Midmorning, warm sunshine; Wallie had been inspecting catapult construction and was marching back to the lodge with his bodyguard.
It was day eight of the reign of Shonsu I—or should that be Shonsu II?—and five days since Boariyi had departed in Griffon. He should be at Wal by now. The expedition had seemed well outfitted, with water-rat swordsmen to run the ship, with enough supplies for two or three weeks, with a plentiful collection of chains and shackles. Boariyi had been disappointed when Wallie had amended his instructions to kidnapping instead of killing, but he had seen the advantage of being able to parade captives through the streets when he returned. "Kill if you must," Wallie had told him, "but a live captive is more valuable than dead meat, and the more sorcerer gowns you can steal the better." Wal and Aus were the targets this time. He wished he had another ship to send upriver to Sen and on to Cha.
He had grown to like Boariyi. There was something of Nnanji in the beanpole, plus a certain wry cynicism. Wallie approved of all his Sevenths. The Goddess had chosen well.
Money was still pouring in, but it was also pouring out. Horses were absurdly expensive to buy and equip and maintain. Catapults were going to be worse, and he had to think ahead to the cost of mounting the actual attack. He could sell Griffon, of course—if Boariyi did not lose her. It was crazy to send a Seventh into such danger, but at least he had an equivalent prisoner to exchange if necessary.
Then his parade turned into the wide plaza before the lodge, and he called a halt so that he could stand and watch the cavalry at work. The stirrup had been a glorious success. Now all the swordsmen wanted to join the cavalry—was it not always so? Riding in fencing masks was impossible, and thus foil practice too dangerous, so he had invented polo. Of course polo on a paved court was not quite five card stud either, but these were urban fighters he was training. The swordsmen had decided that polo was the greatest breakthrough since the invention of puberty. It had become the tryst's biggest entertainment, after wenching, and most of the pay seemed to go into betting on polo matches.
Even to Wallie's unskilled eye, both men and horses were improving. Now he must think ahead to the next step—mallets were not the best weapons against sorcerers. Polo was good training in horsemanship, but he must start the carpenters making lances. He sent a First off with a luncheon invitation for Tivanixi, and resumed his march.
Closer to the lodge a group of swordsmen was fencing. Wallie did not need to see the green flashes on the shoulder straps to know that they would be Nnanji's men. And there was Nnanji himself, blue kilt and red ponytail, engaging one of Boariyi's Sixths. No one else of his rank ever had time for fencing. Wallie watched for a while. Nnanji was improving—of course. He sighed, trying to ignore his apprehension and doubts. Then he gave the order to move again.
The blank stone face of the lodge, which had once worn only a bronze sword, now bore additional decoration. No one but sorcerers could read, but everyone could use an abacus. On either side of the bronze sword, therefore, there now hung a giant abacus of ropes and straw bundles. One read three hundred and thirty; the other sixteen—one captured and fifteen dead, counting Chinarama. The message was obvious, and so was the motivation it provided. Its construction had kept ten men busy for two days. That was the first rule for running an army: keep it busy. Once Wallie Smith had run a petrochemical plant efficiently by matching the workforce to the work. Now his manpower was fixed, so he must find things for it to do.
As he reached the archway a troop of men came out carrying foul-smelling buckets—the losers in the daily inspection, those whose dormitory had been the least acceptable. The lodge sparkled now, inside and out, but each day there had to be losers to carry the nightsoil, and the orange flashes showed that these were some of Zoariyi's men. The color coding became complicated on a low rank, for each Seventh had his own color, and each of his protégés, also. A Third wore five flashes. Nnanji knew what every combination meant. Wallie did not care.
He wheeled in through the courtyard, filled now with canvas bathhouses and latrines. At the door to the antechamber he dismissed his entourage and sent them off in search of Forarfi, who could be counted on to keep them busy doing something. Then he went in.
The chamber was full of people, as always. At the far end Linumino the adjutant sat at a table because he counted the money. Although Wallie always felt that this room should be full of desks and typewriters and telephones, only Linumino had as much as a table. The money itself stayed in the chest in Wallie's office, which doubled as the council room, and most nights also his bedroom. Everyone else was sitting on a stool or standing. The sitters rose as he entered and all thumped fists to heart in salute. He had abolished formal saluting within the tryst as a waste of time.
