by Alma Boykin
“Your grace, have you come across the revised logistics information for the summer, yet?” Lazlo inquired as he speared a piece of redfish, letting some of the sauce drip onto the rice.
“No, Colonel. Are they related to the changes in the Bergenlands?” He nodded, mouth full. She looked at her junior officers. “What changes to the situation should we anticipate, gentlemen?”
Lieutenant Peter Chow gulped his mouthful of supper. “If they remain our allies, my lady, there should be no changes. Perhaps even lower prices for earth coal and iron, since we make their arms.” He thought for a moment longer and nodded, “Yes, my lady, no changes.”
Capt. Ulrich Martin, her aid de camp for the last season, narrowed pale green eyes. He and Peter could have been brothers, both round faced with almond eyes, save for Martin being fair where Chow was dark. “Can they stay neutral is the question. My lady, they’ll have to ally with someone, either us or Frankonia, and logic says they’ll stay with us. As their allies we should see more and better trade rights, so more coal and iron ore, and perhaps more access to their special mountain equipment. If it really exists.”
Elizabeth sipped some wine and turned to the most junior man present. “What say you, Lt. Esposito?”
Normally the first to jump into a debate, Imre hesitated. The son of a Tivolian mother and a Turkowi raider, he’d been abandoned at birth and raised in Duke Kossuth’s household, a boisterous place, Elizabeth recalled, and one open to more ideas and discussion than most. He licked his lips. “My lady, Colonel, Captain, with all respect, the Bergenlands cannot afford to ally with the Empire.”
Elizabeth smiled into her cup as the men recoiled. This should be educational. “Why not, Lieutenant?”
“They need a winning horse, my lady.” He ducked as the other young officers glared at him, but Lazlo and Elizabeth both gestured for him to continue. “They border on Frankonia. Their allies have been the Sea Republics and the Empire, but the republics have no military to speak of, and we’ve been fighting in the south. And losing, or so Frankonia claims and I wager that rumor north of the Triangle Range does as well, my lady. Everyone knows the court is divided, and Emperor Thomas does not have a reputation yet, unlike Laurence. The Bergenlands will waver and try to be neutral, my lady, but if pushed they will aid Frankonia.” He set his jaw.
A babble broke out until Elizabeth raised her hand. The men fell silent and she left them that way for several minutes as she ate more. You know my rules. No discussion until all opinions and information have been heard. Think about that, boys. At last she turned to Lt. Jan Neruda. “Lt. Neruda, your opinion?”
The bland-faced man wiped his mouth with a napkin. “My lady, coal prices will go up, not only because of the uncertainty with the Bergenlands but also because the sea coal from the north is unavailable. No carter will go past Herbstadt and New Herb Hill or so I heard in the market yesterday. What we’ve seen of the harvest so far looks good, but a hard winter, or fears of a hard winter, will raise prices come spring. So will rumors of war. My lady, no matter what the Bergenlands do, market talk has higher prices, so tighter resupply on food and fuel is my guess. But that’s mere market chatter,” he finished.
The four officers talked back and forth for several minutes. Elizabeth held her peace. Neruda’s wasted as a cadet officer. I need him in intelligence. He blends in better than Lazlo or Trey, has more sense than half of court, and is safe around women. Everyone already knows that he follows St. Jenna. But would that be a problem since Lazlo is thought to be a Jenna man? No, well, maybe, but not likely if Neruda stays out of court. And what did become of that pfeach brandy?
When the cheese course arrived, Lazlo raised a finger and she nodded to him. “My lady, what are you planning for next season?”
“Based on what little I’ve read and heard thus far, Colonel, I’m planning on fuel being expensive, at least coal. Wood might be reasonable. Food always goes up, unless we have so much that the grain bins burst, and then the traders will moan the wastage. At least cloth prices have been down. And the mild winter last year meant more colts and fillies survived, so perhaps, just perhaps, draft animal prices will come down. And perhaps King Laurence will abdicate in favor of his son and devote the rest of his life to serving the poor and infirm.”
