Lord of Janissaries

by Jerry Pournelle

  “But she is not a chaste woman,” Tylara said.

  “It’s not that simple,” Rick protested. “Different cultures, different—”

  “I am more concerned with consequences,” Tylara said coldly. “If the Lady Gwen cannot use proper judgement, then we must save her from her folly. And save the University, which is such a great part of what our children will inherit.”

  Damn all Tran dynasts, Rick thought. But she’s right.

  “My love, we both know Caradoc. He has always been quick to defend the right. Not his right alone. Ours as well. But my lord husband, my love, even now the Tamaerthan troops are returning. Caradoc will soon be here, and if he is wronged, if his wife has dishonored him, he must act! He will challenge Les.”

  “He’d probably lose,” Elliot said. “I don’t know what Les carries, but it’s sure to be as effective as our pistols. Remember Art Masons’ story? The walls of the ship shot him when he threatened one of the Shalnuksis.”

  “And Les and the others are human warriors,” Rick finished. “Janissaries for the Galactic Confederacy.” He laughed. “I don’t want to believe that.”

  “Evidence is pretty convincing,” Elliot said.

  “Didn’t say I don’t believe it,” Rick said.

  Elliot laughed.

  Tylara waited until there was silence. “It matters little whether Lord Caradoc wins or loses. He will insist upon his rights in this matter. He will insist that we come to his aid, or avenge him if he is killed.”

  “Army’ll be on his side,” Elliot said. “Hell, Cap’n, suppose Les kills Caradoc. You know damn well what you’d have to do.”

  “Yes.” Kill Les. Or be a lord who’s broken faith with his followers. My name will stink from the Westscarp to Rome. Caradoc’s relatives will want my blood—Padraic! My own bodyguard.

  “Do you see difficulties I do not?” Tylara asked. “We are two. We both have pistols. Les is only one. I saw no weapon upon him, but suppose he has? He can be killed. At this moment he is guest under our roof, but that need not be forever. We swore no permanent oath to him.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying! You can’t know what his ship will do,” Rick said.

  “There is no one in it,” Tylara said. “I asked him. It could be a lie, but I do not think it was.”

  “Nor do I,” Rick said.

  “Then he controls the ship with that box. When we have killed him, we will take the box and use it,” Tylara said.

  “Won’t work,” Rick said. “There are—codes. One is obvious—he will not use English to speak with the ship. And smashing the box won’t work, since we don’t know what orders he gave the ship before he sent it up. He had plenty of time, after all.”

  “But what can a ship do?” Tylara demanded. “A ship with no master?”

  “A lot,” Rick said. “First, it will report to the next ship that comes. God knows what it’ll tell them, but it can watch everything we do. It’ll sit up there in the sky and watch us, and take pictures, and when the Shalnuksis come it’ll tell them everything.”

  “And then comes skyfire,” Tylara said thoughtfully.

  “Unless we can work with Les to prevent it,” Rick said. “One thing’s sure. We won’t learn anything from anybody else. Les is the only chance we have to talk the Shalnuksis out of bombing this place back to the Stone Age. Why would he try, except for Gwen? Yet, with his help, what we have built, the knowledge we will leave our children, might withstand even skyfire. The Shalnuksis might be induced to bomb the wrong places. But that’s only if Les helps.”

  “And yet, all know what a debt we owe to Caradoc,” Tylara said. “His honor is ours. You speak of what we will give our children. Do you wish to give them an inheritance of dishonor?”

  Yatar, Jehovah, Christ, somebody, tell me how to answer that. Please.

  Tylara sighed. “You have no answer. Nor have I. It seems that now we are both called upon to do more than we can do. Lord Elliot, have you advice?”

  “No, Lady,” Elliot said. “We need Caradoc, and we need Les. But it looks like one’s going to kill the other, no matter what. Hell, it wouldn’t settle anything if Gwen dropped dead! She’s the only thing Les cares about—”

  “There is his child,” Tylara said thoughtfully. “If the lady Gwen were dead, there could be no quarrel—”

  “Seems to me a man would be more likely to work for his wife than for a kid he’s never seen,” Elliot said.

