Grand Vizier of Krar

by W. John Tucker

  “Thank you, Questan, I was truly fortunate to meet such a kind man on my journey.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Questan replied. “Quolow might be the only republic for a hundred leagues, and therefore has a tumultuous public life, but its hospitality is second to none.”

  Questan appeared to be a somewhat frail man of about eighty years and it was a long walk to the hotel, so Blan helped him into the saddle of her pony. It was help he did not really need but he accepted it in good grace and in respect for Blan’s kindness. They made their way to the stables and then walked to the hotel reception where Questan greeted his cousin and introduced Blan as Blansnette. Neither had noticed the tall, handsome man who had been watching them from the crowd on the dock.

  55

  Blan was given a room to herself. She was grateful for that. She rested there for two hours until late afternoon. She wanted to think about her options before contacting the other Actio operators. There was no point in worrying them about her predicament. Everyone would have a different viewpoint and a different suggestion about what she should do. First, she wanted to be clear in her own mind about her alternatives.

  About an hour before sunset she went out to check the pony. The stables were full and there were many people milling about: riders, grooms, stable hands and equine admirers. There were some fine looking racing horses there as well as the usual beasts of burden. There were also a few camels from the barren lands nearer the coast.

  Blan noticed a rider in uniform loading a large pack horse with a wooden trunk on one side and a lumpy bag on the other. It was not the same courier she had seen from the barge the day before but she was sure it was the same wooden trunk. Now she saw that the trunk had once been adorned with an aristocratic coat of arms which had been hastily gouged out.

  Suddenly the courier was stung by a bee. He jerked his hand back to his neck where he had been stung. In doing so, he let go of the trunk. It crashed to the ground and split open.

  “Well, of all the…,” the courier was about to curse before he noticed all the people around and curbed his tongue. The broken trunk had spilled a curious collection of cushions and stones out across the stable floor.

  “Who would want to send that on an urgent mission?” the courier exclaimed, to nobody in particular, after he had regained his composure.

  “Perhaps the cushions conceal State secrets and the rocks contain precious ores,” laughed an old woman who was standing nearby. The courier nodded and grumblingly packed the cushions and rocks back in the trunk, bound it up, and carried it to another pack horse.

  “I’m still under orders to put it into storage for taking to Quolow when the way is open again,” he explained, feeling the unwanted attention around him.

  “If enemies come, perhaps they will take time off to puzzle over it,” the old lady joked.

  Blan’s attention to the incident was interrupted when a tall, strikingly handsome man approached her. Had her heart not been aching for Telko, even the level-headed Blan might have almost swooned at receiving attention from this man.

  “Greetings, my lady. I saw you disembark from the barge earlier this afternoon. I dare say that every man on the dock noticed you.”

  Blan had heard this sort of thing before, yet the man’s voice and manner were light and unthreatening. His benign and friendly smile lit up his face. He stood near her, but not too near, and he angled his body away from her in an unthreatening pose. His eyes were fixed on hers but in an even and friendly manner.

  “My name is Galnet. I’m from the Belspire area, on a trip to the south; stuck here on my way back. Are you trying to get to Quolow like me?”

  Blan felt that there was no harm in saying that she was. Most people staying at the hotel were hoping to get to Quolow. The fact that it was under siege from the land did not discourage them since it was still the safest place for fifty leagues and had an awesome reputation for withstanding the siege of the last war while all around had been conquered.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Galnet said, “I have to rush off now to an appointment, but I would love to talk to you about your trip here and to tell you about my own trip. I’m by myself and, no doubt like yourself, feel lonely away from my family and friends. If you are staying at the hotel, perhaps you would be kind enough to allow me to approach your table at dinner.”

  “I’ll be glad of the company,” Blan agreed. The man was polite and Blan could see no harm in making conversation, so long as she did not mention anything about her mission or reveal her true identity.

