Irona 700

by Dave Duncan

  “I’d love to. We can have some time together.”

  “Too much, I’m sure. I rowed straight watches coming here, but Killer Dychat says I mustn’t row if I’m in charge. He’s going to make me rear admiral to see the fleet home.”

  “He has to give you some sort of a title, otherwise Puchuldiza and I would both outrank you. Even Dychat can’t see her as an admiral, I hope.”

  He sniggered quietly as the wine began taking hold. “No. He has turds for brains, but he’s not that stupid. I wasn’t guilty, you know.”

  “Guilty of what?”

  “At Didicas.” He looked almost as surprised as she was at the sudden change of topic. “There was a lot of gang raping going on after the battle, but not me. I found her hiding in a cupboard. I said if she’d fuck with me, I’d keep the others away. She agreed, and with every sign of enthusiasm, I might add.”

  “And did you keep the others away afterward?”

  “Of course!”

  “You need to practice that response. It was a little too emphatic.”

  “It wasn’t rape!”

  “And so was that one. Too forceful.”

  He glowered at her. “I was not guilty.”

  “Of course you were,” she said, being all motherly. “I was marshal. I was in charge. Dilivost would have done anything in the world to leave you off the list. He’d have given you the benefit of any possible doubt. The evidence against you must have been overwhelming.”

  Podakan stared into his goblet for a moment, then drained it and wiped his mouth on a brawny arm. “Well, what if I was one of the wolves? Supposing I was even leader of the pack? You had me flogged! Your own son, the day after I saved your life, killed the Beru, won the war—you had me flogged like a common criminal.”

  “Which is what you were. Are you sorry for what you did?”

  He banged down the goblet and sprang from his chair. “No. And I’m not sorry for what you did either. I like to know my enemies.” He strode out of the room.

  Great Goddess! Irona covered her face. Why couldn’t he grow up the way other boys did? Why so incredibly mature in some ways and so infantile in others? Whatever would Vly say if he knew?

  “Kill him now, Queenie, while you can.”

  “What?” She stared around. No one.

  Veer appeared in the doorway, looking puzzled.

  Irona said, “Did you hear someone speak just now?”

  He smiled uneasily, eyes still scanning the room. “I thought I heard Podakan. … But I’d seen him going down the stairs. You hiding other lovers in here now?” There was nowhere to hide a cat.

  “Of course not.” She might not have recognized the voice after nineteen years, but the only person who had ever called her Queenie had been Podakan’s father.

  The heat must be cooking her brains.

  Two days later, Rear Admiral Podakan hoisted his flag on Invincible and prepared to lead a flotilla of twelve galleys over to Aoba, where six would remain on station while the others carried on to Benign. Irona was already aboard, but Veer had stayed behind to pack up his collection of paintings. Puchuldiza had decided to travel by barque: according to Podakan, she had her eye on a certain bosun. Both Daun Bukit and General Chagulak were remaining in Kell to advise the new governor. Turfan had been promoted to captain and acting commodore. He saluted the surly-faced boy.

  “Welcome aboard, Your Honor.”

  Podakan said, “I chose this galley for my flagship, Captain, because I was told it was the fastest in this squadron.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Good. I may call you on that boast shortly. Meanwhile I am ready to begin my inspection.”

  The rear admiral was just barely eighteen, and legally not even that, the youngest man aboard by far, but he knew galleys. He knew where to look and what to look for. He certainly knew the correct nautical language in which to describe Invincible as a pile of guano and its crew as a swarm of sexually perverted dung beetles. He rattled off errors that had to be fixed instantly until veins bulged in Turfan’s forehead. Yet discipline held, and he continued to snap, “Aye, sir,” never mentioning that Invincible had been at sea almost continuously for two years and a quarter of its original complement had died in action.

  At the end Podakan, amidships, yelled to Irona, up on the afterdeck, “You may as well go home, Dam. This shit bucket isn’t fit to go anywhere today.”

  He then jumped up on the pier and went off to inspect the next vessel under his command. He trashed every one of them.

