Woes and Hose

by Igor Ljubuncic

  Fabio buttoned his coat. “No, My Lord the First.”

  “He failed. I can only hope he redeemed himself through death.”

  “I understand.”

  “Prince Dietrich must die.”

  To his credit, Fabio took a moment answering. He did understand. “I will take care of it.”

  He wanted to charge the sheriff with bringing his daughter back, but that would be a mistake. Senes might have failed for this very reason. No. Fabio would only have a single task, and that would be to orchestrate the demise of King Ulaf’s only son. Besides, Eva would still be in Eisenstar, hundreds of thousandsteps away.

  “You will probably be tested during your mission,” Vincenzo said, resting a hand on a statue. “People will offer you silver. They will offer you titles. Whatever they say, my reward will be greater. Do you understand this, Fabio? You must not stray. Do you understand?”

  The sheriff swallowed and nodded. “I do.”

  Killing Prince Dietrich in Ostfort should be easy. Unlike the last time, when he was busy running across Sacony, protected by mercenaries. This time, he would be a sitting target, at ease behind thick walls and the hundred culvers that watched over the hilly castle.

  If the prince died, there would be a hundred foes of Monrich to blame, from the recently conquered Salabians to their sympathetic Korav neighbors, angry Barvans, and the treacherous people of Ostfort who still bore a grudge against Ulaf’s aggression. The Monrich king would have no reason to suspect the defeated, humiliated leader of a small city-state, whose daughter was held captive at his court.

  After Dietrich died, Vincenzo would make sure he got Eva back. He didn’t know how yet, but he would find a way. Sea Gods be willing, he would.

  “Do you have a preferred method in mind, My Lord the First?”

  Vincenzo frowned, part wind, part his sheriff’s question. “Method?”

  Fabio shrugged. “How the prince ought to die?”

  Vincenzo remembered the man’s colorful past. “Dead. That’s all I care.”

  The sheriff tugged on his sword belt. “I will then—”

  “I don’t care,” Vincenzo interrupted. How would King Ulaf react to his son’s death? Would it soften him? Or make him hard and irrational? There was a risk it would endanger Eva, but Vincenzo knew he couldn’t live with himself if he let the Monrich prince live unpunished for having stolen his daughter away.

  Vincenzo closed his eyes.

  Sea Gods, lend me more of the luck and mercy you’ve shown my family across generations. We have always been loyal servants.

  “Of course, My Lord the First.”

  Vincenzo opened his eyes. “You will wait for the news that the roads are clear again, and that the royal entourage has left Eisenstar. Once the prince’s arrival in Ostfort has been confirmed, you yourself will depart the city. I want you to supervise the entire affair closely, personally, and I want you to use local killers.” Vincenzo did not want to be implicated. The affair had to happen far from Enissia. “Until then, I want you to think carefully how you will organize the assassination.” He flicked his fingers. They were stiff from the cold. “Also, I need you to take care of that ship.”

  Again, the young man was taken aback by the sudden change of topic. It would take him a while to learn, Vincenzo figured. Bah, he still couldn’t get over the feeling his old sheriff was gone. Vincenzo Brede could not abide loose ends.

  “Anything else, Sheriff?”

  Fabio straightened. “No, My Lord the First.”

  “You may go. Summon Teresa.” The sheriff retreated into the office, almost too hurriedly. Vincenzo followed, savoring the sudden rush of warmth against his cheeks. “And Fabio?”

  The sheriff removed his hand from the door latch as it were on fire. “My Lord?”

  “Do not fail me.”

  A few moments later, Teresa entered, a ghost of apprehension still present in the soft lines of her face. “My Lord the First?”

  “I am meeting Lady Loretta Casteliani tonight. I will need to look presentable.”

  Teresa curtsied unconsciously. “You are very lucky, Your Serenity. She is a very beautiful woman.”

  Vincenzo suppressed a smile. “Maybe I am. But I also want to be calm before my dinner.” He started unbuckling his belt.

  CHAPTER 6

  Act the Part

  “And when he picked the bloodied sword, I knew my son had become a man.”