  Three hours later Blan and Galnet were sitting together at dinner. It was clear to Blan that the man was an accomplished seducer of women, but he was amusing and he took her mind off her worries. She couldn’t help feeling strongly attracted to him. This was not the same for her as with Telko. She did not feel that there was any chance of her becoming infatuated with Galnet, much less in love, but she did feel a strong physical compulsion. Each time he touched her, first on the shoulder, then on the arm and then the hands, his touch lingered longer and she felt no need to reject it. She had to admit that his touch seemed pleasant and did not repel her.

  After two more hours, Galnet said, “I’m not used to so much food and wine, or such fascinating company. Look, it’s stopped raining. Come for a walk in the moonlight. It must be just a few days before the full.”

  Blan and Galnet walked slowly out onto the gentle grassy slope between the hotel and the river. There were a few people around in the distance; not many. Galnet led Blan to a line of palm trees. He stopped there and gently took Blan in his arms and kissed her on the lips.

  Blan had made an exception and drank one glass of wine with her dinner. It must have been much stronger than she had thought. She now felt as though she was in a trance. She felt physically excited and she was moved to cling tighter to Galnet. In her mind she was clinging to Telko. She felt confused; Telko, Galnet. Who was she with?

  Blan looked up and saw Galnet’s handsome face. “No!” she whispered. She wanted Telko.

  It was too late. Two men came from hiding in the shadow of a nearby palm tree. In a second they were right behind Blan. One gagged her mouth and the other passed a sack over her head and bound her with rope to immobilize every limb. A third man arrived with a horse. With a smile of satisfaction Galnet lifted Blan up and tossed her over the back of the horse.

  “Gentle with the merchandise, Galnet, if that’s your real name,” said the oldest and most senior of the men, one who had the grizzled face and wiry build of a professional soldier, not a centurion but as senior as one might get in the ordinary ranks.

  “What’s my real name to you?” Galnet replied. “You pay me and I do my job, a very professional one at that, I might add.”

  “I don’t understand you, Galnet,” said the young soldier who had brought the horse. “You could have your pick of these women but you never do. However high the fee, I’d give up every penny and more to have a lady like this one for myself, and I’d be treating her like a queen, not throwing her around.”

  “That’s just the thing, Corporal Pretsan,” sneered the leader, “you would have to pay, but Galnet here could take them for nothing and they would pay him. But girls are not for you, are they Galnet?”

  “Mind your own business,” Galnet smirked as he left them and wandered back to the hotel.

  56

  To Memwin’s relief the relay couriers transporting her trunk were efficient yet predictable and not very suspicious. When each rider reached his terminal depot he would dismount, unload the pack horse and take both horses to the stables where a stable hand would take charge of them. An hour or so later the new rider would collect fresh horses from the stables, take them to the depot and load the pack horse. During that time the depot was watched and guarded, but no one paid any attention to the cargo inside.

  Memwin had no trouble sneaking out to get water, sometimes food and, of course, to listen to conversations. Only once was she seen when, finding no water in
the depot, she had to go outside to find a nearby stream.

  “What are you doing here, young lassie? The depot is out of bounds,” the guard called, trying to sound both stern and kind at the same time.

  “Sorry, ma’am… I was looking for a drink and I got lost,” Memwin replied in her most childlike and contrite voice as she held up her empty flask. The guard told her where she could find water. Memwin slipped back into the depot later, when the guard wasn’t looking. The guards were there to thwart thieves, not children playing games.

  Most northward travellers would take the shortest route, crossing the mountains to reach the closest port on Polnet River, as Blan had done. That was fine for people who were going the whole distance themselves and had no option but to spend as much or more time resting along the way than in transit. However, the relay couriers preferred the longer road between the mountains and the coastal jungle. That way, there was no need to take horses through hills or mountains. Each rider had only one segment of the journey to complete, and packages could be kept moving onward at speed. So it was that Memwin’s ingenious plan caused her to reach the Polnet a long way downstream from Mountain Port and pass Blan before either of them reached Plupo River.

