Diplomats and Fugitives

by Lindsay Buroker

  Now, with sunlight slanting through the massive stained-glass windows on the western side of the building, she worried she had taken too long. It might be weeks before Shukura thought to look for her, but she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that unfriendly eyes were already upon her. Watching her. In the forest, she could have ferreted out a spy quickly, but here, with hundreds of bodies surrounding her, making her uncomfortable as they bumped and brushed her, she struggled to put her senses to use. Also, she could not draw upon the energy of nature in this cement-walled building. There wasn’t so much as a potted plant adorning the lobby.

  “Next,” a bored woman at the counter said.

  The person in front of Ashara stepped forward. Maybe she would make it, after all. As soon as she bought the ticket and boarded, she ought to be safe. A pair of security guards stood by the double doors that led out to the train platform, allowing only those who had paid to pass through. Unless Shukura bought a ticket of his own, he shouldn’t be able to reach her.

  The woman at the counter pulled out a coin purse and started counting out her fare in thin copper coins, the smallest unit of currency in the republic. Ashara stifled a groan.

  The uneasy feeling she had been experiencing all morning increased in intensity. Warily, she turned around. At first, she couldn’t see anyone she recognized past the crowd—even with boots, she wasn’t much over five-foot-three, so seeing over people’s heads was never an option, especially here in this land of over-muscled giants. But she trusted in her senses and was not surprised when a blond man in buckskins stepped past two women and pushed to the front of the line.

  Several people frowned at him, and a few reached for weapons, but six gray-uniformed enforcers strode through in his wake. The disgruntled people held their comments and moved off to the side.

  “Excellent,” Shukura said, taking in her traveling boots, her buckskin trousers and shirt, her sword, and the rucksack, bow, and quiver on her back. “You’re packed and ready to leave.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Next,” the woman at the counter said.

  Ashara took a step in that direction, though she did not truly expect Shukura to let her go. She wasn’t disappointed. He lifted a hand, reaching for her arm. She glared at his hand. He didn’t grab her again, but he did point her to a corner of the crowded station. The notion of punching him in the gut and fleeing came to mind, but the enforcers closed around her, efficiently blocking escape routes. Besides, the station security guards manned the other doors in the building. She doubted she could flee without getting shot.

  “Next,” the woman repeated, an irritated note in her voice.

  The person in line behind Ashara shuffled around the enforcers, grumbling and pushing to make it up to the counter. Numerous other people were watching the exchange, doubtlessly wondering what excitement they might witness.

  “You won’t need to purchase a ticket for where you’re going,” Shukura said.

  “And where would that be?”

  He flicked his finger. “That corner.”

  “Looks like I over packed.”

  “Not at all.” Shukura wore that same fake smile as he prodded her in the desired direction—the armed enforcers made the prodding far more effective than it otherwise would have been. “I hear it’s dangerous in Mangdoria these days.”

  Ashara kept her chin up and didn’t let her shoulders slump, but she cursed herself on the inside, wishing she had listened to her intuition. Why hadn’t she fled the city in the night, on foot if necessary? Because she hadn’t truly wanted to give up everything she had been working toward this last year, and she had hoped she might come up with some plan to evade Shukura? If that was the reason, she had failed.

  “You needn’t look so glum.” Shukura waved for the enforcers to stay back several paces when he joined Ashara in the corner.

  The way they glanced at each other, their eyes narrowed slightly, made Ashara wonder what he had said to acquire their assistance. That he intended to arrest a foreign criminal? If so, they must be wondering why he was taking her aside for a chat first.

  Shukura tried to maneuver her into the corner, probably so he could keep his back to the enforcers as he spoke, but she didn’t let him. She turned parallel to the wall, so the men would be able to observe the conversation. Whether the small defiance would do any good, she did not know, but his lips did flatten slightly.

