Neime smiled as he came into the foyer. “Nice to see you again, Wepizi. Did the rain cause you a lot of problems?”
“Not too many, and we need the rain too. How are you, my friend?”
“Fine—always busy. His highness, uh...wondered, if you turned up close to lunch, you might like to join him. If it’s convenient.”
“Of course—it would be a pleasure.” To tell the truth, he’d chosen this time of day to arrive, just to see what would happen—he hadn’t been disappointed. Someone’s manners were improving.
Neime beamed at him. “Wonderful. Come along then.”
The prince rose to greet him as Neime led him into the office. “Good morning, tezrei. I hope this isn’t troublesome for you?”
“Not in the least, your highness,” he said, bowing.
“Your highness,” Neime broke in to say, “Wepizi says he can stay for lunch. Why don’t I go and organise that, and then I have to meet with the treasurer.”
“Now? Oh...yes, all right. Sorry you can’t join us, Neime. You’re more than welcome to.”
His assistant wasn’t taking the broad hint. “Oh, Wepizi can look after things, and there’s no point us all being tied up. I’ll see you soon, Wepizi.”
Wepizi bowed again, and Neime left the room. Not very subtle, he thought, hiding his smile behind his hand. Then he brought his documents over to the prince. “Everything’s laid out there, your highness,” he said, handing them across the desk.
“Thank you. Please sit.” Wepizi did so, and the prince took his seat as well, unrolling the report as he did so. “That was a good deal of rain we had—there was flooding a mile below the town, so I heard.”
“Yes—near the lock weir. We’re attending to it. I could arrange for you to inspect the site, if you want.”
The prince’s head lifted. “Me?” He coughed. “Uh...tezrei, you seem to forget....”
“Your highness, please, call me Wepizi. And no, I haven’t forgotten. I’ve made enquiries and we have several very quiet, well-trained doigs which you could easily control with a single hand. I knew a man in Tsikiugui who had lost an arm and he still could ride well enough.”
“It’s not my arm so much as my leg, tezrei...Wepizi. I have little strength on that side. I couldn’t afford a second fall—not after the first one was so devastating.”
“No, indeed. I heard it was an ito match—did you fall from a doig? That was how you were hurt?”
The prince shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Not the fall so much as the two kicks to the head I got from the other mounts. I’m told I was lucky not to have died.” He didn’t sound all that pleased that he hadn’t.
“Fortunate, yes, though I’m sorry it’s left you disabled.” The blunt use of the word got him a hard look, which he ignored—he didn’t believe in pretending things weren’t as they were. “Your highness—”
“Juimei. My, uh...friends...call me Juimei. Or Jui. You may use which you like.”
Wepizi bowed his head. “‘Jui’ is felicitous, since it’s an archaic word for ‘strength’ in Darshianese.”
The prince sat up, looking rather startled. “Is it? I don’t really speak the language—you do?”
“Yes—I learned through the army’s training, and have had plenty of chance to use it. It’s not the easiest tongue to learn though, with all the tones.”
“It sounds rather sing-song to me. I have no facility with languages, I’m afraid. With this,” he gestured at his mouth, “I’m lucky to be able to speak Andonese.”
“You’re perfectly clear, Jui.” It was odd to use the man’s pet name like this, but Wepizi could hardly ask him to use his own name, and continue to insist on a title. “Ah, what I was about to say was—learning to ride again, even with your injury, wouldn’t be impossible. It sounds as if it’d improve the quality of your life a great deal.”
The prince looked away, up towards the window, his mouth set in a tight line. “I...don’t like being stared at. People do, you know. And they snigger at the way I talk. Children mock how I limp. It’s...painful beyond words. I used to be...I was the doig-ito champion, in Visiqe. Royal team captain. There was very little beyond my ability—now, I’m grateful to walk at all. It’s humiliating that...uh...people see the wreck I’ve become. Forgive me for imposing these personal thoughts on you.”