  57

  Confluence – 3rd November

  Thanks to the relay courier service Memwin arrived at the confluence of Polnet and Plupo in the early hours of the morning of the day that Blan arrived there. The couriers would normally keep to the west of Polnet as far as Lake Quolow and cross the lake to the city by barge. However, news had come that the city on the lake could not be reached, so all packages for Quolow were to be taken across the rivers to the stables of Hillside Inn. From there a new courier would collect the packages and take them to a depot further up Plupo for storage until the way to Quolow was clear.

  Memwin overheard the news and realised that she would have to abandon the trunk sooner than expected. She endured the two ferry crossings, the first to the east bank of the Polnet and the other to the north bank of the Plupo. The water was turbulent from all the recent traffic.

  When her trunk was finally lowered to the ground in the stables of Hillside Inn she waited until all was quiet outside, except for the gentle sounds of animals at rest in the stable. She unfastened the quick-release catch she had made to escape the trunk and cautiously climbed out. It was still dark. None of the animals seemed to take much notice of her. She looked for some heavy objects to replace her weight in the trunk. Much of the ground near the stables was rocky, so it was easy to find ballast; not so easy to carry it to the trunk. Hot from her labours, she locked the trunk from the outside and, just for good measure, used her dagger to chisel out its Duchess of Proequa crest. Then she slipped away in the dark to investigate.

  The hotel was an ideal hunting ground for Memwin. It was a big, sprawling building. Its labyrinthine passages reminded her of many of the buildings around the castle in her citadel where she had honed her skills at moving around, barely noticed while she listened in on conversations.

  As dawn came, Memwin woke to find herself in a cupboard filled with blankets and sheets. She vaguely remembered going in there to rest for a while. She slapped her cheeks gently to wake herself properly. She picked up a stack of linen and boldly carried it out of the closet, all the while trying to look as though she was engaged in some chore or other.

  The hotel was already busy. She was near the kitchens and she could hear the banging and clashing of plates and eating implements. Staff members were going up and down the corridor. Memwin saw that a few of them were children, some as small as herself. This gave her an idea.

  There was nothing striking about Memwin’s appearance, except for those who recognised her facial similarity to Black Knight. Some, like Blan, would say that Memwin was pretty, but most would say she was plain. She was somewhat taller than average for a child of her age yet not hugely so, and she was rather scrawny. Although she had become markedly more robust since she met Blan less than two months ago, she might still be mistaken for a waif.

  Memwin’s normal countenance was that of a small child totally preoccupied by an imaginary game. That was when people were most likely to ignore her. It also happened to be the time when she was most alert to what was going on around her and, in particular, to what people were saying.

  All morning Memwin flitted around the hotel and down onto the dock. She had found a small rubber ball which she juggled from time to time, and she moved from place to place purposefully, skipping a little as she went, as though she were wearing a sign saying Contented Child – Busy Playing – Not Lost – Do Not Disturb. When she wanted to listen for news she would seek groups of people. A mother might notice a little girl looking up at her expectantly but, as soon as she turned to see what the girl wanted, she would see the girl giving the same expectant look to another woman. She must be that woman’s daughter, the first woman would think. With such subtle variations of demeanour Memwin was able to move about as she wished. Anyone who noticed her thought that she belonged to one or another of the numerous mothers or fathers in the vicinity.

  Memwin was standing in the crowd on the dock when she saw Blan arriving in the barge. She wanted to rush forward and hug her friend; she was just so happy to see Blan and she felt the moisture coming to her eyes. However, she had overheard that Blan was travelling as Blansnette; the mission was secret. Anyway, it was not safe for them both to be seen together; someone might more easily figure out who they were.

  Memwin also knew that Blan would be cross with her for taking the risk of following and not telling Tor where she was. That was Blan caring about her and Memwin loved her for it. However, as far as Memwin was concerned, helping and protecting Blan came before everything else. Blan would not be able to go to Quolow now and would need to make new plans; dangerous plans.

