The Noble Warrior (The Empire of the North Book 1)

by Brendan DuBois

  His Father had two craft moored here; his own family craft, a large cabin runabout that rarely got taken out because Mother got motion sickness at the slightest wave, and a smaller sailboat that became Armand’s since he was the only one who ever used it. Just under four meters in length, Armand had taken it out on Lake Ontario more times than he could remember… including one forbidden trip last year with his best friend, Henri Godin, a trip that still gave him restless dreams some nights.

  Armand checked his watch. Ten minutes to eleven. His supposed date should be here soon. He got the sails out and attached, checked the lines and the mast, saw that everything was in order. Somewhere Armand felt a bit guilty for using Teresa Dumont, but that guilt was outweighed by the satisfaction he would be in the southern lands in just a few days,

  Checked his watch again. It was now 11:30 a.m.

  Late.

  Of course.

  Armand sat in the rear, rested his strong arms on the tiller and raised up his legs, and waited. From the rear of his sailboat, Armand had a good view of the waterfront and the distant Spire, an ancient landmark near the railroad yards, a tall building that had been abandoned for centuries. Father had once told him it was believed the place had been an observation tower or a giant wireless transmitter, but now, it was just a deserted place lived in by pigeons and brave homeless types. Near the Spire was the Coliseum, a huge stadium for watching sporting events and Imperial ceremonies, and Armand knew for a fact that before the war, it was covered with a dome.

  Armand checked his watch one more time. It was ten past one.

  And finally strolling down the dock was his date.

  Armand got out of the boat and as the well-trained noble he was, extended a hand to the young Miss Teresa Dumont. She curtsied and took his hand in return, the flesh cold and clammy, like her family line was descended from lizards. Her eyebrows were bushy and she had a weak chin, giving her a look like that of a greyhound. She was dressed in a simple white dress with a gold chain about her thick neck, and she had on a wide-brimmed straw hat decorated with bright paper flowers that were the current fashion. With her was one of her family’s servants, an older woman named Simpson Granny, dressed in a long black skirt and white blouse. She had a sour look on her face and was carrying a yellow shawl folded over her arm. Her brass neck ring was partially hidden by a white scarf.

  With her squeaky voice, Teresa said, “Oh, Armand, so sorry I’m late, but I overslept and it was beastly getting out of the house this morning, and you wouldn’t believe what Father did last night, and --–“

  “Yes, you’re late,” Armand said, trying to keep his voice polite. “And I was planning on lunch over on Thomson Island.”

  Now she had a hand fan, which she used to great effort. Armand went on, “If you’d like, we could dine in the boat, and then sail out.”

  “Of course,” she said, smiling, and she turned and took her light yellow shawl from Simpson Granny. “Go on Granny, I won’t need you any longer. Just wait for me in the coach.”

  Armand said, “I plan on coming back about four p.m. Why not have her go home and then come back then?”

  Teresa looked at Armand as if I had just sprung an extra arm from his chest. “Whatever for? She can spend the day in our coach… I’m sure Granny won’t mind, won’t you Granny.”

  Granny’s voice was faint. “Whatever mademoiselle desires.”

  Teresa turned. “You see?” she said brightly. “It will all be right. Come, let’s eat, I’m famished.”

  And as Armand escorted her to the sailboat, he saw Simpson Granny trudge back to the parking area. From the way she walked, Armand suddenly sensed how old she was. He also thought it was a bad thing, to make an old woman sit like that for hours alone in a motor coach, but that decision had been Teresa’s, not his.

  Lunch was ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches, with potato crisps and bottles of apple cider that had turned warm. Once they were done, he undid the mooring lines and nudged the boat out into the main channel, drawing up the forward jib to get out to the main lake. He held out a life waist ring, and Teresa shook her head. “Really, Armand, I’ll look so swollen in one of those. You’re not going to drown us, are you?”

  Armand bit his lip and thought, well, if we’re lucky, only fifty percent here would drown today. “No, not today,” he said with a faint smile.

  She laughed, kept her hand on her hat. “That’s so nice to hear, Armand.”

