“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Juimei said gruffly. “Not much of a life for you, is it?”
“It’s a very good life, and the only thing that would improve it would be knowing you were happier. Now, practice smiling for me, like a good little governor.”
His mouth quirked at his page’s cheekiness. I take myself too seriously.
Their moustache-bearing tezrei was in immaculate best-uniform, a tall, slim figure in smart black and yellow sash, the terrifying facial hair combed and waxed to perfection, and looking nearly as sharp as his dress sword. He smiled warmly as Juimei was helped out of the doig-trap. “Welcome, your highness, Neime. Everything’s in readiness—I wondered if you would like to inspect the soldiers before we left?”
Inspections—ah, yes, something his father used to do in Visiqe. “That would be in order, tezrei. Lead the way.”
Thirty soldiers had been selected as a suitable complement, but there were at least fifty others also arrayed for inspection, though not in best-uniforms. The three leps and five of the ten jirens were also there. Juimei did his best to imitate his father’s regal manner—well, as best he could with a limp and a cane. It was, he had to admit, an impressive display, and he said so. “Very good, soldiers. A credit to the king and council. Tezrei, have those not coming with us stand down.”
The order was smartly given, and after an impeccably executed mass salute, the non-essential soldiers were dismissed. “Excellent display, Tezrei. You and your officers are to be complimented.” The junior officers grinned at that—amazing his praise meant anything at all to them. “Is everything ready for us?”
“Just bringing your carriage around now, your highness.” Wepizi signalled to one of the jirens, who whistled an order, and shortly afterwards, the carriage was led into the courtyard. It was as impressive as Juimei remembered it. Even the usually scruffy-looking doigs gained some elegance from the bright metal-chased harnesses and feathered head pieces, their shaggy coats combed into a semblance of tidiness.
Wepizi solemnly inspected the vehicle, and then took the reins from his soldier. “At your convenience, your highness,” he said, bowing.
They didn’t make a bad picture once the three of them were seated. Whatever people thought of him, the carriage looked appropriately vice-regal, at least, and the tezrei would make anyone look important, sitting next to them. His dress sword was unusually fine, Juimei noted. “Is that standard issue, Tezrei?”
“This? Not exactly, though within regulations. A gift for when I made lep. From my wife,” he added.
Juimei knew better than to make any comment on that fact. “It’s very well-made,” he said briefly, and won a polite nod. Neime just smiled at them both.
The soldiers marched ahead, led by a jiren, sword held out in front of him, and the stamp of perfectly coordinated feet and the shouted commands drew people out on the street to admire and stare. Juimei kept a fixed smile on his face, and after Neime whispered a hint, remembered to wave a little too. He even got the odd cheer here and there, which surprised him. “People don’t have much to do, do they?” he muttered to his page.
“Nonsense, they’re impressed. Wouldn’t you say, Wepizi?”
“Certainly. It adds a little colour and drama to their lives, so it’s a good thing. It’s part of the role of leader, to inspire and entertain.”
“If I’d wanted to entertain, tezrei, I’d have gone into the theatre.”
“I’m sure you’d have been a great success, your highness,” he said, bowing politely, but the twinkle in his eye took away all offence and made Neime smile, so Juimei didn’t mind being the butt of the joke.
The square was half full by the time they arrived—not just with the children, but their parents, siblings, teachers, and the mayor, elders and their spouses, all in their finest clothes. The stamp of the soldiers’ marching drew attention even from the busy market holders and their customers, and people came out from the shops on the square to watch. Neime had been right to insist on him making an effort, by the look of it. Normally the ceremony was held in the school grounds, but once Juimei had agreed to attend, and Wepizi’s soldiers arranged, it had been moved to the square—a fact which didn’t delight Juimei as it made him feel much more exposed, but was too late to change now. All he could do was make the most of it.