  “And we need Gwen if we’re going to have a University,” Rick said.

  “You are certain?”

  “Yes, I’m certain, dammit! And do you think I owe Gwen any less than we owe Caradoc?”

  “I see.” Tylara sighed once more, than stood. “I will not swear to lay no hand on Les forever,” she said. “But I will swear to let him take us safely to the University, and stand apart from his first meeting with the Lady Gwen.” She gave a shaky smile. “I think if I did not swear this much, you would guard Les night and day with your Colt in your hand. Even against me.”

  No answer to that, either. “That’s a good start.” And—Gwen didn’t get any messages from Les. Meaning what? Maybe her transceiver’s busted, but maybe she isn’t listening. Maybe she’s in one of her moods—“He done me wrong and then run off and left me.” When she’s like that, she wants his cojones on a spear, and if she stays that way long enough for Caradoc to come back and make her realize that she’s got to be sensible . . .

  Maybe. It’s a slim chance.

  But everything else looks like no chance at all.

  * * *

  This time the ship tilted slightly as it landed on a patch of softer ground. The whining sound grew louder and increased in pitch, and Les frantically manipulated dials on the box he carried. The ship righted itself.

  Les inspected it critically, then seemed satisfied. “Okay, wait there,” he said. Then he seemed to catch himself. He turned to Tylara. “With your permission, my lady, I’ll go open a hatch.”

  He disappeared around the stern.

  Tylara glanced at Rick, then stared at the ship. They stood together in the field, with only the Firestealer to give light. Tylara’s lips were set in a grim line.

  She’s scared of skyfire, Rick thought. Well, so am I. The interesting part is that Les is nervous. These ships must be vulnerable. Not likely I’ll learn how. Not likely the troops will see anything. But they might—

  He had every merc with binoculars stationed around possible landing sites, and he’d been lucky. Elliot was out there watching this one.

  After about ten minutes a hatch opened just in front of Rick and Tylara. A wide gangway lowered itself.

  “Welcome aboard,” the ship’s voice said. It didn’t sound anything like Les.

  Tylara took Rick’s hand. “Shall we go, my husband?”

  He nodded, then grabbed her to kiss her. As he broke away he whispered, “Remember. Not only Les will hear everything we say while we are in that ship. Other—”

  She smiled and nodded, and Rick wondered if she believed him. After all, she’d never seen a recording device, and describing one wasn’t the same as showing it—

  Nothing he could do about that.

  They went inside. The compartment was nearly bare. Rick looked closely. There were stains on the deck in one corner. This was the same ship that had brought them to Tran, no doubt about that.

  In one corner of the compartment there were two piles of Japanese futons. On top of one of the piles was a package wrapped in brightly printed paper and tied with a scarlet bow. Tylara stared at it. The paper was printed with replicas of famous miniature portraits.

  “It is lovely,” she said. “I have not seen—”

  “Ah, my lady, it is a gift for you.” This time Les used his own voice, rather than the impersonal computer-generated one he’d used earlier. “Now, please be seated—”

  Rick pushed the two piles of futons together and flopped into one of them. Tylara gingerly sat beside him. She clutched the package ti
ghtly.

  “Will you not open it?” Les asked.

  “I—it is so beautiful—”

  “Let me, sweetheart,” Rick said. He took the package and carefully worked the bow so that it came off without damaging it. Tylara took it and held it experimentally to her hair. The ends of the package were sealed with Scotch tape. Rick took out his pocket knife and slit the tape so that he could remove the printed paper without tearing it. Tylara watched nervously.

  “I should have brought more wrapping paper,” Les said. “I think I have some picture books. You can have those.”

  “Thank you,” Tylara said. She sounded sincere.

  The box contained a bracelet and necklace of Navajo turquoise and silver, elaborately gaudy. Tylara gasped with pleasure. “Marvelous!” she exclaimed. She put on the bracelet and admired it on her arm. “There is nothing like it in all of Tamaerthon. Or Drantos.”

