa of Tivolia tries something stupid. But not all at once.
Matthew smoothed his new trousers once more, trying to dry suddenly sweaty palms without attracting attention. Stop that. You fought the Turkowi without panicking—what are you nervous about? He took a deep breath but it didn’t help. Killing men in yellow who want to kill me first I understand. Diplomacy is different. And if Emperor Michael Babenburg refused to help him, he’d have a long way to ride before he found employment and training.
As he waited to be heard, Matthew studied the chamber. It looked a good deal bigger than the council room in Morloke City, although that could have been a trick of the pale blue walls and cool, light-colored marble and tile floor. Despite the number of people standing along the walls or seated at two small tables in the front corners of the large space, it felt airier and cooler, more relaxed but also more formal than the council chamber, which made no sense to Matthew. Maybe it was the electric lights that steadied the yellow flicker of the oil lamps. Instead of an enormous table and bright wall paintings, an ornately carved chair on a small platform dominated the room. Everything else drew the eye to that chair and the flowing fountain depicted on the wall behind it. Not that Emperor Michael needed any help dominating the room, Matthew thought. I need to learn how he does that.
Four other petitioners preceded Matthew Malatesta, giving him time to watch the court and emperor. Michael Babenburg radiated half-restrained energy, explaining where Archduchess Sarah, Prince Alois’ younger sister, got it from. His dark blue clothes complemented his dark hair and eyes, and Matthew wondered if Empress Laural shared Alois’s fairer coloring. The monarch reminded Matthew of a sight-hound, sharp eared and eager. But he held himself still in the great chair, listening with more patience than Matthew would have guessed to an older woman in worn clothes, the last petitioner before Matthew. Well, he’s not that young. He’s in his late forties? I think that’s right. His brothers, Andrew and Thomas, had short reigns compared to other Babenburgs I’ve read about. At last the woman finished her story.
Emperor Michael considered her words. “You are correct, Goodwife Adams. That pump should be working and free for you and your neighbors to use. Master Cooper has no authority to open or shut the water line—that section is Master Andrew Draper’s responsibility. I will remind Master Cooper of that, and that no one is to pay for water from public pumps. That is why they are public.”
The shabby but clean woman dropped a curtsey. “Thank ye, Yer Majesty. ‘Tis much appreciated and ye are most gracious.”
By the time she finished speaking, a scribe, or so Matthew guessed, had written something down on a page of creamy paper. He presented it to the emperor, who glanced at it, nodded, and handed the man a ring. The scribe bowed, returned to his table, and a moment later gave Michael back the ring. What’s the emperor doing worrying about water pumps? I’ve never heard about a ruler bothering with something that small.
The scribe handed the woman the page, now bearing a blue seal on it. She curtsied again, lower, and rushed out of the room, her clogs clattering on the hard floor. Matthew couldn’t help but notice her large, gap-toothed smile of triumph. Then he heard the chamberlain call, “Count Matthew Charles Malatesta of Morloke.”
Matthew took another deep breath and walked forward until he stood three meters from the throne. He bowed. “You may rise.” He did and looked up into the darkest blue eyes he could recall seeing. The lean face around them bore traces of age and duty, the fine wrinkles of time, but no scars. “What is your request, Count Malatesta?”
Matthew swallowed hard. He’d been thinking and planning what he wanted to say, but the pretty words fluttered out of his head, leaving blank space between his ears. Oh damn. Just say something! “Your Majesty, I request permission to stay in Vindobona, to study at the imperial library, and to observe your armies, so that I may better protect my holdings.” His voice sounded high and nervous to his ears, and Matthew cringed.
The emperor leaned forward, studying him. “And why do you need my permission to remain in the city? Are you indigent?” The two men locked eyes.
“Indigent, Your Majesty? I’m sorry, I don’t know the word.”
“Without means of support.”
Matthew shook his head, eyes still trapped by the emperor’s odd blue gaze. “No, Your Majesty. I have my inheritance from my grandfa
ther, Duke Edmund von Sarmas, sufficient to provide for my needs.” But not for long, not at the prices your people charge. “If necessary, I have books—old books—of religion and history that might be of interest to your archivists.”
Emperor Michael sat back, still not releasing Matthew from close attention. “I am told that you are an outlaw, wanted for theft and breaking a peace bond in Morloke, and the brother of a murderer.”
The lying bastards! A faint red haze came over Matthew’s vision, and he fought to keep from shouting. He counted to three before responding in a surge, “No, Your Majesty, I am none of those things and Leo is not a murderer unless you count killing Turkowi raiders as murder, which civilized men do not. What I brought from Morloke is mine by inheritance or purchase: two horses, the books, what my grandfather left Leo and I, and clothes I purchased with my share of the income from the Malatesta lands. Nothing more.”
“But you left Morloke without permission of your guardian.”
“I am of age, Your Majesty, and the Oligarchs murdered my brother, who was my guardian. The merchant under whose roof I was forced to live surrendered his guardianship when Leopold Anthony Malatesta turned sixteen, a year and two seasons ago.” He felt pain in his hands and unclenched his fists.
Emperor Michael released his gaze and glanced off to the side, looking for someone or something. Matthew made his shoulders relax, stretching his fingers to ease the cramp in his hands. “Count Malatesta, both Duke Starland and my son Prince Alois have vouched for your behavior, and my agents report that the Oligarchs’ Council refuses to clarify their charges against you, as is required before I or my council will arrest you.” Michael made a beckoning gesture, and a tall man with curly reddish-brown hair and a horseman’s gait came to stand at Matthew’s left hand. “You say you want to learn how to protect your lands?”