  Thus far, he had been speaking in Turgonian, but he switched to Kendorian. “I can see from your presence here that you planned to avoid me. Apparently, I wasn’t clear when we spoke yesterday. If you choose not to work for me, for your nation, as a good citizen should, I will make sure you never see your children again. Further, you may find that they are not as safe where they are as you believed they would be.”

  Ashara had been on the verge of saying something defiant, but Shukura’s last sentence chilled her. “You would threaten children? They’re not just mine, you know. They’re Elstark’s too.”

  “Lord Elstark is dead.”

  It had been three years, but the blunt words still made her wince. “You think I don’t know that?” she snapped before she could think better of it.

  “Oh, I’m certain you do. You selected that poison very carefully.”

  “I already told you,” she said, enunciating each word slowly and harshly, her jaw aching from the tension, “I did not kill him.”

  “I don’t care. The gods have dropped you into my lap, and I would be a fool not to use you.”

  “I’m not a tool.”

  “No, you’re a weapon. Listen—” Shukura patted the air in a placating manner, as if he hadn’t just threatened to harm her children, “—punishment is not the only option here. Do as I ask—and I assure you it’s a simple task—and you’ll be able to return to the city here in a couple of weeks. Go back to your schooling. Do whatever it is you plan to do here.”

  “And you won’t bother me or my children again?” Ashara made herself respond reasonably, as if he was swaying her with his argument. Maybe it would make sense to work with him right now, but she would never forgive him for that threat. Threats against herself bothered her little, but against Jiana and Khanrin? That was unacceptable.

  “We will see how you perform on this task,” Shukura said. “It would be foolish of me to toss aside a weapon, if it proves itself useful, but I will pay you for your time whenever I offer you a mission. You may even find my missions appealing. Given your background, it’s hard to believe you’re not bored sitting in those classrooms.”

  Ashara kept her face neutral, even if the words struck her with their truth. The university—the entire city—was so foreign to her, and she did miss traveling across the plains or through the forests, hunting, foraging, and putting her bow to use when needed.

  “Once you swore an oath to our people,” Shukura said, “and to the triumvirate. To serve, that others may live in peace. I am offering you the opportunity to work for your people again.”

  “Our people turned their backs on me.”

  “Because you committed a crime.”

  “I did not.” She bared her teeth at him. Shouldn’t a diplomat at least pretend to listen to the person he was trying to sway to his side?

  “In time, what you do here for me, and through me for our people, would become known back home. I report directly to War Minister Forkasen. Perhaps an understanding might one day be reached, one that would let you return home without being shot.”

  Even though the entire conversation had her feeling tense and edgy, she couldn’t deny the lump that swelled in her throat at the idea of being able to walk back into Kendorian territory, not as a criminal but as a free citizen, as someone who could live with her own children again and be trusted to raise them.

  “What do you want?” Ashara asked, knowing he was manipulating her but not seeing that she had many other options.

  “The Mangdorian ambassador is taking a trip to his homeland with a scientist. There’s a tree bligh
t sweeping across Mangdoria that they intend to investigate and heal if possible. I have arranged for you to go along.”

  Ashara was not sure what sort of mission she had expected from him, but this was not it. Since she had spent seven years as a night stalker for the army, and he had made it clear he knew that, she had assumed he wanted her to hunt someone down for an assassination.

  “To help investigate the blight?” she asked slowly.

  “To make sure they find nothing unnatural about the blight,” Shukura said, looking into her eyes as if to ensure she could not misunderstand. “And to ensure they do not find a way to fix it.”

  Ashara shifted her weight, noticing that the enforcers were doing the same. One seemed on the verge of approaching Shukura to ask him something. He smiled pleasantly at them and raised a single finger.

  “Ambassador,” Ashara said, “you’re right in that my training has covered a number of subjects, but healing the forest is more in line with my abilities than harming it, whether it’s a forest in our country or someone else’s.”

  “I’m sure forest healing is not mentioned in your army job description,” Shukura said dryly.

