“You made a useful—if rather rude—contribution, even in that short visit. Don’t tell me you learned nothing, because I know you did.”
“They don’t need me.”
Neime sat down on a stool next to his couch. “Yes, they do. Look—the kind of decision you were able to make there and then will come up a dozen, a hundred times on a project like this. Are you really happy leaving that to soldiers? Something this important?”
Juimei regarded him sourly. “Try to remember you rule me, not Huoinevol region. If I take charge of this, I open the governorship up to all the demands the tezrei presented yesterday. If I leave him in charge, he has no authority to alter my father’s brief. I won’t have this project fatally delayed because it loses focus, and I won’t have the region bankrupted by the greed of the elders. A new bridge? Do they know what that would cost and how long it would take to build? Can you imagine their reaction when the taxes go up to pay for it, even though Mayor Gixiel’s mills would be the primary beneficiary? No. The tezrei is there in my place for a reason.”
“I understand. But...you can still be involved. You should meet with him, keep in personal contact. You two are the most high-ranking government officials in this district—you should work in harmony.”
“He hates me.”
“He’s not happy with you, no. And why do you think that is?” Neime asked, folding his arms and looking at Juimei with a wry expression. “‘I’m surprised you needed that assistance, tezrei.’ Blessed Sephiz, you all but called him a fool to his face.”
“Well, I was surprised. That’s all.”
“Hmmm. You should rest. We can work on your papers after lunch—I have some things I can clear up without needing to trouble you. If that’s all right with you, I mean.”
Juimei waved a hand tiredly at him. “As if you need my direction in anything. Do what you need to.” Neime went to stand, but Juimei caught his sleeve. “What...should I do?”
“About the project?”
“About the tezrei. My offence remains. I want it cleaned away. It’s intolerable he can look at me in that manner with any justification.”
Neime patted his hand gently and smiled. “Yes it is. There’s a vein of manners and charm within you. I suggest you go mining, your highness.”
“You’re no bloody help.”
“No, your highness. We’ll talk after lunch. Just rest. Does your leg still ache?”
“A little.”
“Do you want another massage?”
“No. Consider it the price of incivility.”
“As you wish,” Neime said, grinning at his grumpy decree.
He lay with his arm over his eyes, willing the cramps in his thigh and calf to ease a little. He needed more exercise so such minor exertion didn’t reduce him to this, but it was so difficult here. The governor’s residence didn’t have large enough gardens for long walks in privacy, and he absolutely loathed walking down the streets of the town with the way everyone stared at him, pitying, disdainful. If he could ride a doig outside the walls, that would help, but he didn’t have the strength in his arm or leg to properly control a mount anymore. He supposed with a lot of practice and a safe place to do that, he might learn to ride again in some fashion, but the only area within the walls which offered that kind of security was at the barracks. He cringed at the idea of fumbling his way around a training track in full view of curious and highly capable soldiers.
He hated this life. He hated himself. He wasn’t even, at least in other people’s opinion, good at his job. He tried to be, but the population and their civic leaders didn’t just want him to govern, they wanted him to lead. That meant they wanted more of him than he had to give—but they didn’t need more. He wasn’t the king and council—merely their representative. If they wanted a ruler, they should ask for his father to come visit—as if that would ever happen. His father wrote once or twice a year for personal reasons, and that was that. His mother wrote more often, but it was clear they had been grateful to shunt him off to the distant regions where their crippled, reclusive son could no longer embarrass them. With Furneim on his fifth child, they had more family around them than they knew what to do with.
He hated this too—this self-pity. Along with his fitness, the accident—and Mikinze—had stolen his manhood too. No wonder that bloody tezrei despised him.
He sighed. No, the bloody tezrei despised him because he had been vile to him, and today hadn’t helped. He shouldn’t have gone to the site—they hadn’t been prepared for his visit, and there were too many people around. It had thrown him off-balance and made it even more difficult to be pleasant. He used to be good at this, damn it! He used to be able to connect so easily to people, make friends, win their trust. But he no longer trusted them not to hurt him without reason, and like a doig, people could smell when you were afraid of them.
He struggled to sit up, and shoved a cushion behind him. He had work to do, and he wasn’t an invalid. That suggestion of the tezrei...he wondered if he’d been overhasty there. He would look at it again, and perhaps he could use it as a way of building a bridge. That kind of bridge, at least, didn’t need extra taxes.
Home Ground: 8
Trench and post hole digging had to slow down while Engineer Foinoiz carried out his additional surveys, but even with six months of effective construction time in hand, they didn’t dare waste even a day, so Wepizi set his soldiers on to materials preparation and other tasks that weren’t dependent on the siting of the buildings and walls.
As he carried out his daily inspections, and negotiated all the changes with the engineer, there were always at least a dozen matters clamouring for his attention and his thoughts. An enormous amount of logistical organisation went with a project like this. Three hundred new residents in a town this size meant a large increase in food, hay and water requirements, and though Lep Tovoi had made arrangements for these, they needed some refinement. That kind of thing had to be dealt with, along with all the administrative duties of a large, busy barracks. Time had to be set aside for getting to know his officers and his soldiers, as well as the local way of doing things. Between meetings with civilians, and site inspections, and report preparation, there was very little spare time in his day.