  Once they got out of the channel, Armand raised up the mainsail and with the steady breeze, the boat heeled over. With tiller in hand, he steered out to the quiet dark blue water, the cool breeze sweeping by and the sound of the water splashing against the hull, the quivering of the tiller in his hands, all familiar sensations that he loved, being out on the water.

  Teresa said, “Oh, I had the loveliest time with your sister last week, at that afternoon tea the Emperor’s dowager aunt held for us young ladies. You know, she has the most delightful charity, where she collects and donates books for prisoners out west. Isn’t that sweet?”

  “Sure, sweet,” Armand said.

  “And the sandwiches… I swear, they had the most wonderful crab and lobster rolls, the size of your thumb… I couldn’t help it, I only wanted to eat two, but I ended up eating three… even then, all of us girls, we sent back so much food to the kitchen.”

  Armand saw a red-hulled Imperial Coast Guard cutter up ahead, keeping watch on the watercraft, making sure no one traveled to the forbidden lands on the other side of the lake.

  “Did the dowager princess send the leftovers along with the books?” Armand asked. “If she’s going to donate reading materials to prisoners, why not food?”

  Teresa gave a chirpy little laugh, like she couldn’t quite understand what Armand was talking about. As Armand moved the tiller, he checked his watch. Sweet Lord, almost two more hours of this….

  She said, “And I understand you’ve done something wonderful, by being accepted to the Service Academy a year ahead of schedule. Your classmates must be really impressed.”

  Armand spoke slowly, like he was trying to explain something to his dog Martel. “I didn’t study hard and do all the work to impress anyone. I had a chance to get ahead, so I took it.”

  She chortled. “If you say so, Armand. At least you’ll have a friend when you go to the Academy. Randall de la Bourbon.”

  “He’s not my friend,” he said, repulsed at the thought.

  “But he’s starting to date your sister Michelle.”

  “Still not my friend.”

  “But didn’t you play hockey together, and fencing, and --–“

  Armand laughed. “Let me tell you about fencing. When I was finally accepted into the fencing class that had Randall, he had six months experience on me and was undefeated. He decided to challenge me to an after-class duel, to set me in my place, I guess.”

  “Oh my,” Teresa said. “What happened?”

  “I beat him, in under thirty seconds.”

  “How in the world did you do that?”

  Armand smiled, recalling that special day. The cloying smell of the gymnasium. The voices of the other boys. The challenge from pudgy Randall, daring Armand with his eyes, holding his mask in one hand, his foil in the other. And Armand putting on his own mask, going into the en garde position… and, then, victory. Some murmurs and one or two of the braver boys applauding, and the hatred coming from Randall’s eyes when he took his mask off…

  “I did an appel, and a quick advance, and scored on him in under a minute. That’s all.”

  “A… what?”

  “Look, I had seen how the other boys had dueled with him. They went for a long match, and then let him win, to make Randall think he was better than he was. They were just doing that because of his father’s position, and because they didn’t want to anger Randall. Big deal. I was challenged, and I was going to beat him. An appel is when you stamp your foot, right after the match starts. It startles the other fencer… and then you do a qui
ck advance right afterwards, when he’s distracted and you score when your foil touches his chest. That’s how I beat him. He was used to winning all the time. No, Teresa, Randall is definitely not my friend.”

  He moved the tiller, as the wind shifted slightly. Teresa squealed and put a hand on her hat. “Armand, you know the girls at school talk about you… why you don’t date much. Why is that?”

  Armand now hated being trapped in his sailboat with this chattering girl. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the right time, the right girl.”

  “What does waiting have to do with it?” she said, giggling. “At some point, your parents will make an arrangement with another noble family, and that will be that. Doesn’t it make sense to have fun now, at both of our ages?”

  Armand thought enviously of other boys in Toronto and elsewhere in the empire, who weren’t nobles, who could pretty much date anyone they wanted. But Teresa was right: being a noble meant dating was part of an intricate ritual among different families, to strengthen political alliances and agreements. Seeing the plain face with bushy eyebrows and too much makeup and thick legs crossed before her, Armand thought he’d give up his title before walking down the center of St. Michael’s Cathedral to marry Teresa Dumont.

