This was as much as was likely to be achieved before winter, when the frozen ground and the weather would put a halt to all building. But it was essential that not only did the newly arrived soldiers have proper shelter for the winter, but that the new infirmary was completed by then. It was intended to serve both the army and the civilian population, and was much needed, as the town’s present establishment was old and too small for the needs of the existing population, let alone an enlarged one. Indeed, plans to expand the barracks had grown on the back of plans to expand the infirmary, so civilian and military aims were closely tied together on this project.
The engineers began work immediately, since the siting of the soldiers’ quarters and its design had been agreed some time ago. Other matters required agreement and discussion, and that was what Wepizi wanted settled at his first meeting with the mayor, the head of the present infirmary, the town elders, and their chief architect. His arrival was cause for satisfaction, as was made clear as they sat down in the main meeting room at the barracks and he was introduced to the civilians. “No disrespect to his majesty or the council, Tezrei, but we’ve been waiting a long time for this,” the mayor said, as his colleagues nodded. “The neglect of our public facilities has been a scandal under this administration.”
“Well, we’ve begun now,” Wepizi said peaceably. “Let me hear your ideas.”
It became clear they had only been waiting to be heard, and if he’d thought Karik had big plans, it was nothing as to what the civic leaders had. They wanted an infirmary twice the size of the present building, a third again bigger than that already agreed to, and a school to train engineers and chemists attached to it, providing skills to both army and civilians. They wanted better communications, improved roads in the mountains between the forests, mines and the plains, a new bridge lower down the Huoinevol, and locks to make the upper reaches more navigable as they were below Dizeindo.
Wepizi listened to the admirable but ambitious plans with apparently polite interest, but inside, his heart sank. There was no way even the greatly enlarged establishment already agreed could come close to doing all this, at least, not quickly. And yet all they were saying was perfectly reasonable, and probably necessary if his majesty’s plans for the region were to be realised.
“My friends,” he said finally once the outpouring of suggestions had died down a little, and more drizu was brought to give everyone a break. “You must know most of this is well beyond my ability to agree to. Have you put any of this to his highness?”
He could already guess the answer, and right on cue, expressions darkened.
“Letter after letter has been sent, and all that we get is a ‘the matter will be looked into’,” the mayor said. “Tezrei, you must impress upon him that now is the chance to put the infrastructure in place. The mines could be expanded, there is farming land yet unexploited, but we need the roads and the bridge and the river improvements. His majesty knows our best engineers work in the army—we can’t do this without your help.”
Wepizi bowed a little. “Then I shall put it to his highness as best I can. Healer Queon, let’s go over this infirmary in more detail as that’s the most urgent matter.”
The meeting lasted three hours, and he had a headache by the time he was done and had bid the officials farewell. Lep Tovoi had joined them for the last hour, and Wepizi suggested they ate lunch together in his quarters.
“I take it you heard the full list of complaints,” Tovoi said dryly as they collected the container of stew and bread to take back to Wepizi’s rooms. “Though I don’t feel charitably inclined towards our governor, I feel our civilians expect the army and his majesty to do what they could themselves be working on. The infirmary is something they could have started.”
“But they said we have all their engineers.”
“We do, but they didn’t need one to extend the existing infirmary. The previous governor even offered them a building to convert, but they wanted a new one, and they wanted the army to build it. The elders said it wasn’t up to them to fund it from a civic collection since the army used it too, but there wasn’t the funds then to build another.”
Wepizi stroked his moustache. “There aren’t funds now for these schemes. But maybe some could be done within the existing budget. I need to speak to his highness.”
Tovoi lifted an eyebrow. “Good luck with that, sir. Apart from all his other charming characteristics, he seems to be tight-fisted. The school hasn’t had any examination prizes donated in his entire time here. It doesn’t seem to occur to him that these things matter.”
That gave Wepizi almost more concern than his strange encounter the previous day. If the governor and his district lost all connection with each other, how long would it be before the authority of the crown, in whose name the governor ruled, was questioned? Since the overthrow of the warlords, his majesty and council ruled by consent, the army policed by consent. That consent could and had been withdrawn from rulers in the past. The people here seemed too peaceful to revolt, but discontent, unnecessary discontent, was not something Wepizi liked to see encouraged. Andon had only to look to Kuprij to see what could happen if it was left unchecked.
After lunch, he made his notes and drew up a summary of what he’d learned that morning and the ideas concerning the infirmary, and then decided he would walk up to the governor’s residence on his own to get a feel for the town and the people. The impression of prosperity he’d got the previous day was confirmed as he walked amongst well-fed, neatly dressed people. The river was the key to this—it was ice-free for all but two months a year, and gave this otherwise isolated region a relatively fast and reliable connection to the sea and to external trade. The elders were right—improving the shipping access at the docks would be essential if the population expanded. But he only had five hundred soldiers right here, and they had to police this region as well as work on major engineering projects. The people of Dizeindo could do with some of the famously independent spirit of the northern tribes—especially with the governor they had.