Which was why he was not entirely delighted to receive an invitation to have lunch with his highness three days after the prince’s unexpected visit to the barracks. It couldn’t be refused, of course, but his highness’s newfound fondness for interactions with his subordinates was poorly timed.
“I thought you said he was horribly rude to you,” Tovoi commented when Wepizi said he would have to reschedule the meeting with the mayor and the owner of the local foundry to fit in the invitation.
“He was. Maybe he wants another chance to express his feelings. I’ll try not to be long—ask Foinoiz and Rineninke to come to supper here, so I can get their reports in person.”
“Yes, sir. Good luck with our prince.”
Rank has its privileges, Wepizi thought wryly—and some of them he would gladly give away. He went on his own but took a doig to save time, arriving as the noon bell tolled at the mayor’s offices just across the road from the governor’s residence. He wondered why his highness had thrown a glass at the mayor—the man was rather pompous, and, so Tovoi told him, rapacious—but even having witnessed the prince losing control, it was hard to see how he could have gone so far as offer physical violence. Not with the tongue on him at least.
Neime came to meet him, smiling politely. “Thank you for coming along, tezrei—I hope it wasn’t inconvenient.”
“I serve his majesty and council, therefore my time is his, sir.”
“Ah—so it was inconvenient.”
Wepizi shrugged apologetically. “Only a little. Is it something urgent?”
“His highness can explain that. He doesn’t want to waste your time.”
“No, sir.” He waited patiently for Neime to lead the way, but the man had something on his mind. “Was there so
mething else, sir?”
“Yes. Uh. His highness...uh....” He sighed. “Allow me to be frank?” Wepizi nodded, wondering what on earth was wrong. “His highness...has faced much sorrow, and he’s...lost the gift of dealing with people easily. He’s trying so very hard to heal, tezrei, but...he only has me. You...you’re the only person who comes close to being his equal here in Dizeindo.”
“Sir, are you asking me to be his friend?” Neime nodded, rather embarrassed. “I’m sorry for his pain, but really...I think you’re being a little unrealistic. Friendship comes from respect, from mutual interests...forgive me for being blunt, but his highness hasn’t given me any sign of either thus far.”
“Can’t you give him another chance, tezrei? For the sake of Sephiz’s love, if nothing else? You know we should never turn our back on a wounded soul.”
Wepizi bowed his head to acknowledge this fact. “Indeed, and I would never deny him or anyone else help if they need it. But...my liking is not something I can turn off and on, and I’m sorry—I don’t like him.”
“Because of that comment about your wife.”
“That didn’t help, no. It indicated a meanness of spirit which makes me uncomfortable.”
Neime stared at him, pleading. “He’s not like that, not really. He’s kind and generous and he feels everything very deeply—but he’s been hurt.”
“Many people are hurt, sir. They don’t throw glasses at public officials or deride the grief of others.”
“The mayor was a hectoring bully that day, tezrei, and he made an utterly despicable remark about his majesty. His highness shouldn’t have thrown the glass, but he had cause.”
“And what cause had I given him, sir? Other than this,” he said, stroking his moustache.
Neime drew himself up. “None. He admits it. He wants to apologise. Please, I’m asking you to allow that.”
“But he already apologised.”
“No he didn’t, and you didn’t accept it. Please—for the love of the benevolent god who guides us all, tezrei, can you find forgiveness in your heart for him?”
Wepizi shook his head with a rueful smile. “You plead his case very well, my friend, and that you’re so devoted to him, is the best thing I’ve discovered in his favour so far. I’ve no wish to cause him pain—but he’s not dealing with toys. We have feelings, we react if attacked—same as him. Can’t he see that?”
“Yes—when he’s not blinded by his own emotions.” He bowed a little. “Forgive me for imposing on your goodwill, Tezrei—I just sense that you’re a decent man and a kind one, so I hope you’ll understand why I’m saying this.”
“I do, and I take no offence. Shall we go? I really do have to get back to the barracks soon.”
The prince was climbing to his feet as Neime ushered him in. “Took your time,” he muttered to his assistant, who gave him an impatient look. “Thank you for coming, tezrei. I hope this wasn’t inconvenient, but I wanted to speak to you before you made too many alterations to your site plans.”
“As you wish, your highness.”
“Please, do sit down. Neime, can you have lunch brought? And...drizu for the tezrei? Or juice?”
“Whichever is convenient, your highness.”
“Then drizu, please. Thank you.”
Neime bowed and withdrew. The prince cleared his throat. “Your reports...you’re going ahead as they said?”
“We’re waiting for the survey, but it looks that way, yes, your highness. In fact, there might be some slight advantages to shifting the barracks to the other side in terms of access.”
“Good. I, uh, was impressed. Yes, uh...impressed by the professionalism of your team.”