  —KARL AGMUNDR, THE CHIEFTAIN OF THE BLACKHORN TRIBE, NURFLAND SAGAS, TIME UNKNOWN

  19th Day of the Month of Budding

  Through the stench of rotten cabbage and wet wool, Dietrich watched the great keep that was Ostfort getting closer to his jolting carriage. In the villages all around, the peasants were emptying the inedible leftovers from their winter vats, and everything decidedly smelled like feet and farts, except it was old, spoiled, pickled vegetables that made his eyes water. Making things worse were the sheep, thousands of them, shitting and bleating, making the hills quiver with motion.

  The sight of Ostfort wasn’t any better. The fortress was designed to withstand sieges and harsh winter blizzards, and there was nothing even remotely appealing about it.

  Dear Saint, that’s an ugly place, Dick thought, anxious to arrive and stretch his legs. He hated being in a carriage for so long. He hadn’t had a proper fuck in almost three eightdays.

  Unlike Eisenstar, which looked like a city with a huge castle on top of it, Ostfort didn’t pretend to be nice and hospitable. It reared from the living rock, with steep sides that made moats unnecessary. The walls contained only the military buildings and whatever was needed to keep the nobility inside happy. Small folk lived in a dozen villages dispersed around the nearby hills, growing potatoes and onions and tending to sheep.

  It’s going to be miserable.

  “Master, you look pensive,” Crispin said from inside the carriage.

  “That’s not the word I’d use,” Dick said, watching a pair of fat but well-endowed village girls standing at the side of the gravel path and ogling the royal procession.

  “What, then, Master?”

  Crispin seemed to be in a good mood, and that annoyed Dick. “Worried. The end of this journey marks the beginning of our troubles, Crispin.” The carriage rocked wildly, front wheels dipping into a brown, mucky pond. Dick banged his head against the window frame, just as a drop of mud splashed his cheek. “Crispin!”

  “Worry not, Master. There, it’s gone.” The manservant put his kerchief away.

  Dick slumped back against the blue-velvet cushion. The uncomfortable and boring travel through this ugly palatine had not helped him come up with any ideas on how to avoid bedding Amadea, succeed in bedding Eva, provided he got her to Ostfort first, and still please Old Fart. He needed inspiration, and there was none to be had in the wooded, snow-kissed hills and valleys. His mind demanded lots of nude bodies, female ones, sweet perfumes, expensive wines, and garish brothel rooms. The outdoor freshness and the baying of wolves at night was for people who had a name for each of their pigs and cows.

  None of it worried Mutt, who was sleeping peacefully by Crispin’s side.

  Dick glared miserably at the rolling rectangle of the outside world, coming ever closer to becoming his responsibility. He had no clue what waited for him in Ostfort. Who among them were Father’s spies and agents? Who would be reporting back on his activities? Who could he trust, or at least pretend to like? Would he be able to find a nice whorehouse to forget his woes? He regretted not asking Volkard for his advice.

  Winter was retreating, and the sun beat golden against a spotless sky, but there were still patches of dirty snow clinging to the hillsides and in shadows, and the mountain range behind the fort glimmered with icy slopes.

  There was obvious commotion close to the fort’s gates. They knew he was coming, and a whole army of soldiers waited for him, standing guard as his entourage rolled by. He looked past the rows of spearmen and tried to find evidence of the previous year’s war. He st
arted noticing the fresh scars on the walls, not yet overgrown with fine moss, the burnt-out palisade, the old siege machines left behind, husks of damaged houses in the nearby village.

  Nasty business, war. Especially in a place like Ostfort. It didn’t call for any imaginative fighting. It was all about brute force and prolonged sieges. From what little he was forced to read on history, Ostfort had spent more days with its heavy gates locked than open, rationing its food and waiting for the enemy to lose will, waste its supplies, and give up. Winter was the best defense Ostfort had, he knew. Once the snows rolled from the Weltspaaz Range, wars were quickly and brutally concluded in favor of whoever was inside the city walls.

  Which meant there was a whole year ahead of him for the Nurflanders, Barvans, Salabians and all the other sister-fuckers to give him grief.

  As he stared at the ugly architecture of the fort-city, Dick pondered how his father had managed to conquer the palatine—after Dick’s first failed marriage affair. Then he thought of his own notion of capturing Enissia. He still had no idea how one could do that, and being close to the formidable Castle Ostfort still didn’t make him any wiser on siege affairs.

