Not Exactly The Three Musketeers

by Joel Rosenberg

  "He was. Last night. He's long since gone." Ketterling pursed his lips. "I've never much cared for that creature, Governor. He knows too much about too much and tends to find out more about more." Ketterling brightened. "Even when, of course, as I well know, there's nothing to worry about anybody finding out."

  Treseen nodded tolerantly. Ketterling was an idiot.

  There was always something to worry about. One could have the most innocent intentions in the world, but if those innocent intentions might result in some benefit, there was always somebody else who would want the benefit for himself. One might, for example, wish to marry a baroness - an appropriate reward for long service first to Bieme, and then to the empire, and then to the baroness and the barony itself - and it was entirely possible that that would interfere with the plan or preference or even the whim of somebody in a position to stop it.

  One might have urged the emperor to put off the naming of the heir as baron for just that reason, and yes, the baroness finding that out was something to concern oneself with.

  The dagger that Treseen had once carried into battle lay on his desk, holding down a stack of papers. It looked different these days than it had at that time. It had been an expensive blade, the manufacture of which had cost Captain Treseen half a year's salary, made from a small ingot of dwarven wootz that Treseen had managed to come by as a battle prize.

  But in the old days, the blade was kept merely working-sharp, not honed to a razor's sharpness - too sharp an edge could chip, and Treseen's arm was strong -and it had had a hand guard, to catch and deflect another's blade. It had long since been remounted with a simple bone-inlaid handle, and it lay on his desk merely as a letter opener, and a reminder to Governor Deren Treseen of any number of things.

  He used it to slice off the wax thumbprint with which Banderan had sealed the letter, and quickly scanned the contents.

  Ah. He should have guessed.

  Banderan was merely overreacting, as had always been his wont. Three ordinary soldiers from Barony Furnael - Treseen knew he was now supposed to call it Barony Cullinane, but his thoughts were his own had been dispatched in response to some note that silly little Leria had managed to smuggle out - Elanee would want to know how that had happened - and which had ended up in the clutching hands of the dowager empress, of all people.

  Well, if that was all this was, there was nothing to worry about, and certainly nothing to do. Leria was resisting the idea of marriage to Miron, and while that was a minor complication for the baroness, it was hardly a problem that justified or needed imperial scrutiny.

  Which was fine.

  Much more important: it was a problem that could easily stand imperial scrutiny.

  Some minor reconciliation issues with the taxes collected and those passed on to Biemestren was another matter, but that wasn't the sort of thing that three ordinary soldiers - or a hundred soldiers -would be about to try to sort out, much less be able to sort out.

  Besides, if enough coins flowed through one's hands, one or two could only be expected to stick to one's fingers now and then. After all, a man did have to think of his future, and as Treseen's father had always said, it was just simple good sense to put more than one arrow in the air.

  And Treseen had more than one arrow in the air.

  Until Leria married, her lands were administered by Treseen, and that was perfectly fine with him. Tax money went for roads and mills, and Treseen had used some of that to help sponsor a company of dwarves from Endell who had wanted to take up residence in the Ulter Hills. Wherever dwarves came, money flowed. And the more money that flowed, the more that might be diverted without notice.

  Looking at it that way, Elanee's attempts to urge Leria into a marriage with Miron were just a minor problem.

  To him, that is, it was a minor problem, but from the point of view of the baroness, it might seem more than minor. It might, in fact, be utterly embarrassing for somebody as adept as Elanee thought herself to find the dowager empress taking a personal interest in her minor machinations.

  Which certainly boded well for a man who could handle such a minor/major problem, or at least point the way toward a solution. There was, perhaps, more than gold to be had out of it, and in an empire that had been created by a usurper, what limits could a man with intelligence and ambition have?

  "Ketterling," Treseen said, "have a fresh horse saddled, and an escort mounted. I'm afraid I'll have to ride out to the Residence again shortly."

  "Yes, Governor."

  Treseen sat back in his chair and thought about how he would answer the note. The trick would be to thank Banderan without thanking him too much, but surely Treseen was capable of that much subtlety. Drafting such a message should take but moments.

  And if not, well, if Treseen wasn't able to easily manipulate a loyal and straightforward old soldier, who was he to marry a baroness, eh?

  Elanee knelt down on a folded blanket and considered the rosebush in front of her.

  It was lush and full, dense with thorny branches and dozens of flowers the color of fresh blood, their musky perfume filling the late afternoon air.

  Definitely wrong. She suppressed a tsking sound. It never paid to reveal your feelings, even when you were alone. She had neglected this bush too long; it had grown too dense, with far too many flowers, a puffball of a plant. A rosebush was not a wheat field, after all, to be judged by the weight and volume of its yearly crop.

  It was a work of art.

  This one should, she decided, be cut back to perhaps half a dozen branches, each bearing one or two roses as far from the base of the plant as possible. Let it dominate as much space as it could with its beauty, but let it do so subtly: and let the empty space make the crooked branches stand out more.

  She took her favorite tool, a slim serrated knife, and set to work. The trick was to cut enough to bend the bush to her vision without cutting so much that the plant would die.

