by Richard Ford
The woman’s teaching style was also an endless source of amusement. She spoke in a high falsetto and, when quoting from the antiquated texts she used, she would occasionally affect an accent to better mimic the ancient theologians, philosophers and scholars she was citing. Janessa and Graye would be hard pressed to stop themselves giggling out loud when she quoted Pastergan, especially since he was fabled to have had a severe lisp.
But it was Nordaine’s manners that were the greatest cause for concern. The Governess, a pious and chaste woman, took things to extremes. The girls were not allowed to wear garments that showed anything below the neck or above the ankle, and most definitely nothing above the wrist. They must at all times remain unsmiling, unless someone of import said something droll, and they must never speak the first words in a conversation, especially if that conversation were with a man. And should they ever be anywhere near a member of the opposite sex, they must at all times be accompanied by the Governess herself, or someone of whom she approved — which usually meant Odaka Du’ur.
This excessive virtuousness had led the girls to come up with their own theories about the background of Governess Nordaine and the reasons for her rigid principles. Janessa had postulated she must have been trussed up until her thirtieth winter by an overprotective father, whereas Graye, as ever, dreamed up a much more exotic background: Nordaine had been a promiscuous harlot, given to nights of wild abandon with foreign sailors — until she saw the error of her ways. Then, in her shame, she had decided it best to teach history to young girls. They had both laughed long and hard at that.
Today though, Governess Nordaine displayed some flexibility in her stringent rules by allowing them, even at the risk of distraction, to have their lessons on the veranda at the north end of the gardens. It had been a hot morning for the time of year, and so all three of them sat with the sun beaming down and the birds singing their last songs before winter flight. Nordaine had insisted on them wearing their shawls though, lest they catch a chill, and Janessa had reluctantly agreed to it.
Not that Nordaine’s small concession meant her lessons were any more appealing, and during the course of the morning Janessa had found herself drifting off, staring into space, wishing she could be as free as the birds that chirruped and frolicked nearby.
It was better than thinking the alternative — that soon she would have to choose a husband, one who would rule the Free States beside her and to whom she would have to bear children so the line of kings and queens might continue. It was a thought that both disgusted and angered her, even though she had been given the choice of whom to marry. Surely if she wanted none of her would-be suitors, it was no real choice at all.
Janessa caught herself. She must not dwell on such things. Must not blame everyone around her for her predicament. She was strong and she would survive this. And so she turned her thoughts to other things: those singing birds, the sun shining on the first falling leaves. It was her inattentiveness to Nordaine’s relentless monologue that allowed her to notice the messenger across the gardens. He was moving with some urgency, and even from a distance Janessa could see his garb was travel-stained, his face wan under its filth, as though he had ridden for many days. He was accompanied by one of Skyhelm’s Sentinels who was struggling to keep up with him. When Janessa saw Odaka advancing to greet the messenger, she could hold herself back no longer.
Ignoring the cries of her governess, Janessa hurried across the gardens to where the men were exchanging quick words. Her stomach was churning, a rising sense of dread worming its way up from inside her belly as she speculated on the news the messenger had brought.
Was it about her father? Had he been killed in battle? Had the Khurtas smashed the armies of the Free States and were even now rampaging across the provinces?
By the time she had crossed the garden Odaka and the messenger were finishing their conversation.
‘What is it?’ Janessa demanded, in no mood to stand on ceremony.
Odaka turned at her words, regarding her first with surprise, then with thoughtfulness.
‘Tell me! I demand to know. Is the message from my father?’
‘I am sorry, regent,’ said Nordaine, arriving behind her, breathless from an ungainly pursuit across the gardens.
Odaka continued to regard Janessa curiously, as though weighing her up. Janessa had seen that look many times before, and never been sure what he was thinking. But now it was obvious he was musing whether she was mature enough to be entrusted with this latest news.
‘Come along, young lady,’ said Nordaine. ‘Whatever news has arrived, you need not concern yourself with it. It is a matter for the regent and your father’s council.’
‘No,’ said Janessa, shrugging off her governess’s hand. ‘If one day I am to be queen I must learn about matters of state. What better time than now, when our lands are threatened. Odaka, what does the message say?’
He looked from the parchment to Janessa. ‘I will be discussing this message with all the council members still in the city. We convene shortly in the war chamber. Meet us there, your majesty.’ With a respectful bow of his head he withdrew.
Janessa turned to Governess Nordaine, whose face by now was quite flushed.
‘That will be all for today, Governess,’ she said. She tried for the first time to sound commanding in the manner of her father. It seemed effective, for the governess lowered her eyes and backed away.
Behind her stood Graye, looking on with a half smile. Oh, how Janessa would have loved to just take her by the hand and run away like they had planned so many nights ago, but her life had moved on. She was no longer just a callow girl. She had grave responsibilities; she was part of her father’s council.
She needed time to dress appropriately before greeting the council and chose a plain brown dress with little adornment. It seemed proper for such a sober occasion. Consequently, by the time she reached the war chamber the rest of the council were already convened.
