The Infernal Battalion

by Django Wexler

  “Ah... probably not, Your Highness.” Eric looked down at his papers. “Word of our coming has only just arrived, so I imagine they’ll want to discuss among themselves before setting up a meeting of consequence.”

  “What about these Honest Fellows? The king’s advisers. Do you know anything about them?”

  Her tone must have been harsher than she intended. Eric’s eyes widened. “O-only a little, Your Highness. I can, of course, have more information prepared.”

  Once again Raesinia found herself wishing for Sothe. If her old friend had been at her side, Raesinia would never have gone into a meeting without knowing who was present and what their allegiances were. Not to mention a standing offer to have them quietly killed. It wasn’t that she approved of assassination as a political tactic, but the knowledge made her a little more comfortable. It wasn’t Eric’s fault, of course. He’s a fine political adviser. He’s just not the Gray Rose.

  It took close to an hour to make the trip to the palace, which the Borelgai referred to simply as the Keep. Unlike in Ohnlei, the estate of the Borelgai kings was in the very center of their capital, not far from the site of the Great Market. Where Ohnlei was a creation of the modern age, laid out by Farus V in an effort to compete with his father’s glory, the Keep was an actual fortress, built for defense in a time before cannonballs. The curtain wall stood thirty feet high, studded with square towers and lined with a crenellated battlement. Raesinia saw dark figures walking back and forth atop it, keeping watch as the king’s men might have done five hundred years before. The carriage passed underneath a mammoth gatehouse, through a tunnel that felt more like something bored out of native rock.

  Ohnlei had always seemed to Raesinia to be a place of air and light, with enormous, expensive windows and mirrored halls, vast grounds set with perfectly manicured plants and elaborate fountains. The Keep felt claustrophobic by comparison, crammed in behind its ancient stone walls like a dense city block instead of a country estate. Beyond the gatehouse was a large square, lined with tall brick buildings. Streets led off to the left and right, and Raesinia could see more structures packed cheek-by-jowl, right up against the walls. Ahead, a wider road led to the Keep proper, what had been the inner sanctum of the old fortress.

  This, at least, had been modernized, though the facade still looked appropriately medieval. Broad windows and dozens of chimneys hinted at more up-to-date comforts, and the steady glow of gaslights illuminated the entryway, protected by stained-​glass covers from the endless rain. Borelgai Life Guards, distinguished by the white furs on their shakos, stood to attention as the carriages passed by, ignoring the splashes from the iron-​rimmed wheels. Another gate loomed.

  They finally halted in a covered yard, the rain drumming on the roof overhead. A black-​liveried servant, flanked by a pair of Life Guards, bowed deeply as the carriage door opened and Raesinia descended.

  “Your Highness,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “Welcome to the Keep. I regret that we have only lately been informed of your visit and so cannot receive you in the fashion you deserve.”

  “I understand,” Raesinia said. “News can scarcely outrun one of your courier ships, after all.”

  “His Majesty has been informed of your arrival and has indicated he would be pleased to receive you in private. However, he asked me to convey that if you wish to retire for a time beforehand, he will not take offense. He understands the rigors of travel are taxing.”

  Raesinia looked down at herself. Her dress wasn’t exactly informal, but it certainly wasn’t the sort of thing in which one would ordinarily choose to meet foreign royalty. Moreover, it was still slightly damp from the rain and a bit rumpled from the ride. Mistress Lagovil would have insisted that she change into something more suitable, and probably bathe.

  The hell with it. The whole point of this visit was that she wasn’t here to observe diplomatic niceties. Maybe being a little unkempt will impress the king with the urgency of the situation.

  “I would be happy to attend on His Majesty at once. Can someone show my servants to our chambers?”

  “Of course.”

  “Eric,” Raesinia said over her shoulder. “Get everything set up, would you? And see that Cora has an escort to the market.”

  “But—” Eric decided that this wasn’t the place to argue. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Do you two need a rest?” Raesinia said to Barely.

  She shook her head. “Not unless you need us to put on dress blues.”