  Nobody - nobody - was allowed in the inner gardens when Elanee was working with her plants. Were an interruption absolutely necessary, there was a bell by the gate that could be rung by anybody willing to quite literally bet his or her life that she would have them killed for relaying whatever the matter was. The bell had never been rung, for that purpose or any other, and Elanee had been mildly amused to discover, some years before, that servants always kept a fresh, dampened rag wrapped about the clapper to prevent it from an accidental ring.

  Certain kinds of privacy came easily with her station; others were simply unavailable.

  She could easily arrange to be left alone in her bath, or in her room to sleep or read or eat or, more frequently, to think; she could not possibly arrange for a walk about the Residence itself without encountering somebody - it took a large staff to maintain even such a simple country home - and it would not only be beyond stupidity but remarkably noteworthy for her to go for a ride by herself across the countryside or even there without an escort.

  The pile of branches on the black soil next to the bush grew slowly, as did the separate pile of roses. There was no need to waste them, after all; a servant would separate the petals and add them to her bath. Tonight.

  After, of course, Elanee abandoned her garden for the day.

  The privacy of her garden was special. It belonged to her, not to anybody else.

  It wasn't just a matter of her privacy, although that would have been sufficient in and of itself. There was also the matter of vanity, and Elanee considered her vanity an asset, not a liability. She was remarkably unbecoming and appeared to be very much a woman of her age with her hair tied back and wrapped in a cloth like a peasant woman's, her face protected from tanning by a floppy straw hat, wearing a loose pair of man's trousers, an oversized shirt, and a pair of pigskin gloves to protect her hands.

  She didn't mind getting dirty, be it with dirt or blood, should the situation require it - she was, after all, the Euar'den heir to Tynear, even if the Euar'den Dynasty had long since ended its rule of Tynear, and Tynear its
elf was swallowed up by Holtun five generations before - but part of what made her what she was was her insistence on appearing above it all. Tanning like a peasant wouldn't fit with that, and neither would it do to be seen wrapping herself up to avoid it.

  The hardest thing to do in life was to float through it without effort. Elanee had never managed that, but floating through life without apparent effort was a sufficient substitute.

  Elanee tended her roses herself, working slowly and carefully. There was no reason to rush, and one of the reasons she maintained this section of the gardens herself was as a reminder that there was no reason to rush many things.

  Patience had been one of the two virtues she had been born with, and while exercising them came naturally, she enjoyed the exercise as much as she presumed a born horseman like her son, Miron, enjoyed the feel of the powerful animal between his legs. She smiled a private smile. That was an enjoyment that, in an entirely different way, she shared with her son. And would share in a third way, someday soon.

  The bush was now what she wanted it to be: a scant half-dozen crooked branches, each terminating in a single rose. It reminded her of a crippled old woman extending rich fruit in a supplicatory pose.

  Very pretty.

  She rose to her feet, ignoring the pain in her lower back from her long crouching, and stretched. The sun lay on the castle walls, and it was time for Elanee to leave her garden for the day.

  Life was so unfair, so demanding sometimes.

  Elanee, fresh from her ablutions, swept down the staircase and into the great hall, with its table that could have seated a hundred but was set for three. It was a matter of standards, and one of the many battles she had won with her late husband: supper would always be eaten in the great hall.

  Miron was waiting for her at table, Leria across the table from him. She could tell from his hand motions and her patient expression that he had, once again, been regaling her with some hunting story.

  He rose at her approach. "Good eve to you, Mother," he said.

  She regarded him with a sincere affection, although she flattered herself that it was an affection tempered with a sense of reality. He was a remarkably handsome young man, something of her own strength in his face, and his legitimacy as the son of his late father evident only in the squareness of his jawline and the broadness of his hands, with their very un-Euar'den stubby fingers.

  The rest of him, though, was classic Euar'den: curiously warm and compelling blue eyes above an aquiline nose and a generous mouth that seemed always ready to part in a smile or a laugh; the body long and lean, shoulders as broad as a peasant's, and a posture that reminded her of her father's father: motionless but never at rest, as though balanced to move from utter stillness into sudden activity at any moment.

  She had never seen him with a leg thrown lazily over the arm of a chair, and she never would.

  Leria was on her feet, as well, and Elanee forced herself to broaden her smile. "And you look so lovely this evening, my dear."

  "Thank you, Baroness," Leria said.

  Elanee was pleased to see what appeared to be a flicker of genuineness in the girl's returned smile. Elanee, in her own way, spent as much time and effort courting her as Miron did, and much more than the long-absent-and-unmissed Forinel, who had seduced her apparently without effort and certainly without Elanee's help or blessing.

  Leria was a pretty little thing, although her pert little nose and rosy lips were a trifle overdainty to Elanee's way of thinking. But there was determination in her pointed little chin, and she was slim and willowy enough to be clearly of noble and not peasant ancestry. Perhaps she was too slim - she really should have had a strand of gold chain at the waist of her dress to emphasize its smallness, or had the bodice cut fuller to call attention to the slight swell of her firm young breasts. But the soft black satin had been a good choice in her dress, even if the cut was too ungenerous for such a young girl. It set off her smooth white complexion dramatically, and even somehow enhanced the flow of long golden hair that fell to the girl's shoulders - although the shoulders should have been bared.

