“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
“Good, good—well, you’d better get back. Thank you for coming.”
Wepizi bowed, and made his escape. That had almost certainly been a complete waste of his time—but he had learned a little more about their governor. Nothing useful—but it was knowledge all the same. Ah well. Karik’s dreams would have to wait a while.
~~~~~~~~
“Now what did I do wrong?” Juimei asked as the door closed behind their visitor.
“Nothing, your highness. I thought you did very well.”
He glared at his page. “Oh, don’t humour me, boy—you saw, the man enjoyed it about as much as I did. Which is to say, not at all.”
Neime collected the plates together. Juimei nearly snapped at him to leave it for the domestic servants, but he was trying very hard not to lose his temper today. “I didn’t say he enjoyed it. I said you did very well, and you did.”
“So what went wrong?”
“Two things. One, he’s busy and this wasn’t convenient—”
“He could have said!”
Neime gave him an old-fashioned look. “I don’t think so, your highness. And the other thing was that you made a bad impression to begin with. But you didn’t reinforce that today, so I would say you did very well.”
Juimei made a disgusted noise. “Absolute waste of time,” he muttered, limping off back to his desk. “I’ve got better things to do than to pander to bloody army officers.”
“And he would say he’s got better things to do than to pander to bad-tempered princes. Please don’t give up so easily. He’s a very nice man, don’t you think?”
“I suppose. That moustache makes him look like he’s eating a dowkiqu.”
Neime came and sat down across from him, and rested his chin on his hand. “You don’t like people judging you by your appearance, so why are you doing it to him?”
“Because...damn it, it makes him look like...you know who he looks like!”
“Yes—he doesn’t, though. He’s a lot older, and really nothing like...the count...in appearance. He’s got much kinder eyes for a start.”
Juimei glared. “Are you matchmaking?”
“No, Jui. I’m just saying he’s not Count Mikinze.” Juimei shot his page an evil look for the lurch in his guts that name always gave him. “I think you should persist. Maybe...avoid personal matters though. He doesn’t like it, you can tell.”
“What do we know of his wife? Do we have his records?”
“There was nothing in the reports on him—the barracks would have his personnel records, of course. He’d know if you asked for them.”
Juimei grunted. It irked him unreasonably that this minor detail was a secret about which he must not enquire, but he was being irrational again. “This extension—it’s a good idea. But we just don’t have the money. I can’t ask that tight-fisted bastard of a mayor for it either, since he just wants more beds, not a research station.”
“I doubt he’s inclined to do you any favours anyway. Are you sure his majesty would turn you down?”
“It’s the time factor. They need it now. I don’t have the money now.”
His page shrugged. “Then it’s impossible. It’s not your fault. He won’t blame you for that.”
And that was true. Yet it still bothered him. It symbolised so much that was wrong with his life—the disaster of his personal relationships, the limits on his powers as a governor, the frustration of being so far from Visiqe and the centre of influence. Surely there had to be an answer. At least—an answer to some of it.
Home Ground: 9
Lunch with the prince, and the conversation with Neime before it, occupied some of Wepizi’s thoughts over the next few days, but really, he was far too busy to spend much time trying to puzzle out their strange governor and his moods. The substrate survey was completed, and though another vein of impenetrable rock had been found, requiring yet another adjustment of the ground plan, finally the engineer was happy and they could begin laying the foundations in earnest. The potential supply problem had been sorted out satisfactorily, and the project was now firmly back on schedule. All Wepizi and his people had to do was keep it there—and also make sure the normal work of the army continued. There was still a huge territory to police and guard, and still far too few soldiers to manage it.
He heard nothing more from the governor, and assumed he would not. After all, it had been made clear the man could not authorise an expansion to Wepizi’s brief within the time frame granted to them, and there was nothing else left to decide. Wepizi assumed the prince was happy to revert to his originally stated position—that Wepizi had a job and he could get on with it without interference. While in some ways it still felt wrong that this was the case, in reality, there probably wasn’t much harm to come from it. The town and region had to make do with the governor they had—and now he’d seen a little more, spoken to more people, the neglect he’d suspected was more apparent than real. What was real was the resentment towards the governor, though it was limited to people who dealt with him the most. That worried him—but there was precious little he could do about it. The best hope was his majesty recalling his son and replacing him, and that was probably unlikely to happen.
He was preparing to leave the barracks, on his way to make his routine inspection of the building site, when a soldier came up and saluted.
“Sir, his highness the governor is here to see you.”
“Again?” He resisted the temptation to sigh. “Very good—please escort his highness to my office, and have someone bring drizu. Oh, and send a message over to the site to say I’m likely to be late.”
The soldier bowed and ran off. Wepizi did sigh then, as he walked back to his office. He hoped this wouldn’t take too long.
Ten minutes later—much longer than he expected, and after the drizu had been delivered—he heard the slow, limping step on the verandah outside his office, and got up to admit the prince. To his surprise, the man was alone, other than a soldier acting as guide.
“Good morning, your highness—please come in,” Wepizi said, dismissing the soldier and taking the prince’s arm.