  No, the night stalkers had wanted her because she could use the trees and plants to find people and because she had a few other practitioner’s tricks, even if she had never formally trained as a shaman.

  “My mother taught me to be a healer, both of the forest and of people. Long before I was ever—” she glanced at the enforcers, “—anything else. I wouldn’t be comfortable encouraging a blight.”

  Shukura stepped forward, his face lowering to hers. Her fingers curled into fists, and she prepared to defend herself, but he stopped short of touching her. “When it comes to serving one’s country, what a person is comfortable with and what a person must do are not always the same thing. You are not being asked to kill anyone, though a night stalker should not balk at that. All I want is for you to thwart an investigation.”

  Ashara almost told him that she would have an easier time killing someone than damaging the wilderness, but she doubted that would reflect well on her. Already, he believed she had been her husband’s murderess. Besides, she knew she would burn a forest if doing so would keep Jiana and Khanrin safe.

  “Why can’t you go yourself?” Ashara looked past his shoulder, wishing she could find a way out of this.

  “My work is here, and I know nothing of trees.”

  “Except when blights in distant forests aren’t natural?”

  “Also, I do not believe Basilard would care for my company,” Shukura said, ignoring her question.

  “Basilard?” Was that the scientist? It was a Turgonian word but an odd one for a name. Unless he was an ex-pirate or ex-inmate. Something that required a tough name.

  “The Mangdorian ambassador. He’s lived in Turgonia for a few years.”

  “Long enough to get a prison name?”

  “I don’t know the story of his name, actually. Perhaps you can discuss it with him en route.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “But don’t get attached,” Shukura said. “He won’t appreciate your mission.”

  “My mission to mask the origins of this blight and keep his scientist from discovering a solution?” She almost wished one of the enforcers would know Kendorian and understand her words. Then they could arrest Shukura, and she could pretend she had never met him.

  “Correct.” Shukura withdrew a folded piece of paper from a belt pouch. “The location of a Kendorian contact along the mountain highway. Give him a message, and he’ll make sure it gets to me. Keep me apprised of their progress.”

  Ashara accepted the paper gingerly.

  “Memorize that, then burn it.”

  “Burn it? I thought spies had to eat their secret notes after they read them.”

  “If you’re hungry, that’s acceptable as well,” Shukura said and turned, raising his hand again toward the enforcers.

  “Ambassador?” Ashara asked before he stepped away. “This mission… will it help Kendor?”

  Shukura tilted his head. “Does that still matter to you?”

  Ashara hadn’t thought it would, but it did, perhaps because the idea of harming the wilderness and playing the role of spy and saboteur unsettled her, even if there was a chance it could help her reunite with her children one day. If she had to become a villain to get them—a real villain, not a wrongfully convicted one—then was it worth it? Would she still be someone who deserved to raise children?

  “Yes,” she said.

  “It will help our people. Obviously, there’s more going on than I can tell you about, but I can promise you that.” He met her eyes, his face earnest. Sincere. “It will help our people, and it will help you. Do you need to know anything else?”

  “No.”

  • • • • •

  Basilard’s wish to leave the same day did not come true, not because he wasn’t ready, but because Maldynado had been shopping for new travel attire and because it had taken a while for someone to find Mahliki. Then she had spent the afternoon selecting and packing equipment. Now, in the predawn darkness, Basilard paced as a couple of soldiers toted heavy trunks out of a side entrance to the basement of the manor. The contents clanked and clattered, even though the men were careful not to jostle the trunks as they walked. With sweat gleaming on their foreheads, they deposited the last load in the bed of a military lorry that had been fired up and parked outside of the vehicle house.

  Several times, Basilard had pointed out to Mahliki and anyone else who could understand him that there weren’t roads in Mangdoria, at least not the kind of wide and packed roads these steam-powered vehicles required. His people traversed the mountains on foot, occasionally with the help of pack animals. It would take a line of twenty donkeys to carry everything going into the lorry. Maybe Mahliki intended to collect her samples alongside the highway of the Turgonian side of the mountains, finishing her task before Basilard had to turn north into Mangdoria.