  Ah, if only the problem were educating the little twit into how to display herself better. Elanee could have handled that in an idle afternoon.

  Elanee took her place at the head of the table, allowing Miron to seat her, and waited for the maid to bring in the first course.

  Footsteps echoed behind her on the smooth marble, but they were heavier than they ought to have been. She turned to see Thirien stop and draw himself to attention.

  The Old Emperor had allowed her late husband to expand his personal guard, and Thirien, who really ought to have commanded nothing larger than a single troop, had found himself in charge of the whole company. His chin was weak and his ears large - he wasn't handsome, he wasn't bright, and he wasn't much of a leader, but he was loyal as a good dog, and that was good enough for Elanee. Intelligence in servants was an often overrated commodity. Elanee had more than enough of that quality, she had long ago decided, and valued other characteristics more in others.

  Keeping her guards loyal was important, even though it was so easy.

  They were just men, after all.

  "Your pardon," he said, his usual parade-ground bark muted, "but Governor Treseen is here."

  She raised an eyebrow. She had, in theory, dismissed Treseen after breakfast, and had not expected to see him for several days at least, at least not out here.

  "I'll pardon you, of a certainty, but I don't recall having sent for him." Technically, of course, she could no more send for Treseen than she could send for the emperor himself. Barony Keranahan was under imperial governance, and while she was every bit as much baroness in theory now as she had been before Holtun had been conquered, it was the governor who ruled.

  That was a technicality only, as long as he ruled as she pleased, just as it had been a technicality when the late baron had ruled as she pleased. Elanee was not concerned with the forms as much as with the substance, and the substance was that he was here uninvited.

  So she made a special effort to put a precise measure of coldness in her smile as she rose to greet him.

  He was a handsome enough man, his raven-black hair turning quite becomingly silvery at the temples, despite the way that in middle age his chest had started to slide down and become a belly slopping over his sword belt. But there was something wrong, something weak about his eyes, as though he could never quite focus them properly.

  Not even when looking at her. Pity.

  "I'm sorry to disturb your dinner," he said. "But I foolishly left my seal out here this morning, and there are reports that have to be promptly sealed and sent off to Biemestren. A troop of soldiers slithers along like a snake on its belly, it's said, but an empire sails along on a sea of paper."

  A clumsy lie. Either Treseen was more of an idiot than she thought he was - which was always possible; it was a capital error to underestimate an adversary, and everybody was always an adversary -or he couldn't possibly have expected to be believed in that.

  "Now, now, Governor Treseen," Miron said, rising politely, "if I didn't know better, I'd think that you're so much taken with my lovely Leria here - " the girl frowned briefly at the possessive, but Miron didn't pause " - that you couldn't bear to wait until you next saw her and left your seal behind as an excuse to return today."

  Leria looked Miron square in the eye. "I? I'd think, were I asked - "

  "Oh, please, please," Miron said. "Do tell."

  "I'd think that perhaps the governor is more likely to be taken with Baroness Elanee than me, were he to be taken with anybody."

  Miron laughed. "There certainly would be a point to that, and as a devoted son," he said, with a quick bow toward Elanee, "I'm embarrassed that I wasn't the one to make that observation." He walked around the table and crooked his arm toward her. "Please, Leria, help me hide my shame with a short stroll in the gardens. I couldn't bear to sit at table and blush."

  Clearly despite herself, Leri
a laughed, a sound light and bubbling.

  She rose and took Miron's arm.

  Elanee waited until they had exited through the doors that opened on the portico overlooking the gardens before she turned back to Treseen.

  This had best be important, she thought

  His light expression had grown somber. "I'm sorry I couldn't think of a better reason than that pretext about the seal," he said, patting at his belt pouch to indicate where it, quite properly, still rested. "But I thought you would want to see this without a wait."

  He produced a piece of paper. "It seems that the dowager empress herself has taken an interest in your... domestic situation. My first thought was that it's an unimportant matter, one worth waiting to inform you of, but my second thought was ..." He shrugged.

  "Now, Governor - "

  "But your son is quite right, as I'm sure you know, and I shamelessly employed it as an excuse to see you again." He started to tuck the paper back into his pouch. "I must apologize for disturbing the tranquillity of your meal, and hope you'll both pardon and excuse me." He bowed, and made as though to leave.

  "Please, please." She hoped her smile warmed him; she would have preferred that it burned him.

  "Now," she said, "you know you are always welcome here, Governor Treseen, that I think of you as a dear friend - " The most she had ever allowed him before was "good friend," but this was no time for half measures. "I'm so delighted to see you that I couldn't be so rude as to scold you. Please, please join me for dinner," she said, gesturing him toward Miron's seat. "And if you think that this ... message is something I should look at, well, I'm only a woman, and know little of politics and such, but I'd be happy to look at it and will listen with great interest to whatever sage advice you'd be generous enough to offer."

  She didn't need his intelligence - what there was of it - but she did need his position.

  Treseen returned the smile. He figured he'd won something, and perhaps he had.

  For the moment.

  Chapter 8