He walked on through, nodding and smiling to faces he recognized, making guesses at their business, giving Katanji a wink, frowning at the sight of two sullen, battered-faced Sixths who stood swordless and guarded. When he reached the adjutant's table, Linumino smiled also and gestured toward a group of six. He did not need to speak—three young Thirds with Tivanixi shoulder flashes, each accompanied by a naked boy in his early teens, all six looking nervous.
"How many will that make?" Wallie asked.
"Thirteen, my liege."
Wallie looked over the boys. They all trembled. The Thirds were almost as jumpy, probably all recent promotions. He turned back to the adjutant. "You've tested them?"
"Honorable Hiokillino has, my liege. He says they'll pass. He turned down four others who couldn't catch a ball if you pushed it in their mouths, he said. Didn't know their right hand from their feet!"
Wallie laughed. "All right." He grudged the time, but this justified some ceremony, so he added, "Present them." Linumino solemnly presented each Third in turn.
"I am Genotei, swordsman of the third rank, and it is my deepest and most humble wish . . . "
"I am Shonsu . . . Present your candidate, swordsman."
"My lord, I have the honor . . . "
"I am Jiulyuio, son of Kiryuio the goldsmith, and it is my deepest . . . "
All three boys were on the young side, Wallie thought, but he solemnly responded to their salutes. He had to listen as each repeated the swordsmen's code and then swore the second oath to one of the swordsmen. The liege lord knelt to give them their swords; for the rest of their lives they would brag about that. Finally he shook each by the hand and welcomed him to the craft. Wallie went into his office, and the recruits rushed away with their new mentors in great excitement.
He threw his sword on the bed and flopped down in the chair, releasing a cloud of dust and more feathers. Linumino closed the door and stood waiting. The pudgy, scar-faced swordsman had proved to be a superb adjutant, with endless patience for detail and an excellent memory. Long hours he sat at his table, seeming to increase in girth daily. Soon he would be too absurdly fat to carry a sword, but that would not matter as long as the tryst lasted, and perhaps he planned to retire at the end of it. Meanwhile he made Wallie's world sane and relatively orderly, not the mad chaos it could so easily have become without him.
"Take a stool," Wallie said. "Something wrong?"
Linumino was frowning. "My liege, am I right in my suspicions? It always seems to be Lord Tivanixi's men who find these promising recruits."
Wallie laughed. "I had noticed. I assumed that you had. And that neither of us had."
"How does it work—six legs per boy?"
"Ten, I believe. Unless four of them are unusually good."
Linumino smiled and said no more. Bribery to induct a recruit was not honorable, but the tryst was desperate for good horses. Their asking price had gone from three golds to twenty or thirty, and finances just could not stand those costs. Yet rich families would pay to have a son become a swordsman. As long as the boys had promise, Wallie turned two blind eyes, and Tivanixi got more of his men mounted, more stablehands, more mouths to feed, more horses.
"All right, let's have it!"
Sitting rigidly on his stool, Linumino closed his eyes as he always did when recalling data. It was an unnerving sight for the left one did not shut properly, showing a sliver of white. "The holy Lord Honakura replies that what you asked will be possible, up to twelve, and hopes to see you at the masons' dinner this evening. You have been invited to the traders' banquet tomorrow night, the butchers' on the night after, and two balls the following evening, by—"
"Accept the first two on behalf of myself and Lady Doa. Refuse the two that conflict. That sounds like local politics and I won't get involved."
Linumino had opened his eyes to listen. He closed them again. "Lords Tivanixi and Zoariyi have both sent Sixths asking about the leather." The eyes opened.
"Damnation!" Wallie said furiously. "We're going to have to pay! The old bitch threatened to up anchor and leave, taking the sorcerer with her!" Brota had not merely brought a shipload of fine leather to Casr, she had then bought up all the stock in town and cornered the market. Now she was demanding four hundred golds, and nothing Wallie could say would budge her. The two of them had conducted a roaring, screaming row the previous evening, ending with the children in hysterics and the sailors hovering threateningly near the fire buckets. The liege lord's fiat ended at the water's edge.
"Unloading will be tricky," Wallie said. "The sorcerer ought be tempted when she docks; you look after it yourself. You need some fresh air. Take the money and plenty of men. You ought to meet him, anyway. He's a fascinating old rogue." And last night he damned nearly got the steam engine out of me.
The adjutant nodded, then closed his eye once more. "Lord Tivanixi reports another collar bone, and a First had his foot trampled. He'll have the whole tryst in splints soon, my liege. No further cases of belly cramps."
