Back | Next
Contents

35

"THARGVALE IS BEAUTIFUL," EXETER SAID. "NATURALLY. IT'S VERY fertile, the climate is moderate, and it's ruled by an aristocracy."

"What has aristocracy got to do with beauty?" Smedley asked drowsily.

Mrs. Bodgley had shepherded her guests indoors to the drawing room and settled them in chairs. A single oil lamp cast a soft light on the four faces, while two moths held races around the glass chimney. Fortunately the chairs were excessively uncomfortable, or Smedley would not have been able to stay awake at all. Alice had reluctantly consented to play, insisting she was hopelessly out of practice. She had then executed a couple of Chopin études from memory. Very well, too, so far as he could tell. And now they were back on Nextdoor again.

"Oh, really, Captain!" His hostess's tone suggested that he was showing himself to be excessively ill informed. "It's a matter of tender loving care! The only people who can look after land properly are those who plan to hand it on to their children and grandchildren. Gilbert's father planted an avenue of oak trees, knowing he could never live to see their majesty. That was fifty years ago, and they need another hundred at least. Gilbert himself absolutely refused to countenance mining operations on our place in the Midlands. That sort of thing. Men who think only of their own lifetimes exploit land. Those who think of their families nurture it. Do help yourself to another cigar if you wish," she added, as though regretting her scolding.

Smedley thanked her and heaved himself out of the lumpy chair even more gratefully. He went to the humidor. No Bodgleys would admire the oak trees in their prime. The Bodgley line had died out when Timothy was murdered. There was no one left to smoke the cigars, even.

Alice's eyes were twinkling in the lamp's gentle glow. "You can carry it too far, of course, like anything else. William the Conqueror depopulated whole counties to make royal deer forests. People have rights, too."

Mrs. Bodgley considered the point and seemed to decide that it was a dangerous heresy. "Not necessarily. People come and go, but land is forever."

Exeter flickered a wink at Smedley as he returned to his chair. "Do you suppose that aristocrats' tendencies to make war all the time is a form of population control, weeding out the peasants?"

The lady saw the hook at once and bit it off. "Probably! Lancing a few of the men would be kinder than letting women and babies starve, wouldn't it?"

"Depends which end of the lance you're on, I expect. But land and war do seem to go together. The Thargian military caste is just as bad as Prussian Junkers."

Dogs of war howled in the night of the mind. "Dueling scars?" Smedley demanded.

"No, I don't think they go that far."

"Thargvale is like England?" asked Alice.

"It has the same organized, cared-for look. The vegetation is very different. Thargian trees are colorful. We have copper beeches and then dull old green. They have blue and gold and magenta and various other shades as well. But the great estates are beautiful. The farmland is one big garden. The wild parts are beautiful too—and yes, some of those are deer parks. There are no picturesque little villages, though, or not many. The slave barns are kept out of sight."

"Sparta?" Mrs. Bodgley murmured.

"Similar," Exeter agreed. "I didn't see much of it at first. Partly because it was raining cats and dogs, partly because I twisted an ankle leaving Lemod and it took everything I had just to keep walking. The river crossing was a tricky business all round. Old Golbfish was the hero of the hour, organized the whole thing and rallied the troops. We were lucky with the weather. The river began to rise, so the Thargian army daren't come after us. The Lemodian guerrillas left us alone. By the second day we were into Moggpass. The Thargians had opened a trail—bridging streams, cutting through the avalanches, and so on, and that helped a lot. By the fourth day or thereabouts we came panting down into Thargvale and could start the looting and pillaging. We were half a year late, but that's what the original intention had been. Everyone had a great time."

"Except you?" Alice asked.

"I healed up quite quickly, actually. The troops were feeding me mana, although they didn't know it. Not that I deserved it, but that made no difference."

Smedley fought down a yawn. The carriage clock on the mantel estimated the time at around eleven. As soon as he finished the cigar he would excuse himself and head off to bed. Exeter's little war was interesting, but he had no need to hear any more about war for the next hundred years.

Alice was wearing a dangerously sweet smile. "So Pocahontas led you to the pass, did she? Then she went back to her own people?"

In a very flat voice, Exeter said, "Yes, she led us to the pass. She couldn't go back to her family, although we went very near her home. They would have treated her as a traitor, even though she was only a child."

"I see. Sorry. I was being bitchy."

Mrs. Bodgley gulped audibly. "Er, what did these Thargian Junkers of yours have to say about the looting and pillaging?"

Looting and pillaging were not part of the Fallow curriculum.

"Almost nothing! That was very strange indeed! They shadowed us with cavalry, lancers on moas. We could see them in the distance, but they never closed. They picked off stragglers and patrols, but only Joalians. Nagian blood was never shed."

"Odd?"

"Very! Favoritism! It began to cause dissension, as you may imagine. Golbfish insisted that the enemy was trying to pry the allies apart, split the Nagians away from the Joalians, and he managed to keep the peace more or less—he was a wonder, that man! After a couple of days, when the pattern became obvious, he suggested that Nagians and Joalians exchange equipment, helmet for shield, spear for sword. We tried that, and even the army itself could hardly tell which was which. The Thargians stopped attacking at all.

"We kept up the pace. Forced marches, thirty miles a day. It was a race. Moggpass had held us up a little. After that we had a clear run across Thargvale to get to Saltorpass and home. Thargian roads are excellent, as you might guess. In order to cut us off, their main army had to run the gauntlet of Lemodflat, and I told you what that's like."

"Obviously you won the race, or you wouldn't be here."

Exeter rubbed his eyes. "No. We lost. Well, not exactly. The Great Game came into play again. I say, it feels deucedly late! We didn't get much sleep last night . . . . Do you think we could continue this breathtaking saga in the morning?"

"Well, of course!" Mrs. Bodgley said. "But you can't leave us hanging like that! Give us a clue. What do you mean by the Great Game?"

"The Pentatheon, the Five. I told you how Krobidirkin got me involved in the Joalian campaign, and possibly Tion was in on that also. I still don't know all the details. The Game is so complicated that even the players can't keep track of the rules, and everyone has his own way of scoring. But when Zath learned that the gates of Lemod had been opened under a quadruple conjunction, he knew exactly where the Liberator was. So he leaned on Karzon, who is the Man, who is also patron god of Thargland. That was why the Thargians weren't killing us—the priests in Tharg had received a revelation from Karzon."

"I'm lost," Alice said.

"Zath wanted me taken alive."

"Alive?"

"So he could make absolutely certain I died, of course. This time he was going to do it himself and see it was done right."

Back | Next
Framed