“Not at all. I know this all must be a terrible trial for you...and yet...if you had a friend who was in a similar situation, and was not doing something that would be important to them, just because of the opinion of foolish strangers...what would you tell them to do?”
“Ignore them and get on with it, I suppose. Different when I’m the one being stared at.”
“Yes, it must be.”
“I don’t want to talk about this. I’m sorry.”
“As you wish.”
Conversation moved to the upcoming school visit. A squad had been selected, and it had been agreed with the senior teacher that they would give a short demonstration of formation marching and sword work in the town square before the attending officials and audience. There could be as many as two hundred people there, including the mayor and elders, and it was an opportunity for Wepizi to introduce himself as well.
“Should impress the little bastards,” the prince muttered. “You’re not a father, are you?”
“No, that blessing wasn’t granted to me.” He smiled politely as he said it. “Nor you, I take it.”
“Never been married. I...uh...nearly life-bonded with someone once, though.”
“Someone...with a moustache?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly, much was clear. “Ah. And someone who...?”
“Someone who cast me aside when I was injured, as unwanted goods, tezrei. Have I humiliated myself enough for you now?”
The fierce scowl could not conceal the wounded look in the man’s eyes. “To be unlucky in love, your highness, isn’t a humiliation any more than to be injured. It’s just one of the things that happens in life.”
“Like losing a spouse?”
Wepizi’s smile tightened. “Yes, like that.”
“You still hold it against me, don’t you. What I said—even though I apologised.” He sighed. “Can’t blame you. It was repulsive of me.”
“It’s not that.” He tried to loosen the muscles in his face, take the tension out of his voice. “I...find it very hard to talk about her to people who didn’t know her.”
The prince looked at him then, staring hard at him, though without any apparent anger. “So...she’s your disability, in a way.”
“Yes, I suppose she is. Like you, I have to find a way to live with it, because it’s not going away. But what I will tell you, is that it’s possible to live with such pain. The benevolent god asks no more than we can bear—and if he has given you this burden, he must believe you’re strong, stronger than most people.”
“Rot,” the prince said with a derisive snort. “The benevolent god abandoned me a long time ago. There’s no benevolence about taking a healthy, happy young man and ruining his life. Or killing your wife, or any of the other misfortunes and tragedies. Sephiz is a tyrant. I refuse to acknowledge his dominion over me.”
Wepizi blinked, shocked to his core for the second time while sitting in this office. He started to speak, then realised there was no argument he could muster. Where there was so little faith and trust, there was nothing to add.
“I’ve horrified you, haven’t I?” Juimei said, his mouth twisting wryly. “I’m sorry for that. But I won’t be a hypocrite and say words I don’t believe.”
“No, that would be a sin,” Wepizi murmured, still trying to collect himself. “I regret you’re without the comfort of your belief, that’s all.”
“A great many things were taken from me—that was just one of them. If you’re offended by my blasphemy, I won’t hold it against you if you want to leave.”
“Your beliefs don’t offend me—they sadden me, but I’m used to the company of those who don
’t share my faith. Some of my dearest friends are Darshianese, and as you know, they barely have a religion worth the name.”
“Ah, yes. I wonder which is stranger—their gods without power, or the Prij with those capricious ones they worship. I don’t know how they keep them all straight.”
Lunch arrived then, the same simple menu as before, and it was left to Wepizi to manage the dishes and plates. The prince, he noted, had a poor appetite, something that might be improved with more opportunities for physical exercise. He was already thinking of ways to get around his highness’s physical limitations, as well as his need for privacy—it had to be possible. But the prince’s mind was still on their conversation about Sephiz. Rather to Wepizi’s surprise, he spoke about the comparative religions of Andon, Darshian and Kuprij, a subject on which, apparently, he had a good deal of interest. Though he didn’t speak Darshianese or Prijian, Juimei was well-informed, even rather scholarly in his knowledge—certainly he knew more about the Prijian religion than Wepizi did, and his dry comments about this or that god and their supposed powers, startled Wepizi into laughter several times. He was still chuckling over the last acid remark when Neime came in and did a double-take to see them like that.