The men chuckled at the unlikely prospect. She continued, “But that is based on reports from before mid-summer, so no doubt I will change my mind by tomorrow night.”
“Change is a woman’s prerogative, after all, my lady,” Lazlo teased, pushing the official bounds just a fraction.
She smiled, “And a wise man never forgets that fact, Colonel.”
After several minutes, Capt. Martin cleared his throat. “My lady, I’ve been requested to ask you a question.”
This sounds interesting. Who wants what favor? I’m not promoting anyone until next spring, barring surprises. No matter what Count Peilov thinks or wants. “Ask, Captain.”
“Will you accept women as officers under your command?”
Oh my. I thought that had died the death years ago. Apparently not. “I might if the woman in question can meet the same physical standards that you do, has the same skills as every other officer cadet, and is unable to have children or has done her duty to her family already.” In other words, no.
Martin blinked and played with his fork. “Ah, what if she were to bring an exemption from her family? From family duties, that is, my lady.”
“On that alone, no, but I would have to speak with the woman in question and her family to be absolutely certain.” And if she’s from the nobility I will refuse even then. No gentle lady ever rode past the field brothel without having vapors and I’m not putting up with it. “Is there a young woman interested in fighting, or was this a general sort of inquiry?”
“General, my lady, at this point. I believe the young lady in question is no more than twelve years old at the moment.” He looked relieved.
And now you have an excuse to get out of training her or of pacifying her. Elizabeth smiled a little. All of us should learn to defend ourselves, but women don’t belong in the army, not now. Maybe once, but the Empire needs children more than it needs warrior women.
“Thank you, my lady.”
“You’re welcome, Captain, and if anyone asks any of the rest of you, you’ve heard my policy and can quote me.”
Talk shifted to lighter topics and after the men finished the cheese she dismissed the four younger officers. They stayed in quarters near the Imperial riding stables, closer to the parade grounds and drill fields. It would have cost less to keep them at Donatello House, but Elizabeth had decided that the difference in their morale and the increased responsibility balanced out the greater drain on her purse.
Lazlo joined her in her bed that night. “What do you think of Neruda?” she asked.
“Hmm. He’s too smart for an infantry or cavalry officer, and I can’t see him with artillery or the engineers. You want him in intelligence, don’t you, love?”
“He’s two-thirds of the way there already. But do I want it official, or just have him keeping his eyes and ears open but providing formal reports instead of conversations?” There were advantages, and Neruda might have his own desires.
Lazlo wagged one hand back and forth. “Leave him for now and I’ll watch with you. Nothing will happen for the next month at least.”
“Nothing?” She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest.
“Professional nothing.” His hands began doing interesting things as well and she finally stopped fretting about supplies and politics.
The next morning she made good on her threat to work Maldonado and her promise to see about Lady Ann’s mules. Two guards came with her. It was nice when I could ride out without being pestered, but with rank comes foolishness. Everyone and their uncle knows I have no power in court and yet “My lady, a position,” or “Your Grace, a small proposition that might interest you.” Pfooi. She guided Maldonado past a mare that should not have be
en out of her stall. “No, there’s a time and place for everything and this is neither,” she warned him. He made no further efforts at romance and she leaned forward, scratching his crest. “Good boy.” Another reason to train them as much as their brains will take. When you put on your breeding halter, you get to have fun, boy. Otherwise you need to leave the girls alone. Would that other males would do the same, two footed as well as four. I still can’t believe Tim Albinez hasn’t been forced to pay some form of restitution for hurting that man, commoner or no. You keep your stallion under control or you ride a gelding. I wonder if Matt can take care of it or if I need to say something to his majesty? Eh, not now. Add it to the list. Lovely morning for the moment, but it feels like rain. Glad I’m working in the office this afternoon.
Once outside the walls, she let Maldonado have his head until they reached the Imperial training area. “Stay here unless you plan on working your mounts,” she told the two men with her. They knew the rules, but the warning had become as automatic as breathing.
“Yes, my lady.”