He made himself smile as the carriage drew them close to the permanent stone dais, and the mayor and elders rose to greet him. He was startled as the crowd cheered—for a moment, it was like being back on the ito field, and he was briefly confused as to what he should do. But then Wepizi took his arm and helped him carefully from the carriage, Neime behind him—he waved to the crowd and smiled again, before being led, again with great care, up the steps and onto the dais.
The mayor, all got up in his most regal robes and chains, bowed, his expression carefully blank. Juimei returned the gesture with an equally unreadable polite look. He’d never forgiven this man’s insult against his father, and he very much doubted the mayor would get over his reaction to that slander, but today was not an appropriate time to rake up old grudges. The mayor wore a deepest purple overshirt, and equally expensive dark red trousers, either of which would cost a labourer three months’ wages. Well, if you can afford the tax, sirrah, you can flaunt your wealth to those who might be impressed. But I’m not, most assuredly.
The other elders, more modestly attired but still clearly having made an effort for the occasion, bowed as he moved towards the chair set aside for him. A woman stepped forward and introduced herself as the senior teacher. “Such an honour to have you here today, your highness.”
“Thank you. Carry on, please—let me know when you want me to speak.”
She bowed and let him sit. So far so good—he hadn’t tripped, at least. He grasped his cane tightly and tried not to seem as terrified as he felt, looking out over the sea of smiling faces. Sephiz’s beard, there were a lot more than two hundred people here—more like four hundred. The soldiers must have made them curious.
The teacher welcomed everyone, and introduced their governor and their new tezrei, before announcing the soldiers would now demonstrate some of their marching and sword skills. The guests up on the podium had the best view of course, but even for the audience below, it must have been an enjoyable spectacle. This kind of display was very popular in Visiqe, and Juimei felt a fresh twinge of homesickness as he watched the immaculate drill, the elaborate patterns formed by soldiers working in perfect harmony, and then, the mock sword fights which, though they looked quite alarming, were quite safe for these trained men and women. Neime was spell-bound. Juimei smiled—all this was worth it if Neime was enjoying himself. And it was no bad thing, as Wepizi had said, to bring a little colour into people’s lives.
As the sword display ended, the jiren marched the squad up to the podium—Juimei was expected to take a salute, so he got to his feet.
“For king and council!” the jiren cried, the words immediately repeated in a united shout from the soldiers. The crowd joined in, and then applauded, applause which went on for some time.
Juimei could only smile and bow, taking the salute on behalf of his father and the council, oddly touched by this united display of loyalty and patriotism. He opened his mouth to thank the soldiers—but stopped, frowning, as a dull roar rose in the east. A moment later, the podium, stone though it was, shook a little. Crashes and rattles, at first distant, then all around the square, travelled towards them like a wave. His mind went blank, unable to instantly understand the clues, but others were faster off the mark.
“Earthquake!” someone yelled.
People flung themselves to the ground. Wepizi grabbed him and pulled him flat as the podium—the whole square—started vibrating wildly. Children shrieked at deafening cracks and crashes—buildings rocking on their foundations, roofs collapsing. Steam hissed and whistled shockingly loud as thermal pipes cracked. Doigs screamed in terror, infants, crushed protectively tight to frightened mothers, wai
led in protest, but through it all Wepizi’s arm remained tightly over Juimei’s head, protecting him. And someone—Neime—lay over his back, also guarding him. The podium rocked, rose and fell, like water, not solid stone, disorienting, nauseating.
It would never end—Juimei had never been so terrified in his life, and only the protective grip Wepizi and Neime had on him, kept him from outright panic.
His heart raced so fast, he wanted to be sick, and he didn’t know if he wanted to scream in raw fear or just run like hell. He was absolutely certain he was going to die. And still the weight of the two men anchored him, calmed him, as the shaking, the juddering, the sheer bloody noise went on and on.
But even the worst earthquake could not last forever. The shaking stopped as suddenly as it started, leaving the square in deathly silence—no one moved, no one cried out. Everyone waited, as Juimei did, to see if it was truly over, and slightly stunned to find themselves still alive and in one piece. He lifted his head—and immediately saw the amount of damage even just around the square. Market stalls toppled, their wares spilled across the stone, the skyline transformed in moments as whole buildings had collapsed. His only comfort was that those nearest the square, at least, were mostly still standing.
