“I’ll leave it to you, Wepizi. Now, we better get back to work.”
Home Ground: 13
By sunset, they were pretty sure they had accounted for every resident of the town. Fifty-seven people were dead, four hundred and thirty injured, a hundred and twenty of those seriously enough to need constant care. There were now two tents allocated to the infirmary, and thirty civilians had been drafted in to help the three healers and ten army medics. A hundred and fifty people camped in Juimei’s residence, a hundred were in the mayor’s house. Though there were other stone houses standing, Juimei and Wepizi decided they didn’t dare risk putting anyone into them until the aftershocks lessened in intensity. Eleven hundred people—mainly women and children—had been sent outside the city walls to a camp set up and run by the soldiers, who would also sleep there that evening. The army had been able to supply tents for the camp, but no more. Everyone else would have to sleep in the square in the open, on blankets and bedding retrieved from the standing houses, or on what pallets had been hastily made from straw from the still standing stables and stores.
It had been a risk, going into these buildings, but they simply had to retrieve the basics if people were to survive—even things like cups, bowls, spoons and buckets could make a difference to whether they would come through this or not. Juimei had been surveying the damage all day, just from the podium, and getting reports—it seemed more than half Dizeindo had been flattened, and it was very likely that more would have to be knocked down. The camp outside the walls would be in use for a very long time—and would need to be expanded. People could not continue to sleep in the square indefinitely.
He felt exhausted and depressed at the enormity of the task ahead of them. When he sent a runner to extract Neime from the infirmary, and told him that he was stopping now, he could tell his page was in just as bad shape. “We’re going to lose people,” Neime said, his eyes full of misery. “We just don’t have enough medics, space or supplies.”
“You might indeed lose people,” Wepizi said, coming to Juimei’s side. “I know it’s painful, but we can only do what we can do, Neime, and trust to Sephiz for the rest of it. You, we need. You and Juimei must rest, as must I, because people expect us to make decisions for them. Neime, you must make sure Juimei sleeps properly and eats. Your highness—that’s your duty too.”
“And who cares for you, tezrei?”
“My officers and my training,” he said with a weary grin. “I’m used to such conditions—you’re not.” He whistled, and two soldiers came over. “Please get his highness to his residence, and stay up there yourselves. You’re at his disposal until morning.”
The soldiers saluted. “Yes, sir.”
“Sleep well, your highness, Neime. We’re in good shape, considering.”
Juimei acknowledged his words with a bow and a grateful smile, and then they made their slow way out of the square, up towards his residence. They had to walk, of course—there was no room to drive a doig-trap, and all the animals were being used to make the camp, drag wreckage away from trapped people and other heavy jobs. His bad leg refused to cooperate at all, so he was forced to lean heavily on one of the soldiers. Somehow, it wasn’t shameful today to admit a weakness—so many people were in so much worse condition, and they’d all had to turn to each other for help. Though there had been some selfishness and stupidity, he had been heartened by the readiness of most of the citizens to offer that help and to pull together. How long that goodwill would last, he didn’t know—not long, he suspected, if he couldn’t even provide shelter, and livelihoods were ruined.
The residence looked deceptively normal. It was only as he got inside, and was greeted by his staff, who showed him where their guests were staying, that the difference was revealed. The ballroom, the grand dining hall and the smaller function room were full of pallets, just as the square was, and lesser rooms were stacked high with moved furniture. He got a quick, efficient report from his butler, Gimoz, who explained what arrangements had been made both for the elderly and the people who were to assist in their care. The assistants were sleeping upstairs, crowded into the guest bedrooms, but the elderly had to be accommodated on the ground floor.
As Gimoz made his report, Juimei moved towards the ballroom so he could speak to their new residents, many of whom sat or lay on their makeshift beds, though some were sitting on chairs near windows, or walking around rather dazedly, confused and frightened by the loss of family homes—in some cases, possibly even their families. It was dreadful for them, and they would need gentle handling. They would get it from his staff, for sure, and he could only thank his predecessor for having chosen such excellent people to work in the residence.
His appearance was cause for muted rejoicing, and a number of people wanted to shake his hand and thank him for what he’d done—he refrained from saying he’d done virtually nothing, as it was Wepizi and his soldiers and their fellow citizens who had really been hard at it. He spent time thanking his staff and reassuring their new residents, and then excused himself to find his own bed for the night. He found his office had been transformed into a bedroom for four elderly people, but his own bedroom, though there was some extra furniture shoved into a corner, had been left for his own use.
“Surely we could fit a couple of people in here,” he said, looking around distractedly. It seemed sinfully wasteful to have so much space to himself.
“Yes, but they’d keep you awake,” Neime said. “Juimei, sometimes a sacrifice can do more harm than good. I’m going to see if there’s any water to wash with, and get you some food.”
“You shouldn’t have to run after me—not with the day you’ve had.”
“Who else would do it? I won’t be long.”
Juimei let him go—it wasn’t like he could stop him—and slumped onto a chair. Fifty-seven people dead—and more probably would die. To think that this morning the worst thing on his mind was whether he would trip over on the podium.
