Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  “I know. I’m with a small band of travellers, heading south. We’re in need of shelter for the night, and I was wondering whether there was any place here for five people and our beasts?”

  The woman stopped and stared up at him, looking at the attire and equipment, gauging how rich he was. She was definitely not Bragalese. “Who are you and the others?”

  “Travellers, as I said,” Lalaas said easily. “We were delayed in our journey from Frasia to Bukrat and the winter came before we could pass through.”

  “There is precious little space for travellers and no food; times are hard.”

  “Yes, good mother, I’m aware of the war further east which is why we chose this route. I have a few coins for you should you find us a place to stay,” he smiled, slipping off his face mask so she could see him better.

  “Coins?” the woman seemed interested.

  Lalaas fished out a few coins of Kastania. “Three furims – enough to buy you a bovine, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “Five,” she said quickly, “one for each of you.”

  Lalaas pursed his lips. “If that includes one of your wonderful stews for us tonight, then I agree.”

  The woman snorted. She knew she was being flattered. But five furims was more than she could ever have hoped for. “Very well. Around the rear of this house is a barn that has horned herd beasts. Don’t bother them. Up in the loft there you can sleep.”

  “And our equines?”

  “At the rear. Make sure they’re tethered; I don’t want them taking my animal’s feed!”

  “My thanks, good mother,” and he flipped her the five coins which she caught and examined critically. Biting one, she found it to be gold. She swiftly put the coins in her pouch.

  Lalaas turned about and made his way back to the waiting group. He informed them where they could stay, and led them around the rear of the village, under the watchful gaze of half a dozen silent villagers who had come out, attracted by the sounds of voices. The barn was half hidden underneath the snow but the double doors were clear and the ground around had been swept clear of snow the previous day or so. Lalaas dismounted and lifted the bar and the three other men got down gratefully. Amne remained on her mount, head bowed, sweating. Lalaas took one look at her and pulled her off and held her in his arms.

  Theros’s mouth turned down and he advanced on the hunter. “You’ve taken too many liberties with her…”

  “Shut up you fool,” Lalaas snapped. “Can’t you see she’s unwell? Now get the equines under cover at the back of the barn and tether them. I’m going to look after the princess; I don’t like the look of her.”

  Amne looked up listlessly at Lalaas. She was feeling too ill to say anything. The speed at which it had suddenly engulfed her scared her and she felt as if she were burning up. Lalaas found a ladder in the centre of the barn and began climbing it awkwardly, managing to grip the ladder with his fingers while carrying the slightly built woman. At the top the barn was dry, dark and covered in hay. Lalaas gently put Amne down in the midst of a particularly large pile of hay and checked her face, pulse and eyes. He’d seen this before.

  “Princess, can you understand me?” he spoke slowly and clearly.

  She smiled wanly and nodded, beads of sweat coating her forehead and cheeks.

  “Good. You have a fever. I’m going to tend you, but it will take a few days. We’re dry and safe here, and we won’t go until you’re better.”

  He unfastened her face scarf and dropped it to one side and fussed over her coat. It had neat, tight buttons and he had to work at unfastening them. Finally he managed to open it and put a hand on her throat. She was burning up. He checked her but she was half asleep. That was usual in this sort of ailment. She wouldn’t be aware of what was going on around her for some time – if she survived.

  Theros came up the ladder with purpose and took in the situation. “How bad is she?” he demanded, looking down at her.

  “Not good. I’ve seen people die from this. She needs liquid constantly. Both to take and to spread on her skin.”

  “What is it? Plague?” Theros asked in a whisper, fear in his voice.

  “Oh, no,” Lalaas almost laughed at the man, but the situation was too serious to do that. “She has Cold Fever.”

  Theros’s face darkened. Cold Fever was a known killer, so called because it only appeared in the winter. With care and good treatment, many sufferers survived, but that was usually in better conditions than where they found themselves. “Can you save her?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Lalaas said. “We’ll need plenty of cloths to treat her with and a handy pail for melting the snow in, and by the gods we’ll need a fire. In here?” he snorted. “The owner will go berserk if she finds out, but we need one.”

  “How do you propose to have a fire in here?” Theros whispered furiously. “You’ll burn the place down and there’s no place for the smoke to escape.”

  “Then we have to make one outside,” Lalaas said.

  “You’re the great fire maker,” Theros said, “you’ll have to take care of that!”

  “And you’ll have to tend it once I do,” Lalaas retorted. “If you think I’m leaving her in your hands you’ve got another think coming.”

  “And do you think I trust you to take care of her properly?”

  Lalaas stuck his face in Theros’s. “Explain what you mean by that, palace dweller?”

  “I’ve seen how you treat people; striking them is your way of making them do your bidding. If you’re so inclined, then I doubt you are the right man to care for a sick woman!”

  “Who else here is capable? I know this illness; I’ve tended people before and know what it takes to get them cured.”

  Theros sneered. “So you say. I don’t believe you.”

  “You’ve no choice. You know you and your two pups are quite useless at survival. You need me more than I need you. You know also I’m the only one here who can save her, so stop acting like a fool and do your bit.”