  “Later.” She turned back to the servant. “Lead the way, then.”

  “I am Sebastian Carter, majordomo.” He bowed again. “It’s my pleasure to be of service.”

  *

  Sebastian led them rapidly down a series of corridors. It seemed to Raesinia that this was not the part of the Keep normally shown to foreign dignitaries, since some of the halls they traversed were quite plain, with no carpets and only whitewash on the walls. Eventually they emerged through a discreet servants’ door into something more recognizable as royal splendor, with the arms of Borel alternating with the Pulwer crest every few yards along the walls. A double door at the end of the hall, attended by another pair of Life Guards, was carved with an elaborate bas-​relief of a ship in heavy seas.

  The guards opened the doors at a gesture from Sebastian, and the majordomo stepped aside, letting Raesinia precede him into the room beyond. It was large and somewhat gloomy, with thick red carpets and dark wooden paneling, and the air was a haze of sweet-​smelling smoke. A crowd of men, perhaps two dozen, stood in knots against the walls. They were dressed in suits and waistcoats, all dark, sober browns and grays, with only the flash of jeweled collar studs to provide a touch of color. Long-​stemmed pipes were ubiquitous, each drooling a thin thread of smoke to add to the general fog.

  “Her Royal Highness, Queen Raesinia Orboan of Vordan,” Sebastian boomed, from behind her.

  A bow, barely more than a nod, rippled through those assembled. Raesinia looked around, feeling a bit lost in a sea of gray beards and drooping sideburns.

  At the other end of the room, a man stood up. His suit was black and his waistcoat threaded with silver. He looked like all the rest, with one exception—​an elaborate gold double circle pinned to his chest, set with a spray of pearls and bearing a dark red gemstone the size of an eye. He had a pipe in one hand and something like a walking stick in the other.

  This, Raesinia realized, was the King of Borel. She had pictured him as some version of her father, swathed in colorful silk and velvet; certainly there had never been any question, in the court of Farus VIII, of a visitor mistaking who was supposed to be the center of attention. Georg Pulwer clearly had different standards for the majesty of a monarch than Mistress Lagovil. He looks more like a banker than a king.

  “Queen Raesinia,” Georg said. “Please forgive this poor greeting. We only received word of your coming quite recently.”

  “My apologies for not sending word ahead,” Raesinia said. “Events have caught us off guard.”

  “Don’t they always?” Georg said. This was apparently supposed to be a joke, because it produced a round of dutiful laughter among the others. “In any event, welcome to Borel, and my sympathies on what must be a trying time.” He raised a hand and beckoned, without looking. “Let me introduce my sons. This is Crown Prince Rupert.”

  “Honored, Your Highness.” The crown prince shuffled forward. He was a large man, well into middle age and not carrying it well; Raesinia might have guessed him to be of the same generation as his father. He carried a similar black-​and-​silver walking stick, but where Georg’s seemed decorative, Rupert leaned heavily on his.

  “And this is Second Prince Matthew,” Georg went on.

  “Your Highness.” Matthew sketched a deep bow. He was much younger than his brother—probably not yet thirty—slim as a sword, and had a well-​trimmed beard and no sideburns. Instead of his father’s and brother’s somewhat fleshy features, he had a thin face with sha
rp cheekbones and icy blue eyes. Rather handsome, Raesinia thought, but something in his expression seemed hostile.

  “I look forward to getting to know both of you,” she said. That seemed safe. “I regret to say, however, that this is not merely a social visit. You’re aware of the most recent developments?”

  Georg nodded. “The return of Vhalnich, you mean?”

  “Yes. It was with the assistance of your servant the Duke of Brookspring that we were able to thwart him the last time he reached for power. It must surely be in the interests of both our nations that he be stopped again.”

  “Of course.” Georg’s mustaches twitched in what might have been a smile. “It’s the duty of all civilized peoples to stand together against a tyrant, especially one as dangerous as Vhalnich has proven to be. We will not be found wanting in that duty. Borel will be at your side in this hour of need, never fear.”

