by John F. Carr
Sirna shuddered; that poisonous Fourth Level family had become legendary at the University. In the Imperial Italian Subsector, Pope Alexander VI had managed to consolidate enough power to create the Borgia Dynasty which ruled most of Italy. The poisonous atmosphere of the Borgias had infected all of Europe and spread to the New World where there were scores of competing French, Spanish and Italian city-states. Some English Queen had lost her head when the Spanish Armada landed and conquered England, returning it to the Papacy as a subject state of Spain and Rome, administered by the Spanish and their Irish allies.
If Archpriest Roxthar and his Investigation kept Anaxthenes from creating another Italian Imperial, then the mad Archpriest’s life could be said to have brought about some good! It was certainly true that Kalvan’s efforts to improve Aryan-Transpacific were having some unexpected and unpleasant results. None of the other Kalvan Control Time-Lines had spawned a kingdom-wide war, an Inquisition and the beginnings of a religious war.
“I thought marriage was acceptable practice among Aryan-Transpacific priests. Is Styphon’s House an exception?” Sirna asked.
“No, there’s no doctrine in Styphon’s Way that calls for celibacy. The First Speaker appears to be one of those men who likes multiple partners, who is emotionally unwilling to commit and can afford his own harem of concubines--not uncommon among the top echelons of Styphon’s House.”
There was a bitter note in Eldra’s voice that made Sirna wonder if the professor was speaking from experience when she talked about men who were ‘unwilling to commit.’ “What about Anaxthenes’ children?”
“None that we know of, which is unusual. There are more than twenty foundling homes in Balph and more street urchins there than in any other city in Five Kingdoms. He either keeps a harem for appearances sake, or has the issues of his couplings left out in the outskirts of Balph to die.”
Sirna choked back a gasp, which would have made her look unsophisticated to Eldra, a woman she greatly admired. Sirna had studied enough Outtime Sociology to be familiar with peculiar outtime practices when it came to birth control and overpopulation techniques. However, it was one thing to hear a dry lecture, and quite another to actually live on a time-line where these peculiar customs were practiced and taken for granted!
The only other member of the Kalvan Study Team attending the Founders Day Celebration was Aranth Sain, who met them at the stable and drafted a proper escort from among the Foundry workmen. Sain was wearing a silvered back-and-breast and a blue and red eagle feather jutting from his finely engraved high-combed morion helmet. The night sky was clear of clouds exposing ribbons of twinkling stars. For the first time since she’d arrived on Kalvan’s Time-Line, Sirna felt alive with the possibilities of life on a more primitive but vital world. She wondered if she would ever meet an outtimer as exciting as Kalvan, and what would happen if she did.
There was no reason for her not to become involved with a local, since she had a birth control implant. On the other hand, her emotional well-being was still fragile after the way her ex-husband had coldly abandoned her. She was not like Eldra, able to move from one lover to another without a backward glance.
Sain was several horse-lengths ahead while their bodyguards were ranging behind. Sirna’s horse riding skills had improved to the point where she no longer felt in danger of being catapulted out of her saddle, but she knew in her heart she would never be comfortable while on the back of any large animal. “Eldra, how can you become intimate with a man without getting . . . well, involved?”
Eldra’s laugh was a little too brittle to be real. “I look at men like I do horses. You have to take a new one out, ride him hard and break him in.”
“What happens if you get... say ... attached to a horse unexpectedly?”
“You don’t ever get attached--that’s the rule, Sirna. Not if you want to be free to ride the next one.” The next words, “not ever again,” were almost inaudible, as Eldra spurred her horse and galloped up to join Aranth Sain.
By the time Sirna caught up, the lights from the University of Hos-Hostigos were visible. This was Sirna’s first visit to the University and she found a dozen students volunteering their services in giving her a guided tour. Instead, she left with a musician, a big full-bodied man with a limp and a beautiful lyre strapped to his back. His name was Gasphros and when she asked him what his function at the University was, he replied, “I’m the university bumblebee. I watch and listen, stopping at each department to pick up information and ideas, like a bee picks up pollen. Then I share my observations with the Masters of whichever department I think will find them useful. Sometimes they ignore me, but oftentimes they take my advice--and occasionally my ideas work.