  The column stopped.

  This was where his responsibility began.

  Crispin stepped outside and put a stool below the carriage steps. Dick took his time, surveying the crowd of servants fidgeting in front of the inner keep. The men and women all wore dark, unhappy uniforms, and stared blankly toward him.

  The Warden of the East, Prince-Elector Dietrich II.

  Time to act the part, he figured.

  He stepped out, hands on hips, ignoring the tingling in his legs. Then he remembered what he should do. Casually, he walked down the column to the carriage containing his wife and her little flock of maids. Crispin rushed past, placing the stool just below the door. Dick did the door opening.

  “Amadea, my wife, we have arrived,” he said with forced ceremoniousness.

  “Deek,” she greeted him, shielding her eyes from the sun.

  Dick sighed and let her slide her pudgy, cold arm through his. He directed his gaze back at the servants.

  They all still stood wooden, waiting.

  There was movement from behind the wall of gray and black tunics and skirts. A middle-aged woman pushed past, using her authority to clear the path like a battleax pruning twigs. She wore a dark blue dress and looked almost noble. Dick wished he had studied the names of the Ostfort families, but it was too late now.

  Her curtsy was lightning-quick. “Your Royal Highness, welcome to Ostfort. We are most pleased to host you, and it would be an honor to serve you. My name is Enduria Jumpfer, and I am the castellan of Ostfort.”

  Dick frowned, studying the woman. She was stocky, with massive breasts, a sharp face, and thin creases round her eyes and mouth. She did not look like someone fond of smiling, and she radiated a formidable presence. “You?”

  Enduria twitched. “Your Royal Highness, do you object?”

  Dick let go off Amadea’s hand. “I assumed the man in charge would be a…”

  “Man? My father Alfred acted in this role for twenty-seven years. Your father, King Ulaf, found it prudent to retain his service even after capturing Ostfort. Two years ago, after my father died, the Saint bless his soul, the king decreed I should be given the castellany. I am more than capable of managing the household as well as the military provisions for the garrison. I have seen war, and successfully protected the castle from enemy attacks on many occasions. Your Royal Highness.” She bristled with soft fury that Dick found captivating.

  He flashed a grin. “No offense, My Lady.” Dick wasn’t sure why he was apologizing, and it annoyed him. “I trust in my father’s judgment.” Old cantankerous fuck. “I merely thought your husband—”

  “I have no husband, Your Royal Highness.”

  Dick nodded weakly. The woman’s gaze was unwavering, penetrating, uncomfortable. “Indeed.” Well, I can see why.

  “Your Royal Highness,” she repeated and kept on staring.

  Dick realized she was waiting for his approval. Which he had to give now. “Very well. Thank you. Yes, I am pleased to be here.”

  The castellan turned her hawk eyes on Amadea. “Lady Amadea.”

  His chubby wife took a moment finding her words in Richs. “Greeting. I pleased to be here.”

  “Right then,” Dick said, hoping the pointless ritual would end.

  Enduria clapped her hands. The army of servants was suddenly alive, assailing the carriages, unhitching tack, covering the horses with blankets to keep them warm, hauling the chests and rolls of clothing into the keep. Dick’s men joined the chaos.

  Crispin moved toward the keep’s heavy doors, but Dick hooked a finger in his hood and pulled him back. “Stay here.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Dick saw Lieutenant Nils coming closer, rapping his gloves against his forearm. The promotion had made him less objectionable to Dick’s ideas, but he still worried too much.

  “Not a single incident, imagine that,” the officer mumbled.

  Amadea and her maids had gone inside the castle. Soldiers still crowded the yard, taking slow, painful delight in peeling cold armor off their backs and thighs. Like him, they all relished the prospect of enjoying hot baths and warm bodies.

  Nils tucked the gloves behind his sword belt. “My Prince, I will make sure the animals are stabled and fed, make sure all my men have lodgings, and then, with your permission, I will retire for the day.”