“Ah, Neime, we were just finishing.”
Neime came over to the table they were using, and pulled up a chair. “Looks like I missed all the fun.”
“His highness—”
“Jui,” the prince corrected sternly, though smiling a little.
Neime’s eyes widened, and Wepizi rather thought his highness enjoyed the surprise. “Jui,” he amended, “has been telling me how the world is basically a lump of urs beast dung rolled into a ball and given life by the breath of Lord Niko. Which must come as a dreadful shock to Sephiz.”
“Do you suppose the gods get into fist fights?” Neime said, grinning.
“No need—Sephiz would win, and the others don’t exist anyway,” Wepizi said calmly, which made Juimei snort in disgust. “Where did you learn all this, and why, Jui?”
The prince sat back in his chair, holding his mug of drizu. “Had a tutor when I was a lad, who’d lived on Kuprij for a bit—this was before the war with the Darshianese, of course. Even before the first invasion—before they got too big for their boots. He knew a lot about their culture—he tried to teach me Prijian but damned if I could pick it up. I can read it, a little, but speaking it—impossible. He taught me about their gods and their history, and then I learned more about Darshian from another tutor I had, though he didn’t last as long. You get information from all sorts of places, living in the palace.”
“Like the army—we meet people who’ve travelled all over Periter, and you pick up facts from being around them.”
“Not a dissimilar process, I imagine.” He seemed to realise he’d relaxed quite a lot in front of a subordinate, and became self-conscious again. “Uh...Neime...the tezrei will want to be getting back to his barracks. Wepizi, thank you for coming—a most informative and interesting conversation.”
“Yes, for me also. So you’ll come to the barracks at ten and we’ll depart from there?”
“Yes, yes, whatever’s the least trouble. Neime?”
Wepizi bowed again, and followed Neime out. The man stopped him on the steps of the residence. “You made him laugh,” he said in an awed tone.
“He made me laugh, actually. It was most enjoyable.”
Neime shook his head. “You don’t understand—I’ve heard him laugh three times in four years. And never with anyone else, and never like that. You made him laugh.” He smiled, but his eyes were suspiciously bright. “I will be forever in your debt.”
“No need to be, my friend. Neime—I think I can teach him to ride again, if he’ll permit it. Right now, he won’t.”
“I’ll work on him, if you think it’s truly possible—is it? It’d be a miracle if he could. He wants it so badly, but I don’t think he dares try. You can’t blame him.”
“I don’t, and yes, I do think it’s possible. Let me put my mind to it.”
Neime smiled, looking far younger than he’d done since Wepizi first met him. Certainly less worried and stressed. “Sephiz sent you—I know he sent you. He’s done so much more in this last month than he’s done in years—and he’s agreed to go to the school prize-giving. I’ve been trying to get him to do that since he arrived.”
“He’s healing. Time will do that. Your friendship too—I can’t take any credit, not in such a short time.”
“Maybe. But I’m still grateful. I just hope this school thing goes well. I’ll strangle any child that laughs at him, truly I will.”
“Ah,” Wepizi said thoughtfully, stroking his moustache. “Would you like me to have a quiet word with the senior teacher? Or Jiren Heininke can, perhaps—he’s the one with the daughter there. I’m sure the teacher would be sympathetic.”
“If you think it would help, please do. It would be a disaster if he was humiliated by the experience.”
“No, not a disaster,” he said firmly. “Upsetting, yes—but you and I can help him keep it in perspective. Don’t worry about it. Now, I really have to go.”
“Thank you. Sephiz bless you, Wepizi.”
“He already has,” he said with a smile, then raised his hand in farewell.
He had a lot to think about as he rode back to the barracks. Truly, their governor was a curious creature. One who might be well worth studying.