But there was a paradox too—if the prince was incompetent or lazy, Wepizi would expect things to look more run down than they did, for there to be more discontent than there was. Somehow, he managed to govern without doing so overtly. Or perhaps the previous governor’s staff managed to carry on despite official indifference—Wepizi had known that to happen in the army. A puzzle to work through, he thought, as the soldiers at the residence bowed and allowed him through.
He wasn’t surprised when his request to present his report to the governor resulted in the man’s assistant coming to the reception to take his documents. He had his reply ready. “I’m sorry, sir—but this must be dealt with by his highness himself.”
Neime narrowed his eyes at him, then beckoned him away from the front area. “I told you,” he said in a low voice. “This isn’t possible.”
“I regret that it must be, sir,” he said with a pleasant smile—for this man was only doing his duty and protecting his master. “There are matters which require his highness’s attention, and his decisions.”
“I’ll discuss your report with him and present you with his answers. Why is that a problem, tezrei?”
“Sir, if you came to the barracks to speak to me, would you consider it adequate if one of my grois insisted on being a go between? If your tribe sent a vote for a council decision, would it be acceptable to have it used for another decision?”
The young man drew himself up, but there was a weary sadness behind his hauteur. “You’re being ridiculous—that’s not what I’m doing here. What are you implying, tezrei?”
“Nothing, sir—I do not question your honour in the least. Nevertheless, this is a matter for his highness. Not his highness’s assistant.”
“Why are you pushing this, tezrei? No one else has a problem with our methods.”
“Are you sure about that?” he answered quietly, fixing Neime with a firm look. “You wish to spare your master trouble and hurt�
�it’s most admirable. But...in shielding him, do you prevent him from healing?”
Neime exhaled sharply. “You’re most impertinent, tezrei.”
Wepizi bowed. “I’m sorry if I appear that way. Sir, perhaps you should...allow me to just do my job. If his highness objects, let him do that to my face. I can handle his anger.”
“So you think,” Neime muttered. “Tezrei, he finds...people...a troubling burden. For excellent reasons. Particularly strangers.”
“Then allow me to cease to be one,” he said, still smiling. “You’ll find me immovable on this point, sir. I, like all soldiers, have my orders. Mine are to liaise directly with his highness in the policing and defence of this region. They don’t say liaise with his assistant.”
Neime seemed about to snap something back, but then he gave Wepizi a curt nod. “As you wish, tezrei.” He walked towards the governor’s office, but as Wepizi followed, he suddenly turned, his expression fierce. “You will not distress or insult him.”
As if this child had any authority to tell him to do anything—but Wepizi allowed him the moral right anyway. “I try not to distress or insult anyone, sir. It’s not in my nature. We’re conduits of Sephiz’s love, and any of his creatures in pain deserve more, not less care.”
Neime stared at him, as if trying to determine his honesty. Finally he nodded. “Come with me.”
He was asked to wait while Neime spoke to his master—he imagined the conversation would not be an easy one, but the prince’s assistant struck him as a determined young man. A minute or so later, the door opened, and he was ushered in by a stony-faced Neime. The prince was on his feet, and now Wepizi saw he had to use a cane to stand. His eyes flashed with aristocratic anger, and his voice, slurred or not, dripped with hauteur.
“Tezrei? Are you in the habit of demanding to see senior government officials without an appointment?”
Refraining from mentioning he also was a senior government official, he bowed formally. “Your highness, I believe I said I would present the report of the meeting today. It seemed most efficient to simply bring it along.”
“And you have so few duties that you couldn’t ask one of your soldiers to do that for you.”
“Your highness, in matters of such gravity, it is only appropriate they are handled directly.”
The prince scowled at him as Neime approached and said, “Tezrei, would you care to sit?”
That transferred the evil look from Wepizi to the prince’s assistant, but Neime’s blank expression didn’t change. Wepizi accepted the invitation and sat in a heavy wooden chair in front of the prince’s desk, which wasn’t as clear as it had been the previous day. The man did do paperwork.
“Well? Where is this famous report then?”
Wepizi handed it over, and the prince opened it immediately and started to read. There was no enquiry as to whether it was convenient for Wepizi to wait, but he didn’t really expect there to be. He waited politely, and used the time to observe the prince in action, trying not to be distracted by Neime’s obvious anxiety.
The prince read quickly, but with great attention, occasionally rubbing his temple as if he had a headache. He made a note or two in the margins, and startled Neime by suddenly snapping out an order for a book from the other side of the room, which he then referred to several times as he continued to read the report. Finally he pushed it away from him with a sour look.
“Don’t want much, do they. Of course this is all impossible.”
“Your highness, I believe the cost of the infirmary additions could be recouped by economies in other directions. I’ve made a note here.”
“Pass it over—do I have to drag everything from you?”