“In return they give me a goblet of Ermut’s brandy, or a few pieces of silver. Sometimes I sing and play for my supper. When things are quiet here, I pack up and visit the Silver Stag or Crossed Halberds in Hostigos Town, tell a few tales and sing a few songs. It’s a good living.”
Sirna had heard from Aranth that Gasphros the Troubadour was also a spy--or intelligencer, as they called them on Aryan-Transpacific--for Duke Skranga, Kalvan’s head of Hostigos Intelligence. He’d left Harphax City with Skranga when the Harphaxi constabulary started to ask too many questions.
“How did you get the limp?” she asked, as they viewed the University alchemy laboratory, which was filled with rows of clay cups, green glass beakers and retorts filled with colored liquids.
“I joined the Blethan Army as a lad to escape home. I got shot in the knee with a crossbow quarrel during a rebellion in the Princedom of Taurnos. The fester devils set in and I almost lost my leg. In time I recovered the use of my limb, although I still walk with a limp. What I did lose, however, was the last of my youthful idealisms about war.”
He gave a deep-bodied laugh. “A few years later I left Hos-Bletha and came north to escape the army. I’ve sung and told tales, had every kind of adventure known to man, been to every capital city in the Six Kingdoms and a few in the Middle Kingdoms, I’ve wandered the Trygath and sang in the Sastragath and I hope to live long enough to make a trek to the Great Western Sea and play for the legendary Tyrants.”
Sirna laughed. “It sounds like an exciting life. What are you doing in Hos-Hostigos?”
“I was staying with a young lady in Agrys City, which at that time was considered the most civilized city in the world--but only to those in the Northern Kingdoms. The most civilized city in the world has to be Xiphlon, at the mouth of the Mother River. I could tell you stories, but not now.” Gasphros paused, gave her a bawdy wink before continuing, “Anyway, when I heard about the new King Kalvan and his miraculous battle against Styphon’s House--a thoroughly corrupt band of rogues, by the way--I decided that Hostigos Town was the place for me. And I haven’t regretted my decision once. This new University is the wonder of the world and is a lodestone for the most wondrous minds and learned men of every stripe. If it isn’t happening in Hos-Hostigos, it isn’t happening anywhere! Among his many talents it turns out that our Great King is a musician; I’ve learned some wonderful melodies from him--most inspiring.”
Gasphros’ enthusiasm was catching, and Sirna found herself in a much better mood as they returned to the Grand Hall, now a temporary ballroom. Had Gasphros not been plucked from her arm by two young girls, she might have been tempted to spend the evening with him. As it was, she was enthralled by the formal dancing to lutes, lyres and some sort of keyboard mechanism in the shape of a cooking stove. The music was pleasant and she recognized the melody Stardust, the Hoagy Carmichael standard that had been a hit on First Level airwaves a decade or so ago. Another of Kalvan’s contributions to Aryan-Transpacific’s musical legacy. She was asked to dance by several young men, but she turned them down. She’d been born with two left feet and, unlike Eldra who was dancing every number, it took her ages to learn the steps and motions that made dancing enjoyable.
Then she saw the Great King dancing with Eldra, who was whispering into his
ear. You’re out of your league here, Eldra! She watched as Kalvan shook his head no and went off to talk with a man she recognized as Captain-General Harmakros.
Eldra did not take well to the role of the spurned woman; the look that crossed her face would have frightened a grizzly back into hibernation. Over in the corner the scraggly bearded Duke Skranga watched the attempted assignation play out--missing nothing. Sirna hoped she never caught his eyes; true, the bald and bandy legged former horse-trader had a charm that defied both logic and good sense, but she’d met more than her share of seedy-looking professors and knew that a good kick in the crotch--if all else failed--always restored their good sense.