Home Ground: 12
The day of the prize-giving dawned bright and clear, and the fact he could not plead the weather, increased Juimei’s sense of dread. Only knowing how much it would disappoint Neime, prevented him using a very real headache as an excuse for getting out of this nonsense. The more he’d thought about it, the more nervous and reluctant he’d become—the potential for humiliation was enormous, considering who would be there, and he was certain the children would find him a disappointment.
The previous governor, Count Fiezenai, had been a great tewi of a man, majestic and imposing, with a twinkle in his eyes and a ready hand for everyone. The staff at the residence still spoke of him with respect and affection, and he was much missed, still deeply mourned after his death the previous year. Juimei was little more than a pale shadow of his predecessor, and the only time he’d been presented to a large section of the population—at his inauguration four years ago—he’d seen the surprise and disapproval when the grand prince the people had been expecting turned out to be this pathetic, limping creature with the peculiar voice. Even now his stomach knotted up in memory of that occasion, and he wondered again, despairingly, why he had agreed to this business at all. It had been a momentary weakness, and one he would have leisure to regret.
Neime seemed oblivious to his mood, and went about the business of selecting an appropriate outfit for the ceremony, as if it made a damn bit of difference what he wore. “Something bright, I think, for the spring. The blue suits you well.”
“No one will be looking at me when the moustache arrives.”
“I think you’re exaggerating,” Neime said severely. “I’ve known bigger.”
“Any bigger and he’d need a wheelbarrow to carry it around in.” Neime chuckled. “I don’t want to do this.”
“You surprise me, your highness. Here I was thinking those miserable looks were because you didn’t like the blue overshirt.”
“Brat. It’ll be a disaster.”
“No, it won’t.” Neime pulled the selected clothes out of the wardrobe and then closed the door. “It could go badly, certainly—any occasion can. If it goes badly, so what? Gimoz told me Count Fiezenai let out an enormous fart at the prize-giving a few years ago, just as the mayor got up to speak. His honour was very pleased, you can imagine, but Fiezenai just laughed, and so did the audience. No one held it against him.”
Considering the count’s personality, people were probably as amused by his great belly laugh at his gaffe as the fart itself. The man’s laugh could have shaken a mountain. “Fiezenai was popula
r. If I farted, that would be different.”
“Doubt it—these things are deadly dull unless you’re the child or a parent. People like something to distract themselves. But it’s not something they resent—it’s just something they remember.”
“I don’t want to be remembered for my damn lisp!”
Neime sighed, coming over and putting his hand on Juimei’s shoulder. “You really don’t lisp. Your voice has improved a lot over the years, you just don’t hear it. You just have to make sure people pay attention to your words instead. You’ve written a lovely speech. It’s funny and interesting. That’s what they’ll remember.”
“Maybe. I’d better get dressed, I suppose.”
They took the doig-trap down the barracks, travelling discreetly—on the way back, he’d be in the beautiful official carriage. It would be a treat for Neime, he supposed—and the stable-master was pleased he was making use of the carriage after all this time. It really was a fine example of the wainwright’s craft—paid for by the count, of course. The governor’s budget had no room for such luxuries, but Count Fiezenai had been wealthy in his own right. So was Juimei, in theory and in a smaller fashion, but his money was all held in Visiqe. He had no private estates as the count had had. He could buy land, build a house here, if he intended to settle down in the region, but that would mean admitting his exile was permanent. It most likely was, and an estate was something he could pass to Neime in his turn—but part of him still had the dim dream of returning to Visiqe and being part of the centre of power once more. Would never happen, he knew. Maybe he would look into buying an estate once the barracks expansion was completed. It was time to accept the reality of his existence, and that things were really never going to change.
It was a beautiful day with no hint of the rain which had drenched them the previous week. They drove quickly past the square, being set up for the ceremony. His heart sank as he saw all the chairs and the podium being decked with flowers. If he didn’t trip, it would be a miracle.
“Your highness, please, calm down.” Neime’s eyes were kind and wise as always. “You’ll have Wepizi with you, and he knows how difficult this will be. We’ll both be there.”
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 33