  The two clerks had appeared by now and had caught the end of the argument. They looked at Lalaas without warmth. Lalaas looked at them. “Well?”

  “The equines are tethered,” the thinner one said. “What do we do now?”

  “Arrange the hay into beds for you. I’ll go fetch what we need for our stay here. It’s going to be some time. Find a pail or bucket; there’s got to be one here somewhere. And you,” he pointed at Theros, “get off your behind and help.”

  Theros gasped in outrage. “I’ll do what I decide is necessary! These two are perfectly capable of doing what you’ve just requested. I’m going to keep an eye on the princess!”

  Lalaas paused, then set off for the top of the ladder. “You do that.”

  He returned a few moments later with clothing and a couple of sacks. He threw them down at Theros’s feet. “So, now I’m back you can go help your clerks.”

  “I will not,” Theros retorted.

  The next moment Lalaas had him by the throat and was dragging him across the loft to the large square opening the ladder stood in. At the bottom, perhaps the height of three men below, was the ground, covered in hay. Without a pause Lalaas threw Theros over the edge and the politician shrieked in terror and plunged to the ground. He hit the hay and his fall was cushioned so that he was only winded. The two clerks came running in alarm and helped the shaken Theros to his feet. They all looked up at Lalaas.

  “As I said earlier,” Lalaas told them, “you are not vital to this journey, but the princess and I are. If you prove to be useless, then I shall have no hesitation in leaving you behind.” He vanished, leaving the three men standing there, each with their own thoughts.

  As for the hunter, he was angry with himself. He usually avoided such demonstrations of temper but Theros was becoming a liability rather than a help. His antagonism towards Lalaas was endangering all of them and it had been necessary to show him how helpless he really was. If there hadn’t been hay below the drop Lalaas didn’t know what he
would have done to the infuriating man. He knelt by the side of Amne again and checked her. She was uncomfortable in her sleep; she was beginning to thrash about, shaking her head slowly from side to side. Sweat was running off her and she would have to be cooled down pretty soon or she’d get too hot and probably die. Lalaas recalled the treatment he’d been shown by the elderly people of a Kastanian village a few years back. There was nothing else to it but to copy what they’d done to successfully save the life of a young boy.

  Amne may be a princess but the illness didn’t take into account age, gender or social position. Taking a deep breath, he unbuttoned the rest of her jacket and flipped the sides away from her body, then was confronted by a white wormspun undergarment. Lifting her gently, he managed to slip it over her head and threw it aside. Now she had only her modesty top to remove. Lalaas paused. Her skin was glistening all over with the sweat she was producing. She had to be cooled urgently. Muttering a prayer to the gods for forgiveness, he lifted her up at the waist and leaned her limp form against his shoulder while his hands sought out and found the clips on the back. He undid them and allowed her to sink back into the hay, pulling the top off. She was now fully exposed to him and he briefly gazed at her, then shook his head and unfastened her boots, pulled them off, then slid her leggings off. Her undergarment he kept on. There were limits. He was too engrossed in what he was doing to see the pair of hostile and incredulous eyes watching him for a moment, then the watcher descended the ladder.

  The interior of the barn was cool but not freezing. The hay insulated the walls and the snow the roof, and the roof was a typical long low construction common in these parts, designed to reduce the wall area and thus retain as much heat inside the barn during the snowy season. He still had need to keep his jacket and robe on, but the princess had to cool down. He rummaged around the pack he’d brought up and pulled out the princess’s blanket. This would protect her modesty.

  He laid it across her and felt her forehead. Still hot. He cursed the others. “Where’s the water?” he shouted out.

  There was no reply. Angrily he went to the top of the ladder and looked down. There was nobody in sight. Muttering he descended and looked around. An upended pail lay by one of the huge support beams and he picked it up, looking into all the dark corners. Then he noticed only four equines were tethered at the rear. The others were gone. Cursing quietly he went to the doors which were shut, but signs were that they had been opened a few moments before. Peering out of one he noticed fresh tracks leading away and turning off to the south.

  Theros and the two others had gone.

  Demtro Kalfas looked around and nodded to himself in satisfaction. The building he was in, out in the suburbs of Niake, would suit his purposes nicely. There was space for the equipment he needed and it was close enough to houses to easily employ the twenty or so he needed to get his business off the ground. “Yes, this will be fine,” he said to the other man with him.

  “Excellent,” the other clapped his hands together and rubbed them. His iron-grey hair and moustache contrasted with his dark brown eyes and he had bright white teeth that Demtro hated on sight, mostly because his weren’t so pristine. “Excellent,” he repeated again, and Demtro had come to realise that this was a word this man, an official in the governor’s office by the name of Wulfas Kleso, used more than frequently.

  “I trust the governor has the equipment I need to hire to get this textile manufacturing business up on its feet?”

  “Oh yes, at an excellent rate. Excellent indeed,” Wulfas rubbed his hands again, his teeth showing in delight.

  “Please arrange for the equipment to be delivered here this sevenday,” the merchant said, “I’m keen to get going as soon as possible.”

  “Do you have the funds?” Wulfas asked.

  Demtro pulled out a bag of coins and passed them to the official. “I think this will cover all the expenses you can think of that will arise,” he said dryly.