  He stepped forward, helping one of the soldiers shove his load into the lorry. Anything that would get them on the road sooner. Shukura’s Kendorian friend had not shown up yet. If the lorry rolled out before dawn, Basilard might yet avoid having him added to his team.

  Her, Basilard corrected. Shukura hadn’t provided a name, but he had used feminine pronouns.

  More soft clanks sounded, this time from the path that led from the basement door to the main driveway. Mahliki strode toward them, wearing a backpack, a satchel, and carrying two more bags in her hands. Despite the impressive load, she walked normally, a long braid of black hair swaying as it dangled in front of her shoulder. Her blue eyes gleamed as she met Basilard’s gaze and smiled. He had wondered if she might resent being sent on this mission, but if anything, she appeared excited for the trip.

  She spoke animatedly over her shoulder as she approached. Sespian came out of the door behind her, carrying a crate in his arms. A soldier spotted him toting the load and ran up to take it from him, then barked for someone else to grab Mahliki’s gear. The two shrugged at each other, as if surprised to be the recipients of such consideration, but once their hands were free, they took a moment to face each other and clasp hands. Sespian said something, and Mahliki laughed. Then they kissed, and Basilard turned away, not wanting to intrude on their moment. Also, seeing happy couples together tended to remind him of what he had not had for so very long.

  After a moment, Sespian hugged Mahliki, then headed back into the building, waving over his shoulder before disappearing inside. Mahliki watched until the door shut, then resumed her walk to the lorry. She removed a backpack that the soldiers had not taken from her and set it with the crates waiting to be loaded. As she stood next to Basilard, she made him feel short, as he so often did in Turgonia. Mahliki stood six feet tall and had the natural grace of an athlete—or a warrior—but he knew the various bulges in the pockets of her vest represented sample vials, tweezers, pruners, and magnifying glasses rather than weapons. Along w
ith the scientific tools, she did carry a pistol on her belt. He had seen her take care of herself in battle and knew she could use it.

  Mahliki peered into the crammed lorry bed, perhaps wondering if there would be room for all of her equipment. And herself.

  The front cab is large, Basilard signed. He had placed his pack in there, albeit it was a small pack with nothing more than a first-aid kit, a change of clothing, and a few days’ rations.

  “Oh, good. Then we can fill up the rear.” Mahliki looked back at the basement door, as if she might be thinking of going back for more bags.

  The soldier inside the cargo area, who was pushing trunks around to make room, grimaced, having caught the comment too. “Why don’t you hand that bag up to me, my lady? We’ll see where we stand. The crate of supplies from the kitchen hasn’t come out yet. Do you have food in any of those crates?”

  “Uhm. I have nutrient agar.” Mahliki hoisted the backpack up to the soldier.

  “What’s that?”

  “A blend of peptones, yeast extract, sodium chloride, agar, and distilled water.”

  “That doesn’t sound very good.”

  “If you’re a bacterium or a fungus, it’s delicious, I promise.”

  A snicker came from a nearby soldier. “The president’s daughter called you a fungus, Matrov.”

  “She did not,” the first soldier said with an indignant sniff. “At least, I don’t think so.”

  Basilard picked up one of the crates to help. It had an impressive heft, clanking and clinking as he lifted it. He wondered if there was anything left in the basement lab.

  “There’s Maldynado,” Mahliki said, nodding behind Basilard.

  The sun wouldn’t creep over the mountains for another half hour, so Basilard couldn’t see Maldynado that well in the darkness between the gaslights lining the driveway, but his silhouette was pronounced enough to show off a dark bulbous shape on his head. Whatever Maldynado’s newest hat was, it had the shape of a roasted turkey. A large one. When he passed through the illumination of a lamp, the flame reflected off dozens of silver disks sewn into the dark gray fabric.