Janessa had been in the war chamber many times before, but today it appeared different. It bore banners and trophies from a hundred battles, some of which her father had won. As a child, playing at her father’s feet, she had taken little notice of them, but now they seemed in sharp focus, screaming out their history, impressing on her their proud legacy.
Three tattered pennants of the ancient Sword Kings took pride of place on the northernmost wall, flanked by axes and spears won by the Duke of Valdor in the border wars with Golgartha. The black iron crown of the Mad King Xekotak, taken in the ancient Dragon Wars of the Kaer’Vahari, stood on a plinth to the east, and to the west was the twisted, hideous skull of Groe Magnon, the reiver lord of the Blood Isles.
There were scores of others, both ancient and new, but Janessa had no time to regard them all as she walked towards the table of oak and iron that sat in the chamber’s centre. At the head of that table was Odaka Du’ur, looking as stern and resolute as she had ever seen him. To his right hand was Captain Garret of the Sentinels. Janessa had known him all her life, and he was a constant feature of the palace; always there, watching over her vigilantly from the shadows. The years had turned his brown beard to grey and made his smiling eyes more careworn and dark. She trusted Garret more than any other man, and it comforted her to know he was there.
To Odaka’s left sat Chancellor Durket, smiling his pig-faced smile even as she entered. Durket had been as much a feature in her life as Garret, but never as welcome.
And that was it: what remained of the King’s Council. There were other seats around the black oak table, eleven in all — one for the king, two for his generals of foot and horse, two for the lord governors of the city states, five for the nobles of the provinces and one for the Master of the Wardens. They each sat empty now, the men whose places they represented gone north to see off the Khurtas.
Of course there were other men of import who served the king — the Seneschal of Inquisitors and the High Constable of the Greencoats amongst them — but they were men of Ste
elhaven, men of the city only, and not privy to the machinations of the Free States or sufficiently worthy of a seat at the council table.
As Janessa walked forward the three remaining council members stood. She stopped before the chair opposite Odaka. The one set aside for her father.
‘Please sit, your majesty, and we will begin,’ said the regent.
Janessa sank into her father’s ornate chair with surprising composure. The three waited for her to sit before taking their own places and Odaka made to open proceedings. Janessa could hold back no longer.
‘How is my father?’ she asked.
All eyes turned to her, Durket’s looking perturbed at the break in protocol, Garret’s looking sympathetic.
‘He lives, your majesty,’ Odaka said, unflustered by her interruption. ‘The messenger from the front carried his very words.’
Janessa nodded her thanks, now feeling somewhat foolish. If she was going to participate in the war council’s meeting she must keep a better control of her impulses.
‘The news from the north is not good, though. The king sends sobering words. Dreldun burns, its capital smashed, its people fled.’
Durket looked up, almost fretful. ‘But how? The Khurtas are savages. They are no besiegers. How could they have razed Touran?’
‘Dreldun’s capital is a frontier city,’ Garret said, ‘and Touran is no fortress. The Khurtas could have conceivably taken it, but my question is: how did they do it so quickly? Clearly their Elharim warlord has taught the Khurtas well. There is no way those savages could have pulled off so audacious an attack without the guidance of a skilled tactician.’
‘However it was achieved,’ said Odaka, ‘the fact remains that the way is now clear to Coppergate. The king has tried all he can to negotiate with Amon Tugha, but it seems his entreaties have been rebuffed. The Elharim prince is happy for now to let his horde rape and plunder our northernmost province, but inevitably they will move south.’
‘Maybe they won’t,’ said Durket, clinging desperately on to what little hope he could. ‘Coppergate is a bastion of the north. It will not fall so easily. Amon Tugha would be mad to try and take it.’
‘It may not come to that.’ Odaka glanced towards Janessa, as though she would not want to hear his next words. ‘King Cael intends to face the Khurtic horde on the field before it ever reaches Coppergate. He will smash them in the valley of Kelbur Fenn and send them back to their blasted plains.’
‘But that would be madness,’ said Garret, putting into words Janessa’s own thoughts. ‘Why give up a defensible position to face the enemy in the open? Coppergate is almost as impregnable as Steelhaven.’
‘The king has twenty thousand foot who would be well placed to defend the city, but his five thousand horse are useless behind Coppergate’s defences. He has not laid out his plans to me, but I can only guess he intends to smash the Khurtas with his cavalry in the narrow pass. The enemy will have a single line of approach and even that horde can never stand against the Knights of the Blood. It is the only viable plan.’
‘But what if it fails?’ Janessa could hear the alarm in Durket’s voice. It almost sickened her. He was leagues away from the front, from the danger her father faced, and yet he quailed in fear.
‘That is out of our hands,’ Odaka replied. ‘Our main problem is the refugees from Dreldun headed towards us in their thousands.’
‘But what of Ironhold? And Braega?’ said Durket. ‘Surely they can take in some of them.’
‘They have, but the people of Dreldun are fleeing in huge numbers. The Khurtic horde has spread terror throughout the province. There are simply not enough cities secure enough to take in all those displaced so, inevitably, they are heading here.’