  That’s for sure, Rick thought. But of course she’d like it.

  They settled onto the futons. “Thank you,” Tylara said.

  A screen in the forward part of the compartment suddenly came to life. It showed Les in his command chair on the ship’s semi-darkened bridge. “There’s something for you, too, Colonel,” Les said. “Under your cushions there—”

  Rick felt under the pile and found a wooden box, not wrapped. Inside was a bottle of Talisker Scotch and four crystal glasses packed in Styrofoam worms. There was also a bottle of Campari.

  “Have a drink with me?” Les asked. “Sorry I can’t invite you up to the bridge. ‘Thees starship ees going to Havana, Señor,’ with those mini-grenades to make the point—well, the idea doesn’t quite appeal to me.”

  “I don’t suppose it would,” Rick said. He tried to keep his voice calm. The grenades in his pockets suddenly seemed five times their size and weight.

  “My lady might prefer Campari,” Les said.

  “Fat chance,” Rick muttered. “She’s had Scotch.” He opened the Talisker and poured for himself and Tylara.

  Les turned to the screen and lifted his own glass. “Cheers, then,” he said.

  “Cheers,” Rick said. Tylara muttered something. They both drank.

  Tylara grimaced slightly at the taste. Rick frowned a question at her.

  “I recall the previous time,” she said. “I was pleased with your strong—whisky. But—”

  But you’d just been raped by Sarakos, Rick thought. And this reminds you. Yeah. I should have insisted you have Campari.

  “Ready?” Les asked.

  “Yes,” Rick said.

  A moment later they were pressed into the futons. The screen blurred, then showed the ground falling away. Tylara gasped and moved closer to him. The ship rose, and then they were high enough to see Castle Armagh with its blaze of bonfires. She shivered slightly.

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Rick whispered. “We’re no higher than—than the highest mountains.” He’d almost mentioned Larry Warner and the balloon, but there was no point in telling the ship’s recorders about that.

  The ship began to move, and Armagh slipped off the edge of the screen. The Firestealer gave enough light to recognize the major terrain features. They were going west, following the main road to Castle Dravan.

  Coincidence or design? Rick wondered. After all, when they first came to Tran they’d been set down not far from Dravan, and this was the main road west . . .

  Tylara pointed and looked afraid. “The children,” she whispered.

  Yeah. Our kids are down there—He pointed and nodded. “Yes, I think you’re right, that’s where we established the orphanages,” he said. “Not too far from where the ship first set us down. Les, are we sightseeing?”

  “Maybe a little,” Les said. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. Except if you go much farther west I’d appreciate it if the ship isn’t seen. Our army’s out there somewhere. They just won a big battle with Westmen—those are nomads from the high plains above the big escarpment. The Westmen already think there was too much wizardry for it to have been a fair fight.”

  “So if they see the ship, they might think it’s impossible to make an honorable peace, so they may as well die fighting?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “No problem,” Les said.

  The lights below shrank rapidly, and now there were clouds below them. After a few moments the screen changed, zooming in on the plains below. They passed the Littlescarp, and the scene on the screen changed rapidly, as if the camera were searching the high plains. Then it stabilized on camp fires, and zoomed in again.

  Tylara stirred. “That is the host of Drantos,” she said wonderingly. There was terror in her eyes. She started to speak, but Rick pulled her to him and kissed her.

  She looked startled for a moment, then nodded understanding.

  I know, my darling, Rick thought. There is our army, the most powerful force you’ve ever seen, down there below like toy soldiers, down there where it would be like child’s play to throw skyfire at them. But don’t say it, don’t even think it too loud—

  “How does Yatar rule those with such power?” she asked softly. “Or—does Yatar rule the sky-folk?”

  Rick shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said softly. Not even if you translate the question into modern theology. Is there a God? Is there any reason for ethics? Does the universe care one lick whether people are decent or beastly to one another?