  The next day Podakan did let the squadron leave port. After the men had rowed a fast pace for an hour or so, he ordered a battle drill, involving all ships stripping for action, mounting the bronze ram, both watches donning armor, and then faking a ramming charge. It failed to satisfy him, so he had them repeat it. And again. He made the flotilla spend half the day rowing at top speed in full armor.

  Irona became worried about mutiny. “They’ll drop you overboard if you don’t stop this soon,” she said.

  He sneered. “Not these jellyfish cripples. They’ll do as I say and like it.”

  He ordered a race back to Kell, with the last two ships fated to spend the night at anchor outside the harbor, in the swell, with no supper. Invincible won, and he gave Turfan money to buy the entire crew hangovers. So they cheered him.

  Governor Dychat was understandably furious to see them return. He had recalled every imperial ship in the archipelago, and even Kell’s great harbor was seriously crowded now. He summoned the rear admiral. Irona was not present, but she heard later how her incorrigible son was overheard lambasting the governor in much the same language he had used on the marines. There was no way, he had said, that he was going to take such a loathsome, slipshod, et cetera, fecal, et cetera, flotilla to sea in the middle of a war zone until he had beaten it into shape.

  Dychat ordered him to leave at dawn and threatened to demote him to cabin boy if he came back again.

  On its third attempt, the Podakan flotilla did manage to leave port and keep going most of the morning. The rear admiral insisted on a more easterly course than the commodore wanted, but Turfan did not argue. He was going to let the young creep hang himself as soon as possible.

  Irona sat under the afterdeck canopy and tried to talk with her son. Podakan was impossibly fidgety, unable to sit still through a whole sentence. He finally ran down to the catwalk, stalked along until he found a smallish rower, and slid in beside him. Then he took the oar and rowed, as if to work off excess energy. His bench mate did not complain at being promoted to passenger.

  “What’s he up to?” Turfan demanded.

  “Wait and see, Captain.”

  “I know he’s your son, ma’am, but …”

  “Don’t let him fool you. He’s got something in mind. He’s a lot more cunning than he appears.”

  After a couple of hours Podakan returned to the poop, his tunic soaked with sweat. But then he leaped down to the catwalk again and sprinted to the mast. The whole of the upper deck noticed that. He scrambled up and promptly slid back down at a rate that must have burned his hands. He raced aft again, ablaze with excitement.

  “Enemy in sight, Captain.”

  Turfan stared at the skyline and his jaw dropped. “Aye, sir! How many?”

  “Too early to tell. You’re the fastest. Signal Intractable to come alongside. I’m moving my flag. You boil seawater back to Kell and get the rest of the fleet here before dark.”

  “But—”

  “Do it!”

  Turfan jumped to obey. Podakan sat down beside Irona, shivering with excitement. His eyes shone. The hairs on his arms were standing up.

  “How many?” she asked.

  “The whole fucking horizon is full of them.”

  He had known. She couldn’t imagine how, but he had wasted two days in Kell and ordered a deviant
course today, just so he could intercept the Kingdoms’ fleet. Was he in the Kingdoms’ pay? Was he using Maleficence? Would he fight them or join them?

  “You’re going to attack, aren’t you?”

  “Of course not. You think I’m crazy to take on a fleet that size with just eleven ships? But I’ll shadow them until Lapdog Dychat gets here. Whose side do you think I’m on?”

  His own, of course, no question there, but she didn’t know which team.

  “I’ll send the fleet, son, but please, please, please, hold off until it gets here?”

  “You think I’m crazy? Death is for losers. We’ll show two lanterns on the mast after dark, so they can tell friend from foe. Got that? Attaboy, Dam!” He ran over to the rail and prepared to jump the moment Intractable came close enough.

  Invincible’s crew rowed like madmen, making her dance over the swell. The bosun kept increasing the stroke until Turfan told him to stop or he would have men fainting and fouling the whole watch. They entered the harbor with a war flag flying and trumpeters sounding the muster. The harbor was so packed that there was nowhere left to beach. Men jumped into chest-deep water. Irona was handed down and carried ashore. Then four men ran her toward the town shoulder-high, like a human battering ram.

