by Trish Mercer
“Why?” She tried hard to quiet her giggle, but she enjoyed his uneasy squirming. “Was there ever something more between you and Versula Thorne? Something you haven’t told me about yet, that maybe I should know before she comes over for dinner and watches you again? And wonders?”
He moaned longer than any other man in the world ever had.
They weren’t about to get to sleep anytime soon.
---
In the middle of the night, the fort at Edge was in a panic.
“I can’t think of anything else to do, Shem!” Karna said, nearly frantic, as they stood in the falling snow and stared at the disaster.
Shem shook his head slowly, trying to keep his own alarm in check. “Neither can I, Brillen. He has to be told, by someone who can relay the message best. But not by one of them. He hates the Administrative messengers.”
“But time and speed are critical right now!” Grandpy Neeks insisted, uncharacteristically wringing his hands. “Using them—as much as I distrust them—is the only option.”
Lieutenant Rigoff nodded and looked at the older men for direction.
“Not necessarily. What we need—” Shem sighed as a plan unfolded in his mind. It was the very best option . . .
. . . and the very worst thing he could think of doing. “What we need is someone who has a special talent.”
“What kind of talent?” Karna demanded.
“Someone good at stealing things.”
“Stealing things?!”
“Like perhaps horses,” Shem intoned wretchedly. “From the messenger service . . .”
---
Fifteen minutes later Shem Zenos and Brillen Karna faced a worried Qualipoe Hili in the stables. When he saw the bleak looks on the men’s faces, he dismounted from his horse and saluted as smartly as he could.
“Sirs? You needed to see me?”
Major Karna looked sidelong at Master Sergeant Zenos, who studied the new private.
“Sit down, Poe,” Shem gestured to a bale of hay.
Poe’s eyes flitted anxiously to Karna.
The major nodded for him to take a seat, so he did, nervously rubbing his palms on his trousers.
“Poe, what I’m about to ask, I ask—not order,” Shem said carefully. “If you turn me down, I understand completely, and there will be no repercussions whatsoever.”
“But if you choose to volunteer,” Karna told him, “we will take all the responsibility—”
“No, Karna—just me,” Shem interrupted. “You’re an officer. If you’re involved, and things go wrong, it’ll be much worse for you than for me.”
“No, Zenos,” Karna turned to him, “that’s not how—”
“What about Miss Robbing?” Zenos cut him off.
Karna swallowed.
“Would she really consider marriage to a man who just lost his commission?”
“Sirs, please,” Poe fidgeted. “What’s all of this about?”
The two men looked back at Poe, and he thought their expressions were surprisingly sympathetic.
“This will seal it,” Zenos said, suddenly unbuttoning his jacket. “Proves it was my idea. Don’t even bother, Brillen,” he said to the major who started to unbutton his own jacket. “No one would ever believe he’s an officer.”
“But they’d believe he’s a master sergeant?”
Poe grew impatient. “Sirs! What’s going on?”
Shem wrenched off his jacket in victory and held it out to Poe Hili. “A temporary promotion, so to speak. And,” he continued in a low tone, “a request of immense importance and of utmost secrecy.”
Poe looked at Major Karna for verification, and he nodded soberly.
“What is it, sirs?”
“Poe,” Shem began hesitantly, as if afraid to bring it up. “I know you’ve successfully stolen horses in the past. What we need to know is, just how successful were you?”
---
The next morning Mahrree woke up sore, exhausted, and surprisingly cold. She and Perrin had been up very late last night; first cleaning up what had to be put away before bed, then Perrin confessing that yes, there had been a relationship off and on with a certain general’s daughter when he was younger, but it was over a long time ago and he doubted there was anything left of it.
Now the morning had come far too early.
She shuddered to think that it was the cleanup day. Granted servant-soldiers would do most of the work, but she’d be expected to take notes on everything to remember “For next year,” as she had repeatedly heard from her mother-in-law.
She shivered under the blankets, wondered why for a moment, and snuggled closer to her husband. The room seemed lighter than it should be for this hour, and she peered open her eyes to see a strange brightness out the window.
She opened her eyes fully, sat up for a better look, and gasped.
It hit her then that not once since they’d come to Idumea had she ever looked to check the color of the sky.
She always did in Edge. Sometimes it was to remind herself of the reality of its color, and to prove to herself, once again, that despite the fact that everyone in the world had been conditioned to believe the sky was blue no matter what, it really wasn’t. She wouldn’t ignore the fantastic colors of the sunrise and sunset or the intensity of the star-filled sky with the two moons that slowly traversed it. But she also checked the sky each day to see when a storm might be approaching, analyzing the shapes of the clouds that drifted in from the north and east.
This storm had caught her completely unawares, and that realization tightened her chest.
Were there signs? Yes, yesterday had been unseasonably warm, with a northeasterly breeze—
She closed her eyes and groaned. Had she looked to the sky, just once, she would’ve noticed the signs. But she was like everyone else in Idumea, rushing around here and there, constantly inspecting this and that, but never looking up.