  Some unspoken cue prompted a short round of applause from the onlookers. Raesinia frowned. She’d hoped for an audience with less of, well, an audience, where Georg might be persuaded to speak a bit more candidly. Still, he seems willing. She bowed slightly in appreciation.

  “Thank you. If your fleet can be assembled within the week, then—”

  Georg cut her off with an upraised hand. “I must refer you to my advisers for the details. Fredrick?”

  One of the men standing by stepped forward and bowed as low as his ample stomach would allow. “At your service, Your Majesty.”

  “Please discuss the necessary arrangements with Queen Raesinia.”

  “Of course.” Fredrick turned to Raesinia. He was heavily bewhiskered, eyes almost lost above a substantial nose. “If you’ll follow me?”

  They had this planned. Raesinia smelled an ambush, but she had no choice except to smile graciously and go along. She checked reflexively to make sure Barely and Jo were still behind her, though she didn’t really expect to be physically assaulted. Fredrick hardly looks the type.

  Sebastian, walking ahead of them, opened a door nearby. It led to a small sitting room, where two armchairs were positioned in front of a fire, already burning. A table between them held a silver tray of pastries.

  “Have a seat, Your Highness,” Fredrick said. “I’m sure you’re tired from your journey.”

  Cautiously, Raesinia settled into one of the chairs, and Fredrick lowered himself heavily into the other. He rubbed his knees with his palms, shaking his head.

  “The knees are always the first to go, when you get to my age,” he said. “If you want my advice, Your Highness, you’ll enjoy them while they last.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Raesinia almost started when Sebastian appeared at her elbow, offering a glass of wine. She took it and sipped politely.

  “Did you have good weather for your journey?”

  “Tolerable,” Raesinia said. “Your captain made excellent time.”

  “The courier captains pride themselves on it. And what do you think of Viadre?”

  “I haven’t really gotten a good look,” Raesinia said. She sat up a little straighter. “Can we skip the small talk, please? It has been a long journey, and as I said to His Majesty, time is of the essence.”

  “I see.” Fredrick gave a heavy sigh. “Fair enough.”

  “You’re Fredrick Goodman, I take it?”

  “Humble merchant and one of the Honest Fellows. At your service.”

  And possibly the richest man in the world. “His Majesty seemed eager for us to work out the details of your assistance.”

  “As to that,” Fredrick said. “My colleagues and I have been in conference with His Majesty since we received word of your arrival. While we of course sympathize with your situation, we agree that there are certain... injustices that must be redressed. Until that happens, Borelgai assistance to Vordan will be more in the character of moral support than anything... tangible.”

  Raesinia narrowed her eyes. “What sort of injustices?”

  “Financial ones.” Fredrick steepled his fingers. “To put it bluntly, Your Highness, you owe us a great deal of money. The Vordanai crown borrowed heavily from many upstanding citizens of Borel in the period before your father’s death.” His whiskers twitched. “You have my condolences, by the by. Afterward, your new... Deputies declared the debts of the previous government null and void. This was a source of great hardship in Viadre and no doubt contributed to our recent unpleasantness before you and the Duke of Brookspring resolved matters.”

  “I’m sure something can be arranged as part of the treaty,” Raesinia said. “But aid must come first. Troops are in the field as we speak.”

  “From my position, surely you must see why that seems unwise. Once Janus is defeated, what is to prevent your government from repeating its act of fiscal dereliction?” He shook his head. “No. The Honest Fellows are agreed. A firm pledge on the debt issue must come prior to any assistance.” Fredrick leaned forward, his smile showing yellowed teeth. “You must agree, that’s only reasonable?”

  *

  “...and you should see the system they have in the commodity pits,” Cora said. “There’s so many people packed in so tight, all shouting at once, that nobody can hear a damn thing. So the pit bosses take orders entirely by gesture. They have a whole language and hand signals, and it’s considered as binding as a paper contract! Can you imagine making an agreement to deliver a million bushels of wheat just by going like this?” She bent her fingers into an L shape and waggled her thumb.