“I’m glad to hear that, your highness.” Not what it sounded like at the time. Wepizi wondered which was the truth. If he was an unkind man, which he hoped he wasn’t, he’d have taken some delight in watching this proud princeling squirm, but all he felt was pity. Was it really so hard for him to carry out a normal conversation? “Was that all you wanted to know?”
“No, of course not, or I’d have sent a messenger,” the prince snapped, sitting down abruptly and opening a file with unnecessary force. “I’ve been rereading your suggestions about the infirmary. Do you want to hear my thoughts on that or are you too busy?”
“Your highness, I’m here at your request.”
The prince stared, then cleared his throat. “Quite. Uh...yes.” He looked down at his notes. “Tell me more about the work the Darshianese are doing, and how you think we can afford this under our existing budget.”
Wepizi rather thought they’d been over this, but obediently he described the expedition he’d been on three years previously, and what had come of that, the teams Romi and Karik were training, and what they were doing in Andon at this very moment. “I hadn’t heard anything about this,” the prince admitted. “It’s ambitious.”
“Yes, your highness. My Darshianese colleagues have big ideas.”
“And do they have big fortunes, tezrei? I still don’t see how this saves us money.”
“In training, your highness. We get free training both of medics and field personnel, as well as the specimens and drugs from the expedition. His majesty considered the benefits outweighed the costs, certainly, but the additional costs, at least for the nation as a whole, are relatively small. Captain Romi’s people are self-sufficient once in the field. The facilities we would provide for them, can be used for several purposes, so we don’t need to dedicate valuable space purely for their use. It would require an enlargement of the infirmary though.”
“Which we don’t have funding for—this is the same suggestion I’ve had from the town elders, though not one of them will put his hand in his pocket to donate to the outfitting of an extension. I suggested a public subscription, and was rather rudely told that it was government’s responsibility to pay for it through taxation. New taxes are very popular, you can imagine. Yet public funds are not unlimited, as you know.”
“Yes, I do.” Wepizi had to reassess what he’d been told about this man. He sounded less uninterested than frustrated by competing demands. “I could suggest to the Darshek academy that they might consider it an investment worth making but it would be two months before I could get any answer—and their agreement would not be assured.”
“And you need to make the decision now.” The prince rubbed his forehead. “It’s not that I’m blind to the benefits, tezrei. I can see the case perfectly clearly, same as I can understand why people want a new bridge. But we have neither endless personnel nor funding, and every soldier we bring to the region to work on something like this, costs us money just by being here. We have no surplus workforce as they do in Tsikiugui or Visiqe. We’ve had to send soldiers to help with harvesting futik on occasion, even to work in the mills here—that’s how short on manpower we are. Of course, if we attract settlers, that will help—but we need this project completed first.”
“Of course, your highness. Have you explained this to the elders?”
“Of course—do you take me for a fool just because I look like one?”
Wepizi kept his expression mild. “No, your highness—not that you look anything of the kind.”
“So you say,” the prince said bitterly. “I hear the comments, the whispers—I know that people think I’m simple-minded because I slur my words. I’m not simple-minded.”
“No, your highness.” Wepizi really wished that his position and his own reluctance to offend, allowed him to answer this more frankly, but he didn’t think it would be worth the tantrum.
The prince gave him a hard look. Wepizi smiled back benignly, and wondered if this was just a prelude to another display of temper, but the prince’s glare disappeared as the door opened, and Neime returned with two servants bearing trays of food and drink. These were placed on a little table quickly set up to the side—Wepizi noted approvingly it was simple fare, not dissimilar to what he would be eating back at the barracks at this time.
Neime joined
them, somewhat to Wepizi’s surprise, but the reason became clear. The prince’s weak side, his arm and hand, made lifting anything heavier than a spoon rather awkward. He found serving himself difficult, but Neime was obviously well practiced at compensating. The devotion of this man for his master was beautiful to see—Wepizi could only hope Neime, at least, was spared the prince’s rages. He wondered if their relationship was even closer than that of master and servant—there was definitely love there, but of what kind, he didn’t know. So even this man has someone who cares for him, Lema. Sephiz truly is merciful.
He was slightly shocked to find the prince was trying—in a clumsy manner that indicated he was out of practice at doing so—to draw him out, asking about his career, where he had lived in Andon, what he had seen of the region and so on. Wepizi answered everything politely, but resisted all questioning about his private life, especially about Lema. He sensed this annoyed the prince, but he was firm on this. This man would not sully her memory with his thoughtless cruelty again. He himself was a fair target—but not Lema.
It was an awkward, uncomfortable meal, and the conversation never really flowed, though Neime tried hard to bridge the silences and to smooth his prince’s frequent lack of diplomacy, but Wepizi was left wondering what purpose any of this served. He was also acutely aware there were things demanding his attention back at the barracks, which didn’t make him any more patient with this strangeness.
Finally, to his relief, the food was consumed and the prince’s limited conversational gambits had exhausted themselves—as well as him, by the look of it. “Well, tezrei, how much time do you have in hand before you need to decide the final shape of the infirmary?”
“A week—ten days, no more, if I’m realistic, your highness. The foundations must be started soon.”
“Is it possible for your architect to design it so it can be added to later, if we have the funds?”
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 30