The man seemed tired, and glad of his help getting to the chair. “I apologise for interrupting your routine yet again, tezrei, but I knew there was need for haste. I came to tell you I’m happy to authorise the extension of the infirmary to accommodate the research laboratory. Please go ahead and make the changes to your building plans.”
“Your highness...this is very good news. But how?”
“May I have some of that drizu or are you keeping it for someone else?” Hastily Wepizi remembered his manners, and poured out a mug, handing it to the prince. “Thank you. I have to tell you this in confidence, and I want the extension also arranged with as little fuss as possible. I don’t want the elders to be aware of it.”
“I don’t understand—”
The prince sipped his drizu. “The funds are still not available but I have decided to pay for it from my own fortune. However, that is a very limited pot, and this is strictly one off, do you understand? I don’t have a lot of money, and what I have, I plan to use to secure Neime’s future. I receive, as you know, an allowance from the state for my work here, and I have written to my father for permission to extend the infirmary. If he and the council refuse, then I’ve authorised them to withhold my allowance to repay the expense. Neime doesn’t know about any of this, and I must insist you not tell him, nor hint at it in any way.”
Wepizi sat back in his chair, frankly stunned. “Your highness, this is...most generous. Very generous indeed.” The prince dismissed his gratitude with an irritable wave of his weak hand. “But why?”
The prince stared at him in an almost hostile manner. “Because it’s something this region desperately needs, and unlike all the other things it desperately needs, this is something I can do and do now. I can’t afford a bridge or the locks, or a new road. I can afford this. But I won’t eat into Ne
ime’s inheritance further. He’s served me loyally for seven years, and turned down promotions which would have brought him influence and fortune. He deserves a reward and by Sephiz, he shall have it.”
“Which is just and generous, your highness. I only hope his majesty and council will see the wisdom of your decision, and decide to fund this themselves.”
“Unlikely,” the prince said dryly. “This expansion is the first major project in this region in thirty years. It suffers because it’s so remote and now because its governor is disliked by the council—not just here in Dizeindo. If my brother didn’t have ideas above his station, I doubt we would even have this now. We must be grateful for small gifts, tezrei.”
Wepizi blinked. “Your highness—you’re a prince of the blood. Why does the council dislike you?”
“Long story. Like you, I regret I don’t wish to speak of my past.”
He acknowledged the barb. “As you wish, your highness. However...may I be frank?”
“When are you not, tezrei?”
Oh, you have no idea, my prince. “Your...lack of popularity here, in the town...is something you could change.”
“Unlikely. Unless I can scatter largesse around and make promises I have no hope of keeping, they’ll persist in their disdain. Which only bothers me when it hinders my job. Which it doesn’t.”
“Are you sure about that, your highness?”
That got him a princely glare. “Permission to be frank does not imply permission to be rude, tezrei. Anyway, I’ve delivered my message—do I have your word to keep this quiet?”
“On my honour as an officer, of course,” he said, bowing. “This is a noble act, your highness.”
“Consider it...an apology.” The prince’s chin jutted out stubbornly as he stared hard at Wepizi.
“An apology which I accept, your highness.”
“Good. I...would like to inspect the site again, but I confess I found the other day a trial.”
“If you can give me a day, your highness, I can make it easier for you. It’s not very accessible now, though.”
“Then I’ll return. I wouldn’t want to put you to the trouble of visiting me again, would I? Since it wasn’t convenient, I mean.”
“My convenience is at yours, your highness.”
“Hmmm—prettily said. You belong at court, tezrei.” He drank more drizu, then set the mug down and got heavily to his feet. “Let me know when I can come. I would like to meet your engineer again—his ideas were interesting. Perhaps...uh....”
“Perhaps I could host a meal for you and my officers?” Wepizi said, covering the man’s obvious discomfort. “Would that be convenient?”
“My convenience is at yours,” he repeated in an ironic tone, but he wasn’t scowling, at least. “Arrange it, let me know.”
“As you wish, your highness. Allow me to walk you out.”
“Call a soldier, man, don’t you have better things to do? You have an infirmary to extend, among other things.”
Wepizi hid his smile behind his hand, stroking his moustache instead. “Yes, of course. Give me a moment to call someone.”
Well, well, well. Isn’t that an interesting development, Lema? Sephiz does spread his love in some most unusual ways.
~~~~~~~~
The town walls were an excellent place for quiet contemplation and already Wepizi’s soldiers were, in just two weeks, used to his eccentricity. He barely excited more than a glance after the regulation salutes as he climbed up and found his favourite perch behind the palisades. It was a cloudy night, but hardly cold, and it was pleasant looking back down over the city, with the small points of light here and there, candles in windows, people walking with lamps, all lawfully and peacefully going about their business. But it wasn’t the citizens of Dizeindo occupying his thoughts tonight. He wanted this quiet time to talk to Lema about the surprising development of the morning, and what it had revealed about their most puzzling and confusing prince governor.