He sent silent thanks to the memory of the late Count Fiezenai for his advice and accounts of his experiences in earthquakes as a young man. It was he, along with other writers, who had warned about the risk of allowing people to rush back into their homes to retrieve belongings or attempt to rescue people. That wisdom had undoubtedly saved lives today, since the aftershocks had been severe, nearly as terrifying as the original earthquake. But now the danger was more from disease—and if the weather turned wet, from exposure. He simply had no idea how much usable housing was left in the town, and until the aftershocks were done, he dare not explore that option anyway. Wepizi had been muttering about the scandal that the barracks had not been built to earthquake-proof standards, as the new barracks was planned to be—the economy of not doing so on the new houses in the town had proved to be an utterly false one. So far, the signs were that the older houses had survived best—even the wooden ones. The stone buildings seemed to be largely undamaged.
He rubbed his temples—his thoughts were racing and he would never sleep like this. Wepizi was right—he had to rest, be fresh. However inadequate, people were looking to his leadership, and he had a duty to give it to them.
At least he wasn’t entirely on his own. Neime had taken over the infirmary without needing the slightest guidance, which had been a tremendous relief, and Wepizi.... Wepizi had been such a damn relief to have with him all day, and to have him, and not that idiot of a mayor, was just a miracle. It was like they shared a mind—Juimei only had to express a thought and Wepizi was already coming up with a solution, and in a calm, cheerful manner which made it so much easier to stay that way himself. No wonder his people worshiped the ground he walked on—no wonder he’d been chosen as tezrei for the region. The people of the town were damn lucky to have him here at this time.
It seemed wrong that he was sleeping in his own bed tonight, when almost no one else was—and Wepizi would be sleeping out in the open. Soldier or not, that was hard, and they needed Wepizi to be fit and well. He’d have to talk to him
about it in the morning.
By the time Neime had returned, Juimei had stripped off his dusty clothes, and sat in a light robe, wishing he could skip supper and get straight to bed. Still, he smiled at his page, carrying a tray and accompanied by a maid who had a bucket of steaming water, an empty one and cloths for them to use. Neime had found somewhere to wash his face and hands but his clothes were still filthy.
“Is the steam room usable?” he asked the maid.
“No, your highness—we’ve got cracked pipes. But there’s hot water aplenty. We’ve been getting people to wash in the servants’ bathroom, in shifts. So far it’s all going smoothly.”
“Excellent. Thank you for your hard work, my dear.”
She blushed and bowed, then excused herself.
“They’re all exhausted,” Neime said. “But our guests seem to be fairly comfortable—the staff have outdone themselves.”
He set the tray down. Soup and bread, and also water, which was welcome—his throat felt like it was made of ash. “So have you,” he said, waving Neime to sit and start eating. His own appetite was non-existent, but he knew perfectly well it was his duty to eat properly and look after himself. “So far, we’re handling things all right. But I’ll have to go on a tour of the town tomorrow, see what we have to work with. I wonder if we can use the doig-trap.”
“Think about it tomorrow, Jui. I can’t do any more today.”
“No, of course not.” Neime nodded and took one of the bowls for himself, but then he just held it, without making any attempt to eat. “Neime?”
“I...we.... Such terrible injuries...and a little girl died...right there...while I was holding...holding her hand....”
The hands holding the bowl trembled. Juimei took the bowl from Neime’s unresisting grasp and set it on the tray. Then he got up, went to Neime’s side and pulled him into a hug. “You did very well,” he murmured, cradling the lad’s head against him. “You can’t save everyone, but you did very well.”
Neime sobbed, shoulders shaking, and Juimei could only murmur comforting words and stroke his back. This was his fault—throwing the lad at such a horrible job without even a thought of the effect on him. But even regretting that, didn’t mean it had been a bad decision—because Neime had been magnificent, just as Juimei had instinctively known he would be.
“You saved lives. I’m proud of you. Very proud.”
“I’m sorry, Jui.”
“Don’t be silly.” He reached for one of the cloths the maid had brought, and tilted Neime’s face up so he could wipe it gently. “We are—I am—so very lucky you were here today.”
“She died.”
“Yes. She did. And she would have died anyway—but she didn’t die alone. Let it go, Neime. She’s not in pain now.” More tears trickled down, but Neime was bravely pulling himself together. “Come on, eat your food and we’ll get the rest we both need. Have to stay strong, both of us.”
“Yes.” Neime took the cloth from Juimei’s hand and wiped his face again, then picked up his bowl and began to eat, albeit slowly and with no enthusiasm.
Juimei did the same—the soup was good, even with the pressure the kitchens had to be under now. Soup would be a mainstay for a while, he suspected—and wondered how their supplies would hold up. Help from Nedriz could not come too soon.
He wiped as much dirt and dust from his body and hair as he could, while Neime undressed. Neime headed for his own bed, but Juimei touched his shoulder. “If you want, you can sleep with me.”
Neime gave him a startled look, but then nodded. “I’d like that. I was all right before, while I was busy but now....”
He looked about to cry again. Juimei slung his good arm around him. “Come to bed. It’ll be easier in the morning.”