  Memwin pulled her hood closer around her face. Tomorrow, when her nursing rota was inspected, everyone would discover that she had run away. A great hue and cry would go up and Blan would find out via the Actio, so Memwin decided to make contact after sunset. Meanwhile, she still had time to watch over Blan secretly. There was good reason for this. She could already see heads turning to watch Blan. Even in disguise, Blan was quickly noticed and drew people to her, like a beacon suddenly flaming up on a dark night. Memwin studied Questan; he seemed impressed by Blan but in the same sort of way as Tor. However, a tall, younger man was looking at Blan as though he were buying a horse. Memwin instantly disliked him.

  Thanks to Blan, Memwin now had more experience with other children. She befriended some of the younger girls working in the hotel. All three of them were seven years old; Memwin was able to convince them that she was also seven. They were relatives of the manager, as were all staff members. However, things were so busy today that they were sure the manager would let Memwin help them. They found her a small uniform.

  Ever since the plague that followed the last war, all staff had to wear gloves and a mask over nose and mouth when preparing or serving food. That suited Memwin. She found herself carrying dirty plates away from tables when Blan and Galnet were having dinner. Despite the face mask, Memwin kept out of Blan’s line of sight as much as possible. Blan seemed to have become a little sleepy anyway.

  When Blan and Galnet left to walk outside, Memwin made straight for their table to move the dishes. When she had brought them to the kitchen she noticed a small vial, almost empty. She did not recognise the smell but it was not healthy and it could not be good. Her mind flashed back to the books she had read about the effects of certain substances when consumed and it took her no time at all to suspect Galnet of having drugged Blan.

  “Those customers left something behind,” Memwin called to her new girlfriends as she ran outside. “I’ll take it back to them before they go too far.”

  As she ran across the grass she saw Blan being dumped on the back of a horse and taken away by three men. She changed direction to follow them but tumbled over as she ran straight into Questan. In panic, she scram
bled up to pursue the men, but Questan held onto her.

  “You can’t chase them; they are very dangerous,” whispered Questan, a shocked look still on his face from witnessing Blan’s abduction.

  “She’s my auntie,” Memwin insisted. “I must save her.”

  “Let me find out where they are going and report it to the local police, and then we’ll follow them together,” Questan suggested. “You wait for me at the hotel. I’ll fetch you in half an hour.” Her intuition told her to trust Questan, and she saw that it would be impossible for her to follow the loping kidnappers on foot, so she returned to the hotel.

  *

  “Thank you, little girl,” Galnet allowed as he drew deeply on the flagon of wine Memwin had placed before him. He still had a smirk on his face. That smirk was gone by the time Memwin went outside to meet Questan.

  “The police are busy with two colliding ferries further up the Plupo and will not return until morning. However, some people I know saw which way the kidnappers went.”

  “They are enemy soldiers, aren’t they?” Memwin reckoned as Questan hauled her up behind him on his horse.

  “It would seem so,” he agreed sadly. “She is not really your auntie, is she? I know who you are, Duchess Memwin.”

  “Actually a cousin, but she’s the dearest person I know,” Memwin confessed. “How do you know who I am, Questan?”

  “Before I retired, I was President of Quolow. I have been to Proequa. I knew your mother. I know and have fought alongside Count Tor. I saw you once when you were two years old. I know all the stories about you. I also understand that whatever business you have with Blansnette is secret and I will keep it that way.”

  “Thank you, Questan,” Memwin said. “When we have saved Blan, I’d like to talk to you about my mother and what she was like.”

  “I am at your service,” said the old man. He had once been in love with Memwin’s grandmother. Nothing came of it. Meeting this intense, brooding and brilliant child brought it all back to him like a gentle rain shower in a parched land. He did not need to ask how Memwin knew his name. If she was like her grandmother, she would have already noticed him and asked someone about him, probably one of his young cousins from Hillside Inn.