  Dychat had heard the commotion, though, and arrived in a chair before she reached the gate. The moment her feet were set on the ground, she shouted the news to him, bellowing so the fast-gathering­ crowd would hear it.

  “What’s that maniac son of yours doing about it?”

  “He said he would shadow them, but he was lying. I know him. He’ll attack, straight down their throats.” She raised her voice to maximum. “If there are any red-blooded Benesh marines here looking for a fight, then now’s your chance for glory.”

  Dychat’s angry retort was drowned out in the roar, but he had no choice and he knew it. If the Kingdoms’ legions were allowed to land, he would be overrun. He ordered out the fleet.

  Dychat also ordered Irona not to go, so she had to stay ashore to chew her fingernails down to the elbow. Fortunately, a full squadron of a dozen galleys under Commodore Garbes had been due to leave Kell the next morning; he led it out within minutes, ready or not. Another dozen or so ships followed as soon as they could, many with pick-up crews.

  The sea was very large, but the enemy fleet was too big to miss.

  The Empire named naval battles after the opposing leaders and the great clash of 726 was recorded as the Battle of Podakan-Zaozerny. As Irona had predicted, Podakan attacked like a terrier, and no one in his flotilla tried to stop him. The crews might have balked had they known how badly they were outnumbered, but fortunately rowers faced aft and they could not see what they are racing into. The officers could, but they knew that the imperial navy had won against odds of five to one a few times in the past, and they also knew the penalty for mutiny. It was later established that Podakan had been outnumbered about ten to one in ships, and about thirty to one in men, because the Kingdoms’ fleet was trying to deliver an army.

  More than anything, that fact lost it the battle.

  Zaozerny’s forces did not know the odds either. When they saw Benesh forces bearing down on them, they naturally assumed it was the vanguard of a much larger fleet. As Irona had argued, the Kingdoms’ navy had been hastily enlisted and poorly trained. The sailors were amateurs against pros. Many had never been drilled in what to do when attacked. By rights, the soldiers should have won the contest simply with archery, for their bowmen outnumbered the entire Benesh force many times over, but a great majority of them had never been to sea before, and probably very few could swim. Galleys were cramped for room at the best of times, and the archers could scarcely draw their bows. They panicked, of course.

  Even when rammed, a wooden galley would not normally sink. It filled with water and became a floating lumber pile. But the Kingdoms’ ships were grossly overloaded with men in armor, all of them struggling to stay above water. Often their combined weight overcame a derelict’s buoyancy, causing it to roll or even sink.

  The Benesh captains saw that ramming risked being boarded by mobs that greatly outnumbered their own crews. They responded by sideswiping instead. The Kingdoms’ training was so poor that their rowers rarely managed to ship oars before the impact, as the Benesh crews did, so half the rowers were mashed by their own oars, and the overloaded ships thrown into chaos.

  The first round was a massacre, carrying the Benesh forces right through the larger fleet and leaving dozens of Kingdoms’ vessels disabled. Being faster and much more maneuverable, the attackers turned and came at the enemy again from the rear. But numbers must count eventually. According to a couple of survivors, Intractable sideswiped four galleys and rammed two without taking a bruise. The third ram victim managed to grapple, and hostile troops swarmed aboard. Another Kingdoms’ galley then rammed Intractable and the Benesh crew were soon cut to pieces. The rest of the flotilla met similar fates.

  The Kingdoms’ fleet was starting to celebrate victory—a costly, bloody victory, but better than nothing—when Garbes’s flotilla charged out of the sunset and turned triumph into renewed panic. At least a score more ships were sunk or disabled before the survivors fled into the night. Garbes lost two galleys. Two of Podakan’s eleven were still afloat, with the others barely distinguishable among the floating wreckage. The rest of the Benesh fleet saw no action, although some ships arrived in time to help rescue both friends and future slaves from the sharks. Admiral Zaozerny was identified and securely bound to a mast for transportation to Kell.