What’s going on, my beloved? I’ve really failed in charity, haven’t I? Made a judgement based on hearsay and limited interaction, and condemned the man unfairly. I would have taken more time getting to know the least of my soldiers, than I have for this man. So...what do I do now? Neime wants me to be his friend—but a charity friend is hardly worthy of anyone.
But perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t just something Prince Juimei needed. It was different for him now, being top of the hierarchy. Before, he had officers of the same rank as him around him. His fellow leps had been good friends in Tsikiugui, and their families had welcomed him and been so very kind when Lema died. But here...he was a stranger, without peers. His junior officers were pleasant people, good soldiers—but there would always be that barrier of inequality between them which made true honesty, true relaxation impossible. It hadn’t really hit him until today, how lonely it could be at the top of the pile, and he envied the prince with his loyal, intelligent companion forever at his side.
Almost like a marriage, I suppose. He wondered what Neime got out of it. If he wasn’t in love with his master, he had given up his chance of a normal married family life to be an attendant on an ill-tempered, disabled prince. Unless he had some ulterior motive, it was selflessness well above the call of duty. But his prince appreciated the sacrifice, at least. That gratitude counted greatly in his highness’s favour. A recognition of fault, of debt, of honour—it meant the man was far from irredeemable. If only he wasn’t so crotchety and capricious, there would be much to like.
Ah, Lema—does this duty lie upon me? To make a friend out of him, because he needs it, or because I do? Tell me what to do, beloved.
He let the silence of the night fill him, so he could listen to the spirit of his dear wife, who was always with him. Sometimes, he could almost feel her arms around him again, feel her breath against his ear—sometimes. Other times, she seemed so far away. At those times, he felt very alone indeed.
Would he be granted the grace of feeling her with him tonight? He closed his eyes. Lema, my dear one...let me feel you with me? I need your wisdom.
And then, gentle as a night breeze, as warm as autumn sun, he felt her mind brush his. What should I do, Lema?
No answer, but still he could hear her advice clear as if she stood there with him. “Give it time,” she would say. “Let him find a way out of his pain.” Which was what he had to do, and he knew it.
The ache never left him, and when he felt so close to her, yet knowing he couldn’t touch her, it drove him almost to despair with the pain of it. I miss you, Lema. Blessed god, how I miss you. One day, I’ll be with you again.
But that would not be for a very long time. The empty years ahead yawned, and at times like this, he didn’t know how he would ever get through them. He opened his eyes, and found his cheeks cooling where tears had fallen. He hadn’t even felt them before. “Always remember you, Lema. I’ll always love you. To the day I die and beyond.”
Only the silence of the night greeted him. Would he really find an end to his pain one day? Would he have to forget Lema to do that, or was there a way to get past his grief while still holding onto the love?
He had no idea. But while he lived, while he waited to be reunited with her, he had to be true to the beliefs they both held, the faith that had been her life-long comfort and his too. Prince Juimei was reaching out to him, however clumsily, and somehow, Wepizi had to find it within him to respond with kindness and friendship. He just wished the man had better manners—it would make it so much easier.
Home Ground: 10
Juimei felt rather odd as he left the barracks. He was relieved he had made this apology—it had been on his conscience, and not just because he had come so close to losing Neime over it. He felt...elated, almost, to have been able to directly change something for the good, to have it in his power so firmly to make this decision which would benefit this region in years to come. But it was also a reminder of his impotence, that real change, really important decisions, could not be
made unless he decided to become a rogue and disregard the authority of Visiqe—which he would not do just to boost his own ego, because it would harm too many people.
It also reminded him there could be no real connection between him and the people he governed, even those of high rank, like this tezrei—whose eyes were kind, Neime was right, even though that moustache distracted him every time he looked at him. Even though isolation was what he craved, what he needed...sometimes it got rather lonely, even with Neime constantly at his side.
The spring added a little beauty to this dull town. In nearly four years, he had rarely left the governor’s residence, but there had been little incentive to do so. He missed Visiqe, the mountains and the liveliness. Admittedly, Dizeindo might not be so bad if he’d had the ability to explore it, but he hadn’t.
So many of the pursuits he’d loved were denied him now, and though he liked to read, and his work kept him occupied, he missed hunting, doig-ito, sparring with his sword master, even the dances at the feasts in the palace. He wouldn’t go to feasts here—the pain of watching people enjoy the music and move with an ease forever beyond his ability, was more torture than he had courage to face. If he’d been less fit and agile before, it wouldn’t be so bad now—if he’d been older, or had enjoyed the physical pleasures less—but the contrast only got more unbearable as the years passed, and his glory days further and further beyond his ability to recover them.
He flexed his weak leg. Some days he thought it was a little better—but if he was tired, it refused to obey him at all. He was tired today—he’d slept so badly, yet again. He might even have to resort to some of the soporific tea the healer had once or twice prescribed to him, though he hated the thick-headedness it left him with. What he really needed was physical exercise—and that, he simply couldn’t get.
Neime was in their office, and tried to look unconcerned. “Did it go well?”
“Well enough. He’s accepted my apology, so we’re no longer at war.” So far as Neime was concerned, that was what Juimei’s visit had been about, and he wasn’t about to enlighten him.
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 31