At first she thought Eldra was coming over to talk with her, but instead she stepped into the open arms of Democriphon, the handsome cavalry colonel who was reported to have broken more hearts in Hostigos Town than even Skranga. The two of them, as they danced some ritualized piece that defied Sirna’s limited coordination, gazed into each other’s eyes as if they’d each just discovered the perfect melody. Sirna looked around for Sain; she had a feeling she was going to be going home by herself tonight.
II
Verkan was playing catch-up, visiting his various Greffan businesses, which had been flourishing the last year, while he’d been jaunting back and forth between Home Time-Line and Hostigos. He hadn’t been back in Greffa for half a year and reading over the Verkan Fireseed Works ledger he was amazed at the profit it was making, which was surprising since they were practically giving fireseed away. He had had to see that most of this funneled back to Kalvan as part of their licensing agreement. The Verkan Fireseed Works was selling the real Hostigi fireseed. It wasn’t Kalvan’s fault that most of the fireseed works that had sprung up in Greffa after Kalvan had announced the gunpowder formula had mangled the instructions! Still, most of it was better than the fireseed Styphon’s House was still selling in the Middle Kingdoms, which was powdered--not corned and ground--as was the fireseed they sold in the Five Kingdoms.
For centuries Styphon’s House had gotten away with selling an inferior product at inflated prices. No wonder there was so little love for the Temple in Grefftscharr or any of the other Middle Kingdoms.
The goods he was importing from Hostigos, as part of his cover as a pack trader, were also making money--especially the casks of Ermut’s brandy. He was going to have to be careful. If he continued to amass this much local wealth, he’d soon become a target of King Theovacar. Verkan had already been targeted by the highly born but lightly-pursed nobility. The gentle knock at the door reminded him he wasn’t alone.
“Come in.”
His assistant Zinganna, Zinna to the locals, stuck her head in the doorway. “Your afternoon appointment is here, Trader.”
“Invite him in and bring a flask of Ermut’s Best.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink and closed the door. Verkan took his alcodote and removed two of his finest glass goblets from the cabinet behind his hardwood desk. The Grefftscharrers were used to the local mead and ale, but distilled liquor tossed them for a loop. Kalvan’s brandy was much easier to administer than a hypno-mech and left no traces of First Level contamination for the new Greffa University Study Team to worry over.
Verkan used his First Level total recall to pull up his mental file on Duke Ruffulo. Ruffulo was in his middle years, married with three children. The Duke was the oldest son of one of Theovacar’s grandfather’s loyalists. The Duke owned a large estate bordering on Thagnor, which explained his leanings toward Theovacar; Prince Varrack was more openly ambitious than the King. While Ruffulo was nominally an ally of Theovacar, he was reportedly no admirer. He was a man with a reputation of stern integrity and honesty, both in the Assembly of Lords and the Council of Merchants; in other words, a good man to win over to the Paratimer’s side.
The Duke’s estates were reportedly earning more than he was spending, and he only had one mistress, which was unusual for a noble in Grefftscharr--usually they had a dozen or more. How much gold is he going to ask for and why?
It was Kostran’s idea to start lending money at a lesser rate than that of the local banking firms and Styphon’s Great Banking House to needy nobles. He had been careful not to loan too much, between one and ten ounces of gold. The kind of money a Greffan noble would likely owe to a tradesman, such as a mercer or caterer. Their terms were fair, for Middle Kingdom lenders: interest a flat ten percent--term not to exceed one year--if you put up collateral, or twenty percent if you didn’t. Furthermore, Kostran let the grapevine know that the House of Verkan was willing to forgive part of a loan in exchange for political or mercantile favors.
These loans not only undercut Styphon’s local influence, but it also provided a source of useful intelligence since most of the nobility spent far more than they collected. After a few goblets of brandy and a small purse of gold, many of them were more than willing to talk his or Kostran’s ears off.
Duke Ruffulo entered the room, his back straight as a ramrod and with eyes darting around the room as though he expected one of Styphon’s fire-seed devils to materialize.
“I don’t bite,” Verkan said in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
Ruffulo shook his head. “I apologize, Trader Verkan. I appear to have forgotten my manners. I’ve heard so many things about the esteemed Trader Verkan in the past two winters, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I am Duke Ruffulo and the Warden of Fireside.”