  Wulfas shook the bag and looked surprised. “More than enough,” he said. “Too much, in fact.”

  Demtro smiled. “Then use the balance as a – deposit – for possible future transactions.”

  “Ah, yes. Excellent. Excellent.” Wulfas hung the bag from his money belt. He wore a one-piece coat that was gathered in at the waist where the belt held it against his stomach and waist, then flowed out to ankle length with the split down the front, crossed over and the edge tucked in the belt. All one had to do to undo it was to unfasten the belt and it sprang open. Quite ingenious and all the rage in Niake. Demtro considered getting one himself. They seemed to be made of felt and wool.

  “I shall hire a workforce from the locality. Tell me, what was this place before?”

  Wulfas looked around. “A textile factory, such as you’re proposing to start. Failed like many businesses due to a lack of demand and high costs.”

  “The rents were too high?”

  “Oh no,” Wulfas quickly jumped to the defence of the landlord, the governor. “Material was too difficult to get due to import duties levied by the palace in Kastan, and the price was too high for all but the very rich, and they were too busy with other activities to worry about buying wormspun or other rich materials. Now the palace has reduced the duty the costs have come down. But will you get people buying your products? The governor thinks you’ll find it very hard.”

  Demtro shrugged. “Someone’s got to make them and sell them. All it needs is for stability and people’s confidence will return. If the emperor stops this silly nonsense about rebellion in its tracks, and the governor here stops the unrest, then people will feel better about parting with their money. We need peace, Wulfas, not strife.”

  “I agree, quite agree, yes, yes,” Wulfas nodded vehemently. “Well, excellent. Now, where will you sell your products? You’ll need a licence of course.”

  “Naturally,” Demtro said wryly. “Take the cost out of the money there. I intend selling in the town square as well as here.”

  “I’ll reserve a pitch for you in that case. Which location?”

  “What’s the most expensive?”

  “The governor’s building side, of course.”

  Demtro smiled thinly. “Then that is where I’ll want my pitch.”

  Wulfas rubbed his hands some more, then after a bit of desultory talking, decided he must get back to his offices and process Demtro’s application and send the equipment to the warehouse. Demtro was left looking around the cavernous building, then he looked to his left where a pile of discarded furniture stood, left by the previous occupants and shoved into the corner out of the way. “Well?” he asked, “does this suit you?”

  A figure emerged, a shadowy, slight of built man, dressed in dark clothing and possessing a nondescript face. “Yes,” he replied, his voice deep and gravelly. “Just what I need.”

  “Good. Just make sure nobody sees you coming and going from this place.”

  “What do you take me for?” the dark man asked. “Credit me with knowing my profession.”

  “Knowing it and doing it are entirely different matters,” Demtro said, “but I’ll put my faith in you. I’m paying you good money, remember.”

  The figure smiled evilly. “And I know what you want me to do. Trust me, you’ve hired the best in Niake.”

  “I hope so indeed. I shall call you Renet, if you don’t mind. I care not for whatever your real name is.”

  The man shrugged. “Renet is fine by me. I shan’t sleep here since most of my work is at night, and the day shall be too noisy for sleep.”

  “Do you have alternative accommodation?”

  “Yes. But of my presence here; what will you tell your staff?”

  “You’re my import agent from – ah – Zipria. Nobody knows where Zipria is, let alone visited the place. For all they know people there all look like you.”

  “Or talk like me. Very well. I shall start my work.”

  “Just remember, Renet, any newsworthy item you’re to inform me at once.”
<
br />   Renet nodded, then slipped out of the building. Demtro remained alone for a few moments, then he too left, bound for his quarters in the merchant district, and a rendezvous with a particularly delightful dancer he’d met the night before. The empress was paying him handsomely, and why shouldn’t he divert some of those funds to his own relaxation?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Argan had to be helped to drink, he was shaking that much. The empress fussed around him like a mother fowl while the others talked in low voices about the near fatal encounter the young prince had received. The coiled venomous kivok reptile that had been placed in the child’s box had been destroyed by Vosgaris, and they were all thinking how lucky it had been that Argan hadn’t been bitten. If he had, then he would be dead by now.

  The missing guard hadn’t been found and Vosgaris had begun a search for him. What was known about the man was that he’d been a guard for a number of years and had served faithfully throughout all the regimes that had been in place during that time. It could be he had been bribed to do the deed, or that he was a member of a rival faction, or in fact he’d been removed out of the way so that an agent could access the room and place the kivok there to strike.

  Either way, another attempt on the life of a Koros had been made. Isbel was frantic and the guard had been doubled. Vosgaris had apologised but had been cut off abruptly by the empress. She wanted him to find the person responsible. The Captain of the Palace Guard was walking on eggshells around the empress, fearful that her wrath may be directed against him, given that one of his men was top of the list of suspects. In fact, the missing man was the only possible culprit.

  The other consideration, so Mr Sen had said, was that the kivok wasn’t native to Frasia. It was found in the west, close to Kaprenia region in western Bathenia and Lodria. So whoever had put the creature there had to have brought it from a long way off, or it had been in someone’s private collection. Either way it spoke of money.