Wepizi obeyed, ignoring Neime’s annoyed look. The prince took the note, scanned it, then thrust it away irritably. “Oh, this is ridiculous—you want his majesty to spend more money, just to promote a bunch of Darshianese plant collectors? You’re as greedy as the elders, tezrei.”
“No, wait, your highness—let me explain.”
The prince listened with a sceptical expression, and when Wepizi was done, he dismissed his words with a wave of his hand. “Impossible. If the Darshianese want to spend their money, there’s a building they can outfit. That’s as much as I can offer them. But I’m not turning over part of the new barracks to their use.”
“Not their use, your highness.”
“I said ‘no’, tezrei. I’ve heard all this before, and I’ve passed on the plans to his majesty. The king and council have yet to decide.”
“Have you pursued it, your highness?”
“Are you telling me how to do my job, tezrei?”
“No, your highness. I just...got the impression that the elders felt their views had been...neglected.”
The prince curled his lip. “And you have appointed yourself their champion. Not even here twenty-four hours, and you understand the interactions and politics of this town so well. My compliments, sir—you’re clearly a genius.”
Wepizi bowed. “My apologies, your highness. I take the responsibility for such rashness.”
“Not a good beginning, tezrei. I don’t really care if you disapprove of my methods, but you will not interfere with my position—do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, your highness. Bu, your highness, might I persuade you to come and inspect the construction site and meet our engineers? It would make the reports much more comprehensible.”
“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” the prince said, his eyes cold.
Wepizi found the man staring at his moustache. He stroked it a little and gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry this offends you, your highness. You see—my late wife was very fond of it, so I keep it as much to honour her memory as anything else.”
The prince sat back and sneered. “Your domestic misfortunes do not concern me, Tezrei. Are we finished?”
Wepizi blinked—if the man had reached across his desk and slapped him, he couldn’t have been more horrified. “Yes,” he said stiffly. He got up and stalked out of the room, not caring if he was thought rude, not caring what this man thought about the smallest thing. Benevolent god, forgive me, but if I don’t get out of this place now, I may sin most grievously against your laws.
He was pretty sure punching a prince of the blood on his arrogant nose would not advance his career. But he was equally sure that if he ever met this creature again, even with his own distaste for vengeance and violence, he would be very, very tempted to toss his career aside just for the pure satisfaction of landing that hit.
Oh, my dear love, how joyless is a life that can dismiss love and grief so easily. I know I’m luckier than he is, for I have known you and loved you, and been loved in turn. No one could love a man like that. I pity anyone who would even try.
Home Ground: 7
Juimei shoved the pestiferous reports from that obnoxious tezrei into a drawer—did he honestly think the kingdom had so much spare revenue that it could turn this province into a kingdom in its own right? “I told you it was a waste of time seeing him,” he said to Neime, behind him near the window.
There was no reply. He turned, annoyed that Neime was on his bad side so it was awkward to twist—and found his page staring at him, lips pressed grimly together, high spots of colour in his cheeks. “Something amiss, Neime?”
“I was just wondering how I could have been so mistaken about you, your highness,” he said, his voice trembling. “To think for over four years, I’ve been feeling sorry for you over your treatment by Count Mikinze, only to find you’re just as cruel and vicious as he was.”
Juimei felt as if he’d been struck in the face. “You dare to say such a thing to me?”
“Yes I do. I’ve worked for you for seven years. I’ve served you, I’ve cared for you, comforted you, covered for you, protected you, even lied for you. I’ve done this because you’re my master and I love you. But I swear upon the benevolent god himself—if you ever say something like that to another person in or out
of my hearing, I’ll walk out and never return to you, oath or no oath.”
Neime’s hands were clenched into fists—he shook, he was so angry. Juimei couldn’t understand why he was so upset. “But he’s—”
“Another human being, same as me or you. I don’t care what offence you’ve taken at him, or what reason you had—you went too far, your highness. That was a loathsome thing to say,” he spat. “Are you going to pretend your misfortune in love is the greatest tragedy that any man has ever suffered, and the sorrows of everyone else are mere trifles? Your lover rejected you—his wife died.”
“I just—”
Neime stalked towards his desk, and even with all their history, Juimei actually wondered if his page was going to hit him. But all Neime did was rest his hands on the desk and lean over. “You. Go. Too. Far. I realise I’ve made a mistake.”
“In serving me?”
“In protecting you. I thought I was giving you time to heal. But all I’ve actually done is to keep your injury fresh, allowed you to pick at it and worry at it, so it will never heal. No more, your highness. I won’t protect you any more. You fight your own battles, you make your own negotiations, and you will apologise to that man.”
“Who do you think you are, speaking to a prince of the blood in this manner? You forget your position entirely!”
Neime bowed in the most formal manner, his lips still pursed in anger. “I am his majesty’s loyal and obedient servant, your highness—and yours. But I fear that to do my duty towards you, and serve you best, I must cease to serve you at all. It’s only allowing your illness of spirit to fester and to rot, and I’m ashamed of the man you’ve become.”
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 28