Verkan stood up and bowed. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace. I hope I haven’t disappointed you.”
“No, not at all. I was expecting something much more ostentatious. Your office reminds me of my own study back in Fireside.”
Most of the successful traders and merchants of Greffa aped the nobility to excess; it was a common phenomenon over all the Levels wherever there were titles, including Home Time-Line.
After the required exchange of pleasantries, Ruffulo got to the point of his visit. “I understand that you are able to arrange things.”
Verkan nodded. He had helped a few nobles who had earned Theovacar’s wrath sell their property and find residences in the countryside, which they could use as boltholes, or even buy estates in Hostigos. Some of the wiser lords were beginning to realize that King Theovacar was not going to be happy until he consolidated his power over the peerage. No one was sure of who might win if it came down to open rebellion, but it didn’t hurt to have a hideaway in case things went the King’s way.
“I also understand that your word of honor can be trusted.”
Verkan nodded, wondering to whom Ruffulo had been talking.
“I recently had an audience with the King. He has charged me with a mission that may well cost me my life, if discovered, and will make me many enemies whether found out or not.”
“How can I help, Lord Ruffulo?”
“I will entrust you with ten thousand ounces of gold, which I would like for you to invest for me outside of Grefftscharr. I also have another five hundred ounces of gold for the purchase of a small estate in Wulfula. Here is my draft on the Greffan Trader’s Bank.”
Verkan took the large parchment, which had the seal of the Greffan Trader’s Bank. “Many lords are buying estates in Hos-Hostigos. They are inexpensive due to the war--”
“I’m not worried about cost, I want a refuge for my family in case something dire happens to me. However, I don’t want to take them out of the raven’s beak and drop them into the panther’s mouth!”
Verkan nodded, wondering whether the other lords and merchant princes of Greffa shared Ruffulo’s dismal view of Kalvan’s plight. He’d put Kostran on it in the morning; maybe they knew something the Paratimers didn’t. “I will do as you ask, Duke Ruffulo.”
“Thank you, Trader. In return, I will pay you a thousand ounces of gold and should the event that I fear take place, I will give you the deed to Fireside.”
“But I’m not buying--”
“I know, but if ‘people’ believe that I have taken loans out from the
House of Verkan it will not only explain my visit, but lead them to the conclusion that I am doing less well than they had formerly believed. I will trust in your honor to see that any money realized from Fireside’s sale will be held in escrow for my family to do with as they see fit. Less your usual commission--ten percent, I’ve been told.”
“That is correct. You have my oath, Duke Ruffulo.” Nothing wrong with Ruffulo’s brain matter, thought Verkan. It would also allow Verkan to take possession in the event of a Throne takeover and stop Royal confiscation of the Duke’s estate.
“I will have your property and possessions assessed. Should some unforeseen calamity happen to yourself, I will see that you are compensated at your new estate--or, in the event you are unable to join them, your family is well-provided for.”
For the first time since his arrival, the Duke smiled. “I can see my information regarding your wits was not exaggerated.” He picked up the goblet and took a sip. “I can also see that the potency of Ermut’s Best was not overrated. May both our Houses prosper!”
SEVEN
A cloud of dust on the far horizon usually meant a herd of buffalo or cattle were moving across the Sea of Grass. Today Arch-Stratego Zarphu knew it was neither; it was the advancing Grefftscharrer Army. His scouts had already told him the disposition of the enemy army: six thousand infantry, mostly carrying long spears and firesticks, four thousand heavy cavalry and two thousand light auxiliaries, mostly Ruthani cavalry recruited from the grasslands. He told one of his orderlies to fetch the Highpriest.
The Highpriest Arkemanes rode quickly to his side in a very soldierly and un-priestly manner of which Zarphu heartily approved. “I see the enemy is closing.”
Zarphu ignored the snorts of disapproval from his senior officers; he knew the difference between priests and soldiers even if his officers didn’t. “This is not an ideal place for a battle.” He paused to indicate the flat lands on all sides. “Nor is it a good place for an ambush.”