Once inside the fence, she pushed Maldonado hard. Moving things distracted him more than most horses, and she kept him close to a set of banners and some old sacks on poles. The wind fluttered the cloth and his ears tipped toward the distraction. She turned him, pushing him in circles until the brown horse gave her his full attention. Then they snaked between the poles in a serpentine. Maldonado tossed his head but obeyed her commands. I’m not perfect, you’re not perfect, but you need to listen to me. Satisfied with the horse’s behavior, she let him relax, trotting over to the beginning of the jump course. Once the previous rider passed clear, she turned Mal at the first set of jumps. “Tsaa!” He liked jumps, and flew through the course until the next-to-last fence, when an equine battle cry cut the humid air.
Movement and a pale form flashed in her peripheral vision and she let go of the reins, kicked free of the stirrups and fell sideways, trying to twist so she’d land on her hip and not her head. “Oof!” She rolled away from the jump as wood broke and a horse screamed a challenge. Oh, St. Gerald that hurts. Not my collarbone again. “Oh shit.” Elizabeth didn’t stop moving until she’d scrambled well clear of the two horses, and only then turned to see the disaster. St. Gimple, patron of fools and idiots, be with whoever that is, because I’m not going to try and save him. Getting between two fighting stallions was suicide. Instead she circled, trying to find a way to grab Maldonado’s headstall. The light brown horse, smaller but determined, screamed and reared in challenge. Maldonado pivoted and kicked out with both hind feet, catching the other stud in the scrotum. Elizabeth cringed as the cry of anger turned into one of pain. Ow, oh that’s going to hurt, oh that’s going to hurt. The buckskin horse sank to the ground and Maldonado stopped, blowing hard and rearing, then crashing back onto the bare dirt. He snorted and calmed down enough for Elizabeth to approach.
Her back ached, her hip hurt, and the sharp, nauseating pain from her shoulder told the rest of the story. “You are an idiot,” she told the horse, holding the reins with her good arm while looking him over. He seemed uninjured aside from scratches on his chest where the broken jump rail had caught him, and her tack looked equally unscathed. The same could not be said of Mal’s opponent.
At the very least, the animal would never stand at stud ever again. The light brown horse moaned, rolling onto his side, blood pouring onto the ground from between his hind legs. Elizabeth’s anger bloomed into white heat, aimed squarely at the stud’s rider. Fool! I had right-of-way and you should have controlled the beast to keep him clear if he was trying to challenge Maldonado. Now I have to put your horse out of his misery. I’m tempted to shoot you, too. Instead, two soldiers in the colors of the household guard approached, wary. “This one is under control,” she called, leading Maldonado farther away from the injured animal and his rider. More riders appeared, coming to see what the fuss was about.
The buckskin’s rider stirred, clutching his head and groaning. “Gah, what?”
One of Elizabeth’s guards came up. “My lady.”
She cut him off. “Here. Hold him. I need to check his legs.” The man took the reins, keeping the horse steady as she ran her good hand down Mal’s hind legs, checking the hoofs as well. Aside from a few more scratches he appeared sound, and she straightened up, then staggered. Nausea threatened to blot out anything else and she took a deep breath through her nose, then another, until the pain and sickness receded. “Thank you.” Thank you, Godown. I can’t afford to replace him right now.
“You owe me, you careless fool!” Elizabeth turned to see a stocky man staggering as he walked toward her, one gloved hand on his head. “If I’ve lost the rest of this stud season, you’ll pay double, stupid bastard. I have right-of-way here.” He puffed and gasped, red anger fighting with a green flush in his beefy face. “Who’s your commanding officer, you damn incompetent, careless, ignorant, sheep-lover?”
Don’t giggle. Don’t giggle. Deep breath, stay calm, take a deep breath. “His majesty is my commanding officer, my lord. I had the right-of-way, as these gentlemen can attest.”
“Don’t be cute, boy.” He staggered closer and Elizabeth saw his eyes go wide. “You’re the curse carrier. The unnatural Frankonian wench.”
Now she recognized him. Godown have mercy, you look terrible. And you have a concussion. “Count Hoffman, you are injured as is your mount. You need a churigon.”