Now the sounds began again—children crying, people reacting, and starting to run towards their homes. His thoughts clicked instantly into place, what he needed to do suddenly perfectly clear. He pushed at Neime to get off him, and cried, “Stop! Wepizi, make them stop! Help me up, now!”
Wepizi, leaping up, shouted for his soldiers to make people stay in the square, then hauled Juimei to his feet.
“People, listen to me! Everyone, stay where you are!” Juimei yelled. The audience were getting up, mothers hugging their crying children close, staring up at him with raw terror in their eyes.
“We have to get back to the house! My mother’s there,” a man shouted, getting to his feet and starting to run off. A quick-thinking soldier jumped up and grabbed him, but if Juimei didn’t take control, there’d be a riot.
“No, wait! Everyone, stay where you are!”
“My mother!”
“I know but if you go rushing in, you’ll be trapped too!” The man, struggling in the soldier’s grip, wasn’t persuaded, but there were more people than him to worry about. “Let’s do this properly. This is lep Wepizi, tezrei of this region. He and the army will coordinate all rescues, and I’m placing the town under my direct command, emergency rule, as of this moment.”
The mayor was dusting himself off. “Your highness, I believe that I—”
Juimei dismissed his words with a cutting motion of his hand. “I’m taking charge, Mayor—don’t argue with me. Right—everyone, come closer so you can hear me, I can’t speak any louder than this.”
The soldiers repeated the command and herded people closer, and others, rushing to the square, were also directed closer to the podium. People from the market came closer, and in a few minutes, everyone was crowded close enough that he could reach them with his voice.
“All right. I need all the fit adult men to come forward.” About thirty men immediately approached. “Any of you with medical experience? Anyone here at all?” A handful of men and women raised their hands. “All of you, remain here. Tezrei, I’m seconding all the others temporarily to your command.”
“Very good, your highness.”
“Wait a minute! We’ve got to check on our homes!”
“We have to check on everyone’s homes, sir, but the army has to coordinate this, so we don’t end up with a bigger mess. Right—all the children over fourteen, come forward.”
“Jui?” Neime asked in a low voice.
“I know what I’m doing,” he muttered as the children approached, rather warily. He raised his voice again. “Listen to me—we need people to carry messages. The army will need runners, I’ll need runners, and so will the infirmary. Who among you is willing to help?”
Every child raised their hand, despite the muted protests of their parents. “Excellent—you make me proud of you. Right—Tezrei, you’re in charge of these as well, except....” He made a rapid reassessment, looking around the square. “Neime, take those with medical experience and five runners over to the infirmary. If it’s damaged, bring what you can out of the building and into the square here. Don’t take the children inside—use them for messages only. Go on!”
“Yes, your highness.”
Neime quickly selected the children he needed, and then he and the others ran across the square. The building looked all right from here, but there could be internal damage—he had to trust his page would have the sense to know to keep the children safe.
“Tezrei, I need two soldiers, and those two need five runners.” Wepizi pointed at two of his people, who came forward. “Right—you’re my line of communication with my residence. Go up to the residence, find out if it’s secure, tell them to be ready to receive displaced and possibly injured people. Also warn the kitchens they will be needed for large-scale production. Market holders? Hands up?” A number of hands were raised. “Your fresh food supplies will have to be commandeered—you’ll be compensated properly. Go with a soldier, see what’s safe to retrieve, bring it back here.” He turned to the soldiers going up to his residence. “Supplies will be sent to you. Send a runner back to me with a report on the status. Now go.”
The soldiers saluted and peeled off. He could have let them use the carriage, but he was afraid it wasn’t safe to do so—better to keep it until they knew how much damage and rubble there was. He had a horrible feeling it was pretty bad—around them, dust and smoke rose up into the air, a sign that many buildings had collapsed.