  There was no sign of Rear Admiral Podakan.

  The Year 727

  Veer was still supervising the transport of his paintings, so Irona landed alone in Benign on Midsummer Day, when the city was busy with the festival. The crew commandeered a covered litter for her, and she made her way home to Sebrat House unrecognized until Edziza opened the door. News of the great victory had preceded her, so the first inquiries were about Podakan.

  “No news yet,” she said. “But I am far from giving up hope. That boy of mine is indestructible.”

  Drowned? Slain in battle? Eaten by sharks? Or identified by his collar and delivered to the king of kings for his sinister pleasure? Such was that monarch’s reputation that the captured Admiral Zaozerny, when offered passage home, threw himself at Dychat’s feet and begged for death instead. He was provided with a comfortable cell and a shapely concubine until the Seventy decided what to do with him. Irona was not lying when she said she still had hope. She kept remembering the disembodied voice telling her, Kill him now, Queenie, while you can. That did not sound as if Benign had seen the last of the self-chosen Chosen.

  It was good to be home, to hobble from one room to another and find everything just as it had been when she left—except for her own reflection, which followed her around, reminding her of graying hair, wrinkled skin, missing teeth, and an overall dullness. Like Redkev and Zajic at Vult, Irona had aged when deprived of Source Water. At least she had served Caprice better than they had.

  Next morning Irona reported to the First and that evening limped unheralded into the Scandal Market. Three months ago, the Chosen would have turned their backs on her. Thanks to the Battle of Podakan-Zaozerny, she was greeted with cheers and hugs and bucketfuls of hypocrisy. She was introduced to Eanastick 726, a strikingly pert and pretty girl, and Borawli 727, a solemn lad overwhelmed by his new status but even more impressed by the honor of meeting her.

  Irona delivered a brief report on what she knew, although it was a month out of date. When she had left Kell, the threat had already faded. The king of kings had left Elbrus, heading eastward to Acigol-Nevsehir, with the remains of his army trailing behind. Commodore Chagulak had been planning a great raid to burn the remains of the Three Kingdoms’ fleet in port. The Empire would hold its new territories for now.

  That night the Seventy elected Irona to the Treasury Board. “J
ust for starters,” Ledacos warned her. Rudakov 670 was still First, but lazier and less effective than ever, and the Seventy had shrunk to fifty-eight, the lowest count in memory. Everyone was overworked. If Podakan ever did return, he would be loaded down with offices too.

  A month later, Kapalny 664’s term as Seven ended. Irona was elected his replacement by acclamation. This was a tribute to her son’s success in ending the war, of course, not to hers in starting it. She had agreed in advance to support an obscure procedure whereby a unanimous vote of the Seven declared First Rudakov to be indisposed and in need of rest. The Seventy accepted and elected Mallahle 669 to the post of Acting First—it was part of the procedure that the replacement must be older, so that no rebel band of wild-eyed youngsters could depose one of the old guard. Both men wept. Rudakov took to his bed, refused Source Water, and was dead in a week. Mallahle was mostly admired for his wit and constant good humor, but he was also competent. The wheels of government began to turn again.

  If Mallahle lasted ten years, Ledacos would be almost old enough to be seriously considered for First, but Irona would not. Their unspoken rivalry was still in place.

  One by one Irona’s team followed her home: Sazen Hostin, Daun Bukit, and finally Veer Machin, most welcome of all. An exhibition of his Elbrusian portraits caused a sensation and brought him a fortune.

  News dribbled in. Chagulak’s raid had destroyed the rest of the enemy fleet, although he had found it beached and neglected. Dychat was organizing the islands as a protectorate. The Seventy voted to name it the Podakan Archipelago, which was effectively an acknowledgment that the conqueror was deemed to be dead.

  One night in midwinter, Irona arrived home very late, after a dreary and overlong meeting of the Seventy, and saw that all the lamps in the ballroom were lit.

  At that hour she would normally be let in by the night watchman but it was a beaming Edziza who opened the door for her. She guessed right away from his joyful expression.