  Dick considered asking Nils for a few more chores before nightfall, but he did not want to anger him. The man’s skills might come in handy. Dick didn’t know anyone in Ostfort, and he wanted to make sure he understood the game of power and influence before he started scheming in earnest.

  Tomorrow, Nils would scout the city, get to know the local garrison under-reeve, and learn all the little dirty secrets that soldiers shared. And then, pass them on to Dick, of course. Today, Dick would survive on his own.

  Well, almost.

  “Granted. Go rest, Nils, you deserve it. Now, Crispin—”

  “Your Royal Highness.”

  Enduria startled him with her sudden presence at his shoulder. He had not heard her approach. This close, she was positively intimidating. Her smell was icy, like her demeanor, and Dick knew this was a woman he must not cross. Otherwise, his life as the warden would become utterly miserable.

  “Please follow me. I shall take you to your chambers.”

  Without protest, he shadowed the castellan, silent terror rippling in front of her through the cold, damp, ugly corridors of the castle. Those living inside Ostfort had tried to make it a happier place with scented candles, rushes, colorful rugs, and animal hides nailed to the walls, but nothing could banish the stony moroseness of the military fortress.

  Dietrich was pleased to see he was going to live at the top of a tower. It meant climbing, but it also meant a clear, airy view with lots of sunlight and fewer smells. He was willing to pay the price, even as his calves burned, and he stood panting in front of the waxed oak doors that led into the whole-floor warden’s chambers.

  Enduria had stopped just outside the chambers, skewering him with her fearless eyes. A dozen men walked past, lugging Dick’s expensive baggage.

  She led him, obviously relishing her role and power. “Your Royal Highness, I hope you will find everything to your satisfaction. Should you require anything, there are three ropes next to the bed. The yellow one is for the kitchen. The black one is for any other need you may have, if you require a tailor or maybe fresh lavender water in your basin. The red one is for emergencies, and if you pull it, ten armed men with pistols and swords will rush to your defense within a minute.”

  Dick glanced around. Garish color and opulence, just the way he liked it. He noticed the ropes and nodded. Then, he had to blink. There were four ropes just to the right of his large bed. The fourth one was blue. “And that one, My Lady?”

  “That one is if you require my p
ersonal assistance. Anything at all, Your Royal Highness.”

  Dick swallowed. He wanted to step away from her, but he wasn’t going to let her see how uneasy he felt. “Uhm, where will Princess Amadea stay?”

  “Your wife and her ladies-in-waiting will be staying on the floor below.”

  Praise the Sacony prudishness, he thought. If he’d married a Monrich noble, he’d be forced to sleep with her in the same chambers, and that would make his life much more difficult.

  “Thank you, My Lady.”

  Enduria’s hard but undecipherable gaze lingered for another moment before she retreated. Her servants followed in silent tow.

  Crispin stepped into Dick’s view. “Earlier, you wanted something, Master?”

  Dick remembered. “Yes. Wash up quickly. Then, I need you to go into the town and find me the best whorehouse…”

  CHAPTER 7

  Not if the King Orders It

  “No matter how hard you train, your first taste of blood will be bitter.”

  —VILSTROM, FAMOUS MILITARY STRATEGIST, 2ND CENTURY

  20th Day of the Month of Budding

  Dick stood on the walkway connecting the royal tower to the southern battlement, pondering his future. Now that he was the ruler of this palatine, there were things to do, expectations to meet. Castellan Enduria had wasted little time in tutoring him on Ostland, the castle, the provisions, the political situation at the borders, all the ugly and boring counsel he did not want to hear. Worse yet, his lessons had only just begun.

  He had never imagined this wardenship would be so time-consuming. So many details, so many decisions. And it would only get worse. Within the next two eightdays, Herzog Sigismund would arrive in Ostfort to formally relinquish his military authority of the palatine. It was a delicate situation, and it had taken Enduria three attempts to fully explain it. The herzog was going to retain the administrative powers, but Dietrich could overrule them if he wanted. At the same time, Dick would assume command of all the local garrisons, but the Drechknights would still report to Hochmaster Voytech. Finally, as the warden, he was in charge of the newly conquered territory of Salabia, until such a time Old Fart decided to appoint a governor, probably from among the local, sheep-loving nobility—what few of them had survived the last war.