  Desperate to change the subject, Armand said, “Teresa, Simpson Granny… what’s wrong with her?”

  With one manicured hand still holding onto her hat, she said, “What do you mean, what’s wrong?”

  Armand expertly moved the tiller again, ensuring they would pass well away from an approaching trawler. “She didn’t seem happy to be here.”

  Teresa laughed. “Oh, poor dear. I think she’s upset about her granddaughter. Simpson Kitty. She’s being sent away.”

  Armand remembered something from his sister Michelle. “Simpson Kitty? Isn’t she your personal maid?”

  A sharp, sly smile. “No longer.”

  “What happened?”

  “Two things, actually,” Teresa said. “First, I surprised her in my quarters one day and found her trying on some of my clothes. Can you believe that? A maid trying on my things! And if that wasn’t bad enough, just yesterday the silly young cow dropped a piece of crystal Mother got for me from Quebec City. So there you go. No third chance from me or Mother.”

  It seemed the vibration in the tiller was increasing. “So what did you do?”

  She laughed again, like she was recalling spilling a glass of punch on her dress at some consulate party. “Oh, Father, he worked out a trade. One of his cousins, out in the west, by the Yukon, agreed to take on her contract. The Morneaus. So off she’s going. Tonight.”

  Some lake water stung at Armand’s face. “And you? Who’s the replacement going to be?”

  She turned, dismissive. “Oh, I don’t know. Some younger girl. Who won’t be as headstrong or clumsy. I’m sure she’ll train well.”

  “But… Simpson Kitty. She won’t be back, will she.”

  Teresa looked slightly confused, like Armand was asking whether the sky was really blue or not. “Armand, the Morneau family now has her contract. She’s responsible for the debt. She’ll stay there until it’s paid off through her labors.”

  “That’s forever, you know.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose. Her future daughters or sons will take the debt on, eventually, I imagine. I can’t see why I should care. Or you.”

  Armand kept his mouth shut, tiller firm in his hands. Something about the tired gait of Simpson Granny, who would no longer see her granddaughter, and the idiot chatter of the young girl who had made that happen, drove something cold and dark into him. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He looked at his watch. Still nearly two hours to go. No, he thought, no more.

  He suddenly swung the sailboat hard to port. “Tacking!” he called out, and the boom swung by and Armand deftly ducked, but Teresa wasn’t fast enough. Her hat was caught in the rigging, and flew overboard. As it roughly heeled over, Armand scrambled to the other side of the sailboat, and Teresa fell into the bottom, screaming, lake water soaking her. A few confused moments later, they were sailing on the opposite tack, Teresa sitting next to Armand, her hat gone, her dress soaked, her hair a mess.

  Her voice was as cold as the lake water. “This will be our first and last date, Armand. You will now take me back to shore, sire. At once.”

  “With pleasure,” Armand said, aiming his craft back to the docks.

  Later that night, Mother caught up with Armand just before he retired to bed. She took him aside in one of the hallway alcoves, grabbed his arm hard and hissed, “What the hell happened out on the lake today, Armand?”

  He tried to pull his arm away. “Teresa was late. We had lunch. We went sailing. We came back. That’s what happened.”

  Her grasp was tight on Armand’s arm. “That’s not what Teresa’s mother said. She said you deliberately got her daughter wet, and that she lost a hat that cost a silver sovereign. That you almost tipped the boat over. What were you doing out there?”

  Armand roughly pulled his arm free, hating that his mother was treating him like a ten year old. “Those things happen in sailing, Mother. You know that.”

  Her eyes narrowed in anger. “You’ve been on the water since you were five. Nothing happens out there without a reason.”

  “It just happened, that’s all.”

  She said bitterly, “I’ve been working all my life to enhance your position, young man, your life in Court, and you have yet to show me any appreciation. Do you want to end up like your Father, a counter of rice, beans, lumber and sugar cane, a man who never had the real ambition to take him and his family to places where they truly belong?”