It was as if there was a drum in the heart of the city, pounding the same rhythm over and over again in a quietly hypnotic way: diSTRACTion, diSTRACTion, diSTRACTion. And she had fallen under its effect in record time.
“My darling wife, what have you done with the blankets?” Perrin mumbled. “It’s cold in here.”
“It’s cold because . . . because it’s snowing!” Mahrree said, not believing the words that came out of her mouth.
“What?”
“Get up and look for yourself!” She wanted confirmation that all of this wasn’t a just a weird dream.
“It doesn’t snow this late in the year around here,” Perrin murmured into his pillow. “Besides, last night was so warm and breezy—”
“Like before a snowstorm?” Mahrree gestured to the window.
With an exhausted groan, Perrin pushed himself up to prove her wrong. Instead, his mouth fell open. “If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it! Good thing The Dinner wasn’t today, instead of yesterday,” he said with a relieved smile.
Then it vanished.
“Oh no. Mahrree, whatever kind of weather we have in Idumea tends to be much worse in the north.”
Edge had been the furthest thing from her mind, she realized with a new pang of guilt. Now it was right in front of her.
“The plantings!” she breathed. “Edge’s crops! The fruit blossoms! Oh, Perrin, if everything freezes now—”
He didn’t feel the need to put it mildly. “Disaster.”
They scrambled out of bed and rushed to the window for a clearer view. At least three inches of heavy wet snow had fallen, and more was coming down. The trees, with their new leaves, caught and held the snow expertly, weighing down the branches. Many smaller ones had already snapped and the garden was littered with broken limbs.
Stunned, Perrin and Mahrree sat on the bed and stared.
“It might not freeze,” said Perrin, trying the new approach of optimism. “It might just stay warm enough, and the snow will be a good source of water.”
Mahrree closed her eyes. “Ho
w much do you think Edge will get, if we have so much already here?”
Perrin shook his head. “All we can do is wait and see. And pray.”
“The fort will tell us, right? How bad it gets?”
“They better. In the meantime, I’m going to the garrison to see about those reserves. Dr. Brisack’s little experiment is just going to have to wait for another calamity. We’re not going to be needing gold—we need food! ”
“What are you going to do?” she asked as he started to put on his regular uniform, placed precisely on a chair next to the bed where it was always waiting.
“Go through the approved channels, as much as possible. I’ll work up some solid numbers first. We’re going to need several Administrators’ approval to release the reserves, but I can’t imagine how anyone would say no considering the mess that we may be facing.”
“How much?” Mahrree asked, pulling her knees up to her chest and shivering.
“I think we’ll need 12 wagonfuls. Less than 10% of their reserves,” he said as he finished buttoning his jacket. “And I’m going to get it.”
“Any excuse to get out of the mansion this morning.”
“Yep!”
---
Later that morning Mahrree stood at the window in the vast eating room dully sorting forks. Some belonged to the mansion, some to Mrs. Cush, and some to the garrison. She saw only half of what she was doing, because most of the time she watched out the thin clear glass for the snow to stop. She couldn’t help but remember Perrin’s assessment: Edge usually got twice as much as Idumea.
Maybe, for once, that wouldn’t be the case—
“That Peto—for someone so scrawny, he’s actually a good worker,” Joriana commented as she bustled into the room with a small crate of clean knives, next to be sorted. “He loaded nearly as many chairs as the soldiers. I told him he could ride to the garrison and help unload them. Thought he might like seeing the place. Someone will bring him back by midday meal. I can always trust the soldiers.”
“That’s fine,” Mahrree said absently. She stared down at a fork to identify its markings, but really didn’t see it.
Joriana put a motherly arm around her. “I’m worried too,” she confided. “This is a very odd storm. But Mahrree, there’s nothing you could’ve done about it even if you were in Edge. And when you go back at the end of next week, we can pack the carriage full of all kinds of supplies.”
“Thank you, Mother Shin,” Mahrree said dimly. “I guess I feel guilty. Here I am, enjoying myself, while at home—”
But Joriana spun her around so fast that Mahrree lost the fork somewhere under the table. “You’re enjoying yourself?” Joriana squealed.
“Well yes, of course I am—” But again Mahrree couldn’t complete her sentence because she found her face muffled into her mother-in-law’s shoulder. Joriana squeezed her so hard she nearly burst the seams on Mahrree’s dress—the fourth one Joriana had bought her.
“Oh, I so wanted you to have a good time! Perrin was quite the crowd pleaser last night, wasn’t he? Oh, but you—you were so quiet, and I was worried, but I was watching you and saw that you were smiling occasionally, and I just wanted everything to be perfect,” she said in a rush. She finally released Mahrree who tried not to gasp for breath too obviously.
“It was . . . it was perfect, Mother Shin. I don’t know how you brought everything together, or how it could have been more . . . perfect.”
Joriana clasped her hands and beamed. “Idumea’s not so bad, now is it? You must come back next year, and I’ll give you more say in what goes on. We could try something else besides dancing, you know. And then, in two years—”
Mahrree held up her hand to stop the gush that she feared would overwhelm her. “Let’s not talk about in two years, please, all right?”