He tended to forget, he realised as he tucked Neime against him, and felt his page’s body relax as he dozed off, that the lad, for all his maturity and wisdom, was only twenty-two, and he’d not had the widest experience. Of course, neither had he, he thought wryly. Today had been a shock to the system, and no mistake—but he hadn’t been alone. None of them had. That had made such a difference.
“Well done,” he whispered against Neime’s hair. “You made me proud today.” And he vowed to make Neime just as proud of him.
~~~~~~~~
A minor aftershock disturbed their rest and left some of the older guests confused and frightened. Juimei and Neime spent about an hour, along with other staff, walking around in the dark building with lanterns, reassuring people and making sure no one was hurt. Other than that, they both slept soundly. Juimei was grateful for that—he’d been worried Neime might not be able to forget the horrors of the day, and suffer from nightmares, but he seemed to rest properly, and was, on waking, his usual cheerful, calm self. But Juimei wouldn’t take that at face value—he would make sure he, or at the very least, Wepizi, checked Neime during the day. The lad was too precious to lose.
Breakfast was surprisingly normal—drizu and porridge—but then these were easy to make in large quantities, in advance. Even though they had woken early, his household was already active, attending to the needs of their elderly guests, and their own. Juimei spent some time talking to his staff, finding out what they needed, how they were managing, and listening to their worries. He was humbled by how well they were doing in the face of this, and with being left to get on with it almost entirely on their own the previous day. He told them he was proud of their performance, and said they were an honour to the king and council, which got a round of applause. He wondered if his father knew just how potent his name was even in these remote regions, how strongly patriotism flourished even with the neglect this district had endured of late. These people deserved better—he vowed they would have it from now on.
He took the time to groom himself properly because he realised he needed to set an example, and show that even at such times, personal pride was important. Neime assisted him, approval clear in his eyes, before changing into clean, utilitarian clothes himself.
“I’ll need transport,” Juimei said as they met up with their soldier attendants, and went to the back of the residence, to the stables—thankfully all undamaged. The way the residence functioned with such apparent normality was the most peculiar thing about this event so far.
“The doig-trap?”
“No, that’s not flexible enough. Stable master, can I speak to you?”
The big man approached and bowed low. Ironic that of all his staff, he should be the one Juimei knew least well, when in former times, he’d have been the first person with whom Juimei would have become acquainted. “Your highness, I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Thank you, and I’m glad to see you and your lads are too. Do we have any very quiet, placid doigs I might be able to ride?”
“Your highness?” Neime said quietly. Juimei raised his hand to silence him, and waited for the stable master’s reply.
“We have several, your highness—but will you be able to get in and out of the saddle?”
“I have good friends, assistants and soldiers to help me. Shall we attempt it?”
The man bowed and went to find a suitable animal. Juimei turned to his page. “The trap won’t be able to get down some of the streets...and really, it’s about time I at least tried, don’t you think?”
“If you’re sure,” Neime said, his eyes still worried. “But you’ll be with people, right?”
“All the time. Wepizi too, and he’s the one who said I could learn to ride. So let’s see if our tezrei knows what he’s talking about.”
He could sense Neime’s anxiety even when he wasn’t looking at him, but he felt he had to try this—it would make taking charge, inspecting the town’s damage, so much easier, and he needed to see the problems for himself, at least once.
The stable master led out a doig which he said was fifteen years old, and as placid and gentle in her temperament as doigs got. Considering how bloody-minded the average doig was, that wasn’t necessarily reassuring,
but Juimei endeavoured to look confident and relaxed as he handed his cane to Neime, refusing his page’s help to mount.
The stable master suggested how he might do this without assistance, using his good leg in the stirrup, strong hand on the pommel, and simply swinging his weaker side over the saddle. To his amazement—and to Neime’s—he did it on the first attempt, and then laughed in relief as he found himself in the saddle for the first time in nearly five years. “By the benevolent god,” Neime exclaimed, looking up at him in astonishment.
He gave his page a wry grin. “The hard bit will be getting down, of course.”
“I’d advise your highness to get help,” the stable master said. “It’s a bit more awkward, as you probably realise.”
“I’ll have plenty of people to assist. Please get mounts for the others, stable master, and we’ll be off.”
He felt the most heady mixture of elation and terror being back on a doig—it was so good to be up high, to do something once so normal for him, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but worry about falling and being re-injured. But he refused to show his fear, and smiled confidently at Neime as animals were brought out for him and the two soldiers.
“Shall we?” he said casually, picking up the reins and hoping he didn’t look like too much a fool.
The square was busy—people were awake, and food was already available on trestle tables outside the mayor’s house and two other large houses. He rode to the podium which had become the nerve centre of their organisation, and found Wepizi at work. He was still in his dusty best-uniform, and the oversized moustache looked a bit frazzled, but the man himself looked calm and ready for any challenge. Juimei enjoyed the frank surprise on their tezrei’s face as he greeted him from the back of a doig.
“Is it an appropriate time to make a short inspection, tezrei? I want to know how bad it is.”
Wepizi did a rapid double-take, but then nodded. “I think now is as good a time as any, your highness. Let me get a mount.”
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 36