  “Don’t say that about Father,” Armand said, stepping away from his angry mother. “That’s not true!”

  “I’ve been married to him long enough, have borne him three ungrateful children, and I know much more than you think. To keep you and your sisters in this comfortable way of life takes more work than you know, day after day, on a very slippery slope. A wrong word, a spoken insult, or an item in the gossip pages can strip your father and I of our titles. And sometimes all it takes is insulting a young lady from a prominent family to cause one real harm.”

  “Mother, it was one sailing trip, and ---

  She spoke louder. “Be thankful he’s already made the arrangements for your trip, or I’d cancel it. That’s not going to happen because I don’t want to humiliate him before his Ministry staff. Think about that the next time you embarrass me, your Father, and our family.”

  Armand didn’t say a word, and let his Mother stalk away, down one of the polished hallways.

  When Armand had finished telling the story, Micah was smiling slightly. “That was some trick. Your mother… she sounds like a strict woman.”

  “That, Micah, is like saying the weather here today is just a tad warm. Tell me, have you ever done similar tricks on your mother? Or father?”

  Micah turned, undid the handbrake. “I’m afraid I never did.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because I never knew my father. Or my mother. Just after I was born, they were both condemned to life in the cane fields.”

  Chapter Three

  With the downward slope of the road, they made good time, the breeze washing over Armand refreshing, even though he did feel embarrassed from earlier, when he had asked Micah about his parents. But how was he supposed to know? Armand held onto the side of the pedicab as they entered a wide dirt area carved out from the jungle. There were powered vehicles here, from large buses to smaller vehicles, some with the engines idling. Micah pedaled to the far side of the lot, where there were three other pedicabs.

  From the front of the pedicab, Micah pulled out a yellow scarf, which he draped about his neck. “Take one of the bottled waters,” he said. “You’ll need it.”

  Armand thought that his hired driver should carry his water, but so what. He picked up the bottle and went with Micah as they went down a well-packed dirt path, past a group of men with s
hort swords and yellow scarves that were gatekeepers.

  Micah said, “Up ahead, there’s an observation tower. We’ll climb up there and you’ll see where we’re going.”

  There was a gaggle of young boys at the base of a wooden tower, but they scattered at Micah’s words and –-- Armand was sure --– by the sash he was wearing. Armand climbed up the steep stairs to a platform about six meters to a side. He was out of breath from the climb and heat, and took a sip of the warm water as they emerged on top. The viewing platform was crowded with tourists and some of the dark-skinned beggar children, but Micah led Armand to one side and said, “Look.”

  Before them was a jungle-covered plain, with lumps of white stone emerging from the growth. There was a large building before them, with a dome that was collapsing upon itself, with vines and saplings and trees poking through the old stone. On either side of the dome were two lower sections of buildings, more obscured than the dome. Off in the distance there were other structures, plus one that was fairly clear. It was shaped like a box with pillars, and before this place was a long, open rectangular pond.

  Micah said, “We’ll be going to the large building first, and then, depending on the time, the temple at the end.” He paused. “That place is my favorite.”

  Armand could make out the language of the tourists, and heard two voices that were from home. They were wearing white sashes similar to his. An older man and woman, and they both laughed as the man scattered coins on the floor. The children fought over the coins and the man laughed again. “Barbarians,” he said. “Little brown monkeys. Look at them.”

  Armand was surprised at the flicker of shame that went through him. True, the beggars were barbarians, but they were merely trying to survive. Why insult them? But Micah didn’t seem bothered. He leaned over the railing. “This place… these people… what do you know about them?”

  “A very rich, very powerful, very corrupt empire,” Armand said, wiping at his face with a handkerchief, wishing this damn history lesson would end. “An empire that polluted the air, the water, even the very cultures of the world. An empire that tried to rule the globe... until the other peoples fought against them, and brought them down, just as the earth was rebelling against it as well, with droughts, storms and floods. At about the time of the War of the World.”