That was good news! Cramming the whole tryst into one building tempted the god of epidemic, who was a far greater threat to any army than its enemies would ever be.
"The new rules about boiling water are being observed?"
"Apparently, my liege. The water in the west well is down another cubit, and the east well about a hand."
That was bad news! Well digging was not in any sutra; it was slaves' work, and Wallie had sold off all the slaves.
"Lord Jansilui reports that he has sent recruiters to Tau and Dri in search of fletchers, falconers, and birds. He asks if he may also send to sorcerer towns and, if so, whether he should seek help from Lord Nnanji."
"Yes, he may send. Not swordsmen, obviously. Try priests, or traders. Tell him to ask Honakura. Bypass Nnanji's network. Recruiting can't be secret."
"Yes, my liege. That's all the messages. Outside there's a deputation . . . of port officers, I suspect."
"If they won't state their business, I won't see them. If they are port officers, tell them to come back in a week. A little more fasting won't hurt them."
The adjutant smiled briefly, "The two Sixths accused of brawling . . . Lords Nnanji and Zoariyi have judged the case and sentenced them both to twenty-one lashes with the cat o' seven tails. The sentence awaits your confirmation."
"Damnation!" Wallie said again. He sprang up and wandered over to stare out the window. "I want new drapes here and another lamp. Both?"
"Each accuses the other of starting it, I gather." Linumino had risen also, automatically. "The witnesses disagree. The Judges concluded that Ukilio started the fistwork and Unamani drew first."
Wallie thought for a moment. "You have a herald handy?"
"No, my liege."
"Call one while I talk with Katanji. Anyone else urgent?"
The adjutant said that the rest could wait. He went out. Wallie strolled back to his chair, glanced at the bed with its brilliant new cover, and sighed. He spent almost all his days and nights in this room. His visits to Sapphire were becoming rarer and briefer; he had not slept on board for four nights now. He slept in this room. Alone.
Then he rose and smiled as Katanji entered. They had been meeting socially, but not speaking business, and now Katanji was certainly business. His two new facemarks were barely healed, but he had a passable ponytail, its curls professionally straightened. The clip was a gold griffon. His brown kilt was crafted from expensive suede, his boots shone. He wore a harness, but it supported his cast, not a scabbard. Katanji was prospering.
He glanced around the room approvingly, lifted one of the bright new hangings to chuckle at the ancient sword-cut in the paneling behind it, then made himself comfortable on a stool. "You sent for me, my lord?"
His look of innocence would melt marble.
"I did. It's very clever, Katanji, but it's taking too long. We need them now! I understand you have thirty-seven."
"Thirty-one after these last three, my lord. I'm trying to speed things up—Honorable Trookro just goes and chooses the ones he wants now. That saves arguments. We're getting another ten in today, though. Good ones!"
Wallie admired his brazen impudence. "You know you nearly got thrown in jail, don't you? Tivanixi sent Trookro out to buy horses that first morning, and you'd tripled the price before he saw the first blade of grass. They all assumed that it was Chinarama's foul work. Then they started a witch hunt among the Sixths who'd overheard me telling Tivanixi to bring a saddler out to the ship. They didn't know I'd mentioned horses earlier, when you were around. Then they wouldn't believe that a First—even when he got a sudden promotion—was capable of organizing it. I had to argue that you weren't sworn to the tryst, and therefore what you were doing was not treason, only good business!"
Katanji smiled tolerantly and said nothing.
"Who's your partner?"
Without a blush, Katanji said, "Ingioli of the Fifth, my lord. Normally he deals in rugs, but he knew some good horse traders."
"Obviously! Was he surprised to see you again?"
Katanji grinned and nodded.
"Another thing," Wallie said. "It's getting too obvious! To start with you kept it out of sight. Now, I'm told, you just turn up with a bunch of kids, and the swordsmen flock round you like . . . like . . . " He thought of ice-cream carts, but they would not translate.
"It's love at first sight!" Katanji protested, swinging his legs. "Very touching!"
"Love?" Wallie echoed in horror.
Katanji's innocence became even more heart-warming, "Did you not know about the girls, my lord? There were four weddings last night and five the day before . . . "
Now Wallie could not hold back a roar of laughter. "Horses for dowry? What sort of marriages will they be, Katanji? How long will they last after the tryst is disbanded?"
Katanji's shrug was a reminder that he never worried other people's troubles for them, "I ran out of sons."