Joriana sighed and nodded. “I know. You’re right. One year at a time.” Then, in a conspiring giggle, she said, “You will be back next year, won’t you?”
“Shouldn’t you be asking that of your son?”
Joriana winked at her. “I know where the real influence is. My son’s been so completely smitten with you from the beginning. From that first letter he sent home where he wrote, ‘I’ve met an interesting woman,’ I knew you had him firmly under your control.”
From the hall leading to the kitchen they heard Kindiri’s voice say softly, “Ahh . . . that is so sweet!”
Joriana raised an admonishing eyebrow at her eavesdropping cook, who scampered quickly away.
But Mahrree’s mouth hung open in surprise. “Really? I wished I’d known I had him firmly under control.”
The women chuckled.
“Please, Mahrree,” Joriana gripped her arm and spoke so quietly that the maids in the other hall couldn’t listen in either. “Perrin could do such great things here; things that could influence the entire world.”
“I know,” Mahrree had to admit. “I didn’t realize until last night just how much influence he actually has.”
“Please help him realize his duty lies here, in Idumea. It’s not about mansions, or dinners, or looking handsome in brass buttons—which he did, didn’t he? I may have to have a word with Mrs. Cush about her daughter eyeing my son again—”
Mahrree rolled her hand at Joriana encouragingly.
“Oh, right, right—as I was saying, it’s not about any of that showy stuff. It’s about someone as smart and thoughtful and devoted as him doing the best work he can where the whole world can benefit. Surely you can see that Edge is just too small a stage for a man of his stature.”
That was the exact sentiment she felt last night, but didn’t dare put into words. Because once you put it into words, you’ve defined it, and then you have to do something with it.
Reluctantly, she nodded to Joriana.
“Thank you!” she squealed and hugged her again. “We both have time to work on him—together. Now, the spoons,” she plowed cheerily along, since the world was going her way again. “Where are the spoons? I was sure I had . . . left them in the kitchen!” She bustled away.
Mahrree retrieved the fork from under the table, wiped it on a clean cloth, and dropped it unceremoniously on the Cush pile in front of her. Then she moved it to the garrison pile and shoved away a nagging thought that was far too selfish for her to indulge right now, especially since greater worries might be coming to her from the north. But still the little thought niggled at her.
Edge wasn’t the only thing too small for such man as him.
---
Perrin was debating with himself again. His usually quick gait had slowed considerably, giving him time to think during the soggy two mile walk from the garrison back to the mansion.
“There’s a difference between breaking the law and doing something wrong,” he mused as he kicked the slush on the ground. “Not all laws are good, logical, or even correct. Right?”
No one countered him, so he continued to mumble to himself.
“The law that we couldn’t teach our children at home—that was made so that the Administrators could keep their control over the next generation. It was in the best interest of themselves.”
Saying the words out loud helped soften the pounding of his heart.
“No debating. Again, for control. If no one knows how to question the Administrators, then they continue doing whatever they want.”
His chest burned with confirmation.
“Limiting women to birthing only two children. Not only is that a damaging law, it’s contrary to the Creator’s will.”
He nodded, feeling braver for saying the words, even though they were only muttered.
“Likewise, there are acts which are contrary to the will of the Creator which are not against the law. There’s no law against unmarried persons engaging in behavior that the Creator says should be expressed only in marriage. The laws of the world know nothing of the Creator. They’re arbitrary, indulgent, and frequently conflict with His will.”
He continued to trudge. “T
he Creator’s laws are different—higher.”
A minute later he whispered, “So to who do I owe my allegiance? To the Administrators or to the Creator?”
Perrin sighed heavily and stopped under a tree that creaked ominously above his head as the weight of the snow bent its boughs.
“The answer’s clear,” he announced quietly. “But that doesn’t make it any easier.”
He continued to saunter, lost in thought and not noticing those who passed him, or saluted, or rode by in coaches or horses, or even paused to watch the colonel so fully absorbed in his own private musings that he didn’t notice when he stepped right in front of a wagonload of timbers that had to stop suddenly to avoid running him over.
“I always liked building,” he said to himself, not hearing the angry shouts behind him from the wagon driver. “And there’s plenty to rebuild in Edge right now. I also like the idea of a herd of cattle nearby. Maybe I just like the idea that there’s always a steak waiting outside. Have to find a way to keep them from running from me, though. Shem could teach me a few things. Maybe cattle would like Peto . . . or Father.”
His pace picked up again once he reached the mansion district. He knew what he had to do, and nothing was going to stop him. Not Administrators’ provisions, not unnecessary delays—nothing.
“We’ll just live with the consequences,” he decided. “It’s the Creator’s opinion of me that’s important; nothing else. I’ll do His will, and in turn He will—” Perrin hesitated. “I guess He’ll find me something else to do. Mahrree will agree. It was a good run. Father’s getting on in years, too, and . . .”
He looked up at the sky—the first time he’d done so since they came to Idumea—and evaluated its colors. The snow had stopped and the light gray clouds were beginning to dissipate, revealing gaps of blue. Soon the sun would be blazing through, filling the world with blinding brightness. Already the air was warming, but Perrin’s chest burned hot with understanding.