‘Then we will take them in.’
It was the first thing Janessa felt she could comment on. It silenced the three men.
‘Your majesty,’ said Durket with a condescending smile. ‘We simply have no room. Steelhaven is a hub for trade from the provinces and overseas. Its streets are already overfilled with waifs and strays. We have little room for visitors, let alone thousands of refugees with barely the clothes on their backs. How would we feed them? Where would we house them?’
‘We will find a way,’ she replied, though admitting to herself she had no idea where the city might accommodate hundreds of starving families.
‘That’s all very well, majesty, but the details are important. Resources are scarce, what with the war in the north. People are already panicked and scared. There will be unrest on the streets. Hunger …’
‘Then we will eat less, Chancellor.’ Without thinking she had raised her voice, all thoughts of propriety gone, but Durket’s obstinacy was too much, and the mention of hunger had been about all she could take from him.
‘Your majesty, the Chancellor speaks the truth,’ said Odaka. Janessa’s heart sank. If she was to have support on this she was hoping it would be Odaka. ‘Our resources are scant at best. We must find an alternative.’
‘But what about our trade ties with other nations? What about Dravhistan? Han-Shar? Kajrapur? Surely they can help us?’
‘You are right, majesty; they have been trading partners for many years. But they will offer us no charity. In this we must fend for ourselves. Feeding and housing so many refugees is something we can ill afford to do.’
Odaka’s words seemed final. It was clear they would receive no aid from overseas.
What would happen if her father failed, and the Khurtas ran rampant throughout the Free States? What would happen, gods be merciful, if they eventually found their way to the city walls? Unless Steelhaven opened its gates for the refugees they would be slaughtered to the last innocent child.
‘No,’ Janessa said, thinking fast. She could not allow the council to make this decision over her head. There must be a solution. ‘What about the Old City? We could house them there. And if we began to ration food now we could keep stores to last until the Khurtas are turned from our borders.’
Durket opened his mouth to speak, obviously with an objection, but he could think of none.
‘Garret?’ Odaka asked.
Janessa looked to the captain to see his face racked with doubt. Had she assumed wrongly that he, of all of them, might have agreed with her?
‘There will be problems,’ he said, his face grave, his hands locked together beneath his chin. ‘With so many new faces the Greencoats will struggle to keep the city safe, even if we put the refugees in the Old City. And anyway, it’s mostly derelict — old ruins, a haven for criminals fleeing the city proper.’
‘Then we must clean it out,’ said Janessa. Every argument against her was making her more determined. She would not be denied on this. ‘We must make it habitable. Food must be retained, requisitioned if need be. And the Old City must be made safe.’
Durket opened his mouth to speak, but Odaka cut him off. ‘If that is your wish, majesty, then it shall be done.’
And that was that. There was no further argument. Odaka’s next words showed that her wishes would be carried out despite what the others thought.
‘Captain Garret, you will inform the High Constable that the Old City is to be cleared to make way for refugees. Durket, you will levy a stipend on all farms and fisheries, and also secure locations in the Warehouse District for the storage of grain.’ They both nodded, though Durket looked as though he were trying to swallow a wasp. ‘That is all for now. Unless we receive further news beforehand we will reconvene in four days to see what progress we have made.’
Janessa stood, as did the other three council members, and Garret and Durket left the room. Odaka stared at her from across the table. Was he back to that old contemplative look — assessing her, looking for weakness?
‘You have what you wished for. But what have you learned?’ he asked.
It was a curious question, and Janessa could not work out if the regent was annoyed or proud. And what had she learned? That she had power she’d never before known? That Dur
ket was a miserable sot?
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Odaka frowned, and she felt she had disappointed him once again.
‘You have learned that for every decision you make there will be consequences. That as the future queen of this realm you must weigh every outcome, consider every option. For every refugee who does not starve because we have requisitioned grain, there may be two children to the east who go hungry. Who can be sure their father might not grow desperate, might not take his neighbour’s calf to feed them? Who can be sure that the neighbour might not pursue him, for his own family is also hungry, and slaughter the man for his crime?’
‘I didn’t think-’
‘Then you must start,’ Odaka said, making no attempt to hide his anger.
‘If you disagreed with me then why did you not speak out? Why did you go along with my request?’
He looked deep into her eyes, his anger dissipating. ‘You will one day be my queen,’ he answered with a bow. ‘And I live to obey.’
With that he left the war chamber, leaving Janessa amongst the trinkets and trophies of kings long dead.
NINETEEN
Had it been three days? The amount of vomit on his shirt said it probably had been. Three days since he’d met with Bolo and been offered those pitiful girls. Of course he’d refused — what else could he do? He wasn’t an animal, after all.
Was he?
Of course he was a fucking animal, otherwise why would he be doing this in the first place. And he might not have taken his fill of those girls, but it hadn’t stopped him running straight to the Verdant Street whorehouse and taking his fill there.
Merrick could barely remember the last two nights of drinking and whoring. He thought to check his purse, but he knew it would be empty.