"You're running a slave market!"
Katanji's eyes narrowed at this intrusion of morals into a business discussion. "The swordsmen want mounts. Tivanixi gets a man mounted and a spare horse. The ranchers get twenty golds, more for something special, like a four-year gelding with good legs. The tryst pays nothing—well below cost! Parents are getting sons in the craft and daughters well married. All those rich folk go creepy at the thought of swordsmen grandsons. Who loses?"
"Not Swordsman Katanji, I'm sure."
"If you want to speed things up, my lord . . . you've been rejecting too many! I admit that Olonimpi is poor material, but I thought that the others would pass."
"They won't," Wallie said firmly.
"Three horses apiece?" Katanji said hopefully. "That would be two dozen of the thirty-odd, right there. I'll make it four for Olonimpi. He couldn't be any worse a swordsman than I was."
The nerve of the kid! Wallie had no idea which candidate this inept Olonimpi had been, but obviously his family was rich.
"No," he said. "I'm not going to lower our standards. How much just to buy the thirty-one horses?"
"More than you can afford!"
Wallie jumped up—and Katanji did not even flinch. Anyone else would flinch for Wallie nowadays, but Katanji had summed up Lord Shonsu a long time ago.
"You know that Tivanixi wants to go and help himself? A cavalry outing?"
Quietly Katanji said, "Pitch?"
Wallie sat down again. Pitch? He had not even thought about pitch yet, but it would be essential for the catapults.
The boy had read his face and was trying not to look smug. "There are two thousand, four hundred and eighty-one barrels of pitch in Casr, my lord. Brota has eight hundred and twelve of them The rest are mine."
"And barrels of pitch are easier to hide than horses?"
Katanji smiled.
"We have a torture chamber under this lodge."
Katanji shrugged. "You promised the sorcerer . . . do you only torture your friends?" He turned his charm on again. "I didn't think you would stoop to stealing our horses, but Ingioli was nervous and wanted insurance. Just as well, because that was how we discovered what Brota was doing. We were too late on the leather, but she's going to burn her fingers on the pitch." He gloated.
Now Wallie was apprehensive, as he was supposed to be "How much are you going to charge us for pitch?"
"I'll throw it in with the horses," Katanji said generously, "if you'll take those rejected candidates, and if the elders will grant a certain trader a ten-year monopoly on importing rugs into Casr. Thirty-one horses and sixteen hundred-odd barrels of pitch! And Brota can eat all of hers!"
That was a tempting thought after the previous evening's battle, as Katanji had known it would be
"These rejected candidates?" Wallie said thoughtfully. "Would they make priests?"
Katanji's pupils dilated. "I didn't know you could—"
"Honakura might manage it. A monopoly on silk rugs for five years wouldn't hurt the poor."
A frown came over Katanji's face as he calculated. Then he said, "The pitch, all forty-one horses, eight priests, six priestesses, all rugs for five years, and Olonimpi a swordsman."
Honakura had said twelve—he would have to manage fourteen.
"Done!" Wallie said. "Except for one other thing."
Katanji raised a wary eyebrow.
"You tell me—on your honor—how much Olonimpi's family will pay you."
"We have a deal?"
"Yes. I've already spoken to Honakura," Wallie admitted, "and I can certainly bully the elders."
"You won't tell Nanj?"
"Gods, no!" That would create a riot . . . or worse?
"It's more than the others . . . "
"How much?"
It took longer to get that information than it had to get the horses, but eventually Katanji reluctantly muttered, "Twelve hundred."
"Get out of here!" Wallie roared, trying not to laugh and not succeeding very well. "Arrange with Trookro to pick up the ponies—and this Olonimpi lunk had better go in the cavalry."
Katanji understood, and chuckled. He paused at the door "It would help if you would pull in your scouts, my lord. They drive up prices—the ranchers are whipsawing us."
"Go! And tell your brother I want to see him."
Wallie rose and followed Katanji out to the antechamber, feeling as if he'd been wrestling bulls. Twelve hundred! Olonimpi alone had covered the syndicate's expenses. All the rest would be profit—thousands! But forty-one mounts at no cost to the tryst . . .
Linumino followed as the liege lord marched along to where a twitchy young herald of the Third was waiting beside the two captive Sixths.