  “He rules your heart, my love,” Tylara whispered. “And that is enough for me.”

  * * *

  The screen brightened, then changed to a map of the eastern part of the settled region of Tran. At least this settled region, Rick told himself. He’d never learned just how far west this continent was inhabited, or whether the other continent was inhabited at all.

  The map stretched from Rome to the Westscarp, and as Rick watched, a numbered grid superimposed itself. “If you wouldn’t mind,” Les said. “It would be well to get on with our cargo collection.”

  That would be for the recorders. There’d be damned little cargo at the University, but Rick thought Les must have a way to deal with that. More interesting was how he carefully didn’t mention Gwen in the hearing of the ship . . .

  * * *

  The ship settled into the hills above the University. Les sent Rick and Tylara out, then joined them a few moments later. He was carrying his suitcase and the control box. The ship whined and rose into the dawning sky.

  “Well, here we are,” Les said. “What’s down there?”

  “My University,” Rick said. “Gwen is the Rector.”

  Les whistled in exaggerated respect. “OH-ho. Well, we’d best get on with it. Looks like a long walk. Should have set the ship down closer.”

  Tylara chuckled. “Captain,” she said, “one might almost doubt your love for the Lady Gwen. You complain of a few stadia we must walk. What of the tales of lovers who would swim boiling seas or walk ten thousand leagues to join their ladies?”

  There was a pause long enough to worry Rick. Then Les laughed. “They may have had more difficult journeys,” he said. “But none of them ever had a longer one.”

  36

  The messenger from the Roman pickets brought word to Gwen Tremaine just as the True Sun rose. A skyship had been seen.

  She put on a robe and covered her hair with a snood, and went to her office before she had tea.

  “It was as you ordered, Lady,” the decurion said. “We watched the hills, and we saw it descending, not so bright as a star. I have never seen its like before.”

  “Few have,” Gwen said.

  “The cohort now searches those hills for any gifts the skyfolk may have left. If we find any, we will bring them to the University. Have you more orders, Lady?”

  “No. Thank you, Decurion.” She opened a desk drawer and took out a bag of coins, and shook several into her hand. “Buy wine for your unit, and say they have done well.”

  “Thank you, Lady.”

  As the Rom
an left, Marva brought tea and biscuits.

  “Join me,” Gwen said. She indicated a chair. Marva sat and poured the tea.

  “It is good news, Lady Gwen?”

  “I don’t know, Lady Marva. I truly don’t know.”

  This is my life, Gwen thought. To be in this office, to govern this University. To teach these people, and watch as their lives improve. It is my life. She twisted her fingers together. This must endure. I’ve got to do something. Did it really land? And who?

  Suddenly she stood, gulped her tea, and ran to her apartment on the floor below. What should I wear? There’s nothing here—

  By mid-morning she’d turned her closets into chaos, and brought both Marva and herself to tears.

  Get hold of yourself, girl! Suppose it is Les. Do you want him to see you like this? Send Marva for a stiff drink. Two, she deserves one for herself. And put on your regular working gown. It’s the best you have except for the blue one Larry gave you, and that’s too formal for daytime—

  And the children! If it’s Les he’ll want to see his son.

  And if it’s a Shalnuksi executioner?

  It can’t be—“Lady Marva?”

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “Have Nurse take the children to the Roman fortress. She’s to keep them there until I send for them. You go with them.”

  “Is there—do you fear the sky-folk?” Marva asked. “But will they not be like—the others we have known?”

  “I don’t know,” Gwen said. “And I’m afraid—”

  “I will see to the children,” Marva said. “Then I will return.”

  “No! Stay at the fortress—”

  “My lady, not even the fortress will prevent us from skyfire. My husband told me that many times. But I can ask the commandant to send the children beyond the hills—”

  “No, that’s silly,” Gwen said. “There will be no skyfire. All the same—do have Nurse take the children to the fortress.”

  * * *

  There was a knock at her office door.

  “Come,” she called.

  Larry Warner came in. “First time ever,” he said. “Nobody in your outer office. Why?”