“You need a man to keep you in your place, Frankonian heretic. I claim that,” he pointed to Maldonado, then hesitated, frowning with puzzlement. “Those horses?” He swayed and Elizabeth waved to two of the gathered cavalrymen. “Thosh horsh?” The men dismounted and grabbed Jaz Hoffman as his knees gave way.
“Clark went for a churigon, your grace,” the larger of the two said. “Do you need aid?”
Not as much as he does. “No, thank you, I have the usual collarbone break. Take care of Count Hoffman, and I need all of you to write up what you saw here and give the reports to the field master.”
“Aye, your grace. That’s at least four hundred thalers about to become dog food,” and the other officer jerked his head toward the dying horse.
As she turned to mount Maldonado, she heard a voice grumble, “If he paid four hundred thalers for that stallion, he paid three hundred too many. And remind me not to eat the meat pies this week.”
Maybe I should ask Henry to ask about ow! Her foot slid on a fresh road apple and she staggered, jarring her shoulder. She locked her teeth against a yelp, eyes watering.
How she made it back to Donatello House she had no idea, but she did. She dismounted at the block even though she was riding astride, and walked in the open door to find David, the footman, waiting. “My lady, I see you received Lady Ann’s message.”
“Get Mistress Hannah, please, and Mina, and two maids.” At least I broke my left shoulder this time, so I can still answer reports. I’m giddy. That’s not good. The scent of fresh baked bread tickled her nose. Oh, no, I’m going to and she lost her battle against the pain and nausea.
Three hours later, fortified with pfeach brandy and tincture of mudmallow, her arm in a sling and a figure eight bandage around her broken collarbone, Elizabeth sat on the top of the mounting block as Lady Ann’s mules milled about the courtyard of Donatello House. “That one,” she called, and the groom pulled a dark brown jack aside. “And that one, the molly.” Elizabeth called out three more, then had the rest bunched in the corner. “Bring those five back and line them up.” She studied the animals. They’re all good, but not matched. The browns are close as are the tans. Hmmm. “Ann, what color is the carriage?”
“Almost white, as is the cart. What are you thinking?” She walked up to stand beside the mounting block.
“Instead of a matched set, take two and two: the dark ones in the lead, then the tan mollies. It’ll draw the eye to the carriage. Everyone has a matched set, but not a color-coordinated team.”
Ann walked around the four mules in questio
n, studying them. “I just may do that. And keep the fifth for the dog cart. They are all of a size and shape, and the colors would flow together, especially if I put paler blankets on the tan pair.” She returned to stand beside Elizabeth. “Yes. I’ll do that very thing.”
Wonder if Ann’s heard anything. “Ann, do you know anything about Count Hoffman’s buckskin stallion?”
The older woman pursed her lips. “Yes, I do. Were you thinking about having him as a stud?”
“Not necessarily, but he looks flashy. What can you tell me?”
“He, the horse that is, is at least twelve years old. He’s in good shape and throws healthy get, but if you want to keep the good temper we’ve bred for, I’d avoid him. Lewis saw him once and told me to stay away, at least given the prices Hoffman was asking at the time for an untried stud.”
Elizabeth nodded, happier. “Good to know, my lady. He seemed a little rough over the jumps this morning. The stud, not Count Hoffman.”
“If you think we need a new horse stud, you’d do better to look at Duke Kossuth’s Sudfeld line.” Ann held her hand out. “That felt like a raindrop.”
Something cold tapped Elizabeth’s bare head. “So did that, my lady. You made a good decision to stay in the walls.” I wish I had.
Elizabeth felt worse the next day but went to court despite the pain. You can’t do anything for a broken collarbone but wait and I’m not dying. Even if I feel like it. She rode in her carriage, trusting Lazlo to work Maldonado. Capt. Martin rode with her, carrying some papers and acting as her guard as well as aid. She’d caught him wincing as she sat back in the seat. He’d been thrown and broken his right collarbone a year before, and obviously remembered the pain. “Ribs are worse, Captain. And the bones stayed under the skin this time, thanks be.”