Two Sixths, wearing black eyes and swollen lips and surly expressions. It had very nearly been a murder charge for one or the other of them. Ukilio had led his own troop of frees, a large one. Unamani had been reeve of a big city. Good men both, yet they had reacted with hate at first sight, for no known reason. Wallie could sense their antagonism, when he looked at one, the other snarled.
He wasted no time on formalities. "Who's Ukilio? So you're Unamani? You've heard the sentence?" They nodded impassively. How could a man be impassive when facing that sort of demolition? "Do you know what twenty-one lashes will do to you?" Wallie did not, but he could guess. They nodded again.
"I don't like it," he said. "You'll both be useless for a year, perhaps evermore. I'd rather have one whole Sixth than two half Sixths."
There were still two dozen people waiting in the room. They all stiffened in apprehension.
"What I want from a Sixth is leadership, so I'm going to give you a leadership test, a competition. The winner will get one lash from the loser. The winner may then lay as many strokes on the loser as he chooses, he can flog him to death if he wants."
The victims were startled. Then they looked at each other. The puffed eyes narrowed, and the swollen lips curled in mirror image.
"Lord Linumino," Wallie said, "will give you back your swords and two golds apiece as expenses. You're going to dig wells. Here are the rules. Herald, you will proclaim these at the next two meals. Lord Linumino will chose sites for digging and sites for dumping, all dirt must be removed from the courtyard. You may buy the tools you need and recruit no more than twelve men each. You may take any man below the rank of Sixth. You may not interfere with each other's teams or excavations, or you will be disqualified and declared the loser. One day's penalty for every injury. The holes must be shored all the way. I shall appoint one judge and you may appoint two each. The first team to recover a full barrel of water is the winner." He turned to Linumino, who was grinning—a horrible sight. "What other rules do we need?"
"Incentives or threats?"
"Right!" That was tricky, though. Free swords despised money, some were even refusing the daily pittance they were offered for entertainment. "We need more harlots. The winning team will be sent to Dri as talent scouts to recruit in the brothels and bring back the most enjoyable girls. All expenses paid. Do you think that will do if?"
The adjutant chortled. "That ought to get the blood pounding, my liege! The waiting lines are bad, you know."
So Wallie had been told. "And you must not threaten, or injure, or punish your men. You are to inspire them to dig for you. If you can do that, you have real leadership. Any questions?"
"When do we start, my liege?" asked Ukilio, the larger.
"Now."
"At the end, my liege," Unamani said, "can we have a day off before the flogging? I'd like to be well rested so I can do a good job on him." The two exchanged glares.
"That's fair enough. Add that, herald. Their swords, Lord Adjutant?"
I am a god, Wallie thought. I play games with men's lives. Yet a sporting chance was better than no chance. Being flogged to death was little worse than twenty-one lashes with the cat, and maybe—please, gods!—just maybe, the winner would be merciful. It would entertain all those other bored men out there. The betting would be ferocious.
Unamani and Ukilio took their swords and collided in the doorway with a duet of oaths. Then they were gone, almost running into Thana, who was accompanied by a tall and imposing woman in a richly embroidered blue gown. The two women stared in surprise after the departing Sixths.
Wallie sighed. Obviously today was Family Night, but Thana must be accorded precedence, although other callers were now piling up. She was not a vassal, so she made a formal salute, and he responded. Then she presented the scraggy, white-haired matron . . . Olonanghi, weaver of the seventh rank. Curious, Wallie escorted them along to the office and bade them to be seated, giving Lady Olonanghi the chair.
Thana still brazenly continued to wear her riverfolk bikini, the two yellow sashes, but no male was going to complain about that. With her usual confidence she took charge of the conversation.
"We shall not detain you long, my lord. I happened to hear from Nnanji that you were concerned over winter clothing. Wool cloaks, in particular, I think?"
So now Thana was getting into the graft?
"That is true."
"Fifteen silvers. I think he mentioned?"
Wallie nodded. Nnanji was his oath brother, so Thana was his oath sister-in-law and—Great Gods'—was Brota his oath mother-in-law?"
"Lady Olonanghi believes that she can make a better offer, my lord."
But why to Thana?
The dowager raised a finger to her right eye "My father was a swordsman, my lord, so I have a special place in my heart for swordsmen."
Wallie muttered a politeness, thinking that many women had, although not usually so late in life
Then revelation! "You are not, by chance, related to young Olonimpi, are you?"
The wrinkled face beamed. "My grandson."