“Everyone else—if you’re not being directed to do something, stay here. You’re safe here, and we know where you are. Tezrei, use your runners to bring the reports back—don’t put them at risk. Children—you go directly between the barracks and me. Don’t go back to your houses, don’t go inside any building and don’t run off. We’re putting our trust in you. Now, do your best for king and council!”
There was a ragged cheer, and then Wepizi saluted. “I’ll find out if the barracks is standing—we have tents which can be temporary shelter.”
“See to it. Keep people out of the buildings and houses for now, even if they’re apparently sound—there might be aftershocks. I’ll start recording who’s safe and who’s missing. Leave me another three soldiers, please, and the jiren, and send a squad more back once you know what’s happening up there. Go!”
Wepizi left at a run, followed by the remnants of his squad. As soon as he left, the crowd surged forward, and people shouted their complaints.
“We need to check on our home!”
“My mother’s trapped!”
“What about my shop?”
“Who’s paying for my cheese?”
He gave the speaker of that last bizarre complaint a wry look, though shock did strange things to people’s good sense. The jiren and the soldiers moved in front of the podium, a small enough barrier—Juimei had to control this himself. “Everyone, listen! We can’t have ad hoc rescues—that’s how more people get trapped. Mothers, I need you to look after the smaller children. Mayor Gixiel, your residence seems to have survived—can you go and check, and bring back means of recording who’s safe?”
The blasted man had his mouth open to argue even before he’d finished speaking. “Your highness, with respect, I should be—”
“Have you dealt with this kind of thing before?”
“No, but—”
“Well, I have. I’m in charge, got it? Anyone else want to argue?”
The other elders shook their heads sheepishly, and finally the mayor agreed, though with ill grace. Juimei didn’t give a damn about his hurt feelings—this was no time for petty squabbles. “Elders, each of you will take charge of your division, and record who is here and who is not. We’ll all have to sleep outdoors, at least tonight—at least those who can’t be accommodated in the stronger
buildings. For now, priority goes to the injured. When the soldiers get back, we’ll make an organised search, start bringing out supplies and bedding. Everyone, just be patient—and no one is to leave the square without my permission or the permission of the jiren. I don’t want anyone to go missing. I suggest everyone sits down for now—it’ll be a long day.”
The energy that had rushed through him as he realised what had happened, made his heart pound, and his thoughts all incredibly sharp and clear—he’d last felt this alive when he’d been in the thick of a doig-ito match. But this was no game, and he was acutely aware that behind the square and what they could see from here, there could be dozens, if not hundreds of people dead, dying or horribly injured. He had to keep control and he had to keep people calm—if they were already safe, he had to keep them that way. It was hard to believe it had all happened so fast—it had been barely five minutes since the quake had ended.
He climbed carefully down the podium steps so he could get closer to the crowd. There were quite a number of very small children here—for now, their mothers kept them calm, but they, along with the elderly, would be the most vulnerable. He had to get them somewhere safe.
“Your highness!”
One of the runners. “Yes, son?”
“Neime said to tell you the infirmary is sound, and there are ten beds free.”
“Thank you. Go back, tell him he’s to take charge of organising things there, and to prepare for a large number of wounded. We’ll bring him supplies as soon as we can. Repeat it, please.”
The boy did so, and Juimei sent him off, telling him sternly to remain either near the infirmary or to come back to the square. The runner from the mayor’s house had also returned—it was in reasonable shape, a little minor damage but no more. The building was one of the oldest and most robust in the town, and like the residence, could be assumed to be capable of withstanding aftershocks if it had made it through the initial quake. Later, they might be able to use it as accommodation for the most needy, but for now, it would be their kitchen. He ordered the mayor to tell his staff to be ready to supply hot food, water and bread for at least as many people as were in the square now—he would have to get supplies in for them to do this. Three women were asked to be runners for the residence—he wanted the square to remain the centre of control for now.
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 34