  “It’d certainly make me more likely to keep my hands in my pockets,” Raesinia said.

  She was only half listening. Cora had been telling her about the wonders of the Viadre markets since she’d returned, and she required little more than the occasional nod to continue her gushing commentary. Raesinia’s mind kept returning to her brief meeting with the king.

  I have to see him again. In private this time. Dorsay had been right about Fredrick Goodman. If he really represents the majority of the Honest Fellows, then our only chance is for the king to override them. But—

  She became aware that Cora had stopped talking, and blinked. “Sorry. What?”

  “I asked if you’d made any progress,” Cora said. “I know you said nothing important would happen today.”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure,” Raesinia said. “The king was... polite, but that’s about it. But I met with Fredrick Goodman afterward.”

  “What’d he say?”

  Cora settled into the heavy leather armchair across from Raesinia while she recounted their conversation. The suite the Borelgai had provided for her use was comfortably furnished, though in the same gloomy fashion as the rest of the Keep, paneled in dark wood and equipped with solid, heavy furniture. Oil paintings of old men in antique costumes stared down from the walls. Eric was already asleep in his room, and Raesinia had insisted that Barely and Jo take some time to rest as well. Cora’s energy, however, was apparently inexhaustible.

  “That’s... not going to work,” Cora said, when Raesinia told her about Fredrick’s insistence on the restoration of prerevolution debt.

  “I guessed that we wouldn’t be able to afford it,” Raesinia said.

  “It’s not that,” Cora said. “I mean, it is that—​we already have more debt than we can really afford—​but it’s not just that. Toward the end of your father’s rule...” She trailed off, blushing slightly.

  “You don’t have to dance around it,” Raesinia said with a sigh. “I know he made some bad decisions.”

  “It wasn’t really his fault,” Cora said. “Orlanko put Rackhil Grieg in the Ministry of Finance, and everyone knows he was a Borelgai puppet. A lot of the loans the Crown took on his watch were on very unfavorable terms, deliberately, to improve profits for the Borels. The Deputies could never accept them, treaty or no treaty.”

  “Wonderful.” Raesinia shook her head. “Let’s hope this is just Goodman’s opening offer. He has to be willing to negotiate—​we may need his help, but he certainly won’t get his m
oney if Janus takes over.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Cora said. “We need to narrow down exactly which loans he’s talking about, and—”

  There was a knock at the door. A heavily accented voice, one of the Life Guards outside, called, “A visitor, Your Highness. The second prince.”

  Raesinia and Cora raised their eyebrows simultaneously.

  “Did he say anything about coming to meet you?” Cora said.

  “Not that I recall.” She pushed herself out of the chair. “I suppose it would be rude to leave him waiting in the hall.”

  She opened the door, half expecting to find the prince at the head of a whole procession. Instead he was alone except for the ever-​present Life Guards, hands thrust in his pockets, ruining the line of his dark gray suit. His expression made it look as if he’d just eaten something foul.

  Have I offended him already? Raesinia put on a blank expression. “Prince Matthew. What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Your Highness,” Matthew said. “I wanted—​that is, I would be honored...” He trailed off with a scowl, took a deep breath, and started over. “If you’re not too tired, I would be pleased to invite you to dinner.”

  “Dinner?” The sky visible from the suite’s windows was a uniform gray, and Raesinia realized she had no idea what time it was. “Tonight?”

  “Or another time. I am... eager to get to know you.”

  He doesn’t look it. The second prince had all the excitement of a man walking to his own execution. So what’s going on? The little she’d learned from Dorsay hadn’t included anything about where the princes fell in relation to the king and the Honest Fellows. Better to play it safe until we know more.

  “It will have to be another time,” she said with an ostentatious yawn. “It really has been a trying day. I hope you won’t be offended.”

  “Of course not,” Matthew said. He seemed pleasantly surprised. “I’ll call again, Your Highness. Enjoy your evening.”

  “Thank you,” Raesinia said. She watched, mystified, as he turned away, trailing his personal guard.