Now Wallie understood and hastily coughed to cover a smile. "A most promising lad. He is close to the front of our list of recruits, but of course we do have constraints on numbers . . . "
"Perhaps we should discuss the cloaks, my lord," Thana said in a cold voice—the intrigue was slipping out of her hands.
"We might be able to go as low as ten silvers per item," Lady Olonanghi suggested.
"I was hoping to find a place in the cavalry for him," Wallie mused. "Of course the competition there is outrageous—that is the prestige division, you understand . . . I beg your pardon, my lady, my mind was wandering. Did you say six?"
Lady Olonanghi bit her lip "Eight, I said, my lord."
"Then the contract is yours! And I do think we can find a spot for a lad of such obvious ability."
"In the prestige division?" Lady Olonanghi purred.
"Certainly. I am told that he is well qualified for the work."
He took them out to Linumino to arrange details, while he wondered who was going to come out best in the resulting confusion. Thana and Katanji had both sold Olonimpi. Probably Katanji. Thana was not in his class when it came to money.
And tomorrow Wallie would meet this maladroit Olonimpi and kneel to the boy to give him his sword. For a First in the prestige division, he ought to make it a shovel.
More petitioners had now arrived, but again there was no doubt who took precedence. He forgot all about Thana as he watched Doa's stately approach. He followed her into the office and closed the door carefully.
Then she smiled. As usual his loins almost burst into flame. Today was the long hemline again; it varied. But the neckline fell audaciously low, and the pale-blue silk was as close to transparent as any fabric he had ever seen, clinging like lacquer. She was not wearing her lute, and her only adornment was the sapphire he had given her, dangling on its silver chain.
The finances of the tryst desperately needed that gem now. Doa sauntered across to close the drapes, and his eyes hung on every movement of that superlative body. Time and failure had not blunted his craving. Almost every night he squired her to some function or other, and always she would be asked to sing during the evening. Her dancing was superb, but intimate encounters like the waltz were unknown, so he rarely had a chance to touch more than her hand. They were a striking couple, he knew, towering over everyone else. She was the recognized prima donna, the star of Casr, a figure of awe to the epic-loving swordsmen. Even the liege lord could boost his prestige by being seen with such a companion.
He told her of the invitations he had accepted earlier.
"Fine," she said, the first word she had spoken. She went to lean against the fireplace, her favorite spot, to regard him with languorous amusement, her favorite occupation.
"What did you think of Mistress Sola's exhibition the other night?" Doa said. "Did you notice what her husband . . . "
She was a scurrilous gossip, and a merciless mimic. Each day she came calling at about this time. She would review the most recent festivities, savaging the high society of Casr and the senior swordsmen. Wallie had very little interest in the topic, but he admired the skill of the performance. Sometimes he was moved to genuine laughter—Doa's impersonation of Nnanji was unbearably funny—but usually he just sat in silence, smiling politely and dreaming lecherous thoughts.
And her real purpose in coming was to enjoy taunting him, teasing and luring like a hungry harlot.
She was mad, and so was he.
Today he felt no desire to indulge in the usual pretence. Last night he had visited Jja, in their cabin. The encounter had been a disaster, as his visits with Jja always were now. Oh, she had submitted, a slave had no choice. She had even pretended that she was trying to please, but her efforts had been those of a well-trained and skillful night slave. The woman he had known, the friend and lover, had vanished, and his attempts to call her back merely reduced Jja to tears and him to fury. He had no patience with her stubborn, silent recrimination. Doa, now—Doa knew how a senior swordsman must behave.
So he had Doa for social companionship and status, Jja for his physical needs. Why should he complain? Most men would have been more than satisfied with either.
He moved toward Doa, and her voice died away. She regarded him warily, and he stopped, knowing that any closer approach would bring on flashing eyes and claws, threats of violence and of screaming. Screams from Doa would be audible all the way to Vul.
"Why do you come here?" he said.
"I thought you enjoyed our little chats, my lord."
He shook his head. "Be honest for once."
She regained confidence and chuckled mockingly. "Because your bodyguard knows where you sleep at night, darling. And whom you sleep with. Or should I say 'without'? Right now, they believe, you are making up for it. Would you prefer that they knew the truth? The other boys would laugh at you!"
"They might laugh at you, also?"
She smiled, "I think not."
He thought not, as well. Suddenly his hands were shaking, but how much from anger and how much from frustrated lust, he did not know. "What is the price, my lady? What does it take to buy a kiss? Or more than a kiss?"
"You know your promise, Shonsu."
She had referred to that before. She had always refused to explain.
"I recall no promise."
Now the eyes flashed, but before she could speak, he said, "I told you to be honest! You are an acute observer of people, Doa. Even if you won't admit it, you do know that I am not the other Shonsu."
She stared at him in angry silence.
"You do know! And I do not know what the other Shonsu promised you. So enlighten me."
Reluctantly she said, "To make me a queen."
"A what?"
"A queen, Shonsu! Queen of Vul! You swore upon your sword! That was what you promised, and I expect you to deliver."
Wallie went back to his chair and sat down, stunned. Queen of Vul? Had that been why Shonsu had attacked the sorcerers? Not to avenge the swordsmen, but to bed this woman? Forty-nine dead?
"Vul is a tall order, my lady. How about a smaller kingdom to start with? Tau, say?"
She smiled her feline smile. "That might suffice, at least for openers . . . " Then she saw that he was not serious and she flared in rage. "But I think I need a lesser present, to hold my interest in the meantime."
He had showered her with gifts. "You own half the gems in Casr, Doa. What more?"
"A slave."
"What slave?"
She stalked to the window and threw open the drapes. "It is well known that Shonsu owns the most beautiful concubine in the city. I saw her on the ship, briefly."
He jumped up. "Never! You would mutilate her!"
"Maybe a little!" Doa swept to the door. "But I want her. Very soon!" She paused, as if to recover her poise. He had never seen her lose it so obviously. "I must go and practice some new songs. They will think you have been exceptionally speedy today, my lord. A new record!"
And then she was gone.
Wallie stared at the closed door. Queen of Vul? She must have been lying . . . And yet, whatever Shonsu's motives had been in attacking the sorcerers, he would certainly have thought about making himself king of Vul. What else could he have done with a captured sorcerer city, except just raze it? So he might very well have offered Doa a place on his future throne.
The promise itself would not have got him very far, though. New songs, she had said—a threat. Wallie had fallen into the same trap as Shonsu had. One thing was now certain: Shonsu had never raped Doa. She undoubtedly derived a great, perverted pleasure from skirting the edge of violence with her constant invitations, but any man who attempted further intimacy would be immortalized at once in one of her satirical masterpieces, his reputation ruined forever, a public laughingstock.
He could not even jilt her, or the same thing would happen.
Give her Jja? The idea was unthinkable. But many married men kept concubines. It was one of the advantages of a slave-owning society. Perhaps Doa would settle for being queen of Tau?
And tonight, the masons' dinner . . . business as usual.
Yes, back to business. Forcing thoughts of Doa to the back of his mind, he stepped forward and opened the door. Outside there was loud laughter. Nnanji was perched on the edge of Linumino's table, doubled over with mirth. He rose, saluted without losing his grin, and then started laughing again. "Flogged to death by the winner? Our liege knows how to motivate a man, doesn't he, Lord Adjutant?"
He stepped past Wallie into the office, pausing to inspect his healing facemarks in the mirror. "What can I do for you, brother?" As usual, he was in very good spirits.
Ever since Honakura had told him the true prophecy, Wallie had felt uneasy in Nnanji's presence. On the face of it, he was a soft-spoken, likable youth, as honorable as his brother was devious, totally without guile. He was good company and an incomparable subordinate. Yet he was also—as Wallie well knew—a completely unscrupulous killer. With the tale of Ikondorina's brother hanging between them, the combination was disturbing in the extreme.
Closing the door, Wallie pointed to the bruises and scrapes on his ribs. "How does a Seventh get so battered?" he asked.
Nnanji pouted. "A fraudulent Seventh? He takes on thirty-nine Sixths in order, starting at the bottom—they all being his vassals, so they can't refuse. By the time he gets to twenty-two he's battered! By the time he gets to thirty-nine, he's going to be doing the battering, I think." He grinned hopefully.
The Sixths were butchering him? That was not too surprising. The Boy Wonder was not popular with the older men. "You're not scared that they'll do serious injury?"
Nnanji shrugged. "I warn them—bruise all they like, but real hurt to a liege is a capital offense. They're all terrified of you, brother." Then he grinned again. "And when they hear about this well-digging contest . . . "
Wallie sank back in his chair and waved toward a stool, but Nnanji continued to mooch idly around the room.
"How do you have the time?"
Nnanji gave him a hurt look. "I've done everything you asked, haven't I?"
He began to count, raising fingers. Thumb: "I've memorized all the skills. Linumino was asking for dowsers just now. I gave him three names. Zoariyi wants wheelwrights; we have none."
Index finger: "The River is patrolled, night and day, and especially Sapphire, of course. No ship approaches the city without showing swordsmen aboard."
Middle finger: "Katanji has his irregulars checking the ships when they dock, especially if Fiendori's collectors are suspicious. So far we've located four pigeon fanciers and are watching them. Yes, they do buy vellum, as you suspected."
Ring finger: "Tomiyano and the other sailors are collecting gossip all the time, and we have offers going out to traders in Sen and elsewhere to be our agents. There hasn't been time to get replies."
Little finger: "The streets around the lodge are guarded night and day. Visitors are escorted. All boxes and packages coining in are checked for that thunderpowder that bothers you so much. Any wagon that stops is challenged."
Thumb: "I have two boats surveying the opposite bank for sorcerer activity. Nothing at Gob or Ag, the two closest hamlets, and we're working up and down from there."
Index finger: "I found—Tomiyano found—four men who know the Sen and Wal areas well, and the villages near them. I have all that information when you want it.
"I have to stay by the lodge, brother! They need to be able to find me. Now, is there something I've missed?"
Probably Wallie had really wanted only to drag him away from fencing, so he smiled apologetically. "No: I'm just jealous, I think. You're very good at delegating, better than I am. Well, I was wondering about poisoning pigeons . . . "
He explained—bribe some sailors to visit the sorcerer towns and scatter poisoned grain around the towers. Nnanji pointed out that civilians were reluctant to approach the towers by night, but he promised to discuss it with Tomiyano.
"By the way, brother," he added. "I need some expense money! I'm broke."
Wallie rose and went to the chest in the corner. "You ought to keep your own separate," he said. Yet it was impossible, in the absence of ledgers and bookkeeping. He himself bought gifts for Doa from the tryst's funds.
"I suppose so," Nnanji said. "But Katanji needed some. When he gave me your message just now, he cleaned me out."
"Katanji?" Then Wallie said no more. He handed Nnanji a bag of coins and slammed the lid of the chest.
Nnanji laughed. "Yes, Katanji! I'm going soft in my old age, aren't I? He seems to be doing very well, whatever he's up to." He paused and turned slightly pink. "He says that some of the boys he's using as irregulars are good material, brother. I said he could promise to induct them afterward—not more than five, I said. That's all right, isn't it?"
Wallie sighed. "Yes, as long as they're not utter cripples."
Nnanji started. "You don't think—he couldn't be taking money from their parents, could he?"
This was getting tricky. Nnanji himself was very sensitive on this subject.
"We'll test his recruits, don't worry!"
Nnanji scowled and turned away. "He might get five or ten golds apiece, mightn't he? Little blackguard!" Then he chuckled again. "Whatever he's doing, it's paying well. And when Thana leaves Sapphire, her share will be thousands, did you know that? Funny, isn't it, brother? I never cared for money. All I ever wanted from life was cool beer and warm girls, and I'm going to have a rich wife and a rich brother. And if I needed money, Katanji would give me everything he's got!"
Some of it, Wallie thought. "And your goods are my goods?"
"Of course!" Nnanji said, obviously meaning it.
Then the lunch bugle sounded in the courtyard.
"I'm dining with Tivanixi," Wallie said. "Care to join us?"
Nnanji looked regretful. "Sorry! This is Masons' Day, my birthday."
Wallie had not known that. He bit back the obvious question—nineteen? Maybe twenty. But to ask that question was a gross discourtesy among the People, the reason being that most would not know the answer. Like Nnanji, they would know the day, but only because they must keep it holy, with fasting and an all-night vigil in the temple.
"I wonder what Shonsu's birthday was? I'll have to choose one! The day I came to the World, I suppose. That would be three days before we met."
"Teachers' Day, then!" Nnanji said with a smile.
Mark it on the calendar, Wallie thought. "In my other life, Nnanji it was usual to give one's friends presents on their birthdays. Is there anything you want?"
"Funny custom!" Nnanji said. He thought about it and then laughed. "If you'd asked me that when we first met, brother, I'd have said I needed new boots. My old ones leaked. But now?" He gestured at his blue kilt. "What's left?" What in the World could you possibly give me that you haven't given me already?"